Рихард Вагнер - Siegfried & The Twilight of the Gods. The Ring of the Niblung, part 2

My child, that ought to show thee
That Mime is dear to thy heart.

I said I could not bear thee;
Forget not that so soon.

The wildness that thou shouldst tame
Is the cause, bad boy, of that.
Young ones are always longing
After their parents' nest;
What we love we all long for,
And so thou dost yearn for me;
'Tis plain thou lovest thy Mime,
And always must love him.
What the old bird is to the young one,
Feeding it in its nest
Ere the fledgling can flutter,
That is what careful, clever Mime
To thy young life is,
And always must be.

Well, Mime, being so clever,
This one thing more also tell me:

The birds sang together
So gaily in spring,

The one alluring the other;
And thou didst say,
When I asked thee why,
That they were wives with their husbands.

They chattered so sweetly,
Were never apart;
They builded a nest
In which they might brood;
The fluttering young ones
Came flying out,
And both took care of the young.
The roes in the woods, too,
Rested in pairs,
The wild wolves even, and foxes.
Food was found them and brought
By the father,
The mother suckled the young ones.
And there I learned
What love was like;
A whelp from its mother
I never took.
But where hast thou, Mime,
A wife dear and loving,
That I may call her mother?

What dost thou mean?
Fool, thou art mad!
Art thou then a bird or a fox?

When I was a babe
Thou wert my nurse,
Made the mite clothing
To keep him warm;
But tell me, whence
Did the tiny mite come?
Could babe without mother
Be born to thee?

Thou must always
Trust what I tell thee.
I am thy father
And mother in one.

Thou liest, filthy old fright!
The resemblance 'twixt child and parent
I often have seen for myself.
I came to the limpid brook,
And the beasts and the trees
I saw reflected;
Sun and clouds too,
Just as they are,
Were mirrored quite plain in the stream.
I also could spy
This face of mine,
And quite unlike thine
Seemed it to me;
As little alike
As a fish to a toad:
And when had fish toad for its father?

How canst thou talk
Such terrible stuff?

Listen! At last
I understand
What in vain I pondered so long:
Why I roam the woods
And run to escape thee,
Yet return home in the end.

I cannot go till thou tell me
What father and mother were mine.

What father? What mother?
Meaningless questions!

To answer a question
Thou must be caught first;
Willingly
Thou never wilt speak;
Thou givest nothing
Unless forced to.
How to talk
I hardly had learned
Had it not by force
Been wrung from the wretch.
Come, out with it,
Mangy old scamp!
Who are my father and mother?

Dost want to kill me outright!
Hands off, and the facts thou shalt hear,
As far as known to myself.
O ungrateful
And graceless child,
Now learn the cause of thy hatred!
Neither thy father
Nor kinsman I,
And yet thou dost owe me thy life!
To me, thy one friend,
A stranger wert thou;
It was pity alone
Sheltered thee here;
And this is all my reward.
And I hoped for thanks like a fool!

A woman once I found
Who wept in the forest wild;
I helped her here to the cave,
That by the fire I might warm her.
The woman bore a child here;
Sadly she gave it birth.
She writhed about in pain;
I helped her as I could.
Bitter her plight; she died.
But Siegfried lived and throve.

My poor mother died, then, through me?

To my care she commended thee;
'Twas willingly bestowed.
The trouble Mime would take!
The worry kind Mime endured!
"When thou wert a babe
I was thy nurse...."

That story I often have heard.
Now say, whence came the name
Siegfried?

'Twas thus that thy mother
Told me to name thee,
That thou mightst grow
To be strong and fair.
"I made the mite clothing
To keep it warm...."

Now tell me, what name was my mother's?

In truth I hardly know.
"Brought thee thy food,
Gave thee to drink...."

My mother's name thou must tell me.

Her name I forget. Yet wait!
Sieglinde, that was the name borne
By her who gave thee to me.
"I kept thee as safe
As I keep my skin...."

Next tell me, who was my father?

Him I have never seen.

But my mother told it thee, surely.

He fell in combat
Was all that she said.
She left the fatherless
Babe to my care.
"And when thou wert grown
I waited on thee,
And made a bed
For thy slumber soft"…

Still, with thy tiresome
Starling song!
That I may trust thy story,
Convinced thou art not lying,
Thou must produce some proof.

But what proof will convince thee?

I trust thee not with my ears,
I trust thee but with mine eyes:
What witness speaks for thee?

I got this from thy mother:
For trouble, food, and service
This was my sole reward.
Behold, 'tis a splintered sword!
She said 'twas borne by thy father
In the fatal fight when he fell.

And thou shalt forge
These fragments together,
And furnish my rightful sword!
Up! Tarry not, Mime;
Quick to thy task!
If thou hast skill,
Thy cunning display.
Cheat me no more
With worthless trash;
These fragments alone
Henceforth I trust.
Lounge o'er thy work,
Weld it not true,
Trickily patching
The goodly steel,
And thou shalt learn on thy limbs
How metal best should be beat!
I swear that this day
The sword shall be mine;
My weapon to-day I shall win!