Kalevala : the Epic Poem of Finland Part 16

When this task had been completed, Ilmarinen, quick returning, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: "Give me, worthy dame, thy daughter, Give me now my bride affianced, I have brought the bear of Mana From Tuoni's fields and forests."

Spake the hostess of Pohyola To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen: "I will only give my daughter, Give to thee the Maid of Beauty, When the monster-pike thou catchest In the river of Tuoni, In Ma.n.a.la's fatal waters, Using neither hooks, nor fish-nets, Neither boat, nor fis.h.i.+ng-tackle; Hundreds have been sent to catch him, No one yet has been successful, All have perished in Ma.n.a.la."

Much disheartened, Ilmarinen Hastened to the maiden's chamber, Thus addressed the rainbow-maiden: "Now a third test is demanded, Much more difficult than ever; I must catch the pike of Mana, In the river of Tuoni, And without my fis.h.i.+ng-tackle, Hard the third test of the hero!

This advice the maiden gives him: "O thou hero, Ilmarinen, Never, never be discouraged: In thy furnace, forge an eagle, From the fire of ancient magic; He will catch the pike of Mana, Catch the monster-fish in safety, From the death-stream of Tuoni, From Ma.n.a.la's fatal waters."

Then the suitor, Ilmarinen, The eternal artist-forgeman, In the furnace forged an eagle From the fire of ancient wisdom; For this giant bird of magic Forged he talons out of iron, And his beak of steel and copper; Seats himself upon the eagle, On his back between the wing-bones, Thus addresses he his creature, Gives the bird of fire, this order: "Mighty eagle, bird of beauty, Fly thou whither I direct thee, To Tuoni's coal-black river, To the blue deeps of the Death-stream, Seize the mighty fish of Mana, Catch for me this water-monster."

Swiftly flies the magic eagle, Giant-bird of worth and wonder, To the river of Tuoni, There to catch the pike of Mana; One wing brushes on the waters, While the other sweeps the heavens; In the ocean dips his talons, Whets his beak on mountain-ledges.

Safely landing, Ilmarinen, The immortal artist-forger, Hunts the monster of the Death-stream, While the eagle hunts and fishes In the waters of Ma.n.a.la.

From the river rose a monster, Grasped the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Tried to drag him to his sea-cave; Quick the eagle pounced upon him, With his metal-beak he seized him, Wrenched his head, and rent his body, Hurled him back upon the bottom Of the deep and fatal river, Freed his master, Ilmarinen.

Then arose the pike of Mana, Came the water-dog in silence, Of the pikes was not the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Tongue the length of double hatchets, Teeth as long as fen-rake handles, Mouth as broad as triple streamlets, Back as wide as seven sea-boats, Tried to snap the magic blacksmith, Tried to swallow Ilmarinen.

Swiftly swoops the mighty eagle, Of the birds was not the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Mouth as wide as seven streamlets, Tongue as long as seven javelins, Like five crooked scythes his talons; Swoops upon the pike of Mana.

Quick the giant fish endangered, Darts and flounders in the river, Dragging down the mighty eagle, Las.h.i.+ng up the very bottom To the surface of the river; When the mighty bird uprising Leaves the wounded pike in water, Soars aloft on worsted pinions To his home in upper ether; Soars awhile, and sails, and circles, Circles o'er the reddened waters, Swoops again on lightning-pinions, Strikes with mighty force his talons Into the shoulder of his victim; Strikes the second of his talons On the flinty mountain-ledges, On the rocks with iron hardened; From the cliffs rebound his talons, Slip the flinty rocks o'erhanging, And the monster-pike resisting Dives again beneath the surface To the bottom of the river, From the talons of the eagle; Deep, the wounds upon the body Of the monster of Tuoni.

Still a third time soars the eagle, Soars, and sails, and quickly circles, Swoops again upon the monster, Fire out-shooting from his pinoins, Both his eyeb.a.l.l.s flas.h.i.+ng lightning; With his beak of steel and copper Grasps again the pike of Mana Firmly planted are his talons In the rocks and in his victim, Drags the monster from the river, Lifts the pike above the waters, From Tuoni's coal-black river, From the blue-back of Ma.n.a.la.

Thus the third time does the eagle Bring success from former failures; Thus at last the eagle catches Mana's pike, the worst of fishes, Swiftest swimmer of the waters, From the river of Tuoni; None could see Ma.n.a.la's river, For the myriad of fish-scales; Hardly could one see through ether, For the feathers of the eagle, Relicts of the mighty contest.

Then the bird of copper talons Took the pike, with scales of silver, To the pine-tree's topmost branches, To the fir-tree plumed with needles, Tore the monster-fish in pieces, Ate the body of his victim, Left the head for Ilmarinen.

Spake the blacksmith to the eagle: "O thou bird of evil nature, What thy thought and what thy motive?

Thou hast eaten what I needed, Evidence of my successes; Thoughtless eagle, witless instinct, Thus to mar the spoils of conquest!"

But the bird of metal talons Hastened onward, soaring upward, Rising higher into ether, Rising, flying, soaring, sailing, To the borders of the long-clouds, Made the vault of ether tremble, Split apart the dome of heaven, Broke the colored bow of Ukko, Tore the Moon-horns from their sockets, Disappeared beyond the Sun-land, To the home of the triumphant.

Then the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Took the pike-head to the hostess Of the ever-dismal Northland, Thus addressed the ancient Louhi: "Let this head forever serve thee As a guest-bench for thy dwelling, Evidence of hero-triumphs; I have caught the pike of Mana, I have done as thou demandest, Three my victories in Death-land, Three the tests of magic heroes; Wilt thou give me now thy daughter, Give to me the Maid of Beauty?"

Spake the hostess of Pohyola: "Badly is the test accomplished, Thou has torn the pike in pieces, From his neck the head is severed, Of his body thou hast eaten, Brought to me this worthless relic!

These the words of Ilmarinen: "When the victory is greatest, Do we suffer greatest losses!

From the river of Tuoni, From the kingdom of Ma.n.a.la, I have brought to thee this trophy, Thus the third task is completed.

Tell me is the maiden ready, Wilt thou give the bride affianced?

Spake the hostess of Pohyola: "I will give to thee my daughter, Will prepare my snow-white virgin, For the suitor, Ilmarinen; Thou hast won the Maid of Beauty, Bride is she of thine hereafter, Fit companion of thy fireside, Help and joy of all thy lifetime."

On the floor a child was sitting, And the babe this tale related.

"There appeared within this dwelling, Came a bird within the castle, From the East came flying hither, From the East, a monstrous eagle, One wing touched the vault of heaven, While the other swept the ocean; With his tail upon the waters, Reached his beak beyond the cloudlets, Looked about, and eager watching, Flew around, and sailing, soaring, Flew away to hero-castle, Knocked three times with beak of copper On the castle-roof of iron; But the eagle could not enter.

"Then the eagle, looking round him, Flew again, and sailed, and circled, Flew then to the mothers' castle, Loudly rapped with heavy knocking On the mothers' roof of copper; But the eagle could not enter.

"Then the eagle, looking round him, Flew a third time, sailing, soaring, Flew then to the virgins' castle, Knocked again with beak of copper, On the virgins' roof of linen, Easy for him there to enter; Flew upon the castle-chimney, Quick descending to the chamber, Pulled the clapboards from the studding, Tore the linen from the rafters, Perched upon the chamber-window, Near the walls of many colors, On the cross-bars gaily-feathered, Looked upon the curly-beaded, Looked upon their golden ringlets, Looked upon the snow-white virgins, On the purest of the maidens, On the fairest of the daughters, On the maid with pearly necklace, On the maiden wreathed in flowers; Perched awhile, and looked, admiring, Swooped upon the Maid of Beauty, On the purest of the virgins, On the whitest, on the fairest, On the stateliest and grandest, Swooped upon the rainbow-daughter Of the dismal Sariola; Grasped her in his mighty talons, Bore away the Maid of Beauty, Maid of fairest form and feature, Maid adorned with pearly necklace, Decked in feathers iridescent, Fragrant flowers upon her bosom, Scarlet band around her forehead, Golden rings upon her fingers, Fairest maiden of the Northland."

Spake the hostess of Pohyola, When the babe his tale had ended: "Tell me bow, my child beloved, Thou hast learned about the maiden, Hast obtained the information, How her flaxen ringlets nestled, How the maiden's silver glistened, How the virgin's gold was lauded.

Shone the silver Sun upon thee, Did the moonbeams bring this knowledge?"

From the floor the child made answer: "Thus I gained the information, Moles of good-luck led me hither, To the home, of the distinguished, To the guest-room of the maiden, Good-name bore her worthy father, He that sailed the magic vessel; Better-name enjoyed the mother, She that baked the bread of barley, She that kneaded wheaten biscuits, Fed her many guests in Northland.

"Thus the information reached me, Thus the distant stranger heard it, Heard the virgin had arisen: Once I walked within the court-yard, Stepping near the virgin's chamber, At an early hour of morning, Ere the Sun had broken slumber Whirling rose the soot in cloudlets, Blackened wreaths of smoke came rising From the chamber of the maiden, From thy daughter's lofty chimney; There the maid was busy grinding, Moved the handles of the millstone Making voices like the cuckoo, Like the ducks the side-holes sounded, And the sifter like the goldfinch, Like the sea-pearls sang the grindstones.

"Then a second time I wandered To the border of the meadow In the forest was the maiden Rocking on a fragrant hillock, Dyeing red in iron vessels, And in copper kettles, yellow.

"Then a third time did I wander To the lovely maiden's window; There I saw thy daughter weaving, Heard the flying of her shuttle, Heard the beating of her loom-lathe, Heard the rattling of her treddles, Heard the whirring of her yarn-reel."

Spake the hostess of Pohyola: "Now alas! beloved daughter, I have often taught this lesson: 'Do not sing among the pine-trees, Do not call adown the valleys, Do not hang thy head in walking, Do not bare thine arms, nor shoulders, Keep the secrets of thy bosom, Hide thy beauty and thy power.'

"This I told thee in the autumn, Taught thee in the summer season, Sang thee in the budding spring-time, Sang thee when the snows were falling: 'Let us build a place for hiding, Let us build the smallest windows, Where may weave my fairest daughter, Where my maid may ply her shuttle, Where my joy may work unnoticed By the heroes of the Northland, By the suitors of Wainola.'"

From the floor the child made answer, Fourteen days the young child numbered; "Easy 'tis to hide a war-horse In the Northland fields and stables; Hard indeed to hide a maiden, Having lovely form and features!

Build of stone a distant castle In the middle of the ocean, Keep within thy lovely maiden, Train thou there thy winsome daughter, Not long hidden canst thou keep her.

Maidens will not grow and flourish, Kept apart from men and heroes, Will not live without their suitors, Will not thrive without their wooers; Thou canst never hide a maiden, Neither on the land nor water."

Now the ancient Wainamoinen, Head down-bent and heavy-hearted, Wanders to his native country, To Wainola's peaceful meadows, To the plains of Kalevala, Chanting as he journeys homeward: "I have pa.s.sed the age for wooing, Woe is me, rejected suitor, Woe is me, a witless minstrel, That I did not woo and marry, When my face was young and winsome, When my hand was warm and welcome!

Youth dethrones my age and station, Wealth is nothing, wisdom worthless, When a hero goes a-wooing With a poor but younger brother.

Fatal error that a hero Does not wed in early manhood, In his youth does not be master Of a worthy wife and household."

Thus the ancient Wainamoinen Sends the edict to his people: "Old men must not go a-wooing, Must not swim the sea of anger, Must not row upon a wager, Must not run a race for glory, With the younger sons of Northland."

RUNE XX.

THE BREWING OF BEER.

Now we sing the wondrous legends, Songs of wedding-feasts and dances, Sing the melodies of wedlock, Sing the songs of old tradition; Sing of Ilmarinen's marriage To the Maiden of the Rainbow, Fairest daughter of the Northland, Sing the drinking-songs of Pohya.

Long prepared they for the wedding In Pohyola's halls and chambers, In the courts of Sariola; Many things that Louhi ordered, Great indeed the preparations For the marriage of the daughter, For the feasting of the heroes, For the drinking of the strangers, For the feeding of the poor-folk, For the people's entertainment.

Grew an ox in far Karjala, Not the largest, nor the smallest, Was the ox that grew in Suomi; But his size was all-sufficient, For his tail was sweeping Jamen, And his head was over Kemi, Horns in length a hundred fathoms, Longer than the horns his mouth was; Seven days it took a weasel To encircle neck and shoulders; One whole day a swallow journeyed From one horn-tip to the other, Did not stop between for resting.

Thirty days the squirrel travelled From the tail to reach the shoulders, But he could not gain the horn-tip Till the Moon had long pa.s.sed over.

This young ox of huge dimensions, This great calf of distant Suomi, Was conducted from Karjala To the meadows of Pohyola; At each horn a hundred heroes, At his head and neck a thousand.

When the mighty ox was la.s.soed, Led away to Northland pastures, Peacefully the monster journeyed By the bays of Sariola, Ate the pasture on the borders; To the clouds arose his shoulders, And his horns to highest heaven.

Not in all of Sariola Could a butcher be discovered That could kill the ox for Louhi, None of all the sons of Northland, In her hosts of giant people, In her rising generation, In the hosts of those grown older.

Came a hero from a distance, Wirokannas from Karelen, And these words the gray-beard uttered: "Wait, O wait, thou ox of Suomi, Till I bring my ancient war-club; Then I'll smite thee on thy forehead, Break thy skull, thou willing victim!

Nevermore wilt thou in summer Browse the woods of Sariola, Bare our pastures, fields, and forests; Thou, O ox, wilt feed no longer Through the length and breadth of Northland, On the borders of this ocean!"

When the ancient Wirokannas Started out the ox to slaughter, When Palwoinen swung his war-club, Quick the victim turned his forehead, Flashed his flaming eyes upon him; To the fir-tree leaped the hero, In the thicket hid Palwoinen, Hid the gray-haired Wirokannas.

Everywhere they seek a butcher, One to kill the ox of Suomi, In the country of Karelen, And among the Suomi-giants, In the quiet fields of Ehstland, On the battle-fields of Sweden, Mid the mountaineers of Lapland, In the magic fens of Turya; Seek him in Tuoni's empire, In the death-courts of Ma.n.a.la.

Long the search, and unsuccessful, On the blue back of the ocean, On the far-outstretching pastures.

There arose from out the sea-waves, Rose a hero from the waters, On the white-capped, roaring breakers, From the water's broad expanses; Nor belonged he to the largest, Nor belonged he to the smallest; Made his bed within a sea-sh.e.l.l, Stood erect beneath a flour-sieve, Hero old, with hands of iron, And his face was copper-colored; Quick the hero full unfolded, Like the full corn from the kernel.

On his head a hat of flint-stone, On his feet were sandstone-sandals, In his hand a golden cleaver, And the blade was copper-handled.

Thus at last they found a butcher, Found the magic ox a slayer.

Nothing has been found so mighty That it has not found a master.

As the sea-G.o.d saw his booty, Quickly rushed he on his victim, Hurled him to his knees before him, Quickly felled the calf of Suomi, Felled the young ox of Karelen.

Bountifully meat was furnished; Filled at least a thousand hogsheads Of his blood were seven boatfuls, And a thousand weight of suet, For the banquet of Pohyola, For the marriage-feast of Northland.

In Pohyola was a guest-room, Ample was the hall of Louhi, Was in length a hundred furlongs, And in breadth was nearly fifty; When upon the roof a rooster Crowed at break of early morning, No one on the earth could hear him; When the dog barked at one entrance, None could hear him at the other.

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Hastens to the hall and court-room, In the centre speaks as follows: "Whence indeed will come the liquor, Who will brew me beer from barley, Who will make the mead abundant, For the people of the Northland, Coming to my daughter's marriage, To her drinking-feast and nuptials?

Cannot comprehend the malting, Never have I learned the secret, Nor the origin of brewing."

Spake an old man from his corner: "Beer arises from the barley, Comes from barley, hops, and water, And the fire gives no a.s.sistance.

Hop-vine was the son of Remu, Small the seed in earth was planted, Cultivated in the loose soil, Scattered like the evil serpents On the brink of Kalew-waters, On the Osmo-fields and borders.

There the young plant grew and flourished, There arose the climbing hop-vine, Clinging to the rocks and alders.

"Man of good-luck sowed the barley On the Osmo hills and lowlands, And the barley grew and flourished, Grew and spread in rich abundance, Fed upon the air and water, On the Osmo plains and highlands, On the fields of Kalew-heroes.

"Time had travelled little distance, Ere the hops in trees were humming, Barley in the fields was singing, And from Kalew's well the water, This the language of the trio: 'Let us join our triple forces, Join to each the other's powers; Sad alone to live and struggle, Little use in working singly, Better we should toil together.'

"Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Brewer of the drink refres.h.i.+ng, Takes the golden grains of barley, Taking six of barley-kernels, Taking seven tips of hop-fruit, Filling seven cups with water, On the fire she sets the caldron, Boils the barley, hops, and water, Lets them steep, and seethe, and bubble Brewing thus the beer delicious, In the hottest days of summer, On the foggy promontory, On the island forest-covered; Poured it into birch-wood barrels, Into hogsheads made of oak-wood.

"Thus did Osmotar of Kalew Brew together hops and barley, Could not generate the ferment.

Thinking long and long debating, Thus she spake in troubled accents: 'What will bring the effervescence, Who will add the needed factor, That the beer may foam and sparkle, May ferment and be delightful?'

Kalevatar, magic maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Swiftly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps upon the birch-wood bottom, Turns one way, and then another, In the centre of the caldron; Finds within a splinter lying From the bottom lifts the fragment, Turns it in her fingers, musing: 'What may come of this I know not, In the hands of magic maidens, In the virgin hands of Kapo, Snowy virgin of the Northland!'

"Kalevatar took the splinter To the magic virgin, Kapo, Who by unknown force and insight.

Rubbed her hands and knees together, And produced a snow-white squirrel; Thus instructed she her creature, Gave the squirrel these directions: 'Snow-white squirrel, mountain-jewel, Flower of the field and forest, Haste thee whither I would send thee, Into Metsola's wide limits, Into Tapio's seat of wisdom; Hasten through the heavy tree-tops, Wisely through the thickest branches, That the eagle may not seize thee, Thus escape the bird of heaven.

Bring me ripe cones from the fir-tree, From the pine-tree bring me seedlings, Bring them to the hands of Kapo, For the beer of Osmo's daughter.'

Quickly hastened forth the squirrel, Quickly sped the nimble broad-tail, Swiftly hopping on its journey From one thicket to another, From the birch-tree to the aspen, From the pine-tree to the willow, From the sorb-tree to the alder, Jumping here and there with method, Crossed the eagle-woods in safety, Into Metsola's wide limits, Into Tapio's seat of wisdom; There perceived three magic pine-trees, There perceived three smaller fir-trees, Quickly climbed the dark-green branches, Was not captured by the eagle, Was not mangled in his talons; Broke the young cones from the fir-tree, Cut the shoots of pine-tree branches, Hid the cones within his pouches, Wrapped them in his fur-grown mittens Brought them to the hands of Kapo, To the magic virgin's fingers.

Kapo took the cones selected, Laid them in the beer for ferment, But it brought no effervescence, And the beer was cold and lifeless.

"Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Kapo, brewer of the liquor, Deeply thought and long considered: 'What will bring the effervescence, Who will lend me aid efficient, That the beer may foam and sparkle, May ferment and be refres.h.i.+ng?'

"Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Softly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps again upon the bottom, Turns one way and then another, In the centre of the caldron, Sees a chip upon the bottom, Takes it from its place of resting, Looks upon the chip and muses 'What may come of this I know not, In the hands of mystic maidens, In the hands of magic Kapo, In the virgin's snow-white fingers.'

"Kalevatar took the birch-chip To the magic maiden, Kapo, Gave it to the white-faced maiden.

Kapo, by the aid of magic, Rubbed her hands and knees together, And produced a magic marten, And the marten, golden-breasted; Thus instructed she her creature, Gave the marten these directions.

'Thou, my golden-breasted marten, Thou my son of golden color, Haste thou whither I may send thee, To the bear-dens of the mountain, To the grottoes of the growler, Gather yeast upon thy fingers, Gather foam from lips of anger, From the lips of bears in battle, Bring it to the hands of Kapo, To the hands of Osmo's daughter.'

"Then the marten golden-breasted, Full consenting, hastened onward, Quickly bounding on his journey, Lightly leaping through the distance Leaping o'er the widest rivers, Leaping over rocky fissures, To the bear-dens of the mountain, To the grottoes of the growler, Where the wild-bears fight each other, Where they pa.s.s a dread existence, Iron rocks, their softest pillows, In the fastnesses of mountains; From their lips the foam was dripping, From their tongues the froth of anger; This the marten deftly gathered, Brought it to the maiden, Kapo, Laid it in her dainty fingers.

"Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Brewer of the beer of barley, Used the beer-foam as a ferment; But it brought no effervescence, Did not make the liquor sparkle.

"Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Thought again, and long debated: 'Who or what will bring the ferment, Th at my beer may not be lifeless?'

"Kalevatar, magic maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Softly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps again upon the bottom, Turns one way and then another, In the centre of the caldron, Sees a pod upon the bottom, Lifts it in her snow-white fingers, Turns it o'er and o'er, and muses: 'What may come of this I know not, In the hands of magic maidens, In the hands of mystic Kapo, In the snowy virgin's fingers?'

"Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Gave the pod to magic Kapo; Kapo, by the aid of magic, Rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap, And a honey-bee came flying From the pod within her fingers, Kapo thus addressed her birdling: 'Little bee with honeyed winglets, King of all the fragrant flowers, Fly thou whither I direct thee, To the islands in the ocean, To the water-cliffs and grottoes, Where asleep a maid has fallen, Girdled with a belt of copper By her side are honey-gra.s.ses, By her lips are fragrant flowers, Herbs and flowers honey-laden; Gather there the sweetened juices, Gather honey on thy winglets, From the calyces of flowers, From the tips of seven petals, Bring it to the hands of Kapo, To the hands of Osmo's daughter.'

"Then the bee, the swift-winged birdling, Flew away with lightning-swiftness On his journey to the islands, O'er the high waves of the ocean; Journeyed one day, then a second, Journeyed all the next day onward, Till the third day evening brought him To the islands in the ocean, To the water-cliffs and grottoes; Found the maiden sweetly sleeping, In her silver-tinselled raiment, Girdled with a belt of copper, In a nameless meadow, sleeping, In the honey-fields of magic; By her side were honeyed gra.s.ses, By her lips were fragrant flowers, Silver stalks with golden petals; Dipped its winglets in the honey, Dipped its fingers in the juices Of the sweetest of the flowers, Brought the honey back to Kapo, To the mystic maiden's fingers.

"Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Placed the honey in the liquor; Kapo mixed the beer and honey, And the wedding-beer fermented; Rose the live beer upward, upward, From the bottom of the vessels, Upward in the tubs of birch-wood, Foaming higher, higher, higher, Till it touched the oaken handles, Overflowing all the caldrons; To the ground it foamed and sparkled, Sank away in sand and gravel.