Kalevala: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen

If you are listening to the audio, you will hear the "argument" (summary) at the beginning of each new runo.

[Notes by LKG]

---

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 3: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 3]

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast
Passed the days of his existence
Where lie Väinölä's sweet meadows,
Kalevala's extended heathlands:
There he sang his songs of sweetness
Sang his songs and proved his wisdom.

Day by day he sang unwearied,
Night by night discoursed unceasing,
Sang the songs of by-gone ages,
Hidden words of ancient wisdom,
Songs which all the children sing not,
All beyond men's comprehension,
In these ages of misfortune,
When the race is near Its ending.

Far away the news was carried,
Far abroad was spread the tidings
Of the songs of Väinämöinen,
Of the wisdom of the hero;
In the south was spread the rumour;
Reached to Pohjola the tidings.

Here dwelt youthful Joukahainen,
He, the meagre youth of Lapland;
And, when visiting the village,
Wondrous tales he heard related,
How there dwelt another minstrel,
And that better songs were carolled.

Far in Väinölä's sweet meadows,
Kalevala's extended heathlands,
Better songs than he could compass,
Better than his father taught him.

This he heard with great displeasure,
And his heart was filled with envy
That the songs of Väinämöinen
Better than his own were reckoned.

Then he went to seek his mother;
Sought her out, the aged woman,
And declared that he would journey,
And was eager to betake him,
Unto Väinölä's far dwellings,
That he might contend with Väinö.

But his father straight forbade him,
Both his father and his mother,
Thence to Väinölä to journey,
That he might contend with Väinö.

"He will surely sing against you,
Sing against you, and will ban you,
Sink your mouth and head in snow-drifts,
And your hands in bitter tempest:
Till your hands and feet are stiffened,
And incapable of motion."

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"Good the counsel of my father,
And my mother's counsel better;
Best of all my own opinion.

"I will set myself against him,
And defy him to a contest;
I myself my songs will sing him;
I myself will speak my mantras,
Sing until the best of minstrels
Shall become the worst of singers.

"Shoes of stone will I provide him,
Wooden trousers on his haunches,
On his breast a stony burden,
And a rock upon his shoulders;
Stony gloves his hands shall cover,
And his head a stony helmet."

Then he went his way unheeding,
Went his way and fetched his gelding,
From whose mouth the fire was flashing,
'Neath whose legs the sparks were flying.

Then the fiery steed he harnessed;
To the golden sledge he yoked him;
In the sledge himself he mounted,
And upon the seat he sat him,
O'er the horse his whip he brandished;
With the beaded whip he smote him;
From the place the horse sprang quickly,
And he darted lightly forwards.

On he drove with thundering clatter,
As he drove a day, a second,
Driving also on the third day,
And at length upon the third day,
Came to Väinölä's sweet meadows,
Kalevala's extended heathlands.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
He, the oldest of magicians,
As it chanced was driving onward,
Peacefully his course pursuing
On through Väinölä's sweet meadows,
Kalevala's extended heathlands.

Came the youthful Joukahainen
Driving on the road against him,
And the shafts were wedged together,
And the reins were all entangled,
And the collar jammed with collar,
And the runners dashed together.

Thus their progress was arrested,
Thus they halted and reflected;
Sweat dropped down upon the runners;
From the shafts the steam was rising.

Asked the aged Väinämöinen,
"Who are you, and what your lineage,
You who drive so reckless onward,
Utterly without reflection?

"Broken are the horses' collars,
And the wooden runners likewise;
You have smashed my sledge to pieces,
Broke the sledge in which I travelled."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:

"I am youthful Joukahainen;
But yourself should also tell me
What your race, and what your nation,
And from what vile stock you issue."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Told his name without concealment,
And began to speak as follows:

"Youth, if you are Joukahainen,
You should move aside a little,
For remember: you are younger."

Next: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont.)

(700 words)

Kalevala: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont.)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 3: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont.)

(see previous page for audio)

But the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:
"Here of youthfulness we reck not;
Nought doth youth or age concern us:
He who highest stands in knowledge,
He whose wisdom is the greatest,
Let him keep the path before him,
And the other yield the passage.
If you are old Väinämöinen,
And the oldest of the minstrels,
Let us give ourselves to singing,
Let us now repeat our sayings,
That the one may teach the other.
And the one surpass the other."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"What can I myself accomplish
As a wise man or a singer?
I have passed my life in quiet,
Here among these very moorlands,
On the borders of my home-field
I have heard the cuckoo calling.
But apart from this at present,
I will ask you to inform me:
What may be your greatest wisdom
And the utmost of your knowledge?"

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"Many things I know in fulness,
And I know with perfect clearness,
And my insight shows me plainly:
In the roof we find the smoke-hole,
And the fire is near the hearthstone;
Joyful life the seal is leading,
In the waves there sports the sea-dog,
And he feeds upon the salmon,
And the powans round about him;
Smooth the water loved by powans,
Smooth the surface, too, for salmon;
And in frost the pike is spawning,
Slimy fish in wintry weather;
Sluggish is the perch, the humpback,
In the depths it swims in autumn,
But it spawns in drought of summer,
Swimming slowly to the margin.
If this does not yet suffice you,
I am wise in other matters,
And of weighty things can tell you:
In the north they plough with reindeer,
In the south the mare is useful,
And the elk In furthest Lapland;
Trees I know on Pisa mountain,
Firs upon the rocks of Horna,
Tall the trees on Pisa mountain,
And the firs on rocks of Horna;
Three great waterfalls I know of,
And as many lakes extensive,
And as many lofty mountains,
Underneath the vault of heaven;
Halläpyörä is in Hame,
Karjala has Kaatrakoski,
But they do not match the Vuoksi,
There where Imatra is rushing."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Childish tales, and woman's wisdom,
But for bearded men unsuited,
And for married men unfitted.
Tell me words of deepest wisdom.
Tell me now of things eternal."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:
"Well I know whence comes the titmouse,
That the titmouse is a birdie,
And a snake the hissing viper,
And the ruffe a fish in water,
And I know that hard is iron,
And that mud when black is bitter;
Painful, too, is boiling water,
And the heat of fire is hurtful;
Water is the oldest medicine;
Cataract's foam a magic potion;
The Creator's self a sorcerer,
Jumala the Great Magician;
From the rock springs forth the water,
And the fire from heaven descendeth,
And from ore we get the iron,
And in hills we find the copper;
Marshy country is the oldest,
And the first of trees the willow;
Pine-roots were the oldest houses,
And the earliest pots were stone ones."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Is there more that you can tell me,
Or is this the end of nonsense?"

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"Many little things I wot of,
And the time I well remember
When 'twas I who ploughed the ocean,
Hollowed out the depths of ocean,
And I dug the caves for fishes,
And I sunk the deep abysses,
When the lakes I first created,
And I heaped the hills together.
And the rocky mountains fashioned;
Then I stood with six great heroes!
I myself the seventh among them;
When the earth was first created,
And the air above expanded,
For the sky I fixed the pillars
And I reared the arch of heaven,
To the moon assigned his journey,
Helped the sun upon his pathway,
To the Bear his place appointed,
And the stars in heaven I scattered."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Ay, indeed, a shameless liar!
You at least were never present
When the ocean first was furrowed,
And the ocean depths were hollowed,
And the caves were dug for fishes,
And the deep abysses sunken,
And the lakes were first created,
When the hills were heaped together,
And the rocky mountains fashioned;
No one ever yet had seen you,
None had seen you, none had heard you,
When the earth was first created
And the air above expanded,
When the posts of heaven were planted,
And the arch of heaven exalted,
When the moon was shown his pathway
And the sun was taught to journey,
When the Bear was fixed in heaven
And the stars in heaven were scattered."

But the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:
"If I fail in understanding,
I will seek it at the sword-point:
O thou aged Väinämöinen,
O thou very broad-mouthed minstrel,
Let us measure swords together,
Let the blade decide between us."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"I have little cause to fret me
Either for your sword or wisdom,
For your sword-point or your judgment,
But, apart from this at present,
I will draw no sword upon you,
So contemptible a fellow,
And so pitiful a weakling."

Next: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont. again)

(900 words)

Kalevala: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont. again)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 3: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (cont. again)

(see previous page for audio)

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Shook his head, his mouth drawn crooked,
And he tossed his locks of blackness.
And he spake the words which follow:
"He who shuns the sword's decision,
Nor betakes him to his sword-blade,
To a swine I soon will sing him,
To a snouted swine transform him;
Heroes I have thus o'erpowered,
Hither will I drive and thither,
And will pitch them on the dunghill,
Grunting in the cowshed corner."

Angry then was Väinämöinen,
Filled with wrath and indignation,
And himself commenced his singing,
And to speak his words of wisdom,
But he sang no childish ditties,
Children's songs and women's jesting,
But a song for bearded heroes,
Such as all the children sing not,
Nor a half the boys can master,
Nor a third can lovers compass,
In the days of dark misfortune,
When our life is near its ending.

Sang the aged Väinämöinen;
Lakes swelled up, and earth was shaken,
And the coppery mountains trembled,
And the mighty rocks resounded,
And the mountains clove asunder;
On the shore the stones were shivered.

Then he sang of Joukahainen,
Changed his runners into saplings,
And to willows changed the collar,
And the reins he turned to alder,
And he sang the sledge all gilded,
To the lake among the rushes,
And the whip, with beads embellished,
To a reed upon the water,
And the horse, with front white-spotted
To a stone beside the torrent.

Then he sang his sword, gold-hilted,
To a lightning-flash in heaven,
And his ornamented crossbow,
To a rainbow o'er the water,
And he sang his feathered arrows,
Into hawks that soar above him,
And his dog, with upturned muzzle,
Stands a stone in earth embedded.

From his head, his cap, by singing,
Next became a cloud above him,
From his hands, his gloves, by singing,
Next were changed to water-lilies,
And the blue coat he was wearing,
Floats a fleecy cloud in heaven,
And the handsome belt that girt him,
In the sky as stars he scattered.

As he sang, sank Joukahainen
Waist-deep in the swamp beneath him,
Hip-deep in the marshy meadow,
To his arm-pits in a quicksand.

Then indeed young Joukahainen
Knew at last, and comprehended,
And he knew his course was finished,
And his journey now was ended,
For in singing he was beaten,
By the aged Väinämöinen.

He would raise his foot to struggle
But he could no longer lift it;
Then he tried to lift the other,
But as shod with stone he felt it.

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Felt the greatest pain and anguish,
And he fell in grievous trouble,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"O thou wisest Väinämöinen,
O thou oldest of magicians,
Speak thy words of magic backwards,
And reverse thy songs of magic;
Loose me from this place of terror,
And release me from my torment:
I will pay the highest ransom,
And the fixed reward will give thee."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"What do you propose to give me,
If I turn my words of magic,
And reverse my songs of magic,
Loose you from this place of terror,
And release you from your torment?"

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"I've two crossbows I could give you,
Ay, a pair of splendid crossbows,
One shoots forth with passing quickness,
Surely hits the mark the other;
If it please you, choose between them."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"No, your bows I do not covet,
For the wretched bows I care not;
I myself have plenty of them:
All the walls are decked with crossbows,
All the pegs are hung with crossbows;
In the woods they wander hunting,
Nor a hero needs to span them."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
In the swamp he sank yet deeper.
Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"I have yet two boats to offer;
Splendid boats, as I can witness,
One is light, and fit for racing,
Heavy loads will bear the other;
If it please you, choose between them."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"No, your boats I do not covet,
And I will not choose between them,
I myself have plenty of them:
All the staves are full already,
Every creek is crowded with them,
Boats to face the gale adapted,
Boats against the wind that travel."

Then the youthful Joukahainen,
in the swamp he sank yet deeper.
Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"I have still two noble stallions;
Ay, a pair of handsome horses:
One of these of matchless swiftness,
And the other best in harness;
If it please you, choose between them."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"No, I do not want your horses,
Do not need your steeds, white-footed;
I myself have plenty of them:
Every stall has now its tenant,
Every stable's filled with horses,
With their backs like water shining;
Lakes of fat upon their haunches."

Then the youthful Joukahainen,
In the swamp he sank yet deeper.
Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Speak thy words of magic backwards,
And reverse thy songs of magic.
I will give a golden helmet,
And a hat filled up with silver,
Which my father won in warfare,
Which he won in battle-struggle."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"No, I do not want your silver,
And for gold, I only scorn it.
I myself have both in plenty:
Every storeroom crammed with treasure.
Every chest is overflowing,
Gold as ancient as the moonlight,
Silver with the sun coeval."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
In the swamp he sank yet deeper.

Next: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (end)

(900 words)

Kalevala: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (end)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 3: Joukahainen and Väinämöinen (end)

(see previous page for audio)

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Loose me from this place of terror
And release me from my torment:
All my stacks at home I'll give thee,
And my fields I likewise promise,
All to save my life I offer,
If you will accept my ransom."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"No, your barns I do not covet,
And your fields are 'neath my notice,
I myself have plenty of them:
Fields are mine in all directions,
Stocks are reared on every fallow,
And my own fields please me better,
And my stacks of corn are finest."

Then the youthful Joukahainen
In the swamp he sank yet deeper.

Then the youthful Joukahainen,
Felt at length the greatest anguish,
Chin-deep in the swamp while sinking,
In the mud his beard was draggled,
In the moss his mouth was sunken,
And his teeth among the tree-roots.

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"O thou wisest Väinämöinen,
O thou oldest of magicians,
Sing once more thy songs of magic,
Grant the life of one so wretched
And release me from my prison.
In the stream my feet are sunken,
With the sand my eyes are smarting;
Speak thy words of magic backwards,
Break the spell that overwhelms me!
You shall have my sister Aino,
I will give my mother's daughter.
She shall dust your chamber for you,
Sweep the flooring with her besom,
Keep the milk-pots all in order,
And shall wash your garments for you;
Golden fabrics she shall weave you,
And shall bake you cakes of honey."

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Heard his words and grew full joyful,
Since to tend his age was promised
Joukahainen's lovely sister.

On the stone of joy he sat him,
On the stone of song he rested,
Sang an hour, and sang a second,
And again he sang a third time:
Thus reversed his words of magic,
And dissolved the spell completely.

Then the youthful Joukahainen
From the mud his chin uplifted
And his beard he disentangled;
From the rock his steed led forward,
Drew his sledge from out the bushes,
From the reeds his whip unloosing.

Then upon his sledge he mounted,
And upon the seat he sat him,
And with gloomy thoughts he hastened,
With a heart all sad and doleful,
Homeward to his dearest mother,
Unto her, the aged woman.

On he drove with noise and tumult,
Home he drove in consternation,
And he broke the sledge to pieces,
At the door the shafts were broken.

Then the noise alarmed his mother,
And his father came and asked him,
"Recklessly the sledge was broken;
Did you break the shafts on purpose?
Wherefore do you drive so rashly,
And arrive at home so madly?"

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Could not keep his tears from flowing;
Sad he bowed his head in sorrow,
And his cap awry he shifted,
And his lips were dry and stiffened,
O'er his mouth his nose was drooping.

Then his mother came and asked him
Wherefore was he sunk in sorrow.
"O my son, why weep so sadly?
O my darling, why so troubled,
With thy lips so dry and stiffened,
O'er thy mouth thy nose thus drooping?"

Said the youthful Joukahainen,
"O my mother, who hast borne me,
There is cause for what has happened,
For the sorcerer has o'ercome me;
Cause enough have I for weeping,
And the sorcerer's brought me sorrow.
I myself must weep for ever,
And must pass my life in mourning,
For my very sister Aino,
She, my dearest mother's daughter,
I have pledged to Väinämöinen,
As the consort of the minstrel,
To support his feeble footsteps,
And to wait upon him always."

Joyous clapped her hands his mother,
Both her hands she rubbed together,
And she spoke the words which follow:
"Do not weep, my son, my dearest,
For thy tears are quite uncalled for;
Little cause have we to sorrow,
For the hope I long have cherished:
All my lifetime I have wished it,
And have hoped this high-born hero
Might akin to us be reckoned,
And the minstrel Väinämöinen
Might become my daughter's husband."

But when Joukahainen's sister
Heard, she wept in deepest sorrow,
Wept one day, and wept a second,
At the threshold ever weeping,
Wept in overwhelming sorrow,
In the sadness of her spirit.

Then her mother said consoling,
"Wherefore weep, my little Aino?
You have gained a valiant bridegroom,
And the home of one most noble,
Where you'll look from out the window,
Sitting on the bench and talking."

But her daughter heard and answered,
"O my mother who hast borne me,
Therefore have I cause for weeping,
Weeping for the beauteous tresses,
Now my youthful head adorning,
And my hair so soft and glossy,
Which must now be wholly hidden,
While I still am young and blooming;
Then must I through lifetime sorrow
For the splendour of the sunlight,
And the moonbeam's charming lustre
And the glory of the heavens,
Which I leave, while still so youthful,
And as child must quite abandon,
I must leave my brother's work-room,
Just beyond my father's window."

Said the mother to the daughter,
To the girl the crone made answer,
"Cast away this foolish sorrow,
Cease your weeping, all uncalled for,
Little cause have you for sorrow,
Little cause for lamentation:
God's bright sun is ever shining
On the world in other regions,
Shines on other doors and windows
Than your father's or your brother's;
Berries grow on every mountain,
Strawberries on the plains are growing,
You can pluck them in your sorrow
Wheresoe'er your steps may lead you,
Not alone on father's acres,
Or upon your brother's clearings."

Next: Väinämöinen and Aino

(900 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and Aino

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 4: Väinämöinen and Aino

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 4]

Then the little maiden Aino,
Youthful Joukahainen's sister,
Went for besoms to the greenwood,
Sought for bath-whisks in the bushes;
One she gathered for her father,
And a second for her mother,
And she gathered yet another,
For her young and ruddy brother.

As she turned her footsteps homeward,
Pushing through the alder-bushes,
Came the aged Väinämöinen,
And he saw her in the thicket,
Finely clad among the herbage,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Maiden, do not wear for others,
But for me alone, O maiden,
Round thy neck a beaded necklace,
And a cross upon thy bosom;
Plait for me thy beauteous tresses,
Bind thy hair with silken ribands."

But the young maid gave him answer,
"Not for thee, and not for others,
Rests the cross upon my bosom,
And my hair is bound with ribands;
Nought I care for sea-borne raiment;
Wheaten bread I do not value.
I will walk in home-spun garments,
And with crusts will still my hunger,
In my dearest father's dwelling,
And beside my much-loved mother."

From her breast she took the crosslet,
Drew the rings from off her fingers,
From her neck the beaded necklace,
From her head the scarlet ribands;
Down upon the ground she threw them,
Scattered them among the bushes;
Then she hastened, ever weeping,
Loud lamenting, to the homestead.

At the window sat her father,
While he carved a hatchet-handle.
"Wherefore weepest thou, my daughter,
Young, and yet so full of sadness?"

"Cause enough have I for weeping,
Cause for weeping and lamenting.
Therefore weep I, dearest father,
Weep, and feel so full of sorrow:
From my breast I lost the crosslet,
From my belt I dropped the buckle,
From my breast my silver crosslet,
From my waist the copper girdle."

At the gate, her brother sitting,
For the sledge was shaping runners.
"Wherefore weepest thou, my sister,
Young, and yet so full of sorrow?"

"Cause enough have I for weeping,
Cause for weeping and lamenting.
Therefore do I weep, poor brother,
Weep, and feel so full of sorrow.
Rings I lost from off my fingers,
From my neck my beaded necklace,
And my finger-rings were golden,
And my necklace-beads were silver."

At the window sat her sister,
As she wove a golden girdle.
"Wherefore weepest thou, poor sister,
Young, and yet so full of sorrow?"

"Cause enough have I for weeping,
Cause for weeping and lamenting.
Therefore do I weep, poor sister,
Weep and feel so full of sorrow:
From my brow the gold has fallen,
From my hair I lost the silver,
Tore the blue bands from my temples,
From my head the scarlet braiding."

On the threshold of the storehouse,
Skimming milk, she found her mother.
"Wherefore weepest thou, my daughter,
Young, and yet so full of sorrow?"

"O my mother, who hast borne me,
O my mother, who hast nursed me,
Cause enough have I for anguish,
Cause enough for bitter sorrow;
Therefore do I weep, poor mother,
Therefore grieve I, O my mother.
To the wood I went for besoms,
Gathered bath-whisks from the bushes:
One I gathered for my father,
One I gathered for my mother,
And I gathered yet another,
For my young and ruddy brother.
As I turned my footsteps homeward,
And across the heath was tripping,
From the dell there called Osmoinen,
From the field cried Kalevainen,
'Do not wear, fair maid, for others,
But for me alone, poor maiden,
Round thy neck a beaded necklace,
And a cross upon thy bosom;
Plait for me thy beauteous tresses,
Braid thy hair with silken ribands.'
From my breast I took the crosslet,
From my neck the beaded necklace,
Tore the blue bands from my temples,
From my head the scarlet ribands,
Then upon the ground I threw them,
Scattered them among the bushes,
And I answered him in this wise:
'Not for thee, and not for others,
Rests my cross upon my bosom,
And my hair is bound with ribands.
Nought I care for sea-borne raiment,
Wheaten bread I do not value.
I will walk in home-spun garments,
And with crusts will still my hunger,
In my dearest father's dwelling,
And beside my much-loved mother.'"

And her mother answered thus wise,
Said the old crone to the maiden,
"Do not weep, my dearest daughter,
Do not grieve (and thou so youthful);
Eat a whole year long fresh butter,
That your form may grow more rounded,
Eat thou pork the second season,
That your form may grow more charming,
And the third year eat thou cream-cakes,
That you may become more lovely;
Seek the storehouse on the mountain,
There the finest chamber open.
There are coffers piled on coffers,
Chests in heaps on chests are loaded,
Open then the finest coffer,
Raise the painted lid with clangour,
There you'll find six golden girdles,
Seven blue robes of finest texture,
Woven by the Moon's own daughter,
By the Sun's own daughter fashioned."

Next: Väinämöinen and Aino (cont.)

(900 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and Aino (cont.)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 4: Väinämöinen and Aino (cont.)

(see previous page for audio)

[Aino's mother continues her speech.]

"In the days when I was youthful,
In my youthful days of girlhood,
In the wood I sought for berries,
Gathered raspberries on the mountain,
Heard the moonlight's daughter weaving,
And the sunlight's daughter spinning,
There beside the wooded island,
On the borders of the greenwood;
Thereupon I softly neared them,
And beside them took my station,
And began to ask them gently,
In the words that I repeat you:
'Give you of your gold, O Kuutar,
And your silver give, Paivatar,
To the maiden poorly dowered,
To the child who now implores you!'
"Then her gold did Kuutar give me.
And her silver gave Paivatar;
With the gold I decked my temples,
And adorned my head with silver,
Homeward like a flower I hastened,
Joyful, to my father's dwelling.
These I wore one day, a second;
Then upon the third day after
Took the gold from off my temples.
From my head removed the silver,
Took them to the mountain storehouse;
In the chest with care I laid them,
There until this day I left them,
And since then I have not seen them.
On thy brows bind silken ribands
On thy temples gold adornments,
Round thy neck a beaded necklace,
On thy breast a golden crosslet.
Put thou on a shift of linen,
Of the finest flax that's woven,
Lay thou on a robe of woollen,
Bind it with a silken girdle,
Then the finest silken stockings,
And of shoes the very finest,
Then in plaits thy hair arranging,
Bind it up with silken ribands,
Slip the gold rings on thy fingers,
Deck thy wrists with golden bracelets.
After this return thou homewards
From thy visit to the storehouse,
As the joy of all thy kindred,
And of all thy race the fairest,
Like a floweret by the wayside,
Like a raspberry on the mountain;
Far more lovely than aforetime,
Fairer than in former seasons."

Thus the mother urged her counsel,
Thus she spoke unto her daughter,
But the daughter did not heed her,
Heeded not her mother's counsel;
From the house she wandered weeping,
From the homestead went in sorrow,
And she said the words which follow,
And expressed herself in this wise:
'What may be the joyous feelings,
And the thoughts of one rejoicing?
Such may be the joyous feelings,
And the thoughts of one rejoicing;
Like the dancing of the water
On the waves when gently swelling.
What do mournful thoughts resemble?
What the long-tailed duck may ponder?
Such may mournful thoughts resemble,
Thus the long-tailed duck may ponder,
As 'neath frozen snow embedded,
Water deep in well imprisoned.
Often now my life is clouded.
Often is my childhood troubled,
And my thoughts like withered herbage.
As I wander through the bushes,
Wandering on through grassy meadows,
Pushing through the tangled thickets,
And my thoughts are pitch for blackness
And my heart than soot not brighter.
Better fortune had befel me,
And it would have been more happy.
Had I not been born and nurtured,
And had never grown in stature,
Till I saw these days of sorrow,
And this joyless time o'ertook me,
Had I died in six nights only,
Or upon the eighth had perished.
Much I should not then have needed,
But a shroud a span-long only,
And of earth a tiny corner.
Little then had wept my mother,
Fewer tears had shed my father,
And my brother not a tearlet."

Thus she wept a day, a second,
And again her mother asked her,
"Wherefore dost thou weep, poor maiden,
Wherefore thus lament and sorrow?"

"Therefore weep I, hapless maiden,
Therefore do I weep for ever,
That yourself have pledged me, hapless,
And your daughter you have promised
Thus to be an old man's comfort,
As a solace to the old man,
To support his feeble footsteps,
And to wait upon him always.
Better were it had you sent me
Deeply down beneath the billows,
There to be the powan's sister,
And companion of the fishes.
In the lake 'tis surely better
There beneath the waves to sojourn,
There to be the powan's sister.
And companion of the fishes,
Than to be an old man's comfort,
To support his aged footsteps,
So that I can mend his stockings,
And may be a staff to prop him."

Then she sought the mountain storehouse,
And the inner room she entered,
And the finest chest she opened,
Raised the painted lid with clangour,
And she found six golden girdles,
Seven blue robes of finest textures,
And she robed her in the finest,
And completed her adornment.
Set the gold upon her temples,
On her hair the shining silver,
On her brow the sky-blue ribands,
On her head the bands of scarlet.

Then she wandered from the storehouses,
And across the fields she wandered,
Past the marshes, and the heathlands,
Through the shady, gloomy forests;
Thus she sang, as on she hastened,
Thus she spoke, as on she wandered:
"All my heart is filled with trouble;
On my head a stone is loaded,
But my trouble would not vex me,
And the weight would less oppress me,
If I perished, hapless maiden,
Ending thus my life of sorrow,
In the burden of my trouble,
In the sadness of my sorrow.
Now my time perchance approaches,
From this weary world to hasten,
Time to seek the world of Mana,
Time to Tuonela to hasten,
For my father will not mourn me,
Nor my mother will lament me,
Nor my sister's cheeks be moistened,
Nor my brother's eyes be tearful,
If I sank beneath the waters,
Sinking where the fish are sporting,
To the depths beneath the billows,
Down amid the oozy blackness."

On she went, one day, a second,
And at length, upon the third day,
Came she to a lake's broad margin,
To the bank, o'ergrown with rushes,
And she reached it in the night-time,
And she halted in the darkness.

In the evening wept the maiden,
Through the darksome night lamented,
On the rocks that fringed the margin,
Where a bay spread wide before her.

At the earliest dawn of morning,
As she gazed from off a headland,
Just beyond she saw three maidens,
Bathing there amid the waters,
Aino made the fourth among then,
And the fifth a slender sapling;
Then her shift she cast on willows,
And her dress upon the aspens,
On the open ground her stockings,
Threw her shoes upon the boulders,
On the sand her beads she scattered,
And her rings upon the shingle.

In the waves a rock was standing,
Brightly hued and golden shining,
And she swam and sought to reach it,
As a refuge in her trouble;
When at length she stood upon it,
And would rest upon the summit,
On the stone of many colours,
On the rock so smooth and shining,
In the waves it sank beneath her,
Sinking to the very bottom.

Next: Väinämöinen and Aino (end)

(1100 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and Aino (end)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

(from the Aino triptych by A. Gallen-Kallela)

Runo 4: Väinämöinen and Aino (end)

(see previous page for audio)

With the rock, the maiden Aino
Sank beneath the water's surface;
There the dove for ever vanished,
Thus the luckless maiden perished,
She herself exclaimed in dying,
When she felt that she was sinking:
"To the lake I went to bathe me
And to swim upon its surface,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death o'ertaken:
Never may my dearest father,
Never while his life endureth,
Cast his net amid the waters,
In these waves, so wide extending.
    To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death overtaken.
Never may my dearest mother,
Never while her life endureth,
Fetch the water for her baking,
From the wide bay near her dwelling.
    To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death o'ertaken:
Never may my dearest brother,
Never while his life endureth,
Water here his prancing courser,
Here upon the broad lake's margin.
    To the shore I went to wash me,
To the lake I went to bathe me,
But, like tender dove, I vanished,
Like a bird by death overtaken:
Never may my dearest sister,
Never while her life endureth,
Hither stay to wash her eyebrows,
On the bridge so near her dwelling.
    In the lake the very water
Is as blood that leaves my veinlets;
Every fish that swims this water,
Is as flesh from off my body;
All the bushes on the margin
Are as ribs of me unhappy,
And the grass upon the margin
As my soiled and tangled tresses."

Thus the youthful maiden perished,
And the dove so lovely vanished.

Who shall now the tidings carry.
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?
First the bear would take the tidings,
And repeat the mournful story,
But the bear conveyed no tidings,
For he strayed among the cattle.

Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?
Then the wolf would take the message,
And repeat the mournful story,
But the wolf conveyed no tidings,
For among the sheep he wandered.

Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?
Then the fox would take the message,
And repeat the mournful story,
But the fox conveyed no tidings,
For among the geese he wandered.

Who shall now the tidings carry,
And repeat the mournful story,
At the dwelling of the maiden,
At the homestead of the fair one?
'Twas the hare who took the tidings,
And conveyed the mournful story,
For the hare replied discreetly,
"I will not forget the message."

Then the hare sprang quickly onward,
Sped the Long-ear with his story,
On his crooked legs he hastened,
With his cross-like mouth he hurried,
To the dwelling of the maiden,
To the homestead of the fair one;
Thus he hastened to the bath-house
And he crouched upon the threshold.

Full of maidens is the bath-house,
In their hands the bath-whisks holding.
"Scamp, come here; and shall we boil you,
Or, O Broad-eye, shall we roast you,
Either for the master's supper,
Or perchance the mistress' breakfast,
For the luncheon of the daughter,
Or perchance the son to dine on?"

Thereupon the hare responded,
And the Round-eye answered boldly,
"Would that Lempo might come hither
For the cooking in the kettle!
I am come to give you tidings,
And to bring a message to you.
Vanished from you is the fair one,
Perished has the tin-adorned one.
Sunken with her silver buckle,
Drowning with her belt of copper,
Diving in the muddy water,
To the depths below the billows,
There to be the powan's sister,
And companion of the fishes."

Then her mother fell to weeping,
And her bitter tears flowed freely,
And she loud lamented, speaking
In her grief the words which follow:
"Never, O unhappy mothers,
Never while your life endureth,
Never may you urge your daughters,
Or attempt to force your children
To a marriage that repels them,
Like myself, O wretched mother,
Urging vainly thus my daughter,
Thus my little dove I fostered."

Thus the mother wept, lamenting,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her blue eyes in her sadness,
O'er her cheeks, so pale with sorrow.
    After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her cheeks, so pale with sorrow,
To her breast, so sadly heaving.
    After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her breast, so sadly heaving,
On the borders of her garments.
    After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From the borders of her garments
Down upon her scarlet stockings.
    After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
Down from off her scarlet stockings
To her shoes, all gold-embroidered.
    After one tear flowed another,
And her bitter tears flowed freely
From her shoes, all gold-embroidered,
On the ground where she was standing.

As they flowed, the ground they moistened.
And they swelled to streams of water;
On the ground the streams were flowing,
And became the source of rivers:
Thence arose three mighty rivers
From the tears of bitter weeping,
Which were ever ceaseless flowing
From the weeping mother's eyelids.
From each stream that thus was fashioned,
Rushed three waterfalls in fury,
And amid each cataract's flowing
Three great rocks arose together,
And on every rocky summit
There arose a golden mountain,
And on every mountain summit
Up there sprang three beauteous birch-trees,
In the crown of every birch-tree,
Golden cuckoos three were perching.

All at once they called together,
And the first cried, "Sweetheart, sweetheart!"
And the second, "Lover, lover!"
And the third cried, "Gladness, gladness!"
    He who cried out, "Sweetheart, sweetheart!"
Sang his song for three months running,
For the young and loveless maiden,
Resting now beneath the water.
    He who cried out, "Lover, lover!"
Sang his song for six months running,
Sang to the unhappy suitor,
Who must sorrow through his lifetime.
    He who cried out, "Gladness, gladness!"
Sang his song for all a lifetime;
Sang to the unhappy mother,
Who must daily weep for ever.

And the mother spoke as follows
As she listened to the cuckoo:
"Never may a hapless mother
Listen to the cuckoo crying!
When I hear the cuckoo calling,
Heavy beats my heart within me.
From my eyes the tears are falling
O'er my cheeks are waters rolling.
And the drops like peas are swelling.
Than the largest broad-beans larger.
By an ell my life is shortened,
By a span-length I am older,
And my strength has wholly failed me,
Since I heard the cuckoo calling."

Next: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing

(1200 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 5: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 5]

Now the tidings were repeated,
And the news was widely rumoured,
How the youthful maid had perished,
And the fair one had departed.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Deeply sorrowed at the tidings,
Wept at evening, wept at morning,
Spent the livelong night in weeping,
For the fair one who had perished,
For the maiden who had slumbered,
In the muddy lake downsunken
To the depths below the billows.

Then he went, in sorrow sighing,
While his heart was filled with anguish,
To the blue lake's rocky margin,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Tell me, Untamo, thou sleeper,
Tell me all thy dreams, O idler,
Where to find the realm of Ahto,
Where dwell Vellamo's fair maidens?"

Sleeper Untamo made answer,
And his dreams he thus repeated:
"There has Ahto fixed his country,
There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens,
Near the cloud-encompassed headland,
Near the ever-misty island,
In the depths below the billows,
On the black ooze at the bottom;
There has Ahto fixed his country,
There dwell Vellamo's fair maidens,
Living in a narrow chamber,
In a little room abiding,
With the walls of varied marble,
In the depths beside the headland."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Hastened to his little vessel,
And he scanned his fishing-tackle,
And his hooks with care inspected,
Put the tackle in his pocket,
And the barbed hooks in his wallet;
Through the waves his boat he ferried,
Making for the jutting headland,
To the cape, with clouds encompassed,
And the ever-misty island.

Then he set about his fishing,
And he watched his angle closely,
And he held his hand-net ready,
Dropped his angle in the water,
And he fished, and tried his fortune,
While the rod of copper trembled,
And the thread of silver whistled,
And the golden line whirred loudly.

And at length one day it happened,
Very early in the morning,
On his hook a fish was hanging,
And a salmon-trout was captured;
In the boat he drew it quickly,
And upon the planks he cast it.

Then he scanned the fish, and turned it,
And he spoke the words which follow;
"'Tis a fish, among the fishes,
For I never saw its equal,
Smoother is it than a powan,
Than a salmon-trout more yellow,
Greyer than a pike I deem it,
For a female fish too finless,
For a male 'tis far too scaleless;
Has no tresses, like a maiden,
Nor, like water-nymphs, 'tis belted;
Nor is earless like a pigeon;
It resembles most a salmon,
Or a perch from deepest water."

In his waistband Väinämöinen
Bore a case-knife, silver-hafted,
And he drew the knife of sharpness,
Drew the case-knife, silver-hafted,
And prepared to slit the salmon,
And to cut the fish to pieces,
Thought to eat it for his breakfast.
Or a snack to make his luncheon,
To provide him with a dinner,
And a plenteous supper likewise.

As he would have slit the salmon.
And would cut the fish to pieces,
Sprang the salmon in the water,
For the beauteous fish jumped sideways
From the planking of the red boat,
From the boat of Väinämöinen.
Thereupon her head she lifted,
Raised her shoulders from the water,
On the fifth wave's watery hillock,
From the sixth high wave emerging,
Then her hands in air uplifted,
And displayed her left foot also,
When the seventh wave roses upswelling,
And upon the ninth wave's summit.
Thereupon the fish addressed him,
And it spoke, and thus protested:
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Surely I have not come hither,
Like a salmon, to be slaughtered,
Or a fish, to cut to pieces,
Only to become your breakfast,
Or a snack to make your luncheon,
To provide you with a dinner.
And a plenteous supper likewise."

Next: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing (cont.)

(600 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing (cont.)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 5: Väinämöinen Goes Fishing (cont.)

(see previous page for audio)

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Wherefore didst thou then come hither?"

"Therefore 'tis that I have sought thee:
In thine arm like dove to nestle,
By thy side to sit for ever,
On thy knee, as consort sitting,
To prepare the couch to rest thee,
And to smooth thy pillow for thee,
Keep thy little room in order,
And to sweep the flooring for thee,
In thy room to light the fire,
And to fan the flames up brightly,
There large loaves of bread to bake thee,
Cakes of honey to prepare thee,
And thy jug of beer to fill thee,
And thy dinner set before thee;
I am not a water-salmon,
Not a perch from deepest water,
But a young and lovely maiden,
Youthful Joukahainen's sister,
Whom thou all thy life hast longed for,
Whom thou hast so long desired:
O thou pitiful old creature,
Väinämöinen, void of wisdom,
Thou hadst not the wit to hold me,
Vellamo's young water-maiden,
Me, the darling child of Ahto!"

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
Head bowed down, and deeply grieving,
"Sister thou of Joukahainen,
Once again return, I pray thee."

But she never more came near him,
Ne'er again throughout his lifetime,
For she turned away, and, diving,
Vanished from the water's surface
Down among the rocks so varied,
In a liver-coloured crevice.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Pondered deeply, and reflected,
What to do, and what was needful;
Quick he wove a net all silken,
And he drew it straight and crossways,
Through the reach, and then across it,
Drew it through the quiet waters,
Through the depths beloved by salmons
And through Väinölä's deep waters,
And by Kalevala's sharp headlands,
Through the deep, dark watery caverns,
And the wide expanse of water,
And through Joukola's great rivers,
And across the bays of Lapland.

Other fish he caught in plenty,
All the fishes of the waters,
Only not the fish he sought for,
Which he kept in mind for ever,
Never Vellamo's fair maiden,
Not the dearest child of Ahto.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Bowed his head, lamenting deeply,
With his cap adjusted sideways,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"O how grievous is my folly,
Weak am I in manly wisdom,
Once indeed was understanding,
Insight too conferred upon me,
And my heart was great within me;
Such in former times my portion,
But in days that now are passing.
In the evil days upon me,
Now my strength with age is failing,
All my understanding weakens
And my insight has departed,
All my judgment is perverted.
She for whom long years I waited,
Whom for half my life I longed for,
Vellamo's fair water-maiden,
Youngest daughter of the surges.
Who should be my friend for ever,
And my wife throughout my lifetime,
Came and seized the bait I offered,
In my boat sprang unresisting,
But I knew not how to hold her,
To my home I could not take her,
But she plunged amid the waters,
Diving to the depths profoundest."

Then he wandered on a little,
And he walked, in sadness sighing,
To his home direct returning,
And he spoke the words which follow:
"Once indeed the birds were singing,
And my joyous cuckoo hailed me,
Both at morning and at evening,
Likewise, too, in midday hours.
What has stilled their lively music,
And has hushed their charming voices?
Care has stilled their lively music,
Sorrow checked their cheerful voices,
Therefore do they sing no longer,
Neither at the sun's declining,
To rejoice me in the evening,
Nor to cheer me in the morning.
Now no more can I consider
How to shape my course of action,
How upon the earth to sojourn,
How throughout the world to travel.
Would my mother now were living,
And my aged mother waking!
She would surely tell me truly
How to best support my trouble,
That my grief may not o'erwhelm me,
And my sorrow may not crush me,
In these weary days of evil,
In this time of deep depression."

In her grave his mother wakened,
Answered from beneath the billows:
"Still thy mother lives and hears thee,
And thy aged mother wakens,
That she plainly may advise thee.
How to best support thy trouble.
That thy grief may not o'erwhelm thee,
And thy sorrow may not crush thee,
In these weary days of evil,
In these days of deep depression.
Seek thou out the maids of Pohja,
Where the daughters are more handsome,
And the maidens twice as lovely,
And are five or six times nimbler,
Not like lazy girls of Jouko,
Lapland's fat and sluggish daughters.
Thence a wife, O son, provide thee,
From the fairest maids of Pohja;
Choose a maid of fair complexion,
Lovely, too, in every feature,
One whose feet are always nimble,
Always active in her movements."

Next: Joukahainen's Revenge

(800 words)

Kalevala: Joukahainen's Revenge

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 6: Joukahainen's Revenge

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 6]

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Now resolved upon a journey
To the cold and dreary regions
Of the gloomy land of Pohja.

Then he took his straw-hued stallion
Like a pea-stalk in his colour,
And the golden bit adjusted,
Bridle on his head of silver,
On his back himself he seated,
And he started on his journey,
And he trotted gently onward,
At an easy pace he journeyed,
Mounted on the straw-hued courser,
Like a pea-stalk in his colour;
Thus through Väinölä he journeyed,
Over Kalevala's wide heathlands,
And the horse made rapid progress,
Home behind, and journey shortened,
Then across the sea he journeyed,
O'er the far-extending billows,
With the horse's hoofs unwetted,
And his feet unsunk in water.

But the youthful Joukahainen,
He, the puny son of Lapland,
Long had cherished his resentment,
And had long indeed been envious
Of the aged Väinämöinen,
Of the ever-famous minstrel.

Then he wrought a mighty crossbow.
And a splendid bow he fashioned,
And he formed the bow of iron,
Overlaid the back with copper,
And with gold inlaid it also,
And with silver he adorned it.
Where did he obtain the bowstring?
Whence a cord to match the weapon?
Sinews from the elk of Hiisi,
And the hempen cord of Lempo.
Thus at length the bow was finished,
And the stock was quite completed,
And the bow was fair to gaze on,
And its value matched its beauty.
At its back a horse was standing,
On the stock a foal was running,
On the curve a sleeping woman,
At the catch a hare was couching.
Shafts of wood he likewise fashioned.
Every arrow triply feathered,
And the shafts were formed of oakwood,
And he made the heads of pinewood;
Thus the arrows were completed,
And he fixed the feathers on them,
From the swallows' plumage taken.
Likewise from the tails of sparrows.
After this, the points he sharpened.
And the arrow-points he poisoned.
In the black blood of the serpent,
In the blood of hissing adders.
Thus he made his arrows ready,
And his bow was fit for bending,
And he watched for Väinämöinen,
Waited for Suvantolainen,
Watched at morning, watched at evenings
Waited also through the noontide.

Long he watched for Väinämöinen,
Waited long, and wearied never,
Sitting gazing from the window,
Or upon the stairs he waited,
Sometimes lurking by the pathway,
Sometimes watching in the meadow,
On his back his well-filled quiver,
'Neath his arm his crossbow ready;
Then he waited further onwards,
Lurking near another building,
On the cape that juts out sharply,
Where the tongue of land curves outward,
Near a waterfall, all foaming,
Past the banks of sacred rivers.

And at length one day it happened:
Very early in the morning,
As he turned his eyes to westward,
And he turned his head to eastward
Something dark he spied on ocean,
Something blue upon the billows.
"Is a cloud in east arising,
Or the dawn of day appearing?"

In the east no cloud was rising,
Nor the dawn of day appearing:
'Twas the aged Väinämöinen,
'Twas the ever-famous minstrel,
Who to Pohjola was hasting,
As to Pimentola he journeyed,
Mounted on his straw-hued courser,
Like a pea-stalk in his colour.

Then the youthful Joukahainen,
He, the meagre son of Lapland,
Spanned in haste his mighty crossbow.
And he aimed the splendid weapon
At the head of Väinämöinen,
Thus to kill Suvantolainen.

Then his mother came and asked him,
And the aged one inquired,
"Wherefore do you span your weapon,
Bending thus the iron crossbow?"

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:
"Therefore do I span the weapon,
Bending thus the iron crossbow,
For the head of Väinämöinen,
Thus to kill Suvantolainen,
I will shoot old Väinämöinen,
Strike the ever-famous minstrel,
Through the heart, and through the liver,
'Twixt the shoulders I will shoot him."

But his mother straight forbade him,
And dissuaded him from shooting.
"Do not shoot at Väinämöinen,
Do not Kalevalainen slaughter.
Of a noble race is Väinö;
He's my sister's son, my nephew:
If you shoot at Väinämöinen,
And should Kalevalainen slaughter,
Gladness from the world will vanish,
And from earth will song be banished;
In the world is gladness better.
And on earth is song more cheerful,
Than to Manala if banished.
And to Tuonela's darkest regions."

Next: Joukahainen's Revenge (cont.)

(800 words)

Kalevala: Joukahainen's Revenge (cont.)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 6: Joukahainen's Revenge (cont.)

(see previous page for audio)

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Paused a moment and reflected,
And he pondered for an instant,
Though his hands to shoot were ready,
One would shoot, and one restrained him,
But his sinewy fingers forced him.

And at length these words he uttered,
And expressed his own decision:
"What if twice from earth in future
Every gladness should be banished?
Let all songs for ever vanish;
I will shoot my arrows, heedless!"

Then he spanned the mighty crossbow.
And he drew the bow of copper,
And against his left knee bent it,
Steady with his foot he held it,
Took an arrow from his quiver,
Chose a triple-feathered arrow,
Took the strongest of his arrows,
Chose the very best among them,
Then upon the groove he laid it,
On the hempen cord he fixed it,
Then his mighty bow he lifted,
And he placed it to his shoulder,
Ready now to shoot the arrow,
And to shoot at Väinämöinen.

And he spoke the words which follow:
"Do thou strike, O birchwood arrow,
Strike thou in the back, O pinewood,
Twang thy best, O hempen bowstring!
If my hand is leaning downward,
Let the arrow then strike higher,
If my hand is bending upward,
Let the arrow then strike downward!"

Quickly then he drew the trigger,
Shot the first among his arrows.
Far too high the shaft flew upward.
High above his head to skyward,
And it whizzed among the cloudlets,
Through the scattered clouds it wandered.

Thus he shot, in reckless fashion,
Shot the second of his arrows.
Far too low the shot flew downwards.
Deep in Mother Earth 'twas sunken.
Earth was almost sunk to Mana,
And the hills of sand were cloven.

Then he shot again, a third time,
And the third shaft, straighter flying,
In the blue elk's spleen was buried,
Under aged Väinämöinen,
Thus he shot the straw-hued courser,
Like a pea-stalk in his colour;
Through the flesh beneath his shoulder,
In the left side deep he pierced him.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Plunged his fingers in the water,
With his hands the waves he parted,
Grasping at the foaming billows,
From the blue elk's back he tumbled
From the steed of pea-stalk colour;
Then a mighty wind arising
Raised upon the sea a billow,
And it bore old Väinämöinen,
Swimming from the mainland further,
O'er the wide expanse of water,
Out into the open ocean.

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Uttered words of boastful triumph:
"Now thou ancient Väinämöinen,
Never while thy life endureth,
In the course of all thy lifetime,
While the golden moon is shining,
Walk in Väinölä's fair meadows,
Or on Kalevala's broad heathlands!
May you toss for six years running,
Seven long summers ever drifting,
Tossed about for over eight years,
On the wide expanse of water,
On the surface of the billows,
Drift for six years like a pine-tree,
And for seven years like a fir-tree,
And for eight years like a tree-stump!"

Then the house again he entered,
And at once his mother asked him,
"Have you shot at Väinämöinen?
Slaughtered Kaleva's famous offspring?"

Then the youthful Joukahainen
Answered in the words which follow:
"I have shot at Väinämöinen,
And have o'erthrown Kalevalainen,
Sent him swimming in the water,
Swept him out upon the billows,
On the restless waves of ocean
Where the waves are wildly tossing,
And the old man plunged his fingers
And his palms amid the waters,
Then upon his side he tumbled,
And upon his back he turned him,
Drifting o'er the waves of ocean,
Out upon the foaming billows."

But his mother made him answer,
"Very evil hast thou acted,
Thus to shoot at Väinämöinen
And to o'erthrow Kalevalainen.
Of Suvantola the hero,
Kalevala's most famous hero."

Next: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola

(600 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 7: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 7]

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Swam upon the open ocean,
Drifting like a fallen pine-tree,
Like a rotten branch of fir-tree,
During six days of the summer,
And for six nights in succession,
While the sea spread wide before him,
And the sky was clear above him;
Thus he swam for two nights longer,
And for two days long and dreary;
When the ninth night darkened round him,
And the eighth day had passed over,
Sudden anguish came upon him,
And his pain grew ever greater;
From his toes his nails were dropping,
And the joints from off his fingers.

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Spoke in words like those which follow:
"Woe to me, unhappy creature,
Overburdened with misfortune!
I have wandered from my country,
And my ancient home abandoned.
'Neath the open sky for ever,
Driven along in sun and moonlight,
Rocked about by winds for ever,
Tossed about by every billow,
On the wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean,
Here I live a cold existence,
And 'tis painful thus to wallow,
Always tossing on the billows,
On the surface of the waters.
Now, alas, I know no longer
How to lead this life of sadness
In this everlasting trouble,
In an age when all is fleeting.
Shall I rear in wind a dwelling,
Build a house upon the waters?
If I rear in wind a dwelling,
Then the wind would not sustain it;
If I build a house on water,
Then the waves will drift it from me."

Came a bird from Lapland flying,
From the north-east came an eagle,
Not the largest of the eagles,
Nor was he among the smallest,
With one wing he swept the water,
To the sky was swung the other;
On the sea his tail he rested,
On the cliffs his beak he rattled.
Slowly back and forwards flying,
Turning all around, and gazing,
Soon he saw old Väinämöinen
On the blue waves of the ocean.

"What has brought you here, O hero,
Wandering through the waves of ocean?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"This has brought the man to ocean,
Plunged the hero in the sea-waves:
I would seek the maid of Pohja,
Woo the maiden of Pimentola.
On my journey swift I hasted,
On the ocean's watery surface,
Till about the time of daybreak,
Came I, after many mornings,
Where is Luotola's deep embayment,
Hard by Joukola's rapid river,
When my horse was shot beneath me,
By an arrow launched against me.
Thus I fell into the water,
In the waves I plunged my fingers,
And the wind impels me onward,
And the billows drift me forward.
Then there came a gale from north-west,
From the east a mighty tempest,
Far away the tempest drove me,
Swimming from the land still further,
Many days have I been floating,
Many days have I been swimming,
On this wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean,
And I cannot now conjecture,
Cannot guess, nor e'en imagine,
How I finally shall perish,
And what death shall overtake me
Whether I shall die of hunger,
Or shall sink beneath the waters."

Said the bird of air, the eagle,
"Let thy heart be free from trouble;
Climb upon my back, and seat thee,
Standing up upon my wing-tips,
From the sea will I transport thee,
Wheresoever thou may'st fancy,
For the day I well remember,
And recall a happier season,
When fell Kaleva's green forest,
Cleared was Osmola's famed island,
But thou didst protect the birch-tree,
And the beauteous tree left'st standing,
That the birds might rest upon it,
And that I myself might sit there."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Raised his head from out the water,
From the sea the man sprang upward,
From the waves the hero mounted;
On the eagle's wings he sat him,
On the wing-tips of the eagle.

Then the bird of air, the eagle,
Raised the aged Väinämöinen,
Through the path of wind he bore him,
And along the east-wind's pathway,
To the utmost bounds of Pohja,
Onwards to the misty Sariola,
There abandoned Väinämöinen,
Soared into the air, and left him.

Next: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (cont.)

(700 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (cont.)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 7: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (cont.)

(see previous page for audio)

There stood Väinämöinen weeping,
There stood weeping and lamenting,
On the borders of the ocean,
On a land whose name he knew not,
With a hundred wounds upon him,
By a thousand winds belaboured,
And his beard was much disordered,
And his hair was all entangled.

Thus he wept for two, and three nights,
For as many days stood weeping,
For the country round he knew not,
And no path could he discover,
Which perchance might lead him homeward,
Back to a familiar country,
To his own, his native country,
Where he passed his days aforetime.

But the little maid of Pohja,
Fair-haired damsel of the household,
With the sun had made agreement,
And both sun and moon had promised,
They would always rise together,
And they would awake together;
She herself arose before them,
Ere the sun or moon had risen,
Long before the time of cockcrow,
Or the chirping of a chicken.

From five sheep she shore the fleeces,
Clipped the wool from off six lambkins,
In her loom she wove the fleeces,
And the whole with care she carded,
Long before the dawn of morning,
Long before the sun had risen;
After this she washed the tables,
Swept the wide-extended flooring,
With the broom of twigs all leafless,
Then with broom of leafy branches;
Then the sweepings she collected
In the dustpan made of copper;
Out of doors she took the rubbish,
To the field beyond the farmyard,
To the field's extremest limit,
Where the lowest fence has opening.

There she stood upon the sweepings,
And she turned around, and listened;
From the lake she heard a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river.

Quickly then she hastened homeward,
And she hurried to the parlour.
As she came, she told her tidings,
In such words as those which follow:
"From the lake I hear a weeping,
Sounds of woe across the river."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Old and gap-toothed dame of Pohja,
Hastened forth into the farmyard,
Hurried to the fence's opening,
Where she bent her ear to listen,
And she spoke the words which follow:
"This is not like childhood's weeping
Nor like women's lamentation,
But a bearded hero weeping;
Thus weep men whose chins are bearded."

Three planks high, the boat was builded,
Which she pushed into the water,
And herself began to row it,
And she rowed, and hastened onward
To the spot where Väinämöinen,
Where the hero was lamenting.

There was Väinämöinen weeping,
There Uvanto's swain lamented,
By the dreary clumps of willow,
By the tangled hedge of cherry;
Moved his mouth, his beard was shaking,
But his lips he did not open.

Then did Pohjola's old Mistress,
Speak unto, and thus addressed him:
"O thou aged man unhappy,
Thou art in a foreign country!"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Lifted up his head and answered
In the very words that follow:
"True it is, and well I know it,
I am in a foreign country,
Absolutely unfamiliar;
I was better in my country,
Greater in the home I came from."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"In the first place you must tell me,
If I may make bold to ask you,
From what race you take your lineage,
And from what heroic nation?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Well my name was known aforetime,
And in former days was famous,
Ever cheerful in the evening,
Ever singing in the valleys,
There in Väinölä's sweet meadows,
And on Kalevala's broad heathlands,
But my grief is now so heavy
That I know myself no longer."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Rise, O man, from out the marshes,
Hero, seek another pathway:
Tell me now of thy misfortunes,
And relate me thy adventure."

Thus she made him cease his weeping,
Made the hero cease lamenting,
And into her boat she took him,
Bade him at the stern be seated,
And herself resumed the oars,
And she then began to row him
Unto Pohjola, o'er water,
And she brought him to her dwelling.

Then she fed the famished stranger,
And she dried his dripping garments;
Then she rubbed his limbs all stiffened,
And she warmed him and shampooed him,
Till she had restored his vigour,
And the hero had recovered.

Next: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (end)

(700 words)

Kalevala: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (end)

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 7: Väinämöinen and the Mistress of Pohjola (end)

(see previous page for audio)

After this, she spoke and asked him,
In the very words which follow:
"Why did'st weep, O Väinämöinen,
Why lament, Uvantolainen,
In that miserable region,
On the borders of the lakelet?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Cause enough have I for weeping,
Reason, too, for lamentation:
In the sea I long was swimming,
Tossed about upon the billows,
On the wide expanse of water,
Out upon the open ocean.
I must weep throughout my lifespan,
And lament throughout my lifetime,
That I swam beyond my country,
Left the country so familiar,
And have come to doors I know not,
And to hedge-gates that I know not,
All the trees around me pain me,
All the pine-twigs seem to pierce me,
Every birch-tree seems to flog me,
Every alder seems to wound me,
But the wind is friendly to me,
And the sun still shines upon me,
In this unaccustomed country,
And within the doors I know not."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"Do not weep, O Väinämöinen,
Nor lament, Uvantolainen:
Here 'tis good for thee to sojourn,
And to pass thy days in comfort;
Salmon you can eat at table,
And beside it pork is standing."

But the aged Väinämöinen
Answered in the words which follow:
"Foreign food I do not relish,
In the best of strangers' houses:
In his land a man is better,
In his home a man is greater.
Grant me, Jumala most gracious,
O compassionate Creator,
Once again to reach my country,
And the land I used to dwell in!
Better is a man's own country,
Water from beneath the sabot,
Than in unfamiliar countries,
Mead to drink from golden goblets."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"What are you prepared to give me,
If I send you to your country,
To the borders of your cornfields,
Or the bath-house of your dwelling?"

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Tell me then what I shall give you,
If you send me to my country,
To the borders of my cornfields,
There to hear my cuckoo calling,
And my birds so sweetly singing.
Will you choose a gold-filled helmet,
Or a hat filled up with silver?"

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"O thou wisest Väinämöinen,
Thou the oldest of the sages,
Golden gifts I do not ask for,
And I wish not for thy silver:
Gold is but a toy for children,
Silver bells adorn the horses,
But if you can forge a Sampo,
Weld its many-coloured cover,
From the tips of swan's white wing-plumes,
From the milk of barren heifer,
From a single grain of barley,
From a single fleece of ewe's wool,
Then will I my daughter give you,
Give the maiden as your guerdon,
And will bring you to your country,
There to hear the birds all singing,
There to hear your cuckoo calling,
On the borders of your cornfields."

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"No, I cannot forge a Sampo,
Nor can weld its pictured cover;
Only bring me to my country,
And I'll send you Ilmarinen,
Who shall forge a Sampo for you,
Weld its many-coloured cover.
He perchance may please the maiden,
Win your daughter's young affections:
He's a smith without an equal,
None can wield the hammer like him,
For 'twas he who forged the heaven,
And who wrought the air's foundations,
Yet we find no trace of hammer,
Nor the trace of tongs discover."

Louhi, Pohjola's old Mistress,
Answered in the words which follow:
"I will only yield my daughter,
And my child I promise only
To the man who welds a Sampo
With its many-coloured cover,
From the tips of swan's white wing-plumes,
From the milk of barren heifer,
From a single grain of barley,
From a single fleece of ewe's wool."

Thereupon the colt she harnessed,
In the front she yoked the bay one,
And she placed old Väinämöinen
In the sledge behind the stallion,
And she spoke and thus addressed him,
In the very words which follow:
"Do not raise your head up higher,
Turn it not to gaze about you,
That the steed may not be wearied,
Till the evening shall have gathered:
If you dare to raise your head up,
Or to turn to gaze around you,
Then misfortune will o'ertake you,
And an evil day betide you."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Whipped the horse, and urged him onward,
And the white-maned courser hastened
Noisily upon the journey,
Forth from Pohjola's dark regions,
Sariola for ever misty.

Next: Forging the Sampo

(800 words)

Kalevala: Forging the Sampo

This story is part of the Kalevala unit. Story source: Kalevala by Elias Lönnrot, translated by W. F. Kirby (1907).

Runo 10: Forging the Sampo

[LIBRIVOX AUDIO: Runo 10]

Runo 8 Summary: On his journey Väinämöinen encounters the magnificently-clad Maiden of Pohja and makes advances to her. The maiden at length consents to his wishes if he will make a boat from the splinters of her spindle and move it into the water without touching it. Väinämöinen sets to work, but wounds his knee severely with his axe, and cannot stanch the flow of blood. He goes in search of some magic remedy and finds an old man who promises to stop the bleeding.

Runo 9 Summary: Väinämöinen repeats to the old man the legend of the origin of iron. The old man reviles the iron and repeats spells for the stopping of blood, and the flow of blood is stayed. The old man directs his son to prepare a salve, and dresses and binds up the wound. Väinämöinen is cured, and thanks Jumala for his merciful assistance.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Took his horse of chestnut colour,
And between the shafts he yoked him,
Yoked before the sledge the chestnut,
On the sledge himself he mounted,
And upon the seat he sat him;
Quickly then his whip he flourished,
Cracked his whip, all bead-embroidered,
Quick he sped upon his journey,
Lurched the sledge, the way was shortened,
Loudly rang the birchwood runners,
And the rowan cumber rattled;
On he rushed with speed tremendous,
Through the swamps and open country,
O'er the heaths, so wide extending.

Thus he drove a day, a second,
And at length, upon the third day,
Reached the long bridge-end before him
Kalevala's extended heathlands,
Bordering on the field of Osmo;
Then he spoke the words which follow,
And expressed himself in this wise:
"Wolf, do thou devour the dreamer,
Seize the Laplander, O sickness,
He who said that I should never
In my lifetime reach my homestead,
Nor again throughout my lifetime,
Nor as long as shines the moonlight,
Neither tread Väinölä's meadows;
Kalevala's extended heathlands."

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Spoke aloud his songs of magic,
And a flower-crowned birch grew upward,
Crowned with flowers, and leaves all golden,
And its summit reached to heaven,
To the very clouds uprising,
In the air the boughs extended,
And they spread themselves to heaven;
Then he sang his songs of magic,
And he sang a moon all shining,
On the pine-tree's golden summit,
And the Great Bear in the branches.

On he drove with speed tremendous,
Straight to his beloved homestead,
Head bowed down, and thoughts all gloomy,
And his cap was tilted sideways,
For the great smith Ilmarinen,
He the great primeval craftsman,
He had promised as his surety,
That his own head he might rescue
Out of Pohjola's dark regions,
Sariola for ever misty.

Presently his horse he halted
At the new-cleared field of Osmo,
And the aged Väinämöinen,
In the sledge his head uplifted,
Heard the noise within the smithy,
And the clatter in the coal-shed;
Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Then himself the smithy entered,
And he found smith Ilmarinen,
Wielding mightily his hammer.

Said the smith, said Ilmarinen,
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Where have you so long been staying.
Where have you so long been living?"

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,
Answered in the words which follow:
"There have I so long been staying,
There have I so long been living,
In the gloomy land of Pohja,
Sariola for ever misty;
Long I coursed on Lapland snowshoes,
With the world-renowned magicians."

Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,
Answered in the words which follow:
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
Thou the great primeval sorcerer,
Tell me of your journey thither,
Tell me of your homeward journey."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"Much indeed have I to tell you:
Lives in Pohjola a maiden,
In that village cold a virgin,
Who will not accept a suitor,
Mocks the very best among them;
Half of all the land of Pohja
Praises her surpassing beauty:
From her temples shines the moonlight,
From her breasts the sun is shining,
And the Great Bear from her shoulders,
From her back the starry Seven.
Thou thyself, smith Ilmarinen,
Thou, the great primeval craftsman,
Go thyself to woo the maiden,
And behold her shining tresses;
If you can but forge a Sampo,
With its many-coloured cover,
You will then receive the maiden,
And the fair maid be your guerdon."

Said the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,
"O thou aged Väinämöinen,
You have perhaps already pledged me
To the gloomy land of Pohja,
That your own head you might rescue,
And might thus secure your freedom;
Not in course of all my lifetime,
While the golden moon is shining,
Hence to Pohjola I'll journey,
Huts of Sariola so dreary,
Where the people eat each other,
And they even drown the heroes."

Then the aged Väinämöinen
Answered in the words which follow:
"There is wonder after wonder;
There's a pine with flowery summit,
Flowery summit, leaves all golden,
Near where Osmo's field is bordered.
On the crown the moon is shining,
In the boughs the Bear is resting."

Said the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,
"This I never can believe in,
If I do not go to see it,
And my own eyes have not seen it."

Said the aged Väinämöinen,
"If you cannot then believe it,
We will go ourselves and witness
Whether true or false the story."

Then they both went forth to see it,
View the pine with flowery summit,
First walked aged Väinämöinen,
And smith Ilmarinen second.

When they reached the spot they sought for,
On the edge of Osmo's cornfield,
Then the smith his steps arrested,
In amazement at the pine-tree,
With the Great Bear in the branches,
And the moon upon its summit.

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Spoke the very words which follow:
"Now thou smith, my dearest brother,
Climb and fetch the moon above us,
Bring thou, too, the Great Bear shining
On the pine-tree's golden summit."

Then the smith, e'en Ilmarinen,
Climbed aloft into the pine-tree,
Up he climbed into the daylight,
Climbed to fetch the moon above him,
And the Great Bear, shining brightly,
On the pine-tree's golden summit.

Said the pine-tree's golden summit,
Said the widely-branching pine-tree,
"Mighty man, of all most foolish,
O most thoughtless of the heroes!
In my branches, fool, thou climbest,
To my summit, as a boy might,
And would'st grasp the moon's reflection,
And the false stars thou beholdest!"

Then the aged Väinämöinen,
Lifted up his voice in singing.
As he sang uprose a tempest,
And the wind rose wildly furious,
And he spoke the words which follow.
And expressed himself in thiswise:
"In thy boat, O wind, convey him,
In thy skiff, O breeze, convey him,
Bear him to the distant regions
Of the gloomy land of Pohja."

Then there rose a mighty tempest,
And the wind so wildly furious
Carried off smith Ilmarinen,
Hurried him to distant regions,
To the gloomy land of Pohja,
Sariola for ever misty.

Next: Forging the Sampo (cont.)

(1200 words)