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

What absurd
Invention is this?

'Tis thy mother's wish
Speaking through me.
I must fulfil
The promise I gave her:
That the world and its wiles
Thou shouldst not encounter
Until thou hadst learned how to fear.

Is it an art?
Why was I not taught?
Explain: this fearing, what is it?

In the dark wood
Hast thou not felt,
When shades of dusk
Fall dim and drear,
When mournful whispers
Sigh afar,
And fierce growling
Sounds at hand,
When strange flashes
Dart and flicker,
And the buzzing
And clamour grow—

Hast thou not felt grim horror
Hold every sense in its clutches?—

When the limbs shiver,
Shaken with terror,

And the heart, filled with dismay,
Hammers, bursting the breast—
Hast thou not yet felt that,
A stranger art thou to fear.

Wonderful truly
That must be.
Steadfast, strong
Beats my heart in my breast.
The shiver and shudder,
The fever and horror,
Burning and fainting,
Beating and trembling—
Ah, how glad I would feel them,

Could I but learn this delight!
But how, Mime,
Can it be mine?
How, coward, could it be taught me?

Following me,
The way thou shalt find;
I have thought it all out.
I know of a dragon grim
That slays and swallows men:
Fear thou wilt learn from Fafner,
When I lead to where he lies.

Where has he his lair?

Neidhöhl'
Named, it lies east
Towards the end of the wood.

It lies not far from the world?

The world is quite close to the cave.

That I may learn what this fear is,
Lead me there straightway;
Then forth to the world!
Make haste! Forge me the sword.
In the world fain I would swing it.

The sword? Woe's me!

Quick to the smithy!
Show me thy work!

Accursèd steel!
Unequal my skill to the task;
The potent magic
Surpasses the poor dwarf's strength.
'Twere more easily done
By one who never felt fear.

Artful tricks
The idler would play me;
He is a bungler;
He should confess,
And not seek to lie his way out.
Here with the splinters!
Off with the bungler!

His father's sword
Siegfried will weld:
By him shall it be forged.

If thou hadst practised
Thy craft with care,
Thou wouldst have profited now;
But thou wert far
Too lazy to learn,
And now at need canst do nothing.

Where the master has failed
What hope for the scholar,
Had he obeyed him in all?

Be off with thee!
Meddle no more,
In case with the steel I melt thee.

Why file it to bits?
There is the solder
All fused, ready to hand.

Off with the pap,
I need it not;
With paste I fashion no sword!

Now the file is ruined,
The rasp is useless;
Why grind thus the steel to splinters?

It must be shivered
And ground into shreds;
Only so can splinters be patched.

I see a craftsman
Is useless here;
By his own folly the fool is best served.
Look how he toils
With lusty strokes;
The steel disappears,
And still he keeps cool.

Though I am as old
As cave and wood,
The like I never yet saw!

He will forge the sword—
I see it plain—
Boldly weld it anew.
The Wanderer was right.
Where shall I hide
My luckless head?
If nothing teaches him fear,
Forfeit it falls to the boy.

But woe to Mime!
If Siegfried learn fear,
The dragon will never be slain;
And, if so, how gain the ring?
Accurst dilemma!
Would I escape,
I must find out some way
Of subduing the boy for myself.

Hey, Mime! The name!—
Quick, name the sword
That I have pounded to pieces.

Nothung, that is
The name of the sword;
'Twas mother told me the tale.

Nothung! Nothung!
Conquering sword!
What blow, I wonder, broke thee.
Thy keen-edged glory
I chopped to chaff;
The splinters now I am melting.
Hoho! Hoho!
Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!
Bellows blow!
Brighten the flame!
In the woods
A tree grew wild;
It fell, by my hand hewn down.
The brown-stemmed ash
To charcoal I burned;
Now it lies heaped high on the hearth.
Hoho! Hoho!
Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!
Bellows blow!
Brighten the flame!
How bravely, brightly
The charcoal burns!
How clear and fair its fire!
With showering sparks
It leaps and glows,—
Hohei! Hoho! Hohei!—
Dissolving the splintered steel!
Hoho! Hoho!
Hohei! Hohei! Hoho!
Bellows, blow!
Brighten the flame!
Hoho! Hoho!
Hoho, hohei! Hohei!
Nothung! Nothung!
Conquering sword!
Thy steel chopped to chaff is fused;
In thine own sweat
Thou swimmest now,

But soon my sword thou shalt be!

The sword he will forge
And vanquish Fafner,
So much I can clearly foresee;
Hoard and ring
The victor will have;
How to win them both for myself!
By wit and wiles
They shall be captured,
And safe shall be my head.