storms in, driving before him a tethered
bear, a magnificent youth, clad in skins, a silver horn at his side.
The splendour of Siegfried's appearance is constantly referred
to, the qualifications applied to him suggesting most frequently
an effect he shed of light. This child of the unhappy Waelsungen
seems to have been indelibly stamped with the joy of their one
golden hour. Of Siegmund's tragic consciousness of frustration,
of Sieglinde's sufferings, there is no trace in their vigorous
offspring; but the superabundant vitality of joy which lifted them
to the lovers' seventh heaven for one triumphant hour is all in his
young blood. He is big, strong, sane, comely, fearless, simple,
ignorant of all mean passions and interests; pensive for moments,
gay for hours-nearly boisterous; frank and outspoken to the point
of brutality; unmannerly at times to the point of ruffianism; but
the dice are loaded to secure our cherishing him right through his
bright course, by that irresistible, ingrain joyousness of his,
born of strength, balance, fearlessness.

Laughing immoderately, he urges the bear against Mime, who flees
hither and thither to elude the fearful pair. "I am come in double
force, the better to corner you.... Brownie, ask for the sword!"
When assured by the trembling Mime that the sword is in readiness,
he releases and sends home his shaggy ally. But when Mime hands him
the newly finished sword, and he strikes it on the anvil, it flies
to bits. The angry boy expresses his wish that he had smashed the
sword on the disgraceful bungler's skull. "Shall such a braggart go
on bragging? He prates me of giants and lusty fighting; of gallant
deeds and solid armour; he will forge weapons for me, provide me with
swords; he vaunts his art as if he could do something of account;
but let me take hold of the thing he has hammered, with a single
grip I crush flat the idle rubbish! If the creature were not so
utterly mean, I would drop him into the forge-fire with all the
stuff of his forging, the old imbecile hobgoblin! There might be
an end then to vexation!" He casts himself fuming on a stone seat
and turns his face toward the wall. The dwarf, who has kept his
distance from the storming youth, tries to quiet him, reminds him
of his benefits, of his teachings on the subject of gratitude.
Ingratiatingly he brings him food. Siegfried without turning dashes
spit and pipkin from his hands. The little man affects a deeply
hurt sensibi