The real drama of Siegfried, considering it as a separate, self-contained opera, is now prepared for, and forthwith begins.  We know Siegfried and the task before him; we know Mime and his task—­to find out if Siegfried can be made to fear, and if he cannot, to encourage him to kill the dragon, win the gold, and then to poison him.  He tries Siegfried with stories of terror, asks him if he has never felt afraid of this, that and the other; and finding that this is the veritable Hero, makes his preparation.  Siegfried takes the splinters of the sword—­the splinters no smith can weld together—­files them to dust, melts the dust, re-casts the sword and finishes it.  Meantime Mime, working on, brews his poisonous broth, muttering to himself about his purpose.  At the end Siegfried tests the sword and proves it true by splitting the anvil.  All sorts of allegorical meanings may be found in this gigantic scene; but the plain meaning is that to a hero, unique, unparalleled in the history of the world, a patched-up weapon, used previously by lesser men, is useless:  his sword must be new, and only he himself can forge it.

III

Before dealing further with the drama of Siegfried I wish, for a reason, to say a few words about the music of this First Act.  From Tannhaeuser onward Wagner showed in the music of his operas a complete mastery of what can only be called the business-artistic side of his art, or perhaps a complete knowledge of effectiveness.  In so long an affair as an opera, and especially a Wagner opera, effectiveness depends largely on contrast, not simply between scene and scene of an act, but also in a more marked degree between act and act of an opera.  In the Dutchman there is none of this larger contrast, and could hardly be, for the Dutchman was originally planned as an opera in one act.  There is contrast enough, but he contrasts set-piece with set-piece, scene with scene, not act with act.  In Tannhaeuser he works on the bigger scale and contrasts act with act:  the opening of the Second reveals a totally different mood from that of the First, and the Third is entirely different from either.  This is true of the Valkyrie; but the Rhinegold, like the Dutchman, is all of a piece, and is, moreover, the prelude to a huge drama.  When we come to Siegfried we see at once how he was planning his music on a still vaster scale:  the atmosphere of Siegfried is in contrast, almost violent contrast, with that of the Valkyrie.  The music of the last act of the Valkyrie is of a different character altogether from that of the beginning of Siegfried.  This is not merely due to the development of Wagner’s genius and his technical power, but can be shown to be deliberately planned.  Indeed, it ought not to need any demonstration, knowing as we do know his knowledge and grip of what