The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Let death the fourth one in our compact be!
[_Exeunt omnes._]
ACT III
_Morning. Courtyard of the castle. The cathedral is at one side._
SCENE I
_Enter_ RUMOLT _and_ DANKWART _armed._
RUMOLT.
Three dead!
DANKWART.
For yesterday it was enough, For that was but the prelude! Now there'll be Another tale to tell.
RUMOLT.
These Nibelungs Are e'er prepared for death; they bring their shrouds And each man wears both shroud and sword at once.
DANKWART.
The customs are so strange in northern lands!
For as the mountains grow more rugged still And cheerful oaks make way for sombre firs, Just so does man grow gloomy, till at last He's wholly lost and but the brute remains!
First comes a race that cannot even sing, And next another race that cannot laugh, Then follows one that's dumb, and so it goes.
SCENE II
_Music. A great procession._ WULF _and_ TRUCHS _among the warriors._
RUMOLT (_joining_ DANKWART).
Will Hagen be content?
DANKWART.
I think he will.
This is a summons, as it were, to war!
Yet he is right, for this strange princess needs Quite other morning serenades than sings The lark that warbles in the linden tree.
[_They pa.s.s by._]
SCENE III
_Enter_ SIEGFRIED _with_ KRIEMHILD.
KRIEMHILD (_calling attention to her attire_).
Wilt thou not thank me?
SIEGFRIED.
Nay, what dost thou mean?
KRIEMHILD.
But look at me!
SIEGFRIED. That thou art living, smiling, I give thee thanks, and that thine eyes are blue-- I love not black--
KRIEMHILD.
Thou dost but praise the Lord In his handmaiden! Did I make myself, Thou simple fellow? Did I choose the eyes Thou dost admire?
SIEGFRIED.
Yet love, methinks, might dream E'en such strange fancies! One fair morn in May When all things glistened as they glisten now, Two crystal dewdrops, clearer than the rest, Were hanging on the harebells bluest spray; And thou hast stolen them, and evermore All heaven's in thine eyes.
KRIEMHILD.
Then rather give Thy thanks to me that as a child I fell So wisely. My blue eyes I might have lost The day I only marked my temple here!
SIEGFRIED.
Oh, let me kiss the scar!
KRIEMHILD.
Thy healing art Would be but lost. No balsam craves the wound That's long since healed. But tell me more!
SIEGFRIED.
I thank Thy mouth--
KRIEMHILD.
With words?
