As for Siegfried, the only thing he wondered at was that he ever went back to the cave at all. Why did he not roam away forever into the forest, search out that far, strange place called the world, that really seemed as if it must be a different universe from the one in which he lived? He could not tell. He only knew that a strange, irresistible something seemed to draw him back to Mime’s side every night—a something he could not explain or even understand. Meanwhile time passed. [Music: Motif of Forest Life, sometimes called Motif of Love Life] [Music: Motif of the Forging of Nothung “Nothung! Nothung! Notable Sword!”] CHAPTER I SIEGFRIED AND MIME The cave was a dark one, but it was not altogether a bad place in which to live. It was as lofty as a stately cathedral, and the Dwarf’s forge, built on one side, lent a fitful red light and a little warmth to the dim, cold atmosphere. Skins of animals gave it a semblance of comfort; and, indeed, to a wild creature like Siegfried, it would have been a most desirable home had it not been for the continual presence of Mime. On the day on which I will open my story, Mime was sitting on a low stool trying to fashion a sword which would not break in the hands of the impetuous young Volsung, who, at that particular moment, was, as usual, out in the woods with his friends, the wild beasts. As he hammered, Mime grumbled crossly because he had to work forever with swords that seemed of no use to the crazy boy, who insisted on smashing them all, and racing off to the woods, merely demanding as he went a better and a stronger weapon. “There is a blade that he could not break,” muttered the Nibelung, as he worked. “Nothung he would find firm in his hands, but I cannot weld the splinters. Ah! if I could, I should be well repaid.” He paused, and then went on, mysteriously murmuring to himself: “Fafner, the great, wicked worm! Well guards he the Rhinegold. Only Siegfried can overthrow him. This can only be done by Nothung, I feel sure. And, alas! I cannot shape Nothung, the sword.” He began to hammer once more, grumbling continually because Siegfried insisted that he should make swords, and snarling with rage because every weapon he forged fell to pieces in the boy’s strong hands. Suddenly, from without, came a clear, merry voice, shouting a blithe “Hoyho!” and the next moment in came Siegfried himself, leading a great bear, which he had harnessed with a bit of rope. “Ask the foolish smith if he has finished the sword, Bruin!” he cried to the bear, and, holding back the great creature firmly, he pretended to chase Mime, who, springing behind the anvil, cried, savagely: “Take him away! I don’t want the bear! I have done my best with your sword.” “Good!” laughed the boy. “Good-bye, Bruin; run away,” and he freed the great creature, sending him lumbering off into the woods again.