rief,
has appeared unconscious, up to this moment, of all taking place
around her, stops her, stating dully that there is no need to trouble
about her, since her only wish is to die. She indeed reproaches
Bruennhilde for her care, and bids her now, if she is not to curse
her for their flight, to end her life by a thrust of the sword. In
the next moment the face of this same woman sheds the very radiance
of joy: the Valkyrie has revealed to her that of her a Waelsung shall
be born. Then, oh, "Save me, you valiant one!" she cries. "Save
my child! Protect me, you maidens, with your mightiest protection!
Save me! Save the mother!" She kneels to them. The cool-blooded
spinsters are moved by this, but not to the point of braving Wotan's
ire. "Then fly in haste, and fly alone!" Bruennhilde with sudden
resolve bids Sieglinde: "I will remain behind and draw upon me,
delaying him, Wotan's anger." "In what direction shall I go?" asks
the woman eagerly. Eastward, one of the sisters tells her, lies a
forest. Fafner there, in the shape of a dragon, guards the treasure
of the Nibelungen. An unsuitable place for a helpless woman, yet
one where she will be safe from Wotan, for the god, it has been
observed, shuns it. "Away then to eastward," Bruennhilde instructs
Sieglinde; "with undaunted courage bear every trial. Hunger and
thirst, thorns and stony roads--do you laugh at want and sorrow,
for one thing know, and keep it ever in mind: the most exalted hero
in the world, O woman, shall be born of you!" A great melodious
phrase describes him, the future Siegfried, as if with one magnificent
stroke outlining a form of heroic beauty and valour. Bruennhilde
gives Sieglinde the pieces of Siegmund's sword, gathered up from
the field after the ill-fated encounter. "He who one day shall
swing this sword newly welded together, let him take his name from
me: As Siegfried let him rejoice in victory!" From the soul of
Sieglinde rises a soaring song of gratitude and praise, a song
of purest, highest joy. Her last words to Bruennhilde, as clasping
to her breast the broken sword she hastens away, are, interpreted:
"My gratitude shall one day reward you, smiling at you in human
form!... Farewell! Sieglinde in her woe calls down blessings upon
you!"

The storm-cloud has reached the rock, Wotan's voice is heard:
"Bruennhilde, stand!" At the sound of it, Bruennhilde's heart fails
her; the hearts of the sisters, too, soften. Crowding together on
the rock