h over the treasure. He
is startled by what seems an untimely break of day, accompanied by
a great gust of wind. This defines itself as a galloping gleam--a
shining horse rushing through the forest. "Is it already the slayer
of the dragon?" he wonders; "is it he, already, who shall kill
Fafner?" A moonbeam breaking through the clouds reveals the form
of the Wanderer advancing toward Neidhoehle. The enemies see and
recognise each other. Alberich, though greatly alarmed at this
inopportune presence, breaks into angry vituperation: "Out of the
way, shameless robber.... Your intrigues have done harm enough!"
"I am come to look on, not to act," Wotan replies, grandly mild and
unruffled; "who shall deny me a wanderer's right of way?" Alberich,
as if words of offence were actually missiles, showers them thick
upon the unmoved god. He points out, virulently, the strength of
his own position compared with Wotan's, in whose hand that spear
of his must fly to pieces should he break a covenant established
as sacred by the runes carved on its shaft. Wanderer, a shade weary
of such a berating, yet losing little of his placidity, retorts:
"Not through any runes of truth to covenants did my spear bind
you, malignant, to me; you my spear forces to bow before me by
its strength; I carefully keep it therefore for purposes of war."
"How haughtily do you threaten in your defiant strength," the rabid
Alberich continues, "yet how uneasy is all within your breast....
Doomed to death through my curse is Fafner, guardian of the treasure.
Who will inherit from him? Will the illustrious Hort come once
more into the possession of the Nibelung? The thought gnaws you
with unsleeping care. For, let me hold it again in this fist, far
otherwise than thick-witted giants shall I employ the power of the
Ring; then let the holy keeper of the heroes tremble; the heights
of Walhalla I shall storm with the hosts of Hella, the world then
will be mine to govern!" Tranquilly Wotan receives this: "I know
your meaning, but it creates in me no uneasiness. He shall rule
through the Ring who obtains it." This calm of Wotan's gives Alberich
the idea that the god must, so to speak, have cards up his sleeve.
"On the sons of heroes," he suggests ironically, "you place your
insolent reliance, fond blossoms of your own blood. Good care have
you taken of a young fellow--not so?--who cunningly shall pluck the
fruit which you dare not yourself break off?" "Not with me"--Wotan