Ilmarinen the Smith Goes Courting

Ilmarinen the Blacksmith never grew tired of hammering.¹ One day, as he was putting some iron in the forge, a maiden came to his smithy. She stood upon the threshold and called out to the Blacksmith: “If you knew what I have to tell you, Ilmarinen the Blacksmith, you’d not put that iron in your forge.”

“If you have something good to tell me,” he said, “then I’ll give you a beautiful piece of jewellery, but if it’s something bad, then I’ll drop this piece of red-hot iron right down your gullet.”

“There are two men out rowing in their boats; they are suitors to fair Catherine, the King of Hiisi’s daughter,” said the maiden.² Ilmarinen the Smith took the iron out of the forge, fell into contemplation, and went home.

“Mother,” he said, “make the copper sauna hotter than glowing stone, and give me a fine shirt and a smart set of clothes.” Then Ilmarinen the Smith went out to bathe in the sauna, and returned home – and he had no belt around his hips and no shoes upon his feet.

“Brother,” he said, “take my swiftest three-year-old foal and with the copper harness and the pewter breastplate, fasten it to the golden sleigh with the iron runners and the steel shafts.” His brother did so, but he couldn’t fasten the breastplate. So Ilmarinen the Smith himself went out and fastened the breastplate – and he had no belt around his hips and no shoes upon his feet.

Then Ilmarinen the Smith sat in the golden sleigh with the iron runners and the steel shafts, and drove his foal with the copper harness and the pewter breastplate across the wild lake as swiftly as it would go; he drove as swiftly as the wind, and the horse’s hoofs did not get wet and no track of the sleigh appeared upon the water. He caught up with the two who were rowing, each in his own boat.

Catherine, the King of Hiisi’s daughter, stood in the window – as white and as pale and as fair as could be – looking out over the lake. “Father,” she said, “three suitors approach – two are rowing boats; the third rides across the lake in a golden sleigh.”

The King of Hiisi received them and gave them food and drink; they declared their intention – they had come to court fair Catherine. The King of Hiisi replied: “Indeed. Which of you can plough my worm meadow, bare of foot and unbelted around the waist?”

“I can,” said Ilmarinen the Blacksmith. The others bowed and went on their way, but Ilmarinen the Blacksmith harnessed his strong, spirited foal to the plough and set about ploughing.

The worms writhed two cubits deep in the meadow; they hissed and squirmed around the plough and up over Ilmarinen himself, but they could do him no harm. He ploughed the worm meadow, and then he returned and bowed before the King of Hiisi.

“Now, can you get all the big fish in the lake to swim and the small fish to jump?” Ilmarinen the Smith went and did so, and then he returned and bowed before the King of Hiisi.

Now the King said: “Now go down to the shore of the lake and fetch fair Catherine’s bridal box.”

Ilmarinen the Smith went down to the shore of the lake, where sat three Maidens. “Good maidens,” he said, “tell me, where is fair Catherine’s bridal box?”

“Old Untamo has the chest,” replied the maidens.³ “There away, you can see where he dwells; many tracks lead thither, but few come thence.”

Ilmarinen went to Untamo’s dwelling. He was lying out in the field, and had dragged himself around the whole house so that his head and feet met at the door. Ilmarinen the Smith leapt through the door into the midst of the parlour. “You, old Untamo, bring me fair Catherine’s bridal box,” he said.

“I shall give it to you,” replied Untamo, “if you can step on to my tongue and dance there.”

Ilmarinen the Smith did so: he stepped on to his tongue and jumped and danced about. Old Untamo gaped a cubit and a half, and showed his teeth, which were a cubit long, and swallowed Ilmarinen the Smith whole, down into his belly, without a bite.

Once Ilmarinen the Smith was there, he took off his shirt and fashioned it into a forge. He fashioned bellows from his trousers. He used his left knee for an anvil, his left hand for tongs, and his right for a sledgehammer. He took the copper button from his shirt and forged from it a bird with iron claws and a steel beak. Then he sang a ballad that gave life to the bird. It fluttered around in old Untamo’s belly, tore at veins and tendons, and made a hole in his side.

Ilmarinen the Smith climbed out through the hole and returned to the maidens who were sitting by the beach. “Maidens,” said he, “give me fair Catherine’s bridal box.”

The maidens replied: “There away it lies in the sand; take it and go.”

Ilmarinen the Smith picked it up and took it back to the King of Hiisi, where he bowed and said: “Here is fair Catherine’s bridal box.”

Thus did Ilmarinen the Smith win fair Catherine, the King of Hiisi’s daughter.

Ilmarinen the Smith and his bride got into the golden sleigh with the iron runners and steel shafts, and drove his quick, spirited foal with the copper harness and the pewter breastplate across the wild lake as swiftly as it would go; he drove as swiftly as the wind, and the horse’s hoofs did not get wet and no track of the sleigh appeared upon the water. Ilmarinen the Smith drove on, and night fell. Then he sang a ballad so that an islet grew up in the midst of the lake. There Ilmarinen the Smith lay down to sleep beside his bride.

When he awoke in the morning, she was gone. He went and counted all the ducks that were around the islet, and there was one duck too many. So Ilmarinen the Smith sang a ballad: “Don’t hide, Catherine,” and then she returned.

He drove out onto the lake again. He drove and drove, and night fell. The Blacksmith again sang up an islet on the lake and lay down there with his bride.

When he awoke in the morning, she was gone again. He went and counted the trees on the islet, and there was one tree too many. “Don’t hide, Catherine,” said the Blacksmith to the tree. “There you are.” And he sang a ballad until she returned.

Then he drove out again with his bride. He drove and drove on the lake until night fell. Then he sang up an islet on the lake and lay down there to sleep with his bride, and in the morning when he awoke, she was gone again.

Ilmarinen the Smith went and counted all the stones on the islet, and there was one stone too many. “Don’t hide, Catherine. There you are,” said the Blacksmith, singing a ballad. Then Catherine returned.

“Catherine, I have suffered much on your account without fearing the worst. So now you must go and dwell upon the lake forever, and for your punishment you shall always have the wind against you.”

That’s what Ilmarinen the Smith said, after which he turned his bride into a herring gull.