Bruennhilde: (#83) Him whom you always taught me to love, whose loft valour is dear to your heart – never will your two-faced words force me to turn against him.
Wotan: Ha, insolent child! How dare you insult me! What are you if not the blindly elective tool of my will? (#21) – In conferring with you, have I sunk so low that I’m scorned by creatures of my own making? (#60 Chromatic Vari) Do you know my anger, child? [[ #84 ]] May your courage fail if its lightning flash were to strike you with crushing force! (…) And so I warn you; don’t provoke me: see that you do as I said: (#83) Siegmund shall fall! Let this be the Valkyrie’s task!
(#83, [[ #84 ]]; [[ #85 ]]: He storms away and is soon lost from sight among the mountains on the left.)”
[[#85]] The second motif of Wotan’s anger at Bruennhilde for fighting for an ideal he has renounced
[See #84 for #85’s dramatic context]
[[#86]] “Hunding’s Pursuit” of the Waelsung Twins
A motif representing the difficulty of living for love in a loveless world (#86 based on #7, Alberich’s Futile Wooing [Scrambling] Motif)
“Sieglinde: (#67 Steerhorns?: starting up and listening) (#64 Vari) Hark! The horns – do you hear their call? The furious bray rings forth all around; yonder it yells from forest and shire. (#60 Chromatic Vari; #65 Steerhorns?) Hunding has woken from heavy sleep; kinsmen and hounds he calls together; soundly harried, the pack is howling and baying wildly heavenwards at wedlock’s broken vow! (Staring ahead of her as if demented: Where are you, Siegmund? Can I still see you? (#40 or #64?) Ardently cherished, light-bringing brother. (#64 Loose Vari) Let your star-bright eye shine upon me again and shun not the kiss of a fallen woman! (She has thrown herself, sobbing, on his breast; then she starts up again in fear: [[ #86? ]]; #67?) Hark! O hark! That is Hunding’s horn! (#81?) His pack is approaching, mightily armed! No sword can resist the hounds’ seething horde: cast if off, Siegmund! – Siegmund – where are you? [[ #86 Inverted ]] Ha! There! I can see you - terrible sight! Scenting flesh, the dogs bare their fangs; they pay no heed to your noble mien; their firm-gripping teeth tear at your feet – you fall – the sword is shivered in shards!