"Aye--and stake my head upon the truth of the answers." "Then tell me what race it is that dwells in the depths of the earth." "It is the Nibelung race, and Nibelheim is their land. There, all are black elves, and once upon a time, Alberich was their lord. He tamed them with the spell of a magic ring formed of the Rheingold. Ask on." "What is the race which dwells upon the surface of the earth?" The Mime asked, less timidly. "It is the race of Giants. Riesenheim is their land and Fasolt and Fafner were their rulers, but, possessing themselves of the Nibelung's gold, they fought, and one killed the other; till now, Fafner alone, in the form of a dragon, guards the hoard and ring. Speak on." "Thou hast told me much," the Mime said, wondering. "But now canst thou tell me who are they who dwell upon cloud-hidden heights?" "They are the Eternals, and Walhall is their home. Wotan commands that world. He shaped his spear from the branches of an ash tree, and with that spear he rules the Gods. Whoever wields that spear rules all the giants and the Nibelungs." As if by accident, Wotan--the Wanderer--struck the spear he carried upon the ground and a low roll of thunder responded. The Mime was terror-stricken. "Well, Mime, is my head which I pledged to thee, free?" "Aye, go." "If thou hadst welcomed me, I could have solved thy problems for thee, but I had to pledge my head to thee before I could rest here. So now, by the law of wager, this matter is now reversed. It is for thee to answer me three questions--or lose thy head. Tell me, then: What race does Wotan the War-god favour?" "Ah, I can answer that: it is the Waelsungs--a race sprung from wolves. The Waelsungs' mightiest son is his care. His name is Siegfried." "Now tell me the name of the sword with which this same Siegfried is bound to conquer the world, to kill the dragon Fafner, and to get the Rheingold and the ring?" "The name of the sword is Nothung," the dwarf replied, not daring to keep silence. "Now one more answer, as wise as those gone before, and thy head is free: Who shall fashion this same sword, Nothung, for Siegfried?" At this question the Mime leaped up and flung his tools all about in rage. "I know not who has the power to make the sword," he screamed. "I will tell thee," the Wanderer answered, smiling contemptuously upon the Mime. "The sword shall be forged by one who has never known fear. Now thy head is forfeit, but I shall leave it on thy shoulders for that same man--he who knows no fear--to strike from thee." Still smiling at the terror-stricken Mime, the Wanderer passed out into the forest. He had no sooner gone, than the Mime began to think upon the last words he had spoken. He was to lose his head by the stroke of one who had never known fear. The only one the Mime knew who was fearless was Siegfried. Then unless Siegfried could be made afraid, he would one day strike off the Mime's head. _Scene III_