and sang an argument, and after a long while when they had disappeared, Siegfried bounded onto the stage with Mime, the first dwarf, behind him.
Finally the dragon came clanking out of the grotto, eyes gleaming with electric light bulbs and smoke issuing hotly from its nostrils, singing all the while in a musical bass voice. Rush, who was interested in all mechanical devices, looked at Fafner through the field glasses. Each time it sang the dragonâs jaws opened and shut like a crocodile snapping at flies, and during a quiet moment a businesslike voice deep inside its stomach was heard to say, âOkay, Bill. Hold it.â
The music was wonderful; swell, was how Rush thought of it. It was made up of so many different kinds of music. There was a music that was Siegfriedâs own, and another for his sword, and another for the Wanderer, and the Forest Bird, the dragon, Valhalla, the golden ring, and the fire. All of them were woven together mysterious and wide and deep; and each of them came flashing out from time to time like unexpected rays sparkling from a precious stone.
In the second scene of Act III Siegfried penetrated the fiery circle and wakened Brünnhilde, who was clad in glittering mail and proved to be the general shape and size of a caterpillar tractor. It was funny how you could forget it when she began to sing. The two great voices mingled joyously with the great music, and at last it was over. Thousands of hands were beaten together, and the man next to Rush shouted a âBravo!â that smelled of garlic. Siegfried and Brünnhilde took repeated beaming bows, and Rush clapped till his palms burned, thought of yelling âBravo!â himself, thought better of it, and disentangled his coat and cap from under the seat. Stuffing the program in his pocket he made his way down the many stairs, borne along in the slow, chattering tide of the crowd. Inside his head he kept listening to Siegfriedâs special music. TA tatatatatatatata TA! When I grow up Iâm going to have an automobile with a horn that plays that, he decided. Wonder why nobody ever thought of it before?
When he came out of the opera house Rush was astonished. The world was completely transformed: snow had been falling furiously for more than three hours, and still was. Drifts were piled high along the sidewalk, the air was dense with flakes, and Rush felt happy: this was the best snowstorm of the winter. He pushed his way past the people who were waiting for cars and taxis, turned up his collar and went out into the blizzard. In no time at all his feet were soaking wet and he loved it. He took a long time going home and made a great many detours. In the side streets the air rang with a noise of scraping as men cleared the sidewalks. All other sounds were furred with quiet by the snow; the hoots of boats came muffled from the river, cars passed noiselessly, and people walked without a sound in the feathery dusk. Rushâs footsteps had a sound, though; his shoes were so wet that they squelched juicily with every step.
On East Thirty-seventh Street there was a commotion. A huge long-necked machine on wheels was sucking up the piled snow along the curb. It was accompanied by a dump truck. The machine would move its long neck, turn its head, and blow the snow it had consumed into the truck, then both would move slowly along again. Itâs just like an animal, thought Rush, looking at the machine. Like Fafner, he thought, and began to laugh. For a long time, maybe all his life, snow machines, and threshers, and derricks, and steam shovels were going to remind him of Fafner.
Rush watched the machine for a long while, forgetting all about the time. He had companions as fascinated as himself: a man with a burnt cigar that smelled, two little kids in snowsuits, a grocery boy with a cartful of packages that people were waiting for, and an old man with earmuffs. Dreamily they all progressed along the block following the
Finally the dragon came clanking out of the grotto, eyes gleaming with electric light bulbs and smoke issuing hotly from its nostrils, singing all the while in a musical bass voice. Rush, who was interested in all mechanical devices, looked at Fafner through the field glasses. Each time it sang the dragonâs jaws opened and shut like a crocodile snapping at flies, and during a quiet moment a businesslike voice deep inside its stomach was heard to say, âOkay, Bill. Hold it.â
The music was wonderful; swell, was how Rush thought of it. It was made up of so many different kinds of music. There was a music that was Siegfriedâs own, and another for his sword, and another for the Wanderer, and the Forest Bird, the dragon, Valhalla, the golden ring, and the fire. All of them were woven together mysterious and wide and deep; and each of them came flashing out from time to time like unexpected rays sparkling from a precious stone.
In the second scene of Act III Siegfried penetrated the fiery circle and wakened Brünnhilde, who was clad in glittering mail and proved to be the general shape and size of a caterpillar tractor. It was funny how you could forget it when she began to sing. The two great voices mingled joyously with the great music, and at last it was over. Thousands of hands were beaten together, and the man next to Rush shouted a âBravo!â that smelled of garlic. Siegfried and Brünnhilde took repeated beaming bows, and Rush clapped till his palms burned, thought of yelling âBravo!â himself, thought better of it, and disentangled his coat and cap from under the seat. Stuffing the program in his pocket he made his way down the many stairs, borne along in the slow, chattering tide of the crowd. Inside his head he kept listening to Siegfriedâs special music. TA tatatatatatatata TA! When I grow up Iâm going to have an automobile with a horn that plays that, he decided. Wonder why nobody ever thought of it before?
When he came out of the opera house Rush was astonished. The world was completely transformed: snow had been falling furiously for more than three hours, and still was. Drifts were piled high along the sidewalk, the air was dense with flakes, and Rush felt happy: this was the best snowstorm of the winter. He pushed his way past the people who were waiting for cars and taxis, turned up his collar and went out into the blizzard. In no time at all his feet were soaking wet and he loved it. He took a long time going home and made a great many detours. In the side streets the air rang with a noise of scraping as men cleared the sidewalks. All other sounds were furred with quiet by the snow; the hoots of boats came muffled from the river, cars passed noiselessly, and people walked without a sound in the feathery dusk. Rushâs footsteps had a sound, though; his shoes were so wet that they squelched juicily with every step.
On East Thirty-seventh Street there was a commotion. A huge long-necked machine on wheels was sucking up the piled snow along the curb. It was accompanied by a dump truck. The machine would move its long neck, turn its head, and blow the snow it had consumed into the truck, then both would move slowly along again. Itâs just like an animal, thought Rush, looking at the machine. Like Fafner, he thought, and began to laugh. For a long time, maybe all his life, snow machines, and threshers, and derricks, and steam shovels were going to remind him of Fafner.
Rush watched the machine for a long while, forgetting all about the time. He had companions as fascinated as himself: a man with a burnt cigar that smelled, two little kids in snowsuits, a grocery boy with a cartful of packages that people were waiting for, and an old man with earmuffs. Dreamily they all progressed along the block following the
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