Sampo, Sampo, Who’s Got the Sampo?
First of all nobody can quite agree on exactly what the Sampo is. Just try looking in a dictionary. It’s a bit like a primitive Philosopher’s Stone -- dimly mythical, although strictly speaking it’s not in any myths. Some claim it to be a mill, from which come “all good things.” Others, such as Lönnrot himself, would have it be a powerful talisman or an idol, which is as good a guess as any. Clearly it is something forged, though of most peculiar ingredients (barren cow’s milk is on the list), and then kept hidden away most of the time. It has a bright lid. It can grind out corn, salt and, best of all, money, so it features in some pretty significant songs. In due course it gets stolen and fought over, as most really splendid things do. No doubt the tax man keeps an eye on all of this. Tax men always show up when nations are emerging; in fact, they are usually first in line.
As a piece of folklore the Sampo gets to defy logic, and it very nearly defies literary convention, so while it may be obscurely historical in origin, the forging of it is more likely an elaborate allegory representing heroic effort, the creation of bounty if not of life itself, a grand and episodic event to be sung about with full-throated fervor. But nobody will say for sure.
The Power and Poetry of Insults
When somebody has royally pissed you off, what’s your first impulse? I’ll bet it’s not to sing at them. Well for the Finno-Ugrians slinging songs at one another was one way to prove their power, cultural advancement, and prowess. Magic and charms were prominent among them, stemming in part from early shamanic influences. We’ve previously seen what clever rogues shamans can be. By invoking, through song, the spirits in things of the natural world great achievements could be attained, and unassailable reputations built and maintained. So battles are frequently in the form of stylized oral clashes between great wits. He with the wryest and most rainbow tongue doth vanquish all clabber-mouthed charlatans.
This is how, in the Kalevala, steady old Väinämöinen (he’s always steady) and the young upstart Joukahainen duke it out. It begins when Joukahainen, who’s got himself all worked up, charges the elder with his sleigh. Immediately they both plant their feet and let rip with the insults. During the contest not a sword is raised (not quite), not a fist visibly clenched. Words, chants, spells, memories, grandiose poetry, and slander spool out from their mouths. “I shall not much fear those swords of yours, wits of yours; those ice-picks, those tricks of yours!” declares Väinämöinen, in reply to which the innocent Joukahainen threatens to sing him into a pig. Now don’t laugh, these are mighty characters. In time the ever-steady Väinämöinen sings his challenger literally into the ground, sinks him into the heath with his superior wit and experience. The pen (or keyboard) proves mightier than the sword after all.
In any case, it’s a topsy-turvy world, this Finno-Ugric realm. You’ve got strange and lovely virgins looping through the air; you’ve got the inscrutable Sampo being forged from chaos and then sumptuously spilling out endless riches; and you’ve got towering manly figures singing at one another in heated battle. One must be reminded, in the end, that it is the license of the poet that allows for all this mayhem.
