Bruennhilde: [[ #163 ]] Were you lured here, sister, by my lot? [[ #163 ]] Do you want to feast on my joy and share in the fate that befell me?
Waltraute: (vehemently: #163 or #156?) Share in the frenzy that’s seized you, you fool? – Something else drove me in dread [“Angst”] to break Wotan’s behest.
([[ #164 Embryo? ]] [as orchestral explosion?]: Only now, to her surprise, does Bruennhilde notice Waltraute’s wild agitation.)
Bruennhilde: [[ #163 ]]; #156?) Poor sister, you’re fettered by dread and fear? So the hard-hearted god hasn’t pardoned me yet? You quail at my punisher’s wrath?
Waltraute: (#81) If only I feared it, (#37?) my dread would be over! (#? [sounds like a motif fragment]; #81)
Bruennhilde: (#37?) Stunned, I don’t understand you!
Waltraute: Come to your senses, mark me closely! (#39 Vari) Back to Valhalla the same dread drives me that drove me here from Valhalla!
Bruennhilde: (alarmed) What ails the immortal gods?
Waltraute: (#79? or #80?) Hear and reflect on what I now tell you. (#81) Since he and you were parted, Wotan has sent us no more into battle; (#81) lost and helpless we anxiously rode to the field. (#77?) (#81>[[ #164 ]] The Lord of the Slain avoided Valhalla’s valiant heroes: (#83a [i.e., #53]) alone on his horse, without rest or repose, (#83b [i.e., #54]) he roamed the world as the Wanderer. (#20a Vari [with #42 harmony]) He came home of late; (#20b Vari) in his hand he was holding (#21) his spear’s (#20a Vari [with #42’s harmony]) splintered shards: (#87 [with Tympani]) they’d been shattered by a hero. (#20a Vari [with #42’s harmony]) With a silent sign he sent Valhalla’s warriors into the forest to fell the (#146) World-Ash Tree; (#151; #20a Vari [with #42’s harmony]; #87 [with tympani]; #115 Definitive; #20 Vari [triplets on trumpet]) He bade them pile up the logs from its trunk in a towering heap round the hall of the blessed immortals. (#20a Vari/#115 >>>>) He convened the council of the gods; his high seat he solemnly took and on either side bade the anxious gods be seated, inviting the heroes to fill the hall in their circles and rows. (#20c) So he sits, (#87 [plus tympani]) says not a word, silent and grave, (#87) on his hallowed seat, with the (#27 or #36 or #116?) splintered spear held tight in his hand; (#29 Vari) Holda’s apples he does not touch: (#19?; #20a?) wonder and fear hold the gods in thrall; #20/#19/#42) (#161 >>) Both his ravens he sent on their travels: if ever they come back again with good tidings, (#15?) then once again – (#17 Vari?) for one last time (#13) – the god would smile forever. (#13 repeated; #77 Vari) (#81 >>) Clasping his knees we Valkyries lie: (#45a?) He is blind to our pleading glances; we are all consumed by dismay and infinite dread [“Angst”]. (#81/[[ #164 ]]) To his breast I pressed myself, weeping: (hesitating) his glance grew less harsh; (#99) he was thinking, Bruennhilde, of you! Sighing deeply, he closed his eye and, as in a (#15) dream, whispered the words: (#19 >>) ‘If she gave back the
