The Wayland-Dietrich Saga
How Mimer the Smith found the child Sigurd in the wood
and fostered him. Of Mimer and of the contest
between Ivalde's sons and the Kin of Sindre, and the
true tale of the Old Man in the Moon. How the boy
Sigurd, petted by Mimer, quarrelled with his com-
panions, and left the smithy to seek his kindred.
How he found his mother and dwelt at King Hjalprek's
Court, where he was taught knightly ways and became
the pupil of Regin, Mimer's brother.
There dwelt a man named Mimer, who was son
To one named Hreidmar, who had as his Sire
Mimer the Old, famed in the Dawn of Days,
The ancient Guardian at Ygdrasil's root.....
Ygdrasil the World-ash.......near which is sunk
The wondrous egg-white well of Memory,
That hidden in Helheim lies, in Mimer's Grove.
The elder Mimer long since had been slain
By the fierce Vans, for that to Odin's cause
He had proved faithful; and his head they sent
In bitter mockery to the Æsir's Lord,
Who had it straight embalmed, and from it heard
Strange words of wisdom when great need arose;
For like the head of Bran ap Lyr of Wales,
The magic head of Mimer never died.
But Mimer's kin dwelt in this mortal world
And won renown as famous Master-Smiths,
Who were well skilled in metal-work and craft.
These Smiths were known 'mongst men as Hreidmar's sons,
The third of whom was often Mimer called,
Though sometimes Mimung. Such skilled smith was he (1)
That scarce his like in any land was known,
So well he knew and plied his cunning art.
At one time it is said he dwelt in Spain
But twenty miles from fair Toledo town,
At Azzaria in a mountain cave.
There forged he Schrit, the sword of Biterulf,
Father of Dietleib, of whom soon ye'll hear;
For he was comrade many a weary year
Of Dietrich, Vogt of Bern, my gallant Lord.
O many a man proved well old Mimer's art
By suffering death from that sword's marvellous might!
He at that time was friends with a strong smith,
Hertrich, who dwelt in Gascony, and they
Had fellowship in work and other things.....
But at the time I speak of, in the North,
In Swabian-wald, dwelt Mimer in a cave,
Where he had many workers under him,
Companions of his toil, apprentices,
Who learning smith-craft, served him as their Lord.
'Neath him toiled hard his Uncle Sindre's sons;
And here once came Ivalde's sons that they
Might learn to work in metal, whose famed Sire
was King of Finland, Lord of the Black Elves,
And held a post as Warder to the Gods.
Three stalwart sons had he, who in fine gold
Were skilled artificers in Mimer's Halls.
Beneath the earth they worked with patient hands,
Obedient to their master Mimer's will,
In peace and friendship until Loki came;
For enmity set he 'twixt Sindre's kin
And the three Smiths, Ivalde's sons, for fear
Lest they should wax too strong, and also he
Embroiled Ivalde's sons with the High Gods.
Thus he contrived.....At his own sly request
Ivalde's sons made golden locks for Sif, (2)
The Harvest Goddess, Thor's fair ward and wife.
Her plenteous growth of shining golden hair
Was coveted by Loki's secret love,
The fierce hag Angerboda. While Sif slept
Loke had shorn her locks, wherein lay hid
The magic of her beauty and her strength,
And stolen them away......But when accused,
He promised to restore them, such his guile.
Ivalde's sons made locks of blazing gold
That on Sif's head grew as the living hair;
And they made Gungnir, Odin's gleaming spear,
And Skidbladnir, a wondrous ship, for Frey,
That could hold all the Gods, and yet would fold
E'en in a napkin's space. But Sindre's kin
Malicious Loki challenged to produce
Treasure that would surpass these marvels. He
Wagered his cunning head this could not be.
Then Sindre and his kin undaunted said
They'd put it to the proof, the which they did.
Sindre and Brock his brother toiling made
Things of great price and unsurpassable.
Draupnir, the Ring of fruitfulness, they made,
That each ninth night shed from itself eight rings
Of purest gold of equal weight and size,
That grew into a chain without an end.
To Odin was it given......And to Frey
The golden boar on which he rides the waves,
Or through the Heavens passeth on his way......
The golden bristles of his magic steed
Gleam in the sky at noon and eventide......
But the greatest gift of all was Miolnir,
The mighty hammer of the great God Thor.
This Loki fain had in the making marred,
For he much feared 'twould one day work him ill;
So as a gadfly sat he on Brock's hands,
Stinging him sharply as he toiling blew
The bellows for his brother........'Tween the eyes
He pierced him cruelly......By flowing blood
Nigh blinded was the elf-smith, yet toiled on,
Blowing the bellows evenly and well,
Nor stayed but once to drive the pest away,
Though oft he cursed and shook his smarting brow,
Till Sindre from the furnace drew at last
The mighty Miolnir, fit gift for Thor.
It had been perfect but for Loki's spite;
Now was it shorter in the haft, because
The furnace had cooled down in that brief space,
When sharply pricked by the fierce stinging fly,
Brock for one moment stayed to brush away
The torment from his blinded bleeding eyes.
Yet did the Gods adjudge the greatest praise
To Sindre's kin, and so to Loki's joy
Ivalde's sons departed, cursing sore,
And vowing vengeance on the Mighty Ones.
But not for long joyed Loki. Brock drew near
To claim the pledge, the price of Miolnir,
The head of Loki.....Quoth he, "Nay, but I
Am fain now to redeem it"........Quoth the Smith,
For my blood that thou spilt when garbed as fly"......
Then Loki did his shoes of swiftness on
And clove the air e'en as a swallow flies,
So sped for life across the tossing sea;
And as he lightly skimmed the quivering air,
Shouted, "Then catch me, Brock!" So vanished quite.
In angry mood the elf-smith turned to Thor,
"Thou wert his witness, thou hast here our gift,
Make thou thy comrade yield his lawful pledge;
Hale him to judgement!" Thor at once set forth
And overtook the sinner, whom he brought
Unwilling, bound, held fast by his strong hand.
"Thy head is mine," quoth Brock, and drew his knife
That he might take the pledge, but Loki cried,
"Thine is mine head, but thou art not allowed
To touch my neck......I call unto the Gods
To give just doom, by it I will abide."
The puzzled Æsir Loki's claim allowed.
Then was Brock sore enraged.....Quoth he, "Is't so?
Dare ye deny me? Yet shall he atone!"
Then took he his great knife, therewith a thong,
Meaning to pierce the evil doer's lips,
But found the knife too blunt. In wrath he cried,
"Would I had not my brother's keen-edged awl!"
This Sindre quickly gave him, and he pierced
The lips of Loki, who must bear that pain,
And the dwarves' mocking laughter, and the shame;
For naught availed him now his wiliness,
Brock sewed his lips together.... "Now," said he,
"Shalt thou no more deceive Gods, dwarves, or men."
So left the son of Laufa ill content,
Confused by silence, by the Æsir mocked.
Yet Loki, 'spite his punishment, was glad......
He had his end achieved, for Sindre's kin
Went forth incensed against the Gods' decree
Made in his favour; and Ivalde's sons,
Because their wondrous gifts won not the prize,
Rose in revolt against the Mighty Ones;
Thus on their race henceforth there lay a curse.
Ivalde's sons long since from Mimer's Halls
Had passed unto the upper Earth, and found
Each his appointed fate. Ivalde's self,
Who was called Gervandel (3) for his great skill
In spear-play and in throwing javelins,
Had once been Warder for the mighty Gods
Of that great river Elivagar called.
Against the giants of the Realm of Frost
Was he their Watchman sworn. He brake his oath
And stole the nectar of the Gods, the mead
From Mimer's Well, betraying thus his trust;
Then seized the Moon-God's daughter, slew her Sire,
And led a life of drunkenness and sin
Until his wicked ways met due reward.....
Lost in the mountain that is Sutting's Hall
He found a wretched death, and for his crimes
Was punished by the Gods. His erring soul
Was not permitted on the Glittering Plains
To rest among the Blessed. He was sent
As exile to the Moon, where he stays yet,
Drunk with the magic mead, yet not content,
For with the Moon-god's rod of thorn is he
For ever beaten. On his aching back
He bears the load of faggots with which he,
So it is said, did try to burn that God
Who is called Gevar, Ruler of the Moon.
An ye believe me not, next time ye look
At the full moon when it doth ride the skies,
Scan ye the surface of the orb, and there
Ivalde's shadow ye shall plainly see,
And at his heels his hound that bides with him.
Of his three sons but little tell I here......
Thjassi one, of whom came Viking's line,
From which descended a right famous man
The hero known as Witga, Wayland's son,
Of whom ye shall hear much ere my tale ends,
An ye have patience and do mark me well.
Another, Gjuki, who was ancestor
Of the famed Niblung Princes, amongst whom
Was Gibich, Lord of Rhine and Burgundy,
And Aldrian his kinsman. From him too
Hengest's and Irung's races claim descent. (4)
The third son was called Avo, archer skilled,
Known too as Egil, once the friend of Thor;
Whose sons were Erik and his half brother
Young Rolf, or Uller, as he has been called.
From Avo sprang the elder Orandel,
Horand the Singer, (5) he by some is named......
But of his tale another day I'll tell.......
And on the distaff side a famous King
Came of Ivalde's line, so I have heard,
Alphere by name, who ruled o'er Aquitaine,
Whose son was Walter of the Strong Hand called,
And of whose doings something too I'll say.
Though long Ivalde's sons had passed away......
Save Gjuki, who, as Hoc, (6) the Anglians ruled......
Still dwelt old Mimer in his rocky cave,
Plying his craft, and toiling busily
As he had done for many weary years.
Now it befell one day (7) that Mimer had
A mind to wander in the wood, and there
Three days to stay, burning as was his wont
Charcoal, which he oft needed for his work.
Wherefore he made a great and raging fire,
And as he stood thereby to warm himself,
A little lad from out the dense fir-wood
Came running, laughing, to him. Strong-limbed he,
Ruddy and fair of face, a lovely boy;
And Mimer wond'ring said, "Whose child art thou"?
But he no word could answer, save such talk
Of pretty laughter-mingled babbling sort
As babies use. So Mimer took him up
And set him on his knee, and played with him,
Wrapping his little dimpled limbs in skins,
For naked were they, and the night grew chill......
Then lo! There came a hind from out the trees,
Fearless, to Mimer's knee, and licked the child,
Caressing face and hands with fondling tongue.....
Whereat thought Mimer, "Of a surety
This hind the babe hath suckled".......For which cause
He harmed her not, nor spake, but let her go;
Watching her till she passed from out his sight,
With hanging head and slow reluctant feet,
Behind the beech trees, turning oft to look
With soft brown piteous eyes. Her dun head gleamed
Gold in the fire-light......So she vanished....
But Mimer took the boy, and shoulder high
Bare him to his own home and fostered him.
A name he gave him, Sigurd was he called,
And henceforth was he known as Mimer's son.
Here Sigurd dwelt till fourteen winters old. (8)
As his own son old Mimer loved the lad,
And gave him of the best and pampered him;
Nor did he check his moods, nor curb his will
As a wise father doth, but let him still
Run wild as a young colt that is not trained;
And he waxed great and strong. His like saw none,
But he at that time was right quarrelsome.
With all his comrades strove he, beat them oft,
Scarce might they bear the youngster's insolence;
Yet for his strength, and fear of Mimer's wrath,
They must endure his overbearing mood.
One of the smith-wrights was called Eckebrecht,
Amongst the twelve companions starkest there.
Now one day as he wrought came Sigurd in
To the great smithy with a lordly air,
Bidding him move his tools and give him room;
Whereat was Eck'brecht angered. With his tongs
He smote young Sigurd hard behind the ear,
So that nigh senseless, bleeding, he fell down;
But, rising in great wrath, he with left hand
Gripped Mimer's craftsman fiercely by the hair,
So dragged him to the ground and trod on him......
Which seeing, ran the other smiths in haste
To help their fellow; but the lad, with ease
Evading them, slipped back towards the door,
And so passed out; but still behind him dragged
The hapless Eckebrecht by his long hair,
And drew him struggling thence, until they came
Where Mimer worked apart, who called in wrath,
As he loosed Eckebrecht from Sigurd's clutch,
"A fine thing this, that thou wouldst slay my knaves!
Would that thou mightst now do some useful work,
But thou dost naught but mischief........Yet forsooth,
Thou hast waxed strong enough, and could methinks
Work not less well than any man of these,
For all thou art a boy......Come now with me
And I will see what thou canst do, my lad......
But if thou wilt not do my will, why then
I'll beat thee till thou shalt be glad enough to work
With energy and skill as I shall bid......
Too long I've cosseted and humoured thee"......
He took him by the hand and brought him in
Unto the smithy, there a strong iron took,
And standing 'fore the forge he thrust it in.
To Sigurd he his heaviest hammer gave;
Then, when the iron glowed, he swung it out
Of the fierce furnace, on the anvil set,
And bade the boy smite hard. Young Sigurd smote......
So mighty was his first stroke, that in truth
The anvil-stone lay shattered, and itself
Was driven through its bed; but the hot iron
Flew hissing through the air, and the great tongs
Were broken through by the sledge-hammer's haft,
And fell asunder far.......The smiths all gasped,
Whispering among themselves......But Mimer said,
"Ne'er saw I mightier nor more frightful blow!
Whate'er the future hath in store for thee,
'Tis certain none shall make of thee a smith."
Then went young Sigurd to the inner room,
And sat him by the stove on a low seat,
Near to his foster-father, and was dumb,
Nor spake with any, nor dared any speak;
None knew if he thought ill of this or good.
But Mimer long sat brooding, till at last
He spake with Sigurd privily, and said,
"Now of a truth I know it is no lie;
Long have I feared this thing......Give now to me
That ring thou wearest round thy neck, the same
That I found on thee, when a wandering child.
Thou camst from out the woodland wastes, my son."
Then Sigurd gave it, and the old Smith said,
"This ring was one that my Sire made for him
Who was called Sigmund........A great King and famed,
Who fell in battle, so the rumour goes......
Meseems thou art his child, for none but he
Had had a son so strong of thews as thou,
And of so high a spirit; and in truth
Thou art the image of him in his youth.
If thou wouldst claim thy rights, thou must go forth
And seek King Hjalprek's Court.....For there perchance
Thou shalt hear tidings of thy father's kin......
Maybe thy mother lives......I know not.....I......
But I have heard she wedded Hjalprek's son......
Thou art more fit to wield a sword, my boy,
Than hammer and the tongs; and it were right
Thou shouldst avenge thy father's bloody death
Upon his slayers, whosoe'er they be,
Instead of beating my folk without cause........
Thou canst stay here no more." Thus spake the Smith,
For he in secret feared this young boy's might,
And felt that ill might come of it to him;
Yet would not slay the lad for that he had
Fostered him for so long. Then, said the youth
With a loud laugh, and eyed the Master-Smith,
"How can I kill the slayers of my Sire
Without a weapon? Must I use bare fist?
Aye, and I would, if this thy tale be true,
Slay them e'en thus.......But come, good Master mine,
Go thou to work and make me a good sword;
And look ye, Mimer, see it worthy be
Of Sigmund's self, or of a surety thou
Shalt go the first to Hela's realm to seek
My noble father, and to him announce
How his son Sigurd doth avenge his Sire.
I am sore angered that thou hidst from me
What thou hast known long time." Then Mimer said,
"Bring me the shards of Gram, thy father's sword,
And I will forge thee such a weapon, lad,
As ne'er before was seen." But in his heart
The crafty Smith thought, "Long may Sigurd search
Ere he shall find that sword".......In truth he thought
That it was lost when Sigmund fell in fight;
For no man since that day had seen or heard
Aught of the old King's sword. Mimer knew not
That Sieg'lind secretly had kept the shards
From ken of all.
Then rushed the angry youth
From the Smith's house and hurried through the wood.
By unfrequented ways he wandered long,
Until he came at last to that same hut
Where dwelt the aged forester, who had
Long since his mother succoured. The old man,
Seeing the lad's gold ring and his fair face,
Which favoured Sigmund's, guessed who he must be,
Though wondering greatly; and he told him all
His knowledge of the matter, but the names
Of Sigmund's slayers he knew not at all.
He brought him to a fishing hamlet, where
The lad took boat and fared to Hjalprek's realm.
Then came he to the Court, and all men deemed
He was a wondrous fair and comely youth,
Albeit a little wild and boisterous.
But Siegelind, when she had seen the boy,
Knew well within her breast it was her son,
So like his father he; and with full heart
She drew the youth aside to question him.
When Sigurd shewed her the gold ring then she
Knew of a truth that this was Sigmund's son.
Then laid she down her head on the lad's breast,
And told him of his birth and of her grief,
Of how his father was in battle slain.....
And he told her of Mimer and the hind......
Weeping she kissed him fondly till he said,
"Take comfort, little mother, trust thy son"......
So kissing her, he knelt and swore a vow
That he would take revenge for his Sire's death.
But as yet spake he not of Sigmund's sword,
Nor of his father's slayers asked the names;
Nor said she aught, for she would keep her son,
Long lost and lately found, safe at her side.
Until he came to his full growth and strength.
As yet he was a boy, strong-limbed enow,
But all untrained, unpolished too of tongue.....
Yet all at Hjalprek's Court had but one mind
Concerning him, that he was in good truth,
In promise of great skill and mighty growth,
Second to none on earth. So stayed he there,
And was brought up in loving wise and taught
By Hjalprek's self. (9) The lad grew wise and mild,
And was well loved by every mother's child;
And for his sake gave Alf, King Hjalprek's son,
A portion to his mother Siegelind.......
These two, though long betrothed, had wedded not,
Though Alf was fain, yet Siegelind demurred;
But now the Sea-King took her for his wife.
Now came to Hjalprek Regin. Hreidmar's son,
The brother of Smith Mimer.......Of all men
One of the wisest and most skilled, though he
Was but a dwarf in stature; cunning too,
In magic learned, and right grim of heart.
He now took charge of the lad's bringing up (10)......
Loving him well he taught him many arts.....
Chess play he taught him and the lore of runes,
And gave him gifts of tongues, and all such things
As was the custom for the sons of Kings
In those days that I speak of......So time passed.
Notes:
1. Biterulf, 1. 125. [Back]
2. Sn. Edda (Skáldskaparmál), ch. 35-37. [Back]
3. Rydberg. Teutonic Mythology, p. 674. [Back]
4. Rydberg, p. 659. [Back]
5. Cf. Gudrun Saga. [Back]
6. Rydberg. Teut. Myth., pp. 669, 670. Gjuki, Hjuki = Hoce. [Back]
7. Cf. Thidrek's Saga; Bertelsen, ch. 269, Raszmann, ch. 164. [Back]
8. Thidrek's Saga; Bertelsen, ch. 270-2, Raszmann, ch. 165-167. [Back]
9. Völsunga Saga, ch. XIII. [Back]
10. Sn. Edda. Sigurtharkvitha II. (Reginsmol). [Back]
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