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Updated: May 12, 2025
'Then I s'll want a ladder, said the window-cleaner, proceeding to lift one off his trolley. He was in a very great bustle. He knew which was Siegmund's room: he had often seen Siegmund rise from some music he was studying and leave the drawing-room when the window-cleaning began, and afterwards he had found him in the small front bedroom.
Brunhilde, terrified by the angry Wotan, snatched up the broken pieces of the sword, and, springing to her saddle, dashed away. Faster and faster she fled to the forest, bearing the broken blade to Siegmund's wife. "Siegmund is slain!" she cried. "These are the pieces of his mighty sword. Keep them for your son, Siegfried. He will be brave like his father.
Let raiment be made ready for them, I pray, for I would fain see how it standeth with Kriemhild." Then sate fair ladies night and day. Few enow of them, I trow, did ease them, till Siegfried's weeds had all been wrought. Nor would he desist from faring forth. His father bade adorn the knightly garb in which his son should ride forth from Siegmund's land.
Lit by the firelight, in her white, clinging dress, cowering between her uplifted arms, she seemed to be offering him herself to sacrifice. In an instant he was kneeling, and she was lying on his shoulder, abandoned to him. There was a good deal of sorrow in his joy. It was eleven o'clock when Helena at last loosened Siegmund's arms, and rose from the armchair where she lay beside him.
The noble Gunther gave him masters who well wot how to bring him up to be a doughty man. Alas, what great loss of kin he later suffered through misfortune! Many tales were told all time, of how right worshipfully the lusty knights dwelt alway in Siegmund's land. Gunther dealt the same with his distinguished kin. So much the higher rose the mood of the valiant man.
She lay upon his breast, dreaming how beautiful it would be to go to sleep, to swoon unconscious there, on that rare bed. She lay still on Siegmund's breast, listening to his heavily beating heart. With her the dream was always more than the actuality. Her dream of Siegmund was more to her than Siegmund himself. He might be less than her dream, which is as it may be.
'I shan't knock it it is all right, he had said, protesting. This was Siegmund's violin, which Helena had managed to purchase, and Byrne was always ready to yield its precedence. 'It was all right, he repeated. 'But you were not, she had replied gently. Since that time his heart had beat quick with excitement.
'Thank God! whispered the father, almost inaudibly. He held his wife's hand as she lay by his side. He was the comforter. She felt as if now she might cry and take comfort and sleep. He, the quiet, obliterated man, held her hand, taking the responsibility upon himself. Beatrice was careful not to let the blow of Siegmund's death fall with full impact upon her. As it were, she dodged it.
In the same month of July, not yet a year after Siegmund's death, Helena sat on the top of the tramcar with Cecil Byrne. She was dressed in blue linen, for the day had been hot.
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