The New York Met’s current production of Wagner’s Siegfried has got me thinking: how would a blog post by the man himself turn out? Maybe something like this?
My crappy childhood
Hello everyone. My name is Siegfried. No last name. Just Siegfried.
Me with the dwarf. His cooking sucked.
I was raised in a lonely forest by an ugly old dwarf. He kept saying I should be grateful to him, but I could tell he wasn’t being level with me. Ha ha, that’s a joke! How could he be level with me, him being a dwarf and me a tall blond Aryan hero? Just a sample there of my excellent German sense of humor!
My parents were siblings. Isn’t that illegal? I’m pretty sure it’s illegal. Anyway, they’re dead now. And I only had one set of grandparents, so I guess that explains the lack of birthday presents.
The only good thing I got out of my childhood was my sword, Nothung. I’ve used it a few times now, but only when people were asking for it.
Justifiable homicide
I kill the dragon/giant.
For example, I killed a giant with Nothung, but the dwarf made me do it. And besides, the giant was disguised as a dragon, and I think if you go around dressed like a dragon you pretty much deserve what you get.
From the dragon I got a super cool ring and this gold mesh thing that I carry around with me. Who knows, it might come in handy some day.
After killing the dragon, I licked its blood off my sword, the way you do, and suddenly I could understand this bird that was singing to me. I can honestly say “a little bird told me” that the dwarf was planning to kill me. So it’s okay that I killed the dwarf, right? I mean, that was totally self-defense.
Meeting grandpa
Chief god? Yeah, right.
My grandma was some random chick that my grandpa shagged when he should’ve been home with his wife. Grandpa calls himself “chief of the gods,” by the way. Talk about being full of yourself!
He didn’t look like a god when I met him. He was wearing a hat and an eye-patch and calling himself The Wanderer, like in that old song by Dion and the Belmonts. And he didn’t say, “Hi, I’m your grandpa.” Instead he challenged me to a fight, which of course I won. I mean, I have a sword with a name and everything, and all he had was a feeble old spear.
Do you think there’s something Freudian about that? My sword is harder than your spear? I’m not that heavy into psychology, but a sword and a spear, they kind of rise up and ask you to pay attention.
My soul-mate
Brunnie. Hot hot hot!
Anyway, I asked the bird if it could find me a friend, or at least someone that wouldn’t try to kill me. Sure, Siegs, said the bird, follow me. And that’s how I met Brunnhilde. She is one hot chick. (Another joke! To get to her I had to walk up a mountain through actual fire!)
I kind of lost track of time for awhile, hanging with Brunnie, but then I got itchy feet. I mean, I’m a dude, right? And somehow I know, as if it’s written down somewhere, that I’m destined to be a great hero.
So I was like, “Sorry, babe, I’ve got to make tracks,” and Brunnie was like, “Okay.” She even gave me her armor, her shield, and her magic flying horse, leaving herself totally defenseless on the mountain. Did I luck out with her or what? And don’t get me wrong, I’ll be faithful. Like we said on the mountain, “Apart, who can divide us? Divided, we are one!” I even gave her my ring.
Like a true nature’s child
So then I stepped out on the highway, looking for adventure. Born to be wild! And now I’ve met this friendly and majorly rich family who’ve offered to share everything they have with me. And that sounds good, but have you ever had the feeling that you’re caught up in some kind of epic? Like someone else is pulling the strings and even the words you’re saying aren’t your own?
I could ask my new pals, the Gibichungs, but they’d probably just laugh and tell me I’m being paranoid. And maybe I am. Being raised by a dwarf who’s planning to kill you, it changes a guy.
Still, I can’t shake off this feeling that — oh wow, here comes Gutrune Gibichung with a drinking horn full of brew! I’ll catch you guys later.
Rhiannon here
If you’re wondering how it turned out for Siegfried: one of the big set pieces in the Ring cycle’s next and last opera, Götterdämmerung, is Siegfried’s Funeral March, so I don’t think he’ll be writing any more blog posts.
Check here for my take on another opera, Turandot.
All illustrations by Arthur Rackham; published before 1923 and in the public domain in the U.S. and other countries.
