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.