Vulcan, the Roman god of fire, the Hephæstus of Grecian mythology, was
also the patron of blacksmiths and workers in metals. He was the great
artisan of the universe, and at his workshop in Olympus he fashioned
armor for the warriors of the heroic age. On earth volcanoes were his
forges, and his favorite residence was the island of Lemnos in the Ægean
Sea. Beneath Ætna, with the aid of those famed artisans, the Cyclops, he
forged the thunderbolts of Jove; and there also, according to tradition,
were made the trident of Neptune, Pluto’s helmet, and the shield of
Hercules. Hephæstus was thus a controller and master of fire.
The Cyclops were believed by the ancients to have invented the art
of forging; and the discovery of the peculiar qualities of iron was
attributed to certain mythical beings called the Dactyls, who dwelt
in Phrygia, and who were thought to have acquired this knowledge from
observation of the fusion of metals at the fabulous burning of Mount
Ida. The Dactyls had the reputation of being wizards, whose very names
possessed a mysterious protective power when pronounced by persons
exposed to sudden dangers.
Certain semi-fabulous tribes of central Asia, workers in metals, kept
secret the mysteries of their craft, and were wont to indulge in wild
orgies and festivities, which served to inspire with awe the uninitiated.
At such times they danced until frenzied with excitement, to the
accompaniment of cymbals and tambourines and the clashing of weapons. The
people of neighboring tribes feared to approach them, believing that
they were possessed of a magical power which enabled them to transform
one metal into another and to forge thunderbolts. They were reputed to
be masters of fire and of the elements, and their forges, like Vulcan’s,
were volcanoes.[96]
These barbarous peoples were sometimes confounded with the Dactyls,
Corybantes, Cabiri, and Curetes, traditional metallurgists endowed with
supernatural skill, and therefore popularly reckoned as magicians, or
even as divinities. For a long period they were supposed to be vested
with the exclusive knowledge of metal-working, a knowledge shrouded in
mystery.
In the “Kalevalla,” or ancient epic poem of Finland, the blacksmith
Ilmarinen is represented as the pioneer and most skilled of artisans, who
fashioned both the implements of warfare and domestic utensils. This hero
Came to earth to work the metal;
He was born upon the coal-mount,
Skilled and nurtured in the coal-fields;
In one hand a copper hammer,
In the other tongs of iron;
In the night was born the blacksmith,
In the morn he built his smithy;
Sought with care a favored hillock,
Where the winds might fill his bellows;
Found a hillock in the swamp-land,
Where the iron hid abundant,
There he built his smelting-furnace.[97]
In the Teutonic mythology, blacksmiths were magical craftsmen; and even
in the Middle Ages they were looked upon as superior to other artisans,
owing to their faculty of seemingly toying with fire, rendering the
dangerous element subservient to their will, and by its aid manipulating
iron with ease and dexterity. In Germany their workshops were known as
“Wieland’s houses,” in remembrance of the most cunning of smiths in the
mythical lore of the North.
As in early ages the origin of metal-working was imputed to divine
beings, it was natural that in popular tradition blacksmiths acquired
their wondrous technical skill through the assistance of such beings, and
hence were exalted above the plane of ordinary mortals because they had
received supernatural instruction.…
The following mediæval legend serves to show that memories of the old
pagan traditions lingered in the minds of the Scandinavians until long
after the establishment among them of Christianity. One evening in the
year 1208, a horseman rode up to the house of a blacksmith named Thord
Vettir, who lived in southern Norway at Nesjar, near the town of Laurvig
on the Skager-Rack, and asked for lodging overnight and shoeing for
his horse. The smith assented, and early the next morning began the
work, chatting meanwhile with his guest. “Where were you last night?”
he inquired of the latter. “In Medaldal,” was the reply. “And where
were you the night before?” asked the smith. “In Jardal,” answered the
stranger. “You must be a tremendous liar,” said the smith, with great
frankness. Then he applied himself to his task in earnest, and forged the
biggest horse-shoes which he had ever seen, but which were found to fit
the horse’s feet perfectly. In the course of further conversation the
traveler remarked that he had long dwelt in the north of Norway and was
on his way to Sweden. When he was ready to continue journeying and had
mounted his steed, the smith inquired his name. “Have you ever heard of
Odin?” was the rejoinder. “I have heard his name,” said the smith. “Then
you may see him now,” remarked the horseman, “and, if you do not believe
what I have told you, look how I leap my horse over the fence.” Thereupon
he spurred the animal and rode straight at the court-yard fence, which
was seven ells high. The gallant steed cleared the fence with ease, and
neither he nor his rider were seen again by the worthy blacksmith.[98]
The dignity and importance of the blacksmith’s art in early mediæval
times in England is illustrated by the following tale from Paul
Sébillot’s “Légendes et Curiosités des Métiers,” art. “Forgerons:”—
King Alfred the Great, who reigned in the latter part of the ninth
century, on one occasion assembled together seven of his principal
mechanics and craftsmen, and announced that he would appoint as their
chief that one who could longest dispense with the assistance of the
others; and he also invited them all to a banquet, on condition that each
should bring with him a specimen of his handiwork and the tools wherewith
it was made. At the appointed time they all appeared: the blacksmith
brought his hammer and a horse-shoe; the tailor his scissors and a newly
made garment; the baker his long-handled wooden bread-shovel and a loaf
of bread; the shoemaker his awl and a pair of new shoes; the carpenter
his saw and a squared plank; the butcher his chopping-knife and a large
piece of meat; and the mason his trowel and a corner-stone. After careful
deliberation the company decided that the tailor’s work was the best, and
he was accordingly chosen to be chief of the artisans.
The blacksmith was vexed at the choice, and vowed he would work no more,
so long as the tailor was chief; he therefore closed his shop and took
his departure.
But his absence was speedily felt; the king’s horse lost a shoe, the six
comrades one after another broke their tools, and, although the tailor
continued to ply his trade longer than the others, he too was soon
obliged to cease from work. Thereupon the king and his tradesmen decided
to try their hands at blacksmithing, but met with ill success; for the
king’s horse trod on his royal master, the tailor burnt his fingers,
and the others met with various mishaps. At length they began to quarrel
among themselves, even coming to blows, and in the mêlée the anvil was
overturned with a crash. Just at this point Saint Clement appeared on
the scene arm in arm with the blacksmith. The king saluted the newcomers
respectfully, and addressed them as follows: “I have made a bad mistake,
my friends, in allowing myself to be beguiled by the tailor’s fine cloth
and his skillful handiwork; in common fairness the blacksmith, without
whose aid the other workmen can accomplish nothing, should be proclaimed
chief artisan.” All the tradesmen except the tailor then begged the
worthy smith to make new tools for them, which he forthwith proceeded to
do, even including a brand-new pair of scissors for the tailor.
Then the king reorganized the society of artisans and proclaimed as
chief the blacksmith, whom all greeted with wishes for good health and
happiness.
After this the king called on each one for a song, and the new chief in
his turn sang one entitled “The Merry Blacksmith,” which is even nowadays
sometimes heard at the festivities of tradesmen’s guilds in England.
Saint Clement, who figures in the above tale, was the patron saint of
farriers. He was a Roman bishop, who died A. D. 100. In ecclesiastical
tradition he was reckoned among the martyrs, having been bound to an
anchor and thrown into the sea on November 23 of that year. His name-day
was still observed in recent times by English blacksmiths, who regarded
him as the originator of the art of practical farriery, and held an
annual festival in his honor.
The blacksmiths’ apprentices of the Woolwich dockyard were wont to form
a procession on the evening of Saint Clement’s Day, one of their number
personating “Old Clem,” with masked face, oakum wig, and long white beard.
During the festivities this worthy delivered a speech, in part as
follows:—
I am the real Saint Clement, the first founder of brass, iron,
and steel from the ore. I have been to Mount Ætna, where the
god Vulcan first built his forge, and forged the armor and
thunderbolts for the god Jupiter.[99]
Saint Eloy, or Saint Eligius, is sometimes represented as the guardian of
farriers and blacksmiths. He flourished in the seventh century, and in
his youth served as apprentice to a goldsmith at Limoges, where he became
very proficient in the art of working the precious metals. His festival
occurs on December 1.
According to a well-known legend, Saint Eloy was once shoeing a demoniac
horse, which refused to stand still; he therefore cut off the animal’s
leg and put on the shoe. Then, making the sign of the cross, he replaced
the leg, the horse experiencing no ill effects from the operation.