Chapter 6

Waiting long the wailing Aino Thus at last soliloquizes: “Unto what can I now liken Happy homes and joys of fortune? Like the waters in the river, Like the waves in yonder lakelet, Like the crystal waters flowing. Unto what, the biting sorrow Of the child of cold misfortune? Like the spirit of the sea-duck, Like the icicle in winter, Water in the well imprisoned. Often roamed my mind in childhood, When a maiden free and merry, Happily through fen and fallow, Gamboled on the meads with lambkins, Lingered with the ferns and flowers, Knowing neither pain nor trouble; Now my mind is filled with sorrow, Wanders though the bog and stubble, Wanders weary through the brambles, Roams throughout the dismal forest, Till my life is filled with darkness, And my spirit white with anguish. Better had it been for Aino Had she never seen the sunlight, Or if born had died an infant, Had not lived to be a maiden In these days of sin and sorrow, Underneath a star so luckless. Better had it been for Aino, Had she died upon the eighth day After seven nights had vanished; Needed then but little linen, Needed but a little coffin, And a grave of smallest measure; Mother would have mourned a little, Father too perhaps a trifle, Sister would have wept the day through, Brother might have shed a tear-drop, Thus had ended all the mourning.”

Thus poor Aino wept and murmured, Wept one day, and then a second, Wept a third from morn till even, When again her mother asked her: “Why this weeping, fairest daughter, Darling daughter, why this grieving?” Thus the tearful maiden answered: “Therefore do I weep and sorrow, Wretched maiden all my life long, Since poor Aino, thou hast given, Since thy daughter thou hast promised To the aged Wainamoinen, Comfort to his years declining, Prop to stay him when he totters, In the storm a roof above him, In his home a cloak around him; Better far if thou hadst sent me Far below the salt-sea surges, To become the whiting’s sister, And the friend of perch and salmon; Better far to ride the billows, Swim the sea-foam as a mermaid, And the friend of nimble fishes, Than to be an old man’s solace, Prop to stay him when he totters, Hand to aid him when he trembles, Arm to guide him when he falters, Strength to give him when he weakens; Better be the whiting’s sister And the friend of perch and salmon, Than an old man’s slave and darling.”

Ending thus she left her mother, Straightway hastened to the mountain, To the store-house on the summit, Opened there the box the largest, From the box six lids she lifted, Found therein six golden girdles, Silken dresses seven in number. Choosing such as pleased her fancy, She adorned herself as bidden, Robed herself to look her fairest, Gold upon her throbbing temples, In her hair the shining silver, On her shoulders purple ribbons, Band of blue around her forehead, Golden cross, and rings, and jewels, Fitting ornaments to beauty.

Now she leaves her many treasures, Leaves the store-house on the mountain, Filled with gold and silver trinkets, Wanders over field and meadow, Over stone-fields waste and barren, Wanders on through fen and forest, Through the forest vast and cheerless, Wanders hither, wanders thither, Singing careless as she wanders, This her mournful song and echo: “Woe is me, my life hard-fated! Woe to Aino, broken-hearted! Torture racks my heart and temples, Yet the sting would not be deeper, Nor the pain and anguish greater, If beneath this weight of sorrow, In my saddened heart’s dejection, I should yield my life forever, Now unhappy, I should perish! Lo! the time has come for Aino From this cruel world to hasten, To the kingdom of Tuoni, To the realm of the departed, To the isle of the hereafter. Weep no more for me, O Father, Mother dear, withhold thy censure, Lovely sister, dry thine eyelids, Do not mourn me, dearest brother, When I sink beneath the sea-foam, Make my home in salmon-grottoes, Make my bed in crystal waters, Water-ferns my couch and pillow.”

All day long poor Aino wandered, All the next day, sad and weary, So the third from morn till evening, Till the cruel night enwrapped her, As she reached the sandy margin, Reached the cold and dismal sea-shore, Sat upon the rock of sorrow, Sat alone in cold and darkness, Listened only to the music Of the winds and rolling billows, Singing all the dirge of Aino. All that night the weary maiden Wept and wandered on the border Through the sand and sea-washed pebbles.

As the day dawns, looking round her, She beholds three water-maidens, On a headland jutting seaward, Water-maidens four in number, Sitting on the wave-lashed ledges, Swimming now upon the billows, Now upon the rocks reposing. Quick the weeping maiden, Aino, Hastens there to join the mermaids, Fairy maidens of the waters. Weeping Aino, now disrobing, Lays aside with care her garments, Hangs her silk robes on the alders, Drops her gold-cross on the sea-shore, On the aspen hangs her ribbons, On the rocks her silken stockings, On the grass her shoes of deer-skin, In the sand her shining necklace, With her rings and other jewels.

Out at sea a goodly distance, Stood a rock of rainbow colors, Glittering in silver sunlight. Toward it springs the hapless maiden, Thither swims the lovely Aino, Up the standing-stone has clambered, Wishing there to rest a moment, Rest upon the rock of beauty; When upon a sudden swaying To and fro among the billows, With a crash and roar of waters Falls the stone of many colors, Falls upon the very bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea. With the stone of rainbow colors, Falls the weeping maiden, Aino, Clinging to its craggy edges, Sinking far below the surface, To the bottom of the blue-sea. Thus the weeping maiden vanished, Thus poor Aino sank and perished, Singing as the stone descended, Chanting thus as she departed: “Once to swim I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty son-bird perished. Never come a-fishing, father, To the borders of these waters, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino.

“Mother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors, Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished. Never mix thy bread, dear mother, With the blue-sea’s foam and waters, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest daughter Aino.

“Brother dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished. Never bring thy prancing war-horse, Never bring thy royal racer, Never bring thy steeds to water, To the borders of the blue-sea, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest sister Aino.

“Sister dear, I sought the sea-side, There to sport among the billows; With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, Like a pretty song-bird perished. Never come to lave thine eyelids In this rolling wave and sea-foam, Never during all thy life-time, As thou lovest sister Aino. All the waters in the blue-sea Shall be blood of Aino’s body; All the fish that swim these waters Shall be Aino’s flesh forever; All the willows on the sea-side Shall be Aino’s ribs hereafter; All the sea-grass on the margin Will have grown from Aino’s tresses.”

Thus at last the maiden vanished, Thus the lovely Aino perished. Who will tell the cruel story, Who will bear the evil tidings To the cottage of her mother, Once the home of lovely Aino? Will the bear repeat the story, Tell the tidings to her mother? Nay, the bear must not be herald, He would slay the herds of cattle. Who then tell the cruel story, Who will bear the evil tidings To the cottage of her father, Once the home of lovely Aino? Shall the wolf repeat the story, Tell the sad news to her father? Nay, the wolf must not be herald, He would eat the gentle lambkins.

Who then tell the cruel story, Who will bear the evil tidings. To the cottage of her sister? Will the fox repeat the story Tell the tidings to her sister? Nay, the fox must not be herald, He would eat the ducks and chickens.

Who then tell the cruel story, Who will bear the evil tidings To the cottage of her brother, Once the home of lovely Aino? Shall the hare repeat the story, Bear the sad news to her brother? Yea, the hare shall be the herald, Tell to all the cruel story. Thus the harmless hare makes answer: “I will bear the evil tidings To the former home of Aino, Tell the story to her kindred.”

Swiftly flew the long-eared herald, Like the winds he hastened onward, Galloped swift as flight of eagles; Neck awry he bounded forward Till he gained the wished-for cottage, Once the home of lovely Aino. Silent was the home, and vacant; So he hastened to the bath-house, Found therein a group of maidens, Working each upon a birch-broom. Sat the hare upon the threshold, And the maidens thus addressed him: “Hie there, Long-legs, or we’ll roast thee, Hie there, Big-eye, or we’ll stew thee, Roast thee for our lady’s breakfast, Stew thee for our master’s dinner, Make of thee a meal for Aino, And her brother, Youkahainen! Better therefore thou shouldst gallop To thy burrow in the mountains, Than be roasted for our dinners.”

Then the haughty hare made answer, Chanting thus the fate of Aino: “Think ye not I journey hither, To be roasted in the skillet, To be stewed in yonder kettle; Let fell Lempo fill thy tables! I have come with evil tidings, Come to tell the cruel story Of the flight and death of Aino, Sister dear of Youkahainen. With the stone of many colors Sank poor Aino to the bottom Of the deep and boundless waters, Like a pretty song-bird perished; Hung her ribbons on the aspen, Left her gold-cross on the sea-shore, Silken robes upon the alders, On the rocks her silken stockings, On the grass her shoes of deer-skin, In the sand her shining necklace, In the sand her rings and jewels; In the waves, the lovely Aino, Sleeping on the very bottom Of the deep and boundless blue-sea, In the caverns of the salmon, There to be the whiting’s sister And the friend of nimble fishes.”

Sadly weeps the ancient mother From her blue-eyes bitter tear-drops, As in sad and wailing measures, Broken-hearted thus she answers: “Listen, all ye mothers, listen, Learn from me a tale of wisdom: Never urge unwilling daughters From the dwellings of their fathers, To the bridegrooms that they love not, Not as I, inhuman mother, Drove away my lovely Aino, Fairest daughter of the Northland.”

Sadly weeps the gray-haired mother, And the tears that fall are bitter, Flowing down her wrinkled visage, Till they trickle on her bosom; Then across her heaving bosom, Till they reach her garment’s border; Then adown her silken stockings, Till they touch her shoes of deer-skin; Then beneath her shoes of deer-skin, Flowing on and flowing ever, Part to earth as its possession, Part to water as its portion. As the tear-drops fall and mingle, Form they streamlets three in number, And their source, the mother’s eyelids, Streamlets formed from pearly tear-drops, Flowing on like little rivers, And each streamlet larger growing, Soon becomes a rushing torrent; In each rushing, roaring torrent, There a cataract is foaming, Foaming in the silver sunlight; From the cataract’s commotion Rise three pillared rocks in grandeur; From each rock, upon the summit, Grow three hillocks clothed in verdure; From each hillock, speckled birches, Three in number, struggle skyward; On the summit of each birch-tree Sits a golden cuckoo calling, And the three sing, all in concord: “Love! O Love!” the first one calleth; Sings the second, “Suitor! Suitor!” And the third one calls and echoes, “Consolation! Consolation!” He that “Love! O Love!” is calling, Calls three moons and calls unceasing, For the love-rejecting maiden Sleeping in the deep sea-castles. He that “Suitor! Suitor!” singeth, Sings six moons and sings unceasing For the suitor that forever Sings and sues without a hearing. He that sadly sings and echoes, “Consolation! Consolation!” Sings unceasing all his life long For the broken-hearted mother That must mourn and weep forever.

When the lone and wretched mother Heard the sacred cuckoo singing, Spake she thus, and sorely weeping: “When I hear the cuckoo calling, Then my heart is filled with sorrow; Tears unlock my heavy eyelids, Flow adown my furrowed visage, Tears as large as silver sea pearls; Older grow my wearied elbows, Weaker ply my aged fingers, Wearily, in all its members, Does my body shake in palsy, When I hear the cuckoo singing, Hear the sacred cuckoo calling.”

RUNE V. WAINAVOINEN’S LAMENTATION.

Far and wide the tidings travelled, Far away men heard the story Of the flight and death of Aino, Sister dear of Youkahainen, Fairest daughter of creation.

Wainamoinen, brave and truthful, Straightway fell to bitter weeping, Wept at morning, wept at evening, Sleepless, wept the dreary night long, That his Aino had departed, That the maiden thus had vanished, Thus had sunk upon the bottom Of the blue-sea, deep and boundless.

Filled with grief, the ancient singer, Wainamoinen of the Northland, Heavy-hearted, sorely weeping, Hastened to the restless waters, This the suitor’s prayer and question: “Tell, Untamo, tell me, dreamer, Tell me, Indolence, thy visions, Where the water-gods may linger, Where may rest Wellamo’s maidens?”

Then Untamo thus made answer, Lazily he told his dreamings: “Over there, the mermaid-dwellings, Yonder live Wellamo’s maidens, On the headland robed in verdure, On the forest-covered island, In the deep, pellucid waters, On the purple-colored sea-shore; Yonder is the home of sea-maids, There the maidens of Wellamo, Live there in their sea-side chambers, Rest within their water-caverns, On the rocks of rainbow colors, On the juttings of the sea-cliffs.”

Straightway hastens Wainamoinen To a boat-house on the sea-shore, Looks with care upon the fish-hooks, And the lines he well considers; Lines, and hooks, and poles, and fish-nets, Places in a boat of copper, Then begins he swiftly rowing To the forest-covered island, To the point enrobed in verdure, To the purple-colored headland, Where the sea-nymphs live and linger. Hardly does he reach the island Ere the minstrel starts to angle; Far away he throws his fish-hook, Trolls it quickly through the waters, Turning on a copper swivel Dangling from a silver fish-line, Golden is the hook he uses.

Now he tries his silken fish-net, Angles long, and angles longer, Angles one day, then a second, In the morning, in the evening, Angles at the hour of noontide, Many days and nights he angles, Till at last, one sunny morning, Strikes a fish of magic powers, Plays like salmon on his fish-line, Lashing waves across the waters, Till at length the fish exhausted Falls a victim to the angler, Safely landed in the bottom Of the hero’s boat of copper.

Wainamoinen, proudly viewing, Speaks these words in wonder guessing: “This the fairest of all sea-fish, Never have I seen its equal, Smoother surely than the salmon, Brighter-spotted than the trout is, Grayer than the pike of Suomi, Has less fins than any female, Not the fins of any male fish, Not the stripes of sea-born maidens, Not the belt of any mermaid, Not the ears of any song-bird, Somewhat like our Northland salmon From the blue-sea’s deepest caverns.”

In his belt the ancient hero Wore a knife insheathed with silver; From its case he drew the fish-knife, Thus to carve the fish in pieces, Dress the nameless fish for roasting, Make of it a dainty breakfast, Make of it a meal at noon-day, Make for him a toothsome supper, Make the later meal at evening.

Straightway as the fish he touches, Touches with his knife of silver, Quick it leaps upon the waters, Dives beneath the sea’s smooth surface, From the boat with copper bottom, From the skiff of Wainamoinen.

In the waves at goodly distance, Quickly from the sea it rises On the sixth and seventh billows, Lifts its head above the waters, Out of reach of fishing-tackle, Then addresses Wainamoinen, Chiding thus the ancient hero: “Wainamoinen, ancient minstrel, Do not think that I came hither To be fished for as a salmon, Only to be chopped in pieces, Dressed and eaten like a whiting Make for thee a dainty breakfast, Make for thee a meal at midday, Make for thee a toothsome supper, Make the fourth meal of the Northland.” Spake the ancient Wainamoinen: “Wherefore didst thou then come hither, If it be not for my dinner?” Thus the nameless fish made answer: “Hither have I come, O minstrel, In thine arms to rest and linger, And thyself to love and cherish, At thy side a life-companion, And thy wife to be forever; Deck thy couch with snowy linen, Smooth thy head upon the pillow, Sweep thy rooms and make them cheery, Keep thy dwelling-place in order, Build a fire for thee when needed, Bake for thee the honey-biscuit, Fill thy cup with barley-water, Do for thee whatever pleases.

“I am not a scaly sea-fish, Not a trout of Northland rivers, Not a whiting from the waters, Not a salmon of the North-seas, I, a young and merry maiden, Friend and sister of the fishes, Youkahainen’s youngest sister, I, the one that thou dost fish for, I am Aino whom thou lovest.

“Once thou wert the wise-tongued hero, Now the foolish Wainamoinen, Scant of insight, scant of judgment, Didst not know enough to keep me, Cruel-hearted, bloody-handed, Tried to kill me with thy fish-knife, So to roast me for thy dinner; I, a mermaid of Wellamo, Once the fair and lovely Aino, Sister dear of Youkahainen.”

Spake the ancient Wainamoinen:, Filled with sorrow, much regretting: “Since thou’rt Youkahainen’s sister, Beauteous Aino of Pohyola, Come to me again I pray thee!”

Thus the mermaid wisely answered: “Nevermore will Aino’s spirit Fly to thee and be ill-treated.”

Quickly dived the water-maiden From the surface of the billow To the many-colored pebbles, To the rainbow-tinted grottoes Where the mermaids live and linger.

Wainamoinen, not discouraged, Thought afresh and well reflected, How to live, and work, and win her; Drew with care his silken fish-net, To and fro through foam and billow, Through the bays and winding channels, Drew it through the placid waters, Drew it through the salmon-dwellings, Through the homes of water-maidens, Through the waters of Wainola, Through the blue-back of the ocean, Through the lakes of distant Lapland, Through the rivers of Youkola, Through the seas of Kalevala, Hoping thus to find his Aino. Many were the fish he landed, Every form of fish-like creatures, But he did not catch the sea-maid, Not Wellamo’s water-maiden, Fairest daughter of the Northland.

Finally the ancient minstrel, Mind depressed, and heart discouraged, Spake these words, immersed in sorrow: “Fool am I, and great my folly, Having neither wit nor judgment; Surely once I had some knowledge, Had some insight into wisdom, Had at least a bit of instinct; But my virtues all have left me In these mournful days of evil, Vanished with my youth and vigor, Insight gone, and sense departed, All my prudence gone to others! Aino, whom I love and cherish, All these years have sought to honor, Aino, now Wellamo’s maiden, Promised friend of mine when needed, Promised bride of mine forever, Once I had within my power, Caught her in Wellamo’s grottoes, Led her to my boat of copper, With my fish-line made of silver; But alas! I could not keep her, Did not know that I had caught her Till too late to woo and win her; Let her slip between my fingers To the home of water-maidens, To the kingdom of Wellamo.”

Wainamoinen then departed, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Straightway hastened to his country, To his home in Kalevala, Spake these words upon his journey: “What has happened to the cuckoo, Once the cuckoo bringing gladness, In the morning, in the evening, Often bringing joy at noontide? What has stilled the cuckoo’s singing, What has changed the cuckoo’s calling? Sorrow must have stilled his singing, And compassion changed his calling, As I hear him sing no longer, For my pleasure in the morning, For my happiness at evening. Never shall I learn the secret, How to live and how to prosper, How upon the earth to rest me, How upon the seas to wander! Only were my ancient mother Living on the face of Northland, Surely she would well advise me, What my thought and what my action, That this cup of grief might pass me, That this sorrow might escape me, And this darkened cloud pass over.”

In the deep awoke his mother, From her tomb she spake as follows: “Only sleeping was thy mother, Now awakes to give thee answer, What thy thought and what thine action, That this cup of grief may pass thee, That this sorrow may escape thee, And this darkened cloud pass over. Hie thee straightway to the Northland, Visit thou the Suomi daughters; Thou wilt find them wise and lovely, Far more beautiful than Aino, Far more worthy of a husband, Not such silly chatter-boxes, As the fickle Lapland maidens. Take for thee a life-companion, From the honest homes of Suomi, One of Northland’s honest daughters; She will charm thee with her sweetness, Make thee happy through her goodness, Form perfection, manners easy, Every step and movement graceful, Full of wit and good behavior, Honor to thy home and kindred.”

RUNE VI. WAINAMOINEN’S HAPLESS JOURNEY.

Wainamoinen, old and truthful, Now arranges for a journey To the village of the Northland, To the land of cruel winters, To the land of little sunshine, To the land of worthy women; Takes his light-foot, royal racer, Then adjusts the golden bridle, Lays upon his back the saddle, Silver-buckled, copper-stirruped, Seats himself upon his courser, And begins his journey northward; Plunges onward, onward, onward, Galloping along the highway, In his saddle, gaily fashioned, On his dappled steed of magic, Plunging through Wainola’s meadows, O’er the plains of Kalevala. Fast and far he galloped onward, Galloped far beyond Wainola, Bounded o’er the waste of waters, Till he reached the blue-sea’s margin, Wetting not the hoofs in running.

But the evil Youkahainen Nursed a grudge within his bosom, In his heart the worm of envy, Envy of this Wainamoinen, Of this wonderful enchanter. He prepares a cruel cross-bow, Made of steel and other metals, Paints the bow in many colors, Molds the top-piece out of copper, Trims his bow with snowy silver, Gold he uses too in trimming. Then he hunts for strongest sinews, Finds them in the stag of Hisi, Interweaves the flax of Lempo. Ready is the cruel cross-bow, String, and shaft, and ends are finished, Beautiful the bow and mighty, Surely cost it not a trifle; On the back a painted courser, On each end a colt of beauty, Near the curve a maiden sleeping, Near the notch a hare is bounding, Wonderful the bow thus fashioned; Cuts some arrows for his quiver, Covers them with finest feathers, From the oak the shafts he fashions, Makes the tips of keenest metal. As the rods and points are finished, Then he feathers well his arrows From the plumage of the swallow, From the wing-quills of the sparrow; Hardens well his feathered arrows, And imparts to each new virtues, Steeps them in the blood of serpents, In the virus of the adder.