While Siegfried was still a young lad, his father sent him to live with
a smith called Mimer, whose smithy was among the hills not far from the
great forest. For in those early times the work of the smith was
looked upon as the most worthy of all trades,--a trade which the gods
themselves were not ashamed to follow. And this smith Mimer was a
wonderful master,--the wisest and most cunning that the world had ever
seen. Men said that he was akin to the dwarf-folk who had ruled the
earth in the early days, and who were learned in every lore, and
skilled in every craft; and they said that he was so exceeding old that
no one could remember the day when he came to dwell in the land of
Siegfried's people. Some said, too, that he was the keeper of a
wonderful well, or flowing spring, the waters of which imparted wisdom
and far-seeing knowledge to all who drank of them.
To Mimer's school, then, where he would be taught to work skilfully and
to think wisely, Siegfried was sent, to be in all respects like the
other pupils there. A coarse blue blouse and heavy leggings and a
leathern apron took the place of the costly clothing which he had worn
in his father's dwelling. On his feet were awkward wooden sandals, and
his head was covered with a wolfskin cap. The dainty bed, with its
downy pillows, wherein every night his mother had been wont, with
gentle care, to see him safely covered, was given up for a rude heap of
straw in a corner of the smithy. And the rich food to which he had
been used gave place to the coarsest and humblest fare. But the lad
did not complain. The days which he passed in the smithy were mirthful
and happy; and the sound of his hammer rang cheerfully, and the sparks
from his forge flew briskly, from morning till night.
And a wonderful smith he became. No one could do more work than he,
and none wrought with greater skill. The heaviest chains and the
strongest bolts, for prison or for treasure house, were but as toys in
his stout hands, so easily and quickly did he beat them into shape.
Cunning also was he in work of the most delicate and brittle kind.
Ornaments of gold and silver studded with the rarest jewels, were
fashioned into beautiful forms by his deft fingers. And among all of
Mimer's apprentices none learned the master's lore so readily, or
gained the master's favor more.
One morning the master, Mimer, came to the smithy with a troubled look
upon his face. It was clear that something had gone amiss; and what it
was the apprentices soon learned from the smith himself. Never, until
lately, had any one questioned Mimer's right to be called the foremost
smith in all the world; but now a rival had come forward. An unknown
upstart---one Amilias, a giant of Burgundy--had made a suit of armor,
which, he boasted, no stroke of sword could dint, and no blow of spear
could scratch; and he had sent a challenge to all other smiths, both in
the Rhine country and elsewhere, to equal that piece of workmanship, or
else acknowledge themselves his underlings and vassals. For many days
had Mimer himself toiled, alone and vainly, trying to forge a sword
whose edge the boasted armor of Amilias could not foil; and now, in
despair, he came to ask the help of his pupils and apprentices.
"Who among you is skilful enough to forge such a sword?" he asked,
One after another, the pupils shook their heads. And the foreman of
the apprentices said, "I have heard much about that wonderful armor,
and its extreme hardness, and I doubt if any skill can make a sword
with edge so sharp and true as to cut into it. The best that can be
done is to try to make another war coat whose temper shall equal that
of Amilias's armor."
Then the lad Siegfried quickly said, "I will make such a sword as you
want,--a blade that no war coat can foil. Give me but leave to try!"
The other pupils laughed in scorn, but Mimer checked them. "You hear
how this boy can talk: we will see what he can do. He is the king's
son, and we know that he has uncommon talent. He shall make the sword;
but if, upon trial, it fail, I will make him rue the day."
Then Siegfried went to his task. And for seven days and seven nights
the sparks never stopped flying from his forge; and the ringing of his
anvil, and the hissing of the hot metal as he tempered it, were heard
continuously. On the eighth day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfried
brought it to Mimer.
The smith felt the razor edge of the bright weapon, and said, "This
seems, indeed, a fair fire edge. Let us make a trial of its keenness."
Then a thread of wool as light as thistle-down was thrown upon water,
and, as it floated there, Mimer struck it with the sword. The
glittering blade cleft the thread in twain, and the pieces floated
undisturbed upon the surface of the liquid.
"Well done!" cried the delighted smith. "Never have I seen a keener
edge. If its temper is as true as its sharpness would lead us to
believe, it will indeed serve me well."
But Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into many pieces; and
for three days he welded it in a white-hot fire, and tempered it with
milk and oatmeal. Then, in sight of the sneering apprentices, a light
ball of fine-spun wool was cast upon the flowing water of the brook;
and it was caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whirled about
until it met the bared blade of the sword, which was held in
Siegfried's hands. And the ball was parted as easily and clean as the
rippling water, and not the smallest thread was moved out of its place.
Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again; and his forge glowed with
a brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the anvil with a cheerier
sound, than ever before. He suffered none to come near, and no one
ever knew what witchery he used. But some of his fellow pupils
afterwards told how, in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyed
man, long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gray kirtle, and wearing a
sky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at the smithy door. And they
said that the stranger's face was at once pleasant and fearful to look
upon, and that his one eye shone in the gloaming like the evening star,
and that, when he had placed in Siegfried's hands bright shards, like
pieces of a broken sword, he faded suddenly from their sight, and was
seen no more.
For seven weeks the lad wrought day and night at his forge; and then,
pale and haggard, but with a pleased smile upon his face, he stood
before Mimer, with the sword in his hands. "It is finished," he said.
"Behold the glittering terror!--the blade Balmung. Let us try its edge
and prove its temper once again, that so we may know whether you can
place your trust in it."
Mimer looked long at the ruddy hilt of the weapon, and at the mystic
runes that were scored upon its sides, and at the keen edge, which
looked like a ray of sunlight in the gathering gloom of the evening.
But no word came from his lips, and his eyes were dim and dazed; and he
seemed as one lost in thoughts of days long past and gone.
Siegfried raised the blade high over his head; and the gleaming edge
flashed hither and thither, like the lightning's play when Thor rides
over the storm clouds. Then suddenly it fell upon the master's anvil,
and the solid block of iron was cleft in two; but the blade was no whit
dulled by the stroke, and the line of light which marked the edge was
brighter than before.
Then to the brook they went; and a great pack of wool, the fleeces of
ten sheep, was brought, and thrown upon the swirling water. As the
stream bore the bundle downwards, Mimer held the sword in its way. And
the whole was divided as easily and as clean as the woollen ball or the
slender woollen thread had been cleft before.
"Now, indeed," cried Mimer, "I no longer fear to meet that upstart,
Amilias. If his war coat can withstand the stroke of such a sword as
Balmung, then I shall not be ashamed to be his underling. But, if this
good blade is what it seems to be, it will not fail me; and I, Mimer
the Old, shall still be called the wisest and greatest of smiths."
He sent word at once to Amilias, in Burgundyland, to meet him on a day,
and settle forever the question as to which of the two should be the
master, and which the underling. And heralds proclaimed it in every
town and dwelling. When the time which had been set drew near, Mimer,
bearing the sword Balmung, and followed by all his pupils and
apprentices, wended his way toward the place of meeting. Through the
forest they went, and then along the banks of the sluggish river, for
many a league, to the height of land which marked the line between
Siegfried's country and the country of the Burgundians. It was in this
place, midway between the shops of Mimer and Amilias, that the great
trial of metal and of skill was to be made. And here were already
gathered great numbers of people from the Lowlands and from Burgundy,
anxiously waiting for the coming of the champions.
When everything was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his
boasted war coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a rock,
and waited for Mimer's coming. As he sat there, he looked, to the
people below, like some great castle tower; for he was a giant in size,
and his coat of mail was so huge that twenty men of common mould might
have found shelter, or hidden themselves, within it. As the smith
Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, tolled up the steep hillside, Amilias
smiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade
that was to try the metal of his war coat. And already a shout or
expectant triumph went up from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so
sure were they of their champion's success.
But Mimer's friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet
fearing. Only Siegfried's father, the king, whispered to his queen,
and said, "Knowledge is stronger than brute force. The smallest dwarf
who has drunk from the well of the Knowing One may safely meet the
stoutest giant in battle."
When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms,
and smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him,
and that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall. The
smith paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of
his foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a
steel-gray castle tower.
"Are you ready?" asked the smith.
"Ready," answered Amilias. "Strike!"
Mimer raised the blade in the air, and for a moment the lightning
seemed to play around his head. The muscles on his short, brawny arms,
stood out like ropes; and then Balmung, descending, cleft the air from
right to left. The waiting lookers-on in the plain below thought to
hear the noise of clashing steel; but they listened in vain, for no
sound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss like that which red hot
iron gives when plunged into a tank of cold water. The huge Amilias
sat unmoved, with his arms still folded upon his breast; but the smile
had faded from his face.
"How do you feel now?" asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone.
"Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me," faintly answered
the giant.
"Shake thyself!" cried Mimer.
Amilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the sword had cut
sheer through the vaunted war coat, and cleft in twain the great body
incased within. Down tumbled the giant's head and his still folded
arms; and they rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill,
and fell with a fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and
there, fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is
clear, lying like gray rocks among the sand and gravel below. The rest
of the body, with the armor which incased it, still sat upright in its
place; and to this day travellers sailing down the river are shown on
moonlit evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hilltop. In
the dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy-covered
ruins of some old castle of feudal times.
The master, Mimer, sheathed his sword, and walked slowly down the
hillside to the plain, where his friends welcomed him with cheers and
shouts of joy. But the Burgundians, baffled, and feeling vexed, turned
silently homeward, nor cast a single look back to the scene of their
disappointment and their ill-fated champion's defeat.
Siegfried went again with the master and his fellows to the smoky
smithy, to his roaring bellows and ringing anvil, and to his coarse
fare, and rude, hard bed, and to a life of labor. And while all men
praised Mimer and his knowing skill, and the fiery edge of the sunbeam
blade, no one knew that it was the boy Siegfried who had wrought that
piece of workmanship.