Chapter 33

Thereupon the heroes wandered, Onward journeyed and reflected, How to gain the spot illumined, How to find the sacred Fire-child. Came a river rushing by them, Broad and stately as an ocean. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen There began to build a vessel, Build a boat to cross the river. With the aid of Ilmarinen, From the oak he cut the row-locks, From the pine the oars he fashioned, From the aspen shapes the rudder. When the vessel they had finished, Quick they rolled it to the current, Hard they rowed and ever forward, On the Nawa-stream and waters, At the head of Nawa-river.

Ilmatar, the ether-daughter, Foremost daughter of creation, Came to meet them on their journey, Thus addressed the coming strangers: “Who are ye of Northland heroes, Rowing on the Nawa-waters?” Wainamoinen gave this answer: “This the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, I the ancient Wainamoinen. Tell us now thy name and station, Whither going, whence thou comest, Where thy tribe-folk live and linger?” Spake the daughter of the Ether: “I the oldest of the women, Am the first of Ether’s daughters, Am the first of ancient mothers; Seven times have I been wedded To the heroes of creation. Whither do ye strangers journey?” Answered thus old Wainamoinen: “Fire has left Wainola’s hearth-stones, Light has disappeared from Northland; Have been sitting long in darkness, Cold and darkness our companions; Now we journey to discover What the fire that fell from heaven, Falling from the cloud’s red lining, To the deeps of earth and ocean.” Ilmatar returned this answer: “Hard the flame is to discover, Hard indeed to find the Fire-child; Has committed many mischiefs, Nothing good has he accomplished; Quick the fire-ball fell from ether, From the red rims of the cloudlets, From the plains of the Creator, Through the ever-moving heavens, Through the purple ether-spaces, Through the blackened flues of Turi, To Palwoinen’s rooms uncovered. When the fire had reached the chambers Of Palwoinen, son of evil, He began his wicked workings, He engaged in lawless actions, Raged against the blushing maidens, Fired the youth to evil conduct, Singed the beards of men and heroes.

“Where the mother nursed her baby, In the cold and cheerless cradle, Thither flew the wicked Fire-child, There to perpetrate some mischief; In the cradle burned the infant, By the infant burned the mother, That the babe might visit Mana, In the kingdom of Tuoni; Said the child was born for dying, Only destined for destruction, Through the tortures of the Fire-child. Greater knowledge had the mother, Did not journey to Manala, Knew the word to check the red-flame, How to banish the intruder Through the eyelet of a needle, Through the death-hole of the hatchet.”

Then the ancient Wainamoinen Questioned Ilmatar as follows: “Whither did the Fire-child wander, Whither did the red-flame hasten, From the border-fields of Turi, To the woods, or to the waters?” Straightway Ilmatar thus answers: “When the fire had fled from Turi, From the castles of Palwoinen, Through the eyelet of the needle, Through the death-hole of the hatchet, First it burned the fields, and forests, Burned the lowlands, and the heather; Then it sought the mighty waters, Sought the Alue-sea and river, And the waters hissed and sputtered In their anger at the Fire-child, Fiery red the boiling Alue!

“Three times in the nights of summer, Nine times in the nights of autumn, Boil the waters to the tree-tops, Roll and tumble to the mountain, Through the red-ball’s force and fury; Hurls the pike upon the pastures, To the mountain-cliffs, the salmon, Where the ocean-dwellers wonder, Long reflect and well consider How to still the angry waters. Wept the salmon for his grotto, Mourned the whiting for his cavern, And the lake-trout for his dwelling. Quick the crook-necked salmon darted, Tried to catch the fire-intruder, But the red-ball quick escaped him; Darted then the daring whiting, Swallowed quick the wicked Fire-child, Swallowed quick the flame of evil. Quiet grow the Alue-waters, Slowly settle to their shore-lines, To their long-accustomed places, In the long and dismal evening.

“Time had gone but little distance, When the whiting grow affrighted, Fear befel the fire-devourer; Burning pain and writhing tortures Seized the eater of the Fire-child; Swam the fish in all directions, Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, Swam one day, and then a second, Swam the third from morn till even; Swam she to the whiting-island, To the caverns of the salmon, Where a hundred islands cluster; And the islands there assembled Thus addressed the fire-devourer: ‘There is none within these waters, In this narrow Alue-lakelet, That will eat the fated Fire-fish, That will swallow thee in trouble, In thine agonies and torture From the Fire-child thou hast eaten.’

“Hearing this a trout forth darting, Swallowed quick as light the whiting, Quickly ate the fire-devourer. Time had gone but little distance, When the trout became affrighted, Fear befel the whiting-eater; Burning pain and writhing torment Seized the eater of the Fire-fish. Swam the trout in all directions, Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, Swam one day, and then a second, Swam the third from morn till even; Swam she to the salmon-island, Swam she to the whiting-grottoes, Where a thousand islands cluster, And the islands there assembled Thus addressed the tortured lake-trout: ‘There is none within this river, In these narrow Alue-waters, That will eat the wicked Fire-fish, That will swallow thee in trouble, In thine agonies and tortures, From the Fire-fish thou hast eaten.’

Hearing this the gray-pike darted, Swallowed quick as light the lake-trout, Quickly ate the tortured Fire-fish.

“Time had gone but little distance, When the gray-pike grew affrighted, Fear befel the lake-trout-eater; Burning pain and writhing torment Seized the reckless trout-devourer; Swam the pike in all directions, Called, and moaned, and swam, and circled, Swam one day, and then a second, Swam the third from morn till even, To the cave of ocean-swallows, To the sand-hills of the sea-gull, Where a hundred islands cluster; And the islands there assembled Thus addressed the fire-devourer: ‘There is none within this lakelet, In these narrow Alue-waters, That will eat the fated Fire-fish, That will swallow thee in trouble, In thine agonies and tortures, From the Fire-fish thou hast eaten.’”

Wainamoinen, wise and ancient, With the aid of Ilmarinen, Weaves with skill a mighty fish-net From the juniper and sea-grass; Dyes the net with alder-water, Ties it well with thongs of willow. Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Called the maidens to the fish-net, And the sisters came as bidden. With the netting rowed they onward, Rowed they to the hundred islands, To the grottoes of the salmon, To the caverns of the whiting, To the reeds of sable color, Where the gray-pike rests and watches. On they hasten to the fishing, Drag the net in all directions, Drag it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, And diagonally zigzag; But they did not catch the Fire-fish.

Then the brothers went a-fishing, Dragged the net in all directions, Backwards, forwards, lengthwise, sidewise, Through the homes of ocean-dwellers, Through the grottoes of the salmon, Through the dwellings of the whiting, Through the reed-beds of the lake-trout, Where the gray-pike lies in ambush; But the fated Fire-fish came not, Came not from the lake’s abysses, Came not from the Alue-waters.

Little fish could not be captured In the large nets of the masters; Murmured then the deep-sea-dwellers, Spake the salmon to the lake-trout, And the lake-trout to the whiting, And the whiting to the gray-pike: “Have the heroes of Wainola Died, or have they all departed From these fertile shores and waters? Where then are the ancient weavers, Weavers of the nets of flax-thread, Those that frighten us with fish-poles, Drag us from our homes unwilling?”

Hearing this wise Wainamoinen Answered thus the deep-sea-dwellers: “Neither have Wainola’s heroes Died, nor have they all departed From these fertile shores and waters, Two are born where one has perished; Longer poles and finer fish-nets Have the sons of Kalevala!”

RUNE XLVIII. CAPTURE OF THE FIRE-FISH.

Wainamoinen, the enchanter, The eternal wisdom-singer, Long reflected, well considered, How to weave the net of flax-yarn, Weave the fish-net of the fathers. Spake the minstrel of Wainola: “Who will plow the field and fallow, Sow the flax, and spin the flax-threads, That I may prepare the fish-net, Wherewith I may catch the Fire-pike, May secure the thing of evil?”

Soon they found a fertile island, Found the fallow soil befitting, On the border of the heather, And between two stately oak-trees, They prepared the soil for sowing. Searching everywhere for flax-seed, Found it in Tuoni’s kingdom, In the keeping of an insect. Then they found a pile of ashes, Where the fire had burned a vessel; In the ashes sowed the seedlings Near the Alue-lake and border, In the rich and loamy fallow. There the seed took root and flourished, Quickly grew to great proportions, In a single night in summer. Thus the flax was sowed at evening, Placed within the earth by moonlight; Quick it grew, and quickly ripened, Quick Wainola’s heroes pulled it, Quick they broke it on the hackles, Hastened with it to the waters, Dipped it in the lake and washed it; Quickly brought it home and dried it, Quickly broke, and combed, and smoothed it, Brushed it well at early morning, Laid it into laps for spinning. Quick the maidens twirl the spindles, Spin the flaxen threads for weaving, In a single night in summer. Quick the sisters wind and reel it, Make it ready for the needle. Brothers weave it into fish-nets, And the fathers twist the cordage, While the mothers knit the meshes, Rapidly the mesh-stick circles; Soon the fish-net is completed, In a single night in summer. As the magic net is finished, And in length a hundred fathoms, On the rim three hundred fathoms, Rounded stones are fastened to it, Joined thereto are seven float-boards.

Now the young men take the fish-net, And the old men cheer them onward, Wish them good-luck at their fishing. Long they row and drag the flax-seine, Here and there the net is lowered; Now they drag it lengthwise, sidewise, Drag it through the slimy reed-beds; But they do not catch the Fire-pike, Only smelts, and luckless red-fish, Little fish of little value. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “O thou blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Let us go ourselves a-fishing, Let us catch the fish of evil!”

To the fishing went the brothers, Magic heroes of the Northland, Pulled the fish-net through the waters, Toward an island in the deep-sea; Then they turn and drag the fish-net Toward a meadow jutting seaward; Now they drag it toward Wainola, Draw it lengthwise, sidewise, crosswise, Catching fish of every species, Salmon, trout, and pike, and whiting, Do not catch the evil Fire-fish.

Then the master, Wainamoinen, Made additions to its borders, Made it many fathoms wider, And a hundred fathoms longer, Then these words the hero uttered: “Famous blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Let us go again a-fishing, Row again the magic fish-net, Drag it well through all the waters, That we may obtain the Fire-pike!”

Thereupon the Northland heroes Go a second time a-fishing, Drag their nets across the rivers, Lakelets, seas, and bays, and inlets, Catching fish of many species, But the Fire-fish is not taken.

Wainamoinen, ancient singer, Long reflecting, spake these measures: “Dear Wellamo, water-hostess, Ancient mother with the reed-breast, Come, exchange thy water-raiment, Change thy coat of reeds and rushes For the garments I shall give thee, Light sea-foam, thine inner vesture, And thine outer, moss and sea-grass, Fashioned by the wind’s fair daughters, Woven by the flood’s sweet maidens; I will give thee linen vestments Spun from flax of softest fiber, Woven by the Moon’s white virgins, Fashioned by the Sun’s bright daughters, Fitting raiment for Wellamo!

“Ahto, king of all the waters, Ruler of a thousand grottoes, Take a pole of seven fathoms, Search with this the deepest waters, Rummage well the lowest bottoms; Stir up all the reeds and sea-weeds, Hither drive a school of gray-pike, Drive them to our magic fish-net, From the haunts in pike abounding, From the caverns, and the trout-holes, From the whirlpools of the deep-sea, From the bottomless abysses, Where the sunshine never enters, Where the moonlight never visits, And the sands are never troubled.”

Rose a pigmy from the waters, From the floods a little hero, Riding on a rolling billow, And the pigmy spake these measures: “Dost thou wish a worthy helper, One to use the pole and frighten Pike and salmon to thy fish-nets?”

Wainamoinen, old and faithful, Answered thus the lake-born hero: “Yea, we need a worthy helper, One to hold the pole, and frighten Pike and salmon to our fish-nets.”

Thereupon the water-pigmy Cut a linden from the border, Spake these words to Wainamoinen: “Shall I scare with all my powers, With the forces of my being, As thou needest shall I scare them?” Spake the minstrel, Wainamoinen: “If thou scarest as is needed, Thou wilt scare with all thy forces, With the strength of thy dominions.”

Then began the pigmy-hero, To affright the deep-sea-dwellers; Drove the fish in countless numbers To the net of the magicians.

Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Drew his net along the waters, Drew it with his ropes of flax-thread, Spake these words of magic import: “Come ye fish of Northland waters To the regions of my fish-net, As my hundred meshes lower.”

Then the net was drawn and fastened, Many were the gray-pike taken By the master and magician. Wainamoinen, happy-hearted, Hastened to a neighboring island, To a blue-point in the waters, Near a red-bridge on the headland; Landed there his draught of fishes, Cast the pike upon the sea-shore, And the Fire-pike was among them, Cast the others to the waters. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “May I touch thee with my fingers, Using not my gloves of iron, Using not my blue-stone mittens?” This the Sun-child hears and answers: “I should like to carve the Fire-fish, I should like this pike to handle, If I had the knife of good-luck.”

Quick a knife falls from the heavens, From the clouds a magic fish-knife, Silver-edged and golden-headed, To the girdle of the Sun-child; Quick he grasps the copper handle, Quick the hero carves the Fire-pike, Finds therein the tortured lake-trout; Carves the lake-trout thus discovered, Finds therein the fated whiting; Carves the whiting, finds a blue-ball In the third cave of his body. He, the blue-ball quick unwinding, Finds within a ball of scarlet; Carefully removes the cover, Finds the ball of fire within it, Finds the flame from heaven fallen, From the heights of the seventh heaven, Through nine regions of the ether.

Wainamoinen long reflected How to get the magic fire-ball To Wainola’s fireless hearth-stones, To his cold and cheerless dwellings. Quick he snatched the fire of heaven From the fingers of the Sun-child. Wainamoinen’s beard it singes, Burns the brow of Ilmarinen, Burns the fingers of the blacksmith. Rolling forth it hastens westward, Hastens to the Alue shore-lines, Burns the juniper and alder, Burns the arid heath and meadow, Rises to the lofty linden, Burns the firs upon the mountains; Hastens onward, onward, onward, Burns the islands of the Northland, Burns the Sawa fields and forests, Burns the dry lands of Karyala.

Straightway ancient Wainamoinen Hastens through the fields and fenlands, Tracks the ranger to the glen-wood, Finds the Fire-child in an elm-tree, Sleeping in a bed of fungus.

Thereupon wise Wainamoinen Wakes the child and speaks these measures: “Wicked fire that God created, Flame of Ukko from the heavens, Thou hast gone in vain to sea-caves, To the lakes without a reason; Better go thou to my village, To the hearth-stones of my people; Hide thyself within my chimneys, In mine ashes sleep and linger. In the day-time I will use thee To devour the blocks of birch-wood; In the evening I will hide thee Underneath the golden circle.”

Then he took the willing Panu, Took the willing fire of Ukko, Laid it in a box of tinder, In the punk-wood of a birch-tree, In a vessel forged from copper; Carried it with care and pleasure To the fog-point in the waters, To the island forest covered. Thus returned the fire to Northland, To the chambers of Wainola, To the hearths of Kalevala.

Ilmarinen, famous blacksmith, Hastened to the deep-sea’s margin, Sat upon the rock of torture, Feeling pain the flame had given, Laved his wounds with briny water, Thus to still the Fire-child’s fury, Thus to end his persecutions.

Long reflecting, Ilmarinen Thus addressed the flame of Ukko: “Evil Panu from the heavens, Wicked son of God from ether, Tell me what has made thee angry, Made thee burn my weary members, Burn my beard, and face, and fingers, Made me suffer death-land tortures?” Spake again young Ilmarinen: “How can I wild Panu conquer, How shall I control his conduct, Make him end his evil doings? Come, thou daughter from Pohyola, Come, white virgin of the hoar-frost, Come on shoes of ice from Lapland, Icicles upon thy garments, In one hand a cup of white-frost, In the other hand an ice-spoon; Sprinkle snow upon my members, Where the Fire-child has been resting, Let the hoar-frost fall and settle.

“Should this prayer be unavailing, Come, thou son of Sariola, Come, thou child of Frost from Pohya, Come, thou Long-man from the ice-plains, Of the height of stately pine-trees, Slender as the trunks of lindens, On thy hands the gloves of Hoar-frost, Cap of ice upon thy forehead, On thy waist a white-frost girdle; Bring the ice-dust from Pohyola, From the cold and sunless village. Rain is crystallized in Northland, Ice in Pohya is abundant, Lakes of ice and ice-bound rivers, Frozen smooth, the sea of ether. Bounds the hare in frosted fur-robe, Climbs the bear in icy raiment, Ambles o’er the snowy mountains. Swans of frost descend the rivers, Ducks of ice in countless numbers Swim upon thy freezing waters, Near the cataract and whirlpool. Bring me frost upon thy snow-sledge, Snow and ice in great abundance, From the summit of the wild-top, From the borders of the mountains. With thine ice, and snow, and hoar-frost Cover well mine injured members Where wild Panu has been resting, Where the child of Fire has lingered.

“Should this call be ineffective, Ukko, God of love and mercy, First and last of the creators, From the east send forth a snow-cloud, From the west despatch a second, Join their edges well together, Let there be no vacant places, Let these clouds bring snow and hoar-frost, Lay the healing balm of Ukko On my burning, tortured tissues, Where wild Panu has been resting.”

Thus the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Stills the pains by fire engendered, Stills the agonies and tortures Brought him by the child of evil, Brought him by the wicked Panu.

RUNE XLIX. RESTORATION OF THE SUN AND MOON.

Thus has Fire returned to Northland; But the gold Moon is not shining, Neither gleams the silver sunlight In the chambers of Wainola, On the plains of Kalevala. On the crops the white-frost settled, And the cattle died of hunger, Even birds grew sick and perished. Men and maidens, faint and famished, Perished in the cold and darkness, From the absence of the sunshine, From the absence of the moonlight. Knew the pike his holes and hollows, And the eagle knew his highway, Knew the winds the times for sailing; But the wise men of the Northland Could not know the dawn of morning, On the fog-point in the ocean, On the islands forest-covered.

Young and aged talked and wondered, Well reflected, long debated, How to live without the moonlight, Live without the silver sunshine, In the cold and cheerless Northland, In the homes of Kalevala. Long conjectured all the maidens, Orphans asked the wise for counsel.

Spake a maid to Ilmarinen, Running to the blacksmith’s furnace: “Rise, O artist, from thy slumbers, Hasten from thy couch unworthy; Forge from gold the Moon for Northland, Forge anew the Sun from silver; Cannot live without the moonlight, Nor without the silver sunshine!”

From his couch arose the artist, From his couch of stone, the blacksmith, And began his work of forging, Forging Sun and Moon for Northland.

Came the ancient Wainamoinen, In the doorway sat and lingered, Spake these words to Ilmarinen: “Blacksmith, my beloved brother, Thou the only metal-worker, Tell me why thy magic hammer Falls so heavy on thine anvil?” Spake the youthful Ilmarinen: “Moon of gold and Sun of silver, I am forging for Wainola; I shall swing them into ether, Plant them in the starry heavens.” Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen: “Senseless blacksmith of the ages, Vainly dost thou swing thy hammer, Vainly rings thy mighty anvil; Silver will not gleam as sunshine, Not of gold is born the moonlight!”

Ilmarinen, little heeding, Ceases not to ply his hammer, Sun and Moon the artist forges, Wings the Moon of Magic upward, Hurls it to the pine-tree branches; Does not shine without her master. Then the silver Sun he stations In an elm-tree on the mountain. From his forehead drip the sweat-drops, Perspiration from his fingers, Through his labors at the anvil While the Sun and Moon were forging; But the Sun shone not at morning From his station in the elm-tree; And the Moon shone not at evening From the pine-tree’s topmost branches. Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Let the Fates be now consulted, And the oracles examined; Only thus may we discover Where the Sun and Moon lie hidden.”

Thereupon old Wainamoinen, Only wise and true magician, Cut three chips from trunks of alder, Laid the chips in magic order, Touched and turned them with his fingers, Spake these words of master-magic: “Of my Maker seek I knowledge, Ask in hope and faith the answer From the great magician, Ukko: Tongue of alder, tell me truly, Symbol of the great Creator, Where the Sun and Moon are sleeping; For the Moon shines not in season, Nor appears the Sun at midday, From their stations in the sky-vault. Speak the truth, O magic alder, Speak not words of man, nor hero, Hither bring but truthful measures. Let us form a sacred compact: If thou speakest me a falsehood, I will hurl thee to Manala, Let the nether fires consume thee, That thine evil signs may perish.”

Thereupon the alder answered, Spake these words of truthful import:

“Verily the Sun lies hidden And the golden Moon is sleeping In the stone-berg of Pohyola, In the copper-bearing mountain.” These the words of Wainamoinen: “I shall go at once to Northland, To the cold and dark Pohyola, Bring the Sun and Moon to gladden All Wainola’s fields and forests.”

Forth he hastens on his journey, To the dismal Sariola, To the Northland cold and dreary; Travels one day, then a second, So the third from morn till evening, When appear the gates of Pohya, With her snow-clad hills and mountains.

Wainamoinen, the magician, At the river of Pohyola, Loudly calls the ferry-maiden: “Bring a boat, O Pohya-daughter, Bring a strong and trusty vessel, Row me o’er these chilling waters, O’er this rough and rapid river!”

But the ferry-maiden heard not, Did not listen to his calling. Thereupon old Wainamoinen, Laid a pile of well-dried brush-wood, Knots and needles of the fir-tree, Made a fire beside the river, Sent the black smoke into heaven, Curling to the home of Ukko.

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Hastened to her chamber window, Looked upon the bay and river, Spake these words to her attendants: “Why the fire across the river Where the current meets the deep-sea, Smaller than the fires of foemen, Larger than the flames of hunters?”

Thereupon a Pohyalander Hastened from the court of Louhi, That the cause he might discover, Bring the sought-for information To the hostess of Pohyola; Saw upon the river-border Some great hero from Wainola.