Chapter 5

Thus made answer Youkahainen, Lapland’s young and fiery minstrel: “Know I many bits of learning, This I know in perfect clearness: Every roof must have a chimney, Every fire-place have a hearth-stone; Lives of seal are free and merry, Merry is the life of walrus, Feeding on incautious salmon, Daily eating perch and whiting; Whitings live in quiet shallows, Salmon love the level bottoms; Spawns the pike in coldest weather, And defies the storms of winter. Slowly perches swim in Autumn, Wry-backed, hunting deeper water, Spawn in shallows in the summer, Bounding on the shore of ocean. Should this wisdom seem too little, I can tell thee other matters, Sing thee other wizard sayings: All the Northmen plow with reindeer, Mother-horses plow the Southland, Inner Lapland plows with oxen; All the trees on Pisa-mountain, Know I well in all their grandeur; On the Horna-rock are fir-trees, Fir-trees growing tall and slender; Slender grow the trees on mountains. Three, the water-falls in number, Three in number, inland oceans, Three in number, lofty mountains, Shooting to the vault of heaven. Hallapyora’s near to Yaemen, Katrakoski in Karyala; Imatra, the falling water, Tumbles, roaring, into Wuoksi.” Then the ancient Wainamoinen: “Women’s tales and children’s wisdom Do not please a bearded hero, Hero, old enough for wedlock; Tell the story of creation, Tell me of the world’s beginning, Tell me of the creatures in it, And philosophize a little.”

Then the youthful Youkahainen Thus replied to Wainamoinen: “Know I well the titmouse-fountains, Pretty birdling is the titmouse; And the viper, green, a serpent; Whitings live in brackish waters; Perches swim in every river; Iron rusts, and rusting weakens; Bitter is the taste of umber; Boiling water is malicious; Fire is ever full of danger; First physician, the Creator; Remedy the oldest, water; Magic is the child of sea-foam; God the first and best adviser; Waters gush from every mountain; Fire descended first from heaven; Iron from the rust was fashioned; Copper from the rocks created; Marshes are of lands the oldest; First of all the trees, the willow; Fir-trees were the first of houses; Hollowed stones the first of kettles.”

Now the ancient Wainamoinen Thus addresses Youkahainen: “Canst thou give me now some wisdom, Is this nonsense all thou knowest?” Youkahainen thus made answer: “I can tell thee still a trifle, Tell thee of the times primeval, When I plowed the salt-sea’s bosom, When I raked the sea-girt islands, When I dug the salmon-grottoes, Hollowed out the deepest caverns, When I all the lakes created, When I heaped the mountains round them, When I piled the rocks about them. I was present as a hero, Sixth of wise and ancient heroes, Seventh of all primeval heroes, When the heavens were created, When were formed the ether-spaces, When the sky was crystal-pillared, When was arched the beauteous rainbow, When the Moon was placed in orbit, When the silver Sun was planted, When the Bear was firmly stationed, And with stars the heavens were sprinkled.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Thou art surely prince of liars, Lord of all the host of liars; Never wert thou in existence, Surely wert thou never present, When was plowed the salt-sea’s bosom, When were raked the sea-girt islands, When were dug the salmon-grottoes, When were hollowed out the caverns, When the lakes were all created, When were heaped the mountains round them, When the rocks were piled about them. Thou wert never seen or heard of When the earth was first created, When were made the ether-spaces, When the air was crystal-pillared, When the Moon was placed in orbit, When the silver Sun was planted, When the Bear was firmly stationed, When the skies with stars were sprinkled.”

Then in anger Youkahainen Answered ancient Wainamoinen: “Then, sir, since I fail in wisdom, With the sword I offer battle; Come thou, famous bard and minstrel, Thou the ancient wonder-singer, Let us try our strength with broadswords, Let our blades be fully tested.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Not thy sword and not thy wisdom, Not thy prudence, nor thy cunning, Do I fear a single moment. Let who may accept thy challenge, Not with thee, a puny braggart, Not with one so vain and paltry, Will I ever measure broadswords.”

Then the youthful Youkahainen, Mouth awry and visage sneering, Shook his golden locks and answered: “Whoso fears his blade to measure, Fears to test his strength at broadswords, Into wild-boar of the forest, Swine at heart and swine in visage, Singing I will thus transform him; I will hurl such hero-cowards, This one hither, that one thither, Stamp him in the mire and bedding, In the rubbish of the stable.”

Angry then grew Wainamoinen, Wrathful waxed, and fiercely frowning, Self-composed he broke his silence, And began his wondrous singing. Sang he not the tales of childhood, Children’s nonsense, wit of women, Sang he rather bearded heroes, That the children never heard of, That the boys and maidens knew not, Known but half by bride and bridegroom, Known in part by many heroes, In these mournful days of evil, Evil times our race befallen. Grandly sang wise Wainamoinen, Till the copper-bearing mountains, And the flinty rocks and ledges Heard his magic tones and trembled; Mountain cliffs were torn to pieces, All the ocean heaved and tumbled; And the distant hills re-echoed. Lo! the boastful Youkahainen Is transfixed in silent wonder, And his sledge with golden trimmings Floats like brushwood on the billows; Sings his braces into reed-grass, Sings his reins to twigs of willow, And to shrubs his golden cross-bench. Lo! his birch-whip, pearl-enameled, Floats a reed upon the border; Lo! his steed with golden forehead, Stands a statue on the waters; Hames and traces are as fir-boughs, And his collar, straw and sea-grass. Still the minstrel sings enchantment, Sings his sword with golden handle, Sings it into gleam of lightning, Hangs it in the sky above him; Sings his cross-bow, gaily painted, To a rainbow o’er the ocean; Sings his quick and feathered arrows Into hawks and screaming eagles; Sings his dog with bended muzzle, Into block of stone beside him; Sings his cap from off his forehead, Sings it into wreaths of vapor; From his hands he sings his gauntlets Into rushes on the waters; Sings his vesture, purple-colored, Into white clouds in the heavens; Sings his girdle, set with jewels, Into twinkling stars around him; And alas! for Youkahainen, Sings him into deeps of quick-sand; Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, In his torture, sinks the wizard, To his belt in mud and water. Now it was that Youkahainen Comprehended but too clearly What his folly, what the end was, Of the journey he had ventured, Vainly he had undertaken For the glory of a contest With the grand, old Wainamoinen.

When at last young Youkahainen, Pohyola’s old and sorry stripling, Strives his best to move his right foot, But alas! the foot obeys not; When he strives to move his left foot, Lo! he finds it turned to flint-stone.

Thereupon sad Youkahainen, In the deeps of desperation, And in earnest supplication, Thus addresses Wainamoinen: “O thou wise and worthy minstrel, Thou the only true magician, Cease I pray thee thine enchantment, Only turn away thy magic, Let me leave this slough of horror, Loose me from this stony prison, Free me from this killing torment, I will pay a golden ransom.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “What the ransom thou wilt give me If I cease from mine enchantment, If I turn away my magic, Lift thee from thy slough of horror, Loose thee from thy stony prison, Free thee from thy killing torment?” Answered youthful Youkahainen: “Have at home two magic cross-bows, Pair of bows of wondrous power, One so light a child can bend it, Only strength can bend the other, Take of these the one that pleases.” Then the ancient Wainamoinen: “Do not wish thy magic cross-bows, Have a few of such already, Thine to me are worse than useless; I have bows in great abundance, Bows on every nail and rafter, Bows that laugh at all the hunters, Bows that go themselves a-hunting.”

Then the ancient Wainamoinen Sang alas! poor Youkahainen Deeper into mud and water, Deeper in the slough of torment. Youkahainen thus made answer: “Have at home two magic shallops, Beautiful the boats and wondrous; One rides light upon the ocean, One is made for heavy burdens; Take of these the one that pleases.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Do not wish thy magic shallops, Have enough of such already; All my bays are full of shallops, All my shores are lined with shallops, Some before the winds are sailors, Some were built to sail against them.”

Still the minstrel of Wainola Sings again poor Youkahainen Deeper, deeper into torment, Into quicksand to his girdle, Till the Lapland bard in anguish Speaks again to Wainamoinen: “Have at home two magic stallions, One a racer, fleet as lightning, One was born for heavy burdens; Take of these the one that pleases.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Neither do I wish thy stallions, Do not need thy hawk-limbed stallions, Have enough of these already; Magic stallions swarm my stables, Eating corn at every manger, Broad of back to hold the water, Water on each croup in lakelets.”

Still the bard of Kalevala Sings the hapless Lapland minstrel Deeper, deeper into torment, To his shoulders into water. Spake again young Youkahainen: “O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Thou the only true magician, Cease I pray thee thine enchantment, Only turn away thy magic, I will give thee gold abundant, Countless stores of shining silver; From the wars my father brought it, Brought it from the hard-fought battles.” Spake the wise, old Wainamoinen: “For thy gold I have no longing, Neither do I wish thy silver, Have enough of each already; Gold abundant fills my chambers, On each nail hang bags of silver, Gold that glitters in the sunshine, Silver shining in the moonlight.”

Sank the braggart, Youkahainen, Deeper in his slough of torment, To his chin in mud and water, Ever praying, thus beseeching: “O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Greatest of the old magicians, Lift me from this pit of horror, From this prison-house of torture; I will give thee all my corn-fields, Give thee all my corn in garners, Thus my hapless life to ransom, Thus to gain eternal freedom.” Wainamoinen thus made answer: “Take thy corn to other markets, Give thy garners to the needy; I have corn in great abundance, Fields have I in every quarter, Corn in all my fields is growing; One’s own fields are always richer, One’s own grain is much the sweeter.”

Lapland’s young and reckless minstrel, Sorrow-laden, thus enchanted, Deeper sinks in mud and water, Fear-enchained and full of anguish, In the mire, his beard bedrabbled, Mouth once boastful filled with sea-weed, In the grass his teeth entangled, Youkahainen thus beseeches: “O thou ancient Wainamoinen, Wisest of the wisdom-singers, Cease at last thine incantations, Only turn away thy magic, And my former life restore me, Lift me from this stifling torment, Free mine eyes from sand and water, I will give thee sister, Aino, Fairest daughter of my mother, Bride of thine to be forever, Bride of thine to do thy pleasure, Sweep the rooms within thy cottage, Keep thy dwelling-place in order, Rinse for thee the golden platters, Spread thy couch with finest linens, For thy bed, weave golden covers, Bake for thee the honey-biscuit.”

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Finds at last the wished-for ransom, Lapland’s young and fairest daughter, Sister dear of Youkahainen; Happy he, that he has won him, In his age a beauteous maiden, Bride of his to be forever, Pride and joy of Kalevala. Now the happy Wainamoinen, Sits upon the rock of gladness, Joyful on the rock of music, Sings a little, sings and ceases, Sings again, and sings a third time, Thus to break the spell of magic, Thus to lessen the enchantment, Thus the potent charm to banish. As the magic spell is broken, Youkahainen, sad, but wiser, Drags his feet from out the quicksand, Lifts his beard from out the water, From the rocks leads forth his courser, Brings his sledge back from the rushes, Calls his whip back from the ocean, Sets his golden sledge in order, Throws himself upon the cross-bench, Snaps his whip and hies him homeward, Hastens homeward, heavy-hearted, Sad indeed to meet his mother, Aino’s mother, gray and aged. Careless thus he hastens homeward, Nears his home with noise and bustle, Reckless drives against the pent-house, Breaks the shafts against the portals, Breaks his handsome sledge in pieces.

Then his mother, quickly guessing, Would have chided him for rashness, But the father interrupted: “Wherefore dost thou break thy snow-sledge, Wherefore dash thy thills in fragments, Wherefore comest home so strangely, Why this rude and wild behavior?”

Now alas! poor Youkahainen, Cap awry upon his forehead, Falls to weeping, broken-hearted, Head depressed and mind dejected, Eyes and lips expressing sadness, Answers not his anxious father.

Then the mother quickly asked him, Sought to find his cause for sorrow: “Tell me, first-born, why thou weepest, Why thou weepest, heavy-hearted, Why thy mind is so dejected, Why thine eyes express such sadness.” Youkahainen then made answer: “Golden mother, ever faithful, Cause there is to me sufficient, Cause enough in what has happened, Bitter cause for this my sorrow, Cause for bitter tears and murmurs: All my days will pass unhappy, Since, O mother of my being, I have promised beauteous Aino, Aino, thy beloved daughter, Aino, my devoted sister, To decrepit Wainamoinen, Bride to be to him forever, Roof above him, prop beneath him, Fair companion at his fire-side.”

Joyful then arose the mother, Clapped her hands in glee together, Thus addressing Youkahainen: “Weep no more, my son beloved, Thou hast naught to cause thy weeping, Hast no reason for thy sorrow, Often I this hope have cherished; Many years have I been praying That this mighty bard and hero, Wise and valiant Wainamoinen, Spouse should be to beauteous Aino, Son-in-law to me, her mother.”

But the fair and lovely maiden, Sister dear of Youkahainen, Straightway fell to bitter weeping, On the threshold wept and lingered, Wept all day and all the night long, Wept a second, then a third day, Wept because a bitter sorrow On her youthful heart had fallen. Then the gray-haired mother asked her: “Why this weeping, lovely Aino? Thou hast found a noble suitor, Thou wilt rule his spacious dwelling, At his window sit and rest thee, Rinse betimes his golden platters, Walk a queen within his dwelling.” Thus replied the tearful Aino: “Mother dear, and all-forgiving, Cause enough for this my sorrow, Cause enough for bitter weeping: I must loose my sunny tresses, Tresses beautiful and golden, Cannot deck my hair with jewels, Cannot bind my head with ribbons, All to be hereafter hidden Underneath the linen bonnet That the wife must wear forever; Weep at morning, weep at evening, Weep alas! for waning beauty, Childhood vanished, youth departed, Silver sunshine, golden moonlight, Hope and pleasure of my childhood, Taken from me now forever, And so soon to be forgotten At the tool-bench of my brother, At the window of my sister, In the cottage of my father.”

Spake again the gray-haired mother To her wailing daughter Aino: “Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden, By thy tears thou art ungrateful, Reason none for thy repining, Not the slightest cause for weeping; Everywhere the silver sunshine Falls as bright on other households; Not alone the moonlight glimmers Through thy father’s open windows, On the work-bench of thy brother; Flowers bloom in every meadow, Berries grow on every mountain; Thou canst go thyself and find them, All the day long go and find them; Not alone thy brother’s meadows Grow the beauteous vines and flowers; Not alone thy father’s mountains Yield the ripe, nutritious berries; Flowers bloom in other meadows, Berries grow on other mountains, There as here, my lovely Aino.”

RUNE IV. THE FATE OF AINO.

When the night had passed, the maiden, Sister fair of Youkahainen, Hastened early to the forest, Birchen shoots for brooms to gather, Went to gather birchen tassels; Bound a bundle for her father, Bound a birch-broom for her mother, Silken tassels for her sister. Straightway then she hastened homeward, By a foot-path left the forest; As she neared the woodland border, Lo! the ancient Wainamoinen, Quickly spying out the maiden, As she left the birchen woodland, Trimly dressed in costly raiment, And the minstrel thus addressed her: “Aino, beauty of the Northland, Wear not, lovely maid, for others, Only wear for me, sweet maiden, Golden cross upon thy bosom, Shining pearls upon thy shoulders; Bind for me thine auburn tresses, Wear for me thy golden braidlets.” Thus the maiden quickly answered: “Not for thee and not for others, Hang I from my neck the crosslet, Deck my hair with silken ribbons; Need no more the many trinkets Brought to me by ship or shallop; Sooner wear the simplest raiment, Feed upon the barley bread-crust, Dwell forever with my mother In the cabin with my father.”

Then she threw the gold cross from her, Tore the jewels from her fingers, Quickly loosed her shining necklace, Quick untied her silken ribbons, Cast them all away indignant Into forest ferns and flowers. Thereupon the maiden, Aino, Hastened to her mother’s cottage.

At the window sat her father Whittling on an oaken ax-helve: “Wherefore weepest, beauteous Aino, Aino, my beloved daughter?”

“Cause enough for weeping, father, Good the reasons for my mourning, This, the reason for my weeping, This, the cause of all my sorrow: From my breast I tore the crosslet, From my belt, the clasp of copper, From my waist, the belt of silver, Golden was my pretty crosslet.”

Near the door-way sat her brother, Carving out a birchen ox-bow: “Why art weeping, lovely Aino, Aino, my devoted sister?”

“Cause enough for weeping, brother, Good the reasons for my mourning: Therefore come I as thou seest, Rings no longer on my fingers, On my neck no pretty necklace; Golden were the rings thou gavest, And the necklace, pearls and silver!”

On the threshold sat her sister, Weaving her a golden girdle: “Why art weeping, beauteous Aino, Aino, my beloved sister?”

“Cause enough for weeping, sister, Good the reasons for my sorrow: Therefore come I as thou seest, On my head no scarlet fillet, In my hair no braids of silver, On mine arms no purple ribbons, Round my neck no shining necklace, On my breast no golden crosslet, In mine ears no golden ear-rings.”

Near the door-way of the dairy, Skimming cream, sat Aino’s mother. “Why art weeping, lovely Aino, Aino, my devoted daughter?” Thus the sobbing maiden answered: “Loving mother, all-forgiving, Cause enough for this my weeping, Good the reasons for my sorrow, Therefore do I weep, dear mother: I have been within the forest, Brooms to bind and shoots to gather, There to pluck some birchen tassels; Bound a bundle for my father, Bound a second for my mother, Bound a third one for my brother, For my sister silken tassels. Straightway then I hastened homeward, By a foot-path left the forest; As I reached the woodland border Spake Osmoinen from the cornfield, Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: ‘Wear not, beauteous maid, for others, Only wear for me, sweet maiden, On thy breast a golden crosslet, Shining pearls upon thy shoulders, Bind for me thine auburn tresses, Weave for me thy silver braidlets.’ Then I threw the gold-cross from me, Tore the jewels from my fingers, Quickly loosed my shining necklace, Quick untied my silken ribbons, Cast them all away indignant, Into forest ferns and flowers. Then I thus addressed the singer: ‘Not for thee and not for others, Hang I from my neck the crosslet, Deck my hair with silken ribbons; Need no more the many trinkets, Brought to me by ship and shallop; Sooner wear the simplest raiment, Feed upon the barley bread-crust, Dwell forever with my mother In the cabin with my father.’”

Thus the gray-haired mother answered Aino, her beloved daughter: “Weep no more, my lovely maiden, Waste no more of thy sweet young-life; One year eat thou my sweet butter, It will make thee strong and ruddy; Eat another year fresh bacon, It will make thee tall and queenly; Eat a third year only dainties, It will make thee fair and lovely. Now make haste to yonder hill-top, To the store-house on the mountain, Open there the large compartment, Thou will find it filled with boxes, Chests and cases, trunks and boxes; Open thou the box, the largest, Lift away the gaudy cover, Thou will find six golden girdles, Seven rainbow-tinted dresses, Woven by the Moon’s fair daughters, Fashioned by the Sun’s sweet virgins. In my young years once I wandered, As a maiden on the mountains, In the happy days of childhood, Hunting berries in the coppice; There by chance I heard the daughters Of the Moon as they were weaving; There I also heard the daughters Of the Sun as they were spinning On the red rims of the cloudlets, O’er the blue edge of the forest, On the border of the pine-wood, On a high and distant mountain. I approached them, drawing nearer, Stole myself within their hearing, Then began I to entreat them, Thus besought them, gently pleading: ‘Give thy silver, Moon’s fair daughters, To a poor, but worthy maiden; Give thy gold, O Sun’s sweet virgins, To this maiden, young and needy.’ Thereupon the Moon’s fair daughters Gave me silver from their coffers; And the Sun’s sweet shining virgins Gave me gold from their abundance, Gold to deck my throbbing temples, For my hair the shining silver. Then I hastened joyful homeward, Richly laden with my treasures, Happy to my mother’s cottage; Wore them one day, than a second, Then a third day also wore them, Took the gold then from my temples, From my hair I took the silver, Careful laid them in their boxes, Many seasons have they lain there, Have not seen them since my childhood. Deck thy brow with silken ribbon, Trim with gold thy throbbing temples, And thy neck with pearly necklace, Hang the gold-cross on thy bosom, Robe thyself in pure, white linen Spun from flax of finest fiber; Wear withal the richest short-frock, Fasten it with golden girdle; On thy feet, put silken stockings, With the shoes of finest leather; Deck thy hair with golden braidlets, Bind it well with threads of silver; Trim with rings thy fairy fingers, And thy hands with dainty ruffles; Come bedecked then to thy chamber, Thus return to this thy household, To the greeting of thy kindred, To the joy of all that know thee, Flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries, Coming as thy father’s sunbeam, Walking beautiful and queenly, Far more beautiful than moonlight.”

Thus she spake to weeping Aino, Thus the mother to her daughter; But the maiden, little hearing, Does not heed her mother’s wishes; Straightway hastens to the court-yard, There to weep in bitter sorrow, All alone to weep in anguish.