This, the tragedy of Siegmund and Sieglinda and the punishment of Brunnhilda, is the first of the subsidiary dramas; the second, the finding of Brunnhilda by Siegfried, must now be considered.  We hear the clinking of Mime’s hammer, and the curtain rises on his home in a cave.  All is dark within save for the smouldering smithy fire; but facing it is the hole in the rock which is the entrance, and through it we see the green summer forest.  Mime is a malignant dwarf, in whose care Sieglinda, dying in childbirth, has left Siegfried.  Years have passed, springs and summers and winters have come and gone; but Nature goes on in her imperturbable way, and Brunnhilda still lies wrapt in slumber on the mountain heights, the subject of awe-struck whispers amongst passing tribes.  Mime tries in vain to piece the sherds of the sword together; Siegfried always smashes the new-made weapon at a single blow.  The Wanderer, in his blue cloak, enters:  it is Wotan, the heart-broken god, going wearily about the world awaiting what may happen.  Again we hear the whole history of the Ring, but this time it is wrought into, and becomes an essential part of, the drama.  Mime wagers his head that he will answer three questions put to him by the Wanderer, and having triumphed twice, is posed by the third:  “Who will make a useful sword of these bits?” The Wanderer laughs at him, tells him it will be he who knows not fear; and he leaves Mime’s head to this hero.  He goes off, while fantastic lights dance without through the forest, until Mime is in an agony of fear.  But on this scene depends the whole subsequent action.  Mime tries to frighten Siegfried, and finds it impossible.  He wants the Nibelung’s ring to rule the world:  Siegfried is the only man to get it; and after he has got it, Mime will avert the Wanderer’s prophesied disaster by poisoning him.  He tells the history of Sieglinda also, and Siegfried knows he is the hero.  He will have no patching of the sword:  that sword was Wotan’s and subject to his will; he grinds it to powder, and makes one of his own, with which he will face either man or god.  In the making of it he sings the glorious Sword-song; and when it is made he tests it by splitting the anvil with it.  Here the first act ends.  There are two Siegfried themes to notice; the first, the Hero, has been heard before: 

[Illustration:  Some bars of music]

In case I have too much insisted on the storm, passion, and fire in The Valkyrie, it may be pointed out that these play little part in Siegfried.  Here we have first the calm summer morning, and if the scene with the Wanderer is filled with that sense of the remote past, and the Wanderer’s exit uncanny, spectral—­a very nightmare—­much of the other music, such as the bit where Siegfried describes himself looking into the brook, and all the tale of Sieglinda, is tender and delicate; the fresh morning wind blows continuously.  The same is true of the second act.  After the beginning