and his words contain thorns which he might reasonably expect
to tell: "The thing which I, anguish-harried and curse-crowned,
earned through a horrible renunciation, you are to have for your
own as a pleasant princely toy?... If I sinned, I sinned solely
against myself, but against all that has been, is, or shall be,
do you, Immortal, sin, if you wrest this ring from me...."

Wotan without further discussion stretches out his hand and tears
from Alberich's finger the ring, which gives once more, under this
violence, the golden call, saddened and distorted. "Here, the
ring!--Your chattering does not establish your right to it!" Alberich
drops to earth, felled. Wotan places the ring on his hand and stands
in gratified contemplation of it. "I hold here what makes me the
mightiest lord of the mighty!"

Loge unties Alberich and bids him slip home. But the Nibelung is
past care or fear, and rising to insane heights of hatred lays upon
the ring such a curse as might well shake its owner's complacency.
"As it came to me through a curse, accursed be this ring! As it
lent me power without bounds, let its magic now draw death upon
the wearer! Let no possessor of it be happy.... Let him who owns
it be gnawed by care and him who owns it not be gnawed by envy! Let
every one covet, no one enjoy it!... Appointed to death, fear-ridden
let its craven master be! While he lives, let his living be as
dying! The ring's master be the ring's slave,--until my stolen good
return to me!... Now keep it! Guard it well! My curse you shall
not escape!"

"Did you hear his affectionate greeting?" asks Loge, when Alberich
has vanished down the rocky cleft.

Wotan, absorbed in the contemplation of the ring, has heard the
curse with the same degree of interest he might have bestowed upon
the trickle of a brook. He replies magnanimously, "Grudge him not
the luxury of railing!"

Fricka, Donner, and Froh hasten to welcome the returning gods.
The approach of Freia, whom the giants are bringing between them,
is felt before she appears, in a subtle sweetening of the air, a
simultaneous lightening of all the hearts and return of youth to
the faces, which Froh's daintily expansive greeting describes.

Fricka is hurrying toward her. Fasolt interposes: Not to be touched!
She still belongs to them until the ransom have been paid. Fasolt
does not fall in willingly with the arrangement which shall give
them the gold in place of the woman; he has been overpers