nd, with one eye concealed by the
brim of his wide hat. Mimmy, not by nature hospitable, tries to drive
him away; but the Wanderer announces himself as a wise man, who can tell
his host, in emergency, what it most concerns him to know. Mimmy, taking
this offer in high dudgeon, because it implies that his visitor's wits
are better than his own, offers to tell the wise one something that HE
does not know: to wit, the way to the door. The imperturbable Wanderer's
reply is to sit down and challenge the dwarf to a trial of wit. He
wagers his head against Mimmy's that he will answer any three questions
the dwarf can put to him.

Now here were Mimmy's opportunity, had he only the wit to ask what he
wants to know, instead of pretending to know everything already. It
is above all things needful to him at this moment to find out how that
sword can be mended; and there has just dropped in upon him in his need
the one person who can tell him. In such circumstances a wise man would
hasten to show to his visitor his three deepest ignorances, and ask him
to dispel them. The dwarf, being a crafty fool, desiring only to detect
ignorance in his guest, asks him for information on the three points on
which he is proudest of being thoroughly well instructed himself. His
three questions are, Who dwell under the earth? Who dwell on the earth?
and Who dwell in the cloudy heights above? The Wanderer, in reply, tells
him of the dwarfs and of Alberic; of the earth, and the giants Fasolt
and Fafnir; of the gods and of Wotan: himself, as Mimmy now recognizes
with awe.

Next, it is Mimmy's turn to face three questions. What is that race,
dearest to Wotan, against which Wotan has nevertheless done his worst?
Mimmy can answer that: he knows the Volsungs, the race of heroes born
of Wotan's infidelities to Fricka, and can tell the Wanderer the whole
story of the twins and their son Siegfried. Wotan compliments him on his
knowledge, and asks further with what sword Siegfried will slay Fafnir?
Mimmy can answer that too: he has the whole history of the sword at his
fingers' ends. Wotan hails him as the knowingest of the knowing, and
then hurls at him the question he should himself have asked: Who
will mend the sword? Mimmy, his head forfeited, confesses with
loud lamentations that he cannot answer. The Wanderer reads him an
appropriate little lecture on the folly of being too clever to ask what
he wants to know, and informs him that a smith to whom fear i