Odin advanced slowly to the giant’s side; and the old man, who had sat for ages and ages looking down into the clear depths of the water, now raised his eyes and fixed them, not unkindly, on the waiting god. Great and wise as Odin was, being ruler of gods and men, he felt a strange awe in the presence of this hoary old Mimer, who lived long before the creation of the worlds and was living before the gods and the frost-giants engaged in their terrible warfare. As Odin approached the sacred well, Mimer was fully aware of who his visitor was, for he knew all things that ever had been, or are, or were yet to be. His eyes, so keen and piercing, looked kindly upon the god from beneath his shaggy brows; and his voice sounded soft to Odin’s ears as he said slowly:—
“What does the All-Father seek so far from sunny Asgard?”
“I have come to beg a draught from your well, O Mimer,” answered Odin.
The old giant’s face grew grave. “Whoever asks for that,” he said, “must be willing to give much in return. Many desire to drink of the waters of wisdom, but few will pay the price. What will you give in return for a draught from Mimer’s well?”
Only a moment did Odin hesitate; then he said boldly, “I will give anything you ask.” At these words Mimer handed him the ivory horn, saying: “Drink, then; and the wisdom of the ages shall be yours. But before you go hence, leave with me as a pledge one of your eyes.” So Odin drank deep of the well of wisdom; and thereafter no one in all the worlds was able to compare with the Father of the Gods in wisdom. None of the dwellers in Asgard ever questioned Odin concerning his visit to Mimer’s well; but they honoured him more deeply for the great sacrifice he had made; and whenever Odin visited the earth to mingle in the affairs of men, people knew him as the god who had but a single eye.
There was one other person besides old Mimer who was reputed to have greater wisdom than the gods, and this was the frost-giant Vafthrudner. Now Odin was very anxious to measure his knowledge with that of his old enemy, for if the frost-giants were no longer wiser than the wisest of the gods, there was less need to fear them. To put his wisdom to the test, Odin set out on the long, dreary journey to Jötunheim; and soon he found Vafthrudner sitting at the door of his snow-house. When the giant saw a visitor approaching, he stopped shaking the icicles from his frozen beard, and stared hard at the intruder. Odin had disguised himself as a traveller, so Vafthrudner did not know him and thought he was another foolish adventurer who had come to learn wisdom at the cost of his life. For the penalty which the loser must pay in his strife with the giant’s wisdom was death.
So Vafthrudner laughed until the mountains shook when Odin declared that this was the object of his journey to Jötunheim; for it amused the giant vastly to think that a mere man had come to contend with him in wisdom. He bade the stranger sit down, and Odin obeyed, pulling his slouched hat well over his eye, so that the giant might not guess who his visitor was. “Tell me,” said Vafthrudner, “the name of the river that divides Asgard from Jötunheim.”
“The river Ifing, where the waters are never frozen,” replied Odin, quickly. The frost-giant looked surprised, but he only said:—
“You have answered rightly, O Wise One. And now tell me the names of the horses that draw the chariots of Night and Day.”
“Skinfaxe and Hrimfaxe,” promptly replied Odin. Vafthrudner turned and looked hard at this remarkable stranger who could speak so readily of things that no man was thought to know. Then he asked many more questions, to which Odin gave unhesitatingly the right answers; and soon the frost-giant began to feel afraid of the strange traveller who seemed to know more than the gods themselves. Anxiously he put the last question, saying, “Tell me, O Great One, the name of the plain on which the Last Battle will be fought.” Now Vafthrudner knew that no mortal man could possibly answer this question, so he waited fearfully for Odin’s reply.