THE CALDRON
All through the long and dreary winter, Ilmarinen waited idly by old
Louhi’s hearth-side. “No great thing in magic can be done in stormy
weather,” he said. “Summer and fair days of sunshine are the wizard’s
time for action.”
The wise men of the North Land came often to see him. Herdsmen from the
frozen meadows, savage fellows from the forest, fishermen from the icy
inlets—these also came to hear the words of the wizard Smith and be
taught by him. They came on snowshoes and in reindeer sledges, battling
with the wintry storm winds and heeding not the cold. Singly and by
twos and threes they came and squatted round Dame Louhi’s fireplace,
rubbing their hands together, warming their shins, and staring into the
face of the marvellous stranger. And Ilmarinen sat in their midst and
told them many tales of wonder, chiefly tales of his own rare skill and
cunning.
He told them how he had broken the mountains with his hammer, how he
had conquered wild Iron and imprisoned him in his smithy, and how, from
a single lump of metal, he had hammered out the sky and set it up as a
lid to cover the land and the sea. “All these things,” said he, “were
done by me—me, the prince of smiths, me, the skilfulest of men.”
Then all his listeners, wise men, herdsmen, fishermen, wild men, looked
at him with awe and admiration. They drew up closer to the fire, they
threw fresh logs into the flames, they turned their faces towards him
and asked a thousand curious questions.
“Who painted the sky and gave it its blue and friendly color?” asked
the wise men.
“I painted it—I, the first of smiths,” answered Ilmarinen. “And when I
swept my brush across from east to west, some drops of blue fell into
the sea and colored it also.”
“What are the stars that glitter so brightly above us when the nights
are clear?” asked the herdsmen.
“They are the sparks from my forge,” was the answer. “I caught them and
fixed them securely in their places; I welded them into the vast
sky-lid so they should never fall out nor fly away.”
“Where is the home of the Great Pike, the mightiest of all the
creatures that swim in the water?” asked the fishermen.
“The Great Pike lurks in the hidden places of the deep sea,” said
Ilmarinen; “for he knows that I have forged a hook of iron that will
some day be the cause of his undoing.”
“Ah! ah! ah!” muttered the wild men. Their mouths were open and their
eyes were staring at the rafters where hung long rows of smoked salmon,
slabs of bacon, and dried herbs of magic power. “Ah! ah! ah! What shall
we do when we are hungry and there are no nuts to be gathered, no roots
to be digged, no small beasts to be captured, no food of any kind? Ah!
ah! ah!”
“Forget to-day, think only of to-morrow—for then there will be plenty,”
answered Ilmarinen. “Go back to your old haunts in the forest, and
to-morrow I will send you so many nuts and roots and small beasts that
you shall grow fat with the eating of them.”
Thus, all through the wintry weather, Ilmarinen dispensed wisdom to the
inquiring men who desired it, and there was no question which he could
not answer, no want which he could not satisfy. And at length, when
every mind was filled with knowledge, and every stomach with food from
Dame Louhi’s bountiful stores, the visitors departed. Singly, or by
twos and threes, in sledges, on snowshoes, on foot, they returned to
their respective haunts and homes. “We have seen him, and there is
nothing more to be desired,” they said.
And now the snow was melting, the grass was green on the hillsides, the
reeds were springing up in the marshes, and the birds were twittering
under the eaves.
Forthwith, brave Ilmarinen sallied out to find a smithy. Ten men,
willing and strong, followed him, prepared to do any sort of labor, to
undergo any sort of privation. Long did he seek, and far and wide did
he travel, and many were the vain inquiries which he made; but nowhere
in all the Frozen Land could he discover forge or chimney, bellows or
tongs, anvil or hammer. In that dismal, snowy country men had never
needed iron; they had no tools save tools of fish-bone; they had no
weapons save sticks and stones and fists and feet. What wonder, then,
that they had no smithy?
Some men would have given up in despair, but not so Ilmarinen. “Women
may lose their courage,” he said; “fools may give up a task because it
is hard; but heroes persevere, wizards and smiths conquer.”
So, still followed by his serving-men, he set out to find a fit place
in which to build a smithy. For nine days he sought—yes, for ten long
summer days he wandered over the brown meadows and among the gloomy
hills of Pohyola. At length, deep in the silent forest he found a great
stone all streaked and striped in colors of the rainbow.
“This is the place,” he said, never doubting; and he gave orders to
build his smithy there.
The first day’s task was to build the furnace and the forge with
yawning mouth and towering chimney. On the second day he framed the
bellows and covered it with stout reindeer hide. On the third he set up
his anvil, a block of hardest granite heavy for ten men to roll.
Then he made his tools. For a hammer he took a smooth stone from the
brook; for tongs he cut a green sapling and bent it in the middle,
forcing the two ends together. Thus his smithy was completed; but how
was he to forge the magic Sampo? With what was he to form its
iridescent lid?
“Only weaklings say, ‘I cannot,’” said he. “Only want-wits say, ‘It is
too difficult.’ Heroes never give up. Nothing is impossible to a true
smith.”
Then from a secret pocket he drew the things most needful for his
forging. He counted them over, giving to each a magic number—two tips
of white swan feathers, a bottle of milk from a young red heifer, a
grain of barley grown in a land beyond the sea, and the fleece of a
lambkin not one day old. These he mixed in a magic caldron, throwing
upon them many bits of precious metals, with strange wild herbs and
rank poisons and sweet honey dew. And all the while, he kept muttering
harshly the spells and charms which none but smiths and skilful wizards
understand.
At length the mixture was completed. Ilmarinen set the caldron firmly
in the furnace, he pushed it far into the yawning cavern. Then he
kindled the fire, he heaped on fuel, he closed the furnace door and
bade the serving-men set the bellows to blowing.
Tirelessly the ten men toiled, taking turns, five by five, at the
mighty lever. Like the fierce North Wind sweeping over the hills and
rushing through the piney forest, the heaving bellows roared. The
flames leaped up and filled the furnace and the forge. The black smoke
poured from the chimney and rose in cloudlike, inky masses to the sky.
Ilmarinen heaped on more fuel, he opened the draughts of the furnace,
he danced like a madman in the light of the flames, he shouted strange
words of magic meaning. Thus, for three long summer days and three
brief summer nights, the fire glowed and the furnace roared and the men
toiled and watched unceasingly. And round about the feet of the workmen
lichens and leafy plants grew up, and in the crannies of the rocks wild
flowers bloomed, nourished by the warmth from the magic forge.
On the fourth day, the wizard Smith bade the workmen pause while he
stooped down and looked into the caldron far within the fire-filled
furnace. He wished to see whether anything had begun to shape itself
from the magic mixture, whether anything had been brought forth by the
mighty heat.
As he looked, lo! a crossbow rose from out the caldron—a crossbow,
perfect in form and carved with figures fantastical and beautiful. On
each side it was inlaid with precious gold, and the tips were balls of
silver. The shaft was made of copper, and the whole bow was wondrously
strong.
“This is a beautiful thing,” said Ilmarinen, “but it is not the Sampo.”
Forthwith the crossbow leaped from the caldron; it flew out of the
furnace; it stood humbly bowing before the wizard Smith.
“Hail, my master!” it said. “Here I am, ready to serve you as you
command. My task is to kill, and I love it, I love it! Send me forth
quickly, and let me begin. On every work-day I’ll kill at least one. On
every holiday I’ll kill more—sometimes two, and sometimes very many.
Oh, yes, I will kill, I will kill!”
“What will you kill?” asked Ilmarinen.
“In war, men; in peace, singing birds and timid deer. Oh, I can kill, I
can kill!”
And having said this, the crossbow began to shoot arrows recklessly
about to the great peril of the ten serving-men. This made Ilmarinen
angry. “You are bad!” he cried. “You love only evil. I have no use for
you!” and he seized the bow and threw it back into the boiling caldron.
Then he bade the workmen blow the bellows as before; and he heaped on
more fuel and more fuel, singing meanwhile a wild, weird song which
made the flames leap out from the very top of the chimney.
All day, all night, the bellows roared; all day again, and again all
night, the furnace glowed, white-hot, and furious. Then, just at
sunrise, the Smith called to the bellows-men, “Halt!” He stooped down
and gazed steadfastly, curiously, into the magic caldron. As the flames
subsided and the furnace began to grow cool, behold a ship rose from
the mixture—a ship complete with pointed beak and oars and sails, all
ready to be launched upon the sea. Its hull was painted blue and
yellow, its ribs were golden, its prow was of copper, and its sails
were of white linen whereon were depicted most wonderful figures of
dragons and savage beasts; and on its deck and within its hold were all
manner of weapons of war—axes and spears, bows and arrows, sharp
daggers and gleaming swords.
“Here I am, my master!” said the ship. “I am ready for your service, if
you please. You see that I am well fitted for war, well fitted to
plunder and rob the seaports of other lands. Send me out, that I may
help you slay your enemies and make your name a terror throughout the
world.”
The wizard Smith drew the ship toward him. Beautiful and well-laden
though it was, he was by no means pleased with it. “I like you not!” he
cried. “You are a destroyer and not a builder. You love evil, and I
will have no part nor parcel of you,” and he broke the ship into a
thousand pieces, and threw the fragments back into the caldron. Then he
bade the serving-men blow the bellows with all their might, while he
heaped fresh fuel upon the flames and sang wild songs of wizardry and
enchantment.
On the fourth morning Ilmarinen looked again into the caldron. “Surely
something good has been formed by this time,” he said.
From the caldron a mist was slowly rising, hot, pungent, fog-like;
within it, the magic mixture could be heard bubbling, seething,
hissing. The Smith looked long ere he could see what was forming. Then
suddenly the mist cleared away and a beautiful young heifer sprang out
into the sunlight. Her color was golden, her neck and legs were like
the wild deer’s, her horns were ivory, her eyes were wondrous large,
and on her forehead was a disc of steely sunshine.
The Smith was delighted, his heart was filled with admiration.
“Beautiful, beautiful creature!” he cried. “Surely, she will be of use
to mankind.”
Scarcely had he spoken when the heifer rushed out of the smithy,
pausing not a moment to salute her master. She ran swiftly into the
forest, bellowing, horning, fighting, spurning everything that came in
her way.
“Ah, me!” sighed the Smith, “she, too, has an evil nature. Alas, that
one so wickedly inclined should be blessed with so beautiful a form!”
Then he bade the serving-men bring her back to the smithy; and when,
with infinite labor, they had done this, he cut her in pieces and threw
her back into the caldron. And now the bellows was set to blowing
again, and it roared like a tempest in a forest of pines; the smoke
rolled darkly from the chimney; and the fire glowed hotter than before
around the seething caldron. And all that day, and through the
midsummer night, the master and his men toiled unceasingly.
At sunrise on the fifth day, Ilmarinen looked again into the caldron.
As he stooped and gazed, a plough rose suddenly from the magic mixture.
Like a thing of life it glided softly through the furnace door, bowed
low before the wizard Smith, and waited to receive his judgment. It had
been shaped and put together with great skill, and every line was a
line of beauty. The frame was of copper, the share was of gold, the
handles were tipped with silver.
“Here I am, my master,” it said. “Send me forth to do your bidding.”
“What good thing can you do?” asked Ilmarinen.
“I can turn things over, tear things up,” answered the plough. “Nothing
in the fields can stand against me. I will overturn the sod, I will
uproot all growing things whether good or bad. I will go into gardens,
meadows, cornfields, and stir the soil; and woe to the plant that comes
in my way, for I will destroy it.”
“You are beautiful and you are useful,” said the Smith; “but you are
rude and unkind. You do not know how to discriminate between the evil
and the good. You give pain, you cause death, and therefore I do not
love you.”
He waited not for the plough’s answer, but struck it with his hammer
and broke it into a thousand fragments; then he threw the fragments
back into the magic caldron and closed the door of the furnace.
Long and thoughtfully he sat, silent but not despairing. His elbows
rested upon his knees, his head was bowed upon his hands. And he
repeated to himself his favorite saying: “None but cowards say, ‘I
cannot,’ none but weaklings say, ‘Impossible,’ none but women weep for
failure.”
At length he rose and called to his serving-men; he dismissed them,
every one, and summoned the winds to come and be his helpers.