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Updated: May 29, 2025
In the bright morning, when the sun rose over the mountains of Midgard, old Mimer drank from his bubbly well a draught of the wise water that flowed over Odin's pledge. Doing so, from his underground grotto he saw all that befell in heaven and on earth. So that he also was wiser by the bargain.
"How do you feel now?" asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone. "Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me," faintly answered the upstart. "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.
"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."
For seven more days and seven more nights he was busy at his forge. At the end of that time he brought a polished sword to his master. Mimer looked it over with the greatest care and made ready to test it. He threw the fleeces of twelve sheep into the stream. The current carried them on its bosom to Siegfried's sword. Instantly, each piece was divided as it met the blade.
Mimer then took a single thread of wool and threw it into the water. As it was carried along, Mimer took the sword and held it before the thread. The water carried the thread along until it reached the sword. Then one half of the thread passed to the right of the sword and the other to the left, and the thread was not moved from its course. "This is a good blade," said Mimer proudly.
King Siegmund, his knights and liegemen, all were welcoming Prince Siegfried home. They had not seen their hero-prince since he had been sent long years before to be under the charge of Mimer the blacksmith. He had grown but more fair, more noble, they thought, as they gazed upon his stalwart limbs, his fearless eyes. And what tales of prowess clustered around his name!
Once he even smashed with one stroke of his hammer all the iron bars in the armoury, and knocked the anvil into the ground with a mighty blow. Mimer looked on with dismay, amazed at the boy's almost supernatural strength, but fearing that Siegfried's wrath might some time turn against him, he thought to rid himself of his dangerous apprentice, and conceived a cunning plan to kill him.
At his side he carried a sword so bright that the lightning seemed to play about its edge, as he walked. Slowly he went to the top of the hill and stood before the giant. It was Mimer, the master. He loosed the sword from his side and raised it above his head. "Are you ready?" he asked. "Yes; strike," said the giant, laughing, for he was not afraid.
And, if I succeed in leading you to a clearer understanding and a wiser appreciation of the thoughts and feelings of our old northern ancestors, I shall have accomplished the object for which I have written this Story of Siegfried. Contents. Adventure I. Mimer, the Master. At Santen, in the Lowlands, there once lived a young prince named Siegfried.
Mimer was a dwarf, belonging to a strange race of little folk called Nibelungs. The Nibelungs lived for the most part in a dark little town beneath the ground. Nibelheim was the name of this little town and many of the tiny men who dwelt there were smiths.
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