Chapter 12

Nothing daunted, Lemminkainen Hastened forward to accomplish Louhi’s second test of heroes, On the cultivated lowlands, On the sacred fields and forests. Everywhere he sought the racer, Sought the fire-expiring stallion, Fire out-shooting from his nostrils. Lemminkainen, fearless hunter, Bearing in his belt his bridle, On his shoulders, reins and halter, Sought one day, and then a second, Finally, upon the third day, Went he to the Hisi-mountain, Climbed, and struggled to the summit; To the east he turned his glances, Cast his eyes upon the sunrise, There beheld the flaming courser, On the heath among the far-trees. Lempo’s fire-expiring stallion Fire and mingled smoke out-shooting From his mouth, and eyes, and nostrils.

Spake the daring Lemminkainen, This the hero’s supplication: “Ukko, thou O God above me, Thou that rulest all the storm-clouds, Open thou the vault of heaven, Open windows through the ether, Let the icy rain come falling, Lot the heavy hailstones shower On the flaming horse of Hisi, On the fire-expiring stallion.”

Ukko, the benign Creator, Heard the prayer of Lemminkainen, Broke apart the dome of heaven, Rent the heights of heaven asunder, Sent the iron-hail in showers, Smaller than the heads of horses, Larger than the heads of heroes, On the flaming steed of Lempo, On the fire-expiring stallion, On the terror of the Northland.

Lemminkainen, drawing nearer, Looked with care upon the courser, Then he spake the words that follow: “Wonder-steed of mighty Hisi, Flaming horse of Lempo’s mountain, Bring thy mouth of gold, assenting, Gently place thy head of silver In this bright and golden halter, In this silver-mounted bridle. I shall never harshly treat thee, Never make thee fly too fleetly, On the way to Sariola, On the tracks of long duration, To the hostess of Pohyola, To her magic courts and stables, Will not lash thee on thy journey; I shall lead thee gently forward, Drive thee with the reins of kindness, Cover thee with silken blankets.”

Then the fire-haired steed of Juutas, Flaming horse of mighty Hisi, Put his head of shining silver, In the bright and golden head-stall, In the silver-mounted bridle. Thus the hero, Lemminkainen, Easy bridles Lempo’s stallion, Flaming horse of evil Piru; Lays the bits within his fire-mouth, On his silver head, the halter, Mounts the fire-expiring courser, Brandishes his whip of willow, Hastens forward on his journey, Bounding o’er the hills and mountains, Dashing through the valleys northward, O’er the snow-capped hills of Lapland, To the courts of Sariola.

Then the hero, quick dismounting, Stepped within the court of Louhi, Thus addressed the Northland hostess: “I have bridled Lempo’s fire-horse, I have caught the Hisi-racer, Caught the fire-expiring stallion, In the Piru plains and pastures, Ridden him within thy borders; I have caught the moose of Lempo, I have done what thou demandest; Give, I pray thee, now thy daughter, Give to me thy fairest maiden, Bride of mine to be forever.”

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Made this answer to the suitor: “I will only give my daughter, Give to thee my fairest virgin, Bride of thine to be forever, When for me the swan thou killest In the river of Tuoni, Swimming in the black death-river, In the sacred stream and whirlpool; Thou canst try one cross-bow only, But one arrow from thy quiver.”

Then the reckless Lemminkainen, Handsome hero, Kaukomieli, Braved the third test of the hero, Started out to hunt the wild-swan, Hunt the long-necked, graceful swimmer, In Tuoni’s coal-black river, In Manala’s lower regions. Quick the daring hunter journeyed, Hastened off with fearless footsteps, To the river of Tuoni, To the sacred stream and whirlpool, With his bow upon his shoulder, With his quiver and one arrow.

Nasshut, blind and crippled shepherd, Wretched shepherd of Pohyola, Stood beside the death-land river, Near the sacred stream and whirlpool, Guarding Tuonela’s waters, Waiting there for Lemminkainen, Listening there for Kaukomieli, Waiting long the hero’s coming. Finally he hears the footsteps Of the hero on his journey, Hears the tread of Lemminkainen, As he journeys nearer, nearer, To the river of Tuoni, To the cataract of death-land, To the sacred stream and whirlpool. Quick the wretched shepherd, Nasshut, From the death-stream sends a serpent, Like an arrow from a cross-bow, To the heart of Lemminkainen, Through the vitals of the hero.

Lemminkainen, little conscious, Hardly knew that he was injured, Spake these measures as he perished: “Ah! unworthy is my conduct, Ah! unwisely have I acted, That I did not heed my mother, Did not take her goodly counsel, Did not learn her words of magic. Oh! for three words with my mother, How to live, and how to suffer, In this time of dire misfortune, How to bear the stings of serpents, Tortures of the reed of waters, From the stream of Tuonela!

“Ancient mother who hast borne me, Who hast trained me from my childhood, Learn, I pray thee, where I linger, Where alas! thy son is lying, Where thy reckless hero suffers. Come, I pray thee, faithful mother, Come thou quickly, thou art needed, Come deliver me from torture, From the death-jaws of Tuoni, From the sacred stream and whirlpool.”

Northland’s old and wretched shepherd, Nasshut, the despised protector Of the flocks of Sariola, Throws the dying Lemminkainen, Throws the hero of the islands, Into Tuonela’s river, To the blackest stream of death-land, To the worst of fatal whirlpools. Lemminkainen, wild and daring, Helpless falls upon the waters, Floating down the coal-black current, Through the cataract and rapids To the tombs of Tuonela.

There the blood-stained son of death-land, There Tuoni’s son and hero, Cuts in pieces Lemminkainen, Chops him with his mighty hatchet, Till the sharpened axe strikes flint-sparks From the rocks within his chamber, Chops the hero into fragments, Into five unequal portions, Throws each portion to Tuoni, In Manala’s lowest kingdom, Speaks these words when he has ended: “Swim thou there, wild Lemminkainen, Flow thou onward in this river, Hunt forever in these waters, With thy cross-bow and thine arrow, Shoot the swan within this empire, Shoot our water-birds in welcome!”

Thus the hero, Lemminkainen, Thus the handsome Kaukomieli, The untiring suitor, dieth In the river of Tuoni, In the death-realm of Manala.

RUNE XV. LEMMINKAINEN’S RESTORATION.

Lemminkainen’s aged mother Anxious roams about the islands, Anxious wonders in her chambers, What the fate of Lemminkainen, Why her son so long has tarried; Thinks that something ill has happened To her hero in Pohyola. Sad, indeed, the mother’s anguish, As in vain she waits his coming, As in vain she asks the question, Where her daring son is roaming, Whether to the fir-tree mountain, Whether to the distant heath-land, Or upon the broad-sea’s ridges, On the floods and rolling waters, To the war’s contending armies, To the heat and din of battle, Steeped in blood of valiant heroes, Evidence of fatal warfare.

Daily does the wife Kyllikki Look about her vacant chamber, In the home of Lemminkainen, At the court of Kaukomieli; Looks at evening, looks at morning, Looks, perchance, upon his hair-brush, Sees alas! the blood-drops oozing, Oozing from the golden bristles, And the blood-drops, scarlet-colored.

Then the beauteous wife, Kyllikki, Spake these words in deeps of anguish: “Dead or wounded is my husband, Or at best is filled with trouble, Lost perhaps in Northland forests, In some glen unknown to heroes, Since alas! the blood is flowing From the brush of Lemminkainen, Red drops oozing from the bristles.”

Thereupon the anxious mother Looks upon the bleeding hair-brush And begins this wail of anguish: “Woe is me, my life hard-fated, Woe is me, all joy departed! For alas! my son and hero, Valiant hero of the islands, Son of trouble and misfortune! Some sad fate has overtaken My ill-fated Lemminkainen! Blood is flowing from his hair-brush, Oozing from its golden bristles, And the drops are scarlet-colored.”

Quick her garment’s hem she clutches, On her arm she throws her long-robes, Fleetly flies upon her journey; With her might she hastens northward, Mountains tremble from her footsteps, Valleys rise and heights are lowered, Highlands soon become as lowlands, All the hills and valleys levelled. Soon she gains the Northland village, Quickly asks about her hero, These the words the mother utters: “O thou hostess of Pohyola, Where hast thou my Lemminkainen? Tell me of my son and hero!”

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.