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One day they decided that Siegfried should go forth to do brave deeds in the world. He would come back when he had won honor and fame. He told Brunhilde how anxious he would be to get back to her, and that he would come just as soon as he could. Brunhilde told Siegfried how lonely she would be without him, and how she would listen both day and night for the glad call of his silver horn.
They called and waved to each other until he passed from sight. And after that Brunhilde listened to the clear notes of his silver horn, until at length its last faint echo died away. Siegfried had been away several days. Brunhilde sat looking far out over the valley. She was thinking of Siegfried and of how he was proving his courage to the world.
Martie's colour was high from fast walking in the cold wind, her eyes shone like sapphires, and her loosened hair, under an old velvet tam-o'-shanter cap, made a gold aureole about her face. Rodney, watching her mount the little hill to the graveyard with a winter sunset before her, had called her "Brunhilde," and he had been talking of grand opera as they walked home.
"Farewell, my child, most brave and beautiful! Thou life and light of all my heart, farewell! Pride of my soul, farewell, a long farewell!" Wotan strode a few steps away from where Brunhilde slept, then struck the rock with his mighty spear. Red flames shot up, leaping almost to the sky. They were magic flames and would not harm any one.
He broke off in his rambling talk to light a cigarette, and then continued, in the same musing tone. "It was something else. She was so handsome, so so fine, somehow. I used to think, when we were engaged, that she was like Brunhilde, or some of the other Wagnerian heroines. Sometimes I couldn't help thinking" he coloured "what splendid children a woman like that would have.
Readers of Norse mythology may suppose that these weird sisters were dim, vague, shadowy creatures; but they are mistaken. Brunhilde has the embonpoint of a dowager, and her arms are as robust and red as a dairy-maid's.
That pale, mystic Elizabeth of Tannhäuser had been taken in Milan; that ideal, romantic Elsa of Lohengrin, in Munich; here was a wide-eyed, bourgeois Eva from die Meistersinger, photographed in Vienna; there a proud arrogant Brunhilde, with hostile, flashing eyes, that bore the imprint of St. Petersburg.
And every now and then she would come down riding like a Brunhilde, with her hair all blown about her and her eyes Ach, superb!" The little dowdy woman threw up her hands. Her neighbour's face shewed that the story interested and amused him. "A Valkyrie, indeed! But how a feminist?" "You shall hear.
It is with the kiss of Herzeleide that Kundry enmeshes Parsifal. Brunhilde struggles for the forgiving embrace of Wotan, sinks on the breast of the god in submission, reconciliation, immolation. And it is towards an engulfing consummation, some extinction that is both love and death and deeper than both, that the music of his operas aspires.
He has grown very old and very sad. "Yesterday I heard him say, 'Oh! if Brunhilde would only give the ring back to the Rhine-daughters, and release the world from the terrible curse of gold! "And, Brunhilde, I have come to beg of you, will you not give the ring back to the Rhine-daughters?" Brunhilde clasped the ring close to her breast. "Give the ring to the Rhine-daughters?" she cried.
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