Part 17

“Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Softly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps again upon the bottom, Turns one way and then another, In the centre of the caldron, Sees a chip upon the bottom, Takes it from its place of resting, Looks upon the chip and muses: ‘What may come of this I know not, In the hands of mystic maidens, In the hands of magic Kapo, In the virgin’s snow-white fingers.’

“Kalevatar took the birch-chip To the magic maiden, Kapo, Gave it to the white-faced maiden. Kapo, by the aid of magic, Rubbed her hands and knees together, And produced a magic marten, And the marten, golden-breasted; Thus instructed she her creature, Gave the marten these directions: ‘Thou, my golden-breasted marten, Thou my son of golden color, Haste thou whither I may send thee, To the bear-dens of the mountain, To the grottoes of the growler, Gather yeast upon thy fingers, Gather foam from lips of anger, From the lips of bears in battle, Bring it to the hands of Kapo, To the hands of Osmo’s daughter.’

“Then the marten golden-breasted, Full consenting, hastened onward, Quickly bounding on his journey, Lightly leaping through the distance Leaping o’er the widest rivers, Leaping over rocky fissures, To the bear-dens of the mountain, To the grottoes of the growler, Where the wild-bears fight each other, Where they pass a dread existence, Iron rocks, their softest pillows, In the fastnesses of mountains; From their lips the foam was dripping, From their tongues the froth of anger; This the marten deftly gathered, Brought it to the maiden, Kapo, Laid it in her dainty fingers.

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Brewer of the beer of barley, Used the beer-foam as a ferment; But it brought no effervescence, Did not make the liquor sparkle.

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Thought again, and long debated: ‘Who or what will bring the ferment, That my beer may not be lifeless?’

“Kalevatar, magic maiden, Grace and beauty in her fingers, Softly moving, lightly stepping, In her trimly-buckled sandals, Steps again upon the bottom, Turns one way and then another, In the centre of the caldron, Sees a pod upon the bottom, Lifts it in her snow-white fingers, Turns it o’er and o’er, and muses: ‘What may come of this I know not, In the hands of magic maidens, In the hands of mystic Kapo, In the snowy virgin’s fingers?’

“Kalevatar, sparkling maiden, Gave the pod to magic Kapo; Kapo, by the aid of magic, Rubbed the pod upon her knee-cap, And a honey-bee came flying From the pod within her fingers, Kapo thus addressed her birdling: ‘Little bee with honeyed winglets, King of all the fragrant flowers, Fly thou whither I direct thee, To the islands in the ocean, To the water-cliffs and grottoes, Where asleep a maid has fallen, Girdled with a belt of copper; By her side are honey-grasses, By her lips are fragrant flowers, Herbs and flowers honey-laden; Gather there the sweetened juices, Gather honey on thy winglets, From the calyces of flowers, From the tips of seven petals, Bring it to the hands of Kapo, To the hands of Osmo’s daughter.’

“Then the bee, the swift-winged birdling, Flew away with lightning-swiftness On his journey to the islands, O’er the high waves of the ocean; Journeyed one day, then a second, Journeyed all the next day onward, Till the third day evening brought him To the islands in the ocean, To the water-cliffs and grottoes; Found the maiden sweetly sleeping, In her silver-tinselled raiment, Girdled with a belt of copper, In a nameless meadow, sleeping, In the honey-fields of magic; By her side were honeyed grasses, By her lips were fragrant flowers, Silver stalks with golden petals; Dipped its winglets in the honey, Dipped its fingers in the juices Of the sweetest of the flowers, Brought the honey back to Kapo, To the mystic maiden’s fingers.

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Placed the honey in the liquor; Kapo mixed the beer and honey, And the wedding-beer fermented; Rose the live beer upward, upward, From the bottom of the vessels, Upward in the tubs of birch-wood, Foaming higher, higher, higher, Till it touched the oaken handles, Overflowing all the caldrons; To the ground it foamed and sparkled, Sank away in sand and gravel.

“Time had gone but little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, Ere the heroes came in numbers To the foaming beer of Northland, Rushed to drink the sparkling liquor. Ere all others Lemminkainen Drank, and grew intoxicated On the beer of Osmo’s daughter, On the honey-drink of Kalew.

“Osmotar, the beer-preparer, Kapo, brewer of the barley, Spake these words in saddened accents: ‘Woe is me, my life hard-fated, Badly have I brewed the liquor, Have not brewed the beer in wisdom, Will not live within its vessels, Overflows and fills Pohyola!’

“From a tree-top sings the redbreast, From the aspen calls the robin: ‘Do not grieve, thy beer is worthy, Put it into oaken vessels, Into strong and willing barrels Firmly bound with hoops of copper.’

“Thus was brewed the beer of Northland, At the hands of Osmo’s daughter; This the origin of brewing Beer from Kalew-hops and barley; Great indeed the reputation Of the ancient beer of Kalew, Said to make the feeble hardy, Famed to dry the tears of women, Famed to cheer the broken-hearted, Make the aged young and supple, Make the timid brave and mighty, Make the brave men ever braver, Fill the heart with joy and gladness, Fill the mind with wisdom-sayings, Fill the tongue with ancient legends, Only makes the fool more foolish.”

When the hostess of Pohyola Heard how beer was first fermented, Heard the origin of brewing, Straightway did she fill with water Many oaken tubs and barrels; Filled but half the largest vessels, Mixed the barley with the water, Added also hops abundant; Well she mixed the triple forces In her tubs of oak and birch-wood, Heated stones for months succeeding, Thus to boil the magic mixture, Steeped it through the days of summer, Burned the wood of many forests, Emptied all the springs of Pohya; Daily did the forests lesson, And the wells gave up their waters, Thus to aid the hostess, Louhi, In the brewing of the liquors, From the water, hops, and barley, And from honey of the islands, For the wedding-feast of Northland, For Pohyola’s great carousal And rejoicings at the marriage Of the Maiden of the Rainbow To the blacksmith, Ilmarinen, Metal-worker of Wainola.

Smoke is seen upon the island, Fire, upon the promontory, Black smoke rising to the heavens From the fire upon the island; Fills with clouds the half of Pohya, Fills Karelen’s many hamlets; All the people look and wonder, This the chorus of the women: “Whence are rising all these smoke-clouds, Why this dreadful fire in Northland? Is not like the smoke of camp-fires, Is too large for fires of shepherds!”

Lemminkainen’s ancient mother Journeyed in the early morning For some water to the fountain, Saw the smoke arise to heaven, In the region of Pohyola, These the words the mother uttered: “’Tis the smoke of battle-heroes, From the heat of warring armies!”

Even Ahti, island-hero, Ancient wizard, Lemminkainen, Also known as Kaukomieli, Looked upon the scene in wonder, Thought awhile and spake as follows: “I would like to see this nearer, Learn the cause of all this trouble, Whence this smoke and great confusion, Whether smoke from heat of battle, Or the bonfires of the shepherds.”

Kaukomieli gazed and pondered, Studied long the rising smoke-clouds; Came not from the heat of battle, Came not from the shepherd bonfires; Heard they were the fires of Louhi Brewing beer in Sariola, On Pohyola’s promontory; Long and oft looked Lemminkainen, Strained in eagerness his vision, Stared, and peered, and thought, and wondered, Looked abashed and envy-swollen, Spake these words upon his island: “O beloved, second mother, Northland’s well-intentioned hostess, Brew thy beer of honey-flavor, Make thy liquors foam and sparkle, For thy many friends invited, Brew it well for Lemminkainen, For his marriage in Pohyola With the Maiden of the Rainbow.”

Finally the beer was ready, Beverage of noble heroes, Stored away in casks and barrels, There to rest awhile in silence, In the cellars of the Northland, In the copper-banded vessels, In the magic oaken hogsheads, Plugs and faucets made of copper. Then the hostess of Pohyola Skilfully prepared the dishes, Laid them all with careful fingers In the boiling-pans and kettles, Ordered countless loaves of barley, Ordered many liquid dishes, All the delicacies of Northland, For the feasting of her people, For their richest entertainment, For the nuptial songs and dances, At the marriage of her daughter With the blacksmith, Ilmarinen.

When the loaves were baked and ready, When the dishes all were seasoned, Time had gone but little distance, Scarce a moment had passed over, Ere the beer, in casks imprisoned, Loudly rapped, and sang, and murmured: “Come, ye heroes, come and take me, Come and let me cheer your spirits, Make you sing the songs of wisdom, That with honor ye may praise me, Sing the songs of beer immortal!”

Straightway Louhi sought a minstrel, Magic bard and artist-singer, That the beer might well be lauded, Might be praised in song and honor. First as bard they brought a salmon, Also brought a pike from ocean, But the salmon had no talent, And the pike had little wisdom; Teeth of pike and gills of salmon Were not made for singing legends.

Then again they sought a singer, Magic minstrel, beer-enchanter, Thus to praise the drink of heroes, Sing the songs of joy and gladness; And a boy was brought for singing; But the boy had little knowledge, Could not praise the beer in honor; Children’s tongues are filled with questions, Children cannot speak in wisdom, Cannot sing the ancient legends.

Stronger grew the beer imprisoned In the copper-banded vessels, Locked behind the copper faucets, Boiled, and foamed, and sang, and murmured: “If ye do not bring a singer, That will sing my worth immortal, That will sing my praise deserving, I will burst these bands of copper, Burst the heads of all these barrels; Will not serve the best of heroes Till he sings my many virtues.”

Louhi, hostess of Pohyola, Called a trusted maiden-servant, Sent her to invite the people To the marriage of her daughter, These the words that Louhi uttered: “O my trusted, truthful maiden, Servant-maid to me belonging, Call together all my people, Call the heroes to my banquet, Ask the rich, and ask the needy, Ask the blind and deaf, and crippled, Ask the young, and ask the aged; Go thou to the hills, and hedges, To the highways, and the by-ways, Urge them to my daughter’s wedding; Bring the blind, and sorely troubled, In my boats upon the waters, In my sledges bring the halting, With the old, and sick, and needy; Ask the whole of Sariola, Ask the people of Karelen, Ask the ancient Wainamoinen, Famous bard and wisdom-singer; But I give command explicit Not to ask wild Lemminkainen, Not the island-dweller, Ahti!” This the question of the servant: “Why not ask wild Lemminkainen, Ancient islander and minstrel?”

Louhi gave this simple answer: “Good the reasons that I give thee Why the wizard, Lemminkainen, Must not have an invitation To my daughter’s feast and marriage: Ahti courts the heat of battle, Lemminkainen fosters trouble, Skilful fighter of the virtues; Evil thinking, acting evil, He would bring but pain and sorrow, He would jest and jeer at maidens In their trimly buckled raiment, Cannot ask the evil-minded!” Thus again the servant questions: “Tell me how to know this Ahti, Also known as Lemminkainen, That I may not ask him hither; Do not know the isle of Ahti, Nor the home of Kaukomieli!” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Easy ’tis to know the wizard, Easy find the Ahti-dwelling: Ahti lives on yonder island, On that point dwells Lemminkainen, In his mansion near the water, Far at sea his home and dwelling.”

Thereupon the trusted maiden Spread the wedding-invitations To the people of Pohyola, To the tribes of Kalevala; Asked the friendless, asked the homeless Asked the laborers and shepherds, Asked the fishermen and hunters, Asked the deaf, the dumb, the crippled, Asked the young, and asked the aged, Asked the rich, and asked the needy; Did not give an invitation To the reckless Lemminkainen, Island-dweller of the ocean.

RUNE XXI. ILMARINEN’S WEDDING-FEAST.

Louhi, hostess of the Northland, Ancient dame of Sariola, While at work within her dwelling, Heard the whips crack on the fenlands, Heard the rattle of the sledges; To the northward turned her glances, Turned her vision to the sunlight, And her thoughts ran on as follow: “Who are these in bright apparel, On the banks of Pohya-waters, Are they friends or hostile armies?”

Then the hostess of the Northland Looked again and well considered, Drew much nearer to examine, Found they were not hostile armies, Found that they were friends and suitors. In the midst was Ilmarinen, Son-in-law to ancient Louhi.

When the hostess of Pohyola Saw the son-in-law approaching, She addressed the words that follow: “I had thought the winds were raging, That the piles of wood were falling, Thought the pebbles in commotion, Or perchance the ocean roaring; Then I hastened nearer, nearer, Drew still nearer and examined, Found the winds were not in battle, Found the piles of wood unshaken, Found the ocean was not roaring, Nor the pebbles in commotion; Found my son-in-law was coming With his heroes and attendants, Heroes counted by the hundreds.

“Should you ask of me the question, How I recognized the bridegroom Mid the hosts of men and heroes, I should answer, I should tell you: ‘As the hazel-bush in copses, As the oak-tree in the forest, As the Moon among the planets; Drives the groom a coal-black courser, Running like the famished black-dog, Flying like the hungry raven, Graceful as the lark at morning, Golden cuckoos, six in number, Twitter on the birchen cross-bow; There are seven bluebirds singing On the racer’s hame and collar.’”

Noises hear they in the court-yard, On the highway hear the sledges, To the court comes Ilmarinen, With his body-guard of heroes; In the midst the chosen suitor, Not too far in front of others, Not too far behind his fellows. Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Hie ye hither, men and heroes, Haste, ye watchers, to the stables, There unhitch the suitor’s stallion, Lower well the racer’s breast-plate, There undo the straps and buckles, Loosen well the shafts and traces, And conduct the suitor hither, Give my son-in-law good welcome!”

Ilmarinen turned his racer Into Louhi’s yard and stables, And descended from his snow-sledge. Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Come, thou servant of my bidding, Best of all my trusted servants, Take at once the bridegroom’s courser From the shafts adorned with silver, From the curving arch of willow, Lift the harness trimmed in copper, Tie the white-face to the manger, Treat the suitor’s steed with kindness, Lead him carefully to shelter By his soft and shining bridle, By his halter tipped with silver; Let him roll among the sand-hills, On the bottoms soft and even, On the borders of the snow-banks, In the fields of milky color.

“Lead the hero’s steed to water, Lead him to the Pohya-fountains, Where the living streams are flowing, Sweet as milk of human kindness, From the roots of silvery birches, Underneath the shade of aspens.

“Feed the courser of the suitor, With the sweetest corn and barley, On the summer-wheat and clover, In the caldron steeped in sweetness; Feed him at the golden manger, In the boxes lined with copper, At my manger richly furnished, In the warmest of the stables; Tie him with a silk-like halter, To the golden rings and staples, To the hooks of purest silver, Set in beams of birch and oak-wood; Feed him on the hay the sweetest, Feed him on the corn nutritious, Give the best my barns can furnish.

“Curry well the suitor’s courser With the curry-comb of fish-bone, Brush his hair with silken brushes, Put his mane and tail in order, Cover well with flannel blankets, Blankets wrought in gold and silver, Buckles forged from shining copper.

“Come, ye small lads of the village, Lead the suitor to my chambers, With your auburn locks uncovered, From your hands remove your mittens, See if ye can lead the hero Through the door without his stooping, Lifting not the upper cross-bar, Lowering not the oaken threshold, Moving not the birchen casings, Great the hero who must enter.

“Ilmarinen is too stately, Cannot enter through the portals, Not the son-in-law and bridegroom, Till the portals have been heightened; Taller by a head the suitor Than the door-ways of the mansion.”

Quick the servants of Pohyola Tore away the upper cross-bar, That his cap might not be lifted; Made the oaken threshold lower That the hero might not stumble; Made the birch-wood portals wider, Opened full the door of welcome, Easy entrance for the suitor.

Speaks the hostess of the Northland As the bridegroom freely passes Through the doorway of her dwelling: “Thanks are due to thee, O Ukko, That my son-in-law has entered! Let me now my halls examine; Make the bridal chambers ready, Finest linen on my tables, Softest furs upon my benches, Birchen flooring scrubbed to whiteness, All my rooms in perfect order.”

Then the hostess of Pohyola Visited her spacious dwelling, Did not recognize her chambers; Every room had been remodeled, Changed by force of mighty magic; All the halls were newly burnished, Hedge-hog bones were used for ceilings, Bones of reindeer for foundations, Bones of wolverine for door-sills, For the cross-bars bones of roebuck, Apple-wood were all the rafters, Alder-wood, the window-casings, Scales of trout adorned the windows, And the fires were set in flowers. All the seats were made of silver, All the floors of copper-tiling, Gold-adorned were all the tables, On the floor were silken mattings, Every fire-place set in copper, Every hearth-stone cut from marble, On each shelf were colored sea-shells, Kalew’s tree was their protection.

To the court-room came the hero, Chosen suitor from Wainola, These the words of Ilmarinen: “Send, O Ukko, health and pleasure To this ancient home and dwelling, To this mansion richly fashioned!” Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Let thy coming be auspicious To these halls of thee unworthy, To the home of thine affianced, To this dwelling lowly fashioned, Mid the lindens and the aspens.

“Come, ye maidens that should serve me, Come, ye fellows from the village, Bring me fire upon the birch-bark, Light the fagots of the fir-tree, That I may behold the bridegroom, Chosen suitor of my daughter, Fairy Maiden of the Rainbow, See the color of his eyeballs, Whether they are blue or sable, See if they are warm and faithful.”

Quick the young lads from the village Brought the fire upon the birch-bark, Brought it on the tips of pine-wood; And the fire and smoke commingled Roll and roar about the hero, Blackening the suitor’s visage, And the hostess speaks as follows: “Bring the fire upon a taper, On the waxen tapers bring it!”

Then the maidens did as bidden, Quickly brought the lighted tapers, Made the suitor’s eyeballs glisten, Made his cheeks look fresh and ruddy; Made his eyes of sable color Sparkle like the foam of waters, Like the reed-grass on the margin, Colored as the ocean jewels, Iridescent as the rainbow.

“Come, ye fellows of the hamlets, Lead my son-in-law and hero To the highest seat at table, To the seat of greatest honor, With his back upon the blue-wall, Looking on my bounteous tables, Facing all the guests of Northland.”

Then the hostess of Pohyola Served her guests in great abundance, Richest drinks and rarest viands, First of all she served the bridegroom; On his platters, honeyed biscuit, And the sweetest river salmon, Seasoned butter, roasted bacon, All the dainties of Pohyola. Then the helpers served the others, Filled the plates of all invited With the varied food of Northland. Spake the hostess of Pohyola: “Come, ye maidens from the village, Hither bring the beer in pitchers, In the urns with double handles, To the many guests in-gathered, Ere all others, serve the bridegroom.”

Thereupon the merry maidens Brought the beer in silver pitchers From the copper-banded vessels, For the wedding-guests assembled; And the beer, fermenting, sparkled On the beard of Ilmarinen, On the beards of many heroes.

When the guests had all partaken Of the wondrous beer of barley, Spake the beer in merry accents Through the tongues of the magicians, Through the tongue of many a hero, Through the tongue of Wainamoinen, Famed to be the sweetest singer Of the Northland bards and minstrels, These the words of the enchanter: “O thou beer of honeyed flavor, Let us not imbibe in silence, Let some hero sing thy praises, Sing thy worth in golden measures; Let the hostess start the singing, Let the bridegroom sound thy virtues! Have our songs thus quickly vanished, Have our joyful tongues grown silent? Evil then has been the brewing, Then the beer must be unworthy, That it does not cheer the singer, Does not move the merry minstrel, That the golden guests are joyless, And the cuckoo is not singing. Never will these benches echo Till the bench-guests chant thy virtues; Nor the floor resound thy praises Till the floor-guests sing in concord; Nor the windows join the chorus Till the window-guests have spoken; All the tables will keep silence Till the heroes toast thy virtues; Little singing from the chimney Till the chimney-guests have chanted.”

On the floor a child was sitting, Thus the little boy made answer: “I am small and young in singing, Have perchance but little wisdom; Be that as it may, my seniors, Since the elder minstrels sing not, Nor the heroes chant their legends, Nor the hostess lead the singing, I will sing my simple stories, Sing my little store of knowledge, To the pleasure of the evening, To the joy of the invited.”

Near the fire reclined an old man, And the gray-beard thus made answer: “Not the time for children’s singing, Children’s wisdom is too ready, Children’s songs are filled with trifles, Filled with shrewd and vain deceptions, Maiden-songs are full of follies; Leave the songs and incantations To the ancient wizard-singers; Leave the tales of times primeval To the minstrel of Wainola, To the hero of the Northland, To the ancient Wainamoinen.” Thereupon Osmoinen answered: “Are there not some sweeter singers In this honored congregation, That will clasp their hands together, Sing the ancient songs unbroken, Thus begin the incantations, Make these ancient halls re-echo For the pleasure of the evening, For the joy of the in-gathered?” From the hearth-stone spake, the gray-beard “Not a singer of Pohyola, Not a minstrel, nor magician, That was better skilled in chanting Legends of the days departed, Than was I when I was singing, In my years of vain ambition; Then I chanted tales of heroes, On the blue back of the waters, Sang the ballads of my people, In the vales and on the mountains, Through the verdant fields and forests; Sweet my voice and skilled my singing, All my songs were highly lauded, Rippled like the quiet rivers, Easy-flowing like the waters, Easy-gliding as the snow-shoes, Like the ship upon the ocean.

“Woe is me, my days are ended, Would not recognize my singing, All its sweetness gone to others, Flows no more like rippling waters, Makes no more the hills re-echo! Now my songs are full of discord, Like the rake upon the stubble, Like the sledge upon the gravel, Like the boat upon the sea-shore!”