little bird there,
hark, what is he saying to me?" From the tree-top come clear words
on a bird's warble: "Hei, to Siegfried belongs now the Nibelung's
treasure! Oh, might he find the Hort in the cave! If he should
win the Tarnhelm it would serve him for delightful adventures;
but if he should find the Ring it would make him sovereign of the
world!" Siegfried has listened with bated breath. "Thanks, dear
little bird, for your advice. Gladly will I do as you bid!" He
enters the cave. As he disappears, Mime crawls near to convince
himself ocularly of Fafner's death. At the same moment, Alberich
slips from his hiding-place and throws himself across Mime's path,
to bar his way to the treasure. A bitter quarrel at once springs
up between the brothers; Alberich claims the treasure because it
is rightly his, Mime because he reared the youth who has recovered
it from the dragon. Mime, whom Alberich's violence cows still as
in the old days, offers to share, if he may have the Tarnhelm--a
sly proposition,--he will renounce the Ring; but this Alberich
hears with furious scorn, and the wrangle is at its height when
Siegfried reappears at the cave's mouth. In his hands are Tarnhelm
and Ring. Returning into sight after the angry cat-fight between
the ill-conditioned pair, he appears more than ever large, serene,
fair, noble. Mime and Alberich betake themselves quickly back to
their lurking-places. Siegfried stands considering his odd-looking
acquisitions: "Of what use you may be to me I know not; but I took
you from the heaped gold of the treasure because a good adviser
bade me. As ornaments you shall serve, bearing witness to this
day; these baubles shall remind me that in combat I slew Fafner,
but failed still to learn fear!" He places the ring on his finger
and the Tarnhelm at his belt. In the silence that falls, he listens
again for the voice of the bird. It suddenly drops from the tree-top:
"Hei! Siegfried possesses the Tarnhelm and Ring! Oh, let him not
trust Mime the false! If Siegfried should listen closely to the
wretch's hypocritical words, he would penetrate the true meaning of
Mime's heart; such is the virtue of the taste of dragon's blood!"
No sooner has Siegfried heard, than he sees Mime approaching. He
waits for him, leaning on his sword, quietly watchful. The little
man contorts body and face into postures and expressions as humbly
flattering and cajoling as he can; at every few steps he scrapes
and curtseys. "Welco