t of
Siegfried. Of course, my dear, you know I am now writing about the
_third_ opera, "Siegfried." You must follow me closely, for it's very
easy to get confused about them. "Siegfried" is awfully long, too, and
the first act--well, I don't mind telling you I slept a good deal. You
see, the theatre gets so stuffy, and then one is digesting one's
luncheon, and the stage is so dark, and I maintain that the music
soothes you. I wore, of course, another dress, something quiet, as it
was rainy, but I saw no one who looked any better. Between the first
and second acts I managed to get a bow and a hand-shake from the
Prince, to the visible envy of Mrs. Gordon. I wish you could see the
dear beast. She flutters around the royalties every minute, like a
nervous bird, and as if they were her nest of eggs and a bad little boy
was in the neighborhood. I _hate_ snobs; don't you? I am lunching, by
the way, with Mrs. G. to-morrow. Quite a big, smart party of us, I
hear.

That funny dragon comes in "Siegfried," you know, and of course it is
much more amusing here than in Covent Garden or New York. But it's the
last act that I _love_! Such passionate music! Brunhilde falls madly in
love with Siegfried, who is, of course, ever so many years younger than
she. But it's just like us women, especially when we are Brunhilde's
age. For I suppose she's forty something, as she was grown up and went
to sleep before Siegfried was born, and when he kisses her he seems to
be quite a man! By the way, Brunhilde was put to sleep for interfering
somehow or other in the love affairs of Siegfried's mother and father,
who are really sister and brother. If you think of it, the story is
extremely indecent, but operatic things never seem to be shocking;
music, apparently, covers a multitude of naughtiness, like charity is
reported to do. Very likely that's why Mrs. ---- is always doing so
much for institutions and what not--for her sins, I suppose. I always
thought she was a naughty old hypocrite! By the way, there is a comic
character in "Siegfried," and in one of the others, I forget which,
called Mime--a funny little dwarf, the sort of thing they put in a
Christmas pantomime to amuse the children.

_Later._

I have just come from the "Goetterdaemmerung," the last opera, and I am
completely exhausted. I am as if I were in a dream, and can only think
and feel and write of this beautiful, beautiful music and scenery. I am
absolutely absorbed in it. Some