Working away with a will, Siegfried performed the mightiest feats of strength with no more exertion than if he were shaping a toy for a child. When the sword was all in powder, he put it in a pot on the forge. Then, blowing up the flames afresh, he sang in a voice strong as a clarion a joyful song of freedom and victory.
The steel sword of his father seemed to understand the song, for it bubbled and spluttered all liquid in the pot, as though it would leap out for very joy.
Mimi listened, too, but he did not enjoy the song. His wily brain was hard at work planning his own ends. That Siegfried should remake the sword was very well, for without it Fafnir could not be slain—but supposing he took the Ring, the gold, and all?—what then would become of poor Mimi? So he prepared a wonderful draught of such powerful poisons, that one drop was enough to make a giant fall senseless to the ground. “When he comes home weary from his fight with the dragon, I will give him this refreshing cup,” said Mimi, with a malicious chuckle.
Meanwhile Siegfried poured the molten steel into a mould, which he forthwith plunged hissing into a tank of cold water. “Ha, ha, Mimi!” he cried. “So you have turned cook, and brew sauces while I brew swords! Methinks,” he added to himself, “I would rather taste of my cooking than his!”
The dwarf’s sharp little eyes glistened with hate as he stirred the potion, and crooned low his song of hope and vengeance. “So the pupil puts the craftsman to shame, does he? Only let him wait till this draught is duly prepared!”
“Now, Needful, come forth, and see what the hammer can do for thee!” cried Siegfried.
He took the sword hard and cold from the water, and thrust it in the red-hot coals till it glowed like a sword of flame. Then with a huge smith’s hammer, he beat it out on the anvil. The sparks flew right and left like fireflies, and Siegfried sang again:
“Ha, Needful! So do I tame thy spirit! At my command thou glowest fiery red—then in the water I cool thine anger till thy sides gleam steely blue! Now with stalwart strokes I beat thee out, Needful, my famous sword—so does my spirit enter thee! Soon thy cold blade shall glow red again with the blood of traitors! Dead didst thou lie, but I, Siegfried, give thee life once more. Needful, come forth!”
Brandishing the sword, Siegfried brought down a mighty stroke across the anvil. With a crash it split from top to bottom, giving Mimi such a shock he nearly upset his precious pot.
So the sword was remade, and Siegfried forthwith started out, guided by Mimi, to find the dragon. Darkness had fallen, but Siegfried was too impatient for his first lesson in fear to wait till morning. All night they tramped through the forest. At every rustle of the branches, every snapping of a twig, Mimi started as though he were shot. Siegfried watched him with scorn; his mocking laughter re-echoed through the stillness.