WOISTDEINSCHWERT？"
　　Harsanyismiled，buthedidnotlookforthagainuntilSIEGLINDEreappeared。ShewentthroughthestoryofhershamefulbridalfeastandintotheWalhall’music，which
　　shealwayssangsonobly，andtheentranceoftheone—
　　eyedstranger：——
　　"MIRALLEIN
　　WECKTEDASAUGE。"
　　Mrs。Harsanyiglancedatherhusband，wonderingwhetherthesingeronthestagecouldnotfeelhiscommandingglance。OncametheCRESCENDO：——
　　"WASJEICHVERLOR，WASJEICHBEWEINT
　　WAR’MIRGEWONNEN。"
　　（AllthatIhavelost，AllthatIhavemourned，WouldIthenhavewon。）
　　Harsanyitouchedhiswife’sarmsoftly。
　　Seatedinthemoonlight，theVOLSUNGpairbegantheirlovinginspectionofeachother’sbeauties，andthemusicbornofmurmuringsoundpassedintoherface，astheoldpoetsaid，——andintoherbodyaswell。Intoonelovelyattitudeafteranotherthemusicswepther，loveimpelledher。Andthevoicegaveoutallthatwasbestinit。Likethespring，indeed，itblossomedintomemoriesandprophe—
　　cies，itrecountedanditforetold，asshesangthestoryofherfriendlesslife，andofhowthethingwhichwastrulyherself，"brightastheday，rosetothesurface"wheninthehostileworldsheforthefirsttimebeheldherFriend。
　　Ferventlysheroseintothehardierfeelingofactionanddaring，theprideinhero—strengthandhero—blood，untilinasplendidburst，tallandshininglikeaVictory，shechris—
　　tenedhim：——
　　"SIEGMUND——
　　SONENNICHDICH！"
　　Herimpatiencefortheswordswelledwithherantici—
　　pationofhisact，andthrowingherarmsaboveherhead，shefairlytoreaswordoutoftheemptyairforhim，beforeNOTHUNGhadleftthetree。INHOCHSTERTRUNKENHEIT，in—
　　deed，sheburstoutwiththeflamingcryoftheirkinship：
　　"IfyouareSIEGMUND，IamSIEGLINDE！"Laughing，sing—
　　ing，bounding，exulting，——withtheirpassionandtheirsword，——theVOLSUNGSranoutintothespringnight。
　　Asthecurtainfell，Harsanyiturnedtohiswife。"Atlast，"hesighed，"somebodywithENOUGH！Enoughvoiceandtalentandbeauty，enoughphysicalpower。Andsuchanoble，noblestyle！"
　　"Icanscarcelybelieveit，Andor。Icanseehernow，thatclumsygirl，hunchedupoveryourpiano。Icanseehershoul—
　　ders。Shealwaysseemedtolaborsowithherback。AndI
　　shallneverforgetthatnightwhenyoufoundhervoice。"
　　Theaudiencekeptupitsclamoruntil，aftermanyre—
　　appearanceswiththetenor，Kronborgcamebeforethecur—
　　tainalone。Thehousemetherwitharoar，agreetingthatwasalmostsavageinitsfierceness。Thesinger’seyes，sweepingthehouse，restedforamomentonHarsanyi，andshewavedherlongsleevetowardhisbox。
　　"SheOUGHTtobepleasedthatyouarehere，"saidMrs。
　　Harsanyi。"Iwonderifsheknowshowmuchsheowestoyou。"
　　"Sheowesmenothing，"repliedherhusbandquickly。
　　"Shepaidherway。Shealwaysgavesomethingback，eventhen。"
　　"Irememberyousaidoncethatshewoulddonothingcommon，"saidMrs。Harsanyithoughtfully。
　　"Justso。Shemightfail，die，getlostinthepack。Butifsheachieved，itwouldbenothingcommon。Therearepeoplewhomonecantrustforthat。Thereisonewayinwhichtheywillneverfail。"Harsanyiretiredintohisownreflections。
　　AfterthesecondactFredOttenburgbroughtArchietotheHarsanyis’boxandintroducedhimasanoldfriendofMissKronborg。Theheadofamusicalpublishinghousejoinedthem，bringingwithhimajournalistandthepresi—
　　dentofaGermansingingsociety。Theconversationwas
　　chieflyaboutthenewSIEGLINDE。Mrs。Harsanyiwasgra—
　　ciousandenthusiastic，herhusbandnervousanduncom—
　　municative。Hesmiledmechanically，andpolitelyan—
　　sweredquestionsaddressedtohim。"Yes，quiteso。""Oh，certainly。"Everyone，ofcourse，saidveryusualthingswithgreatconviction。Mrs。Harsanyiwasusedtohearingandutteringthecommonplaceswhichsuchoccasionsde—
　　manded。Whenherhusbandwithdrewintotheshadow，shecoveredhisretreatbyhersympathyandcordiality。
　　InreplytoadirectquestionfromOttenburg，Harsanyisaid，flinching，"ISOLDE？Yes，whynot？Shewillsingallthegreatroles，Ishouldthink。"
　　Thechorusdirectorsaidsomethingabout"dramatictemperament。"Thejournalistinsistedthatitwas"ex—
　　plosiveforce，""projectingpower。"
　　OttenburgturnedtoHarsanyi。"Whatisit，Mr。Har—
　　sanyi？MissKronborgsaysifthereisanythinginher，youarethemanwhocansaywhatitis。"
　　Thejournalistscentedcopyandwaseager。"Yes，Har—
　　sanyi。Youknowallabouther。What’shersecret？"
　　Harsanyirumpledhishairirritablyandshruggedhisshoulders。"Hersecret？Itiseveryartist’ssecret，"——hewavedhishand，——"passion。Thatisall。Itisanopensecret，andperfectlysafe。Likeheroism，itisinimitableincheapmaterials。"
　　Thelightswentout。FredandArchielefttheboxasthesecondactcameon。
　　Artisticgrowthis，morethanitisanythingelse，arefiningofthesenseoftruthfulness。Thestupidbelievethattobetruthfuliseasy；onlytheartist，thegreatartist，knowshowdifficultitis。ThatafternoonnothingnewcametoTheaKronborg，noenlightenment，noinspiration。Shemerelycameintofullpossessionofthingsshehadbeenrefiningandperfectingforsolong。Herinhibitionschancedtobefewerthanusual，and，withinherself，sheenteredintotheinheritancethatsheherselfhadlaidup，intothe
　　fullnessofthefaithshehadkeptbeforesheknewitsnameoritsmeaning。
　　Oftenwhenshesang，thebestshehadwasunavailable；
　　shecouldnotbreakthroughtoit，andeverysortofdis—
　　tractionandmischancecamebetweenitandher。Butthisafternoontheclosedroadsopened，thegatesdropped。
　　Whatshehadsooftentriedtoreach，layunderherhand。
　　Shehadonlytotouchanideatomakeitlive。
　　Whileshewasonthestageshewasconsciousthateverymovementwastherightmovement，thatherbodywasabsolutelytheinstrumentofheridea。Notfornothinghadshekeptitsoseverely，keptitfilledwithsuchenergyandfire。Allthatdeep—rootedvitalityfloweredinhervoice，herface，inherveryfinger—tips。Shefeltlikeatreeburstingintobloom。Andhervoicewasasflexibleasherbody；equaltoanydemand，capableofeveryNUANCE。
　　Withthesenseofitsperfectcompanionship，itsentiretrustworthiness，shehadbeenabletothrowherselfintothedramaticexigenciesofthepart，everythinginheratitsbestandeverythingworkingtogether。
　　Thethirdactcameon，andtheafternoonslippedby。
　　TheaKronborg’sfriends，oldandnew，seatedaboutthehouseondifferentfloorsandlevels，enjoyedhertriumphaccordingtotheirnatures。Therewasonethere，whomnobodyknew，whoperhapsgotgreaterpleasureoutofthatafternoonthanHarsanyihimself。Upinthetopgal—
　　leryagray—hairedlittleMexican，witheredandbrightasastringofpeppersbesidea’dobedoor，keptprayingandcursingunderhisbreath，beatingonthebrassrailingandshouting"Bravo！Bravo！"untilhewasrepressedbyhisneighbors。
　　HehappenedtobetherebecauseaMexicanbandwastobeafeatureofBarnumandBailey’scircusthatyear。
　　OneofthemanagersoftheshowhadtraveledabouttheSouthwest，signingupalotofMexicanmusiciansatlowwages，andhadbroughtthemtoNewYork。Amongthem
　　wasSpanishJohnny。AfterMrs。Tellamantezdied，Johnnyabandonedhistradeandwentoutwithhismandolintopickupalivingforone。Hisirregularitieshadbecomehisregularmodeoflife。
　　WhenTheaKronborgcameoutofthestageentranceonFortiethStreet，theskywasstillflamingwiththelastraysofthesunthatwassinkingoffbehindtheNorthRiver。Alittlecrowdofpeoplewaslingeringaboutthedoor——musiciansfromtheorchestrawhowerewaitingfortheircomrades，curiousyoungmen，andsomepoorlydressedgirlswhowerehopingtogetaglimpseofthesinger。Shebowedgraciouslytothegroup，throughherveil，butshedidnotlooktotherightorleftasshecrossedthesidewalktohercab。Hadsheliftedhereyesaninstantandglancedoutthroughherwhitescarf，shemusthaveseentheonlymaninthecrowdwhohadremovedhishatwhensheemerged，andwhostoodwithitcrushedupinhishand。Andshewouldhaveknownhim，changedashewas。Hislustrousblackhairwasfullofgray，andhisfacewasagooddealwornbytheEXTASI，sothatitseemedtohaveshrunkawayfromhisshiningeyesandteethandleftthemtooprominent。Butshewouldhaveknownhim。
　　Shepassedsonearthathecouldhavetouchedher，andhedidnotputonhishatuntilhertaxihadsnortedaway。
　　ThenhewalkeddownBroadwaywithhishandsinhisovercoatpockets，wearingasmilewhichembracedallthestreamoflifethatpassedhimandthelightedtowersthatroseintothelimpidblueoftheeveningsky。Ifthesinger，goinghomeexhaustedinhercab，waswonderingwhatwasthegoodofitall，thatsmile，couldshehaveseenit，wouldhaveansweredher。Itistheonlycommensurateanswer。
　　HerewemustleaveTheaKronborg。Fromthistimeonthestoryofherlifeisthestoryofherachievement。
　　Thegrowthofanartistisanintellectualandspiritual
　　developmentwhichcanscarcelybefollowedinapersonalnarrative。Thisstoryattemptstodealonlywiththesim—
　　pleandconcretebeginningswhichcolorandaccentanartist’swork，andtogivesomeaccountofhowaMoon—
　　stonegirlfoundherwayoutofavague，easy—goingworldintoalifeofdisciplinedendeavor。Anyaccountoftheloyaltyofyoungheartstosomeexaltedideal，andthepassionwithwhichtheystrive，willalways，insomeofus，rekindlegenerousemotions。
　　EndofPartVI