Act III. Again the nymphs in the Rhine relate what has happened.

Siegfried, who has lost his way, appears. The nymphs ask him for the ring, but he won't give it up. Hunters appear. Siegfried tells the story of his life. Hagen then gives him a draught, which causes his memory to return to him. Siegfried relates how he aroused and obtained Brünnhilda, and every one is astonished. Hagen stabs him in the back, and the scene is changed. Gutrune meets the corpse of Siegfried. Gunther and Hagen quarrel about the ring, and Hagen kills Gunther. Brünnhilda cries. Hagen wishes to take the ring from Siegfried's hand, but the hand of the corpse raises itself threateningly. Brünnhilda takes the ring from Siegfried's hand, and when Siegfried's corpse is carried to the pyre, she gets on to a horse and leaps into the fire. The Rhine rises, and the waves reach the pyre. In the river are three nymphs. Hagen throws himself into the fire to get the ring, but the nymphs seize him and carry him off. One of them holds the ring; and that is the end of the matter.

The impression obtainable from my recapitulation is, of course, incomplete. But however incomplete it may be, it is certainly infinitely more favorable than the impression which results from reading the four booklets in which the work is printed.

APPENDIX IV

Translations of French poems and prose quoted in Chapter X.

BAUDELAIRE'S "FLOWERS OF EVIL"

No. XXIV

I adore thee as much as the vaults of night, O vase full of grief, taciturnity great, And I love thee the more because of thy flight. It seemeth, my night's beautifier, that you Still heap up those leagues--yes! ironically heap! That divide from my arms the immensity blue.

I advance to attack, I climb to assault, Like a choir of young worms at a corpse in the vault; Thy coldness, oh cruel, implacable beast! Yet heightens thy beauty, on which my eyes feast!

BAUDELAIRE'S "FLOWERS OF EVIL"

No. XXXVI

DUELLUM

Two warriors come running, to fight they begin, With gleaming and blood they bespatter the air; These games, and this clatter of arms, is the din Of youth that's a prey to the surgings of love.

The rapiers are broken! and so is our youth, But the dagger's avenged, dear! and so is the sword, By the nail that is steeled and the hardened tooth. Oh, the fury of hearts aged and ulcered by love!

In the ditch, where the ounce and the pard have their lair, Our heroes have rolled in an angry embrace; Their skin blooms on brambles that erewhile were bare.

That ravine is a friend-inhabited hell! Then let us roll in, oh woman inhuman, To immortalize hatred that nothing can quell!

FROM BAUDELAIRE'S PROSE WORK ENTITLED "LITTLE POEMS"

THE STRANGER

Whom dost thou love best? say, enigmatical man--thy father, thy mother, thy brother, or thy sister?

"I have neither father, nor mother, nor sister, nor brother."

Thy friends?

"You there use an expression the meaning of which till now remains unknown to me."

Thy country?

"I ignore in what latitude it is situated."

Beauty?

"I would gladly love her, goddess and immortal."

Gold?

"I hate it as you hate God."

Then what do you love, extraordinary stranger?

"I love the clouds ... the clouds that pass ... there ... the marvelous clouds!"

BAUDELAIRE'S PROSE POEM

THE SOUP AND THE CLOUDS

My beloved little silly was giving me my dinner, and I was contemplating, through the open window of the dining-room, those moving architectures which God makes out of vapors, the marvelous constructions of the impalpable. And I said to myself, amid my contemplations, "All these phantasmagoria are almost as beautiful as the eyes of my beautiful beloved, the monstrous little silly with the green eyes."

Suddenly I felt the violent blow of a fist on my back, and I heard a harsh, charming voice, an hysterical voice, as it were hoarse with brandy, the voice of my dear little well-beloved, saying, "Are you going to eat your soup soon, you d---- b---- of a dealer in clouds?"

BAUDELAIRE'S PROSE POEM

THE GALLANT MARKSMAN

As the carriage was passing through the forest, he ordered it to be stopped near a shooting-gallery, saying that he wished to shoot off a few bullets to _kill_ Time. To kill this monster, is it not the most ordinary and the most legitimate occupation of every one? And he gallantly offered his arm to his dear, delicious, and execrable wife--that mysterious woman to whom he owed so much pleasure, so much pain, and perhaps also a large part of his genius.

Several bullets struck far from the intended mark--one even penetrated the ceiling; and as the charming creature laughed madly, mocking her husband's awkwardness, he turned abruptly toward her and said, "Look at that doll there on the right with the haughty mien and her nose in the air; well, dear angel, _I imagine to myself that it is you!_" And he closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The doll was neatly decapitated.

Then, bowing toward his dear one, his delightful, execrable wife, his inevitable pitiless muse, and kissing her hand respectfully, he added, "Ah! my dear angel, how I thank you for my skill!"

VERLAINE'S "FORGOTTEN AIRS"

No. I

"The wind in the plain Suspends its breath."--FAVART.

'Tis ecstasy languishing, Amorous fatigue, Of woods all the shudderings Embraced by the breeze, 'Tis the choir of small voices Toward the gray trees.

Oh, the frail and fresh murmuring! The twitter and buzz, The soft cry resembling That's expired by the grass.... Oh, the roll of the pebbles 'Neath waters that pass!

Oh, this soul that is groaning In sleepy complaint! In us is it moaning? In me and in you? Low anthem exhaling While soft falls the dew.

VERLAINE'S "FORGOTTEN AIRS"

No. VIII

In the unending Dullness of this land, Uncertain the snow Is gleaming like sand.

No kind of brightness In copper-hued sky, The moon you might see Now live and now die.

Gray float the oak trees-- Cloudlike they seem-- Of neighboring forests, The mists in between.

Wolves hungry and lean, And famishing crow, What happens to you When acid winds blow?

In the unending Dullness of this land, Uncertain the snow Is gleaming like sand.

SONG BY MAETERLINCK

When he went away, (Then I heard the door) When he went away, On her lips a smile there lay....

Back he came to her, (Then I heard the lamp) Back he came to her, Someone else was there....

It was death I met, (And I heard her soul) It was death I met, For her he's waiting yet....

Someone came to say, (Child, I am afraid) Someone came to say That he would go away....

With my lamp alight, (Child, I am afraid) With my lamp alight, Approached I in affright....

To one door I came, (Child, I am afraid) To one door I came, A shudder shook the flame....

At the second door, (Child, I am afraid) At the second door Forth words of flame did pour....

To the third I came, (Child, I am afraid) To the third I came, Then died the little flame....

Should he one day return Then what shall we say? Waiting, tell him, one And dying for him lay....

If he asks for you, Say what answer then? Give him my gold ring And answer not a thing....

Should he question me Concerning the last hour? Say I smiled for fear That he should shed a tear....

Should he question more Without knowing me? Like a sister speak; Suffering he may be....

Should he question why Empty is the hall? Show the gaping door, The lamp alight no more....

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained except in obvious cases of typographical error.

Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the original text.

Page 5: The transcriber has completed the word "meeting". "In 1838, on the occasion of a meet- of the Society for the Promotion of Peace" ...

Page 372: Footnote 86, Knight, pp. 139-141. The number the transcriber has rendered as 139 is unclear.