re no match for the dwarfs, until they obtained
possession not only of the ring, but also of the great hoard
over which Fafnir now broods in the guise of a dragon.

Then Mime questions him concerning the gods, but only to be told
that Wotan, the most powerful of them all, holds an invincible
spear upon whose shaft are engraved powerful runes. In speaking
thus the disguised god strikes the ground with his spear,
and a long roll of thunder falls upon the terrified Mime's ear.

The three questions have been asked and successfully answered,
and it is now Mime's turn to submit to an interrogatory,
from which he evidently shrinks, but to which he must yield.
Wotan now proceeds to ask him which race, beloved by Wotan, is
yet visited by his wrath, which sword is the most invincible
of weapons, and who will weld its broken pieces together.
Mime triumphantly answers the first two questions by naming
the Volsung race and Siegmund's blade, Nothung; but as he has
failed to weld the sword anew, and has no idea who will be able
to achieve the feat, he is forced to acknowledge himself beaten
by the third.

Scorning to take any advantage of so puny a rival, Wotan refuses
to take the forfeited head, and departs, after telling the
Nibelung that the sword can only be restored to its pristine
glory by the hand of a man who knows no fear, and that the
same man will claim it as his lawful prize and dispose of
Mime's head:--

'Hark thou forfeited dwarf;
None but he
Who never feared,
Nothung forges anew.
Henceforth beware!
Thy wily head
Is forfeit to him
Whose heart is free from fear.'

When Siegfried returns and finds the fire low, the dwarf idle,
and the sword unfinished, he angrily demands an explanation. Mime
then reveals to him that none but a fearless man can ever
accomplish the task. As Siegfried does not even know the meaning
of the word, Mime graphically describes all the various phases
of terror to enlighten him.

Siegfried listens to his explanations, but when they have come to
an end and he has ascertained that such a feeling has never been
harboured in his breast, he springs up and seizes the pieces of
the broken sword. He files them to dust, melts the metal on the
fire, which he blows into an intense glow, and after moulding
tempers the sword. While hammering lustily Siegfried gaily sings
the Song of the Sword. The blade, when finished, flashes in his
hand like a streak of lightning, a