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EXTRACTS
SIEGFRIED SINGS
So Siegfried starts to sing. As he does so he brings forth music from the forest. Once again, the trees rustle to his tune and rivers peal to his rhythm. Birds accompany his story and even the cries of beasts punctuate the drama. The watchers are drawn in, enchanted and engrossed. They hear Mime's endless whining as Siegfried sings of his upbringing by the scheming dwarf, whose only plan for him was to kill the dragon and then to kill him. They feel Siegfried's longing for his mother, as for their own. They hear the rhythm of the anvil as Siegfried reforges Nothung. They tremble at the voice of Fafner, as Siegfried moves in for the kill. They are enchanted as Siegfried bids them take note of how he could understand the birds after tasting the dragon's blood. They are excited as the birds inform Siegfried of the treasure and of how Tarnhelm and the ring might serve him. His audience are not surprised to find that, under Siegfried's influence, the tales told by the birds around them are now closer to their own understanding and they are near to weeping that they cannot unravel the forest's meaning.
EXPLANATIONS
Those who are looking for an explanation of the story of the Ring should be wary of this book for it does not follow Wagner's story exactly. The extensive notes are designed to fill the gaps.
For anyone
unfamiliar with
the nature of mythology it may be helpful to know that climacteric
events may
not mean quite the same to the inhabitants of the mythological worlds
as they
do to us. Death may stand for transformation. A murderer may find
himself
taking on some of the characteristics of the dead individual. Keeping
it in the
family by incestuous methods is often the preferred method of
procreation
amongst Gods, although the more conservative of the Gods may not
approve of
such activity, especially where mortals are concerned. This is helped
along by
the knowledge that divine reproduction may not follow the same
physiological
principles with which we are familiar.
BRUNNHILDE AND THE SYBARITIC JACUZZI
Another door, entering onto a series of warm mountain springs, was Brunnhilde's own. Here could she escape her loud sisters, giggling over their latest fashionable hero. Here could she stand in front of the mirror she had placed on a rocky cleft and slyly, slowly, remove her heavy armor, piece by heavy piece, as if casting off the responsibilities of her post. Her helmet too could she remove and allow her hair to flow and caress her shoulders. Here could she mask the musky smell of the sulphurous springs by practiced use of the plants that grew there. Judicious scattering of crushed herbs and petals onto the waters of the chosen spring and the burning of well chosen barks, produced scents to match her mood. Here could she lower herself into the warm scented waters and allow the small waterfalls and deep powerful obliging eddies to massage her body and here could she dream of perfect, powerful and gentle heroes; strong enough to pierce her armor but, unfortunately, not yet born.
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