Siegfried besought her and she answered, they sang together; but as she answered, singing, her eyes were still fixed, and she sang as one out of herself and inspired.
"Siegfried!"
"Brünnhilde!"
"Siegfried! Siegfried! seliger Held!
Pu Wecker des Lebens, siegendes Licht!"
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.
The curtain fell slowly.
"Brünnhilde! Brünnhilde!"
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!"