“Yes, yes, yes!” stammered the poor Smith, scarcely knowing what he said. “I will do anything, everything that lies in my power. But I have never seen a Sampo, and I know not what [[69]]it is. Tell me what it is like; tell me of its various uses.”
“The Sampo,” answered the Maid of Beauty—and her voice was like the ripple of wavelets on the shore of the summer sea—“the Sampo is the mill of fortune—the magic grinder that will grind whatever its owner most desires: money, houses, ships, silver, flour, salt—everything!”
“Silver, flour, salt—everything!” echoed the Smith.
“Yes. Do you think that you have the skill to forge it?”
“Well, I have done greater things than that,” he answered boastingly. “Long ago, when the world was young, I found Iron, ruddy Iron, hiding in the bogs, skulking in the woods, basking in the sunlight of the hills. I caught him and subdued him; I taught him to serve me; I gave him to the world to be a joy forever.”
“We have often heard of your skill, and your praise is in all men’s mouths,” said the eager Mistress. “But the Sampo can be forged only by a great master of magic. Your friend, the Minstrel, although he was able to do many very wonderful things, would not undertake a task so difficult.” [[70]]
“Truly, I have performed harder tasks,” answered the boaster. “Why, it was I that forged the blue sky that bends over the earth in summer. I hammered it out of a single piece of metal. I fashioned it into a dome-shaped lid to shut down over the earth and air. I painted it pale blue and azure and murky brown. Nothing is too great for my magic. Give me but one hint regarding its shape and nature, and I will make the Sampo—yes, a hundred Sampos—for you.”
Toothless though she was, the wise old Mistress smiled—she smiled fearfully, cunningly, as one pleased and plotting.
“I cannot describe its shape,” she answered, “for it is still uncreated and therefore formless; but its composition is quite simple and its ingredients are of the commonest kind. If by your power in magic you can mix these ingredients properly, the mill is made—it will do its work. But talk not of a hundred Sampos; the world can never hold but one.”
“And I promise that with my magic skill I will put that one together,” said the Smith; “but what can you tell me about its ingredients? Tell me all you know about its composition.” [[71]]