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Updated: May 28, 2025
The secret is afterwards disclosed by Hilda in a fit of jealous rage, whereupon Brunehild releases Sigurd from the enchantment of the potion. He recognises her as the bride ordained for him by the gods, but before he can taste his new-found happiness he is treacherously slain by Hagen, while by a mysterious sympathy Brunehild dies from the same stroke that has killed her lover.
"Cruel Ferdinand! Ask anything of me, but not will-power." A little cough came to accentuate her weakness. "My darling!" he cried in deep emotion. "We'll fly to Egypt or the Indies. I'll hang up politics and all that frippery. My books and science shall claim me again, and I will watch over my ailing little girl till she becomes the old splendid Brunehild again!"
Sigurd, Gunther, and Hagen then swear fealty to each other and start for Iceland, where Brunehild lies asleep upon a lofty rock, surrounded by a circle of fire. There Sigurd, to earn the hand of Hilda, passes through the flames and wins Brunehild for Gunther. His face is closely hidden by his visor, and Brunehild in all innocence accepts Gunther as her saviour, and gives herself to him.
And the King said: Friend, well come; what seek you here? Iseult, said he, whom I love so well; I bring my sister with me, Brunehild, the beautiful. Come, take her, you are weary of the Queen. Take you my sister and give me here Iseult, and I will hold her and serve you for her love. The King said laughing: Fool, if I gave you the Queen, where would you take her, pray?
When I lived at Nice in that royal Bohemia, where musicians rubbed shoulders with grand-duchesses, and the King of Bavaria exchanged epigrams with Bulwer Lytton, do you know what they called me?" "The Queen of all the Follies!" "You know?" "Did I not love my Brunehild ere we met?" "Yes, and I knew of you.
After the Baron, her father, that ultra-respectable Bavarian diplomatist, had refused to hear her speak of the Jew-demagogue, Lassalle had asked her to send him her portrait, as he wished to build a house adorned with frescoes, and the artist was to seek in her the inspiration of his Brunehild. In the rush of his life, project and photograph had been alike neglected.
We know each other. You know who I am, and you are Brunehild, Adrienne Cardoville of the Wandering Jew, the gold chestnut hair that Captain Korff has told me of, in a word Helene!"
Do you know that the painter to whom I gave your portrait to inspire him for the Brunehild fresco said that in drawing our two faces he discovered that they have exactly the same anatomical structure." Her face took on that fascinating diablerie which men found irresistible. "Then your compliments to me are only boomerangs." "Boomerangs only return when they miss."
"No, no, I am no Brunehild; only a modern woman with nerves the most feminine woman in the world, irresponsible, capricious please, please remember." "If you were not yourself I should not love you." "But it cannot come to anything." "Cannot? The word is for pigmies." "But my mother?" "She is a woman I will talk to her." "My father!" "He is a man, with men one can always get on.
Her face became almost young. "You are so ignorant of woman, mon cher enfant," she said, smoothing his brown curly hair; "you are really an infant, without judgment or reason where they are concerned." "And you are so ignorant of man," thought Lassalle, for his repudiation of the Russian girl had brought up vividly the vision of his enchanting Brunehild.
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