“Thou hast looked on the face of the Valkyrie—thou hast no choice but to follow her,” said Brunhilda.
“By what warrior’s hand must I fall?” asked Siegmund.
“Hunding will fell thee in the fight to-day,” answered the Valkyrie.
But Siegmund laughed this prophecy to scorn. “Seest thou this sword?” he said, drawing forth the weapon of Wotan. “It was made by one in whose name I am sure of victory.”
“He who bestowed that sword now withdraws the charm, and himself dooms thee to death!” cried Brunhilda in terrible ringing tones.
“Hush! or thou wilt awaken my love,” said Siegmund, bending tenderly over Sieglinda. “If what thou sayest be true, woe and shame be to him who bestowed such a sword! If I must perish and desert her,” he continued bitterly, “never will I pass to the Valhalla of Wotan.”
“What!” cried Brunhilda in horror. “Thou wouldst forego the glory of Valhalla for the sake of this poor feeble woman?”
“If thou canst feel no pity, and canst give no help in my sore distress, then leave me at least in peace. Speak not of Valhalla’s empty joys.”
How help this heroic lover without disobeying the order of Wotan her father? “Confide thy beloved to my care—I will protect her, noble Siegmund,” she said earnestly.
“I thank thee,” replied Siegmund, “but none save I alone can protect my love. And if this sword, which a traitor fashioned, is to prove false in the fight, better it should take our two lives with one fell stroke.” So saying, he drew his sword and held it over Sieglinda. But Brunhilda seized his arm.