Mime then conducts the young hero to the wildest part of the forest, before the cave where the giant Fafner, in the form of a dragon, guards the gold wrested from the Nibelung. Sigfrid, laughing all the while at his hideous aspect, fights with and kills the monster. He disdains the treasure, taking only the ring, of whose power he is ignorant, and a magic helmet which permits the wearer to assume any form. The young man, as if weary, throws himself at the foot of a tree all bathed in sunlight; he listens dreamily to the thousand rustlings of the forest. An unknown desire stirs his heart. While the birds fly in couples he is alone. He thinks of his mother, of this mysterious being, man's companion, whom he has never seen, and of whom he knows nothing. The song of a bird flying over his head finally captivates his attention. He listens; he seems to comprehend the meaning of this song. The bird speaks to him. May it not be his mother's soul? "Ah, Sigfrid," it says, "now thou possesses! the treasure, thou should'st conquer the most beautiful of women. She sleeps upon a high rock, surrounded by flames; but shouldst thou dare to pass through the furnace, the war-like virgin would be thine." And Sigfrid, filled with enthusiasm, follows the bird, which takes its flight as if to guide him toward the lovely bride. In the third act we see Wotan again. Leaning over the brink of a gulf, in gloomy anguish, he invokes Erda, the lurid goddess who sees the world's destinies; he will question her once again in regard to this fall of the gods, which she has announced to him. At this sovereign voice the sleeper rouses herself; with half-closed eyes she slowly rises from the abyss, wrapped in her dull veils, and covered with dew. But she has no further information to give to Wotan. The end is inevitable. As if submerged by their own creation the gods will become effaced before men. "So be it," cries Wotan, wearied perhaps of his divinity; "it is to this end that I aspire." However, when Sigfrid, leaping from rock to rock, his eyes fixed upon his winged guide, passes near Wotan, this latter tries to bar his way; but the free and fearless hero breaks the god's lance with a single blow of the sword which, without assistance, he has forged for himself. Then he rushes joyously to the assault of the burning rampart, passes fearlessly through the furnace, beholds at last the sleeping warrior in her silver cuirass; and, all quivering with love, awakens her with a kiss. THIRD DAY: GLOOM OF THE GODS.