The tempo quickened and the rhythm; and the tones grew higher and richer, ringing, more passionate. Such acting--such singing! It was as if the Walküre herself had come out of the trance back to life, and the audience saw Brünnhilde in the flesh. The House reverberated to the sound of her voice; it was a glory, a revelation.
She sang on and on, and Siegfried answered; but the eyes of the Singer, and her hands lifted, were toward the House, the orchestra pit, the desk, the baton--the head with its dark hair falling and the arm outstretched.
With the flaring up of the lights the House was in an uproar. "Who was she? What was she? Where did she come from? Ah--h! Brünnhilde!"
They clapped and stamped, and shouted themselves hoarse, calling her name: "Brünnhilde!"
"She is there!" cried the Kapellmeister, "Go to her, Velasco; go to her quickly! Gott! I thought the Opera would have come to a standstill! My heart was in my mouth!--Go!"
He pushed the Violinist towards the door and closed it behind him; then he fell back against the wall and listened. The noise in the House was like a mob let loose.
"Brünnhilde! Why doesn't she come? Bring her before the curtain! . . . Brünnhilde!"
"I must go," he said, "I must speak to them--tell them anything--she is ill--she is exhausted! Something--it doesn't matter! I must go and quiet the tumult!"
The Kapellmeister leaned for a moment against the background of the scenery; he looked at the door and listened. The House was going mad: "Brünnhilde! Brünnhilde!"
Then, staggering a little, with his hands to his face, he went out on the stage.
"Velasco! Ah, Velasco! Don't come--don't touch--me!"
She was still in the Brünnhilde dress with the helmet on her head and the white robes trailing. The spear lay at her feet. He trampled on it as he sprang, snatching her into his arms: "Kaya!"
His grip was like a band of steel and he wound his arms about her, pressing her to him: "Kaya, my beloved! Ah, my beloved--speak to me! Open your eyes! Look at me!" He tore the helmet from her head and flung it to the ground. The red-blonde hair fell back, and he kissed her cheek and her curls.
He was like a whirlwind wooing, and she like a lily blown by the gale. She lay in his arms. Her lips quivered as he kissed them, but she lay without motion or sign.