Siegfried. Alberich. Mime. Fafner. The Wanderer. Erda. Bruennhilde. ACT I In a cavernous rock in the forest, hammering upon an anvil, was a complaining Mime. As he hammered, the sparks flew from the sword which he was forging. "Alas!" he cried, muttering to himself, as he worked at his task; "Alas! Here I am, day after day, trying to forge a sword which Siegfried cannot break. I, who have made swords for giants, am yet unable to satisfy this stripling." At this the Mime flung the new-made sword upon the anvil with a crash, and stood gazing thoughtfully upon the ground. "There _is_ a sword to be forged which even that insolent boy cannot break; a sword which, if the race of Nibelungs could wield it would win them back the treasure and the ring. This sword must kill the dragon, Fafner, who guards that ring--the magic sword, Nothung! But my arm cannot forge it; there is no fire hot enough to fuse its metal! Alas! I shall always be a slave to this boy Siegfried; that is plain." While he lamented thus, Siegfried, himself, ran boisterously into the cavern, driving a great bear before him. The youth was dressed all in skins, wore a silver hunting-horn at his girdle, and he laughed as bruin chased the Mime into a corner. "Tear this tinkering smith to pieces," Siegfried shouted to the beast. "Make him forge a real sword fit for men, and not for babes." The Mime ran about, shrieking with fear. "There is thy sword, Siegfried," he shouted, pointing to the sword which he had thrown on the anvil. "Good! Then for to-day thou shalt go free--the bear can eat thee another day?" he cried, mockingly; and giving the bear a blow with the rope which held him, the beast trotted back into the forest. "Now to test thy great day's work! Where is this fine sword? I warrant it will be like all the others; fit only for a child's toy." The Mime handed him the sword saying: "It has a fine, sharp edge"; thus trying to soothe the youth. "What matters its edge if it be not hard and true?" he shouted irritably, and snatching the sword from the Mime's hand he struck it upon the anvil and it flew in pieces. Siegfried flew into a great rage, and while he foamed about the smithy, the Mime got himself behind the anvil, to keep himself out of the angry fellow's way. When Siegfried's anger had spent itself, the Mime came from the corner and said solicitously: "Thou must be hungry, my son." "Don't call me thy 'son,' thou little black fool," the boy again shouted. "What have I to do with a misshapen thing like thee, whose heart is as wicked as its body is ugly? When I want food, I'll cook it." The Mime held out a bowl of soup to him, but Siegfried dashed it to the ground. "Did I not rescue thee from the forest when thou wert born, and have I not fed and clothed thee?" he whimpered.