people took the train for Nuremberg
right after the performance. I am sure I never could have. I really
can't believe they _felt_ the thing. Our train goes at 1:45. Such a
nice hour; one doesn't have to hurry in the morning, and can have one's
hair done properly. I have a charming new way of doing the hair. I got
it from a Frenchwoman who sat just in front of me in the theatre
to-day, and when it was light enough I studied the arrangement till I
got it by heart. You want something like that to do during the long
duets. Otherwise your attention is apt to wander from the opera, or you
get sleepy. To go back to the opera, it began with the same scene that
Siegfried finished with, which was rather disappointing, but a real
horse came on and behaved as quiet as a lamb, with Brunhilde screaming
like mad all about him. I suppose they put cotton in his ears, or
something. The scene changed (without letting us go out for a rest,
which I thought something of a sell) to the house, where Siegfried
falls in love with another woman (Oh, these men!) I forgot to tell you,
my mind is so full of the music, that I wore my new Russell & Allen
winter frock, and I caught lots of people taking it in. But, dear me,
how badly the German women dress! I haven't seen a single _chic_ one
among them since I've been here, I don't believe I shall come to
Bayreuth again. Besides, the music is too wearing. The Rhine maidens
come back in this act! It is most wonderful the way they swim about!
But, as far as I can gather, they are rather nasty cats. One thing I
will say, though: I think Wagner's on the side of the women; for, in
spite of Brunhilde's being in love with little more than a boy, she has
all your sympathies. So has Siegfried, too; which is odd. I really
sobbed when he died, he was so good-looking, and seemed so sad. This
whole opera is very depressing. We reach Munich to-morrow night at 7;
and I propose going to the Residenz Theatre there, and seeing a light
opera just for contrast. But how bad the shops are at Munich. I believe
there are some good pictures, but I think one sees so many pictures in
Europe; don't you?

I presume you know Brunhilde behaves rather like Dido in the end:
nearly everybody, more or less, is murdered off, and there is a sort of
Madame Tussaud exhibition in the clouds at the curtain. Of course, I
haven't really given you any sort of an idea about it at all. There are
no words that will adequately describe it, only I p