Chapter VI: Part 6

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Gives this answer to the mother: “Nothing know I of thy hero, Of the hero of the islands; Where thy son may be I know not, Cannot lend the information; Once I gave thy son a courser, Hitched the racer to his snow-sledge, This the last of Lemminkainen; May perchance be drowned in Wuhne, Frozen in the icy ocean, Fallen prey to wolves in hunger, In a bear’s den may have perished.” Lemminkainen’s mother answers: “Thou art only speaking falsehoods, Northland wolves cannot devour us, Nor the bears kill Kaukomieli; He can slay the wolves of Pohya With the fingers of his left hand; Bears of Northland he would silence With the magic of his singing.

“Hostess of Pohyola, tell me Whither thou hast sent my hero; I shall burst thy many garners, Shall destroy the magic Sampo, If thou dost not tell me truly Where to find my Lemminkainen.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “I have well thy hero treated, Well my court has entertained him, Gave him of my rarest viands, Fed him at my well-filled tables, Placed him in a boat of copper, Thus to float adown the current, This the last of Lemminkainen; Cannot tell where he has wandered, Whether in the foam of waters, Whether in the boiling torrent, Whether in the drowning whirlpool.”

Lemminkainen’s mother answers: “Thou again art speaking falsely; Tell me now the truth I pray thee, Make an end of thy deception, Where is now my Lemminkainen, Whither hast thou sent my hero, Young and daring son of Kalew? If a third time thou deceivest, I will send thee plagues, unnumbered, I will send thee fell destruction, Certain death will overtake thee.” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “This the third time that I answer, This the truth that I shall tell thee: I have sent the Kalew-hero To the Hisi-fields and forests, There to hunt the moose of Lempo; Sent him then to catch the fire-horse, Catch the fire-expiring stallion, On the distant plains of Juutas, In the realm of cruel Hisi. Then I sent him to the Death-stream, In the kingdom of Tuoni, With his bow and but one arrow, There to shoot the swan as dowry For my best and fairest daughter; Have not heard about thy hero Since he left for Tuonela; May in misery have fallen, May have perished in Manala; Has not come to ask my daughter, Has not come to woo the maiden, Since he left to hunt the death-swan.”

Now the mother seeks her lost one, For her son she weeps and trembles, Like the wolf she bounds through fenlands, Like the bear, through forest thickets, Like the wild-boar, through the marshes, Like the hare, along the sea-coast, To the sea-point, like the hedgehog, Like the wild-duck swims the waters, Casts the rubbish from her pathway, Tramples down opposing brush-wood, Stops at nothing in her journey; Seeks a long time for her hero, Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him.

Now she asks the trees the question, And the forest gives this answer: “We have care enough already, Cannot think about thy matters; Cruel fates have we to battle, Pitiful our own misfortunes! We are felled and chopped in pieces, Cut in blocks for hero-fancy, We are burned to death as fuel, No one cares how much we suffer.”

Now again the mother wanders, Seeks again her long-lost hero, Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him. Paths arise and come to meet her, And she questions thus the pathways: “Paths of hope that God has fashioned, Have ye seen my Lemminkainen, Has my son and golden hero Travelled through thy many kingdoms?” Sad, the many pathways answer: “We ourselves have cares sufficient, Cannot watch thy son and hero, Wretched are the lives of pathways, Deep indeed our own misfortunes; We are trodden by the red-deer, By the wolves, and bears, and roebucks, Driven o’er by heavy cart-wheels, By the feet of dogs are trodden, Trodden under foot of heroes, Foot-paths for contending armies.”

Seeks again the frantic mother, Seeks her long-lost son and hero, Seeks, and seeks, and does not find him; Finds the Moon within her orbit, Asks the Moon in pleading measures: “Golden Moon, whom God has stationed In the heavens, the Sun’s companion, Hast thou seen my Kaukomieli, Hast thou seen my silver apple, Anywhere in thy dominions?” Thus the golden Moon makes answer: “I have trouble all-sufficient, Cannot watch thy daring hero; Long the journey I must travel, Sad the fate to me befallen, Pitiful mine own misfortunes, All alone the nights to wander, Shine alone without a respite, In the winter ever watching, In the summer sink and perish.”

Still the mother seeks, and wanders, Seeks, and does not find her hero; Sees the Sun in the horizon, And the mother thus entreats him: “Silver Sun, whom God has fashioned, Thou that giveth warmth and comfort, Hast thou lately seen my hero, Hast thou seen my Lemminkainen, Wandering in thy dominions?” Thus the Sun in kindness answers: “Surely has thy hero perished, To ingratitude a victim; Lemminkainen died and vanished In Tuoni’s fatal river, In the waters of Manala, In the sacred stream and whirlpool, In the cataract and rapids, Sank within the drowning current To the realm of Tuonela, To Manala’s lower regions.”

Lemminkainen’s mother weeping, Wailing in the deeps of anguish, Mourns the fate of Kaukomieli, Hastens to the Northland smithy, To the forge of Ilmarinen, These the words the mother utters: “Ilmarinen, metal-artist, Thou that long ago wert forging, Forging earth a concave cover, Yesterday wert forging wonders, Forge thou now, immortal blacksmith, Forge a rake with shaft of copper, Forge the teeth of strongest metal, Teeth in length a hundred fathoms, And five hundred long the handle.”

Ilmarinen does as bidden, Makes the rake in full perfection.

Lemminkainen’s anxious mother Takes the magic rake and hastens To the river of Tuoni, Praying to the Sun as follows: “Thou, O Sun, by God created, Thou that shinest on thy Maker, Shine for me in heat of magic, Give me warmth, and strength, and courage, Shine a third time full of power, Lull to sleep the wicked people, Still the people of Manala, Quiet all Tuoni’s empire.”

Thereupon the sun of Ukko, Dearest child of the Creator, Flying through the groves of Northland, Sitting on a curving birch-tree, Shines a little while in ardor, Shines again in greater fervor, Shines a third time full of power, Lulls to sleep the wicked people In the Manala home and kingdom, Still the heroes with their broadswords, Makes the lancers halt and totter, Stills the stoutest of the spearmen, Quiets Tuoni’s ghastly empire. Now the Sun retires in magic, Hovers here and there a moment Over Tuoni’s hapless sleepers, Hastens upward to his station, To his Jumala home and kingdom.

Lemminkainen’s faithful mother Takes the rake of magic metals, Rakes the Tuoni river bottoms, Rakes the cataract and whirlpool, Rakes the swift and boiling current Of the sacred stream of death-land, In the Manala home and kingdom. Searching for her long-lost hero, Rakes a long time, finding nothing; Now she wades the river deeper, To her belt in mud and water, Deeper, deeper, rakes the death-stream, Rakes the river’s deepest caverns, Raking up and down the current, Till at last she finds his tunic, Heavy-hearted, finds his jacket; Rakes again and rakes unceasing, Finds the hero’s shoes and stockings, Sorely troubled, finds these relics; Now she wades the river deeper, Rakes the Manala shoals and shallows, Rakes the deeps at every angle; As she draws the rake the third time From the Tuoni shores and waters, In the rake she finds the body Of her long-lost Lemminkainen, In the metal teeth entangled, In the rake with copper handle.

Thus the reckless Lemminkainen, Thus the son of Kalevala, Was recovered from the bottom Of the Manala lake and river. There were wanting many fragments, Half the head, a hand, a fore-arm, Many other smaller portions, Life, above all else, was missing. Then the mother, well reflecting, Spake these words in bitter weeping: “From these fragments, with my magic, I will bring to life my hero.”

Hearing this, the raven answered, Spake these measures to the mother: “There is not in these a hero, Thou canst not revive these fragments; Eels have fed upon his body, On his eyes have fed the whiting; Cast the dead upon the waters, On the streams of Tuonela, Let him there become a walrus, Or a seal, or whale, or porpoise.”

Lemminkainen’s mother does not Cast the dead upon the waters, On the streams of Tuonela; She again with hope and courage, Rakes the river lengthwise, crosswise, Through the Manala pools and caverns, Rakes up half the head, a fore-arm, Finds a hand and half the back-bone, Many other smaller portions; Shapes her son from all the fragments, Shapes anew her Lemminkainen, Flesh to flesh with skill she places, Gives the bones their proper stations, Binds one member to the other, Joins the ends of severed vessels, Counts the threads of all the venules, Knits the parts in apposition; Then this prayer the mother offers:

“Suonetar, thou slender virgin, Goddess of the veins of heroes, Skilful spinner of the vessels, With thy slender, silver spindle, With thy spinning-wheel of copper, Set in frame of molten silver, Come thou hither, thou art needed; Bring the instruments for mending, Firmly knit the veins together, At the end join well the venules, In the wounds that still are open, In the members that are injured.

“Should this aid be inefficient, There is living in the ether, In a boat enriched with silver, In a copper boat, a maiden, That can bring to thee assistance. Come, O maiden, from the ether, Virgin from the belt of heaven, Row throughout these veins, O maiden, Row through all these lifeless members, Through the channels of the long-bones, Row through every form of tissue. Set the vessels in their places, Lay the heart in right position, Make the pulses beat together, Join the smallest of the veinlets, And unite with skill the sinews. Take thou now a slender needle, Silken thread within its eyelet, Ply the silver needle gently, Sew with care the wounds together.

“Should this aid be inefficient, Thou, O God, that knowest all things, Come and give us thine assistance, Harness thou thy fleetest racer, Call to aid thy strongest courser, In thy scarlet sledge come swiftly, Drive through all the bones and channels, Drive throughout these lifeless tissues, Drive thy courser through each vessel, Bind the flesh and bones securely, In the joints put finest silver, Purest gold in all the fissures.

“Where the skin is broken open, Where the veins are torn asunder, Mend these injuries with magic; Where the blood has left the body, There make new blood flow abundant; Where the bones are rudely broken, Set the parts in full perfection; Where the flesh is bruised and loosened, Touch the wounds with magic balsam, Do not leave a part imperfect; Bone, and vein, and nerve, and sinew, Heart, and brain, and gland, and vessel, Heal as Thou alone canst heal them.”

These the means the mother uses, Thus she joins the lifeless members, Thus she heals the death-like tissues, Thus restores her son and hero To his former life and likeness; All his veins are knit together, All their ends are firmly fastened, All the parts in apposition, Life returns, but speech is wanting, Deaf and dumb, and blind, and senseless. Now the mother speaks as follows: “Where may I procure the balsam, Where the drops of magic honey, To anoint my son and hero, Thus to heal my Lemminkainen, That again his mouth may open, May again begin his singing, Speak again in words of wonder, Sing again his incantations?

“Tiny bee, thou honey-birdling, Lord of all the forest flowers, Fly away and gather honey, Bring to me the forest-sweetness, Found in Metsola’s rich gardens, And in Tapio’s fragrant meadows, From the petals of the flowers, From the blooming herbs and grasses, Thus to heal my hero’s anguish, Thus to heal his wounds of evil.”

Thereupon the honey-birdling Flies away on wings of swiftness, Into Metsola’s rich gardens, Into Tapio’s flowery meadows, Gathers sweetness from the meadows, With the tongue distills the honey From the cups of seven flowers, From the bloom of countless grasses; Quick from Metsola returning, Flying, humming, darting onward, With his winglets honey-laden, With the store of sweetest odors, To the mother brings the balsam. Lemminkainen’s anxious mother Takes the balm of magic virtues, And anoints the injured hero, Heals his wounds and stills his anguish; But the balm is inefficient, For her son is deaf and speechless.

Then again out-speaks the mother: “Little bee, my honey-birdling, Fly away in one direction, Fly across the seven oceans, In the eighth, a magic island, Where the honey is enchanted, To the distant Turi-castles, To the chambers of Palwoinen; There the honey is effective, There, the wonder-working balsam, This may heal the wounded hero; Bring me of this magic ointment, That I may anoint his eyelids, May restore his injured senses.”

Thereupon the honey-birdling Flies away o’er seven oceans, To the old enchanted island; Flies one day, and then a second, On the verdure does not settle, Does not rest upon the flowers; Flies a third day, fleetly onward, Till a third day evening brings him To the island in the ocean, To the meadows rich in honey, To the cataract and fire-flow, To the sacred stream and whirlpool.

There the honey was preparing, There the magic balm distilling In the tiny earthen vessels, In the burnished copper kettles, Smaller than a maiden’s thimble, Smaller than the tips of fingers. Faithfully the busy insect Gathers the enchanted honey From the magic Turi-cuplets In the chambers of Palwoinen.

Time had gone but little distance, Ere the bee came loudly humming, Flying fleetly, honey-laden; In his arms were seven vessels, Seven, the vessels on each shoulder; All were filled with honey-balsam, With the balm of magic virtues.

Lemminkainen’s tireless mother Quick anoints her speechless hero, With the magic Turi-balsam, With the balm of seven virtues; Nine the times that she anoints him With the honey of Palwoinen, With the wonder-working balsam; But the balm is inefficient, For the hero still is speechless. Then again out-speaks the mother: “Honey-bee, thou ether birdling, Fly a third time on thy journey, Fly away to high Jumala, Fly thou to the seventh heaven, Honey there thou’lt find abundant, Balsam of the highest virtue, Only used by the Creator, Only made from the breath of Ukko. God anoints his faithful children, With the honey of his wisdom, When they feel the pangs of sorrow, When they meet the powers of evil. Dip thy winglets in this honey, Steep thy plumage in His sweetness, Hither bring the all-sufficient Balsam of the great Creator; This will still my hero’s anguish, This will heal his wounded tissues, This restore his long-lost vision, Make the Northland hills re-echo With the magic of his singing, With his wonderful enchantment.” Thus the honey-bee made answer: “I can never fly to heaven, To the seventh of the heavens, To the distant home of Ukko, With these wings of little virtue.” Lemminkainen’s mother answered: “Thou canst surely fly to heaven, To the seventh of the heavens, O’er the Moon, beneath the sunshine, Through the dim and distant starlight. On the first day, flying upward, Thou wilt near the Moon in heaven, Fan the brow of Kootamoinen; On the second thou canst rest thee On the shoulders of Otava; On the third day, flying higher, Rest upon the seven starlets, On the heads of Hetewanè; Short the journey that is left thee, Inconsiderable the distance To the home of mighty Ukko, To the dwellings of the blessed.”

Thereupon the bee arising, From the earth flies swiftly upward, Hastens on with graceful motion, By his tiny wings borne heavenward, In the paths of golden moonbeams, Touches on the Moon’s bright borders, Fans the brow of Kootamoinen, Rests upon Otava’s shoulders, Hastens to the seven starlets, To the heads of Hetewanè, Flies to the Creator’s castle, To the home of generous Ukko, Finds the remedy preparing, Finds the balm of life distilling, In the silver-tinted caldrons, In the purest golden kettles; On one side, heart-easing honey, On a second, balm of joyance, On the third, life-giving balsam. Here the magic bee, selecting, Culls the sweet, life-giving balsam, Gathers too, heart-easing honey, Heavy-laden hastens homeward.

Time had traveled little distance, Ere the busy bee came humming To the anxious mother waiting, In his arms a hundred cuplets, And a thousand other vessels, Filled with honey, filled with balsam, Filled with the balm of the Creator.

Lemminkainen’s mother quickly Takes them on her tongue and tests them, Finds a balsam all-sufficient. Then the mother spake as follows: “I have found the long-sought balsam, Found the remedy of Ukko, Wherewith God anoints his people, Gives them life, and faith, and wisdom, Heals their wounds and stills their anguish, Makes them strong against temptation, Guards them from the evil-doers.”

Now the mother well anointing, Heals her son, the magic singer, Eyes, and ears, and tongue, and temples, Breaks, and cuts, and seams, anointing, Touching well the life-blood centres, Speaks these words of magic import To the sleeping Lemminkainen: “Wake, arise from out thy slumber, From the worst of low conditions, From thy state of dire misfortune!”

Quickly wakes the son and hero, Rises from the depths of slumber, Speaks again in magic accents, These the first words of the singer: “Long, indeed, have I been sleeping, Long unconscious of existence, But my sleep was full of sweetness, Sweet the sleep in Tuonela, Knowing neither joy nor sorrow!” This the answer of his mother: “Longer still thou wouldst have slumbered, Were it not for me, thy mother; Tell me now, my son beloved, Tell me that I well may hear thee, Who enticed thee to Manala, To the river of Tuoni, To the fatal stream and whirlpool?”

Then the hero, Lemminkainen, Gave this answer to his mother: “Nasshut, the decrepit shepherd Of the flocks of Sariola, Blind, and halt, and poor, and wretched, And to whom I did a favor; From the slumber-land of envy Nasshut sent me to Manala, To the river of Tuoni; Sent a serpent from the waters, Sent an adder from the death-stream, Through the heart of Lemminkainen; Did not recognize the serpent, Could not speak the serpent-language, Did not know the sting of adders.” Spake again the ancient mother: “O thou son of little insight, Senseless hero, fool-magician, Thou didst boast betimes thy magic To enchant the wise enchanters, On the dismal shores of Lapland, Thou didst think to banish heroes, From the borders of Pohyola; Didst not know the sting of serpents, Didst not know the reed of waters, Nor the magic word-protector! Learn the origin of serpents, Whence the poison of the adder.

“In the floods was born the serpent, From the marrow of the gray-duck, From the brain of ocean-swallows; Suoyatar had made saliva, Cast it on the waves of ocean, Currents drove it outward, onward, Softly shone the sun upon it, By the winds ’twas gently cradled, Gently nursed by winds and waters, By the waves was driven shoreward, Landed by the surging billows. Thus the serpent, thing of evil, Filling all the world with trouble, Was created in the waters Born from Suoyatar, its maker.”

Then the mother of the hero Rocked her son to rest and comfort, Rocked him to his former being, To his former life and spirit, Into greater magic powers; Wiser, handsomer than ever Grew the hero of the islands; But his heart was full of trouble, And his mother, ever watchful, Asked the cause of his dejection. This is Lemminkainen’s answer: “This the cause of all my sorrow; Far away my heart is roaming, All my thoughts forever wander To the Northland’s blooming virgins, To the maids of braided tresses. Northland’s ugly hostess, Louhi, Will not give to me her daughter, Fairest maiden of Pohyola, Till I kill the swan of Mana, With my bow and but one arrow, In the river of Tuoni.” Lemminkainen’s mother answers, In the sacred stream and whirlpool. “Let the swan swim on in safety, Give the water-bird his freedom, In the river of Manala, In the whirlpool of Tuoni; Leave the maiden in the Northland, With her charms and fading beauty; With thy fond and faithful mother, Go at once to Kalevala, To thy native fields and fallows. Praise thy fortune, all sufficient, Praise, above all else, thy Maker. Ukko gave thee aid when needed, Thou wert saved by thy Creator, From thy long and hopeless slumber, In the waters of Tuoni, In the chambers of Manala. I unaided could not save thee, Could not give the least assistance; God alone, omniscient Ukko, First and last of the creators, Can revive the dead and dying, Can protect his worthy people From the waters of Manala, From the fatal stream and whirlpool, In the kingdom of Tuoni.”

Lemminkainen, filled with wisdom, With his fond and faithful mother, Hastened straightway on his journey To his distant home and kindred, To the Wainola fields and meadows, To the plains of Kalevala.

Here I leave my Kaukomieli, Leave my hero Lemminkainen, Long I leave him from my singing, Turn my song to other heroes, Send it forth on other pathways, Sing some other golden legend.

RUNE XVI. WAINAMOINEN’S BOAT-BUILDING.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, The eternal wisdom-singer, For his boat was working lumber, Working long upon his vessel, On a fog-point jutting seaward, On an island, forest-covered; But the lumber failed the master, Beams were wanting for his vessel, Beams and scantling, ribs and flooring. Who will find for him the lumber, Who procure the timber needed For the boat of Wainamoinen, For the bottom of his vessel?

Pellerwoinen of the prairies, Sampsa, slender-grown and ancient, He will seek the needful timber, He procure the beams of oak-wood For the boat of Wainamoinen, For the bottom of his vessel.

Quick he starts upon his journey To the eastern fields and forests, Hunts throughout the Northland mountain To a second mountain wanders, To a third he hastens, searching, Golden axe upon his shoulder, In his hand a copper hatchet. Comes an aspen-tree to meet him Of the height of seven fathoms. Sampsa takes his axe of copper, Starts to fell the stately aspen, But the aspen quickly halting, Speaks these words to Pellerwoinen: “Tell me, hero, what thou wishest, What the service thou art needing?” Sampsa Pellerwoinen answers: “This indeed, the needed service That I ask of thee, O aspen: Need thy lumber for a vessel, For the boat of Wainamoinen, Wisest of the wisdom-singers.”

Quick and wisely speaks the aspen, Thus its hundred branches answer: “All the boats that have been fashioned From my wood have proved but failures; Such a vessel floats a distance, Then it sinks upon the bottom Of the waters it should travel. All my trunk is filled with hollows, Three times in the summer seasons Worms devour my stem and branches, Feed upon my heart and tissues.”

Pellerwoinen leaves the aspen, Hunts again through all the forest, Wanders through the woods of Northland, Where a pine-tree comes to meet him, Of the height of fourteen fathoms.

With his axe he chops the pine-tree, Strikes it with his axe of copper, As he asks the pine this question: “Will thy trunk give worthy timber For the boat of Wainamoinen, Wisest of the wisdom-singers?” Loudly does the pine-tree answer: “All the ships that have been fashioned From my body are unworthy; I am full of imperfections, Cannot give thee needed timber Wherewithal to build thy vessel; Ravens live within my branches, Build their nests and hatch their younglings, Three times in my trunk in summer.”

Sampsa leaves the lofty pine-tree, Wanders onward, onward, onward, To the woods of gladsome summer, Where an oak-tree comes to meet him, In circumference, three fathoms, And the oak he thus addresses: “Ancient oak-tree, will thy body Furnish wood to build a vessel, Build a boat for Wainamoinen, Master-boat for the magician, Wisest of the wisdom-singers?” Thus the oak replies to Sampsa: “I for thee will gladly furnish Wood to build the hero’s vessel; I am tall, and sound, and hardy, Have no flaws within my body; Three times in the months of summer, In the warmest of the seasons, Does the sun dwell in my tree-top, On my trunk the moonlight glimmers, In my branches sings the cuckoo, In my top her nestlings slumber.”

Now the ancient Pellerwoinen Takes the hatchet from his shoulder, Takes his axe with copper handle, Chops the body of the oak-tree; Well he knows the art of chopping. Soon he fells the tree majestic, Fells the mighty forest-monarch, With his magic axe and power. From the stems he lops the branches, Splits the trunk in many pieces, Fashions lumber for the bottom, Countless boards, and ribs, and braces, For the singer’s magic vessel, For the boat of the magician.

Wainamoinen, old and skilful, The eternal wonder-worker, Builds his vessel with enchantment, Builds his boat by art of magic, From the timber of the oak-tree, From its posts, and planks, and flooring. Sings a song, and joins the frame-work; Sings a second, sets the siding; Sings a third time, sets the row-locks; Fashions oars, and ribs, and rudder, Joins the sides and ribs together. When the ribs were firmly fastened, When the sides were tightly jointed, Then alas! three words were wanting, Lost the words of master-magic, How to fasten in the ledges, How the stern should be completed, How complete the boat’s forecastle.

Then the ancient Wainamoinen, Wise and wonderful enchanter, Heavy-hearted spake as follows: “Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Never will this magic vessel Pass in safety o’er the water, Never ride the rough sea-billows.”

Then he thought and long considered, Where to find these words of magic, Find the lost-words of the Master: “From the brains of countless swallows, From the heads of swans in dying, From the plumage of the gray-duck?”

For these words the hero searches, Kills of swans a goodly number, Kills a flock of fattened gray-duck, Kills of swallows countless numbers, Cannot find the words of magic, Not the lost-words of the Master. Wainamoinen, wisdom-singer, Still reflected and debated: “I perchance may find the lost-words On the tongue of summer-reindeer, In the mouth of the white squirrel.”

Now again he hunts the lost-words, Hastes to find the magic sayings, Kills a countless host of reindeer, Kills a rafterful of squirrels, Finds of words a goodly number, But they are of little value, Cannot find the magic lost-word. Long he thought and well considered: “I can find of words a hundred In the dwellings of Tuoni, In the Manala fields and castles.”

Wainamoinen quickly journeys To the kingdom of Tuoni, There to find the ancient wisdom, There to learn the secret doctrine; Hastens on through fen and forest, Over meads and over marshes, Through the ever-rising woodlands, Journeys one week through the brambles, And a second through the hazels, Through the junipers the third week, When appear Tuoni’s islands, And the Manala fields and castles.

Wainamoinen, brave and ancient, Calls aloud in tones of thunder, To the Tuonela deeps and dungeons, And to Manala’s magic castle: “Bring a boat, Tuoni’s daughter, Bring a ferry-boat, O maiden, That may bear me o’er this channel, O’er this black and fatal river.”

Quick the daughter of Tuoni, Magic maid of little stature, Tiny virgin of Manala, Tiny washer of the linen, Tiny cleaner of the dresses, At the river of Tuoni, In Manala’s ancient castles, Speaks these words to Wainamoinen, Gives this answer to his calling: “Straightway will I bring the row-boat, When the reasons thou hast given Why thou comest to Manala In a hale and active body.”

Wainamoinen, old and artful, Gives this answer to the maiden: “I was brought here by Tuoni, Mana raised me from the coffin.” Speaks the maiden of Manala: “This a tale of wretched liars; Had Tuoni brought thee hither, Mana raised thee from the coffin, Then Tuoni would be with thee, Manalainen too would lead thee, With Tuoni’s hat upon thee, On thy hands, the gloves of Mana; Tell the truth now, Wainamoinen, What has brought thee to Manala?”

Wainamoinen, artful hero, Gives this answer, still finessing: “Iron brought me to Manala, To the kingdom of Tuoni.”

Speaks the virgin of the death-land, Mana’s wise and tiny daughter: “Well I know that this is falsehood, Had the iron brought thee hither, Brought thee to Tuoni’s kingdom, Blood would trickle from thy vesture, And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored. Speak the truth now, Wainamoinen, This the third time that I ask thee.”

Wainamoinen, little heeding, Still finesses to the daughter: “Water brought me to Manala, To the kingdom of Tuoni.” This the tiny maiden’s answer: “Well I know thou speakest falsely; If the waters of Manala, If the cataract and whirlpool, Or the waves had brought thee hither, From thy robes the drops would trickle, Water drip from all thy raiment. Tell the truth and I will serve thee, What has brought thee to Manala?”

Then the stubborn Wainamoinen Told this falsehood to the maiden: “Fire has brought me to Manala, To the kingdom of Tuoni.” Spake again Tuoni’s daughter: “Well I know the voice of falsehood. If the fire had brought thee hither, Brought thee to Tuoni’s empire, Singed would be thy locks and eyebrows, And thy beard be crisped and tangled. O, thou foolish Wainamoinen, If I row thee o’er the ferry, Thou must speak the truth in answer, This the last time I will ask thee; Make an end of thy deception. What has brought thee to Manala, Still unharmed by pain or sickness, Still untouched by Death’s dark angels?” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “At the first I spake, not truly, Now I give thee rightful answer: I a boat with ancient wisdom, Fashioned with my powers of magic, Sang one day and then a second, Sang the third day until evening, When I broke the magic main-spring, Broke my magic sledge in pieces, Of my song the fleetest runners; Then I come to Mana’s kingdom, Came to borrow here a hatchet, Thus to mend my sledge of magic, Thus to join the parts together. Send the boat now quickly over, Send me, quick, Tuoni’s row-boat, Help me cross this fatal river, Cross the channel of Manala.”

Spake the daughter of Tuoni, Mana’s maiden thus replying: “Thou art sure a stupid fellow, Foresight wanting, judgment lacking, Having neither wit nor wisdom, Coming here without a reason, Coming to Tuoni’s empire; Better far if thou shouldst journey To thy distant home and kindred; Many they that visit Mana, Few return from Mana’s kingdom.”

Spake the good old Wainamoinen: “Women old retreat from danger, Not a man of any courage, Not the weakest of the heroes. Bring thy boat, Tuoni’s daughter, Tiny maiden of Manala, Come and row me o’er the ferry.”

Mana’s daughter does as bidden, Brings her boat to Wainamoinen, Quickly rows him through the channel, O’er the black and fatal river, To the kingdom of Manala, Speaks these words to the magician: “Woe to thee! O Wainamoinen! Wonderful indeed, thy magic, Since thou comest to Manala, Comest neither dead nor dying.”

Tuonetar, the death-land hostess, Ancient hostess of Tuoni, Brings him pitchers filled with strong-beer, Fills her massive golden goblets, Speaks these measures to the stranger: “Drink, thou ancient Wainamoinen, Drink the beer of king Tuoni!”

Wainamoinen, wise and cautious, Carefully inspects the liquor, Looks a long time in the pitchers, Sees the spawning of the black-frogs, Sees the young of poison-serpents, Lizards, worms, and writhing adders, Thus addresses Tuonetar: “Have not come with this intention, Have not come to drink thy poisons, Drink the beer of Tuonela; Those that drink Tuoni’s liquors, Those that sip the cups of Mana, Court the Devil and destruction, End their lives in want and ruin.” Tuonetar makes this answer: “Ancient minstrel, Wainamoinen, Tell me what has brought thee hither, Brought thee to the realm of Mana, To the courts of Tuonela, Ere Tuoni sent his angels To thy home in Kalevala, There to cut thy magic life-thread.” Spake the singer, Wainamoinen: “I was building me a vessel, At my craft was working, singing, Needed three words of the Master, How to fasten in the ledges, How the stern should be completed, How complete the boat’s forecastle. This the reason of my coming To the empire of Tuoni, To the castles of Manala: Came to learn these magic sayings, Learn the lost-words of the Master.” Spake the hostess, Tuonetar: “Mana never gives these sayings, Canst not learn them from Tuoni, Not the lost-words of the Master; Thou shalt never leave this kingdom, Never in thy magic life-time, Never go to Kalevala, To Wainola’s peaceful meadows. To thy distant home and country.”

Quick the hostess, Tuonetar, Waves her magic wand of slumber O’er the head of Wainamoinen, Puts to rest the wisdom-hero, Lays him on the couch of Mana, In the robes of living heroes, Deep the sleep that settles o’er him. In Manala lived a woman, In the kingdom of Tuoni, Evil witch and toothless wizard, Spinner of the threads of iron, Moulder of the bands of copper, Weaver of a hundred fish-nets, Of a thousand nets of copper, Spinning in the days of summer, Weaving in the winter evenings, Seated on a rock in water.

In the kingdom of Tuoni Lived a man, a wicked wizard, Three the fingers of the hero, Spinner he of iron meshes, Maker too of nets of copper, Countless were his nets of metal, Moulded on a rock in water, Through the many days of summer.

Mana’s son with crooked fingers, Iron-pointed, copper fingers, Pulls of nets, at least a thousand, Through the river of Tuoni, Sets them lengthwise, sets them crosswise, In the fatal, darksome river, That the sleeping Wainamoinen, Friend and brother of the waters, May not leave the isle of Mana, Never in the course of ages, Never leave the death-land castles, Never while the moonlight glimmers On the empire of Tuoni.

Wainamoinen, wise and wary, Rising from his couch of slumber, Speaks these words as he is waking: “Is there not some mischief brewing, Am I not at last in danger, In the chambers of Tuoni, In the Manala home and household?”

Quick he changes his complexion, Changes too his form and feature, Slips into another body; Like a serpent in a circle, Rolls black-dyed upon the waters; Like a snake among the willows, Crawls he like a worm of magic, Like an adder through the grasses, Through the coal-black stream of death-land, Through a thousand nets of copper Interlaced with threads of iron, From the kingdom of Tuoni, From the castles of Manala.

Mana’s son, the wicked wizard, With his iron-pointed fingers, In the early morning hastens To his thousand nets of copper, Set within the Tuoni river, Finds therein a countless number Of the death-stream fish and serpents; Does not find old Wainamoinen, Wainamoinen, wise and wary, Friend and fellow of the waters.

When the wonder-working hero Had escaped from Tuonela, Spake he thus in supplication: “Gratitude to thee, O Ukko, Do I bring for thy protection! Never suffer other heroes, Of thy heroes not the wisest, To transgress the laws of nature; Never let another singer, While he lives within the body, Cross the river of Tuoni, As thou lovest thy creations. Many heroes cross the channel, Cross the fatal stream of Mana, Few return to tell the story, Few return from Tuonela, From Manala’s courts and castles.”

Wainamoinen calls his people, On the plains of Kalevala, Speaks these words of ancient wisdom, To the young men, to the maidens, To the rising generation: “Every child of Northland, listen: If thou wishest joy eternal, Never disobey thy parents, Never evil treat the guiltless, Never wrong the feeble-minded, Never harm thy weakest fellow, Never stain thy lips with falsehood, Never cheat thy trusting neighbor, Never injure thy companion, Lest thou surely payest penance In the kingdom of Tuoni, In the prison of Manala; There, the home of all the wicked, There the couch of the unworthy, There the chambers of the guilty. Underneath Manala’s fire-rock Are their ever-flaming couches, For their pillows hissing serpents, Vipers green their writhing covers, For their drink the blood of adders, For their food the pangs of hunger, Pain and agony their solace; If thou wishest joy eternal, Shun the kingdom of Tuoni!”

RUNE XVII. WAINAMOINEN FINDS THE LOST-WORD.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Did not learn the words of magic In Tuoni’s gloomy regions, In the kingdom of Manala. Thereupon he long debated, Well considered, long reflected, Where to find the magic sayings; When a shepherd came to meet him, Speaking thus to Wainamoinen: “Thou canst find of words a hundred, Find a thousand wisdom-sayings, In the mouth of wise Wipunen, In the body of the hero; To the spot I know the foot-path, To his tomb the magic highway, Trodden by a host of heroes; Long the distance thou must travel, On the sharpened points of needles; Then a long way thou must journey On the edges of the broadswords; Thirdly thou must travel farther On the edges of the hatchets.”

Wainamoinen, old and trustful, Well considered all these journeys, Travelled to the forge and smithy, Thus addressed the metal-worker: “Ilmarinen, worthy blacksmith, Make a shoe for me of iron, Forge me gloves of burnished copper, Mold a staff of strongest metal, Lay the steel upon the inside, Forge within the might of magic; I am going on a journey To procure the magic sayings, Find the lost-words of the Master, From the mouth of the magician, From the tongue of wise Wipunen.” Spake the artist, Ilmarinen: “Long ago died wise Wipunen, Disappeared these many ages, Lays no more his snares of copper, Sets no longer traps of iron, Cannot learn from him the wisdom, Cannot find in him the lost-words.”

Wainamoinen, old and hopeful, Little heeding, not discouraged, In his metal shoes and armor, Hastens forward on his journey, Runs the first day fleetly onward, On the sharpened points of needles; Wearily he strides the second, On the edges of the broadswords Swings himself the third day forward, On the edges of the hatchets.

Wise Wipunen, wisdom-singer, Ancient bard, and great magician, With his magic songs lay yonder, Stretched beside him, lay his sayings, On his shoulder grew the aspen, On each temple grew the birch-tree, On his mighty chin the alder, From his beard grew willow-bushes, From his mouth the dark green fir-tree, And the oak-tree from his forehead.

Wainamoinen, coming closer, Draws his sword, lays bare his hatchet From his magic leathern scabbard, Fells the aspen from his shoulder, Fells the birch-tree from his temples, From his chin he fells the alder, From his beard, the branching willows, From his mouth the dark-green fir-tree, Fells the oak-tree from his forehead.

Now he thrusts his staff of iron Through the mouth of wise Wipunen, Pries his mighty jaws asunder, Speaks these words of master-magic: “Rise, thou master of magicians, From the sleep of Tuonela, From thine everlasting slumber!”

Wise Wipunen, ancient singer, Quickly wakens from his sleeping, Keenly feels the pangs of torture, From the cruel staff of iron; Bites with mighty force the metal, Bites in twain the softer iron, Cannot bite the steel asunder, Opens wide his mouth in anguish. Wainamoinen of Wainola, In his iron-shoes and armor, Careless walking, headlong stumbles In the spacious mouth and fauces Of the magic bard, Wipunen. Wise Wipunen, full of song-charms, Opens wide his mouth and swallows Wainamoinen and his magic, Shoes, and staff, and iron armor. Then outspeaks the wise Wipunen: “Many things before I’ve eaten, Dined on goat, and sheep, and reindeer, Bear, and ox, and wolf, and wild-boar, Never in my recollection, Have I tasted sweeter morsels!” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Now I see the evil symbols, See misfortune hanging o’er me, In the darksome Hisi-hurdles, In the catacombs of Kalma.”

Wainamoinen long considered How to live and how to prosper, How to conquer this condition. In his belt he wore a poniard, With a handle hewn from birch-wood, From the handle builds a vessel, Builds a boat through magic science; In this vessel rows he swiftly Through the entrails of the hero, Rows through every gland and vessel Of the wisest of magicians. Old Wipunen, master-singer, Barely feels the hero’s presence, Gives no heed to Wainamoinen. Then the artist of Wainola Straightway sets himself to forging, Sets at work to hammer metals; Makes a smithy from his armor, Of his sleeves he makes the bellows, Makes the air-valve from his fur-coat, From his stockings, makes the muzzle, Uses knees instead of anvil, Makes a hammer of his fore-arm; Like the storm-wind roars the bellows, Like the thunder rings the anvil; Forges one day, then a second, Forges till the third day closes, In the body of Wipunen, In the sorcerer’s abdomen.

Old Wipunen, full of magic, Speaks these words in wonder, guessing: “Who art thou of ancient heroes, Who of all the host of heroes? Many heroes I have eaten, And of men a countless number, Have not eaten such as thou art; Smoke arises from my nostrils, From my mouth the fire is streaming, In my throat are iron-clinkers.

“Go, thou monster, hence to wander, Flee this place, thou plague of Northland, Ere I go to seek thy mother, Tell the ancient dame thy mischief; She shall bear thine evil conduct, Great the burden she shall carry; Great a mother’s pain and anguish, When her child runs wild and lawless; Cannot comprehend the meaning, Nor this mystery unravel, Why thou camest here, O monster, Camest here to give me torture. Art thou Hisi sent from heaven, Some calamity from Ukko? Art, perchance, some new creation, Ordered here to do me evil? If thou art some evil genius, Some calamity from Ukko, Sent to me by my Creator, Then am I resigned to suffer; God does not forsake the worthy, Does not ruin those that trust him, Never are the good forsaken. If by man thou wert created, If some hero sent thee hither, I shall learn thy race of evil, Shall destroy thy wicked tribe-folk.

“Thence arose the violation, Thence arose the first destruction, Thence came all the evil-doings: From the neighborhood of wizards, From the homes of the magicians, From the caves of vicious spirits, From the haunts of fortune-tellers, From the cabins of the witches, From the castles of Tuoni, From the bottom of Manala, From the ground with envy swollen, From Ingratitude’s dominions, From the rocky shoals and quicksands, From the marshes filled with danger, From the cataract’s commotion, From the bear-caves in the mountains, From the wolves within the thickets, From the roarings of the pine-tree, From the burrows of the fox-dog, From the woodlands of the reindeer, From the caves and Hisi-hurdles, From the battles of the giants, From uncultivated pastures, From the billows of the oceans, From the streams of boiling waters, From the waterfalls of Rutya, From the limits of the storm-clouds, From the pathways of the thunders, From the flashings of the lightnings, From the distant plains of Pohya, From the fatal stream and whirlpool, From the birthplace of Tuoni.

“Art thou coming from these places? Hast thou, evil, hastened hither, To the heart of sinless hero, To devour my guiltless body, To destroy this wisdom-singer? Get thee hence, thou dog of Lempo, Leave, thou monster from Manala, Flee from mine immortal body, Leave my liver, thing of evil, In my body cease thy forging, Cease this torture of my vitals, Let me rest in peace and slumber.

“Should I want in means efficient, Should I lack the magic power To outroot thine evil genius, I shall call a better hero, Call upon a higher power, To remove this dire misfortune, To annihilate this monster. I shall call the will of woman, From the fields, the old-time heroes, Mounted heroes from the sand-hills, Thus to rescue me from danger, From these pains and ceaseless tortures.

“If this force prove inefficient, Should not drive thee from my body, Come, thou forest, with thy heroes, Come, ye junipers and pine-trees, With your messengers of power, Come, ye mountains, with your wood-nymphs, Come, ye lakes, with all your mermaids, Come, ye hundred ocean-spearmen, Come, torment this son of Hisi, Come and kill this evil monster.

“If this call is inefficient, Does not drive thee from my vitals, Rise, thou ancient water-mother, With thy blue-cap from the ocean, From the seas, the lakes, the rivers, Bring protection to thy hero, Comfort bring and full assistance, That I guiltless may not suffer, May not perish prematurely.

“Shouldst thou brave this invocation, Kapè, daughter of Creation, Come, thou beauteous, golden maiden, Oldest of the race of women, Come and witness my misfortunes, Come and turn away this evil, Come, remove this biting torment, Take away this plague of Piru.

“If this call be disregarded, If thou wilt not leave me guiltless, Ukko, on the arch of heaven, In the thunder-cloud dominions, Come thou quickly, thou art needed, Come, protect thy tortured hero, Drive away this magic demon, Banish ever his enchantment, With his sword and flaming furnace, With his fire-enkindling bellows.

“Go, thou demon, hence to wander, Flee, thou plague of Northland heroes; Never come again for shelter, Nevermore build thou thy dwelling In the body of Wipunen; Take at once thy habitation To the regions of thy kindred, To thy distant fields and firesides; When thy journey thou hast ended, Gained the borders of thy country, Gained the meads of thy Creator, Give a signal of thy coming, Rumble like the peals of thunder, Glisten like the gleam of lightning, Knock upon the outer portals, Enter through the open windows, Glide about the many chambers, Seize the host and seize the hostess, Knock their evil heads together, Wring their necks and hurl their bodies To the black-dogs of the forest.

“Should this prove of little value, Hover like the bird of battle, O’er the dwellings of the master, Scare the horses from the mangers, From the troughs affright the cattle, Twist their tails, and horns, and forelocks, Hurl their carcasses to Lempo.

“If some scourge the winds have sent me, Sent me on the air of spring-tide, Brought me by the frosts of winter, Quickly journey whence thou camest, On the air-path of the heavens, Perching not upon some aspen, Resting not upon the birch-tree; Fly away to copper mountains, That the copper-winds may nurse thee, Waves of ether, thy protection.

“Didst those come from high Jumala, From the hems of ragged snow-clouds, Quick ascend beyond the cloud-space, Quickly journey whence thou camest, To the snow-clouds, crystal-sprinkled, To the twinkling stars of heaven; There thy fire may burn forever, There may flash thy forked lightnings, In the Sun’s undying furnace.

“Wert thou sent here by the spring-floods, Driven here by river-torrents? Quickly journey whence thou camest, Quickly hasten to the waters, To the borders of the rivers, To the ancient water-mountain, That the floods again may rock thee, And thy water-mother nurse thee.

“Didst thou come from Kalma’s kingdom, From the castles of the death-land? Haste thou back to thine own country, To the Kalma-halls and castles, To the fields with envy swollen, Where contending armies perish.

“Art thou from the Hisi-woodlands, From ravines in Lempo’s forest, From the thickets of the pine-wood, From the dwellings of the fir-glen? Quick retrace thine evil footsteps To the dwellings of thy master, To the thickets of thy kindred; There thou mayest dwell at pleasure, Till thy house decays about thee, Till thy walls shall mould and crumble.

“Evil genius, thee I banish, Got thee hence, thou horrid monster, To the caverns of the white-bear, To the deep abysm of serpents, To the vales, and swamps, and fenlands, To the ever-silent waters, To the hot-springs of the mountains, To the dead-seas of the Northland, To the lifeless lakes and rivers, To the sacred stream and whirlpool.

“Shouldst thou find no place of resting, I will banish thee still farther, To the Northland’s distant borders, To the broad expanse of Lapland, To the ever-lifeless deserts, To the unproductive prairies, Sunless, moonless, starless, lifeless, In the dark abyss of Northland; This for thee, a place befitting, Pitch thy tents and feast forever On the dead plains of Pohyola.

“Shouldst thou find no means of living, I will banish thee still farther, To the cataract of Rutya, To the fire-emitting whirlpool, Where the firs are ever falling, To the windfalls of the forest; Swim hereafter in the waters Of the fire-emitting whirlpool, Whirl thou ever in the current Of the cataract’s commotion, In its foam and boiling waters.

“Should this place be unbefitting, I will drive thee farther onward, To Tuoni’s coal-black river, To the endless stream of Mana, Where thou shalt forever linger; Thou canst never leave Manala, Should I not thy head deliver, Should I never pay thy ransom; Thou canst never safely journey Through nine brother-rams abutting, Through nine brother-bulls opposing, Through nine brother-stallions thwarting, Thou canst not re-cross Death-river Thickly set with iron netting, Interlaced with threads of copper.

“Shouldst thou ask for steeds for saddle, Shouldst thou need a fleet-foot courser, I will give thee worthy racers, I will give thee saddle-horses; Evil Hisi has a charger, Crimson mane, and tail, and foretop, Fire emitting from his nostrils, As he prances through his pastures; Hoofs are made of strongest iron, Legs are made of steel and copper, Quickly scales the highest mountains, Darts like lightning through the valleys, When a skilful master rides him.

“Should this steed be insufficient, I will give thee Lempo’s snow-shoes, Give thee Hisi’s shoes of elm-wood, Give to thee the staff of Piru, That with these thou mayest journey Into Hisi’s courts and castles, To the woods and fields of Juutas; If the rocks should rise before thee, Dash the flinty rocks in pieces, Hurl the fragments to the heavens; If the branches cross thy pathway, Make them turn aside in greeting; If some mighty hero hail thee, Hurl him headlong to the woodlands.

“Hasten hence, thou thing of evil, Heinous monster, leave my body, Ere the breaking of the morning Ere the Sun awakes from slumber, Ere the sinning of the cuckoo; Haste away, thou plague of Northland, Haste along the track of moonbeams, Wander hence, forever wander, To the darksome fields of Pohya.

“If at once thou dost not leave me, I will send the eagle’s talons, Send to thee the beaks of vultures, To devour thine evil body, Hurl thy skeleton to Hisi. Much more quickly cruel Lempo Left my vitals when commanded, When I called the aid of Ukko, Called the help of my Creator. Flee, thou motherless offendant, Flee, thou fiend of Sariola, Flee, thou hound without a master, Ere the morning sun arises, Ere the Moon withdraws to slumber!”

Wainamoinen, ancient hero, Speaks at last to old Wipunen: “Satisfied am I to linger In these old and spacious caverns, Pleasant here my home and dwelling; For my meat I have thy tissues, Have thy heart, and spleen, and liver, For my drink the blood of ages, Goodly home for Wainamoinen.

“I shall set my forge and bellows Deeper, deeper in thy vitals; I shall swing my heavy hammer, Swing it with a greater power On thy heart, and lungs, and liver; I shall never, never leave thee Till I learn thine incantations, Learn thy many wisdom-sayings, Learn the lost-words of the Master; Never must these words be hidden, Earth must never lose this wisdom, Though the wisdom-singers perish.”

Old Wipunen, wise magician, Ancient prophet, filled with power, Opens full his store of knowledge, Lifts the covers from his cases, Filled with old-time incantations, Filled with songs of times primeval, Filled with ancient wit and wisdom; Sings the very oldest folk-songs, Sings the origin of witchcraft, Sings of Earth and its beginning, Sings the first of all creations, Sings the source of good and evil, Sung alas! by youth no longer, Only sung in part by heroes In these days of sin and sorrow. Evil days our land befallen. Sings the orders of enchantment. How, upon the will of Ukko, By command of the Creator, How the air was first divided, How the water came from ether, How the earth arose from water, How from earth came vegetation, Fish, and fowl, and man, and hero.

Sings again the wise Wipunen, How the Moon was first created, How the Sun was set in heaven, Whence the colors of the rainbow, Whence the ether’s crystal pillars, How the skies with stars were sprinkled.

Then again sings wise Wipunen, Sings in miracles of concord, Sings in magic tones of wisdom, Never was there heard such singing; Songs he sings in countless numbers, Swift his notes as tongues of serpents, All the distant hills re-echo; Sings one day, and then a second, Sings a third from dawn till evening, Sings from evening till the morning; Listen all the stars of heaven, And the Moon stands still and listens Fall the waves upon the deep-sea, In the bay the tides cease rising, Stop the rivers in their courses, Stops the waterfall of Rutya, Even Jordan ceases flowing, And the Wuoksen stops and listens.