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THE HERO OF ESTHONIA
AND OTHER STUDIES IN THE
ROMANTIC LITERATURE OF
THAT COUNTRY
_COMPILED
FROM ESTHONIAN AND GERMAN SOURCES BY_
W.F. KIRBY, F.L.S., F.E.S., ETC.
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE FINNISH
LITERARY SOCIETY
WITH A MAP OF ESTHONIA
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE FIRST
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND.
MDCCCXCV
CONTENTS OF VOL. I
PAGE
PREFACE ix
INTRODUCTION--
ESTHONIA xiii
THE KALEVIPOEG xviii
FOLK-TALES IN PROSE xxii
BALLADS AND OTHER SHORT POEMS xxiii
PASTOR HURT'S COLLECTIONS xxiv
MYTHOLOGY xxvi
_PART I_
THE HERO OF ESTHONIA
THE KALEVIPOEG 1
THE ARGUMENT 2
CANTO I.--THE MARRIAGES OF SALME AND LINDA 7
CANTO II.--THE DEATH OF KALEV 18
CANTO III.--THE FATE OF LINDA 24
CANTO IV.--THE ISLAND MAIDEN 32
CANTO V.--THE KALEVIDE AND THE FINNISH SORCERER 38
CANTO VI.--THE KALEVIDE AND THE SWORD SMITHS 42
CANTO VII.--THE RETURN OF THE KALEVIDE 49
CANTO VIII.--THE CONTEST AND PARTING OF THE BROTHERS 55
CANTO IX.--RUMOURS OF WAR 61
CANTO X.--THE HEROES AND THE WATER-DEMON 64
CANTO XI.--THE LOSS OF THE SWORD 72
CANTO XII.--THE FIGHT WITH THE SORCERER'S SONS 80
CANTO XIII.--THE KALEVIDE'S FIRST JOURNEY TO HADES 87
CANTO XIV.--THE PALACE OF SARVIK 94
CANTO XV.--THE MARRIAGE OF THE SISTERS 105
CANTO XVI.--THE VOYAGE OF THE KALEVIDE 110
CANTO XVII.--THE HEROES AND THE DWARF 119
CANTO XVIII.--THE KALEVIDE'S JOURNEY TO PORGU 124
CANTO XIX.--THE LAST FEAST OF THE HEROES 129
CANTO XX.--ARMAGEDDON 135
_PART II_
ESTHONIAN FOLK-TALES
SECTION I
TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE "KALEVIPOEG"
THE MILKY WAY 147
THE GRATEFUL PRINCE 152
THE CLEVER COUNTRYWOMAN 186
SLYBOOTS 187
THE HOUSE-SPIRIT 207
THE GOLD-SPINNERS 208
SECTION II
ORPHAN AND FOUNDLING STORIES
THE WOOD OF TONTLA 237
THE KING OF THE MISTY HILL 259
THE ORPHAN'S HANDMILL 260
THE ORPHAN BOY AND THE HELL-HOUNDS 261
THE EGG-BORN PRINCESS 273
THE ROYAL HERD-BOY 279
TIIDU, THE FLUTE-PLAYER 303
THE LUCKY EGG 308
THE MAGICIAN IN THE POCKET 321
THE GOD-DAUGHTER OF THE ROCK-MAIDENS 321
THE FOUNDLING 321
PREFACE
When I took up the study of the _Kalevala_ and Finnish literature, with
the intention of publishing a critical English edition of the poem, on
which I am still engaged, the accumulation of the necessary materials
led me to examine the literature of the neighbouring countries likewise.
I had expected to find the _Kalevipoeg_ an Esthonian variant of the
_Kalevala_; but I found it so dissimilar, and at the same time so
interesting, when divested of the tedious and irrelevant matter that has
been added to the main story, that I finally decided to publish a full
account of it in prose, especially as nothing of the kind has yet been
attempted in English, beyond a few casual magazine articles.
The Esthonian folk-tales are likewise of much interest, and in many
cases of an extremely original character; and these also have never
appeared in an English dress. I have, therefore, selected a
sufficiently representative series, and have added a few ballads and
short poems. This last section of the work, however, amounts to little
more than an appendix to the _Kalevipoeg_, though it is placed at the
end of the book. Esthonian ballad literature is of enormous extent, and
only partially investigated and published at present, even in the
original; and it would therefore be premature to try to treat of it in
detail here, nor had I time or space to attempt it. I had, however,
intended to have included a number of poems from Neus' _Ehstnische
Volkslieder_ in the present volumes, but found that it was unnecessary,
as Latham has already given an English version of most of the best in
his "Nationalities of Europe."
The Introduction and Notes will, it is hoped, be sufficiently full to
afford all necessary information for the intelligent comprehension of
the book, without overloading it; and it has been decided to add a
sketch-map of this little known country, including some of the places
specially referred to. But Esthonian folk-literature, even without the
ballads, is a most extensive study, and I do not pretend to do more than
offer a few specimens culled from some of the most easily accessible
sources. My professional work does not allow me time to attempt more at
present; and it is from the same cause that my work on the _Kalevala_
has been delayed so long.
In outlying parts of Europe like Finland and Esthonia, which were not
Christianised till long after the southern and western countries,
primitive literature has survived to a much greater extent than
elsewhere; and the publication of the _Kalevala_ and the _Kalevipoeg_
during the present century furnishes a striking example before our very
eyes of the manner in which the Iliad and the Odyssey grew up among the
Greeks, before these poems were edited in the form in which they have
come down to us, by order of Pisistratus.
The principal books used in the preparation of this work are mentioned
in the short Bibliography. The names of others quoted or referred to
will be found in the Index, which has also been drawn up in such a
manner as to form a general glossary.
W.F. KIRBY.
CHISWICK, _September 1894_.
INTRODUCTION
ESTHONIA
Esthonia, or Estonia, as some prefer to write it, is the most northerly
of the three so-called German or Baltic provinces of Russia--Esthonia,
Livonia, and Courland. It is bounded on the north by the Gulf of
Finland, which lies between that country and Esthonia; on the east by
the Government of St. Petersburg; on the south by Livonia, and on the
west by the Baltic. Opposite its western coast lie numerous large
islands, the most important of which are Dagoe and Oesel; these islands
nearly close the north-west corner of the Gulf of Riga.
The northern part of Livonia (including the island of Oesel, already
mentioned) is partly inhabited by Esthonians, and is dealt with in
popular literature as forming part of the country. The four provinces of
Esthonia proper, which are constantly referred to, are as follows, the
German names being added in brackets. Two western, Arju or Harju
(Harrien) on the north, and Laeaene (Wiek) on the south; one central,
Jaerva (Jerwen), and one eastern, Viru (Wierland). East of Livonia lies
the great Lake Peipse or Peipus, eighty miles long and thirty-two miles
broad at the broadest part, across which the son of Kalev is said to
have waded to fetch timber from Pihgast or Pleskau, which name is used
to include the Russian province of Pskov, bordering the lake on the
south and south-east. At two-thirds of its length the lake is divided
nearly in two, and the southern portion is sometimes called Lake Pskov.
It may have been across the narrow part between the two ends of the lake
that the hero is supposed to have waded, when, even during a great
storm, the water reached only to his girdle.
The coast of Esthonia is rocky, but the interior of the country is very
marshy, though there are no navigable rivers or lakes of much importance
except Lake Peipus, which we have already mentioned. Small lakes,
however, are very numerous, the largest being Lake Virts.
Esthonia was one of the countries conquered during the Middle Ages by
the crusading German Knights of the Sword, and has been described as a
country with a Finnish population and a German aristocracy under Russian
rule. Occasionally we meet with reminiscences of oppression by the
German nobility in the songs and tales; as, for instance, in the story
of the Royal Herd-boy; while everything beautiful or above the ordinary
life of the peasants is characterised as Saxon.
The bulk of the population speak a language very closely allied to
Finnish, and they possess a large store of oral literature, much of
which has been collected, and in part published, during the present
century. It has, however, attracted very little attention out of
Esthonia, except in Finland, and to some extent in Germany, and very few
articles on the subject have appeared in England or France. It is
believed that this is the first work published in England giving any
detailed account of the popular literature of Esthonia, and it does not
pretend to be exhaustive, nor to extend much beyond the publication of
Kreutzwald, Neus, and Jannsen.
The Finnish-Ugrian race, though not Aryan, is widely distributed
throughout Europe and Asiatic Russia, and the principal peoples
belonging to it in the North are the Finns, the Esthonians, and the
Lapps, who speak very similar languages, and whose tales and legends
possess much similarity, while in the south the Magyars are more
distantly related to them. The Lapp hero-tales, however, have more of a
historical basis, while the popular tales are much shorter and less
artistic. It is, however, curious that Swan-maiden stories are
peculiarly common among the Lapps. Several other lesser known peoples
belong to the same race, whom we need not further notice.
Esthonian abounds in dialects, but is so close to Finnish that it bears
almost the same relation to it as Lowland Scotch to English, or perhaps
as Danish to Swedish. But there is a strong admixture of German words in
Esthonian, and their tales, when exhibiting traces of foreign influence,
have apparently derived it from Germany. In Finnish tales, on the
contrary, Russian influence is often very apparent.
The orthography is a little unsettled, words like Ukko or Kalev being
often written with a single or double consonant, as Uko or Kallev; while
words like Kaepae are often written with double vowels, as Kaeaepae.
The pronunciation of most of the letters resembles that of English, or,
in the case of the vowels, German, and calls for no special remark.
_j_, as in nearly all languages except English and French, corresponds
to our _y_.
_v_ is printed either _v_ or _w_ in Finnish and Esthonian, but
corresponds to our _v_, and is thus used by the best Finnish
authorities. Of course the Germans properly write it _w_, their _w_
corresponding to our _v_.
For the modified vowels we have no exact equivalent in English; _ae_ and
_ue_ are pronounced nearly as in German; but the _o_ may roughly be said
to resemble our _ee_ in sound. _y_ has somewhat of a _u_ sound, as in
the Scandinavian languages; and, as in these too, the modified vowels
are placed at the end of the alphabet, but in the following order: _ue_,
_ae_, _o_. Musical as is Finnish itself, Esthonian is still softer, as
may be seen in the dropping of final consonants, as Vanemuine for
Vaeinaemoeinen; and in such words as _kannel_ (harp) for _kantele_. As in
most parts of Northern Europe, the Gothic character is still much used
in Finland and Esthonia, especially in literary works.
As a specimen of the language we may quote the original of the lines on
p. 14:--
Ristitantsi tantsitie,
Viru tantsi veeritie,
Arju tantsi hakkatie,
Laeaene tantsi lohutie,
Sore liiva sotkutie,
Murupinda piinatie.
Taehte peig ja Salme neidu,
Pidasivad pulma ilu!
We may add the text of the lines on p. 49:--
Kalevide poeg ei vaesi;
Piht on meehel pihlakane,
Olanukud ounapuusta,
Kaeevarred vahterased,
Kueuenarnukud kuennapuusta,
Sormeluelid sosterased,
Sormekueuened kuuslapuused,
Raudarammu koiges kehas.
THE KALEVIPOEG
In the year 1838 some Esthonian scholars founded a society called "_Die
gelehrte Ehstnische Gesellschaft_," and set themselves to collect the
popular literature of their country. Doubtless encouraged by the recent
publication of the _Kalevala_ in Finland, Dr. Faehlmann undertook
specially to collect any fragments of verse or prose relative to the
mythical hero of Esthonia, the son of Kalev, intending to weave them
into a connected whole. He did not live to complete the work; but after
his death Dr. Kreutzwald carried out his design, and the book was
published, accompanied by a German translation by Reinthal and Bertram,
from 1857 to 1861.
The materials were defective, and were augmented and pieced together,
not always very successfully or artistically,[1] by Dr. Kreutzwald, and
the story is interrupted by long lyrical passages, especially at the
beginning of some of the cantos, which are tedious and out of place in a
narrative poem. Consequently, a complete translation would hardly be
sufficiently attractive; but there is so much that is curious and
beautiful in the poem, that I think that a tolerably full prose abstract
may perhaps be found both useful and interesting, as opening up an
almost new subject to English readers.
Besides Reinthal's translation, there are two condensed abstracts of the
poem in German, one by C. C. Israel, in prose, published in 1873, and
the other by Julius Grosse, in hexameters, published in 1875.
But while the _Kalevala_ has been translated into six or seven
languages, and into several of them two or three times, extremely little
has been published on the _Kalevipoeg_ outside of Esthonia and Finland.
The metre is the eight-syllable trochaic, which is the commonest metre
used by the Esthonians and Finns. In the _Kalevipoeg_ the verse usually
flows continuously, while in the _Kalevala_ it is arranged in distichs,
almost every second line being a repetition of the first in other words;
nor is the _Kalevipoeg_ quite so full of alliteration as the _Kalevala_.
Longfellow adapted this metre in his _Hiawatha_ from Schiefner's German
translation of the _Kalevala_, and as it was then a novelty in English,
it was set down at the time as Longfellow's own invention, and was much
ridiculed. A similar metre, however, was used before the appearance of
_Hiawatha_ in some parts of Kenealy's _Goethe_, which was published in
1850, and subsequently condensed and completed under the title of "A New
Pantomime." I quote a passage from this wonderful but eccentric poem
(_Goethe_, p. 301) to show the manner in which Kenealy has used it in
the lighter parts of his work; but in some of the darker passages it
shows itself as a versatile metre of great power in English:--
"We have come, enchanting ladyes,
To sojourn awhile, and revel
In these bowers, far outshining
The six heavens of Mohammed,
Or the sunbright spheres of Vishnu,
Or the Gardens of Adonis,
Or the viewless bowers of Irim,
Or the fine Mosaic mythus,
Or the fair Elysian flower-land,
Or the clashing halls of Odin,
Or the cyclop-orbs of Brahma,
Or the marble realms of Siva,
Or the grandly proud Walhalla."
I do not find this metre used in either of the two cognate poems,
_Faust_ and _Festus_.
To return to the _Kalevipoeg_, the poem consists of twenty cantos and
about 19,000 verses. Some of the legends are found also in the
_Kalevala_, and the giant-hero whose life and adventures form its
subject is evidently the same as the Kullervo of the _Kalevala_, as will
be seen in our notes on various passages in the poem.
Of the other heroes of the _Kalevala_, besides an occasional reference
to Vanemuine and Ilmarine (Vaeinaemoeinen and Ilmarinen), we find no trace;
but three heroes, apparently cousins of the Kalevipoeg, appear suddenly
in the poem. These are usually called by their patronymics, Alevide,
Sulevide, and Olevide, but sometimes simply Alev, Sulev, and Olev.
[Footnote 1: This is specially noticeable in the manner in which the
story of the Great Oak Tree is scattered in disjointed fragments through
three cantos; and in the unsuccessful result of the Kalevide's voyage,
when he reaches his goal after his return by a land journey.]
FOLK-TALES IN PROSE
The most important collection of Esthonian prose tales was edited by
Kreutzwald, and was published by the Finnish Literary Society at
Helsingfors in 1866, under the title of _Eestirahwa Ennemuistesed
jutud_, and has since been reprinted at Dorpat. In 1869 the same Society
published a useful little Esthonian-Finnish glossary to the volume. A
good German translation of many of these tales, by F. Loewe, appeared at
Halle in 1869, under the title of _Ehstnische Maerchen_, with notes by
various contributors; and M. Dido, who has lately translated two or
three of the tales into French, and given more or less detailed notices
of the others, mentions that they have also been translated into
Russian. Other collections of Esthonian tales have since been published;
and Harry Jannsen has published a selection in German under the title of
_Maerchen und Sagen des estnischen Volkes_ (Dorpat, 1881; Riga, 1888).
Some of his tales are taken from Kreutzwald, but I have not seen the
Esthonian originals of the others. Many of the longer and more
interesting tales in those collections I have given in full; others are
more or less abridged, or simply noticed, and some few unimportant tales
towards the end of Kreutzwald's collection have been passed over
altogether.
One of Kreutzwald's longer tales, which I thought too unlike the others
to be noticed in the body of the work, is, "How Seven Tailors went to
war in Turkey." Their names were, "First-man, One-strong, Two-strong,
Three-strong, Four-strong, Five-strong, and Last-man;" and the story
gives a comic account of their poltrooneries.
Other tales relate to a plot against a chaste wife; a girl who clears
herself from scandal by lifting and hurling a huge stone; &c.
BALLADS AND OTHER SHORT POEMS
The plan of the present work did not allow of many short poetical pieces
being included; nevertheless, two of the best of the numerous songs and
ballads interspersed through the _Kalevipoeg_ have been given, and two
other specimens from Neus' _Ehstnische Volkslieder_ (Revel, 1850-1852)
and Kreutzwald and Neus' _Mythische und Magische Lieder der Ehsten_ (St.
Petersburg, 1854). More poetical specimens were thought unnecessary,
because many of the principal ballads in the former work will be found
translated in Latham's "Nationalities of Europe," 1863.
PASTOR HURT'S COLLECTIONS
In recent years enormous collections of Esthonian folk-lore have been
formed by Pastor Jacob Hurt and his coadjutors.
"Three volumes of these collections were edited by Hurt in 1875, 1876,
and 1886, under the title of _Vana Kannel_, the 'Old Harp;' and other
collections were published by several of his colleagues. In 1888 Hurt
made a renewed appeal to the Esthonians to collect their old songs, and
fresh contributions came pouring in from all quarters.
"Special attention was called to Pastor Hurt's work at the Congress of
Folk-lorists in Paris by Henry Carnoy.
"According to the latest intelligence which I have received from Dr.
Krohn, Pastor Hurt has received contributions from 633 different
folk-tale collectors in the last three and a half years. Most of these
contributors are simple peasants; some are schoolmasters, but only a few
are students or highly educated persons.
"He now possesses, as the result of three and a half years' work of this
nature, epics, lyrics, wedding-songs, &c., upwards of 20,000 items;
tales, about 3000; proverbs, about 18,000; riddles, about 20,000.
Besides these he has a large collection of magical formulae,
superstitions, &c.
"He has only been able to accomplish these extraordinary results by his
having been able to awaken popular interest in the subject."[2]
I am glad to hear from my friend Dr. Kaarle Krohn, to whom I have been
indebted for much useful information and assistance in my own studies,
that part of the results of these great collections are likely to be
published very shortly. Of course a great number of tales and songs are
merely variants. Many relate to legends belonging rather to the
_Kalevala_ than to the _Kalevipoeg_.
In Dr. Krohn's important paper, _Die geographische Verbreitung
Estnischer Lieder_, published in 1892, he divides Esthonia and Northern
Livonia into several districts, and marks the number of variants
obtained in each. It may be interesting to summarise the latter, to show
the extent to which the collection of variants has been carried on in
Esthonia.
1. Legend of the creation of the earth and of the origin of the heavenly
bodies, 62 variants.
2. Salme and her suitors, 160 variants; and 33 relative to the celestial
suitors.
3. The Great Ox, 24 variants.
4. The Great Oak, 130 variants, and 61 relative to its fragments.
5. The Weeping Oak, 61 variants.
6. The origin of the harp and of boating, three variations, with 19, 39,
and 17 variants respectively.
7. The bride of gold and silver, 52 variants.
8. Songs of the Seluks or Orthodox Esths, 91 variants.
[Footnote 2: Kirby in "Papers and Transactions of International
Folk-lore Congress of 1891," p. 429.]
MYTHOLOGY
We can, I think, trace Finnish and Esthonian religion through four
well-marked stages.
1. Fetishism, as seen in the story of the Treasure-Bringer, and in the
account given of the origin of various animals, &c.
2. Nature-worship.
3. Transitional stage, well marked in the _Kalevala_, where the heroes
sometimes pray to the gods in conventional Christian phraseology, and at
other times try to compel their assistance by invocations and spells.
This stage is also seen in the strange travesty of the Nativity in the
last Runo of the _Kalevala_; and indeed, one of the older writers says
that the favourite deities of the Finns in his time were Vaeinaemoeinen and
the Virgin Mary. But this stage is much less visible in the
_Kalevipoeg_, which is, on the whole, a more archaic and more heathenish
poem than the _Kalevala_.
4. Mediaeval Christianity.
The gods belong to the stage of Nature-worship. The supreme god is
Taara, to whom the oak is sacred. The most celebrated of his sacred
oak-forests was in the neighbourhood of Dorpat. Thursday is his day;
whence it is more often mentioned in popular tales than any other day in
the week. He is also called Uko or Ukko (the Old God), by which name he
is usually known in the _Kalevala_; and also Vana Isa, or Old Father.
The Christian God is called Jumal or Jumala, and is probably to be
identified with Taara. Ukko or Taara is the ancestor and protector of
the heroes; he attended with Rougutaja at the birth of the Kalevipoeg,
watched over and protected him during his life, sometimes appeared to
counsel him in visions, received him in his heavenly halls after death,
and assigned to him his future employment.
Ukko's daughters are Lindu and Jutta, the queens of the birds; and
Siuru, who is described as a blue bird herself. Possibly these may be
all the same; and the first at least may be identical with Kalev's
bride, Linda, who was born from an egg, and whose name is evidently
derived from _lind_ or _lindu_, a bird.
Aeike, Kou, Paristaja, Pikne, Piker, or Pikker, is the god of thunder,
and some of his names connect him with the Lithuanian Perkunas. He
thunders across the iron bridges of the skies in his chariot; and hurls
his thunderbolts at the demons, like Thor. He also possesses a musical
instrument, of which the demons stand in great terror. He has a
ne'er-do-weel son, who has dealings with the Devil, and a mischievous
little daughter, called the Air-Maiden.
Ahti, the god of the waters, is mentioned occasionally, but much less
frequently than Ahto in the _Kalevala_. He must not be confounded with
Ahti, one of the names of the hero Lemminkainen in the latter poem.
Rougutaja is the god of the winds and waves, and attends specially on
births. In one story, however, he appears rather in the character of a
morose wood-demon with very undesirable family connections than as a
god. This is very probably due to missionary efforts to malign his
character and discredit his worship. However, there is a class of
magicians who are called Wind-sorcerers, and witches often invoke the
aid of the Mother of the Wind.
An old man, with one eye and a long grey beard, often appears to
travellers in the forests. He is probably the Finnish Tapio, but is not
named.
The sun, moon, and stars are represented as male deities.
Goddesses preside over the woods, fields, waters, &c. Thus we have the
Meadow-Queen (literally, Grass-mother), who presides over the
home-field, and is therefore one of the protecting deities of the
household. She is also the queen of the woods and fields. The
Wind-mother and Water-mother are similar deities, and the wood-nymphs
and water-nymphs are their daughters.
Vanemuine, the Vaeinaemoeinen of the Finns, is the god of song and music,
rather than the patriarch and culture-hero of the _Kalevala_. All voices
and sounds in nature are only echoes of his music. He has a
foster-daughter, Jutta, of whom we have given an account elsewhere.
Ilmarine (Finnish, Ilmarinen) is a great smith, whose workshop is under
a mountain at the centre of the earth.
The Devil has many names, being called Kurat, the Evil One; Tuehi or
Tuehja, the Empty One, or rather, perhaps, the Contemptible One; but most
often Vana Pois, the Old Boy; God being frequently called Vana Isa, the
Old Father. He dwells in the underground kingdom, and has three
daughters, or foster-daughters; a hat of invisibility, composed of
nail-parings; a bridge-building wand, and a sword. He has also much gold
and silver plate, and ducks and geese with gold and silver plumage.
These treasures are often carried off by enterprising heroes. The
maidens whom the Kalevipoeg found in the palace of Sarvik do not appear
to have been at all unkindly treated, though they had to work hard, and
much regretted that they had no human company.
Another Devil, more prominent in the _Kalevipoeg_, is Vana Sarvik, or
Old Hornie, who is represented as Tuehi's brother-in-law.
The Devil's underground kingdom is called Porgu, or Hell. His mother
usually appears in the form of a bitch, and his grandmother under that
of a white mare. The minor Esthonian devils are usually stupid rather
than malevolent. They are sometimes ogres or soul-merchants, but are at
times quite ready to do a kindness, or to return one to those who aid
them. Their great enemies are the Thunder-God and the wolf. The
principal outwitter of the devil is generally called Crafty Hans; and
several volumes of their adventures have been published in Esthonian.
The Devil is often represented as fond of beer.
Besides the above-named gods and demons, we have spirits of the
whirlwind and the Northern Lights; gnomes; and a host of inferior
demons, as well as various grades of sorcerers, especially
Wind-sorcerers, Word-sorcerers, or soothsayers, and Death-sorcerers, or
necromancers. The Tont, or House-Spirit, goes by various names; among
others Kratt or Puuk. Kratt is perhaps a word of Scandinavian or German
origin; Puuk must be the same as our Puck, or the Irish Pouka. He was
probably originally a beneficent house-spirit, and in later times
assumed the demoniacal character in which he appears in the story of the
Treasure-Bringer. In the story of "Martin and his Dead Master," we have
a spectre much resembling a vampyre in character.
The gigantic race of the heroes is represented as descended from Taara.
As in the case of so many other hero-races--as, for example, the knights
of Arthur, Finn, Charlemagne, Vladimir, Palmerin, &c.--they are at
length practically destroyed in a series of terrible battles, while the
Kalevipoeg, like Arthur, Olger, Barbarossa, and Tell, remains in
enchanted bondage till the day shall come for him to restore the ancient
glories of his country.[3]
[Footnote 3: Further information on most of the subjects discussed in
the Introduction will be found in the Notes and Index.]
PART I
THE HERO OF ESTHONIA
The _Kalevipoeg_, which may be called the national epic of Esthonia,
contains the adventures of a mythical hero of gigantic size, who ruled
over the country in its days of independence and prosperity. He is
always called by his patronymic, Kalevipoeg, or Kalevide, the son of
Kalev; and, notwithstanding the great differences between them, he is
evidently the Kullervo of the Finnish _Kalevala_.
The _Kalevipoeg_ consists of twenty cantos and about 19,000 lines; and a
fairly complete prose outline of the story is here given, all the
tedious lyrical interludes which break its continuity, especially at the
beginning of several of the cantos, being entirely omitted. For further
general information respecting the poem itself we will refer to the
Introduction, and will now proceed to give a short abstract of the
principal contents of the cantos, before proceeding to a more detailed
analysis.
ARGUMENT OF THE "KALEVIPOEG"
_Canto I._--Three brothers travel in various directions, one of whom,
Kalev,[4] is carried by an eagle to Esthonia, where he becomes king. A
widow finds a hen, a grouse's egg, and a young crow. From the two first
spring the fair maidens, Salme and Linda, and from the last a
slave-girl. Salme chooses the Youth of the Stars, and Linda the young
giant-king Kalev, as their respective husbands, with whom they depart.
_Canto II._--Death and burial of Kalev; birth of his posthumous son, the
Kalevipoeg.
_Canto III._--The Kalevipoeg and his brothers go hunting in the forest.
During their absence Linda is carried off by a Finnish sorcerer whose
suit she has despised. She escapes from him through the interference of
the gods, who afterwards change her into a rock. Return of the
brothers; the Kalevide seeks help and counsel at his father's grave.
_Canto IV._--The Kalevide throws himself into the sea to swim to
Finland. In the evening he lands on an island where he meets a maiden
whom he seduces. When she hears his name, she is horrified, and falls
into the sea. He plunges after her, but being unable to save her, swims
onwards on his journey. The parents rake the sea, and find an oak and a
fir and other things, but not their daughter. Song of a maiden who was
enticed into the sea by a man of copper.
_Canto V._--The planting of the great oak-tree on the island. The
Kalevide arrives in Finland and slays the sorcerer.
_Canto VI._--The Kalevide visits a famous smith, from whom he buys a
huge sword, which was bespoken by his father Kalev. A great
drinking-bout is held in his honour, during which he slays the smith's
eldest son in a fit of drunken fury, and the smith curses him. The
felling of the great oak-tree on the island.
_Canto VII._--The Kalevide finds the sorcerer's boat, and sails
homeward. The three brothers relate their adventures and the eldest
proposes that they should now decide which of them shall settle in the
country as his father's heir. The Kalevide again visits his father's
grave.
_Canto VIII._--The three sons of Kalev journey to the shores of a lake,
and try their strength in hurling rocks across it. The youngest makes
the best cast, and the other two leave the country. The Kalevide ploughs
the land, and one day while he is sleeping his horse is devoured by
wolves.
_Canto IX._--The Kalevide slaughters the wolves. News of war. The visit
of Taara. The Finnish Bridge.
_Canto X._--In order to settle a dispute between two water-demons, the
Kalevide's cousin, the Alevide, begins to drain a swamp. The water-demon
begs the hero to desist, and the latter tricks the demon out of his
treasures. Visit of the Kalevide's cup-bearer to the water-demon's
palace, and his escape. The Kalevide overcomes the demon in hurling and
wrestling. He decides to build fortified towns, and sets out to Lake
Peipus to fetch timber. Meeting with the Air-maiden at a well.
_Canto XI._--The Kalevide wades through Lake Peipus. A sorcerer steals
his sword and sinks it in the brook Kaepae, where the Kalevide leaves it,
after enjoining it to cut off the legs of him who had brought it there;
meaning the sorcerer. He encounters a man of ordinary stature in a
forest, whom he puts in his wallet. The man relates his adventure with
two giants and their mother.
_Canto XII._--The Kalevide is attacked by three sons of the sorcerer,
and beats them off with the boards, which are destroyed. Adventure with
the hedgehog. The Kalevide finds to his grief that the man in his wallet
has been killed by a chance blow during the fight. He falls asleep, and
the sorcerer casts a spell upon him which throws him into a deep sleep
for seven weeks. Vision of Ilmarine's workshop. The Kalevide wakes, and
sets out on his return. Adventures of two poor boys.
_Canto XIII._--On his return journey the Kalevide finds some demons
cooking at the entrance to a cave. He enters the cavern, which leads him
to the door of the palace of Sarvik,[5] which he breaks open. In the
antechamber, he finds three maidens.
_Canto XIV._--Next day the maidens show the Kalevide over Sarvik's
palace. Sarvik surprises them, and wrestles with the Kalevide in the
enclosure, but is overcome and vanishes. The Kalevide and the sisters
escape from the palace.
_Canto XV._--The fugitives are pursued by the demons, but the youngest
sister raises a flood between them. The leader, Tuehi, questions the
Kalevide, who answers him sarcastically, and the demons take to flight.
The three sisters are married to the Kalevide's kinsmen.
_Canto XVI._--The Kalevide projects a voyage to the end of the world.
Building of the ship Lennuk. Voyage to Finland and Lapland. Meeting with
Varrak, the Laplander. Voyage to the Island of Fire. The Giant's
Daughter. The Northern Lights. The Dog-men. Homeward voyage.
_Canto XVII._--The fortified cities. Great battle with invaders. Land
journey of the Kalevide and his friends. Encounter with Sarvik disguised
as a dwarf. The daughters of the Meadow-Queen.
_Canto XVIII._--The gates of Porgu.[6] The Kalevide enters the cavern,
notwithstanding every obstacle fights his way across an iron bridge, and
enters Sarvik's palace.
_Canto XIX._--The Kalevide overcomes Sarvik in a wrestling match, and
loads him with chains. He returns to the upper world, and finds the
Alevide waiting for him at the entrance to the cavern. Return of the
Kalevide to Lindanisa.[7] Great feast and songs. News of a formidable
invasion. Departure of Varrak for Lapland. Arrival of fugitives.
_Canto XX._--The Kalevide buries his treasure. Terrible battles, in
which his cousin the Sulevide is slain. Drowning of the Alevide. The
Kalevide abdicates in favour of his surviving cousin, the Olevide, and
retires to live in seclusion on the bank of a river. Being annoyed by
occasional visitors, he wanders away towards Lake Peipus, and steps into
the brook Kaepae, when his sword cuts off his legs. His soul takes flight
to the halls of Taara,[8] but is bidden by the gods to reanimate his
body. He is mounted on a horse, and stationed at the gates of Porgu, to
keep watch and ward on Sarvik and his hosts.
[Footnote 4: The names of the others are not mentioned, but later in the
poem we meet with three heroes, the sons of Alev, Olev, and Sulev
respectively, associated with the son of Kalev, and spoken of as his
cousins. Alev and Sulev may have been the brothers of Kalev.]
[Footnote 5: The Prince of Hades, literally Hornie.]
[Footnote 6: Hades or Hell.]
[Footnote 7: Linda's Bosom, the Kalevide's capital, named in honour of
his mother; now Revel.]
[Footnote 8: Ukko, the principal god of the Finns and Esthonians, is
frequently called Taara in the _Kalevipoeg_. This name is not used in
Finnish; but Tora is the name of God among the Chuvash of Kasan.]
THE KALEVIPOEG
OR,
_THE ADVENTURES OF THE SON OF KALEV, THE HERO OF ESTHONIA._
The poem commences with an invocation to Vanemuine.[9] This is followed
by a long lyrical exordium.
[Footnote 9: In the Finnish _Kalevala_, Vaeinaemoeinen is represented as a
culture-hero, and as the father of his people; in Esthonia Vanemuine is
usually a demi-god. He is always the inventor and patron of music and
the harp. He plays no part in the _Kalevipoeg_, where his name is only
mentioned once or twice.]
CANTO I
THE MARRIAGES OF SALME AND LINDA
In ancient days, the race of Taara dwelt here and there in the land, and
took to themselves wives of the daughters of men.[10] In the far North,
near the sacred oak forest of Taara, such a household existed, and from
thence three sons went forth into the world to seek their fortunes. One
son travelled to Russia, where he became a great merchant; another
journeyed to Lapland, and became a warrior; while the third, the famous
Kalev,[11] the father of heroes, was borne to Esthonia on the back of an
eagle.[12] The eagle flew with him to the south across the Gulf of
Finland, and then eastward across Laeaene[13] and Viru,[14] until, by the
wise ordering of Jumala,[15] the eagle finally descended with him on
the rocky shores of Viru, where he founded a kingdom.
In the province of Laeaene a young widow lived quietly by herself. One
Sunday she followed the footprints of her cattle, and what did she find
on her way? On the path she found a hen; she found a grouse's egg in the
footprints of the cattle, and she found a young crow near the village.
She carried them all home with her to comfort her loneliness, and she
made a nest for the hen and the egg in a basket lined with wool, but she
threw the young crow into a corner behind the boxes.
The hen soon began to grow, and her head reached the lid of the basket
while she sat on the egg. She grew taller for three months, and for
several days of the fourth month.
The widow went into the storehouse to look at her foster-children, and
what did she behold on raising the lid of the basket? The hen had grown
into the fair maiden Salme;[16] the egg had given birth to a second
maiden, Linda, while the poor crow had become an orphan girl, a
maid-of-all-work, to carry wood to the stove and to bend under the
weight of water-pails from the well.
Salme was besieged by suitors. Five and six brought her offerings of
corn-brandy, seven sent her offers of marriage, and eight sent
trustworthy messengers to bring them news of her. The fame of her beauty
spread far and wide, and at length not merely mortal lovers, but even
the Moon, the Sun,[17] and the eldest son of the Pole Star sought her
hand in marriage.
The Moon drove up in a grand chariot drawn by fifty horses, and attended
by a train of sixty grooms. He was a pale slender youth, and found no
favour in the eyes of Salme, who cried out from the storehouse:
"Him I will not have for husband,
And the night-illumer love not.
Far too varied are his duties,
And his work is much too heavy.
Sometimes he must shine in heaven
Ere the day, or late in evening;
Sometimes when the sun is rising;
Sometimes he must toil at morning,
Ere the day has fully broken;
Sometimes watches in the daytime,
Lingering in the sky till mid-day."
When the Moon heard her answer, he grew yet paler, and returned home
sorrowful.
And now the Sun himself appeared, a young man with fiery eyes; and he
drove up with similar state to the Moon. But Salme declared that she
liked him even less than the Moon, for he was much too fickle.
Sometimes, during the finest summer weather, he would send rain in the
midst of the hay-harvest; or if the time had come for sowing oats, he
would parch the land with drought; or if the time for sowing is past, he
dries up the barley in the ground, beats down the flax, and presses down
the peas in the furrows; he won't let the buckwheat grow, or the lentils
in their pods; and when the rye is white for harvest, he either glows
fiercely and drives away the clouds, or sends a pouring rain.
The Sun was deeply offended; his eyes glowed with anger, and he departed
in a rage.
At last the Youth of the Stars made his appearance, driving with a
similar cortege to those who had preceded him.
As soon as Salme heard of his arrival, she cried out that his horse was
to be led into the stable and tended with the utmost care. The horse
must have the best provender, and must be given fine linen to rest on
and be covered with silken cloths; his head was to rest on satin, and
his hoofs on soft hay. After this she declared to his master:
"Him I will accept as lover,
Give the Star my hand in marriage,
And will prove his faithful consort.
Gently shine his eyes of starlight,
And his temper alters nothing.
Never can he thwart the sowing,
Never will destroy the harvest."
Having thus accepted her suitor and provided for the comfort of his
horse, Salme ordered the bridegroom to be ushered into the hall, where
the broad table was washed clean and covered with a new tablecloth. The
Star was to be seated with his back to the wall and his feet comfortably
propped up on the bench, while he was to be feasted on the best meat
and fish, and offered wedding-cake and honey, besides beer and sweet
mead. The widow invited the Star to take his place at the table, and
pressed him to eat and drink, but he was greatly excited, and his
weapons, ornaments, and heavy spurs jingled and clanked as he stamped on
the floor, and declared that he would eat nothing till Salme herself
appeared before him. But Salme asked him to wait awhile while she
adorned herself, and asked her sister Linda to fetch her woollen dress
and her silken shift with gold-embroidered sleeves, her stockings with
the pretty garters, and the brightly coloured and gold-worked kerchiefs
of silk and linen.
Meantime, the widow again invited the Star to eat and drink, or, if he
were tired, to sleep; but he declared, as before, that he would neither
eat nor drink till he had seen Salme, and that the stars never closed
their eyes in sleep.
At last Salme herself appeared in the hall, but the Meadow-Queen[18] and
the wood nymphs had so adorned her that her foster-mother did not know
her again, and asked in astonishment, "Is it the moon,[19] or the sun,
or one of the young daughters of the sunset?"
Guests gathered to the wedding from far and near, and even the oaks and
alders came, roots, branches, and all.
After this they danced the cross-dance,[20]
Waltzed the waltzes of Esthonia,
And they danced the Arju[21] dances,
And the dances of the West Land;
And they danced upon the gravel,
And they trampled all the greensward.
Starry youth and maiden Salme,
Thus their nuptials held in rapture.
In the midst of these joyous festivities, the Moon and then the Sun
returned in greater state than before to seek the hand of Linda, who was
resting on a couch in the bathroom; but she also refused them both,
almost in the same terms as her sister had done; and they retired
sorrowfully.
A third suitor, the Lord of the Waters, now appeared; but Linda replied
that the roaring of the waves was terrible, and the depth of the sea was
awful; that the brooks only gave a scanty supply of water, and the
river-floods were devastating. He was followed by the Wind, who rode the
Horse of the Tempest, and, like all the other suitors, was attended by a
cavalcade of fifty horses and sixty grooms; and he too asked the hand of
Linda. But she replied that a delicate girl could never take pleasure in
the howling of the wind and the raging of the tempest. The Wind whistled
out of the house, but his trouble did not weigh on his heart very long.
Another suitor for the hand of Linda now appeared in the person of the
Prince of Kungla.[22] All the guests, and Linda's own sisters, approved
of this suitor. But Linda declared that she could not think of
accepting him; for the king, his father, had wicked daughters, who would
treat a stranger unkindly.
A sixth suitor now appeared in the person of the young and handsome
giant Kalev. All the wedding-guests grumbled, and even the widow was
opposed to the match; but he pleased Linda, and she accepted him at
once. The widow then invited him to enter and partake of the good cheer;
but he trembled with eagerness, so that his sword in its sheath, and his
chains and spurs, and even the money in his purse, jingled as he
answered that he would neither eat nor drink till Linda appeared before
him. Linda begged for a little delay to adorn herself, but Kalev still
refused to eat or drink, and then she called her slave-sister to help
her, while the widow continued her ineffectual invitations to Kalev to
feast and enjoy himself.
At last Linda appeared in the hall, where she excited as much admiration
as her sister, and her wedding was celebrated with still greater
festivities than Salme's, the guests dancing the local dances of every
province of Esthonia.
But now the Youth of the Stars could delay no longer, and Salme took an
affecting farewell of her foster-mother and all her kith and kin,
declaring that she would now be hidden behind the clouds, or wandering
through the heavens transformed into a star. Then she mounted her
sledge, and again bade her foster-mother a last and eternal farewell.
Linda and her slave-sister called after her to ask whither she was
going; but there came no answer save the sighing of the wind, and tears
of joy and regret in the rain and the dew; nor did they ever receive
tidings of Salme more.
After Salme's departure, the wedding-festival of Linda was kept up for
some time, and when Kalev finally drove off with her in her sledge, she
bade farewell to her foster-mother; but Kalev reminded her that she had
forgotten the moon before the house, who was her father; the sun before
the storehouse, who was her old uncle; and the birch-tree before the
window, who was her brother, besides her cousins in the wood. They gazed
after her sorrowfully; but she was happy with Kalev, and heeded them
not. Kalev and Linda drove on in their sledge day and night across the
snow-fields and through the pine-forests till they reached their home.
[Footnote 10: If this is a Scriptural allusion, it is almost the only
one in the book. The _Kalevipoeg_ is essentially a pre-Christian poem,
and nowhere exhibits the curious mixture of pre-Christian and Christian
ideas that we meet with in many parts of the Kalevala, and notably in
Runo 50.]
[Footnote 11: In the _Kalevala_ (= the country of Kaleva), the hero
himself does not appear in person, though we constantly read of his sons
and daughters. Some critics, however, identify him with the dead giant,
Antero Vipunen, in Runo 17 of the _Kalevala_.]
[Footnote 12: The eagle of the North plays a conspicuous part in Finnish
and Esthonian literature. It is this bird for whose resting-place
Vaeinaemoeinen spares the birch-tree, and which afterwards rescues him from
the waves and carries him to Pohjola. In several cosmogonic ballads,
too, it is the eggs of this bird and not of the blue duck which
contribute to the formation of the world: for the Mundane Egg plays a
part here as well as in other cosmogonies. The passage in the
_Kalevipoeg_, to which this note refers, corresponds almost exactly to
one in the _Kalevala_ (xxx. 1-10), which ushers in the adventures of
Kullervo.]
[Footnote 13: A province in Western Esthonia, called Wiek by the
Germans.]
[Footnote 14: Esthonia proper; specially applied to the north-eastern
province.]
[Footnote 15: God: this word is applied to the Christian God in
Esthonia, Finland, and Lapland, as well as to the local divinities.]
[Footnote 16: There are many tales and ballads about the miraculous
birth and wooing of Salme and Linda. (Compare Neus, _Ehstnische
Volkslieder_, p. 9; Latham's _Nationalities of Europe_, i. p. 142.) In
the story of the "Milky Way," which commences Part II. of this volume,
Linda is represented as the daughter of Uko, and the queen of the birds.
We also read of a blue bird, Siuru, the daughter of Taara, in the
ballads. The name Linda or Lindu is evidently derived from the word
_Lind_, a bird.]
[Footnote 17: The Sun and Moon are both male deities in Finnish and
Esthonian. In the _Kalevala_ (Runo 11) the sun, moon, and a star seek
the hand of Kyllikki, the fair maid of Saari, for their sons, but she
rejects them all as unceremoniously as Salme. In the _Kanteletar_ (iii.
6), a maiden called Suometar (= Finland's daughter) plays a similar
part. Suometar is born from a duck's egg, found by a young girl named
Katrina.]
[Footnote 18: _Muru eit_, the meadow-queen (literally grass-mother), is
regarded as one of the tutelary divinities of the house. Esthonian
houses generally stand in a _grass field_, entered by a gate. Within the
enclosure are the storehouses, cattle-pens, and other outbuildings.]
[Footnote 19: This is somewhat inconsistent with the rather undignified
appearance of the Sun and Moon in person a little while before.]
[Footnote 20: The cross-dance is still danced in out-of-the-way parts of
the country; it is a kind of quadrille. Four couples station themselves
in such a manner as to form a cross. The opposite pairs advance and
retire several times, and then they dance round, when the second pairs
dance in the same manner, and another dance round follows, till they
have danced enough. The dance is accompanied with a song, in which the
dancers, and sometimes the bystanders, join.]
[Footnote 21: Arju or Harju (German, Harrien) one of the provinces of
Esthonia.]
[Footnote 22: Kungla is described as a country of untold wealth and the
land of adventures--a kind of fairyland. It appears, however, to have
been a real country, separated from Esthonia by sea, of which fabulous
tales were told. Some writers identify it with the Government of Perm;
but this is improbable, as it is generally described as an island.
Others think that the island of Gottland is meant.]
CANTO II
THE DEATH OF KALEV
Kalev and Linda lived very happily together, and were blessed with a
numerous offspring;[23] but the country was small, and as soon as the
children were grown up they wandered forth into the world to seek their
fortunes, more especially as Kalev had determined that one son only
should be the heir to his possessions. At length Kalev began to grow
old, and felt that his end was approaching. Two of his younger sons, who
were still little boys, remained at home; but the youngest of all, the
famous Sohni, more often known by his patronymic, the Son of Kalev, was
still unborn. Kalev foretold the glory and greatness of this last son to
Linda, indicating him as his heir,[24] and shortly afterwards fell
dangerously sick.
Then Linda took her brooch, and spun it round on a thread, while she
sent forth the Alder-Beetle[25] to bid the Wind-Magician and Soothsayer
hasten to the bedside of her husband. Seven days the brooch spun round,
and seven days the beetle flew to the north, across three kingdoms and
more, till he encountered the Moon, and besought his aid. But the Moon
only gazed on him sorrowfully without speaking, and went on his way.
Again Linda spun the brooch for seven days, and sent forth the beetle,
who flew farther this time, through many thick forests, and as far as
the Gold Mountain, till he encountered the Evening Star; but he also
refused him an answer.
Next time the beetle took a different route, over wide heaths and thick
fir-woods, till he reached the Gold Mountain, and met the rising Sun. He
also returned no answer; but on a fourth journey the beetle encountered
the Wind-Magician, the old Soothsayer from Finland,[26] and the great
Necromancer himself. He besought their aid, but they replied with one
voice that what the drought had parched up, the moonlight blanched, and
the stars withered, could never bloom again. And before the beetle
returned from his fruitless journey the mighty Kalev had expired.
Linda sat weeping by his bedside without food or sleep for seven days
and nights, and then began to prepare his corpse for burial. First she
bathed it with her tears, then with salt water from the sea, rain water
from the clouds, and lastly water from the spring. Then she smoothed his
hair with her fingers, and brushed it with a silver brush, and combed it
with the golden comb which the water-nymphs had used to comb their hair.
She drew on him a silken shirt, a satin shroud, and a robe over it,
confined by a silver girdle. She herself dug his grave thirty ells
below the sod, and grass and flowers soon sprang from it.
From the grave the grasses sprouted,
And the herbage from the hillock;
From the dead man dewy grasses,
From his cheeks grew ruddy flowers,
From his eyes there sprang the harebells,
Golden flowerets from his eyelids.[27]
Linda mourned for Kalev for one month after another till three months
had passed, and the fourth was far advanced. She heaped a cairn of
stones over his tomb, which formed the hill on which the Cathedral of
Revel now stands. One day she was carrying a great stone to the cairn,
but found herself too weak, and let it fall. She sat down on it, and
lamented her sad fate, and her tears formed the lake called "Uelemiste
jaerv," the Upper Lake, beside which the huge stone block may still be
seen.[28]
After this, Linda felt her time approaching, and she retired to the
bathroom,[29] and called upon the gods to aid her. Ukko and
Rougutaja[30] both attended at her call, and one brought a bundle of
straw, and the other pillows, and they made her up a soft bed; nor was
it long before Kalev's posthumous son saw the light.
Linda was sitting by the cradle one day, trying to sing the child to
sleep, when suddenly he began to scream, and continued to scream day and
night for a whole month, when he burst his swaddling-clothes, smashed
the cradle to pieces, and began to creep about the floor.[31]
Linda suckled the child till he was three years old, and he grew up a
fine strong boy. He first learned to tend the cattle, and then to guide
the plough, and grew up like a young oak-tree. When he played _kurni_
(tipcat), his blocks flew far and wide all over the country, and many
even as far as the sea. Sometimes he used to go down to the sea, and
make ducks and drakes of huge rocks, which he sent spinning out to sea
for a verst or more, while he stood on his head to watch them.
At other times he used to amuse himself quietly in the enclosure,
carving skates or weaving baskets. Thus he passed his days till he came
to man's estate.
After the death of Kalev, Linda was much pestered by suitors who were
anxious to marry the rich widow; but she refused them all, and at length
they ceased to trouble her. Last of all came a mighty wind-sorcerer from
Finland, calling himself Kalev's cousin; and when she refused him also,
he vowed revenge. But she laughed at his threats, telling him she had
three young eagles with sharp claws growing up in the house, who would
protect their mother.
Linda was no longer tormented by suitors, but the magician whom she had
discarded recommended all his friends not to seek a wife in Kalev's
house, for notwithstanding Linda's wealth her beauty was faded, her
teeth were iron, and her words were red-hot pincers. They would do
better to sail to Finland, where they would find rows of maidens, rich
in money, pearls, jewels, and golden bracelets, waiting for them on the
rocky coast.
[Footnote 23: According to various traditions, Kalev and Linda are said
to have had seven or twelve sons.]
[Footnote 24: This is what Jacobs calls "junior right;" the patriarchal
custom of the elder children going forth into the world to seek their
fortunes, and the youngest remaining at home to look after his parents
and inherit their possessions. Hence the rivalry between Esau and
Jacob.]
[Footnote 25: Has this anything to do with boys spinning cockchafers on
a thread? The beetle alluded to in the text is said to be the ladybird,
but the ladybird has no particular connection with the alder. When a
brooch is thus spun on a thread, a question is asked, and if the motion
stops, the answer is unfavourable, but favourable if it continues. The
flight of the beetle is fortunate towards the south, but unfortunate
towards the north.]
[Footnote 26: It is curious that the Esthonians always regarded the
Finns, and the Finns the Lapps, as great sorcerers; each nation
attributing special skill in magic to those living north of
themselves.--But there is a Finnish ballad (_Kanteletar_, iii. 2) in
which we read of the sun and moon being stolen by German and Esthonian
sorcerers.]
[Footnote 27: This reminds us of Ariel's well-known song--
"Full fathom five thy father lies,
Of his bones are coral made," &c.
]
[Footnote 28: The origin of stone blocks is usually ascribed to
non-human beings in many countries, but most frequently to the devil,
especially in Northern Europe. Compare also the church-stories, &c., in
a later part of this work.]
[Footnote 29: The usual place employed on such occasions in Finland and
Esthonia.]
[Footnote 30: Ukko or Taara commonly appears as the principal god of the
Finns and Esthonians; Rougutaja usually as an accoucheur, but
occasionally also as a malicious demon. Rougutaja is also called the God
of the Wind. Other authorities consider him a water-god. (Kreutzwald und
Neus, _Mythische und Magische Lieder_, p. 108.)]
[Footnote 31: Kullervo in the _Kalevala_ (Runo 30) bursts his
swaddling-clothes and smashes his cradle in the same way.]
CANTO III
THE FATE OF LINDA
One hot day, the youngest son of Kalev was sitting on the top of a cliff
watching the clouds and waves. Suddenly the sky became overcast, and a
terrific storm arose, which lashed the breakers into foam. Aeike,[32] the
Thunder-God, was driving his brazen-wheeled chariot over the iron
bridges of the sky, and as he thundered above, the sparks flew from the
wheels, and he hurled down flash after flash of lightning from his
strong right hand against a company of wicked demons of the air, who
plunged from the rocks into the sea, dodged the thunderbolts among the
waves, and mocked and insulted the god. The hero was enraged at their
audacity, and plunging into the water, dragged them from their
hiding-places like crabs, and filled a whole sack with them. He then
swam to the shore, and cast them out on the rocks, where the bolts of
the angry god soon reduced them to a disgusting mass that even the
wolves would not touch.
Another day, the three sons of Kalev went hunting in the forest with
their three dogs.[33] The dogs killed a bear among the bushes, an elk in
the open country, and a wild ox in the fir-wood. Next they encountered a
pack of wolves and another of foxes, numbering five dozen of each, and
killed them all. All this game the youngest brother bound together and
carried on his back; and on the way home they found the rye-fields full
of hares, of which they likewise secured five dozen.[34]
Meantime the Finnish sorcerer had been watching Kalev's house from his
boat, where he remained in hiding among the rocks a little way from the
shore, till he saw that the three young heroes had left the house and
wandered far into the forest, leaving their home unprotected. The
sorcerer then steered boldly to the shore, hid his boat, and made his
way by devious and unfrequented paths to the house of Kalev, where he
climbed over the low gate into the enclosure, and went to the door, but
he looked cautiously round when he reached the threshold. Linda was just
boiling soup over the fire when he rushed in, and, without saying a
word, seized her by the girdle and dragged her away to his boat. She
resisted him with tooth and nail, but he muttered spells which unnerved
her strength and overpowered her feeble efforts, and her prayers and
cries for help were unheard by men. But she cried to the gods for
protection, and the Thunder-God himself came to her aid.
Just as the sorcerer was about to push off from the shore, Pikker darted
a bolt from the clouds. His chariot thundered over the iron bridges of
the sky, scattering flames around it, and the sorcerer was struck down
senseless. Linda fled; but the gods spared her further sorrow and
outrage by transforming her into a rock on Mount Iru.
It was a long time before the sorcerer woke from his swoon, when he sat
up, rubbing his eyes, and wondering what had become of his prey; but he
could discover no trace of her. The rock is now called "Iru's
Stepmother;" and old people relate that when it was once rolled down
into the valley, it was found next morning in its original place on the
mountain.
The sons of Kalev were now making the best of their way home, sometimes
along well-trodden paths or across the plains, sometimes wading through
deep sand or mossy bogs, and then through forests of pine, oak, birch,
and alder. The pine forest was called the King's Wood; the oak forest
was sacred to the God Taara; the forest where the slender birch-trees
grew was called the Maidens' Wood, and the alder-wood was sacred to
mourners, and was called the Wood of the Poor Orphans.
As they passed through the pine forest which was called the King's Wood,
the eldest brother sat down under a tree and began to sing a song. He
sang till the leaves on the trees shone brighter than ever, and the
needles on the fir-trees turned to silken tassels, and the fir-cones
gleamed purple in the sunshine. Acorns sprouted on the oaks, tender
catkins on the birch-trees, and other trees were covered with
sweet-scented snow-white flowers, which shone in the sunshine and
glimmered in the moonlight, while the woods re-echoed with his singing,
and the tones were heard far over the heaths and meadows, and the
daughter of the king of Kungla wept tears of rapture.[35]
The second brother sat down in the birch-wood under a weeping
birch-tree, and began to sing a song. As he sang, the buds unfolded and
the flowers bloomed, the golden ears of corn swelled, and the apples
reddened, the kernels formed in the nuts, the cherries ripened, red
berries grew on the hills and blue berries in the marshes, while black
berries grew at the edges of the swamps, yellow ones on the mossy
hillocks, and the elder-trees were covered with rich purple grapes,
while the woods re-echoed with the song, and its notes spread far over
the heaths and meadows till the little water-nymphs shed tears of
rapture.
The third brother sat down under a magnificent oak in the sacred
oak-forest of Taara, and began to sing a song. As he sang, the wild
beasts of the neighbouring woods and heaths gathered round him, and the
cuckoos, doves, magpies, larks, nightingales, and swallows joined in the
concert. The swans, geese, and ducks swam towards the sound, the waves
of the sea beat on the rocks, and the crowns of the trees bowed down.
The green hills trembled, and the clouds parted to permit the sky to
listen to the singing, while the forest-king's daughter, the slender
wood-nymphs, and the yellow-haired water-nymphs wept tears of rapture
and glowed with longing for the handsome singer.
Evening now approached, and the heroes made the best of their way
homewards, the youngest, as before, loading himself with all the game.
They looked out anxiously for the smoke of their home and the glow of
the kitchen-fire, but they could discover nothing.
They quickened their pace as they crossed the deep sand of the heath,
but no smoke nor fire nor steam from the kettle could be seen. They
rushed into the house, but the fire was out and the hearth was cold.
Again and again they shouted to their mother, but there was no answer
save the echo. The evening became darker and stiller, and the brothers
went out to search in different directions. The youngest went down to
the beach, where he found such traces of his mother's presence that he
concluded that she had been carried off by her disappointed suitor, the
Finnish sorcerer.
The eldest brother proposed that they should eat their supper and go to
sleep, hoping that a dream might show them where to seek for their
mother. The second assented, hoping that Ukko would send them a vision;
but the youngest was unwilling to put off till to-morrow what might be
done to-day, and finally determined to repair to his father's grave.[36]
From his grave there spoke the father--
"Who upon the sand is treading,
With his feet the grave disturbing?
In my eyes the sand is running,
On my eyelids grass is pressing."
The youth told his father who he was, and all his trouble, and implored
him to rise and help him. But his father answered that he could not
rise, for the rocks lay on his breast, lilies of the valley on his
eyelids, harebells on his eyes, and red flowers on his cheeks. But he
prayed the wind to show his son the right path, and a gentle zephyr to
guide him on the way pointed out by the stars of heaven. So the young
hero returned to the sea-shore and followed his mother's footprints till
they were lost in the sea. He gazed over the sea and shore, but could
detect no further traces of her, nor was any boat in sight. There he sat
till it grew quite dark, and the moon and stars appeared in the sky; but
winds and waves, sea and sky, moon and stars, alike were silent, and
brought him no tidings of his mother.
[Footnote 32: The Esthonian Thunder-God goes by a variety of names, but
is usually called Pikker or Pikne, evidently the Perkunas of the
Lithuanians. He resembles Thor in driving about in a chariot, waging war
with the evil demons; but one of his attributes, not appertaining to
Thor, is his flute (or bagpipe, as some critics regard it). It will be
seen in many places that the Esthonians, like all other peoples among
whom the belief in fairies, demons, &c., survives, do not share the
absurd modern notion that such beings must necessarily be immortal.]
[Footnote 33: Peter, in the story of the Lucky Rouble, is also attended
by three black dogs. The dogs of the sons of Kalev were named Irmi,
Armi, and Mustukene; the last name means Blackie, not Throttler, as
Reinthal translates it.]
[Footnote 34: In the _Maha-Bharata_ Bhima is represented as carrying
enormous loads, and in one passage Yudhishthira is searching for his
brother in the Himalayas, when he comes to a place where slaughtered
lions and tigers are lying about by thousands, which convinces him that
he is on the right track.]
[Footnote 35: This passage would seem to indicate that the daughter of
the king of Kungla was sometimes looked upon rather as a fairy than as a
human princess.]
[Footnote 36: Visits to a father's grave for counsel are very common in
the literature of Northern Europe.]
CANTO IV
THE ISLAND MAIDEN
When the Kalevide had satisfied himself that no further traces of his
mother were to be found, he cast himself into the sea beneath the stars,
and swam northwards manfully towards Finland, swimming with his hands,
steering with his feet, and with his hair floating like a sail. He swam
on till past midnight without meeting with a resting-place; but at
length he espied a black speck in the distance, which proved to be a
small rocky island. The hero discovered a mossy bank on a projecting
rock, and made his way to the shore, and lay down, intending to sleep a
little, when he was roused by the voice of a maiden singing a love-song.
It was very dark and somewhat foggy, but he saw the light of a fire at a
little distance at the foot of an oak-tree, beneath which sat a fair
girl with brown eyes.[37] The hero soon joined her, and they talked
together for some time, when the maiden became alarmed at his
familiarities, and cried out. Her mother awoke, and thought it was only
a bad dream; but her father hastened to her aid, armed with a great
club. But when he saw the terrible giant, he grew as pale as death, and
his club dropped from his hand.
The maiden could not lift her eyes to her father, but the Kalevide asked
carelessly if he had seen the Finnish sorcerer pass the island in his
boat on the previous evening. "No," replied the islander, "I have not
seen anything of him for weeks; but tell me your name and lineage, for I
judge that you are of the race of the gods." The hero answered him
fully; but when the maiden heard that he was the son of Kalev and Linda,
she was seized with terror, and her foot slipping she fell from the
cliff into the sea.
The father shrieked and wrung his hands, but the Kalevide plunged into
the sea after the maiden, and sought for her for a long time in vain.
When he abandoned the search, he did not venture to return to the
island, but after crying out a few words of unavailing regret swam again
towards Finland. The father's cry of despair fully roused the mother,
who sprang up, and ran down to the shore, only to learn that her
daughter was lost.
Then the mother took a rake with a long copper handle, and the father
took his net, and with them they sought for their daughter's body at the
bottom of the sea.[38] They did not find their daughter, but they raked
up an oak-tree, a fir-tree, an eagle's egg, an iron helmet, a fish, and
a silver dish. They took them all carefully home, and went again to seek
for their lost child.
Then a song arose from the deep, telling how a maiden went down to the
sea:[39]
What beheld she in the ocean?
What beneath the sea was shining?
From the sea a sword shone golden,
In the waves a spear of silver,
From the sand a copper crossbow.
Then to grasp the sword she hastened,
And to seize the spear of silver,
And to lift the copper crossbow.
Then there came a man to meet her;
'Twas an aged man of copper;[40]
On his head a helm of copper;
Wearing, too, a shirt of copper;
Round his waist a belt of copper;
On his hands were copper gauntlets;
On his feet were boots of copper;
In his belt were copper buckles,
And the buckles chased with copper;
Copper was his neck and body,
And his face and eyes were copper.
And the copper man demanded:
"In the sea what seeks the maiden,
Singing thus amid the waters,
She, a dove[41] among the fishes?"
And the maiden heard and hearkened,
And the little duck made answer:
"To the sea I went to rock me,
And amid the waves to carol;
And I saw the sword that glittered,
And the spear of silver shining,
And the copper crossbow gleaming.
And to grasp the sword I hastened,
And to seize the spear of silver,
And to lift the copper crossbow."
Then the copper man made answer,
With his copper tongue he answered:
"'Tis the sword of son of Kalev,
And the spear is son of Alev's,
And the crossbow son of Sulev's.
On the bed of ocean guarded,
Here the man of copper keeps them,
Of the golden sword the guardian,
Guardian of the spear of silver,
Guardian of the copper crossbow."
Then the man of copper offered her the weapons if she would take him as
her husband, but she refused, saying that she was the daughter of a
landsman, and preferred a husband from the village on the land. He
laughed scornfully; her foot slipped, and she sank into the sea. Her
father and mother came to seek her, and found only her ornaments
scattered on the beach. They called her by her name, and implored her to
go home with them; but she answered that she could not, for she was
weighed down by the water; and she related to them her adventure with
the copper man. But she begged her parents not to weep for her, for she
had a house at the bottom of the sea, and a soft resting-place in the
ooze.
"Do not weep, my dearest mother,
Nor lament, my dearest father.
In the sea is now my dwelling,
On its bed a pleasant chamber,
In the depths a room to rest in,
In the ooze a nest of softness."
[Footnote 37: The story in the _Kalevipoeg_ is very confused, but this
maiden evidently corresponds to the lost sister of Kullervo (_Kalevala_,
Runo 35), whom he meets casually, and seduces. When they discover the
truth, the girl throws herself into a torrent. In the _Kalevipoeg_,
Canto 7, the Kalevide and the maiden are actually spoken of as brother
and sister. There are many versions of this story; in one of them (Neus,
_Ehstnische Volkslieder_, pp. 5-8; Latham's _Nationalities of Europe_,
i. p. 138), the maiden is represented as slaying her brother, who is
called indifferently the son of Kalev or of Sulev, to the great
satisfaction of her father and mother.]
[Footnote 38: In the _Kalevala_, Runo 15, Lemminkainen's mother collects
together the fragments of his body from the River of Death with a long
rake.]
[Footnote 39: This song and story (except for the incident of the man of
copper) resembles that of the drowning of Aino in the _Kalevala_, Runo
4.]
[Footnote 40: It was a copper man who rose from the water to fell the
great oak-tree (_Kalevala_, Runo 2). Compare also the variant in Canto 6
of the _Kalevipoeg_. We may also remember the copper men connected with
the mountain of loadstone (_Thousand and One Nights_, Third Calendar's
Story).]
[Footnote 41: Literally a "house-hen;" one of those idiomatic terms of
endearment which cannot be reproduced in another language.]
CANTO V
THE KALEVIDE AND THE FINNISH SORCERER
Day was breaking as the dauntless swimmer approached the coast of
Finland, where his enemy, the sorcerer, had arrived somewhat before him,
and had made his boat fast under a projecting rock. The Kalevide gazed
round without seeing any traces of him, and lay down to sleep; but
though the morning was calm and peaceful, his dreams were but of battle
and murder.
Meantime the islander and his wife, not being able to find their
daughter, returned home weeping, and planted the oak and the fir in the
field where their daughter used to swing in the evening, in remembrance
of her. Then they went to look in the helmet where they had put the egg;
but it was cold and damp, so the mother put the egg in the warm sun by
day, and nursed it in her bosom at night.
Then they went to look at the trees, and the oak had already shot up a
hundred fathoms, and the fir-tree ten. Next they visited the fish,
which prayed for its liberty, and they restored it to the sea.
The oak and fir now reached the clouds; and a young eagle was hatched
from the egg, which the mother tended; but one day it escaped and flew
away. The oak now scattered the clouds and threatened to pierce the sky.
Then they sought a sorcerer to fell the tree, and the woman took a
golden rake on her shoulder with a copper handle and silver prongs. She
raked up three swathes of grass, and in the third she found the eagle
which she had lately reared from the egg. She took him home, and under
his wing was a little man, scarcely two spans high, holding an axe in
his hands.[42]
The Kalevide had only intended to take a short nap, but he was so weary
that he slept all through the day and night, and did not awake till
sunrise next morning.[43] When he awoke, he set off at once in search
of his mother and the sorcerer into the interior of the country. At last
he climbed a high mountain, and saw from thence an inhabited valley with
a brook running through it, and the sorcerer's farm at the edge of the
wood.
The son of Kalev rushed down the mountain and through the plain till he
reached the gate of the enclosure and looked in. The sorcerer was lying
on the grass in the shade of his house. The Kalevide turned towards the
wood, tore up an oak-tree by the roots, and trimmed it into a club. He
swung it in his right hand, and strode through the enclosure, the whole
country trembling and the hills and valleys shaking with fear as he
advanced.
The sorcerer started from his sleep, and saw Linda's avenger at the
gate, but he was too unnerved and terrified to attempt to hide himself.
He hurriedly took a handful of feathers from his bosom, and blew them
from him with a few magic words, and lo! they became an armed host of
warriors,--thousands of them, both on foot and on horseback.[44] They
rushed upon the son of Kalev like a swarm of gnats or bees; but he laid
about him with his club as if he was threshing, and beat them down,
horse and man together, on all sides, like drops of hail or rain. The
fight was hardly begun when it was over, and the hero waded chest-deep
in blood. The sorcerer, whose magic troops had never failed him before,
was now at his wit's end, and prayed for mercy, giving a long account of
how he had endeavoured to carry off Linda, and had been struck down by
the enraged Thunder-God. But the Kalevide paid no attention to his
speech, and, after a few angry words, he smashed his head with his club.
Then he rushed through the house from room to room in search of his
mother, breaking open every door and lock which opposed him, while the
noise resounded far over the country. But he found not his mother, and
regretted that he had killed the sorcerer, who might have helped him. At
last, wearied out with his own violence, he threw himself on a couch,
and wept himself to sleep. He had a vision of his mother in her youth
and beauty, swinging with her companions, and awoke, convinced that she
was really dead.
[Footnote 42: We find this great oak-tree over and over again in Finnish
and Esthonian tales. Compare _Kalevala_, Runo 2, and Cantos 4, 5, 6, and
16 of the _Kalevipoeg_. Neus, _Ehstnische Volkslieder_, p. 47;
Kreutzwald and Neus, _Mythische und Magische Lieder_, p. 8, &c. Could
this oak have any connection, direct or indirect, with the ash
Yggthrasil? or could the story have originated in some report or
tradition of the banyan?]
[Footnote 43: The tremendous exploits of the Kalevide and his weariness
afterwards give him much of the character of a Berserk.]
[Footnote 44: In the 26th Runo of the _Kalevala_ Lemminkainen creates a
flock of birds from a handful of feathers, to appease the fiery eagle
who obstructed his way to Pohjola. We may also remember Jason and the
dragon's teeth.]
CANTO VI
THE KALEVIDE AND THE SWORD-SMITHS
The Kalevide mourned two days for his mother, but on the third day he
began to get over his grief, and determined, before returning home, to
visit a famous smith of Finland, and to provide himself with a good
sword. So he set off in another direction, and lost himself in the
woods, and had to pass the night on the wet grass under a fir-tree,
which he did not at all relish. Next morning he started off again early,
and a thrush sang to him, and directed him to turn to the west. He
sprang forward with renewed energy and soon found himself in the open
country, where he encountered an old woman,[45] who gave him minute
instructions for finding his way to the smithy, which was three days'
journey off. When at length he reached the smithy, he found the old
smith and his three sons hard at work forging swords.
The hero saluted the smith, who replied to him courteously, and at once
acceded to his request to try the swords before purchasing one. At a
sign from the smith, one of the sons went out and fetched an armful of
swords. The Kalevide picked out the longest, and bent it into a hoop,
when it straightened itself at once. He then whirled it round his head,
and struck at the massive rock which stood in the smithy with all his
might. The sparks flew from the stone and the blade shivered to pieces,
while the old smith looked on and swore.
"Who mixes up children's toys with weapons for men?" said the Kalevide
scornfully, and caught up a second and third sword, which he shivered in
the same way before the smith could interfere. "Stop, stop," cried the
smith at last, "don't break any more swords to show off your strength;"
and he called to his sons to bring some swords of the best quality they
had.
The youths brought in an armful of the very best, and the Kalevide chose
a huge sword, which he brandished like a reed in his right hand, and
then brought down on the anvil. The sword cut deep into the iron, and
the blade did not fly, but the sharp edge was somewhat blunted.
Then the smith was well pleased, and said that he had one sword in store
worthy of the strength of the hero, if he was rich enough to buy it;
for, between friends, the price was nine strong carthorses, four pairs
of good packhorses, twenty good milch kine, ten pairs of good yoke oxen,
fifty well-fed calves, a hundred tons of the best wheat, two boatsful of
barley, and a large shipload of rye, a thousand old dollars, a hundred
pairs of bracelets, two hundred gold coins, a lapful of silver brooches,
the third of a kingdom, and the dowries of three maidens.
Then from a little iron cupboard they fetched a sword which had not its
equal in the world, and on which the smith and his sons had laboured for
seven long years without intermission. It was wrought of seven different
kinds of Swedish iron with the aid of seven powerful charms, and was
tempered in seven different waters, from those of the sea and Lake
Peipus to rain-water. It had been bespoken by Kalev himself, but he had
not lived till the work was completed.
The son of Kalev received the huge blade from the hands of the smith
with reverence, and whirled it round like a fiery wheel, and it whistled
through the air like the tempest that breaks oaks and unroofs houses.
Then he turned and brought down the keen edge like a flash of lightning
on the great anvil, and clove it to the ground without the sword
receiving the slightest injury.
Then the hero joyfully expressed his thanks to the smith for forging
such a splendid sword, and promised to bring him the full price demanded
upon his return to Esthonia. But the smith said he would rather go and
fetch the value of the sword himself.
And now a great drinking-bout was prepared in honour of the sword and
its owner, which lasted for seven days. Beer and mead flowed in
abundance, and the guests drank till they lost all restraint, shouting
and laughing, and throwing their caps about, and rolling on the grass.
The Kalevide had lost his senses like the rest, and told the whole story
of his adventure on the island and the drowning of the maiden. Upon
this, the eldest son of the smith, his father's pride and joy, sprang
forward, denouncing him for his aspersions on the maiden's honour. The
Kalevide defied him, maintaining the truth of the story, and from words
they soon came to blows; and, before any one could comprehend what was
going on or interfere, the Kalevide drew the sword from its sheath and
struck off the head of his adversary before the face of his father,
mother, and brothers, the hero thus loading himself with a second great
crime.
The youth's father shrieked with horror and his mother fell fainting to
the ground; the smith then cried out to the Kalevide that he had
murdered the support of his old age, and had stained the innocence and
honour of his new sword for ever. Then he called to his sons to fetch
the hammers from the smithy and break the bones of the murderer. But the
drunken giant advanced against them with his sword, defying them to the
combat; and the smith, recognising the hopelessness of any attempt
against him, cried to his sons to let him pass and leave vengeance to
the gods, cursing him like a mad dog, and calling on the sword itself to
avenge the crime. But the Kalevide seemed to hear nothing, and staggered
away from the house through the wood along the road till he came to a
high waterfall. He followed the course of the stream some distance till
he found a resting-place, where he laid down, and snored till the whole
neighbourhood shook, and people asked in fear whether enemies had
invaded the land and a battle was in progress.
The oak which the islander had planted sprang up, first as a small tree,
but it grew so rapidly that it reached the clouds, and almost touched
the sun. The sun and moon were hidden, the windows darkened, and all the
country around made dismal by the shadow of its branches. The islander
sought far and near for some one to fell the tree, for whole cities and
fleets might have been built of its wood. Proclamation was made
everywhere for some one to fell the tree, but no one dared to attempt
it, and he returned home, grumbling to his wife at the failure of his
long and fruitless journey. Then the old woman led the way to the room
where the eagle and the dwarf were still remaining, and told her husband
how she had found the dwarf, who was no larger than Kalev's thumb, under
the wing of the eagle. The islander asked the dwarf if he would fell the
oak-tree, and he consented at once, on condition that he should be
released from his captivity; he was also given a dish of pure gold.
The dwarf went out and took a good look at the oak-tree, and then he
himself began to grow, first by ells, and then by fathoms. Having thus
become a giant, he began to hew at the tree, and he hewed at it for
three days, till it fell, covering half the island and half the sea with
its branches. The trunk was used to make a great bridge, with two arms,
reaching from the island to Finland on the one side, and to Esthonia on
the other. Large ships were built of the summit, merchant-vessels from
the trunk, towns from the roots, rowing-boats from the branches, and
children's boats from the chips. What remained was used to make shelters
for weak old men, sick widows, and orphan children, and the last
branches left were used to build a little room in which the minstrel
could sing his songs. Strangers who came now and then across the bridge
stopped before the minstrel's hut to ask the name of the city with the
magnificent palace; and the minstrel replied that there was nothing
there but his poor hut, and all the splendour they beheld was the light
of his songs reflected from heaven.
[Footnote 45: In the _Kalevala_ (Runo 34) an old woman directs Kullervo
to the house of his parents.]
CANTO VII
THE RETURN OF THE KALEVIDE
The Kalevide slept till the following morning, and when at length he
awoke he tried in vain to recollect the events of the day before. He
could not remember whether he had been in Finland or on the island, or
whether he had been engaged in battle. He had no remembrance of having
slain the smith's son; but he got up half-dazed, and walked on without
stopping till he reached the seashore on the third day afterwards. Here
he found the sorcerer's boat; so he stepped into it, hoisted sail, and
set off homewards.
Kalev's offspring was not weary,
For his back was like an oak-tree,
And his shoulders gnarled and knotted,
And his arms like trunks of oak-trees,
And like elm-trees were his elbows,
And his fingers spread like branches,
And his finger-nails like boxwood,
And his loins like hardened iron.
The Kalevide was now in high spirits, and began to sing a song, in which
he pictured himself as going on a voyage, and meeting three shiploads of
enchantresses, old and young, whose blandishments he resisted. But as he
approached the shores of Esthonia, the fresh sea-breeze dispelled the
mists that still clouded his memory, and the blood-stained sword and the
splashes of blood on his clothes bore witness of the murder he had
committed.
About midnight he approached the small island where the maiden had
fallen into the sea, and the whole sad scene arose again before his
imagination. And now he could hear the maiden singing a sad song beneath
the waves, lamenting her sad fate, and yet more the evil lot of her
brother, who had slain the son of his father's old friend.[46] The blood
from the sword reddened the cheeks of the maiden, and a long and
terrible penance lay before her brother.
For a while the hero sat lost in thought, bitterly lamenting the past;
but presently he roused himself, and proceeded on his voyage, singing a
lamentation for his mother beginning:
Where upgrows the weeping alder,
And the aspen of confusion,
And the pine-tree of distraction,
And the deep remorse of birch-tree?
Where I sorrow, springs the alder;
Where I tremble, sprouts the aspen;
Where I weep, the pine is verdant;
Where I suffer, sighs the birch-tree.
Next morning the Kalevide reached the shore, made fast the boat, and
went homewards; but as he passed Mount Iru, where the form of his mother
stood, his steps were arrested by the sweet singing of her unseen spirit
in the wind. She sang how the young eagle had soared from the nest in
youthful innocence, and had returned stained with crime. He knew now
that his mother was dead, and realised more fully the two crimes which
weighed upon his soul--the one committed thoughtlessly and without evil
intent, and the other without his knowledge, when he was not master of
himself. He hastened on, and when he reached home his brothers, who had
long mourned him as dead, received him with open arms.
In the evening the three brothers sat together and related their
adventures. The first sang how he had wandered in search of his mother
over vast regions, and through a great part of Courland, Poland,
Russia, Germany, and Norway, and had met on his wanderings maidens of
tin, copper, silver, and gold. But only the golden daughter of the Gold
King could speak, and she directed him along a path which would lead him
to a beautiful maiden who could reply to his question. He hurried on a
long way, and at last met a rosy-cheeked maiden of flesh and bone, who
replied to his questions that she had seen no traces of his mother, and
the hawk must have flown away with her. But she invited him to her
village, where he would find plenty of rich and beautiful maidens. He
answered that he had not come to choose a wife, but to seek his mother.
Then the second brother sang how he also had wandered a long way, but at
last reached a cottage where he found an old man and woman, whom he
saluted and asked for tidings. They made no reply, and only the cat
mewed in answer.
He went on farther, and met a wolf; but when he asked if he had seen his
mother, he only opened his mouth to grin at him. Next he met the bear,
who only growled, but finally the cuckoo[47] directed him through a
wood and across a green meadow to some maidens who would give him
information. When he reached the spot, he found four beautiful maidens
in elegant attire, who told him that they had been wandering about the
woods and meadows every day, but had seen nothing of his mother, and
they thought she must have flown away. They recommended him to seek a
wife; but he answered that a young wife could not fill the place of his
dear lost mother.
Then the youngest brother related his adventures; but he said nothing
about the fatal brawl at the smith's feast, nor of the sad songs of the
island-maiden and of the spirit of his mother.
Then the eldest brother remarked that they knew not what had become of
their mother, but their parents were no more, and they must shift for
themselves, so he proposed a trial to decide which of the three should
rule as king in the land. The second brother agreed, and the third
proposed that the trial should take place next day, and be decided
according to the will of Taara.
In the evening, before twilight had quite given way to night, the
youngest son took his handkerchief, which was wet with tears, and
climbed up his father's cairn. And his father asked from below:
"Who disturbs the sandy hillock,
With his feet the grave disturbing,
Stamping with his heels the gravel,
And the gravestone thus disturbing?"
The hero besought his father to rise up and stroke his hair and speak to
him; but his father answered that he had long lain in his grave; his
bones were decayed, and the grass and moss grew over him, and he could
not rise. Let the wind and the sun caress his son. The son answered that
the wind only blew sometimes, and the sun only shone by day, but Taara
lives for ever. And the father told him not to weep or grieve, for the
spirit of his dead father should follow him throughout his life, and
that the good gods would protect him even through the desert wastes of
the waters of the ocean; and he also counselled him to do his best to
atone for every fault and error.
[Footnote 46: The smith is sometimes called the uncle of Kalev; but the
term may only mean that he was an old friend.]
[Footnote 47: The cuckoo is a sacred bird, but more often alluded to in
Finnish than in Esthonian literature.]
CANTO VIII
THE CONTEST AND PARTING OF THE BROTHERS
On the following morning the three sons of Kalev set out before sunrise
towards the south; but they rested under the trees and took some
refreshment during the heat of the day. In the evening they passed a
house which was lighted up as if for company. The father and mother
stood at the door, and invited them to choose brides from among their
rich and beautiful daughters. The eldest brother answered that they were
not come to woo brides, and had no thought of marriage; but the second
brother said he should like the girls to come out to swing with them;
and they were forthwith summoned. Then the youngest brother said he
hoped the young ladies would not distress themselves, but really he and
his brothers had no idea of marrying at present, and they must beg to be
excused.
Then they continued their journey southwards, and on the third day they
reached a small lake with steep banks.[48] Water-birds were sporting in
the lake, and on the opposite shore they saw the holy forest of Taara
shining in the sunset. "Here is the place where our lot must be
decided," said the eldest brother; and each selected a stone for the
trial of strength. It was arranged that whoever should cast his stone
across the lake to the firm ground opposite should be adjudged his
father's heir, and the other two should wander forth to seek their
fortunes in other lands.
The eldest brother, in all friendliness, claimed his right to the first
trial, and cast his stone. It flew from his hand with the speed of a
bird or of the tempest, but suddenly changed its direction, and plunged
into the middle of the lake. The water foamed up over it, and entirely
concealed it from sight.
The second brother then seized his stone, and sent it whistling through
the air like an arrow. It rose up till it was nearly lost to sight, and
then turned and fell on the shore close to the water, where it sank for
half its bulk into the mud. Then came the turn of the third, who,
though the youngest, was much taller and stronger than his brothers.
The youngest brother made some sad reflections on his posthumous birth,
and on the course of his childhood, and then cast forth his rock like a
bird, or like a ship in a storm. It flew up far and high, but not up to
the clouds, like that cast by his brother, and afterwards made great
ducks and drakes across the whole lake, reaching at last the firm ground
beyond.
"Don't let us wait here," said the eldest brother, "but let us go and
look for the stones, and decide our competition." As the nearest way to
the opposite shore was through the lake, they waded straight across it,
and at the deepest place the water reached a little above their knees.
The stone cast by the eldest brother had disappeared entirely in the
water, and no trace of it could be found; but that thrown by the second
was found on the shore half sunken in the mud. Only the stone thrown by
the youngest brother, easily recognisable by its marks, was found on
firm ground, lying on the grass at some little distance beyond the lake.
Then the eldest brother declared that the gods had plainly assigned the
kingdom to the youngest, and that the others must now bathe him and
adorn him as king.[49] After this the three brothers took an
affectionate leave of each other, and the two elder ones wandered
cheerfully away. The youngest sat on the rock sadly reflecting on the
lost joys of youth, and how he must now depend on his own unaided
efforts. At length he threw a silver coin into the water as an offering
to the gods, an old custom now forgotten.
It was the duty of the new king both to plough the country and to defend
it, and he therefore set to work with his sword by his side. Early and
late he ploughed, stocking the country with corn, grass, trees, and
berries.
One hot noonday, seeing his white horse[50] nearly exhausted, he unyoked
him from the plough, hobbled him, and left him to graze, while he
himself lay down in the grass and fell asleep. His head rested on the
top of a hill, and his body and legs spread far over the plain below.
The sweat ran from his forehead and sank into the earth, whence arose a
healing and strengthening spring of wonderful virtues. Those who taste
the water of this spring are greatly strengthened; weak children grow
strong, the sick grow healthy; the water heals sore eyes, and even
blindness; the weary are refreshed, and the maidens who taste it have
rosy cheeks for their whole lifetime.
While the Kalevide lay asleep, he dreamed that he saw his good horse
torn to pieces by wolves. And truly the horse had strayed away to some
distance, when a host of wild animals, wolves, bears, and foxes, emerged
from the forest. As the horse's feet were hobbled, he could not escape,
and was soon overtaken. He defended himself as well as he could with
hoofs and head, and killed many of the beasts; but he was finally
overpowered by their ever-increasing numbers, and fell. Where he sank
the ground is hollow, and a number of little hills represent the wolves
killed in the struggle. The horse's blood formed a red lake, his liver a
mountain, his entrails a marsh, his bones hills, his hair rushes, his
mane bulrushes, and his tail hazel-bushes.[51]
[Footnote 48: This lake (Saad jaerv) lies a little north of Dorpat.]
[Footnote 49: Nothing is said as to how the government was carried on
during the Kalevide's minority.]
[Footnote 50: White horses constantly occur in Esthonian tales; and the
devil's mother or grandmother usually appears as a white mare. One of
the commentators remarks that as the white horse was sacred in
pre-Christian times, the missionaries represented it as peculiarly
diabolical. It will be remembered with what severity the early
missionaries suppressed the horse feasts among the Teutonic tribes.]
[Footnote 51: This is a little like the formation of the world from the
body of the giant Ymir, as described in the Edda. As W. Herbert
paraphrases it,
"Of his bones the rocks high swelling,
Of his flesh the globe is made,
From his veins the tide is welling,
And his locks are verdant shade."
"Helga" is a somewhat poor production, containing but few striking
passages except the description of the appearance of the Valkyrior
before the fight between Hialmar and Angantyr. But the shorter poems at
the end, "The Song of Vala" and "Brynhilda," ought to be alone
sufficient to remove the name of this forgotten poet from oblivion.]
CANTO IX
RUMOURS OF WAR
When the Kalevide awoke, he followed the traces of his horse till he
found the remains; and he secured the skin as a relic, cursing the
wolves, and then drew his sword, and rushed into the wood in pursuit of
them, breaking down the trees and bushes in his way, and destroying all
the wild beasts he met with, while those who could fled to distant
swamps and thickets. He would have utterly exterminated all the wolves
and bears, if the increasing darkness of night had not compelled him at
length to desist from further pursuit. He retired to the open country,
and being wearied out, lay down to sleep on the skin of the horse. But
he had scarcely closed his eyes before a messenger arrived from the
elders of Esthonia, announcing that war had broken out, and that a
hostile army was ravaging the country.
The Kalevide heard the long and woful story to an end, and then threw
himself down again to sleep off his weariness, when another messenger
arrived, whom he sharply upbraided for disturbing him.
The second messenger was a venerable old man with a white beard. He
saluted the king, and apologised for disturbing him, but reminded him
that when he was young the birds had sung to him that a ruler could know
no rest:
Heavy cares oppress the monarch,
And a weighty load the ruler;
Heavier yet a hero's burden:
Thousand duties wait the strongest;
More await the Kalevide!
He then spoke encouragingly to the king, assuring him that much would
result from all his labours for the good of his people. The Kalevide
answered that he would not shun toil and weariness, and would do his
best. The old man assured him that nothing could prosper without the aid
of the gods; and now the Kalevide recognised that Ukko himself spoke
with him. Then the god exhorted him not to quarrel with destiny, and
warned him to beware of his sword, for murder could only be atoned for
by murder, and he who had murdered an innocent man was never secure.
His voice died away in the wind, and the Kalevide sank into slumber till
dawn; and when he awoke he could only recall vague fragments of the long
discourse he had heard in his vision. He then gave the Esthonian
messenger directions for the conduct of the war, and especially the
defence of the coasts, asking to be particularly informed if the war
should spread farther and the need grow greater, and then he himself
would come at once; but he was compelled to rest a little from his
fatigues before he could take part in the war in person.
Here is inserted the grand ballad of the Herald of War, from Neus,
_Ehstnische Volkslieder_, p. 305. It is out of place in the
_Kalevipoeg_, but will be included in a later section of our work.
CANTO X
THE HEROES AND THE WATER-DEMON
As the Kalevide was wandering through Esthonia, he arrived one day at
the swamp of Kikerpaerae. Two demon brothers had settled themselves in the
swamp, and were fighting for its possession, and when the hero appeared
they referred their dispute to him. As he could not stay to attend to
the matter himself, he requested his friend, the son of Alev, who was
with him, to measure out the swamp fairly. So the Alevide began to drive
piles into the bed of the river at a place called Mustapall, to fasten
his measuring lines to, when the wretched old water-demon[52] raised his
head from the river, and asked what he was doing. The hero replied that
he was damming up the river; but the demon, who had lived under the
water for many years, and did not like to be turned out of his
comfortable home, offered him a reward to desist. So the Alevide asked
him to fill his old felt hat for him with bright silver coins; which he
promised to do on the morrow, the hero declaring that he would hold him
to his bargain in the words of the proverb:[53]
By the horns the ox we grapple,
By his word the man is fastened.
Then the demon dived back into the water, while the son of Alev, who was
a cousin of the Kalevide, got a friend to help him to dig a hole in the
ground during the night, a fathom in depth and broad at the bottom, but
with an opening at the top just wide enough for the top of the hat to
fit into; but the hat was cut at the sides, so that the heavy money
should fall through into the pit.
Before daybreak the stupid demon brought a lapful of roubles,[54] which
he poured into the hat. He brought a second and a third, and afterwards
brought money by the hogshead, but the hat still remained empty.
Presently his coffers, purses, and pockets were all exhausted. He then
begged for time; but the Alevide declared that if he did not keep his
promise, and fill his hat with bright silver coins, he should begin his
work again.
Then the demon thought of appealing to his mother to help him; but first
he asked the Alevide to come with him to receive his money himself,
hoping to circumvent him. But the hero knew that it was only a trick to
get him away from the hat, so he refused to budge, but sent the
Kalevide's cupbearer, the smallest of the company, to help to carry the
money.
The boy was ready at once; but his heart failed him as the demon
preceded him to the under-world,[55] leading him by paths that no living
man had ever trodden before, and through an utterly unknown country,
where the sun and moon never shone, and where the only light came from
the torches that flared on both sides of their way. When they reached
the palace of the demon, his sons came to the door, and invited the
guest to take his place at the table, which was loaded with gold and
silver plate, and eat and drink. But the boy could touch nothing from
terror, for sparks of fire flew from the dishes and viands, and blue
flames played over the beakers.
Then the water-demons began to titter, and to whisper to each other in
their own language, which sounded just like Lettish,[56] and which their
guest could not understand. The boy began to reproach his avaricious
friend in his thoughts for having thus sent him to Porgu without
thinking of what might happen to him; but presently the younger demons
seized upon him, and began to toss him from one to another like a ball,
sometimes from one side of the room to the other, and sometimes up to
the ceiling.
The boy begged them to let him rest a little, and presently they allowed
him to do so. Then he drew a cord from his pocket, and pretended to
measure the length and breadth of the room. Presently he came to the
door, and seized the opportunity to bolt, and was fortunate enough to
make his way back to daylight, where the demon had no more power to
interfere with him.
As he passed the gates, the guards whispered to him to turn to the right
to avoid the many snares in his path. He did not escape without a good
fright; for only strong men can go where they please, like the birds,
while the weak man is exposed to a thousand terrors. On the boy's way he
met a small bitch[57] accompanied by two puppies; and this was the
mother of the demons, just returning from the bath-house. The boy now
remembered the warning he had received, and turned aside to the right,
and the three ran past without noticing him.
When the boy reached the place where he had left the Alevide, he found
that both his friend and the money had disappeared. Presently the
water-demon came up, and asked him jestingly whether he had burnt
himself, or whether he had been stung by a gadfly, that he ran away like
that, instead of helping him to carry the heavy money-bags. He then
proposed that they should look for a good place where they might
wrestle. He thought he could easily overcome the boy by strength, if not
by craft, and the boy consented.
Before they had gone far, they met the sons of Kalev and Alev, who had
hidden their treasure, walking arm-in-arm. The Kalevide asked, "Whence
did you bring that Lettish comrade, and to what queer race does he
belong?" His cousin answered that he was the same who had promised to
fill his hat with silver, and hadn't kept his word. Then the boy said
that they were going to engage in a contest, and the Kalevide answered,
"You must grow a little taller, my lad, before you engage in a serious
struggle, for you are only a child at present."
So the Kalevide, laughing, stuck the boy in his trouser-pocket to grow,
and took over the challenge himself, and they all went to a mountain
where the contest was to take place; and first they began with hurling
stones. The demon took up a rock, which he balanced for an hour in his
clumsy fingers, and at last swung it round more than ten times before he
loosed it. The stone fell ten paces from the sandy shore of Lake Virts,
and it lies there now, conspicuous by its size, for it is at least as
big as a bath-house.
Then the Kalevide took up a rock in his hand, and threw it without more
ado. They heard it rushing through the air for a long time, and at last
it fell on the shore of Lake Peipus, and any one who visits the lake can
see it there. Then they engaged in a wrestling match, and the Kalevide
soon lifted the demon from his feet and flung him into the air. When he
came to the ground, he rolled seven versts, and then fell down a little
hill among the bushes, where he lay stunned for seven days, hardly able
to open his eyes or lift his head, or even to move a limb.
At this the Kalevide and his companions laughed till the hills shook,
and the cup-bearer loudest of all. Then the Alevide told his story; but
when he came to mention the proverb, it reminded the son of Kalev that
he had not yet paid the debt which he owed to the smith in Finland for
his sword. So the Kalevide asked his cousin to take the goods across to
Finland, and he himself laid down to rest under a tree, and pondered on
how he could provide for the safety of the people during the war. He
decided to improve and beautify the towns as well as to fortify them,
and to make an excursion to survey the country while his cousin was away
in Finland. Presently the Kalevide felt in his pocket, and pulled out
the boy, with whom he began to jest; but soon their conversation became
more serious, and the Kalevide ordered him to wait for the expected
messengers, while he himself should proceed to Lake Peipus, where he had
important business.
As the Kalevide proceeded on his journey, he passed a well in a lonely
place, where the Air-Maiden,[58] the fair daughter of the Thunder-God,
sat bewailing the loss of her ring, which had dropped into it.[59] When
the hero saw the blue-eyed, golden-haired maiden in tears, he asked the
cause of her trouble, and when he heard it he plunged into the well to
look for the ring. A party of young sorcerers quickly gathered round,
thinking that the mouse was in the trap, and they flung a great
millstone after him. But he searched in the mud and water for some time,
and presently sprang out of the water with the millstone on his finger,
which he offered to the maiden, saying that he had not been able to find
anything else in the mud, and that she would not need a larger
finger-ring.
[Footnote 52: The Esthonian demons are often represented as contemptible
creatures, very easily outwitted. Later in the present canto the
personage in question is distinctly called a water-demon.]
[Footnote 53: A common proverb in Esthonian tales. We also find it in
Italian, in almost the same words.]
[Footnote 54: The money is sometimes called roubles, and sometimes
thalers.]
[Footnote 55: Visits to Hades or Hell (Porgu) are common in the
_Kalevipoeg_ and in the popular tales, some of which we shall afterwards
notice.]
[Footnote 56: The term "Lett," which the Kalevide himself afterwards
applies to the demon, seems to be used in contempt; otherwise the
passage in the text might have been taken as equivalent to our
old-fashioned expression, "It's all Greek to me."]
[Footnote 57: Usually the devil's mother (or grandmother) is represented
as a white mare. Compare Canto 14 of the _Kalevipoeg_, and also the
story of the Grateful Prince.]
[Footnote 58: This Air-Maiden, who seems to be only a mischievous
sprite, must not be confounded with Ilmatar, the creatrix of the world
in the first Runo of the _Kalevala_.]
[Footnote 59: Finn, the Irish hero, was once entrapped by a sorceress on
a similar pretext into plunging into an enchanted lake, which changed
him into an old man. (See Joyce's _Old Celtic Romances_, "The Chase of
Slieve Cullin.") The story is also related in one of Kenealy's
ballads.]
CANTO XI
THE LOSS OF THE SWORD
Next morning the Kalevide arose at dawn, and hurried on towards Lake
Peipus, clearing and levelling the country as he went. When he arrived
at the lake, there was no boat to be seen; so he girded himself, and
plunged into it at a point where it was too wide to see the opposite
shore, while the fish fled before him as he waded through.
On the shore opposite, a hideous sorcerer was hiding in the bushes. He
was as bristly as a wild boar, with wide mouth and small oblique
eyes.[60] He was well skilled in all magic; he could make the wind blow
from any quarter, could remove ill from one man to cast it on another,
and could cause quarrels between the best friends. He had evil demons at
his beck and call; but for all that, he could cure all hurts and
diseases when he pleased. But to-day he was in a bad humour, and blew a
tremendous storm against the son of Kalev. Presently he saw a human form
struggling through the waters, which reached to his girdle. Even at four
or five miles' distance the figure seemed as large as a man, and he
appeared to be heavily laden. Sometimes the water hid him from view, but
as he came nearer the form became ever huger and more terrible.
The Kalevide laughed at the raging storm, and said to the lake, "You
nasty little puddle, you're wetting my girdle." He had taken scarcely an
hour in his passage, when he reached the firm ground, carrying a load of
planks which a horse or a pair of oxen could hardly have dragged along.
He had brought them from Pleskau to build a refuge for his people; over
twenty dozen planks, three inches thick, an ell broad, and ten yards
long. He drew his sword to trim the timber, and the sorcerer determined
to reward himself for his late exertions in raising the tempest by
possessing himself of it; but this was not the time for action, and he
slunk deeper into the shades of the forest.
The Kalevide was tired with his journey, and found a level place some
little distance from the shore, so he brought a lapful of shingle from
the beach and a quantity of sand, and made himself a comfortable bed in
a dry spot. Then he refreshed himself with bread and milk from his
wallet, loosed his girdle, laid his sword beside him, and soon fell
asleep, with his head to the west and his feet to the east, that the
first rays of the morning sun might shine in his eyes and awaken him.
Presently the ground shook, and the woods re-echoed, and the billows of
the lake rose in answer to his snoring, which sounded like the
Thunder-God driving three-in-hand through the clouds.
The sorcerer now stole from his hiding-place, and advanced towards the
sleeping giant with catlike steps; but he tried in vain to steal the
good sword from its master's side by his incantations. Neither commands
nor supplications would avail, and he was forced to use stronger spells.
So he scattered rowan-leaves, thyme, fern, and other magic herbs over
the sword, and at last it inclined towards the sorcerer, and he took it
in his arms. The huge weapon weighed him to the ground, and he was only
able to struggle along painfully under its weight, step by step, with
the sweat pouring from his face; but still he would not relinquish his
booty. Presently he came to the brook Kaepae, and jumped over it; but the
sword slipped from his arm, and sank in the mud in the deepest place. He
renewed his incantations, but was now quite unable to repossess himself
of the sword, and on the approach of dawn he fled into the forest, to
hide from the vengeance of its owner.
When the Kalevide awoke, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and felt
for his sword, but it had disappeared. He could see its traces where it
had been dragged away, and he followed on its track, calling to the
sword as to a brother, and beseeching it to answer him, and not to let
him search in vain. But there was no reply, and then he tried a song,
but still there was no reply, and he searched everywhere for the sword,
till at last he saw it shining at the bottom of the water.
Then the Kalevide asked the sword who had stolen it and sunk it in the
water, and the sword sang in reply how the sorcerer had carried it off,
and how it had slipped from his grasp into the water, into the embraces
of the fairest of the water-nymphs. The Kalevide answered, "Does my
sword prefer to lie in the arms of a water-nymph rather than to feel the
grasp of a hero in battle?" The sword reminded the Kalevide of the
terrible murder in Finland, which it declared it could never forget, and
the hero abandoned the weapon to its sweet repose, saying that he relied
on his own strength to overcome his enemies in battle. But he laid his
commands on the sword that if any heroes of his race, Kalevides,
Alevides, or Sulevides, should come to the spot, then the sword should
address them in words. If a great singer came, the sword was to sing to
him; if a hero as brave and as strong as the Kalevide himself should
come to the brook, then the sword was to rise from its bed and join him;
but if the man himself who had brought the sword there should come that
way, then the sword was to cut off both his feet.
By this he meant the sorcerer, but he expressed himself ambiguously.
The son of Kalev then left the brook, took the boards on his back, and
set out for home. On his journey he passed through a pine forest which
belonged to men, a leafy forest sacred to women, and a hazel thicket,
the last refuge of the maidens, the orphans, and the sick. Here his foot
touched something soft, which he found to be a man of about the stature
of our present race, who was quaking with fear and besought his
protection. The Kalevide took him up kindly by the hair, and dropped him
into his wallet, where he fell as down a deep precipice, till he came to
a stop among the bread and herrings at the bottom. Then the hero asked
him what had frightened him so much.
Up from the bottom of the bag came a voice like the croaking of
a frog from the bottom of a deep well, and this was the man's
story:--"Yesterday evening I was wandering on the shores of Lake Peipus,
and lost my way. Presently I came to a footpath which led me to a poor
hut, where I thought to find a night's lodging. I came into a great
empty room, where an old woman was standing by the hearth preparing
supper. She was cooking half a pig in a great pot with peas, and kindly
gave me a cupful, but told me to eat my supper quick. As soon as I had
finished, she told me to hide among the straw which she had laid under
the table, and to lie as still as a mouse, for if I only moved a finger
after her sons returned, they would be sure to kill me. I thanked the
good old woman, and crept into the straw, where three men could easily
have hidden themselves; and I hoped to sleep. But presently I heard
steps approaching which shook the house; and whether or not it was my
fear that makes me think so, I fancy, noble scion of the Kalevides, that
even your heavy tread never made such a noise.
"The two brothers rushed into the room like wild bears, and one of them
sniffed about the room and said, 'Mother, who has been here? I smell
man's sweat.' 'Nobody has even been near the house to-day, my son,'
answered the old woman. 'If you smell anything, you must have brought
the smell with you from out of doors.'
"Then she gave them their supper, and they ate as much as would have
satisfied fifty of our race, and left something over. Then they laid
themselves down on the hard floor, one on each side the table, while the
old woman crept cautiously up the ladder to her couch above the stove.
"Poor wretch that I am! if I had ever expected to find myself in such a
position, I would rather have drowned myself in the lake or thrown
myself over a precipice. I could not sleep a wink all night, and when
the old woman opened the door in the morning I crept behind her, and
fled through two woods till I reached the third, where you found me."
This was the poor man's story, and the Kalevide laughed heartily at the
recital.
[Footnote 60: This is a well-known Mongol characteristic; and it is
rather oddly attributed by Arabic writers to the Jinn. "Two of them
appeared in the form and aspect of the Jarm, each with one eye slit
endlong, and jutting horns and projecting tusks."--Story of
Tohfat-el-Kulub (_Thousand and One Nights_, Breslau edition).]
CANTO XII
THE FIGHT WITH THE SORCERER'S SONS
As the Kalevide proceeded on his way, carrying his heavy load of planks,
the sorcerer's three sons rushed upon him from an ambush close to a high
waterfall which foams over steep rocks. He had been walking quietly
along, and the man in his wallet had fallen comfortably asleep. The
villains sprang upon the hero from behind, armed with slender young
birch-trees and dry pine-trunks. Two of them carried long whips, the
handle formed of strong beech-wood, and the lash armed with a great
millstone, with which they belaboured the hero unmercifully. He had just
armed himself with a huge club, in case he should be assaulted in
passing through the wood. It was a great pine-trunk from which he had
broken the crown. It was five-and-thirty ells long, and two feet thick
at the thick end, and with this he could defend himself as with a
sword.
The Kalevide tried at first to remonstrate with his assailants, but as
they continued to annoy him he rushed upon them with his club. The pine
club was soon splintered, the fragments flying in all directions, and
then the Kalevide defended himself with the planks which he was
carrying, and at every blow he smashed one on the backs of his enemies.
Presently his load was nearly exhausted, and the sorcerer's sons, hoping
now for an easy victory, pressed him more hardly, when suddenly he heard
a little voice crying from the bushes, "Dear son of Kalev, strike them
with the edges!"[61] The hero at once took the hint, and, instead of
striking with the flat side of the planks, began to strike with the
sharp edges, and his enemies soon fled before him, howling like wolves.
If the savages had not been thoroughly hardened by long exposure to heat
and cold by day and night, he would have left them dead on the field.
The Kalevide sat down to rest after the battle, and called to his dear
brother, who had aided him, to show himself. But his friend answered
that he could not venture out into the open, for he was only a poor
naked little hedgehog. So the hero called to him to come, and he would
clothe him. The hedgehog crept out of his warm nest, naked and
shivering, and the hero cut a piece from the lining of his own coat, and
gave it to the hedgehog, who joyfully wrapped himself in the warm
covering. But the piece was not large enough to cover him entirely, and
his legs and belly remained naked as before.
The Kalevide now wanted to sleep, but he was in the midst of a swamp. He
therefore fetched a load of sand from the distant sandhills, to make
himself a bed. He then felt into his bag for something to eat, when his
thumb came against the cold stiff body of his little friend, who had
been killed in his sleep by a chance blow during the fight, without
having had time to cry out or move a limb. He was much grieved at the
untimely death of his _protege_, and dug him a grave with his own hands,
round which he planted berry-bearing bushes. Then he ate his supper and
fell asleep, to dream of the events of the past day.
While he was asleep, the sorcerer himself crept to his side, and by his
spells and incantations, and the use of magic herbs, threw him into a
deep slumber, which lasted for days and nights. Presently a messenger
came in haste to summon the king, and the cup-bearer directed him to
Lake Peipus; but no one had seen or heard anything of him.
On a fine summer's day, the people flocked from all parts of the country
to the sacred hill of Taara for a great festival, and as yet there came
no news of the king. Summer faded into autumn, and the Kalevide still
slept on, but he was dreaming of a new sword, much better than the uncle
of his father Kalev had forged for him, which was forged in an
underground smithy.
This sword had been forged by the pupils of Ilmarine[62] in a workshop
in the interior of a great mountain at the middle point of the earth,
the peak of which was lost in the clouds. Seven strong smiths wrought it
with copper hammers, the handles of which were of silver, and one of
their company turned it on the fire or laid it on the anvil with tongs
of the purest silver, while Ilmarine himself watched every stroke of the
hammers.
Presently a young man entered, pale and covered with blood, and he only
touched his cap without further salutation, and cried out to the workmen
not to waste the sword on the murderous son of Kalev, who could slay his
best friends in his rage. The Kalevide tried to cry out that it was
false, but the son of the old Tuehja[63] oppressed him with a nightmare,
and he could not utter a word; he felt as if a mountain lay upon his
breast, and the sweat ran from his face.
On the following morning the Kalevide awoke from his sleep. He knew that
the vision of the smithy was a dream, but he was not aware that he had
slept for seven weeks without intermission. He found that his planks
were nearly all destroyed, and determined to fetch a fresh load from
Pleskau.
When he came to the lake, he heard a boy shouting for help. It was a
herd-boy, whose favourite lamb was being carried off by a wolf. He
killed the wolf with a stone,[64] and then stood by the lake considering
what to do next. Presently he decided to build a bridge across the
"puddle;" and built it out into the lake for perhaps a couple of miles,
when a great storm arose and swept away the unfinished structure. When
he saw his work destroyed, he said, "Why didn't I wade straight through,
as I did before, instead of wasting my time like this?" So he caught a
supply of crayfish, which he roasted and ate, and then set out on his
journey through the water.
On the shores of Lake Peipus lived a poor orphan boy, who had lost all
dear to him by famine, pestilence, and war, and who was now compelled to
slave as herd-boy for a hard mistress,[65] and to mind the children as
well as to look after the sheep and goats. He sang sad songs, till at
length the wood-nymph took compassion on him, and sang to him one
evening from the summit of an oak-tree, telling him that good luck would
be his in the morning. Next morning he found a lark's egg hidden among
leaves, which he hid in his bosom next his heart wrapped in wool and a
strip of linen. A mouse was hatched from it, which he fostered in the
same way till it became a kitten, a puppy, a lamb, and at length a
sheep[66] with fine white wool, and the sheep was so dear to the boy
that he left off weeping and lamenting, and always felt happy and
contented, though his lot was still a hard one.
[Footnote 61: This reminds us of the help given to Hiawatha by the
woodpecker during his fight with Megissogwun; but the one incident can
hardly be copied from the other. _Hiawatha_ was published some years
before the _Kalevipoeg_.]
[Footnote 62: This is the only passage in the _Kalevipoeg_ in which one
of the heroes of the _Kalevala_ is personally introduced.]
[Footnote 63: Emptiness; probably the Contemptible One; a name often
used for one of the principal demons.]
[Footnote 64: The rock is still shown, bearing the imprints of the
hero's fingers, each cleft large enough to hold a man.]
[Footnote 65: This was the fate of Kullervo himself in the _Kalevala_.
Orphans, for whom much sympathy is expressed, constantly appear in
Esthonian tales. Compare p. 236 of the present volume.]
[Footnote 66: We have a similar series of transformations (mouse, cat,
dog, ass, buffalo) in the story of Noor Ed-Deen and Shes Ed-Deen in the
_Thousand and One Nights_.]
CANTO XIII
THE KALEVIDE'S FIRST JOURNEY TO HADES
On the Kalevide's homeward journey he slept for a night at the place
where his sword had been stolen, and set out early next morning, making
his way through bush and brake. He walked on till sunset with his load
of planks without stopping to rest, and then ate his supper and prepared
himself a bed of sand as usual. When he awoke in the morning, a magpie
informed him for the first time that the sorcerer had kept him in a
magic sleep for seven weeks, and he quickened his pace. But when he
reached Lake Ilma he found it, to his disgust, too deep to wade through,
and he was compelled to go round it.
Presently he encountered an old witch, a relative of the sorcerer who
had done him so much harm already, sitting among the bushes and singing
magic songs. The hero stopped to rest himself, for the day was very
warm, and listened to her song, which was a long charm against
snake-bites. Then he walked on till noon, when he took a siesta,
breaking down trees of all kinds to make himself a couch. Afterwards he
turned to the left in the direction of Lake Endla, and towards evening
he came to the entrance of a cavern, before which a great fire was
burning. A huge caldron hung over it by heavy iron chains, just opposite
the entrance to the cavern, and three fellows were standing round, who
grinned and whispered to each other as the stranger approached.
The Kalevide threw down the planks and asked the men what they had got
in the caldron, and whether they were getting ready for a feast or a
wedding. They replied that the caldron cooked for everybody, and that
when they made a feast they killed a great ox. It took a hundred men to
kill it, five hundred to bleed it, and a thousand to cleanse it.[67] But
to-day they were only cooking for poor people; only half an elk, the
ribs of an old boar, the lungs and liver of a bear, the suet of a young
wolf, the hide of an old bear, and an egg from an eagle's nest. Old
Sarvik[68] and the old mother were to dine from it; the cat and dog were
to get their share, and the rest was to be divided among the cooks and
workmen; but the old mother was going to bake cakes for the young
ladies' dinner.
The Kalevide expressed his disgust at such cookery, but they told him it
was good enough for witches and sorcerers, and he then asked them to
show him the way to their master's house, as he wished to pay his
respects to the family. They warned him that he might not escape easily;
but as he persisted, they directed him to the cavern, which he
immediately entered, while the demons laughed, saying that the bear had
fallen into the trap and the lion[69] into the net, and that he was
carrying his hide to market for nothing.
The cave was so dark and narrow that the hero soon found himself obliged
to creep on all fours, and to grope his way. At last he perceived a
faint light at a distance, and the cavern enlarged so much that he could
now stand upright again.
Where the roof rose highest, a heavy lamp hung by chains from the
ceiling, and beyond it were great folding-doors. On each side stood a
jar, one filled with a liquid as white as milk, and the other with a
liquid as black as pitch. Inside he could hear maidens spinning and
singing,[70] lamenting the happiness of their former lives, and hoping
that some deliverer might appear. Then he strove to force the door, but
it resisted all his efforts, so he sang a song in his softest tones,
telling how he had encountered four fair maidens gathering flowers in
the woods. The maidens sang back that he had come at a good time, for
all the family were out, and they directed him to dip his hands in the
dark liquid, which would give him magic strength; but if he wished to
moderate his strength, then to dip his hands in the white liquid, for
the dark liquid would give him strength to dash everything to pieces.
The hero dipped his hands in the dark liquid, and felt his strength
redoubled. He pushed against the door again, and the door and door-posts
too came thundering to the ground. The maidens fled into the adjoining
room, crying out to him not to approach them till he had dipped his
hands in the white liquid, which would remove the enchantment. He
laughed, and, notwithstanding their entreaties, followed them into the
next room, where he saw a naked sword, a small willow wand, and a ragged
old hat hanging on the wall. "Look," cried he joyfully, "this is the
sword which I saw forged for me in my dream!"
"Beware," said one of the maidens, "do not touch that sword, for it
belongs to Sarvik; but take the rod and the hat, for they are yours, and
you can work any wonders with them. Swords you can only obtain from the
smith himself."
But the Kalevide answered that he could have his will without the
wishing-rod and cap, which were only fit for witches and wizards. So the
maiden, who was anxious to convince him of the value of the treasures
which he despised, took down the hat from its peg. It was made of the
cuttings of finger-nails,[71] and she declared that there was not
another like it in the world, for it could fulfil every desire of its
possessor. So she put it on her head and said--
"Raise thee, raise thee, golden[72] maiden,
Blue-eyed maiden, raise thee, raise thee,
Like unto the son of Kalev,
Like unto thy friend in stature."
She began at once to grow taller, ell after ell, till she grew fully as
tall as the son of Kalev himself.
Then the Kalevide took the hat from her head and set it on his own,
wishing to become as small as she had been. His stature immediately
sank, ell after ell, till he was reduced to the size of an ordinary
man.[73] The young giantess took back the hat, and wished to resume her
former stature, which accordingly befell.
The Kalevide then said to the maiden that he would willingly remain a
little boy that day for her sake, but he was now anxious to keep the
hat, that he might at once resume his own stature and strength in case
of any sudden and unexpected danger. They sang and danced and sported to
their heart's content, and the maiden called her second sister, whose
duty it was to polish the gold, silver, and copper ware; and her third
sister, who tended the geese on the common; and the sisters locked and
bolted the kitchen door, for fear the old woman should hear the noise
and come to disturb their merriment.
The maidens were delighted, for though the Kalevide declared that he
could not think of marrying a wife himself, he would deliver them from
Hades next day, and would marry one to the son of Alev, one to the son
of Sulev, and one to the cup-bearer.[74] So they played all sorts of
games; the falcon-game, in which the hero was the falcon, and they were
the birds; kiss-in-the-ring, blind man's buff, &c. But whatever they
played at, the hero always got the best of the game. When they were
tired of this amusement, they put out all the lights.
[Footnote 67: We meet with this big ox elsewhere in the _Kalevipoeg_
(Canto 19), as well as in the _Kalevala_, Runo 20.]
[Footnote 68: Old Hornie, the name of the ruler of Porgu (Hell).]
[Footnote 69: The word used for lion is "_lowi_," undoubtedly derived
from the German. The Finns generally call the lion "_jalopeura_," which
also denotes the lynx.]
[Footnote 70: Compare the story of the Gold Spinners.]
[Footnote 71: We meet with a similar hat in other stories. Many
Esthonians and Lithuanians still hide their nail-parings as carefully as
possible, or else make a cross over them lest the devil should find them
and use them to make a wishing-hat. Can this hat have any connection
with the white straw hat of the devil in a Deptford rhyme?--Gomme's
_Traditional Games_, I. p. 4. In the Edda, we are told that Naglfar, the
largest ship in the world, which is to bring the giants to the fight at
Ragnaroek, is similarly constructed, and as both gods and men wish that
it should be completed as late as possible, every one should be very
careful not to die with unpared nails, lest he should supply materials
for its construction.]
[Footnote 72: Golden is often used in Finnish and Esthonian, as in many
other languages, as a term of endearment.]
[Footnote 73: The maidens were afterwards married to the relatives of
the Kalevide, giants like himself, and are described as walking
arm-in-arm with them, nothing being then said of any difference in their
stature.]
[Footnote 74: This reminds us of a well-known feudal custom, more
honoured in the breach than in the observance, which also prevailed
among the old kings of Scotland for several reigns. The second sister
was ultimately married, not to the cup-bearer, but to the son of Olev.]
CANTO XIV
THE PALACE OF SARVIK
The sisters were sorry to see the dawn of day, though they were no
longer obliged to spin and weave, for the old woman was locked up in the
kitchen, and could not interfere with them. That day they amused
themselves by showing their guest all over the house, and all the
treasure-chambers, but they blushed and dropped their eyes whenever he
looked at themselves.
Presently they passed through a stone door into a stone gallery,
likewise paved with stone, and after passing through it for some little
distance, arrived at a room in which the walls and furniture were wholly
of iron. "This," said the eldest sister, "is the room of old Sarvik,
where his men-servants assemble and work or amuse themselves, and where
they are sometimes tortured in all sorts of ways."
They left this room through an iron archway which opened into a gallery
of iron, which they followed for some distance till they reached a
second room, entirely of copper, and with copper furniture. "This," said
the eldest sister again, "is old Sarvik's room, where the maids assemble
to work or amuse themselves, and where, too, they are punished and
tormented."
From this room they passed through a copper archway into a copper
gallery, which led them presently to a third room of silver, with silver
furniture and fittings, and the chests in the corners were filled with
silver coins. Then said the second sister, "This is old Sarvik's room,
where he spends most of his time, and where he sleeps and refreshes
himself."
They passed from this room into a silver gallery, which led them into a
room of gold, with gold fittings and furniture, and the chests in the
corners were filled with gold coins. "This," said the second sister
again, "is old Sarvik's room, where he feasts and amuses himself. I was
busy yesterday for hours sweeping this room and polishing up all the
gold."
From this room they went through a golden gallery to a fifth chamber,
which was of silk, and everything in it was silk. The walls were hung
with silken raiment, and the chests in the corners were filled with
silken stuffs. "This," said the youngest sister, "is the maidens' room,
where they deck themselves out in silk on gala days."
They passed through a silken gallery into a chamber of satin, of which
she gave a similar explanation. From this they passed to a lace chamber,
where the little girls decked themselves out.
The lace gallery from this room led them out into the enclosure, which
was paved with silver coins instead of grass.
Round the court stood seven storehouses, the first composed of a single
block of granite, the second of plates of iron, the third of hens' eggs,
the fourth of goose-eggs, the fifth of polished quartz, the sixth of the
finest eagles' eggs, and the seventh of eggs of the Siuru.[75]
The barns were filled respectively with rye, barley, oats, wheat,
maize, vegetables, and the last with lumps of lard and tallow.
At the back of the enclosure stood cattle-stalls, constructed of all
sorts of bones.
The Kalevide did not care to look at these things long, but asked the
sisters to tell him all they could about Sarvik.
"We can't tell you anything about his birth and parentage," answered the
eldest sister. "We don't know if a bear was his father and a wolf his
mother, or whether a mare suckled him and a goat rocked him in the
cradle.
"He has large estates, which occupy much of his time, and he makes long
journeys secretly in an incredibly short time; but no one has seen or
heard which way he goes or what places he visits. Everybody can see him
going out and coming in, but nothing further is known about his
movements. It is said that there is a vast space in the centre of the
earth where he rules over seven worlds; seven islands, very thickly
populated with the souls of the departed, where they live in large
villages, and are subject to old Sarvik, as the wisdom of Taara has
decreed from the beginning of the world.
"Sarvik rules his subjects with great severity; but once a year, on All
Souls' Day, they are permitted to revisit their homes, to see and salute
their friends and relatives. They rush up in shoals, on these occasions,
to the places which they once inhabited in joy or grief; but as soon as
their time is over they are compelled to return, each to his own
dwelling."
The second sister added, "Old Sarvik selects his workmen and maids from
this kingdom, and they are forced to follow him, and perform hard tasks
for him in the iron and copper chambers; and if they fail in anything,
they are beaten with bars of iron and rods of copper.
"This is Sarvik's abode, where he lives with his wife, and rests and
refreshes himself, and sleeps on soft pillows, when he is tired with
long journeys and knocking about. Then the old woman heats the bath for
him, and whisks his back and shoulders with the bath-whisk.[76]
"Sometimes he makes a great feast for his friends and relatives, when
they shout and drink beer till they are tipsy. His brother-in-law is
Tuehi,[77] his mother is the bitch of Porgu, and his grandmother is the
white mare."[78]
"We expect him back this evening from the upper world, for he does not
like to stay where the sun shines by day and the moon and stars by
night. But when he has anything to do in the under world, he stays away
from home for days and weeks together."
The third sister added, "Noble scion of the Kalevides, if Sarvik found
you among us here unawares, it would surely be your death, for no one
who passes the threshold of his abode ever sees the sun again. We, poor
creatures, were carried away as children from a country a thousand
versts distant, and have had to do the hardest work early and late. But
Taara mercifully decreed that we should always retain our youth as long
as we retained our innocence."
"But what avails it," interrupted the eldest sister, "when we are cut
off from all pleasure and happiness?"
Then the son of Kalev soothed and comforted them, assuring them that he
was strong enough to rescue them. He would fight Sarvik himself, and
overcome the old woman too. The eldest sister answered that if he really
wished to fight with Sarvik, he must make use of the rod and the hat;
for strength and bravery would avail nothing against Sarvik, who had
thousands of allies at his beck and call, and was lord of the winds and
of all kinds of magic spells.
But the Kalevide only laughed, and declared that he had fought with a
whole host of demons in Finland. Then the second sister implored him to
escape while there was yet time, and to wish himself away with the
wishing-hat; for as soon as Sarvik returned, all the doors would fly
back to their places behind him, and escape would become impossible. The
hero laughed again, proud of his strength, and the sisters, greatly
distressed, consulted how they could help him in spite of himself, by
some artifice.
Two glasses stood by Sarvik's bed, half filled with a magic liquor that
looked like beer. They looked just alike, but the liquor on the right
hand gave the strength of ten oxen, while that on the left produced
corresponding weakness. The eldest sister hastened to change these
glasses, while the second secured the wishing-rod.
As they returned, they heard the heavy footsteps of Sarvik approaching,
and the youngest sister again implored the hero to fly before it was too
late. Sarvik approached with a noise like hundreds of cavalry prancing
over a bridge, or heavy iron waggons thundering along a copper roadway.
The earth quaked and the cavern shook under his steps, but the hero
stood at the entrance:
Like the oak-tree in the tempest,
Or the red glow 'mid the cloudlets,
Or the rock amid a hailstorm,
Or a tower in windy weather.
Presently Sarvik dashed open the last door with a blow of his fist, and
stopped, confronting the intruder. The sisters shrank back pale and
trembling, but the Kalevide stood beside them, with the hat in his hand,
and apparently no taller than themselves. Sarvik asked who he was, and
how he came to throw himself into the trap; but the hero at once
challenged him to wrestle, and he accepted the challenge. Then Sarvik
advanced to the bed, not knowing that the glasses had been changed, and
drained the water of weakness to the very bottom. Meantime the Kalevide
concealed the magic hat in his bosom, so that he could at once resume
his former strength and stature in case of need.
The combatants then went to the enclosure to wrestle, but Sarvik sent
the eldest sister to the iron room to fetch a double chain with which
the victor might bind his conquered foe. Meantime the wrestling-place
was marked off with posts, so that all might be fair.
Now they rushed upon each other, and struggled together like waves in a
tempest or roofs in a storm. The whole underground kingdom trembled, the
palace walls cracked and their foundations heaved, the arches bowed and
the roof began to totter. The contest remained long undecided, but when
they paused to rest, the Kalevide drew out the hat, and wished to resume
his former size and strength. He grew up at once, as strong as an
oak-tree and as tall as a pine. He grasped Sarvik by the hair, raised
him up ten fathoms, and then rammed him into the ground like a pointed
stake, first to the calves, then to the knees, and then to the loins, so
that he could not move. He then grasped the chain to bind him, but
suddenly Sarvik grew smaller and smaller, and finally sank into the
ground out of sight, like a stone in a swamp.
The Kalevide shouted after him, upbraiding him for a coward, and
threatened to follow him up and fetter him some other day; but his
present care was to release the sisters from their long captivity. So he
seized and girded on the sword, took a load of old treasures, and many
bags full of gold coins, and barrels full of silver money. All this he
took on his shoulders and mounted the three sisters on the top. Then he
put on the hat, and cried out, "Hat, carry us quickly to the entrance
gate, where I left the planks." He found himself there at once, but the
cooks and the kettle had disappeared, and nothing was left behind but
the ashes of the fire, in which a few dying embers still remained. These
the hero fanned into a flame, into which he contemptuously tossed the
hat, which was immediately consumed.
The sisters began to cry, and reproached him with having destroyed a hat
which had not its equal on earth or in Porgu, and said that all hope was
now at an end. But the hero comforted them, telling them that it was no
time for lamentation, for the summer was at its loveliest, and they
should soon find themselves in full possession of all the pleasures of
life, from which they had been so long debarred. So he took the planks
on his back, piled all his booty upon them, and then invited the sisters
to take their place again on the top of all. Before their departure, the
sisters had also provided themselves with good store of rich clothing
from the silk and satin chambers, while the youngest had secured the
wishing-rod in case of need.
Notwithstanding his load, the Kalevide ran on as if his feet were
burning, while the sisters jested and laughed and sang.
[Footnote 75: A mythical blue bird, the daughter of Taara. Two songs
respecting her will be found in another part of the book. Reinthal
improperly translates the word "griffin." "Phoenix" or "Seemurgh"
would have been a more appropriate rendering.]
[Footnote 76: These bath-whisks, which are dried birch-twigs with the
leaves left on, are often alluded to in the _Kalevala_.]
[Footnote 77: Or Tuehja. See _ante_, p. 84.]
[Footnote 78: Compare Canto 10 of the _Kalevipoeg_, and the story of the
Grateful Prince, as well as _ante_, p. 58 note. Sarvik seems to have
belonged to the same family as the water-demon who was tricked by the
Alevide in Canto 10.]
CANTO XV
THE MARRIAGE OF THE SISTERS
The Kalevide had not gone far on his homeward journey when he found that
Tuehi himself was pursuing him with a band of his followers. Then the
youngest sister took the wishing-rod, and called upon it to flood the
whole country, a bridge rising before them for the hero, while water
flowed behind between him and his enemies. The demons stopped in
confusion, and Tuehi shouted to the Kalevide to ask if he was carrying
off his adopted daughters? "It looks like it," answered the hero.[79]
Then Tuehi asked again, "Dear brother, did you wrestle with my good
brother-in-law in his own enclosure, and then drive him into the ground
like a post?" "Likely enough," retorted the hero; "but it's not my fault
if his bones are still sound." Then the demon asked again, "My dear
brother, son of Kalev, did you lock up our old mother in the kitchen
just like a mouse in a trap, while she was baking cakes?" "O yes," said
the hero; "and I suppose she roared, and made up a bed among the boxes
of peas, and for aught I know she may be sleeping there still, unless a
flea has woke her up." "Have you stolen Sarvik's good sword?" asked Tuehi
again. "Perhaps I may have taken the weapon too, dear brother," answered
the hero. "Who can separate a man and his sword? One is worth nothing
without the other." Then Tuehi asked if he had taken the hat. "I think
so," said the hero; "but Sarvik will never put it on his head again, for
I threw it into the fire and burned it to ashes, which have blown away
in the wind." Tuehi then asked if he had plundered his brother's
treasures. "Yes, my dear sir," answered the hero; "I took a little gold
and silver, but not much. Ten horses could drag such a load, and twenty
oxen easily; but you may depend upon it I didn't carry away any copper."
Tuehi's next question was whether he had stolen the bridge-builder, the
wishing-rod. The hero replied, "I suppose some brown-eyed maiden stole
it, for no stronger person would have troubled about such a thing." Tuehi
next inquired how he had treated the maidens; and to this the hero
replied that he'd tell him another time. "Won't you come back again,
dear brother, and pay your debts?" asked Tuehi at last. "Who knows, dear
brother?" said the hero; "if I ever find myself short of money, I may
perchance come back to fetch some more gold and silver, and repay my old
debts with new ones." And upon this Tuehi and his seventy people decamped
in the greatest haste, as if they had been on fire, or as if they were
pursued by gadflies.
Strong as was the Kalevide, his back was weary and chafed with his heavy
load, and he threw it off and lay down to rest; but while he slept he
was in danger of being carried away by a sudden flood from the
mountains, raised against him by a sorceress.[80] After stemming it with
some trouble, on resuming his journey, he met a stranger who asked him
what he was going to do with the planks. The stranger proved to be the
son of Olev, the great master-builder, and to him was intrusted the task
of building the cities and fortifications.
When the Kalevide learned that he had lost seven weeks in a magic sleep,
he gave the three sisters to the charge of the son of Alev, who married
the youngest. The son of Sulev married the eldest, but the second sister
found no lover, and while the others were talking together of their
wedded happiness she stole apart weeping; and at length she was carried
away by a famous sorcerer, and her strong brothers-in-law went in search
of her. On the third evening they came upon her track, when the sorcerer
spread out a great lake to impede their passage. But the Alevide had
brought with him the wishing-rod, which quickly provided them with a
bridge. They rushed across, broke the locks, and burst open the doors,
slew the sorcerer, released the captive, and then sent the red cock on
the roof.[81]
Then the son of Olev took the second sister to wife; and thus all the
three sisters whom the Kalevide had released from the regions of Sarvik
were happily married, and many great tribes derived their origin from
them.
[Footnote 79: Compare the similar scene in the story of "Slyboots,"
later in this volume.]
[Footnote 80: This incident resembles an adventure attributed to Thor.
In the legends of all countries, sorcerers or fugitives are represented
as raising magic floods, either to sweep away their enemies or to baffle
pursuit. There are three instances in this very canto.]
[Footnote 81: This is the usual Esthonian euphemism for setting a house
on fire. I understand that there is also some connection between red
cocks and fire in Scottish folk-lore; and in Scandinavian mythology two
of the three cocks which are to crow before Ragnaroek are red. May they
not have some connection with the fire of Surtur?]
CANTO XVI
THE VOYAGE OF THE KALEVIDE
The Kalevide now decided on a journey north, to the uttermost end of the
world, where it touches the sky. He imagined that he could only reach
this point by sea, and thought at first of travelling on the wings of an
eagle. Meantime, a raven directed him, when he came to a broad expanse
of blue water, to look for a place where rushes grew on the bank, and to
stamp on the ground with his right foot, when the mouth of the earth and
the strongly guarded doors would fly open, and he would reach the end of
the world.
Then the Kalevide reflected how he had waded through every lake and sea,
and had found none too deep for him except Lake Ilma. He then thought he
would visit Finland, Norway, and the islands, where he expected to find
old friends to direct him on his journey. So he directed Olev to fell
the great oak-tree which their father and mother had planted, and which
neither sun, moon, stars, nor rain, could penetrate,[82] and to make the
strongest sailing vessels for exploring voyages from the trunk, warships
from the crown, merchantmen from the large branches, slave-ships from
the smaller ones, children's boats from the splinters, and maiden's
boats from the chips. He ordered the remainder to be used for building
towns, fortresses, and houses for the people in various parts of the
country.
Olev replied, "I know what to do, dear brother, if we can find a strong
man in the country able to fell the oak-tree." The raven told them to
send out to seek for such a man, and they did so; whereupon the wise men
of Norway and Finland assembled to give them advice. But they told the
Kalevide that it was no use building a wooden ship to sail to the
world's end, for the spirits of the Northern Lights would set it in
flames. He must build a strong vessel of iron and copper and tin.
The Kalevide then constructed a vessel, not of iron and copper, but of
silver. The whole of the ship--planking, deck, masts, and chains--was of
silver, and he named the vessel Lennuk.[83] For himself he provided
golden armour, silver for the nobles, iron for the crew, copper for the
old men, and steel for the wise men.
The Kalevide selected experienced sailors and many wise men to accompany
him, and they set sail joyfully towards Finland; but soon turned, and
directed their course to the far north, in the direction of the Great
Bear.
To the north they sailed under the guidance of a wise helmsman who knew
all languages and the speech of birds and beasts. But the Finnish
sorcerers raised storms against the ship, and they were driven along for
seven days and nights, till a coast rose before them which the helmsman
declared was quite unknown to him. The son of Kalev then sprang into the
sea, swam ashore, and towed the ship after him.[84] The birds sang to
them that it was the poverty-stricken coast of Lapland.[85] They went
to explore the country, but wandered a long way without meeting with any
inhabitants. At last they found a solitary cottage, where a maiden sat
on the grass plot before the door spinning. And she sang how a milkmaid
once found a cock and a hen. The cock flew away, but she caught the hen,
and brought it home, where it grew up into a proud princess who had many
lovers, among whom were the sun and--"The Kalevide," shouted he; and the
maiden screamed and fled into the house. Then her father came to the
door, and the Kalevide saluted him courteously, and asked him the way to
the world's end. The wise man answered that it was a vain quest. The sea
had no end, and those who had formerly attempted this quest had found
their deaths on the Fire Island. The raven had only directed them on the
road to Porgu, but if they wished to return home, he would be pleased to
guide them.
The Kalevide answered that he needed no pilot to show him the way home,
but would be glad if the Lapp could pilot him to the door at the World's
End. The Lapp consented, but bargained for what was chained to the wall
at home, which the hero readily promised.
So Varrak the Laplander took the helm and steered the vessel due north
for many days and nights. The first danger they encountered was a great
whirlpool,[86] which threatened to engulf the ship. Then Varrak threw a
small barrel overboard, wrapped in red cloths and ornamented with red
streamers. This bait was swallowed by a whale, which took to flight, and
towed the ship to a place of safety.
Again they sailed on for a long distance, till they came in sight of the
Island of Fire,[87] where huge pillars of flame were towering up, and
vast clouds of smoke filled the air. The Kalevide wished to visit the
island, but Varrak warned him of the danger, and at length the Sulevide
volunteered to land alone. So Varrak ran the ship ashore at a spot where
one mountain was casting up flames, a second smoke, and a third boiling
water, while the burning lava ran down into the valley.
The son of Sulev wandered on amid ashes and snowfields, amid a rain of
red-hot stones, till he reached the mouth of the volcano, when his coat
caught fire and his hair and eyebrows were singed, and he returned
scorched to the ship. The Kalevide asked if he had seen anything of the
cupbearer, who had followed him; but he had not. Then a white bird
perched on the ship, and the wise Finn, who knew the language of
animals, asked for tidings of the boy. But the bird answered that he had
wandered away to a beautiful country which lay behind the
snow-mountains, where he was enjoying himself in the company of the
water-nymphs. He would return no more; let the ship proceed on her
course.[88]
Next they reached a country where the birds all fed on gold and silver
and copper, and where the herbage grew as high as the pine-trees. The
Kalevide sent some of the crew ashore, under the guidance of the
magician, to view the country, while he and the Sulevide lay down on
deck to sleep in the sun, leaving the Alevide to keep watch.
The ship's company, headed by the magician, wandered into the country,
and, when night came, lay down to rest under a bush. Next morning the
little daughter of a giant[89] found them asleep, and wondering what
they were, put them all into her apron, and carried them home to her
father, and scattered them before him, saying:
"Look at these, O dearest father,
I have brought them here to play with,
For I found them in the cabbage,
Where the six like fleas were lying,
Stiffened in the chilly dewdrops,
Sleeping 'neath a head of cabbage."
The giant[90] wished to test the wisdom of the strangers, so he
inquired, "What walks along the grass, steps on the edge of the fence,
and walks along the sides of the reeds?" "The bee," replied the
magician.[91] "What drinks from the brooks and wells, and from the
stones on the bank?" "The rainbow." "What comes hissing from the
meadow, and rushing from the blue forest?" "The rain." The giant was
pleased with the answers to his riddles, and told his daughter to carry
the men back to where she had found them, but the wise man asked her to
take them to the ship for fun. The maiden willingly obeyed; she leaned
over the ship like a vast cloud, shook the men out of her apron on deck,
and then blew the ship four miles out to sea, for which the Kalevide
shouted back his thanks to her.
Now they sailed farther north, and the cold became intense, while the
spirits of the Northern Lights began their combats in the air with
silver spears and golden shields. The sailors were frightened, but the
Kalevide was pleased that they should now be able to direct their course
when they had left the sun and moon behind them.
Next they reached an unknown shore, where the inhabitants were half men
and half dogs, and had long dog's tails.[92] They were armed with great
clubs, and the Kalevide sprang ashore to fight. A horse which he
mounted soon fell dead under him, but he tore up an oak by the roots and
began to lay the country waste. The wisest man of the country
expostulated with him, and he repented of his violence, and prayed to
Ukko to send fish to the country to replace the good ground which he had
destroyed in his fury. Peace was thus concluded; and the wise man told
the Kalevide that the raven had sent him on an idle quest to the gates
of Porgu. The Kalevide then decided to return home, and they directed
the ship towards Lalli in the bay of Lindanisa, where Olev was building
a city.
[Footnote 82: Here we have the great oak-tree mentioned in Cantos 5 and
6 reappearing in another connection.]
[Footnote 83: The Flyer.]
[Footnote 84: In the present canto the Kalevide is never spoken of as of
gigantic size, unless we may consider feats like this as implying it.]
[Footnote 85: Baring Gould considers this country to be the North Cape,
but the geography of the voyage is confused.]
[Footnote 86: The Maelstroem?]
[Footnote 87: The commentators identify this island with Iceland, but
the voyagers were apparently on the wrong side of Scandinavia to reach
either the Maelstroem or Iceland. Still we have both geysers and
volcanoes in the text.]
[Footnote 88: Here the Kalevide's sun begins to decline, for the first
of his faithful companions leaves his side, as Hylas left Heracles.]
[Footnote 89: This is Chamisso's Alsatian legend, "Das Riesenspielzeug,"
"The Giant's Toy," usually called in English translations "The Giant's
Daughter and the Peasant." The girl in the poem seems to have far
exceeded even the Kalevide in stature; and we may remember Gulliver's
remark respecting the Brobdingnagians--"Who knows but that even this
prodigious race of mortals might be equally overmatched in some distant
part of the world whereof we have yet no discovery?"]
[Footnote 90: Throughout this passage the giant is usually called simply
the magician, and the other "the wise man."]
[Footnote 91: Asking riddles of this kind was a common amusement in
Northern Europe. Compare Prior's _Danish Ballads_, i. 185, 334.]
[Footnote 92: Baring-Gould ingeniously suggests that this country is
Greenland, and that the Dog-men are Esquimaux, clad in furs, and riding
in dog-sledges. The end of this canto is inconsequential, for the hero
should have reached his goal during this voyage, not by a land-journey
afterwards.]
CANTO XVII
THE HEROES AND THE DWARF
Olev had now built a magnificent city, fortified with towers and
ditches, around the burial-mound of Kalev. Large numbers of people
flocked to it, and the Kalevide named it Lindanisa, in memory of his
mother.[93] Other fortified cities were founded by the Alevide and the
Sulevide.
But news came that hostile troops were landing on the coast, and the
Kalevide mounted his war-horse. The king wore a golden helmet, gold
spurs, and a silver belt, and carried a shield of gold, and the steed
was all caparisoned with gold and silver and pearls, while the maidens
of the country looked on with admiration.
The Kalevide and his three friends fought a pitched battle with the
countless forces of the enemy on the plains of Esthonia. Their heads
fell before him like autumn leaves, and their scattered limbs were
strewn about in heaps like straw or rushes. His horse waded in blood and
bones to the belly; for the Kalevide slaughtered his enemies by tens of
thousands, and would have utterly annihilated them, but, as he was
pursuing the fugitives over hill and dale, his horse lost his footing in
a bog, and was engulfed in the morass.
As the Kalevide was unable to continue the pursuit after the loss of his
horse, he recalled his troops and divided the booty. Then he sent his
soldiers to carry news of the victory to the towns and villages
throughout the country, and he and his three friends set out on a
journey across the plains and swamps, and through primeval forests,
making a pathway for others as they advanced. At length they came to a
place where smoke and flames were shooting up into the air, and when
they reached the spot they found an old woman sitting at the mouth of a
cave and stirring the fire under a pot. The Alevide asked what she was
cooking, and she answered, "Cabbage for my sons and for myself." Then
the son of Sulev said they were hungry travellers, and asked her to give
them some, and to take a rest while they finished the cookery. The old
woman consented, but warned them, if a strange youth asked to be allowed
to taste the broth, to take good care that he did not empty the pot and
leave them nothing. Three of the heroes at once volunteered to take
turns to watch the pot, but the Kalevide said nothing. Then the old
woman crept into the bushes, and hid herself in a wolf's den.
The Alevide took the first watch, and his companions lay down by the
fire to sleep. He had not been long sitting there, and throwing fresh
faggots on the fire, when one of the little dwarf race stole up
stealthily and timidly through the long grass. He was about three spans
high, and had a gold bell[94] hanging to his neck. He had small horns
behind the ears, and a goat's beard under his chin. He asked humbly to
be allowed to taste the soup, and the hero gave him leave, but warned
him to take care not to drown himself in it.
The dwarf replied that he would like to taste the soup without a spoon,
and jumped on the edge of the pot; but he grew up in an instant to the
height of a pine-tree, and then to the clouds, rising to the height of
seventy fathoms and more. Then he vanished like a mist, and the Alevide
found the pot as empty as if the contents had been scraped out.[95] So
he refilled the pot with water, put in some fresh cabbage, and roused
the Olevide, but said nothing of what had happened. Then he lay down and
went to sleep, leaving his companion on guard. But presently the dwarf
reappeared, and neither the Olevide nor the Sulevide, who took the third
watch, fared any better than their companion.
The watch now fell to the Kalevide, but he would not allow the dwarf to
taste the soup until he gave him his gold bell as a pledge of good
faith. As soon as he had received it, he playfully gave the dwarf a
fillip on the forehead, when there was a tremendous crash of thunder,
and the dwarf sank into the earth and disappeared from the sight of the
hero. The other heroes and the old woman then assembled round the fire
to hear what had happened. They sat down to their supper, after which
the Kalevide advised his companions to lie down and rest for the
remainder of the night, and to return home to their wives and children
in the morning. During the night the daughters of the Meadow Queen
danced and sported, and sang to the Kalevide of his approaching
adventures and journey.
[Footnote 93: Linda's bosom, now Revel.]
[Footnote 94: The bells of the dwarfs are often of great importance in
Northern fairy mythology.]
[Footnote 95: This incident is common in Esthonian tales.]
CANTO XVIII
THE KALEVIDE'S JOURNEY TO PORGU
Next morning the Kalevide rose at daybreak and looked about him. Where
the dwarf had vanished in blue smoke, he now beheld a sheet of blue
water with rushes on the bank, and knew that he had unexpectedly chanced
upon the entrance to Porgu. His wearied comrades were still sleeping,
and, without disturbing them, he stamped with his right foot, and the
hidden strongly-guarded doors of Hades flew open.
The hero gazed down into the abyss, but clouds of smoke and hot steam
rolled up, and made his eyes smart, and he hesitated a moment, when a
raven called to him from the summit of a pine-tree to sound the bell.
Instantly the clouds of smoke disappeared, and he set out on the
downward path. As he proceeded, he found himself in thick darkness,
without a ray of light to guide him, and he was forced to grope his
way, when the voice of a mouse directed him to sound the bell again. The
path grew dimly light, and the Kalevide proceeded, but soon found his
way so much impeded by nets and snares, which multiplied faster than he
could destroy them, that he was unable to advance, and his strength
began to fail him. This time it was a toad who advised him to sound the
bell, when all the magic snares vanished, and he hurried on till he
reached the edge of a rivulet about two spans broad. Every time he
attempted to cross, his foot sank in the mud in the middle, and no
matter how often he renewed his efforts, he could not reach the opposite
shore. While the Kalevide was lamenting that he found less difficulty in
crossing Lake Peipus with a heavy load of timber on his back, he heard a
crayfish advising him to sound the bell, when the brook instantly
vanished.
There was nothing in these caverns to mark the difference between night
and day, and the Kalevide did not know how long he had been struggling
against the various difficulties of the road. He was now assailed by
swarms of mosquitoes, which he thought to escape by hurrying through
them and leaving them behind; but they grew thicker and thicker, till a
cricket in the grass called to him to sound the bell. The mosquitoes
vanished as if carried away by the wind, and the hero sat down to rest
and refresh himself, and having at length learned wisdom from
experience, tied the bell on his little finger, that he might have its
constant aid in future. Then he advanced farther.
And now the hosts of hell, the servants of Sarvik, heard his heavy
tread, and they sent out scouts, who fled back in consternation,
reporting that the son of Kalev, the strongest of men, was advancing
with hostile intentions. Then Sarvik commanded his forces to march
against him.
The Kalevide had now reached a river of blazing pitch, crossed by an
iron bridge. Here the hosts of hell determined to make a stand, and
formed themselves into four detachments, one upon the bridge, one below,
one on the bank, and one in the rear.
"What's this swarm of frogs?" cried the Kalevide, drawing his sword and
rushing forward to the bridge. He was at once assailed with a shower of
arrows, and was then attacked with spear and battleaxe; but he stood
like a wall of iron, and scattered his enemies, though fresh hosts
continually advanced against him. At length he fought his way through
all the hostile troops, and Sarvik was in despair, and did his utmost to
block the paths and to fortify himself against the imminent danger.
When the Kalevide reached the bridge, he rested for a moment to look
round, and then casting the bodies of his enemies into the river as he
advanced, his steps thundered across the bridge, and he soon reached the
fortifications. Three strokes of his fist sufficed to burst in the
gates, and he trod down all impediments and forced his way into the
enclosure. When he came to the inner door, he beat and kicked it down,
and it fell in fragments, door, door-posts, bolts, and bars, all
battered to pieces. In the hall he found a shade resembling his mother
Linda spinning. At her right hand was a cup of the water of strength,
and at her left a cup of the water of weakness. Without speaking, she
offered her son the cup with the water of strength, which he drank, and
then lifting a huge rock broke his way into the inner hall, where
Sarvik's old mother was sitting spinning. She knew, and tried to beg the
bell, but the Kalevide put her off, and inquired if Sarvik was at home.
She answered that he left home the day before yesterday, and would not
return for two or three days; but if the hero liked to wait for him, he
should be received as a guest; but first he must taste her mead. He knew
that she would give him the water of weakness, and declined, but looked
about till he saw a secret door in a recess in the wall, and was about
to break it open, when it flew open of itself with a tremendous noise,
and a host of armed warriors rushed out. He repulsed them all, and then
Sarvik himself cried out to him, reproaching him with all the wrongs he
had suffered at his hands, and the numerous thefts he had committed. In
reply the Kalevide reproached Sarvik with his own tricks; but
nevertheless he sheathed his sword and put the bell in his pocket.
Then Sarvik came forth from his hiding-place pale and trembling, and
wishing to recover himself a little by a potion, mistook the cups in his
confusion, and drank the water of weakness, while the Kalevide took
another draught of the water of strength.
CANTO XIX
THE LAST FEAST OF THE HEROES
After this the Kalevide and Sarvik engaged in a terrific
wrestling-match, which lasted for seven days and nights, with varying
success. At length the shade of Linda, who was looking on, took her
distaff, swung it ten times round her head, and dashed it to the ground.
The hint was not lost on her son. He seized Sarvik by the garters,
whirled him ten times round, and then hurled him down, set his knee on
his chest, and seized his throat and tried to strangle him. Then he took
his belt, bound Sarvik firmly, and dragged him to the iron chamber,
where he bound him hand and foot with chains. A third chain he fastened
round his neck, and a fourth round his body, and drove the ends into the
walls of rock. He rolled a great stone, as large as a house, against the
door, and fixed the chains to this also, so that Sarvik could hardly
move.
The Kalevide washed the traces of the struggle away, and Sarvik tried to
obtain some concessions from him, but failing this he began to curse and
swear. The Kalevide then went to pack up a store of treasures, but was
warned by a mouse not to overload himself. So he contented himself with
taking two sacks on each shoulder, and then set out on his homeward
journey, and the iron bridge thundered beneath his footsteps, while
Sarvik shouted curses after him.
At last the Kalevide struggled up to daylight, and sank down exhausted
by the side of the son of Alev, who had been waiting anxiously for his
friend, and had heard faint sounds of conflict far below. When his
friend had fetched him some water, and he had recovered a little from
his fatigue, he asked how long he had been absent, and learned that he
had been away about three weeks. The Kalevide remarked that where he had
been there was no means of distinguishing day and night or measuring
time, and he then related his adventures.
The Alevide then slaughtered a great ox, a feat which no one else had
been able to accomplish. The blood filled a hundred vats and the flesh a
thousand barrels. They sat down to supper, and the Kalevide ate till he
was ready to burst, and then laid down to sleep, while the son of Alev
seated himself on the treasure-sacks. The Kalevide slept for two days
and nights, and did not wake till the third morning was well advanced.
While he slept, his snoring resounded for miles, and the great trees
shook as if they were saplings. About noon on the third day they set out
homeward. The son of Alev carried one sack of treasure, and the Kalevide
the other three.
After the Kalevide's return from his journey, he resided at Lindanisa,
occupying himself with schemes for the good of his people. Olev had
built three more cities, in the north, west, and south of the country.
His friends advised the Kalevide to seek a bride in Kungla, and he
replied that they would first build a beautiful fortified city and rear
a magnificent house, and then he would follow their advice.
One day the Kalevide sat at a feast with his friends, and a harper sang
the adventures of Siuru, the blue bird,[96] the daughter of Taara.
The Kalevide invited his friends to drink, and sang a song relating how
he had gone down to the beach where two trees, the apple of fortune and
the oak of wisdom, grew in the sea. Here he found some girls who told
him that his little brother had fallen into the water. He waded into the
water to look for him, and saw a naked sword at the bottom, which he was
just about to grasp, when his sister called from the shore to tell him
that his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were all dead or dying.
He hurried home, but it proved to be a hoax, for they were all alive and
well.
The son of Sulev next sang a ditty relating an adventure with four coy
maidens, and the drinking and mirth continued.
And now messengers arrived in great haste, announcing that hostile
armies of Letts, Vends, and Poles had invaded the kingdom on all sides.
But the Kalevide bade his comrades empty their cups, while he himself
quietly gave general orders, and declared that to-morrow he would take
the field in person. Then he sang a song about two lovers.
While the Kalevide was thus drinking and singing, Varrak the Laplander
entered and embraced his knees. He called down blessings from Ukko on
the hero, and then requested to receive the reward which had been
promised him, as he intended to set sail for home on the morrow. The
Kalevide asked him what he wished for; and he answered that he had found
a chained book in an iron cover, which he wished to possess.
The Kalevide could not read the book, which nevertheless contained all
the priceless wisdom which his father had recorded; and he willingly
gave it to Varrak, notwithstanding the loud protests of the sons of
Sulev and Olev. The book was fastened with three chains and three locks,
and the keys could not be found. Varrak knew very well where they were,
but he kept his knowledge to himself. So the Kalevide ordered the wall
to be broken down to release the book, which was then laid on a waggon,
and dragged by a yoke of oxen to the boat, which Varrak had already
loaded with bags of gold.[97]
Meantime a troop of fugitives came flying to the city, bringing word
that the war was close at hand, and that the axes of the youths were
useless against the swords of the mail-clad warriors.[98] The Kalevide
ordered the weary men to be fed and comfortably housed, and while they
slept he repaired to his father's grave. But there was no voice nor
counsel; there was no sound but the sighing of the wind and the moaning
of the distant sea, and the clouds shed sad tears. The hero returned
home sorrowful and uneasy.
[Footnote 96: This song will be included in a later section of the
book.]
[Footnote 97: Some of the commentators regard this book as a palladium
on which the independence of Esthonia depended; and the thoughtlessness
of the Kalevide in parting with the book which contained the wisdom of
his father as a sacrilegious action which precipitated his ruin.]
[Footnote 98: These are identified by the commentators with the Teutonic
Knights of the Sword, who conquered Esthonia in the eleventh century.]
CANTO XX
ARMAGEDDON
The news of the invasion had brought the feast to a sudden end, and the
Kalevide consulted with his friends, and proposed to bury his treasure,
thinking it might otherwise be insecure. So at dead of night the
Kalevide, Alevide, and Sulevide dug a deep pit in a secret place. Then
the Kalevide solemnly delivered over the treasure to Taara's protection,
and declared that no one should obtain it but the son of a pure mother,
who should come to the spot on St. John's Eve, and should sacrifice
three black animals without a white hair upon them--a black cock with a
curled comb, a black dog or cat, and a mole. Then he murmured secret
spells over the treasure; but the man is not yet born who shall raise
it.
When the morning dawned, the son of Kalev took his spear and sword,
mounted his war-horse, and ordered the Alevide to follow him as his
shield-bearer. Then he blew his horn, and set his forces in battle
array. The sound of the horn echoed through city and forest, and was
heard in every province of Esthonia,[99] and the people flocked to the
king at the summons. The women wept and lamented, but their husbands,
sons, brothers, and lovers went forth to the war. The Kalevide assembled
his army in the sacred oak-forest of Taara, and a bird advised him to
sharpen his sword and spear before the fight. By the fifth evening the
last stragglers had come in, and the Kalevide allowed his men two days'
longer rest. On the third day thereafter the battle began in earnest,
and the Kalevide fought against the mailed warriors for half a day, when
his horse was killed under him.
Hundreds were slain on both sides, and at last the Sulevide fell
severely wounded. The soothsayer was summoned hastily, and adjured the
blood to cease flowing:[100]
Quickly came the man of wisdom,
Who should charm the blood from flowing
And should still the pain by magic.
"Flow thou not, O blood, like water;
Still thee, blood, of life the honey;
Wherefore thus thy source o'erflowing,
Breaking thus the bonds that hold thee?
Let the blood as stone be hardened,
Firm as oak-tree let it stiffen;
In the stone-like veins around it,
Let the blood be stanched, O Taara!"
But the blood continued to flow, and then the magician used stronger
spells, pressed his fingers on the wound to stop the bleeding, and tied
up the limb with red thread, afterwards applying healing herbs.
Meantime the Kalevide had routed the enemy and dispersed them over the
plain in flight, the dead being piled up in heaps behind them. But the
hero was weary and overcome with heat and thirst, and went to a lake,
which he drained to the last drop, leaving only the mud at the bottom.
Three days were given to the burial of the dead and the care of the
wounded, and then the Kalevide set out in pursuit of the enemy. Olev
built a bridge over the Vohanda according to the Kalevide's directions,
and presently the army fell in with a murderous host of Tartars, Poles,
and Letts, who were ravaging the neighbourhood of Pleskau.
Another great battle was fought, and the Kalevide slaughtered his
enemies till their bodies lay in heaps a fathom high about the field,
and the blood was five spans deep. The battle lasted for seven days, and
many notable chiefs were slain, among whom was the son of Sulev, who had
been so severely wounded in a previous battle. The Tartars and Poles had
now been slain or put to flight, and the Kalevide gathered together the
remnants of his army to attack the Vends, and ordered the Alevide to
break their centre.
The fight with the Vends lasted two days longer, and again vast numbers
were slain on both sides. A great mound was raised on the battlefield
over the grave of the Sulevide in memory of the fallen hero. The three
remaining heroes, the Kalevide, the Alevide, and Olev, stood like towers
against the attacks of the mailed warriors; but at last they were
overcome by thirst, and went to a lake in a valley, with steep high
banks, to drink. The Alevide, who was very weary, stooped down to drink,
when his foot slipped, and he fell into the water, and was drowned
before his friends could recover his body. In the bright sunshine his
huge iron helmet and his three-edged sword may still be seen gleaming at
the bottom of the water.
The Kalevide was so overcome with grief at this last misfortune that he
abandoned his kingdom, abdicating in favour of Olev, and retired to the
pine-forests on the banks of the river Koiva, where he built a cottage
and thought to dwell in peace and retirement. Here he lived alone,
supporting himself on fish and crayfish. One day a party of armed men
found their way to his hermitage, and invited him to join company with
them. He turned his back on them contemptuously, when he saw in the
water the reflection of one of them advancing with his sword drawn to
murder him.[101] He turned angrily on his foes with an indignant
exclamation, and seizing one of them by the helmet, whirled him round,
and the air sounded as if disturbed by the rush of the Northern eagle.
Then he dashed him down so that he sank to his waist in the ground. He
seized the second by the hand, and swung him round till the forest was
shaken as if by a tempest, and him he sank to the cheeks in the ground.
The third he seized in the same way, and drove him so far into the
ground that nothing could be seen of him but the hole where he had
disappeared.
Another time the Kalevide was troubled by a messenger sent by the
merchants on the coast to invite him to visit them. After listening to
his talk for some time, he told him to pull up the rod which he had
baited for crayfish, and after he had eaten, they might discuss the
matter further. The youth went down to the river bank, and found, to his
amazement, that the rod was a tall fir-tree, which the Kalevide had torn
up by the roots, but which the youth could not even move. Then the
Kalevide lifted the rod with one hand, and showed the youth that it was
baited with the whole carcass of a dead mare; and sent him about his
business, telling him to report what he had seen.
These intrusions vexed the Kalevide, and he wandered away from his
hermitage through the forests, and three days afterwards he reached Lake
Peipus, without remembering that he had ever travelled the same way
before. Singing gaily, he came to the brook Kaepae, and waded in. The hero
had laid an injunction on his lost sword which he had intended to apply
to the sorcerer who had robbed him of it; but the understanding of the
sword was confused by the curse which the Finnish smith had previously
laid upon it, and it reflected that now was the time for vengeance. So
without more ado the great sword raised itself, and cut off both the
hero's legs at the knee. He cried out for help, and dragged himself with
his hands to the shore, where he lay down bleeding, his legless body
covering a whole acre of ground.
The cries of the dying Kalevide rose above the clouds and ascended to
heaven. The heavenly powers assembled round the hero, and vainly tried
to salve his wounds and soothe his pain. Presently he expired, and his
soul, like a joyful bird, took its flight to the halls of Taara in
heaven. There he sat in the firelight among the heroes of Taara, resting
his cheek on his hand, and listening to the bards as they sang of his
great deeds.
But the old father of the gods knew that so great a hero, who had
conquered all his enemies in battle, and had bound even the prince of
Porgu in chains, could not remain idle in heaven. So he summoned all the
gods in secret conclave to consider what work they should assign to the
Kalevide, and the debate lasted for many days and nights. At last they
determined that he should keep watch and ward at the gates of Porgu, so
that Sarvik should never be able to free himself from his bonds.
So the soul of the Kalevide flew down from heaven like a bird, and was
bidden to reanimate his body; but the might of all the gods, and even
the divine wisdom of Taara, could not put his legs on again. Then they
mounted him on a white charger,[102] and sent him to the post which had
been assigned to him at the gates of Porgu.
When the Kalevide reached the rocky portal, a voice was heard from
heaven, "Strike the rock with thy fist!" He did so, and clove open the
rock, and his right hand was caught in the cleft. Here he sits now on
his horse at the gates of Porgu, watching the bonds of others while
bound himself. The demons attempt unceasingly to soften their chains by
heaping up charcoal faggots around them, but when the cock crows at dawn
their fetters grow thicker again. From time to time, too, the Kalevide
struggles to free his hand from the wall of rock, till the earth
trembles and the sea foams; but the hand of Mana[103] holds him, that
the warder shall never depart from his post. But one day a vast fire
will break out on both sides of the rock and melt it, when the Kalevide
will withdraw his hand, and return to earth to inaugurate a new day of
prosperity for the Esthonians.[104]
[Footnote 99: Here we have a reminiscence of the Giallar horn of
Heimdall, and of the horn of Roland (or Orlando).]
[Footnote 100: Compare the much longer story in the 9th Runo of the
_Kalevala_.]
[Footnote 101: A similar adventure happened to the naturalist
Macgillivray in the Solomon Islands during the voyage of the _Herald_.
He turned round and shot the savage dead.]
[Footnote 102: There is a curious variant relating how the Kalevide
waded across Lake Peipus with a bridle in his hand to look for a horse,
and the water threatened to rise above his boots, when he said, "Don't
think to drown this man." Then the devil brought him first his daughter
and then his son in the shape of horses; but they both broke down under
him. Then the devil brought him his mother, in her usual shape of a
white mare, and she galloped away with the hero, and he could not rein
her in. Then a voice from heaven cried, "Godson, godson, strike your
hand into the oak!" The hero seized a great oak-tree as they were
passing, when it came away in his hand, roots and all. Then the mare
rushed to Porgu, and the voice again bade the hero strike his hand into
the doorpost. He did so, and his hand was caught fast, and the mare
galloped away to hell from between his legs, and left him hanging
there.]
[Footnote 103: The God of Death.]
[Footnote 104: The guardian hero of every nation is looked for to return
in a similar manner; even William Tell.]
END OF THE KALEVIPOEG.
PART II
Esthonian Folk-Tales
These are very numerous, and, while some are of course identical with
well-known stories of world-wide distribution, others have a peculiarly
original character of their own. We have divided them into sections, but
this classification must not be taken as too stringent, for many tales
would fall equally well under two or three of our separate headings. In
so far as any foreign elements are visible, they are apparently
Scandinavian or German. Finnish tales show more trace of Russian
influence, but there is seldom any visible in Esthonian tales, and even
in the _Kalevipoeg_ there is no resemblance to the Russian hero-legends.
It is, however, noteworthy that even in the most heathenish tales, the
heroes usually have names of Christian origin; though not in the
_Kalevipoeg_. It is possible that the Gospel of Nicodemus, which
describes the descent into hell, may have suggested the name of
Nicodemus for Slyboots.
SECTION I
_TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE "KALEVIPOEG"_
The following stories are thoroughly Esthonian in character, and, with
the exception of the first, mostly exhibit variants of the Kalevide's
journeys to Porgu.
That of "Slyboots" is also interesting from the resemblance of a portion
of it to "Jack and the Beanstalk."
THE MILKY WAY.
(JANNSEN.)
Soon after the creation of the world, God created a fair maiden and gave
into her charge all the birds beneath the heavens. This was Lindu, the
lovely daughter of Uko, who knew the paths of all the birds of passage,
whence they came in spring, and whither they went in autumn, and
appointed to each his dwelling. She cared for the birds with a tender
heart, like a mother for her children, and gave them her aid whenever it
was possible; and like a flower in the morning sunlight under a thousand
dewdrops, so brightly shone Lindu in her motherly care for the birds.
Therefore was it not surprising that all gazed upon her and loved her.
Every one desired the maiden as a wife, and suitors came in crowds. The
North Star drove up in a grand coach drawn by six brown horses, and
brought ten presents. But Lindu gave him a sharp answer. "You must
always remain at your post, and cannot stir from it," said she.
Then came the Moon in a silver coach drawn by ten brown horses, and he
brought twenty presents. But Lindu refused the Moon too. "You are much
too changeable," said she, "and yet you always run in your old path, and
that won't suit me."
Scarcely had the Moon taken a sorrowful departure than the Sun drove up.
He rode in a golden coach drawn by twenty gold-red horses, and brought
thirty presents with him. But all his splendour and magnificence and
rich presents went for nothing; for Lindu said, "I don't like you. You
always run on the same course day by day, just like the Moon."
At length the Northern Light came from midnight in a diamond coach drawn
by a thousand white horses. His arrival was so splendid that Lindu went
to the door to meet him. His attendants carried a whole coach-load of
gold and silver, pearls, and jewellery into her house. And behold, the
bridegroom and his presents pleased Lindu so much that she accepted him
at once, saying, "You don't always travel the same path, like the
others. You set out when you will, and rest when it pleases you. Each
time you appear in new splendour and magnificence, and each time you don
a new robe, and each time you ride in a new coach with new horses. You
are the fitting bridegroom, whom one can receive with joy."
Now they celebrated their betrothal with great splendour. But the Sun,
Moon, and Pole Star looked on sadly, and envied the happiness of the
Northern Light.
The Northern Light could not tarry long in the bride's house, for he was
obliged to journey back towards midnight. But before his departure he
promised soon to return for the wedding, and to carry the maiden to his
home in the North. In the meantime she was to prepare her trousseau and
get everything ready for the wedding.
Lindu now waited and made everything ready. One day followed another,
but the bridegroom came not to hold a joyous wedding with his bride. The
winter passed away, and the warm spring adorned the earth with new
beauty, then came the summer; but Lindu waited in vain for her
bridegroom; nothing was seen of him.
Then she began to lament bitterly, and sorrowed day and night. She sat
in the meadow by the river in her bridal robes and white veil and the
wreath on her head, and from her thousand tears sprang the little brooks
in the valley. She did not heed the little birds who flew about her head
and shoulders, and sought to soothe her with their soft blandishments,
nor did she remember to direct their migrations to foreign parts, and to
care for their nurture and food. So they wandered about and flew from
place to place, not knowing what to do or where to remain.
At length the news of the maiden's distress and the needs of the birds
came to the ears of Uko. Then he resolved in his heart to help them
all, and ordered the winds to carry his daughter to him, away from the
misery of the world. While Lindu was sitting on the ground weeping and
lamenting, the winds sank down before her, and lifted her so gently that
she herself perceived it not, and bore her away to heaven, where they
set her down on the blue firmament.
There dwells Lindu still in a heavenly pavilion. Her white bridal veil
spreads from one end of the heavens to the other, and he who lifts his
eyes to the Milky Way beholds the maiden in her bridal robes. From
thence she still directs the birds on their long migrations; from thence
she still gazes towards midnight at the other end of the heavens, and
waves her hand in greeting to the Northern Light. There she has
forgotten her sorrow, and her former happy life reawakens in her heart.
And when winter approaches, she sees with joy that the Northern Light
visits her as a guest, and asks after his bride. Often he rises up to
her, and, heart to heart, renews the bond of their love. But they may
not hold their wedding. Uko has stationed the maiden in the heavens with
her bridal robe and veil, and the bridegroom cannot carry away his love
from her seat. Thus has Uko in his wisdom determined, and thus has the
Milky Way arisen.
THE GRATEFUL PRINCE.
(KREUTZWALD.)
Once upon a time, the king of the Golden Land[105] lost his way in a
forest, and, notwithstanding all his efforts, could not find his way
out. Presently he encountered a stranger, who said to him, "What are you
doing here, my friend, in this gloomy forest, where only wild beasts
dwell?" The king replied, "I have lost my way, and am trying to find the
road home." "If you will promise to give me the first living thing that
meets you when you return to your palace, I will show you the right
way," said the stranger.[106]
The king reflected awhile, and then answered, "Why should I run the risk
of losing my good hunting-dog? I may perhaps succeed in finding my way
home by myself." The stranger went away, but the king wandered about in
the wood till his provisions were exhausted, while he was unable to
discover the least trace of the right path. Then the stranger met him a
second time, and said, "Promise me the first living thing that meets you
on your return to your palace." But as the king was very obstinate, he
refused to promise anything yet. He once more boldly explored the forest
backwards and forwards, and at length sank down exhausted under a tree,
and thought that his last hour had come. Then the stranger, who was none
other than the Old Boy[107] himself, appeared to the king for the third
time, and said, "Don't be a fool. How can you be so fond of your dog
that you are unwilling to part with him to save your life? Only promise
me what I require, and you will soon be relieved from your anxiety, and
your life will be saved." "My life is worth more than a thousand dogs,"
answered the king. "The welfare of a whole country and people is at
stake. Let it be so, I will grant your request, if you will only take me
home." He had hardly uttered the words when he found himself at once on
the borders of the wood, and could see his palace in the distance. He
hurried thither, and the first thing which met him at the gate was the
nurse with the royal infant, who stretched out his arms to his father.
The king was horrified, and scolded the nurse, telling her to take the
child away as quickly as possible. Directly afterwards came his faithful
dog, and fawned upon his master, who repulsed his advances with a kick.
Innocent dependants often suffer thus for the folly and ill-humour of
their superiors.
As soon as the king's anger had cooled a little, he exchanged his child,
a promising boy, for the daughter of a peasant, and thus the prince was
reared up in the house of poor people, while the peasant's daughter
slept in silken robes in the royal cradle. In a year's time, the Old Boy
made his appearance to demand his due, and took the little girl with
him, supposing her to be the king's child, for he knew nothing of the
artifice by which the children had been changed. The king exulted at the
success of his stratagem, and ordered a great feast. He loaded the
parents of the stolen child with rich presents, that the prince might
want for nothing in the cottage, but did not yet venture to reclaim his
son, fearing lest the deception might be discovered. The peasant family
were well satisfied with the arrangement, for they had one mouth less to
feed, and plenty of food and money.
Meantime the prince grew up to boyhood, and spent a very pleasant life
in the house of his foster-parents. But still he was not quite happy,
for as soon as he learned how the stratagem had succeeded, he was much
grieved that a poor innocent girl should have to suffer the consequences
of his father's thoughtlessness in his place. He formed a fixed resolve
either to release the poor girl, if this was possible, or to perish with
her. He could not endure the thought of becoming king by the sacrifice
of a maiden.[108] One day he secretly disguised himself as a peasant
lad, took a bag of peas on his shoulder, and went to the wood where his
father had lost his way eighteen years before.
Soon after entering the wood he began to cry out, "O what an unfortunate
boy I am! how far I must have wandered from the path! Who will show me
the way out of this wood, for there is no human soul to be seen far or
near!" Presently a stranger with a long grey beard and a leather pouch
at his girdle, like a Tartar,[109] made his appearance. He gave the
youth a friendly greeting, adding, "I know this neighbourhood well, and
can direct you anywhere you please, if you will promise me a good
return."
"What can a poor lad like me promise you?" answered the artful prince.
"I have nothing more than my young life, for even the coat on my body
belongs to the master whom I must serve in exchange for food and
clothing."
The stranger looked at the bag of peas on the lad's shoulder, and
remarked, "You can't be quite destitute, for you carry a bag which seems
to be very heavy."
"There are peas in the bag," said the prince. "My old aunt died last
night, and has left me so much as this, that I may be able to set
boiled peas before the watchers of the dead[110] as is the custom in
this country. I have begged the peas from my host in the name of God,
and was going away with them, when I struck into a forest path as a
short cut, and it has led me astray, as you see."
"Then I conclude, from what you say, that you are an orphan," observed
the stranger with a grin. "If you will enter my service, I happen just
to be in want of a handy workman for my small household, and I've taken
a fancy to you."
"Why shouldn't I, if we can come to terms?" replied the prince. "I was
born to servitude, and a stranger's bread is always bitter, so that it
matters little to me what master I serve. But what will you promise me
for a year's service?"
"Well," said the stranger, "you shall have fresh food every day, meat
twice a week, and when you work out of doors, butter or herrings as a
treat, a full suit of summer and winter clothing, besides two acres of
land for your own use."
"That will suit me," said the crafty prince. "Let other people bury my
aunt; I'll go with you."
The Old Boy seemed well pleased at having made such a good stroke of
business, and spun round on one foot like a teetotum, hallooing so loud
that the wood re-echoed. Then he started off on the road with his new
servant, and enlivened the tedium of the way by a variety of jokes,
without observing that his companion dropped a pea from his bag at every
ten or fifteen paces. The travellers halted for the night in the forest
under a large fir-tree, and continued their journey next morning. The
sun was already high in the heavens when they reached a large stone.
Here the old man stopped, looked sharply round on all sides, whistled
loudly, and then stamped on the ground three times with his left
foot.[111] Suddenly a secret door opened under the stone, and revealed a
covered way like the entrance to a cavern. Then the old man seized the
prince's arm, and said roughly, "Follow me!"
They were in utter darkness, but it seemed to the prince that the path
led them deeper and deeper into the earth. After some time a glimmer of
light again grew visible, but the light did not resemble that of either
the sun or moon. The prince looked up in some alarm, but could see
neither sun nor sky; only a mass of shining clouds floated over him,
which seemed to canopy this new world, in which everything had a strange
appearance. Land and water, trees and plants, animals and birds, all had
a different aspect from what he had seen before. But what seemed
strangest to him was the wonderful silence around, for there was not a
voice or a rustle to be heard anywhere. All was as still as in the
grave, and even the prince's own footsteps made no sound. Here and there
a bird might be seen sitting on a bough with stretched-out neck and
swelled throat, as if singing, but no sound was audible. The dogs opened
their mouths to bark, and the bulls raised their heads to bellow, but
neither bark nor bellow could be heard. The water flowed over the gravel
without gushing, the wind waved the tops of the trees without rustling,
and flies and beetles flew about without buzzing. The Old Boy did not
speak a word, and when his companion tried to speak he felt his voice
die away in his throat.
Nobody knows how long they travelled through this unearthly silent
country. Terror seized on the heart of the prince, his hair stood on
end like bristles, and he shivered with fear, when at length, to his
great joy, the first sound fell on his straining ears, and seemed to
make a real country of this shadowy land. It seemed to him that a great
herd of horses was toiling through swampy ground. At last the old man
opened his mouth, and said, licking his lips, "The soup kettle's
boiling, and they are expecting us at home." They went on some distance
farther, when the prince thought he heard the sound of a sawmill, in
which at least two dozen saws seemed to be at work, but the host said,
"My old grandmother is already fast asleep and snoring."
Presently they reached the top of a hill, and the prince could see the
homestead of his new master at some distance, but there were so many
buildings that it looked more like a village or an outlying suburb than
the residence of a single owner. At length they arrived, and found an
empty dog-kennel at the gate. "Creep in there," said the master, "and
lie quiet till I have spoken to my grandmother about you. She is very
self-willed, like most old people, and can't bear a stranger in the
house." The prince crept trembling into the dog-kennel, and began to
repent the rashness that had brought him into such a scrape.
After a time the host came back, called the prince from his
hiding-place, and said with a wry face, "Take good note of the
arrangements of our household, and take care not to go against them, or
you might fare very badly.
"Keep your eyes and ears both open,
But your mouth fast closed for ever,
And obey without a question:
Think whatever it may please you;
Never speak without permission."
When the prince crossed the threshold, his eyes fell upon a young girl
of great beauty, with brown eyes and curly hair. He thought to himself,
"If the old man has many such daughters as this, I should be glad to
become his son-in-law. The maiden is just to my taste." The fair maiden
laid the table without saying a word, set the food upon it, and then
modestly took her place by the hearth, as if she had not observed the
stranger. She took out needles and worsted, and began to knit a
stocking. The master sat down alone at the table, and did not ask either
the man or maid to join him, nor was anything to be seen of the old
grandmother. The Old Boy's appetite was immeasurable, and in a very
short time he had made a clean sweep of everything on the table, though
it would have been plenty for at least a dozen people. When at last he
allowed his jaws to rest, he said to the maiden, "Scrape out what is
left at the bottom of the pot and kettle, and content yourselves with
the fragments, but throw the bones to the dog."
The prince's countenance fell at the idea of this meal from the
scrapings of the kettle, which he was to share with the pretty girl and
the dog. But he soon recovered his spirits when he found a very nice
meal placed on the table from these fragments. During supper he cast
many stolen glances at the maiden, and would have given a great deal if
he could have ventured to speak to her. But whenever he was on the point
of speaking, he met the imploring glance of the maiden, which seemed to
say, "Silence!" So the young man allowed his eyes to speak, and gave
expression to this dumb language by his good appetite, for the maiden
had prepared the supper, and it must be pleasant to her to see that the
guest appreciated her cookery. Meantime the old man had lain down on
the stove-bench, and made the walls re-echo with his snoring.
After supper he roused himself, and said to the prince, "You may rest
for two days after your long journey, and look round the house. But come
to me to-morrow evening and I will arrange your work for next day, for
my household must always set about their work before I get up myself.
The girl will show you your lodging." The prince made an effort to
speak, but the old man came down on him like a thunderbolt, and screamed
out, "You dog of a servant! If you break the rules of the house, you'll
find yourself a head shorter without more ado. Hold your jaw, and off to
bed with you!"
The maiden beckoned him to follow, unlocked a door and signed to him to
enter. The prince thought he saw a tear glisten in her eye, and would
have been only too glad to loiter on the threshold, but he was too much
afraid of the old man. "It's impossible that this beautiful girl can be
his daughter," thought he, "for she has a kind heart. She must be the
poor girl who was brought here in my place, and for whose sake I
undertook this foolhardy enterprise." He did not fall asleep for a long
time, and even then his uneasy dreams gave him no rest. He dreamed of
all sorts of unknown dangers which threatened him, and it was always the
form of the fair girl that came to his aid.
When he awoke next morning, his first thought was to do his best to
ingratiate himself with the maiden. He found the industrious girl
already at work, and helped her to draw water from the well and carry it
into the house, chopped wood, kept up the fire under the pots, and
helped her in all her other work. In the afternoon he went out to make
himself better acquainted with his new abode, and was much surprised
that he could find no trace of the old grandmother. He saw a white mare
in the stable, and a black cow with a white-headed calf in the
enclosure, and in other locked outhouses he thought he heard ducks,
geese, fowls, &c. Breakfast and dinner were just as good as last night's
supper, and he would have been very well content with his position, but
that it was so very hard to hold his tongue with the maiden opposite
him. On the evening of the second day he went to the master to receive
his instructions for next day's work.
The old man said, "I'll give you an easy job for to-morrow. Take the
scythe, and mow as much grass as the white mare needs for her day's
provender, and clean out the stable. But if I should come and find the
manger empty or any litter on the floor, it will go badly enough with
you. Take good heed!"
The prince was well pleased, for he thought, "I shall soon be able to
manage this piece of work, for although I have never handled either
plough or scythe before, I have often seen how easily the country-people
manage these tools, and I am quite strong enough." But when he was about
to go to bed, the maiden crept in gently, and asked in a low voice,
"What work has he given you?" "I've an easy task for to-morrow,"
answered the prince. "I have only to mow grass for the white mare, and
to clean out the stable; that's all." "O poor fellow!" sighed the
maiden, "how can you ever accomplish it? The white mare is the master's
grandmother, and she is an insatiable creature, for whom twenty mowers
could hardly provide the daily fodder, and another twenty would have to
work from morning till night to clear the litter from the stable. How
will you be able to manage both tasks alone? Take my advice, and follow
it exactly. When you have thrown a few loads of grass to the mare, you
must plait a strong rope of willow-twigs in her sight. She will ask you
what this is for, and you must answer, 'To bind you up so tightly that
you will not feel disposed to eat more than I give you, or to litter the
stable after I have cleared it.'" As soon as the girl had finished
speaking, she slid out of the room as gently as she had come, without
giving the youth time to thank her. He repeated her instructions to
himself several times, for fear of forgetting anything, and then went to
sleep.
Early next morning he set to work. He plied the scythe lustily, and soon
mowed down so much grass that he could rake several loads together. He
took one load to the mare, but when he returned with the second he found
with dismay that the manger was already empty, and that there was half a
ton of litter on the floor. He saw now that he would have been lost
without the maiden's good advice, and resolved to follow it at once. He
began to plait the rope, when the mare turned her head and asked in
astonishment, "My dear son, what do you want with this rope?" "O nothing
at all," he answered; "I am only going to bind you up so tightly that
you won't care to eat more than I choose to give you, or to drop more
litter than I choose to carry away." The white mare looked at him, and
sighed deeply once or twice, but it was clear that she understood him,
for long after midday there was still fodder in the manger and the floor
remained clean. Presently the master came to inspect the work, and when
he found everything in good order he was much surprised, and asked, "Are
you clever enough to do this yourself, or did any one give you good
advice?" But the prince was on his guard, and answered at once, "I have
no one to help me but my own poor head and a mighty God in heaven." The
old man was silenced, and left the stable grumbling, but the prince was
delighted that everything had succeeded so well.
In the evening the master said, "I have no particular work for you
to-morrow, but as the maid has plenty to do in the house, you must milk
the black cow. But take care not to leave a drop of milk in the udder.
If I find that you have done so, it might cost you your life." As the
prince went away, he thought, "If there is not some trick in this, I
cannot find the work hard. Thank God, I have strong fingers, and will
not leave a drop of milk behind." But when he was about to retire to
rest, the maiden came to him again, and asked, "What work have you to do
to-morrow?" "I've a whole holiday to-morrow," answered the prince. "All
I have to do to-morrow is to milk the black cow, and not leave a drop of
milk in the udder." "O you unfortunate fellow!" sighed she, "how will
you ever accomplish it? Know, dear young stranger, that if you were to
milk the black cow from morning till evening, the milk would continue to
flow in one unbroken stream. I am convinced that the old man is bent on
your ruin. But fear nothing, for as long as I am alive no harm shall
happen to you, if you will remember my advice, and follow it exactly.
When you go milking, take a pan full of hot coals, and a smith's tongs
with you. When you reach the place, put the tongs in the fire, and blow
the coals to a bright flame. If the black cow asks what this is for,
answer her as I am about to whisper in your ear." Then the maiden crept
out of the room on tiptoe as she had come, and the prince lay down to
sleep.
The prince got up almost before dawn next day, and went to the cowhouse
with the milk-pail in one hand, and a pan of live coals in the other.
The black cow looked at his proceedings for a while in silence, and then
asked, "What are you doing, my dear son?" "Nothing at all," he replied;
"but some cows have a bad habit of keeping back milk in their udders
after they are milked, and in such cases I find hot tongs useful to
prevent the chance of any waste." The black cow sighed deeply and seemed
scared. The prince then took the pail, milked the cow dry, and when he
tried again after a while he found not a drop of milk in her udder. Some
time after the master came into the cowhouse, and as he was also unable
to draw a drop of milk, he asked angrily, "Are you so clever yourself,
or did any one give you good advice?" But the prince answered as before,
"I have no one to help me but my own poor head and a mighty God in
heaven." The old man went off in great vexation.
When the prince went to the master in the evening, the latter said,
"There is still a heap of hay in the field that I should like to have
brought under cover during dry weather. Bring the hay home to-morrow,
but take care not to leave a particle behind, or it might cost you your
life." The prince left the room well pleased, thinking, "It's no great
job to bring hay home. I have only to load it, and the mare must draw
it. I won't spare the master's grandmother." In the evening the maiden
crept to his side, and asked about his work for to-morrow. The prince
said smiling, "I am learning all sorts of farmwork here. I have to bring
home a heap of hay to-morrow, and only to take care not to leave a scrap
behind. This is all my work for to-morrow." "O poor fellow!" sighed she,
"how will you ever do it? If you were to set to work for a week, with
the help of all the inhabitants of a large district, you could not
remove this heap. Whatever you took away from the top would grow up
again from the ground directly. Mark well what I say. You must get up
to-morrow before daybreak, and lead the white mare from the stable,
taking with you some strong cords. Then go to the haycock, fasten the
cords round it, and then bind them to the mare. When this is done, climb
on the haycock, and begin to count one, two, three, four, five, six, and
so on. The mare will ask what you are counting, and you must answer her
as I whisper." Then the maiden left the room, and the prince went to
bed.
When he awoke next morning, the first thing he remembered was the
maiden's good advice. So he took some strong ropes with him, led out the
white mare, and rode on her back to the haycock, but found that the
so-called haycock contained at least fifty loads. The prince did all
that the maiden had told him, and when he was sitting on the heap, and
had counted up to twenty, the white mare asked in surprise, "What are
you counting, my dear son?" "Nothing at all," said he; "I was only
amusing myself by counting up the packs of wolves[112] in the forest,
but there are so many that I can't reckon them all up." He had hardly
spoken when the white mare darted off like the wind, and the haycock was
safely housed in a few moments. The master was not a little surprised,
when he came out after breakfast, to find that the new labourer had
already finished his day's work. He put him the same question as before,
and received the same reply; and he went off shaking his head and
cursing.
In the evening, the prince went as usual to inquire about his work, and
the old man said, "To-morrow you must take the white-headed calf to
pasture, but take care that he doesn't run away, or it might cost you
your life." The prince thought, "There are many ten-year old farm-boys
who have whole herds to manage, and surely I can't find it so very
difficult to look after one calf." But when the maiden heard of it she
said, "Know that this calf is so wild that he would run three times
round the world in a day.[113] Take this silk thread, and bind one end
to the left fore-leg of the calf, and the other to the little toe of
your left foot, and then the calf will not be able to stir a step from
your side, whether you are walking, standing, or lying down." Then she
left him, and the prince lay down, but it vexed him to think that he had
again forgotten to thank her for her good advice.
Next morning he followed the advice of the friendly maiden, and led the
calf to the pasture by the silken thread. It remained by his side like a
faithful dog, and in the evening he led it back to the stall, where the
old man met him angrily, and, after the usual question and answer, went
off in a fury, and the prince thought it must be the mention of the holy
name which kept him under restraint.
Late in the evening the prince went to his master for instructions, when
the old man gave him a bag of barley, saying, "I will give you a holiday
to-morrow, and you may sleep as long as you like, but you must work hard
to-night instead. Sow me this barley, which will spring up and ripen
quickly; then you must cut it, thresh it, and winnow it, so that you can
malt it and grind it. You must brew beer of this malt, and when I wake
to-morrow morning, you must bring me a jug of fresh beer for my morning
drink. Take care to follow my instructions exactly, or it might easily
cost you your life."
This time the prince was quite confounded, and on leaving the room, he
stood outside weeping bitterly, and said to himself, "This is my last
night, for no mortal can do this work, and the clever maiden's aid will
avail me no longer. O unhappy wretch that I am! why was I so thoughtless
as to leave the king's palace, and thrust myself into this danger! I
cannot even lament my unhappy lot to the stars in heaven, for here
there are neither stars nor sky. But yet God reigns over all."
He was still standing with the bag of barley in his hand when the
house-door opened and the kind maiden came out. She asked what troubled
him so much, and he replied, "Alas! my last hour has come, and we must
part for ever. I will tell you all before I die. I am the only son of a
great king, from whom I should inherit a mighty empire; but now all hope
and happiness are at an end." Then he told the maiden with tears of the
task the old man had laid upon him; but it pained him to see that she
did not seem to share his trouble. When he had finished his long story,
she smiled and said, "My dear prince, you may sleep quietly to-night,
and enjoy yourself all day to-morrow. Take my advice, and don't despise
it because I am only a poor servant-girl. Take this little key, which
unlocks the third hen-house, where the Old Boy keeps the spirits who
serve him.[114] Throw the bag of barley into the house, and repeat word
for word the commands that you have received from the master, and add,
'If you depart a hair's breadth from my instructions, you will all
perish together; but if you want help, the door of the seventh pen will
be open to-night, in which dwell the most powerful of the old man's
spirits.'"
The prince carried out all her instructions, and then lay down to sleep.
When he awoke in the morning and went to the beer tub, he found it full
of beer violently working, with the foam flowing over the edge. He
tasted the beer, filled a large jug with the foaming drink, and brought
it to his master, who was just getting up. But instead of the thanks
which he expected from him, the old man broke out in uncontrollable
fury, "That's not from yourself. I see you have good friends and
helpers. All right! we'll talk again this evening."
In the evening the old man said, "I have no work for you to-morrow, but
you must come to my bedside to-morrow morning, and shake hands with me."
The prince was amused at the old man's queer whim, and laughed when he
told the maiden. But when she heard it she became very serious, and
said, "Now you must look to yourself, for the old man intends to eat you
to-morrow morning, and there is only one way of escape. You must heat a
shovel red-hot in the stove,[115] and offer it to him instead of your
own hand." Then she hastened away, and the prince went to bed. Next
morning he took good care to heat the shovel red-hot before the old man
awoke. At last he heard him shouting, "What has become of you, you lazy
fellow? Come and shake hands with me." But when the prince entered the
room with the red-hot shovel in his hand, the old man cried out with a
whining voice, "I am very ill to-day, and cannot take your hand. But
come back this evening to receive my orders."
The prince loitered about all day, and went to the old man in the
evening as usual to receive his commands for the morrow. He found him
very friendly, and he said, "I am well pleased with you. Come to me
to-morrow morning with the maiden, for I know that you have long been
attached to each other, and I will give her to you as your bride."
The prince would have liked to dance and shout for joy, but by good luck
he remembered the strict rules of the house, and kept silent. But when
he spoke to his betrothed of his good fortune, and expected that she
would receive the news with equal delight, he saw her turn as white as
the wall with terror, and her tongue seemed to be paralysed. As soon as
she recovered herself a little, she said, "The Old Boy has discovered
that I have been your counsellor, and has resolved to destroy us both.
We must fly this very night, or we are lost. Take an axe, and strike off
the head of the white-headed calf with a heavy blow, and then split the
skull in two with a second stroke. In the brain of the calf you will
find a shining red reel, which you must bring me. I will arrange
whatever else is needful." The prince thought, "I would rather kill an
innocent calf than sacrifice both myself and this dear girl, and if our
flight succeeds, I shall see my home once more. The peas I sowed must
have sprung up by this time, so that we cannot miss our way."
He went into the stall, and found the cow and the calf lying asleep near
together, and they slept so fast that they did not hear his approach.
But when he struck off the calf's head, the cow groaned very loud, as if
she had had a bad dream. He hastened to split the calf's skull with the
second blow, and lo! the whole stall suddenly became as light as if it
was day. The red reel fell out of the brain, and shone like a little
sun. The prince wrapped it carefully in a cloth, and hid it in his
bosom. It was fortunate that the cow did not wake, or she would have
begun to roar so loud that she might easily have roused her master too.
The prince found the maiden waiting for him at the gate with a small
bundle on her arm. "Where is the reel?" she whispered. "Here," replied
the prince, and gave it to her. "Now we must hasten our flight," said
she, and she unravelled a small part of the reel from the cloth that its
shining light might illuminate the darkness of the way like a lantern.
As the prince had expected, the peas had all sprung up, so that they
could not miss the way. The maiden then told the prince that she had
once overheard a conversation between the old man and his grandmother,
and had learned that she was a princess whom the Old Boy had stolen from
her parents by a trick. The prince knew the real state of the case
better, but kept silence, rejoicing inwardly that he had succeeded in
freeing the poor girl. The travellers must have gone a long way before
the day began to break.
The Old Boy did not wake till late In the morning, and rubbed the sleep
out of his eyes for a long time before he remembered that he was going
to devour the couple. After waiting for them a good while he said to
himself, "Perhaps they haven't quite finished their preparations for the
wedding." But at last he got tired of waiting so long, and shouted out,
"Ahoy, man and maid, what has become of you?" He repeated the cry
several times, shouting and cursing, but neither man nor maid appeared.
At last he scrambled out of bed in a rage, and went in search of the
defaulters. But he found the house empty, and discovered, too, that the
beds had not been slept in. Then he rushed into the stall, and when he
saw the calf slaughtered and the magic reel stolen, he comprehended all.
He cursed till everything was black, and opened the third spirit-house,
sending his messengers forth to seek the fugitives. "Bring me them just
as you find them, for I must have them," said the Old Boy, and the
spirits flew forth like the wind.
The fugitives were just crossing a great plain, when the maiden
suddenly stopped and said, "All is not as it should be. The reel moves
in my hand, and we are certainly pursued." When they looked back, they
saw a black cloud rushing towards them with great speed. Then the maiden
turned the reel thrice in her hand and said:
"Hear me, reel, and reel, O hearken;
Fain would I become a streamlet,
Where as fish my lover's swimming."
Instantly they were both transformed. The maiden flowed away like a
brook, and the prince swam in the water like a little fish. The spirits
rushed past, and turned after a time, and flew back home; but they did
not touch the brook or the fish. As soon as the pursuers were gone, the
brook became a maiden, and the fish a youth, and they continued their
journey in human form.
When the spirits returned, weary and empty-handed, the Old Boy asked if
they had not noticed anything unusual on their journey.
"Nothing at all," they answered, "but a brook on the plain, with a
single fish swimming in it."
The old man growled angrily, "There they were! there they were!"
Immediately he threw open the doors of the fifth pen and let out the
spirits, commanding them to drink up the water of the brook, and to
capture the fish; and the spirits flew off like the wind.
The travellers were just approaching the edge of a wood, when the maiden
stopped, saying, "All is not as it should be. The reel moves again in my
hand." They looked round, and saw another cloud in the sky, darker than
the first, and with red borders. "These are our pursuers," she cried,
and turned the reel three times round in her hand, saying:
"Hear me, reel, and reel, O hear me;
Change us both upon the instant:
I'll become a wild rose-briar,
And my love a rose upon it."
Instantly the maiden was changed into a wild rose-bush, and the youth
hung upon it in the form of a rose. The spirits rushed away over their
heads, and did not return for some time; but they saw nothing of the
brook and the fish, and they did not trouble about the wild rose-tree.
As soon as their pursuers were gone, the rose-tree and the rose again
became a maiden and a youth, and after their short rest they hurried
away.
"Have you found them?" cried the old man, when the spirits returned and
crouched before him.
"No," answered their leader; "we found neither brook nor fish on the
plain."
"Did you see nothing else remarkable on the way?" asked their master.
The leader answered, "We saw nothing but a wild rose-bush on the edge of
the wood, with a single rose upon it." "Fools!" cried the old man,
"there they were! there they were!" He threw open the door of the
seventh pen, and sent out his most powerful spirits to search for the
fugitives. "Bring them me just as you find them, for I must have them,
dead or alive. Tear up the accursed rose-tree by the roots, and bring
everything else with you that looks strange." And the spirits rushed
forth like a tempest.
The fugitives were just resting in the shade of a wood, and
strengthening themselves for further efforts with food and drink.
Suddenly the maiden cried out, "All is not right, for the reel feels as
if it was being pulled from my bosom. We are certainly again pursued,
and the danger is close at hand, but the wood still hides us from our
enemies." Then she took the reel from her bosom, and turned it over
three times in her hand, saying:
"Hear me reel, and reel, O hear me;
To a puff of wind transform me,
To a gnat transform my lover."
Instantly they were both transformed, and the maiden rose into the air
as a puff of wind, and the prince sported in the breeze like a gnat. The
mighty host of spirits swept over them like a tempest, and returned some
time afterwards, as they could neither find the rose-bush nor anything
else remarkable. But they were hardly gone before the youth and the
maiden resumed their proper forms, and the maiden cried out, "Now we
must make haste, before the old man himself comes to look for us, for he
would know us under any disguise."
They ran on for some distance till they reached the dark passage, which
they could easily climb up by the bright light of the reel. They were
breathless and exhausted when they reached the great rock; when the
maiden again turned the reel three times round, saying:
"Hear me, reel, and reel, O hear me;
Let the rock aside be lifted,
And a portal opened for us."
Instantly the rock was lifted, and they found themselves once more upon
the earth. "God be praised," cried the maiden, "we are saved. The Old
Boy has no further power over us here, and we can guard against his
cunning. But now, my friend, we must part. Do you go to your parents,
and I will go to mine." "By no means," replied the prince, "I cannot
part from you, and you must come with me, and become my wife. You have
passed days of sorrow with me, and now it is only right that we should
enjoy days of happiness together." The maiden resisted for a time, but
at last she consented to accompany the youth.
They met with a woodcutter in the wood, who told them that there was
great trouble in the palace and throughout the whole country, because of
the unaccountable disappearance of the king's son, every trace of whom
had been lost for years.[116] The maiden made use of the magic reel to
provide the prince with suitable robes in which to present himself to
his father. Meanwhile she stayed behind in a peasant's cottage, till
the prince should have informed his father of his adventures.[117]
But the old king had died before the prince's arrival, for trouble at
the loss of his only son had shortened his life. On his death-bed he
repented bitterly of his thoughtless promise, and of his treachery in
delivering a poor innocent maiden to the old rascal, for which God had
punished him by the loss of his son. The prince mourned for the death of
his father, as befitted a good son, and buried him with great honours.
Then he mourned for three days, refusing all food and drink. On the
fourth morning he presented himself to the people as their new ruler,
assembled his councillors, and related to them the wonderful things that
he had seen and experienced in the Old Boy's dwelling, and did not
forget to say how the clever maiden had saved his life. Then the
councillors all exclaimed with one voice, "She must become your consort
and our queen."
When the young king set out to seek his bride, he was much surprised to
meet the maiden advancing in regal state. The magic reel had provided
her with everything that was necessary, and all the people supposed that
she must be the daughter of some very wealthy king, and came from a
distant country. Then the wedding festivities commenced, which lasted
four weeks, and they lived together in happiness and prosperity for many
a pleasant year.[118]
[Footnote 105: Loewe suggests that Kungla is meant, which appears not
improbable.]
[Footnote 106: This has been a common _motif_ in folk-tales from the
time of Jephthah downwards; but the manner in which the different
stories are worked out is very various.]
[Footnote 107: The usual Esthonian euphemism for the Devil.]
[Footnote 108: The moral tone of some of these Esthonian tales is much
higher than usual in folk-tales. In the story of the "Northern Frog," we
shall see that it is considered a wrong action, involving Karmic
punishment, even to steal a talisman from a demon who is trying to
entrap your soul. In most folk-tales, the basest cruelty and treachery
is looked upon as quite laudable when your own interests require it,
even against your best friend or most generous benefactor, and much more
so against a Jew or a demon. But there are other Esthonian tales
("Slyboots," for instance), in which the morality is not much superior
to that of average folk-tales.]
[Footnote 109: Here we find the Devil compared to a Tartar, just as in
the 10th canto of the _Kalevipoeg_ a water-demon is compared to a Lett.]
[Footnote 110: Boiled peas and salt are provided on such occasions, as
mentioned in other stories.]
[Footnote 111: The Kalevide was directed to stamp with his right foot to
open the gates of Porgu.]
[Footnote 112: In Esthonian legends, the wolf is the great enemy of the
devil. See vol. ii. Beast-stories.]
[Footnote 113: We meet with similar miraculously swift animals in other
Esthonian tales.]
[Footnote 114: The outhouses in Sarvik's palace (_Kalevipoeg_, Canto 14)
contained mere ordinary stores.]
[Footnote 115: A not very unusual incident in folk-tales, though it
often takes the form of offering an iron bar instead of your own hand to
a giant who wishes to shake hands with you.]
[Footnote 116: A visit to any description of non-human intelligent
beings in Esthonian tales almost always extends to years, though it may
have apparently lasted for only a day or two.]
[Footnote 117: In most stories of this class, the hero forgets his
companion on reaching home, either by a charm or by breaking a taboo.]
[Footnote 118: Another instance of a child being asked for by an
ambiguous request is to be found in the story of the Clever Countrywoman
(Jannsen), which must not be confounded with one in Kreutzwald's
collection with a nearly similar title, and of which we append an
abstract. The story ends, rather unusually, in a subterfuge. A herd-boy
returned one evening, and reported to his mistress that a cow was
missing. The woman went herself, but everything round her was changed by
magic, and she could not find her way home. However, as the mist rose
from the moor, a little white man appeared, whom she recognised as one
of the moor-dwellers. He took her home, and returned her cow, on her
promising him what she would carry night and day under her heart. From
thenceforth she took care always to wear her apron. A year afterwards,
she became the mother of a fine boy, and when he was nine weeks old, the
window was opened one night, and the intruder cried out, "Give me what
you have carried night and day under your heart, as you promised." The
woman flung him her apron, crying out, "In the name of the Father and
the Son and the Holy Ghost, receive what I promised you;" and he
instantly vanished with the apron.]
SLYBOOTS.
(KREUTZWALD.)
In the days of the son of Kalev there reigned a very rich king of
Kungla, who gave a great feast to his subjects every seven years at
midsummer, which lasted for two or three weeks together.[119] The time
for the feast came round again, and its commencement had been looked
forward to for some months, though with some uncertainty; for twice
already, seven years ago and fourteen years ago, the anticipated
festival had come to nothing. Both times the king had made full
preparations for the feast, but no man had tasted it. This seemed
strange and incredible, but there were many people everywhere who could
bear witness to the facts. It was said that on both these occasions an
unknown stranger had come to the head-cook and asked to be permitted to
taste a little of the food and drink, but the moment he had dipped his
spoon in the soup-kettle, and put the froth in the beer-can to his
mouth, the whole contents of the storehouses, pantries, and cellars
vanished in a moment, so that not a scrap or drop of anything
remained.[120] The cooks and kitchen-boys had all seen and sworn to the
truth of the matter, but the people were so enraged at the collapse of
the feast, that the king was obliged to appease them seven years before,
by ordering the head-cook to be hanged for having given the stranger
permission to taste the food. In order to prevent any repetition of the
trouble, the king proclaimed that he would richly reward any one who
would undertake the preparation of the feast; and at length, when no one
would undertake the responsibility, the king promised his youngest
daughter in marriage to any one who should succeed, but added that
failure would be punished with death.
A long way from the capital, and near the borders of the kingdom, lived
a rich farmer who had three sons, the youngest of whom showed great
intelligence from his youth, because the Meadow-Queen[121] had nursed
him, and had often secretly given him the breast. The father called him
Slyboots, and used to say to the brothers, "You two elder ones must earn
your living by your bodily strength and by the work of your hands, but
as for you, little Slyboots, you will be able to rise higher in the
world than your brothers, by your own cleverness."
Before the father died, he divided all his corn-land and meadows between
his two elder sons, but to the youngest he gave enough money to enable
him to go forth into the wide world to seek his fortune. But the
father's corpse was scarcely cold when the two elder brothers stripped
the youngest of every farthing, and thrust him out of the door, saying
mockingly, "Your cleverness alone, Slyboots, is to exalt you over our
heads, and therefore you might find the money troublesome to you."
The youngest brother scorned to notice the ill-treatment of his
brothers, and went cheerfully on his way. "Good fortune may come from
God," was the comforting reflection which he took with him from his
father's house, and he whistled away his sad thoughts. Just as he was
beginning to feel hungry, he encountered two travelling journey-men. His
pleasant countenance and cheerful talk pleased them, and when they
rested, they shared their provisions with him, so that Slyboots did not
fare so badly on the first day. He parted from his companions before
evening quite contented, for his present comfort left him without
anxiety for the morrow. He could sleep anywhere with the green grass for
a couch and the blue sky above, and a stone under his head served as
well as a soft pillow. Next morning he set out on his way again, and
arrived at a lonely farm, where a young woman was sitting at the door,
weeping bitterly. Slyboots asked what was her trouble, and she answered,
"I have a bad husband, who beats me every day if I cannot humour his mad
freaks. He has ordered me to-day to cook him a fish which is not a fish,
and which has eyes, but not in its head. Where in the world shall I find
such a creature?" "Don't cry, young woman," answered Slyboots. "Your
husband wants a crab, which is a water-animal to be sure, but is not a
fish, and which has eyes, but not in its head." The woman thanked him
for his good advice, and gave him something to eat, and a bag of
provisions which would last him for several days. As soon as he received
this unexpected assistance, he determined to set out for the royal
capital, where cleverness was likely to be in most request, and where
he hoped to make his fortune.
Wherever he went, he heard every one talking of the king's midsummer
banquet, and when he heard of the reward which was offered to the man
who should prepare the feast, he began to reflect whether he might not
be able to accomplish the adventure. "If I succeed," said he to himself,
"I shall find myself at a stroke on the highway to fortune; and in the
worst case of all, I shall only lose my life, and we must all die sooner
or later. If I begin in the right way, why shouldn't I succeed? Perhaps
I may be more fortunate than others. And even if the king should refuse
me his daughter, he must at least give me the promised reward in money,
which will make me a rich man."
Buoyed up with such thoughts, he pursued his journey, singing and
whistling like a lark, sometimes resting under the shadow of a bush
during the heat of the day, and sleeping at night under a tree or in the
open fields. One morning he finished the last remains of his provisions,
and in the evening he arrived safe and sound at the city.
Next day he craved audience of the king. The king saw that he had to
deal with an intelligent and enterprising man, and it was easy for them
to come to terms. "What is your name?" asked the king. The man of brains
replied, "My baptismal name is Nicodemus, but I was always called
Slyboots at home, to show that I did not fall on my head." "I will leave
you your name," returned the king, "but your head must answer for all
mischief if the affair should go wrong."
Slyboots asked the king to give him seven hundred workmen, and set about
his preparations without delay. He ordered twenty large sheds to be
constructed, and arranged in a square like a series of large cowhouses,
so that a great open space was left in the middle, to which led one
single large gate. He ordered great cooking-pots and caldrons to be
built in the rooms which were to be heated, and the ovens were furnished
with iron spits, where meat and sausages could be roasted. Other sheds
were furnished with great boilers and vats for brewing beer, so that the
boilers were above and the vats below. Other houses without fireplaces
were fitted up as storehouses for cold provisions, such as black bread,
barm bracks, white bread, &c. All needful stores, such as flour, groats,
meat, salt, lard, butter, &c., were brought into the open space, and
fifty soldiers were stationed before the door, so that nothing should be
touched by the finger of any thief. The king came every day to view the
preparations, and praised the skill and forethought of Slyboots. Besides
all this, several dozen bakehouses were built in the open air, and a
special guard of soldiers was stationed before each. They slaughtered
for the feast a thousand oxen, two hundred calves, five hundred swine,
ten thousand sheep, and many more small animals, which were driven
together in flocks from all quarters. Stores of provisions were
constantly brought by river in boats and barges, and by land in waggons,
and this went on without intermission for several weeks. Seven thousand
hogsheads were brewed of beer alone. Although the seven hundred
assistants toiled late and early, and many additional labourers were
engaged, yet most of the toil and trouble fell upon Slyboots, who was
obliged to look sharply after the others at every point. He had warned
the cooks, the bakers, and the brewers, in the most stringent manner,
not to allow any strange mouth to taste the food or drink, and any one
who broke this command was threatened with the gallows. If such a greedy
stranger should make his appearance anywhere, he was to be brought
immediately to the superintendent of the preparations.
On the morning of the first day of the feast, word was brought to
Slyboots that an unknown old man had come into one of the kitchens, and
asked the cook to allow him to taste a little from the soup-kettle with
a spoon, which the cook could not permit him to do on his own
responsibility. Slyboots ordered the stranger to be brought before him,
and presently he beheld a little old man with grey hair, who humbly
begged to be allowed to taste the food and drink prepared for the
banquet. Slyboots told him to come into one of the kitchens, when he
would gratify his wish if it were possible. As they went, he scanned the
old man sharply, to see whether he could not detect something strange
about him. Presently he observed a shining gold ring on the ring-finger
of the old man's left hand. When they reached the kitchen, Slyboots
asked, "What security can you give me that no harm shall come of it if I
let you taste the food?" "My lord," answered the stranger, "I have
nothing to offer you as a pledge." Slyboots pointed to the fine gold
ring and demanded that as a pledge. The old fellow resisted with all his
might, protesting that the ring was a token of remembrance from his
dead wife, and he had vowed never to take it from his hand, lest some
misfortune should happen. "Then it is quite impossible for me to grant
your request," said Slyboots, "for I cannot permit any one to taste
either the food or drink without a pledge." The old man was so anxious
about it that at last he gave his ring as a pledge.
Just as he was about to dip his spoon in the pot, Slyboots struck him so
heavy a blow on the head with the flat of an axe, that it might have
felled the strongest ox; but the old fellow did not fall, but only
staggered a little. Then Slyboots seized him by the beard with both
hands, and ordered strong ropes to be brought, with which he bound the
old man hand and foot, and hung him up by the legs to a beam. Then
Slyboots said to him mockingly, "You may wait there till the feast is
over, and then we will resume our conversation. Meantime, I'll keep your
ring, on which your power depends, as a token." The old man was obliged
to submit, whether he liked it or not, for he was bound so firmly that
he could not move hand or foot.
Then the great feast began, to which the people flocked in thousands
from all quarters. Although the feasting lasted for three whole weeks,
there was no want of either food or drink, for there was plenty and to
spare.
The people were much pleased, and had nothing but praise for the king
and the manager of the feast. When the king was about to pay Slyboots
the promised reward, he answered, "I have still a little business to
transact with the stranger before I receive my reward." Then he took
seven strong men with him, armed with heavy cudgels, and took them to
the place where the old man had been hanging for the last three weeks.
"Now, then," said Slyboots, "grasp your cudgels firmly, and belabour the
old man so that he shall never forget his hospitable reception for the
rest of his life." The seven men began to whack the old man all at once,
and would soon have made an end of his life, if the rope had not given
way under their blows. The little man fell down, and vanished
underground in an instant, leaving a wide opening behind him. Then said
Slyboots, "I have his pledge, with which I must follow him. Bring the
king a thousand greetings from me, and tell him to divide my reward
among the poor, if I should not return."
He then crept downwards through the hole in which the old man had
disappeared. At first he found the pathway very narrow, but it widened
considerably at the depth of a few fathoms, so that he was able to
advance easily. Steps were hewn in the rock, so that he did not slip,
notwithstanding the darkness. Slyboots went on for some distance, till
he came to a door. He looked through a crack, and saw three young
girls[122] sitting with the old man, whose head was resting on the lap
of one of them. The girl was saying, "If I only rub the bruise a few
times more with the bell,[123] the pain and swelling will disappear."
Slyboots thought, "That is certainly the place where I struck the old
man with the back of the axe three weeks ago." He decided to wait behind
the door till the master of the house had lain down to sleep and the
fire was extinguished. Presently the old man said, "Help me into my
room, that I may go to bed, for my body is quite out of joint, and I
can't move hand or foot." Then they brought him to his room. When it
grew dark, and the girls had left the room, Slyboots crept gently in,
and hid himself behind the beer-barrel.[124]
Presently the girls came back, and spoke gently, so as not to rouse the
old man. "The bruise on the head is of no consequence," said one, "and
the sprained body will also soon be cured, but the loss of the ring of
strength is irreparable, and this troubles the old man more than his
bodily sufferings." Soon afterwards they heard the old man snoring, and
Slyboots came out of his hiding-place and made friends with the maidens.
At first they were rather frightened, but the clever youth soon
contrived to dispel their alarm, and they allowed him to stay there for
the night. The maidens told him that the old man possessed two great
treasures, a magic sword and a rod of rowan-wood, and he resolved to
possess himself of both. The rod would form a bridge over the sea for
its possessor, and he who bore the sword could destroy the most numerous
army.[125] On the following evening Slyboots contrived to seize upon
the wand and the sword, and escaped before daybreak with the help of the
youngest girl. But the passage had disappeared from before the door, and
in its place he found a large enclosure, beyond which was a broad sea.
As soon as Slyboots was gone the girls began to quarrel, and their loud
talking woke up the old man. He learned from what they said that a
stranger had been there, and he rose up in a passion, and found the wand
and sword gone. "My best treasures are stolen!" he roared, and,
forgetting his bruises, he rushed out. Slyboots was still sitting on the
beach, thinking whether he should try the power of the wand, or seek for
a dry path. Suddenly he heard a rushing sound behind him like a gust of
wind. When he looked round, he saw the old man charging upon him like a
madman. He sprang up, and had just time to strike the waves with the
rod, and to cry out, "Bridge before, water behind!" He had scarcely
spoken, when he found himself standing on a bridge over the sea,
already at some distance from the shore.[126]
The old man came to the beach panting and puffing, but stopped short
when he saw the thief on the bridge over the sea. He called out,
snuffling, "Nicodemus, my son, where are you going?" "Home, papa," was
the reply. "Nicodemus, my son, you struck me on the head with an axe,
and hung me up to a beam by the legs." "Yes, papa." "Nicodemus, my son,
did you call seven men to beat me, and steal my gold ring from me?"
"Yes, papa." "Nicodemus, my son, have you bamboozled my daughters?"
"Yes, papa." "Nicodemus, my son, have you stolen my sword and wand?"
"Yes, papa." "Nicodemus, my son, will you come back?" "Yes, papa,"
answered Slyboots again. Meantime he had advanced so far on the bridge,
that he could no longer hear the old man speak. When he had crossed the
sea, he inquired the nearest way to the royal city, and hastened thither
to claim his reward.
But lo! he found everything very different from what he had expected.
Both his brothers had entered the service of the king, one as a
coachman and the other as a chamberlain. Both were living in grand style
and were rich people. When Slyboots applied to the king for his reward,
the latter answered, "I waited for you for a whole year, and I neither
saw nor heard anything of you. I supposed you were dead, and was about
to divide your reward among the poor, as you desired. But one day your
elder brothers arrived to inherit your fortune. I left the matter to the
court, who assigned the money to them, because it was supposed that you
were dead. Since then your brothers have entered my service, and both
still remain in it." When Slyboots heard what the king said, he thought
he must be dreaming, for he imagined that he had been only two nights in
the old man's subterranean dwelling, and had then taken a few days to
return home; but now it appeared that each night had been as long as a
year. He would not go to law with his brothers, but abandoned the money
to them, thanked God that he had escaped with his life, and looked out
for some fresh employment. The king's cook engaged him as kitchen-boy,
and he now had to turn the joints on the spit every day. His brothers
despised him for his mean employment, and did not like to have anything
to do with him, although he still loved them. One evening he told them
much of what he had seen in the under-world, where the geese and ducks
had gold and silver plumage. The brothers related this to the king, and
begged him to send their youngest brother to fetch these curious birds.
The king sent for the kitchen-boy, and ordered him to start next morning
in search of the birds with the costly feathers.
Slyboots set out next day with a heavy heart, but he took with him the
ring, the wand, and the sword, which he had carefully preserved. Some
days afterwards he reached the sea, and saw an old man[127] with a long
grey beard sitting on a stone at the place where he had reached land
after his flight. When Slyboots came nearer, the old man asked, "Why are
you so sad, my friend?" Slyboots told him how badly he had fared, and
the old man bid him be of good cheer, and not vex himself, adding, "No
harm can happen to you, as long as you wear the ring of strength." He
then gave Slyboots a mussel-shell,[128] and advised him to build the
bridge with the magic wand to the middle of the sea, and then to step on
the shell with his left foot, when he would immediately find himself in
the under-world, while every one there was asleep. He also advised him
to make himself a bag of spun yarn in which to put the water-birds with
gold and silver plumage, and then he could return unmolested. Everything
fell out as the old man predicted, but Slyboots had hardly reached the
sea-shore with his booty when he heard his former acquaintance behind
him; and when he was on the bridge he heard him calling out, "Nicodemus,
my son," and repeating the same questions as before. At last he asked if
he had stolen the birds? Slyboots answered "Yes" to every question, and
hastened on.
Slyboots arrived at the royal city in the evening, as his friend with
the grey beard had foretold, and the yarn bag held the birds so well
that none had escaped. The king made him a present, and told him to go
back next day, for he had heard from the two elder brothers that the
lord of the under-world had many gold and silver utensils, which the
king desired for his own use. Slyboots did not venture to refuse, but
he went very unwillingly, because he did not know how to manage the
affair. However, when he reached the sea-shore, he met his friend with
the grey beard, who asked the reason of his sadness. The old man gave
Slyboots another mussel-shell, and a handful of small stones, with the
following advice. "If you go there in the afternoon, you will find the
father in bed taking his siesta, the daughters spinning in the
sitting-room, and the grandmother in the kitchen scouring the gold and
silver vessels bright. Climb nimbly on the chimney, throw down the
stones tied up in a bag on the old woman's neck, come down yourself as
quick as possible, put the costly vessels in the yarn bag, and then run
off as fast as your legs will carry you."
Slyboots thanked his friend, and followed his advice exactly. But when
he dropped the bag of pebbles, it expanded into a six hundred weight
sack of paving stones, which dashed the old woman to the ground. In a
moment Slyboots swept all the gold and silver vessels into his bag and
took to flight. When the Old Boy heard the noise, he thought the chimney
had fallen down, and did not venture to get up directly. But when he
had called the grandmother for a long time without receiving any answer,
he was obliged to go himself. When he discovered the misfortune that had
happened, he hastened in pursuit of the thief, who could not be gone
far. Slyboots was already on the sea, when his pursuer reached the shore
panting and puffing. As before, the Old Boy cried out, "Nicodemus, my
son," and repeated the former questions. At last he asked, "Nicodemus,
my son, have you stolen my gold and silver utensils?" "Certainly, my
father," answered Slyboots. "Nicodemus, my son, do you promise to come
again?" "No, my father," answered Slyboots, hurrying along the bridge.
Although the old man cursed and scolded after the thief, he could not
catch him, and he had now been despoiled of all his magic treasures.
Slyboots found his friend with the grey beard waiting for him on the
other side of the sea, and he threw down the bag of heavy gold and
silverware, which the ring of strength had enabled him to bring away,
and sat down to rest his weary limbs.
The old man now told him much that shocked him. "Your brothers hate you,
and will do all they can to destroy you, if you do not oppose their
wicked attempts. They will urge the king on to set you tasks in which
you are very likely to perish. When you bring your rich load to the king
this evening, you will find him friendly disposed towards you; and then
ask, as your only reward, that his daughter should be hidden behind the
door in the evening, to hear what your brothers talk about together."
When Slyboots came before the king with his rich booty, which was enough
to make at least ten horse-loads, he found him extremely kind and
friendly, and he took the opportunity to make the request which his old
friend had advised. The king was glad that the treasure-bringer asked
for no greater reward, and ordered his daughter to hide herself behind
the door in the evening, to overhear what the coachman and the
chamberlain were talking about.
The brothers had grown haughty with prosperity, and boasted of their
good luck, and what was worse, they both boasted to each other of the
favours of the princess in her own hearing! She ran to her father,
flushed with shame and anger, and told him weeping what shameful lies
she had heard with her own ears, and begged him to punish the wretches.
The king immediately ordered them both to be thrown into prison, and
when they had confessed their guilt before the court next day, they were
executed, while Slyboots was promoted to the rank of king's councillor.
Some time afterwards the country was invaded by a foreign king, and
Slyboots was sent against the enemy in the field. Then he drew the sword
which he had brought from the under-world for the first time, and began
to slaughter the hostile army, and soon none were left alive on the
bloody field. The king was so pleased at the victory that he made
Slyboots his son-in-law.
Jannsen gives an inferior variant of this story under the title of
the House-Spirit. Here a little man who creeps from under the stove
is permitted by the cook to taste the soup three times running, and
every time the pot is emptied. His master tells him to quit his
service next morning, and orders the steward to make soup; and the
steward knocks down the dwarf with the spoon. Next morning, as the
cook is leaving, the dwarf invites him to his house under the
stove, and gives him a little box, on which he has only to tap, and
ask for whatever he wants. The steward meets the cook, hears the
story, puts on soup, and invites the dwarf to partake. In return he
receives a box, which he takes to his master, but out of the box
jumps a dwarf with an iron club, who belabours them both till they
are nearly dead, and then disappears with the box. The kitchen
dwarf was never seen again.
The next story is peculiarly interesting and original. I place it here,
because we find three maidens busy spinning for a witch, as the Kalevide
found them in the palace of Sarvik.
[Footnote 119: These great public periodical feasts are Eastern rather
than Western. Compare the story of Ali Shar and Zumurrud (_Thousand and
One Nights_).]
[Footnote 120: A similar feat is performed by Sarvik in the
_Kalevipoeg_, Canto 17.]
[Footnote 121: See page 13.]
[Footnote 122: As in the _Kalevipoeg_, Canto 13; and the story of the
Gold-Spinners, &c.]
[Footnote 123: Compare p. 121 (antea). The bell is not mentioned
elsewhere in this story.]
[Footnote 124: A beer-barrel with a tap, for general use, often stands
in the houses of the Esthonian peasantry.]
[Footnote 125: "And as to the sword, if it be drawn against an army, and
its bearer shake it, he will rout the army; and if he say to it at the
time of his shaking it, 'Slay this army,' there will proceed from that
sword a lightning which will slay the whole army."--_Story of Joodar_
(_Thousand and One Nights_).]
[Footnote 126: Compare the scene between the Kalevide and Tuehi, in Canto
15 of the poem.]
[Footnote 127: This old man may have been the consort of the
Meadow-Queen. _Cf._ pp. 188, 259.]
[Footnote 128: We shall find mussel-shells used as boats in other
tales.]
THE GOLD-SPINNERS.
(KREUTZWALD.)
I am going to tell you a beautiful story about what happened in the
world in ancient days, when the meadows still resounded with the wise
sayings of birds and beasts.
Once upon a time a lame old woman lived in a thick forest with her three
beautiful daughters in a cottage hidden among the bushes. The three
daughters were like three fair flowers, especially the youngest, who was
as fair and delicate as a bean-flower, while the mother was like a
withered stem. But there was none to look upon them in their loneliness
save the sun by day, and by night the moon and the starry eyes of
heaven.
Hot, like eyes of youthful lovers,
Shone the sun upon their head-gear,
Shining on their coloured ribands,
Turning red their garment's edges.
The old mother did not allow the girls to grow up in idleness, but kept
them hard at work from morning to night spinning golden flax into
thread. She gave the poor creatures no half-holidays on Thursdays or
Saturdays, to provide themselves with anything they needed, and if they
had not sometimes taken their needles in their hands by stealth at
twilight or by moonlight, they would have possessed nothing. As soon as
the distaff was empty, they were immediately furnished with a fresh
supply, and the thread was required to be fine and regular. When the
thread was finished, the old woman hid it away under lock and key in a
secret chamber, where her daughters were never allowed to set foot. The
spinners knew not how the golden flax came into the house, nor for what
fabric the thread was used, for the mother never replied to any
questions on these subjects. The old woman went off on a journey two or
three times every summer, and sometimes stayed away more than a week,
but her daughters never knew where she went or what she brought back
with her, for she always returned by night. When she was about to start,
she always distributed as many days' work to her daughters as she
expected to be away.
The time came round again for the old woman to set out on her journey,
and she gave out work to the girls for six days, repeating her usual
admonition. "Children, do not let your eyes wander, and hold your
fingers carefully, that the thread on the reel is not broken, or the
glitter of the golden thread will vanish, and with it all your prospects
of good fortune." The girls laughed at this impressive warning, and
before their mother had hobbled ten steps from the house on her
crutches, all three began to make light of it. "There is no need of this
useless warning, which is always repeated," said the youngest sister.
"The golden threads do not break with picking, much less with spinning."
The other sisters added, "It is equally unlikely that the golden lustre
should disappear." The girls often ventured on such jests, but at last,
after much merriment, tears rose to their eyes.
On the third day after their mother's departure an unexpected event took
place, which at first filled the daughters with alarm, and then with joy
and happiness, but which was destined to cause them great trouble for a
long time afterwards. A prince of the race of Kalev found himself
separated from his companions while hunting in the forest,[129] and
wandered so far out of his way that he could no longer hear the barking
of the dogs, nor the blowing of the horns to direct him aright. All his
shouts met with no response but their own echo, or were lost in the
thick bush. At length the prince, tired and disheartened, dismounted
from his horse and lay down to rest under a bush, while he allowed his
horse to stray about and graze at liberty. When the prince awoke from
his sleep, the sun was already low in the heavens. As he was again
wandering backwards and forwards in search of the right road, he came
at length to a small footpath which led him to the cottage of the lame
old woman. The daughters were startled when they suddenly saw the
stranger appear, whose like they had never before beheld. But they had
finished their day's work, and soon made friends with the visitor in the
cool evening, feeling no inclination to retire to rest. And even after
the elder sisters had lain down to sleep, the youngest still sat on the
doorstep with their guest, and no sleep visited their eyes that night.
We will leave the pair to exchange confidences and sweet words in the
light of the moon and stars, and will return to the huntsmen who had
lost their master in the wood. They searched unweariedly through the
whole forest, until the darkness of night put an end to their quest.
After this, two men were sent to carry the sad news to the city, while
the others camped for the night under a great pine-tree, ready to renew
their search next day. The king immediately issued orders that a
regiment of horse and a regiment of foot should march out next morning
to seek for his lost son. The wood was so long and broad that the
search lasted till the third day, when horse-tracks were at length
discovered which they followed till they reached the footpath which led
to the cottage. The prince had not found the time pass heavily in
company with the maiden, and he was but little disposed to go home.
Before he departed, he gave her a secret promise that he would return in
a short time, and take her with him, either with good-will or by force,
and would make her his bride. But although the elder sisters had heard
nothing of the matter, it nevertheless came to light in a way which
nobody anticipated.
The youngest daughter was not a little astonished, when she sat down to
work after the departure of the prince, to find that the thread on the
spool was broken. She pieced the ends together, and set the wheel in
rapid motion that she might make up for the time which she had lost with
her lover, by diligent labour, but her heart fluttered at a strange and
inexplicable event, for the gold thread had lost its former lustre. No
terror and no sighs or tears could repair the mischief. According to an
old proverb, misfortune springs into the house through the door, enters
by the window, and creeps in through any crevice which is not blocked
up; and thus was it now.[130]
The old woman returned home by night; and as soon as she came into the
room in the morning, she perceived at once that something was wrong. Her
heart was filled with rage, and she called her daughters one by one, and
severely cross-questioned them. They could not help themselves with lies
and excuses, for lies have short legs, and the cunning old woman soon
discovered what the village cock had crowed in her youngest daughter's
ear behind her back. Then the old woman began to curse so terribly that
it seemed as if she wanted to darken heaven and earth with her
imprecations. At last she threatened to break the neck of the young man
and give his flesh to the wild beasts to devour if he ever ventured near
the house again. The youngest daughter turned as red as a boiled crab,
and found no rest by day nor sleep by night; for the thought oppressed
her ever, that if the youth should return, he might meet his death.
Early in the morning she stole quietly out of the house while her mother
and sisters were still asleep, to breathe the freshness of the dewy
air. As luck would have it, she had learned the language of birds from
her mother when she was still a child, and her knowledge now stood her
in good stead. A raven was sitting in the branches of a pine-tree near,
preening his feathers, and the maiden called to him, "Dear bird of
wisdom, wisest of the race of birds, come to my aid." "What help dost
thou need?" answered the raven. The girl answered, "Fly from the wood
afar into the country, until you reach a stately city with a royal
palace. Endeavour to find the king's son, and warn him of the misfortune
which has come upon us." Then she told the raven the whole story, from
the breaking of the thread to the terrible threat of her mother, and
begged that the youth would never return to the house. The raven
promised to deliver her message, if he could find anybody who understood
his language, and flew away immediately.
The mother would not allow the youngest daughter to work at the
spinning-wheel again, but kept her busy winding the spun thread. This
work would have been easier to the maiden than the other, but her
mother's incessant cursing and scolding gave her no rest from morning
to night. Any attempt to palliate her offence only made matters worse.
If a woman's heart overflows with anger and loosens her tongue, no power
on earth can stay it.
Towards evening the voice of the raven was heard croaking on the summit
of the pine-tree, and the tortured girl hurried out to inquire what news
he brought. The raven had had the good fortune to meet with the son of a
magician in the garden of the king, who perfectly understood the
language of birds. To him the bird delivered the message of the maiden,
and besought him to convey it to the prince. "Tell the raven," said the
prince to the magician's son, "that he must return, and say to the
maiden, 'Sleep not on the ninth night, for a deliverer will then appear
to rescue the chick from the claws of the hawk.'" They gave the raven a
piece of meat as a reward for his message and to strengthen his wings,
and then sent him back again. The maiden thanked the bird for his news,
but concealed his message carefully in her own bosom, so that the others
heard nothing of it. But as the ninth day approached her heart grew ever
heavier, for she dreaded lest some unexpected mischance might yet ruin
all.
When the ninth night came, and the mother and daughters had retired to
rest, the youngest sister stole from the house on tip-toe, and sat down
on the grass under a tree to wait for her lover. Her heart was full of
mingled hope and fear. The cock had already crowed twice, but there was
not a step nor a voice to be heard in the wood. But between the second
and third cockcrow she heard the distant sound of horses' hoofs. Guided
by the sound, she made her way in their direction, lest the noise of
their approach should rouse the sleeping household. She soon caught
sight of the troop of soldiers, at whose head rode the prince himself,
guiding them by the secret marks he had made on the trees when he
departed. As soon as he perceived the maiden, he sprang from his horse,
lifted her into the saddle, seated himself before her, so that she could
cling to him, and then hastened homewards. The moon shone so brightly
between the trees that the soldiers could not miss the track. Presently
the birds roused up, and began to chirp and twitter in the dawning
light. And if the maiden had had time to listen to their warnings, they
would have profited her more than the honeyed words of her lover, which
were all that reached her ear. But she saw and heard nothing but the
voice of her lover, who bade her dismiss all idle fears, and to trust in
the protection of the soldiers. The sun was already high in the heavens
when they left the forest and emerged into the open country. Fortunately
the old mother did not discover her daughter's flight very early in the
morning. It was only when she found that the twists of thread had not
been wound that she asked what had become of the youngest sister, but no
one could inform her. There were many indications to show that she had
fled, and the mother immediately devised a crafty plan to punish the
fugitive. She went out and gathered a handful of nine[131] different
sorts of magic herbs, scattered charmed salt over them, and tied up the
whole in a bundle. Then she muttered curses and imprecations over the
witch-packet, and cast it to the winds, saying--
"Lend the ball thy wings, O whirlwind!
Mother of the wind, thy pinions;
Drive the witch's bundle onward,
Let it fly with wind-like swiftness,
Let it scatter death around it,
Let it cast disease beyond it."
Somewhat before noon the prince and his army arrived on the bank of a
broad river, over which a narrow bridge had been thrown, which only
permitted the soldiers to pass one by one. The prince was just riding on
the middle of the bridge, when the witch's bundle came flying along,
borne by the wind, and attacked his horse like a gadfly. The horse
snorted with terror, reared up on his hind-legs, and before any help
could be given, the maiden slid from the saddle and fell headlong into
the river. The prince would have leaped in after her, but the soldiers
seized hold of him and prevented him, for the river was of unfathomable
depth, and no human aid could avail to remedy the misfortune which had
happened.
The prince was almost distracted with grief and horror, and the soldiers
forced him to accompany them home against his will. He lay in a quiet
room for weeks mourning over the calamity, and at first refused all food
and drink. The king summoned magicians from all quarters, but none of
them could discover the nature of the disease or suggest any remedy.
But one day the son of the wind-sorcerer, who was one of the labourers
in the king's garden, advised, "Send to Finland for the oldest of all
magicians, for he is wiser than the magicians of our country."
When the king heard this, he sent a messenger to the old Finnish
sorcerer, who arrived after a week on the wings of the wind. He spoke
thus to the king: "Mighty king, the disease which afflicts the prince is
caused by the wind. An evil witch-packet has robbed the prince of the
half of his heart, and therefore he suffers unceasingly. Send him often
into the wind that the wind may bear away his sorrows into the forest."
He was not wrong, for the health of the prince soon began to improve,
his appetite grew better, and he was able to sleep at night. At last he
confided the sorrow of his heart to his parents, and his father wished
him to seek out another young bride to lead home; but the prince would
not listen to the proposal.
The young man had already passed a year in mourning, when one day he
happened to come to the bridge where he had lost his betrothed, and
bitter tears rose to his eyes at the recollection. Suddenly he heard a
sweet voice singing, although no living creature was in sight. And the
voice sang:
"By the mother's curse o'ertaken,
Sank in flood the hapless maiden,
In the watery grave the fair one,
And in Ahti's[132] waves thy darling."
The prince dismounted from his horse, and looked round everywhere to see
whether some one might not be hidden under the bridge, but he could see
no singer anywhere. The only object visible was a water-lily, swaying on
the water amid its broad leaves. But a swaying flower could not sing,
and there must be something mysterious about it. He tied his horse to a
stump on the bank, and sat down on the bridge to listen, hoping that his
eyes or ears would give him some solution of the riddle. All was still
for a while, but presently the invisible singer sang again:
"By the mother's curse o'ertaken,
Sank in flood the hapless maiden,
In the watery grave the fair one,
And in Ahti's waves thy darling."
Sometimes the wind brings a fortunate idea to men, and such was the
case now. The prince thought, "If I rode alone to the cottage in the
wood, who knows but that the gold-spinners might be able to give me some
explanation of this wonderful occurrence." He mounted his horse and rode
towards the forest. He hoped to find his way easily by the former
indications, but the wood had grown, and he rode for more than one day
before he could discover the footpath. When he drew near the cottage, he
stopped and waited, hoping that one of the maidens would come out. Early
in the morning the eldest sister came out to wash her face at the
spring. The young man went to her, and told her of the misfortune that
had happened on the bridge the year before, and of the song which he had
heard there a day or two ago. It happened that the old mother was absent
from home, and the maiden invited the prince into the house. As soon as
the two girls heard his story, they knew that the misfortune must have
been caused by their mother's witch's coil, and that their sister was
not dead, but only enchanted. The eldest sister inquired, "Did you see
nothing on the surface of the water from whence the song might have
proceeded?" "Nothing," replied the prince. "As far as my eyes could
reach, nothing could be perceived on the surface of the water but a
yellow water-lily surrounded by its broad leaves; but leaves and flowers
cannot sing." The maidens immediately suspected that the water-lily
could be nothing but their sister, who had fallen into the water, and
had been changed into a flower by enchantment. They knew that their old
mother had let fly the witch's coil after the maiden, with her curse,
and that if it had not killed her, it might have transformed her into
any shape. But they would not tell the prince of their suspicions until
they could devise some means for their sister's release, lest they might
inspire him with fruitless hopes. As they did not expect their mother to
return home for some days, there was plenty of time to consider the best
course to adopt.
In the evening the eldest sister gathered a sufficient quantity of
various magic herbs, which she rubbed with flour into a dough; and baked
a pie which she gave to the young man to eat before he retired to rest
at night. During the night the prince had a wonderful dream. He thought
that he was in the wood among the birds, and that he could understand
the language of them all. In the morning he related his dream to the
maidens, and the eldest sister observed, "You have come to us at a
fortunate hour, and you have had your dream at a fortunate hour, for it
will be fulfilled on your way home. The pork pie which I baked for your
welfare yesterday, and gave you to eat, was mixed with magic herbs which
will enable you to understand everything which the knowing birds say to
one another. These little feathered people are gifted with much wisdom
which is unknown to mankind. Turn a sharp ear to whatever their beaks
may utter. And when your own time of trouble is over, do not forget us
poor children, who sit here at the spinning-wheel as if in an eternal
prison."
The prince thanked the maidens for their kindness, and promised to do
his best to release them, either by ransom or by force. He then took
leave of them and turned his way homewards. The maidens were pleased to
find that the threads were not broken, and still retained their golden
lustre, so that their mother would have no cause to reproach them when
she returned.
The prince found his ride through the wood still more pleasant. He
seemed to be surrounded with a numerous company, for the singing and
chirping of the birds sounded like articulate words to his ears. He was
greatly surprised to find how much wisdom is lost to men who do not
understand the language of birds. At first the wanderer was not able to
understand clearly what the feathered people were saying, for they were
talking of the affairs of various persons who were unknown to him; but
suddenly he saw a magpie and a thrush sitting in a tall pine-tree, who
were talking about himself.
"How great is the stupidity of men!" said the thrush. "They cannot
rightly comprehend the most trifling matter. For a whole year the
foster-child of a lame old woman has been sitting near the bridge in the
form of a water-lily, lamenting her sad fate in song, but no one has
been able to release her. A few days ago her lover was riding over the
bridge, and heard her melancholy song, but he was no wiser than anybody
else." The magpie answered, "And yet the maiden was punished by her
mother on his account. Unless he is gifted with greater wisdom that
falls to the lot of men, she must remain a flower for ever." "It would
be a trifling matter to release the maiden," said the thrush, "if the
matter were fully explained to the old magician of Finland. He could
easily deliver her from her watery prison and flowery bondage."
This conversation made the young man thoughtful, and as he rode on, he
began to consider what messenger he could send to Finland. Presently he
heard one swallow say to another over his head, "Let us go to Finland,
where we can build our nests better than here."
"Stay, friends," cried the prince in the language of the birds. "Please
to convey a thousand compliments from me to the old sorcerer of Finland,
and ask him to give me directions how to restore a maiden who has been
transformed into a water-lily to her original form." The swallows
promised to fulfil his request, and flew away.
When he came to the bank of the river, he allowed his horse to graze,
and remained standing on the bridge, to listen whether he could not hear
the song again. But all was still, and he could hear nothing but the
rushing of the waters and the sighing of the wind. At last he mounted
his horse unwillingly and rode home, but did not say a word to any one
of his excursion and his adventure.
He was sitting in the garden a week afterwards, and thinking that the
swallows must have forgotten his message, when a great eagle circled
above him high in the air. The bird gradually descended, and at length
alighted on the branch of a lime-tree near the prince, and thus
addressed him: "I bring you greetings from the old sorcerer in Finland,
who hopes that you will not think ill of him that he did not reply to
your message sooner, for he could not find a messenger who was coming
this way. It is a very simple matter to disenchant the maiden. You have
only to go to the bank of the river, throw off your clothes, and smear
yourself all over with mud till not a speck remains white. Then take the
tip of your nose between your fingers, and say, 'Let the man become a
crayfish.' Immediately you will become a crayfish, when you can descend
into the river without any fear of being drowned. Squeeze yourself
boldly under the roots of the water-lily, and clear them from mud and
reeds, so that no portion remains fixed. Then grasp one of the roots
with your pincers, and the water will raise you with the flower to the
surface. Allow yourself to drift with the stream till you see a
rowan-tree[133] with leafy branches on the left bank. Near the
rowan-tree is a rock about as high as a small bath-house. When you reach
the rock you must say, 'Let the water-lily become a maiden and the
crayfish a man!' and it will be accomplished immediately." When the
eagle had delivered his message, he spread his wings, and flew away. The
young man looked after him for a time, not knowing what to think of the
whole affair.
A week passed by, and found him still undecided, for he had neither
courage nor confidence sufficient to undertake such an enterprise. At
length a crow said to him, "Why do you neglect to follow the old man's
advice? The old sorcerer has never given false information, and the
language of birds never deceives. Hasten to the river, and let the
maiden dry your tears of longing." This gave the young man courage, for
he reflected, "Nothing worse can befall me but death, and death is
easier than constant weeping." He mounted his horse and took the
well-known path to the banks of the river. When he came to the bridge,
he could distinguish the song:
"By my mother's curse o'ertaken,
Here I lie in slumber sunken;
Here the youthful maid must languish
On the bosom of the waters,
And the bed is cold and oozy
Where the tender maid is resting."
The prince dismounted, and hobbled his horse to prevent him from
straying too far from the bridge. Then he took off his clothes, and
smeared himself over and over with mud, so that no spot remained white.
After this, he caught hold of the end of his nose, and jumped into the
water, exclaiming, "Let the man become a crayfish." There was a splash
in the water, and then everything became as still as before.
The prince, now transformed into a crayfish, immediately began to
disentangle the roots of the water-lily from the bed of the river, but
it took him a long time. The roots were firmly fixed in the sand and
mud, so that the crayfish had to work for seven whole days before he
could complete his task. Then he seized one of the rootlets with his
pincers, and the water buoyed him up to the surface with the flower.
They drifted along slowly with the current, but although there were
plenty of trees and bushes on the banks, it was some time before the
prince caught sight of the rowan-tree and the rock. At last, however, he
spied the tree with its leaves and clusters of red berries on the left
bank, and a little farther on stood the rock, which was as high as a
small bath-house. Upon this he cried out, "Let the water-lily become a
maiden and the crayfish a man." Then the youth and the maiden swam with
their heads above the water. The water bore them to the bank, but they
were both mother-naked, as God had created them.
Then said the shame-faced maiden, "Dear youth, I have no clothes to put
on, and cannot come out of the water." But the prince answered, "Go
ashore near the rowan-tree, and I will shut my eyes while you climb up
and hide yourself under the tree. Then I will hurry to the bridge where
I left my horse and my clothes when I plunged into the river." So the
maiden hid herself under the tree, while the prince hurried to the spot
where he had left his horse and his clothes, but he could find neither
one nor the other. He did not know that he had passed so many days in
the form of a crayfish, and supposed that he had only spent a few hours
in the water. Presently he saw a magnificent chariot with six horses
coming slowly along the bank to meet him. In the chariot he found
everything needful both for himself and for the maiden whom he had
released from her watery prison, as well as an attendant and a lady's
maid. The prince kept the attendant with him, but sent the chariot and
the maid with the clothes to the spot where his naked darling was
waiting under the rowan-tree. Rather more than an hour elapsed before
the coach returned, bringing the maiden attired as a royal bride to the
spot where the prince was waiting. He also was richly dressed in wedding
robes, and seated himself by her side in the chariot. They drove
straight to the city, and stopped before the door of the church. In the
church sat the king and queen in black garments, mourning for the loss
of their beloved son, who was supposed to have been drowned in the
river, for his horse and his clothes had been found on the bank. Great
was their joy when their lost son appeared before them, accompanied by
a beautiful girl, both in wedding attire. The king himself led them to
the altar, and they were married. Then a wedding-feast was prepared,
which lasted for six whole weeks.
But there is no peace nor rest in the course of time, for days of
happiness appear to pass more quickly than hours of trouble. Soon after
the wedding, autumn set in, followed by frost and snow, and the young
couple did not feel much inclination to leave the house. But when spring
returned, the prince and his young consort went to walk in the garden.
There they heard a magpie crying out from the summit of a tree, "O what
an ungrateful creature to neglect the friends who have helped him so
much, in his days of happiness! Must the two poor girls sit spinning
gold thread all their lives? The lame old woman is not the mother of the
maidens, but a wicked witch who stole them away from a far country when
they were children. The old woman has committed many crimes, and
deserves no mercy. Let her be punished with boiled hemlock, or she will
perhaps direct another witch's coil against the child who has been
rescued."
This reminded the prince of all that had happened, and he told his
consort how he had gone to the cottage in the wood to ask the advice of
her sisters, and how the maidens had taught him the language of birds,
and he had promised to release them from their servitude. His wife
begged him with tears in her eyes to go to the aid of her sisters. When
they awoke next morning, she said, "I had an important dream last night.
I dreamed that the old mother had left the house, and that the girls
were alone. No doubt this would be a good opportunity to go to their
aid."
The prince immediately equipped a troop of soldiers, and led them to the
cottage in the wood, where they arrived on the following day. The
maidens were alone, as the dream had fore-shadowed, and ran out with
joyful cries to meet their deliverers. A soldier was ordered to gather
hemlock-roots, and to boil them for the punishment of the old woman, so
that she should need no more food if she came home, and ate a
sufficiency of them. They passed the night in the cottage, and on the
following morning set out early on the road with the maidens, so that
they reached the town in the evening. Great was the joy of the sisters,
who had not seen each other for two years.
The old woman returned home the same night, and greedily devoured the
food which she found on the table. Then she crept into bed to rest, but
she never awoke again, for the hemlock put an end to her wicked life. A
week later the prince sent a trusty captain to see how things were going
on, when he found the old woman dead. Fifty loads of golden thread were
found in the secret chamber, and were divided among the sisters. As soon
as the treasure was carried away, the captain sent the red cock on the
roof.[134] But while the cock was already stretching his red comb out of
the smoke-hole, a great cat with fiery eyes clambered down the wall from
the roof. The soldiers chased the cat, and soon caught her, when a bird
sang from the summit of a tree, "Fix the cat in a trap by her tail, and
all will come to light." The men obeyed.
"Don't torture me, good people," said the cat. "I am a human being like
yourselves, and have been changed into the shape of a cat by witchcraft,
though it was a just return for my wickedness. I was the housekeeper in
the palace of a great king a long way from here, and the old woman was
the queen's first chambermaid. We were led by avarice to plot together
secretly to steal the king's three daughters and a great treasure, and
then to make our escape. After we had contrived to make away with all
the golden vessels, which the old woman changed into golden flax, we
took the children, when the eldest was three years old, and the youngest
six months. The old woman was afraid that I might repent and change my
intentions, so she transformed me into a cat. Her death loosed my
tongue, but I did not recover my former shape." When the captain heard
this, he answered, "You deserve no better fate than the old woman," and
ordered her to be thrown into the fire.
It was not long before the two elder princesses married kings' sons,
like their youngest sister, and the golden thread which they had spun in
the cottage in the wood provided them with rich dowries. But they never
discovered their parents, nor the place of their birth. It was reported
that the old woman had buried many more loads of golden thread in the
ground, but no one could find the spot.
[Footnote 129: "These forests are very useful in delivering princes from
their courtiers, like a sieve that keeps back the bran. Then the princes
get away to follow their fortunes."--_George MacDonald_, "_The Light
Princess_."]
[Footnote 130: Compare the scene with the four Grey Women in the second
part of _Faust_.]
[Footnote 131: Nine is a mystical number as well as seven.]
[Footnote 132: Ahti, the God of the Waters.]
[Footnote 133: A sacred tree in Eastern Europe, as it is in the British
Isles.]
[Footnote 134: See page 108.]
SECTION II
_ORPHAN AND FOUNDLING STORIES_
The Esthonians appear to be very compassionate towards orphans, for many
of their tales relate to the adventures of neglected or ill-used orphan
children, and the wonderful events by which their welfare was finally
secured. Nevertheless, wicked stepmothers and farmers' wives are just as
common as in other folk-tales.
The first story of this class which we have selected, "The Wood of
Tontla,"[135] is specially interesting from its resemblance to Tieck's
well-known German story of "The Elves," which must originally have been
derived from the same source as the present narrative.
With the Orphan Stories proper I have placed others relating to stolen
or friendless children.
[Footnote 135: _Tont_ is a common name for a house-spirit.]
THE WOOD OF TONTLA.
(KREUTZWALD.)
In ancient times there was a beautifully wooded region in Alutaga (north
of Lake Peipus), which was called the Wood of Tontla. But no one dared
to enter it, and those who had chanced to approach it related that they
had seen an old tumbledown house through the thick trees, surrounded by
creatures of human appearance, with which the grass swarmed like an
anthill. These forms were ragged and dusky, and looked like gipsies, and
there were many old women and half-naked children among them. A peasant
who had wandered rather deeper into the wood than usual, as he was
returning home one dark night after a carouse, beheld a strange sight. A
number of women and children were gathered round a bright fire, and some
were sitting on the ground while others danced. An old woman held a
broad iron shovel in her hand, and every now and then scattered the red
hot cinders over the grass, when the children flew up into the air,
fluttering about like owls in the rising smoke, and then sinking down
again. Then a little old man with a long beard came out of the wood,
carrying a sack longer than himself. The women and children shouted out,
and ran to meet him, dancing round him, and trying to pull the sack off
his back; but the old man shook himself free. After this, a black cat as
large as a foal, which had been sitting on the doorstep glaring with
fiery eyes, leaped upon the old man's sack, and then disappeared in the
cottage. But as the spectator's head ached and everything swam before
his eyes, his report was not clear, and people could not quite
distinguish between the false and the true. It was remarkable that such
stories were repeated about the Wood of Tontla from generation to
generation, without anybody being able to give a more definite account
of it. The King of Sweden more than once ordered the wood to be felled,
but the people did not venture to execute his command. One day a rash
man struck his axe into a tree, when blood flowed, and a cry was heard
as of a man in pain.[136] The terrified woodcutter fled, shaking all
over with fear; and after this, no command was so stringent and no
reward great enough, to induce a woodcutter to touch the wood of Tontla.
It was also very strange that no paths led either into or out of the
wood, and that throughout the year no smoke was seen to rise which might
indicate the presence of human dwellings. The wood was not large, and it
was surrounded by open fields, so that it lay exposed to the view of
all. If living creatures had actually dwelt there from olden times, they
could only get in and out of the wood by secret subterranean passages;
or else they must fly through the air by night, like witches, when all
around were asleep. According to tradition, the latter alternative
seemed the most probable. Perhaps we shall learn more about these
strange birds if we drive on the carriage of the story a little farther,
and rest at the next village.
There was a large village a few versts from the Wood of Tontla, where a
peasant who had lately been left a widower had married a young wife,
and, as often happens, he brought a regular shrew into the house, so
that there was no end to the trouble and quarrelling.
The first wife had left a clever and intelligent girl named Elsie,[137]
who was now seven years old. The wicked stepmother made the poor child's
life more intolerable than hell; she banged and cuffed her from morning
to night, and gave her worse food than the dogs. As the woman was
mistress in the house, the father could not protect his daughter, and
even the smoke of the house was forced to dance to the woman's tune.
Elsie had now endured this miserable life for more than two years, and
had shed many tears, when she went out one Sunday with the other village
children to pluck berries. They strolled about as children do, till they
came accidentally to the borders of the Wood of Tontla, where the grass
was quite red with the finest strawberries. The children ate the sweet
berries, and gathered as many as they could into their baskets, when all
at once one of the older boys recognised the dreaded spot and cried out,
"Fly, fly, for we are in the Wood of Tontla!" The wood was more dreaded
than thunder and lightning, and the children rushed off as if all the
monsters of the wood were close upon their heels. But Elsie, who had
gone rather farther than the others, and had found some very fine
strawberries under the trees, went on plucking them, although she heard
the boy shout. She only thought, "The dwellers in the Tontla Wood cannot
be worse than my stepmother at home."
Presently a little black dog with a silver bell hung round its neck ran
up to her barking. This brought a little girl dressed in fine silken
garments to the spot, who quieted the dog, and said to Elsie, "It is a
good thing that you did not run away like the other children. Stay with
me for company, and we will play very nice games together, and go to
pluck berries every day. My mother will not refuse her consent, if I ask
her. Come, and we will go to her at once." Then the beautiful strange
child seized Elsie by the hand, and led her deeper into the wood. The
little black dog barked for pleasure now, and jumped upon Elsie and
licked her hand as if she were an old acquaintance.
O what wonders and magnificence made Elsie open her eyes! She thought
herself in heaven. A beautiful garden lay before her, filled with trees
and bushes laden with fruit; birds were sitting on the branches, more
brightly coloured than the most brilliant butterflies, and decked with
feathers of gold and silver. And the birds were not shy, but allowed
the children to take them in their hands at pleasure. In the midst of
the garden stood the dwelling-house, built of glass and precious stones,
so that the roof and walls shone like the sun. A lady clad in beautiful
robes sat on a bench before the door, and asked her daughter, "Who is
this guest you have brought with you?" Her daughter answered, "I found
her alone in the wood, and brought her with me for company. Won't you
allow her to stay here?" The mother smiled, but did not speak, and
scanned Elsie sharply from head to foot. Then she told Elsie to come
nearer, patted her cheek, and asked in a friendly way where she lived,
whether her parents were still alive, and if she would like to stay
here. Elsie kissed the lady's hand and fell down and embraced her knees,
and then answered, weeping, "My mother has long been at rest under the
turf--
"My mother was borne to the grave,
And none left to comfort or save.
"It is true that my father still lives, but this is small comfort to me
when my stepmother hates me, and beats me unmercifully every day. I
cannot do anything to please her. O my dearest lady, let me stay here!
Let me mind the flocks, or set me to any other work and I will do
anything, and will be always obedient to you, but don't send me back to
my stepmother. She would beat me almost to death, because I did not go
back with the other village children." The lady smiled, and answered,
"We will see what we can do for you." Then she rose from the bench and
went into the house. Meantime the daughter said to Elsie, "Take comfort,
for my mother is friendly to you. I can see in her face that she will
consent to our wishes as soon as she has had time to think over the
matter." She then followed her mother into the house, leaving Elsie
waiting outside. Elsie's heart palpitated with hope and fear, and she
waited anxiously for the decision which was to be announced to her.
After a time the daughter came out again with a box of toys in her hand,
and said, "My mother says we are to play together while she considers
what is to be done about you. I hope you will stay here, for I don't
want to let you leave me again. Have you been for a row on the lake?"
Elsie stared, and asked, "On the lake! What is that? I never heard
anything about it." "You'll see presently," said the young lady, taking
off the lid of the box. It contained a leaf of lady's-smock, a
mussel-shell, and two fish-bones. There were a few drops of water
glittering on the leaf, which the girl threw on the grass. Immediately
the grass, the garden, and everything else vanished, as if they had sunk
in the ground, and water spread around to the horizon in every
direction. Only a small patch remained dry under the feet of the
children. Then the young lady set the shell in the water, and took the
fish-bones in her hand. The shell began to expand, until it became a
pretty boat, in which a dozen children or more could easily have found
room. The two seated themselves in it, Elsie not without hesitation, but
her companion only laughed, and the fish-bones turned to oars in her
hands. The children were rocked by the waves as if they were in a
cradle, and presently other boats came in sight, and the people in them
were laughing and singing. "We should sing back to them," said the young
lady; but Elsie did not know how to sing; so she herself began to sing
very sweetly. Elsie could not understand much of what the others sang,
but she heard the word Kiisike[138] repeated several times, and asked
what it meant, and her companion answered, "That is my name." They
floated thus together for a long time, till they heard a voice crying,
"Come home, children, for it is nearly evening." Kiisike took the box
out of her pocket, and dipped the leaf in the water, so that a few drops
lay upon it. Instantly they found themselves in the garden near the
beautiful house: everything looked as firm and solid as before, and no
water was to be seen anywhere. The shell and fish-bones were put back
into the box with the leaf, and the children went home.
Here they saw four-and-twenty ladies sitting round a dinner-table, all
splendidly dressed as if for a wedding. The lady of the house sat at the
head of the table in a golden chair.
Elsie's eyes did not know how to admire sufficiently all the splendour
which surrounded her. Thirteen gold and silver dishes stood upon the
table, but one of these was taken up and carried away without the cover
having been removed. Elsie ate of the dainty dishes, which were nicer
than cakes, and again she thought she must be in heaven, for she could
not imagine anything like this on earth.
During dinner, conversation was carried on in low tones, but in a
foreign language of which Elsie did not understand a word.[139] At
length the lady spoke to a maid who stood behind her chair. The latter
went out, and soon returned accompanied by a little old man, whose beard
was longer than himself.[140] The old man made a bow, and stood waiting
at the door. The lady pointed to Elsie, and said, "Look at this little
peasant girl; I am going to adopt her as my foster-child. Make me an
image of her, which we can send to the village to-morrow in her stead."
The old man looked at Elsie sharply, as if to take her measure, bowed to
the lady again, and left the room. After dinner the lady said kindly to
Elsie, "Kiisike has asked me to keep you here as a companion for her,
and you said yourself that you would like to stay with us. Is this
really so?" Elsie fell on her knees, and kissed the hands and feet of
the lady in gratitude for her deliverance from her cruel stepmother. But
the lady raised her from the ground, stroked her head and her tearful
cheeks, and said, "If you are always a good and diligent child, it shall
fare well with you. I will take care of you, and you shall be carefully
instructed in everything useful till you are grown up, and are able to
shift for yourself. My governess, who teaches Kiisike, shall teach you
all kinds of fine work, and other things besides."
After a time the old man came back with a long trough on his shoulder
filled with clay, and a covered basket in his left hand. He set them
down on the ground, and took a piece of clay, which he moulded into a
doll. The body was hollow, and he put three salt herrings and a bit of
bread into it. Then he made a hole in the breast of the doll, took a
black snake a yard long from the basket, and made it creep through. The
snake hissed and lashed its tail as if it resisted, but he forced it
through the hole. After the lady had carefully inspected the doll on all
sides, the old man said, "We want nothing more now but a drop of the
peasant girl's blood." Elsie turned pale with terror when she heard
this, for she thought that her soul was sold to the Evil One. But the
lady comforted her and said, "Fear nothing. We don't want your blood for
any evil purpose, but for a good end, and for your future happiness."
Then she took a small gold needle, and pricked Elsie's arm, after which
she gave the needle to the old man, who thrust it into the heart of the
doll. Then he put the doll into the basket to grow, and promised to show
the lady the result of his work next morning. Then they retired to rest,
and a chambermaid showed Elsie to a room where she found a soft bed
ready for her. When she opened her eyes next morning in the silken bed
with soft pillows, she found herself wearing a shift of fine linen, and
she saw rich garments lying on a chair near the bed. Then a girl came
into the room, and told Elsie to wash herself and comb her hair, after
which she dressed her from head to foot in the fine new clothes, like
the proudest Saxon child.[141] Nothing delighted Elsie so much as the
shoes,[142] for until now she had always gone barefoot. Elsie thought
that no king's daughter could possess the like. She was so delighted
with the shoes that she had no time to admire the rest of her outfit,
although everything was beautiful. The poor clothes which she had worn
had been removed during the night, for a purpose which she was
afterwards to discover. They were put on the doll, which was to be sent
to the village in her place. The doll had grown in its case during the
night, and had now become a perfect image of Elsie, and ran about like a
creature which God had made. Elsie was startled when she saw the doll,
which looked exactly like what she herself had been yesterday. When the
lady saw Elsie's alarm, she said, "Don't be afraid, child. This clay
image cannot do you any harm, and we will send it to your stepmother,
for her to beat. She may beat it as much as she likes, for the image is
as hard as stone, and cannot feel pain. But if the wicked woman does not
alter her conduct, your image will some day punish her as she
deserves."
After this, Elsie lived as happily as any spoiled Saxon child which is
rocked in a golden cradle. She had neither sorrow nor weariness to
suffer; her lessons became easier and easier every day, and her hard
life in the village seemed now no more than a bad dream. But the more
happiness she found in this new life, the more wonderful everything
appeared to her. It could not be natural, and some mysterious power must
rule over everything here. A rock of granite stood in the enclosure
about twenty paces from the house. When meal-time approached, the old
man with the long beard went to the rock, drew a silver wand from his
bosom, and struck the rock three times, when it gave out a clear sound.
Then a large golden cock sprang out, and perched upon the rock; and as
often as he clapped his wings and crowed, something came out of the
rock. First came a long table with covers ready laid for all the
company, and the table moved into the house of itself, as if on the
wings of the wind. When the cock crowed a second time, chairs went after
the table, followed by one dish after another. Everything leaped out of
the rock, and flew like the wind to the table. It was the same with
bottles of mead and apples and pears; everything seemed alive, so that
no one needed to fetch and carry anything. When everybody had eaten
enough, the old man knocked on the rock a second time with his silver
wand, and then the golden cock crowed, and the bottles, dishes, plates,
chairs, and table went back into the rock. But when the thirteenth dish
came, from which nothing was eaten, a great black cat ran after it, and
sat on the rock with the cock, till the old man carried them away. He
took the dish in his hand, the cat on his arm, and the golden cock on
his shoulder, and disappeared with them under the rock. Not only food
and drink, but everything else required for the household, and even
clothes, came out of the rock upon the crowing of the cock. Although but
little conversation was carried on at table, and even that in a foreign
language, the lady and the governess talked and sang a great deal in the
house and garden. In time Elsie also learned to understand almost
everything, but years elapsed before she could attempt to speak the
strange language herself. One day Elsie asked Kiisike why the thirteenth
dish came to table every day, although nobody ate anything from it; but
Kiisike could not tell her. However, she must have asked her mother,
who sent for Elsie a few days afterwards, and talked to her very
seriously. "Do not vex your soul with useless curiosity. You would like
to know why we never eat from the thirteenth dish? Mark well, dear
child; this is the dish of hidden blessing. We dare not touch it, or our
happy life would come to an end. It would be much better, too, for men
in this world if they did not grasp avariciously after all things
without returning anything in gratitude to the Heavenly Dispenser.
Avarice is the worst fault of mankind."[143]
The years flew by with arrow-like swiftness, and Elsie had now become a
blooming maiden, and had learned many things which would never have
become known to her during her whole life, if she had lived in the
village. But Kiisike remained the same little child as on the day when
she first met Elsie in the wood. The governess who lived in the house
with the lady instructed Kiisike and Elsie for some hours daily in
reading and writing, and in all kinds of fine work. Elsie learned
everything easily, but Kiisike had more taste for childish games than
for her lessons. When the whim took her, she threw her work away, caught
up her little box, and ran out of doors to play on the lake, and nobody
scolded her. Sometimes she said to Elsie, "It's a pity you've grown so
big: you can't play with me any longer."
Nine years passed in this way, and one evening the lady sent for Elsie
to come to her room. This surprised Elsie, for the lady had never sent
for her before; and her heart beat almost to bursting. When Elsie
entered, she saw that the lady's cheeks were red, and her eyes were
filled with tears, which she hastily wiped away as if to hide them. "My
dear child," said the lady, "the time has come when we must part."
"Part!" exclaimed Elsie, throwing herself at the lady's feet. "No, dear
lady, we must never part till death shall separate us. I have always
behaved well; don't drive me from you." But the lady said soothingly,
"Calm yourself, child. You do not yet know how much it will increase
your happiness. You are now grown up, and I must not keep you here any
longer in confinement. You must go back among mankind, where happiness
awaits you." Elsie still besought her, "Dear lady, don't send me away; I
wish for no other happiness than to live and die with you. Let me be
your chambermaid, or give me any other work to do that you like, only
don't send me out into the wide world again. It would have been better
for you to have left me with my stepmother in the village than for me to
have spent so many years in heaven only to be thrust out again into
hell." "Be still, dear child," said the lady. "You cannot understand
what it is my duty to do for your good, hard as it is for me also. But
everything must be done as I direct. You are a child of mortal man,[144]
and your years must come at length to an end, and therefore you cannot
remain here any longer. I myself and those around me possess human
forms, but we are not human beings like you, but beings of a higher
order, whom you cannot comprehend. You will find a beloved husband far
away from here, who is destined for you, and you will live happily with
him, until your days draw to a close. It is not easy for me to part with
you, but so it must be, and therefore you must also submit quietly."
Then she passed her golden comb through Elsie's hair and told her to go
to bed. But how should poor Elsie sleep this unhappy night? Her life
seemed like a dark starless night-sky.
We will leave Elsie in her trouble, and go to the village to see what is
taking place at her father's house, to which the clay image was sent for
the stepmother to beat in Elsie's stead. It is well known that a wicked
woman does not improve with age. It sometimes happens that a wild youth
becomes a quiet lamb in his old age; but if a girl whose heart is bad
assumes the matron's cap, she becomes like a raging wolf in her old
days. The stepmother tortured the clay image like a firebrand from hell
both day and night, but she could not hurt the impassive creature, whose
body was impervious to pain. If the husband endeavoured to protect his
child, she beat him too, as a reward for his attempts at peace-making.
One day the stepmother had again beaten her clay daughter terribly, and
threatened to kill her. In her fury she seized the clay image by the
throat with both hands, and was going to strangle it, when a black snake
glided hissing from the child's mouth and bit the stepmother in the
tongue, so that she fell dead without uttering a sound. When the husband
returned home in the evening, he found the dead and swollen body of his
wife lying on the floor, but his daughter was nowhere to be found. He
cried out, and some of the villagers assembled. They had heard a great
noise in the house about noon, but as this was an almost daily
occurrence, no one had gone in. In the afternoon all was quiet, but no
one had seen the daughter. The body of the dead woman was washed and
shrouded, and peas were boiled in salt for those who should watch the
dead during the night.[145] The weary man went to his room to rest, and
sincerely thanked his stars that he was rid of this firebrand from hell.
He found three salt herrings and a piece of bread on the table, which he
ate, and then went to bed. Next morning he was found dead in bed, with
his body swollen up like that of the woman. A few days afterwards they
were carried to the grave, where they could do each other no more harm.
The peasants troubled themselves no further concerning the vanished
daughter.
Elsie did not close her eyes all night. She wept and lamented the
necessity of parting with her happiness so soon and so unexpectedly. In
the morning the lady placed a gold seal-ring on Elsie's finger, and hung
a small golden casket round her neck. Then she called the old man,
pointed to Elsie with her hand, and took leave of her in the same
gesture. Elsie was just going to thank her for her kindness, when the
old man touched her head gently three times with his silver wand. Elsie
felt immediately that she was changed into a bird. Her arms became
wings, and her legs became eagle's legs with long claws, and her nose
became a curved beak, while feathers covered her whole body. Then she
rose up suddenly into the air, and soared away below the clouds like an
eagle hatched from the egg. She flew southwards thus for several days,
and would gladly have rested sometimes when her wings grew weary, but
she felt no hunger. It came to pass one day that she was flying above a
low wood where dogs were barking, which could not harm the bird, for
they had no wings. All at once she felt her feathers pierced through
with a sharp arrow, and she fell to the ground and fainted with terror.
When Elsie awoke from her swoon and opened her eyes wide, she found
herself lying under a bush in her human shape. How she came there, and
all the other strange events which had happened to her, lay behind her
like a dream. Presently a handsome young prince rode up, sprang from his
horse, and gave his hand kindly to Elsie, saying, "By good fortune I
rode here this morning. I have dreamed, dear lady, every night for the
last half-year that I should find you here in the wood. Although I have
ridden this way to no purpose more than a hundred times, my longing and
my hopes were not extinguished. I shot a great eagle to-day, which must
have fallen here, and I went to seek the game, and instead of the eagle
I found--you!" Then he helped Elsie to mount the horse, and rode with
her to the town, where the old king gave her a friendly reception. A few
days afterwards they prepared a splendid wedding; and on the wedding
morning fifty loads of treasure arrived, which had been sent by Elsie's
dear foster-mother. After the old king's death, Elsie became queen, and
in her old age she herself related the adventures of her youth. But
since that time no one has ever seen or heard any more of the Wood of
Tontla.
* * * * *
The King of the Misty Hill (Kreutzwald) is a somewhat similar, but very
inferior story. A girl who is out in a wood all night sees a fire on a
hill, and finds an old man standing by it. He had a long grey beard, and
only one eye, and wore an iron helmet. He threw it on the ground, when
two girls appeared, and the village child stayed with them till morning,
when a young woman gave her a brooch which would enable her to return to
the Misty Hill whenever she pleased. On reaching home, she found she had
been absent seven years. On the first opportunity she returned to the
hill by night, and her friend who had given her the brooch told her that
the old man was the King of the Misty Hill, and the consort of the
Meadow Queen, and she was their daughter. The girl continued her nightly
visits to the Misty Hill; but after her marriage, her husband
discovered her disappearance, and taking her for a were-wolf, tried to
burn her; but the King of the Misty Hill carried her away to his
dwelling uninjured.
* * * * *
In the story of "The Orphan's Handmill" (Kreutzwald), a compassionate
magician from Finland in the guise of a beggar enables an ill-used and
overworked orphan girl to obtain a wonderful handmill in a chest, which
he forbids her to open, but which grinds all the corn poured into it,
without any labour on her part. Her mistress sends her to church,
intending to discover the secret of the chest, and then to drive her
away and keep the chest; but when she raises the lid, a bright flame
bursts from the chest which burns her to ashes. Shortly afterwards, the
girl's master marries the orphan, when the chest, having done its work,
vanishes, leaving no trace, it having been carried away to the
underground kingdom from which the girl had brought it in a vision, with
the aid of the white horse (or mare), which always figures as an
inhabitant of Porgu.
[Footnote 136: Talking trees are common in Esthonian tales; I do not
remember another instance of bleeding trees.]
[Footnote 137: Else.]
[Footnote 138: Pussy.]
[Footnote 139: It must be remembered that the dominant race in Esthonia
is German, and that the gentry, even if not fairies, would be expected
to speak a language unintelligible to the people. It is significant that
the very word for lady in Esthonian is _proua_, a corruption of _Frau_.
Everything particularly fine is called "Saxon."]
[Footnote 140: In some countries the beard is regarded as a symbol of
power, as well as of age and wisdom. Compare the account of Schaibar in
the story of Prince Ahmed (_Thousand and One Nights_).]
[Footnote 141: The Germans are generally represented in Esthonian tales
as rich, and sometimes as very haughty people.]
[Footnote 142: Compare _Goody Two-Shoes_; but this is a modern tale,
believed to have been written by Goldsmith.]
[Footnote 143: There is a story (French, I think) of a king who
overheard a poor man and his wife abusing Adam and Eve for their
poverty. The king took them home, and entertained them. They had a grand
feast of many covers every day, but there was always one, the largest of
all, which they were forbidden to open. The wife soon persuaded her
husband to do so, when a mouse ran out, and the king turned them out of
doors.]
[Footnote 144: This expression shows the late date of the present story,
for no people uninfluenced by the modern Christian notion that all
reasoning beings except men must be necessarily angels or devils, and
therefore immortal, represent superhuman beings as immortal, with the
exception of the gods, and not always even these.]
[Footnote 145: See page 157.]
THE ORPHAN BOY AND THE HELL-HOUNDS.[146]
(KREUTZWALD.)
Once upon a time there lived a poor labourer and his wife, who dragged
on a wretched existence from day to day. They had three children, but
only the youngest survived. He was a boy of nine years old when he
buried first his father and then his mother, and he had no other
resource than to beg his bread from door to door. A year afterwards he
happened to come to the house of a rich farmer just when they wanted a
herdboy. The farmer himself was not such a bad man to deal with, but his
wife had control of everything, and she was a regular brute. It may
easily be imagined how much the poor orphan boy suffered. The blows that
he received daily were three times more than sufficient, but he never
got enough bread to eat. But as the orphan had nothing better to look
forward to, he was forced to endure his misery.
One day the poor boy had the misfortune to lose a cow from the herd. He
ran about the forest till sundown from one place to another, but could
not find the lost cow; and although he well knew what awaited him when
he reached home, he was at last obliged to gather the herd together
without the missing cow. The sun had not set long when he already heard
the voice of his mistress shouting, "You lazy dog, where are you
dawdling with the herd?" He could not wait longer, but was forced to
hurry home to the stick. It was already growing dusk when the herd
arrived at the gate, but the sharp eyes of the mistress had already
discovered that one cow was missing. Without saying a word, she snatched
the first stake from the fence, and began to belabour the boy, as if she
would beat him to a jelly. She was in such a rage that she would
certainly have beaten him to death, or made him a cripple for life, if
the farmer, hearing his cries and sobs, had not compassionately come to
his aid. But as he knew the temper of the furious woman, he would not
venture to interfere directly, but sought to soften her, and said
beseechingly, "Don't beat the boy quite to pieces, or he won't be able
to look for the lost cow. We shall get more profit out of him if you
don't quite kill him." "True enough," said the woman, "his carrion won't
be worth as much as the good beef." Then she gave him a few more good
whacks, and packed him off to look for the cow, saying, "If you come
back without the cow, I'll beat you to death." The boy ran from the door
sobbing and crying, and went back to the forest where he had been with
the herd in the daytime, and searched all night, but could not find a
trace of the cow anywhere. But when the sun rose next morning, he made
up his mind what to do. "Whatever may happen to me," he said, "I won't
go back again." Then he made a start, and ran straight forward at one
stretch, till he had left the house far behind him. He himself could not
tell how far he ran before his strength failed, and he sank down half
dead when it was already almost noon. When at length he awoke from a
long heavy sleep, he felt something cool in his mouth, and on opening
his eyes, he saw a little old man with a long grey beard putting the
ladle back into a milk-can. "Please give me a little more to drink,"
said the boy. "You have had enough for to-day," answered the old man.
"If I had not been passing this way by accident, you would have slept
your last sleep, for you were already half dead when I found you." Then
the old man asked the boy whence he came and whither he was going. The
boy related everything that had happened to him, as far back as he could
remember, down to last night's beating. The old man listened attentively
to the story, but without interrupting, and after a while he remarked,
"My dear child, you have fared neither better nor worse than many others
whose dear friends and protectors lie beneath the sod. As you have run
away, you must seek your fortune elsewhere in the world. But as I have
neither house nor farm, nor wife nor child, I cannot do anything to help
you but give you good advice gratis. Sleep here quietly through the
night, and to-morrow morning note carefully the exact spot where the sun
rises. You must proceed in that direction, so that the sun shines in
your face every morning, and on your back every evening. Every day you
will feel stronger, and after seven years you will see a great mountain
before you, so high that its summit reaches to the clouds. There you
will find your future fortune. Take my wallet and my flask, and you will
find as much food and drink in them as you require each day. But take
care always to leave a crumb of bread and a drop of liquid untouched, or
else your store of food will fail you.[147] You may give freely to a
hungry bird or to a thirsty animal, for God is pleased when one of His
creatures is kind to another. You will find a folded plantain-leaf at
the bottom of the wallet, which you must take the greatest care of. When
you come to a river or lake on your journey, spread the leaf on the
water, and it will immediately change into a boat which will carry you
over to the other side. Then fold the leaf together again, and put it
into your wallet." After thus speaking, he gave the wallet and the flask
to the boy, and said, "God bless you!" The next moment he had vanished
from the boy's eyes.
The boy would have supposed it to be all a dream, if he had not held the
wallet and flask in his hand to convince him that it was a reality. He
then looked into the wallet, where he found half a loaf, a small case of
salt herrings, another of butter, and a nice piece of bacon. When the
boy had eaten enough, he lay down to sleep, with the wallet and flask
under his head, so that no thief should be able to take them from him.
Next morning at sunrise he awoke, refreshed himself with food and drink,
and then set out on his journey. It was strange that he felt no
weariness, and only hunger made him aware that it was nearly noon. He
ate the good fare with relish, took a nap, and travelled on. He found
that he had taken the right course when the sun set behind his back. He
travelled for many days in the same direction, when he arrived on the
bank of a small lake. Now he had an opportunity of testing the
properties of the leaf. All befell as the old man had foretold, for a
small boat with oars lay before him on the water. He stepped in, and a
few good strokes of the oars landed him on the other side. Then the
boat changed back into a leaf, and he put it into his wallet.
Thus the boy travelled for several years, without the provisions in his
flask and wallet failing. Seven years may well have passed, for he had
now become a strong youth, when one day he beheld afar off a lofty
mountain which seemed to reach the clouds. But a whole week more passed
before he could reach its foot. Then he sat down to rest, and to see
whether the predictions of the old man would be accomplished. He had not
sat there very long when a strange hissing fell upon his ear, and
immediately afterwards an enormous serpent appeared, at least twelve
fathoms long, which came quite close to the young man. Horror seized
him, and he was unable to move, but the serpent passed by him in a
moment. Then all was still awhile, but afterwards it seemed to him as if
something heavy was moving along in sudden leaps. This proved to be a
great toad,[148] as large as a foal of two years old. This ugly creature
also passed by without taking any notice of the youth. Then he heard a
rushing noise above him, as if a great storm had arisen, and when he
looked up, he saw a great eagle flying over his head in the direction
which the serpent and the toad had taken. "These are queer things to
bring me good fortune," thought the youth. Suddenly he beheld a man on a
black horse riding towards him. The horse seemed to have wings to his
feet, for he flew like the wind. When the man saw the youth sitting at
the foot of the mountain, he reined in his horse and asked, "Who has
passed by here?" The youth answered, "First of all a great serpent,
perhaps twelve fathoms long, then a toad as large as a two-year-old
foal, and lastly a great eagle high above my head. I could not guess at
his size, but the sound of his wings was like that of a tempest." "You
have seen well," answered the stranger. "These are my worst enemies, and
I am now in pursuit of them. I might take you into my service, if you
have nothing better in view. Climb over the mountain, and you will come
straight to my house. I shall be there as soon as you, if not sooner."
The young man promised to come, and the stranger rode away like the
wind.
The youth did not find it easy to climb the mountain. It was three days
before he could reach the summit, and three days more before he reached
the foot of the mountain on the opposite side. His new acquaintance was
standing in front of his house, and he informed him that he had
succeeded in killing the serpent and the toad, but that he had not been
able to reach the eagle. Then he asked the young man if he was willing
to engage himself as his servant. "You can have as much good food as you
want every day, and I will give you liberal wages too, if you will do
your duty faithfully." The bargain was struck, and the master took his
new servant into the house, and showed him what he had to do. A cellar
was hewn in the rock, and closed with threefold doors of iron. "My
savage dogs are chained in this cellar," said the master, "and you must
take care that they do not dig their way out under the door with their
paws. For know that if one of these savage dogs got loose, it would no
longer be possible to restrain the others, for each would follow the
other and destroy everything which lives upon the earth. If the last dog
should break out, the end of the world would come, and the sun would
have shone for the last time." Then he led his servant to a hill which
was not created by God, but heaped together by human hands from immense
blocks of stone.
"These stones," said the master, "have been heaped together so that a
fresh stone can always be rolled up as often as the dogs dig out a hole.
I will show you the oxen which drag the stones, in the stall, and
instruct you about everything else which you have to attend to."
In the stall were a hundred black oxen, each of which had seven horns,
and they were fully as large as the largest oxen of the Ukraine.[149]
"Six yoke of oxen harnessed before the waggon will drag a stone easily
away. I will give you a crowbar, and when you touch the stone with it,
it will roll into the waggon of itself. You see that your work is not
very laborious, but your vigilance must be great in proportion. You must
look to the door three times during the day, and once at night, lest any
misfortune should happen, for the mischief might be much greater than
you would be able to answer for to me."
Our friend soon comprehended his duties, and his new occupation was just
to his taste. Each day he had the best of everything to eat and drink
that a man could wish for. After two or three months the dogs had
scratched a hole under the door large enough to put their tails out; but
a stone was immediately rolled against the breach, and the dogs were
forced to begin their work afresh.
Many years passed by, and the young man had accumulated a good store of
money. Then the desire awoke in him to mingle with other men again, for
it was so long since he had seen any human face except his master's.
Although his master was kind, the young man found the time terribly
long, especially when his master took the fancy to have a long sleep. At
such times he slept for seven weeks at a stretch, without interruption,
and without showing himself.
It chanced that the master had fallen into one of his deep slumbers,
when one day a great eagle descended on the hill of stones and began to
speak. "Are you not a great fool to sacrifice your pleasant life to good
living? The money which you have saved is quite useless to you, for
there are no men here who require it. Take your master's swift horse
from the stable, bind your bag of money to his neck, leap on his back,
and ride away in the direction in which the sun sets, and after some
weeks you will again find yourself among men. But you must bind the
horse fast with an iron chain, so that he cannot run away, or he would
return to his usual haunts, and your master would come to fight with
you; but if he is without the horse, he cannot leave the place." "But
who will watch the dogs here, if I go away while my master sleeps?"
asked the young man. "A fool you are, and a fool you will remain,"
replied the eagle. "Are you not yet aware that God has created him for
the express purpose of guarding the hell-hounds? It is from sheer
laziness that he sleeps for seven weeks at a stretch. When he has no
stranger as a servant, he will be obliged to rouse himself and do his
own work himself."
This advice delighted the young man. He followed the counsel of the
eagle, took the horse, bound the bag of gold on his neck, leaped on his
back, and rode away. He had not ridden very far from the mountain when
he heard his master calling after him, "Stop, stop! Take your money and
begone in God's name, but leave me my horse!" The youth paid no heed,
but rode away, and after some weeks he found himself once more among
mortal men. Then he built himself a nice house, married a young wife,
and lived happily as a rich man. If he is not dead, he must be still
living, but the wind-swift horse died long ago.
* * * * *
Of the next story we give only an abstract. It will be remembered that
Linda was hatched from an egg, while the later adventures of the
princess in the following tale resemble those of Cinderella.
[Footnote 146: The original title of this story is, "How an orphan made
his fortune unexpectedly." Some commentators identify the keeper of the
hounds with Othin. In the Scandinavian mythology the breaking loose of
the monsters, the most terrible of whom is Garm, the watch-dog of
Helheim, precedes the cataclysms of Ragnaroek.]
[Footnote 147: This is the usual condition attached to such gifts, as in
the Swiss story of a chamois-hunter who received an inexhaustible cheese
from a mountain-spirit. But in the case of the magic saddlebags of the
Moor in the story of Joodar (_Thousand and One Nights_), it was a
condition that all the dishes should be put back empty. The Jews, too,
were forbidden to leave anything over from the Passover Feast.]
[Footnote 148: Or frog: the word is the same.]
[Footnote 149: Either the extinct urus or the nearly extinct aurochs
must be here intended.]
THE EGG-BORN PRINCESS.
(KREUTZWALD.)
Like many others, this story begins with a childless queen whose husband
is absent at the wars. She is visited by an old woman on crutches, who
gives her a little box of birch-bark containing a bird's egg, and tells
her to foster it in her bosom for three months, till a live doll like a
human infant is hatched from it. This was to be kept in a woollen
basket till it had grown to the size of a new-born child. It would not
require food or drink, but the basket must be kept in a warm place. Nine
months after the doll's birth, the queen herself would give birth to a
son, and the king was to proclaim that God had sent the royal parents a
son and daughter. The queen was to suckle the prince herself, but to
procure a nurse for the princess; and when the children were christened,
the old woman wished to be their godmother, and gave the queen a bird's
feather with which to summon her. The matter was to be kept secret. Then
the old woman departed, but as she went, she grew suddenly young, and
seemed to fly rather than to walk.
A fortnight afterwards the king returned victorious, and the queen was
encouraged to hope for the best. In three months' time, a doll, half a
finger long, was hatched from the egg, and all came to pass as the old
woman had foretold. On the christening day, the queen opened one of the
windows and cast out the feather.
When all the guests were assembled, a grand carriage drove up, drawn by
six yolk-coloured horses, and a young lady stepped out in rose-coloured
gold-embroidered silken robes, which shone with sunlike radiance, though
the face of the lady was concealed by a fine veil. She removed it on
entering, when all agreed that she was the fairest maiden they had ever
seen in their lives. She took the princess in her arms, and named her
Rebuliina,[150] which puzzled everybody. A noble lord stood sponsor for
the prince, who was named Villem. The godmother then gave the queen many
instructions concerning the rearing of the children, and told her to
keep the box with the eggshells always beside them in the cradle, to
ward off evil from them. Then she took her leave, and the queen gave out
that she was a great princess from a foreign country.
The children throve, and the nurse observed that a strange lady
sometimes came to gaze on the princess by night. Two years afterwards
the queen fell sick, and gave over the princess to the charge of the
nurse, directing her, under oath of secrecy, to fasten the talisman
round the neck of the child when she was ten years old. She then sent
for the king, and begged him to let the nurse remain with the princess
as long as the princess herself wished it, and after this she expired.
The king then brought home the inevitable cruel stepmother, who could
not endure the sight of the children. When the princess was ten years
old, her nurse put the talisman round her neck, but the thoughtless girl
stowed it away with some other relics of her mother, and forgot it till
a year or two afterwards, when the king was absent, and her stepmother
cruelly beat her. She ran crying into the house, and looked in the box,
but rinding only a handful of wool and two empty eggshells in the box,
threw them out of the window, along with a small feather which was under
the wool. Immediately her godmother stood before her, and soothed and
comforted her. She charged her to submit to her stepmother's tyranny,
but always to carry the talisman in her bosom, for then no one could
injure her, and when she was grown up, her stepmother would have no
further power over her. The feather, too, would summon her godmother
whenever she needed her. The lady then took the girl into the garden,
pronounced a spell over the little box, and fetched out supper from it,
teaching the princess the spell by which she could obtain what she
needed from it. But after this time her stepmother grew much more
friendly to her.
The princess grew up a peerless maiden; but at length war broke out, and
the royal city, and even the palace, were in such straits that Rebuliina
summoned her godmother to her aid; but she told her that though she
could rescue her, the rest must abide their fate. She then led her
invisibly out of the city through the besieging army, and next day the
city was taken. The prince escaped, but the king and his household were
made prisoners, and the queen was slain by a hostile spear. The princess
was changed by her godmother into a peasant maiden, and instructed to
wait for better times, when she could resume her former appearance with
the aid of the casket. After wandering alone for some days, the princess
reached a district unravaged by war, and engaged herself as maid at a
farm-house. She did her work admirably with the aid of the casket, and
after a time attracted the notice of a noble lady who was passing
through the village, who asked her to enter her service. Six months
afterwards came news that the prince had driven out the enemy with the
aid of an army from abroad, and had been proclaimed king, the old king
having died in prison in the meantime.
The prince was greatly grieved at his father's death, but after a year
of mourning he resolved to take a bride, and all the maidens were bidden
to a feast. The three daughters of Rebuliina's mistress were invited,
and the godmother directed her in a dream to attire them first, and then
to set out after them. She grew very restless, and when her mistress and
the young ladies were gone, she sat down and wept bitter tears; but a
voice told her to make use of the casket, and immediately magnificent
gold-embroidered robes appeared on the bed; and as soon as she had
washed her face, she resumed her former appearance, and was amazed at
her own beauty when she looked in the glass. When she went down-stairs,
she found a magnificent coach with four yolk-coloured horses at the
door. Just as she reached the palace, she found to her horror that she
had forgotten the casket, and was about to turn back, when a swallow
brought it to her. Everything in the palace was joy and splendour; but
as the princess entered, the other ladies paled like stars before the
sun, and the king never left her side. At midnight the hall was
suddenly darkened, and then grew light again, when the godmother of the
princess appeared, and presented her to the king as the adopted child of
his father's first queen. Then there was a loud noise, and she
disappeared. The king married the princess, and they lived happily
together, but the casket was seen no more, and it was supposed that the
god-mother had taken it with her.
[Footnote 150: Yolk-Carrie.]
THE ROYAL HERD-BOY.
(KREUTZWALD.)
Once upon a time there lived a king who was so mild and good to his
subjects that there was no one who did not bless him, and pray to the
Heavenly Father to grant him a long life.
The king had lived happily with his wife for many years, but as yet no
child had blessed his marriage. Great was the rejoicing of the king and
all his subjects when at length the queen brought a fair child into the
world. But their happiness was short-lived, for three days after the
birth of the prince, the mother closed her eyes for ever, leaving her
child an orphan and her husband a widower. The king mourned grievously
for the loss of his dear consort, and his subjects mourned with him, and
there was not a cheerful face to be seen anywhere. Three years
afterwards the king married again, in deference to the wishes of his
subjects, but he was unfortunate in his second choice. He had buried a
dove and married a hawk in her place, and unfortunately it goes thus
with many widowers. The new consort was a wicked, hard-hearted woman,
who never showed any good-will towards the king and his subjects. She
could not bear the sight of the former queen's son, as she feared that
the succession would fall to him, for the people loved him greatly for
his mother's sake. The crafty queen conceived the wicked design of
sending the boy to some place where the king would be unable to discover
him, for she had not courage to murder him. She paid a wicked old woman
a large sum to help her to carry out her infamous design. The child was
handed over to the old woman at night, and she carried it far away along
unfrequented paths, and delivered it to some poor people to adopt as
their child. On the way, the old woman stripped off the child's good
clothes, and wrapped it in rags, so that no one should discover the
deceit. The queen had bound her by a solemn oath never to reveal to any
one the place to which she had carried the prince. The child-stealer did
not venture to travel by day, because she feared pursuit, so that it was
a long time before she found a sufficiently retired spot. At last she
reached a lonely house in a wood, where the feet of strangers rarely
penetrated, and she thought this a suitable abode for the prince, and
paid the peasant a hundred roubles for the expense of bringing up the
child. It was lucky for the prince that he had fallen among good people,
who cared for him as if he had been their own dear child. The lively boy
often made them laugh, especially when he called himself a prince. They
saw from the liberal payment that they had received that the boy could
be from no common stock, and that he must be of noble birth on either
the father's or the mother's side, but their ideas never soared high
enough to fancy the boy's sallies to be actual truth.
It can easily be imagined how great was the consternation at the palace
when it was discovered in the morning that the prince had been stolen
during the night, and in so strange a manner that no one had heard
anything, and that not the slightest trace of the thief was left behind.
The king wept bitterly for days for his son, whom he loved so tenderly
in remembrance of his mother, and all the more because he was so unhappy
with his new consort. Every place was searched thoroughly for a long
time for some trace of the vanished child, and a great reward was
offered to any one who could give any information; but every effort was
vain, and it seemed as if the boy had been blown away. None of the
searchers found his way to the lonely cottage in the wood where the
prince lived, and no one brought the news to the inhabitants. No one
could discover the secret, and many people thought that the prince had
been carried away by an evil spirit or by witchcraft. But while the
prince was wept for at home as if he was dead, he grew up in the lonely
forest, and prospered wonderfully, till he grew to such an age that he
was fit for work. Meantime he developed such wonderful intelligence,
that his foster-parents were often obliged to admit that the egg was
much cleverer than the hen.
The prince had lived thus for more than ten years, when he became
anxious to associate with other people. He begged his foster-parents to
allow him to earn his bread with his own hands, and said, "I have
strength and understanding enough to keep myself without your help. I
find the time very long during this lonely life here." His
foster-parents opposed the plan at first, but were at length obliged to
consent and to gratify the young fellow's wish. The peasant himself
accompanied him in search of suitable employment. He found a rich farmer
in a village who wanted a herd-boy, and as his foster-son wanted just
such a post, they soon came to an agreement. The arrangement was made
for a year, but it was settled that the boy might leave his employment
at any time and return to his foster-parents. It was also settled that
if the farmer was dissatisfied with the boy, he might send him away
during the course of the year, but not without informing his
foster-parents.
The village where the prince had thus taken service was not far from a
great highway, along which many people passed daily, both high and low.
The royal herd-boy often sat close to the road, and talked to the
passers-by, from whom he learned many things which would otherwise have
remained unknown to him. So it happened one day that an old man with
grey hair and a long white beard passed that way when the prince was
sitting on a stone and playing the flute while the animals were grazing,
and if one of them strayed too far from the others, the boy's dog drove
it back. The old man gazed awhile at the boy and his flock, and then he
went a few paces nearer and said, "You don't seem to have been born a
herd-boy." The boy answered, "It may be so; I only know that I was born
to be a ruler, and first learned the business of a ruler. If it goes
well with the quadrupeds, I will perhaps try my fortune later on with
the bipeds." The old man shook his head in wonder and went his way.
Another time a handsome coach passed by, in which sat a lady and two
children. There was a coachman on the box and a footman behind. The
prince happened to have a basket of freshly-plucked strawberries in his
hand, which attracted the notice of the proud Saxon lady.[151] She
ordered the coachman to stop, and called out from the coach-window,
"Come here, you lout, and bring me the strawberries. I will give you a
few copecks for them, to buy wheaten bread." The royal herd-boy did as
if he had heard nothing, and did not imagine that the order was
addressed to him, while the lady called out a second and a third time;
but it was as if she had spoken to the wind. Then she called to the
footman behind, "Go and give that vagabond a box on the ear, to teach
him to listen." The footman jumped down to execute the order. But before
he reached him, the herd-boy jumped up, seized a thick stick, and called
out to the footman, "If you don't want a broken head, don't come a step
nearer, or I'll smash your face." The footman went back and reported the
occurrence. Then the lady cried out angrily, "What, you rascal, are you
afraid of this lout of a boy? Go and take away his basket by force. I'll
show him who I am, and I'll punish his parents too, for not bringing him
up better."
"Oho!" cried the herd-boy, who heard the order. "As long as there is any
life in my limbs, nobody shall deprive me of my rightful property by
force. I'll stamp anybody to broth who tries to rob me of my
strawberries." As he spoke, he spat on his hands, and whirled his cudgel
round his head till it whistled. When the footman saw it, he had not
the least desire to attempt it, but the lady drove away with violent
threats, declaring that she would not permit this insult to remain
unpunished. Other herd-boys who had seen and heard the affair from a
distance related it to their companions in the evening. The people were
all frightened, for they thought it would fare ill with them also if the
great lady complained to the authorities about the boy's stupid
obstinacy and an inquiry was ordered. The prince's master scolded him,
and said, "I can't say anything in your favour, and what you've cooked
you must eat yourself." The boy replied, "I shall come off scatheless;
that's my affair. God has put a mouth in my head and a tongue in my
mouth, and I can speak for myself if necessary, and I won't ask you to
be my advocate. If the lady had asked for the strawberries in a proper
way, I would have given them to her; but how dared she call me a lout?
My nose[152] is just as clean as hers."
Meantime the lady drove to the royal city, where she had nothing more
pressing to do than to complain to the authorities of the insolent
behaviour of the herd-boy. An investigation was ordered at once, and
the youth and his master were ordered to appear before the authorities.
When the messenger entered the village to enforce the order, the prince
said, "My master has nothing to do with this affair, and I myself must
answer for what I did yesterday." They wanted to bind his hands behind
his back, and to lead him before the court as a prisoner, but he drew a
sharp knife from his pocket, stepped some paces back, turned the point
against his breast, and cried out, "No one shall bind me while I live!
Rather than let you bind me, I will thrust the knife into my heart. You
may then bind my corpse, or do whatever you please with it, but no man
shall lay a cord or fetter on me while I live. I am quite ready to
appear before the court and give evidence, but I will never go there as
a prisoner." His boldness frightened the messengers, and they were
afraid to approach him, for they feared that the blame would fall on
them if the boy carried out his threat; and as he was ready to go with
them of his own accord, they were obliged to be content. On the way, the
messengers wondered more and more at the understanding and cleverness
of their prisoner, for he knew everything better than they did
themselves. But much greater was the astonishment of the judges when
they heard the account of the affair from the boy's own mouth. He spoke
so clearly and reasonably that they gave judgment in his favour, and
acquitted him of all blame. The great lady then applied to the king, who
promised to investigate the whole affair himself; but he also was forced
to agree with the judges and to pronounce the youth innocent. The lady
was now ready to burst with rage at the thought that a peasant boy
should have gained a verdict in her despite. She complained to the
queen, knowing that she was very much harsher than the king. "My
consort," said the queen, "is an old idiot, and his judges are all
fools. It is a pity that you brought the matter before the court,
instead of coming to me, for I would have managed the affair
differently, and would have done you justice. Now that the matter has
passed through the court, and the judgment is confirmed by the king, I
am no longer in a position to put a better face on it openly, but we
must see how we can arrange to punish the youth without attracting
attention." It occurred to the lady that there lived a very
ill-tempered peasant woman on her estate, with whom no servant would
stay, while her husband said that his life with her was more
uncomfortable than if he was in hell. If the impudent boy could be
induced to go to her as herd-boy, she thought the woman would give him a
severer punishment than any judge could inflict upon him. "I'll arrange
the matter just as you wish," said the queen. So she summoned a
trustworthy messenger, and instructed him what to do. If she had had the
least idea that the herd-boy was the exiled prince, she would have had
him put to death at once, without troubling herself about the king or
the judges' decision.
As soon as the prince's master heard the queen's desire, he at once
released the herd-boy from his service. He thanked his stars that he had
got out of the scrape so easily. The queen's messenger now took the lad
to the farm to which she had consigned him without his consent. The
wicked old woman shouted for joy when she heard that the queen had found
her a herd-boy, and sent word that she might treat him as she pleased,
because the youth was very perverse, and nothing good was to be got out
of him. She did not know how hard the new millstone was, and hoped to
treat him in her usual fashion; but she was soon to discover that this
fence was too high to jump over, and that the youth would not sacrifice
a hair's-breadth of his rights. If she gave him a single bad word
without cause, he gave her a dozen back; and if she lifted her hand
against him, he caught up a stone or a log of wood, or anything else
which happened to come to hand, and cried out, "Don't dare to come a
step nearer, or I'll split your skull and mash you to soup." The woman
had never heard such language from anybody, least of all from her
servants; but her husband rejoiced in secret when he heard her
quarrelling, and he did not stand by his wife, for the boy did not
neglect his duty. The woman tried to break the boy's spirit with hunger,
and refused him food, but the boy helped himself by force to whatever he
could find, and helped himself to milk from the cow besides, so that he
was never hungry. The more difficult she found it to manage the boy, the
more she vented her rage on her husband and others about her. When the
prince had led this vexatious life for some weeks, and found that each
day was like the other, he determined to pay the old woman out for her
wickedness in such a fashion that the world should be quite rid of such
a monster. In order to carry out his design, he caught a dozen wolves
and shut them up in a cave, and he threw them a beast from his flock
every day, so that they should not starve. Who can describe the woman's
rage when she saw her property gradually dwindling, for every day the
boy brought home an animal less than he had taken to pasture in the
morning, and his only answer when questioned was, "The wolves have
devoured it." She screamed like a maniac, and threatened to throw the
boy to the wild beasts to devour, but he answered, laughing, "Wouldn't
your own savage meat be better for them?" Then he left the wolves for
three days without food in the cave, and at night, when every one was
asleep, he drove the herd from their stall, and put the twelve wolves in
instead, fastening the door securely, so that the wild beasts should not
escape. When he had thus arranged everything, he turned his back on the
farm, for he had long been tired of playing herd-boy, and now felt
strong enough for greater undertakings.[153]
But what horrors happened next morning, when the woman went into the
stall to let out the animals and to milk the cows! The wolves, maddened
with hunger, rushed upon her, pulled her down, and devoured the whole of
her, clothes and skin, and hair and all, so that nothing remained but
her tongue and heart, which were too poisonous for even the wild beasts
to touch. Neither her husband nor her servants lamented the misfortune,
for every one was delighted to be rid of such an infernal woman.
The prince wandered about the world for some years, trying his hand
first at one trade and then at another, but he never stayed long in one
place, for the recollections of his childhood, which hovered about him
like vivid dreams, always warned him that he was born to a higher
condition. From time to time he encountered the old man again, who had
read this in his eyes while he was still a herd-boy. When the prince was
eighteen years old, he engaged himself to a gardener to learn gardening.
Just at this time an event happened which changed the course of his
life. The wicked old woman who had taken him away by the queen's
orders, and had given him into the charge of the people at the
forest-farm, confessed her crime to the priest on her death-bed, for her
soul was burdened with the weight of her sins, and could not find rest
till she had revealed it. She indicated the farmhouse to which she had
brought the child, but could not tell whether the prince was now living
or dead. The priest hastened to the king with the joyful tidings that a
trace of his lost son was found at last. The king informed no one of
what he had heard, but immediately ordered his horse to be saddled, and
set out on his way with three faithful attendants. In a few days they
reached the farm in the wood. Both the farmer and his wife confirmed the
fact that at such and such a time a male child had been given into their
charge to rear, and that they had received one hundred roubles at the
same time for their expenses. They had concluded from this circumstance
that the child was probably of high birth, but they had never supposed
that he was of royal descent, and had thought that the boy was only
jesting when he had called himself a prince. Then the farmer himself
attended the king to the village where he had taken the youth as
herd-boy, not, indeed, by his own wish, but at the request of the boy,
who could not live longer in that lonely place. But how shocked was the
farmer, and still more the king, when they did not find the boy, who
must now be grown to a young man, in the village, and could learn no
further tidings of him! All that the people could tell them was that the
boy was summoned before the court at the suit of a noble lady, and that
he had been acquitted and set at liberty; but after this one of the
queen's servants had taken the boy away and put him to service at
another farm. The king hastened thither, and found that his son had
indeed been there for a few weeks, but he had fled, and nothing more had
been heard of him. Where should they now seek for advice, and who was
able to direct their search aright?
While the king was thus greatly troubled at losing all traces of his
son, the old man who had several times encountered the prince presented
himself and said that he knew such a young man as they sought for, who
had first served as a herdsman and had afterwards worked at several
other occupations, and that he hoped to be able to discover him. The
king promised the old man a rich reward if he could help him to find his
son, and he ordered one of his attendants to dismount from his horse,
and pressed the old man to mount, so that they could travel quicker; but
he said, smiling, "No matter how fast a horse can run, my legs can run
as fast, for they have traversed larger districts of the world than any
horse." In fact, in a week's time they came upon the traces of the
prince, and found him in the grounds of a magnificent mansion, where he
was engaged as gardener. The king's joy was unbounded when he recovered
his son, whom he had mourned for so many years as dead. Tears of joy
streamed down his cheeks as he strained his son to his breast and kissed
him. But he heard tidings from his son's mouth which damped the joy of
their meeting, and caused him fresh trouble. The gardener had a young
and beautiful daughter, fairer than all the flowers in this splendid
garden, and as pure and good as an angel. The prince had lost his heart
to this maiden, and he told his father plainly that he would never marry
a lady of higher rank, but would take the gardener's daughter as his
consort, even if he should be forced to abandon his kingdom for her.
"Come home first," said the king, "and afterwards we will talk the
matter over." Then the prince asked his father for a costly gold ring,
and put it on the maiden's finger before the eyes of all, saying, "With
this ring I betroth thee, and I will return, whether the time be long or
short, to claim thee as my bride." But the king answered, "No, not so;
the affair shall be arranged otherwise." He took the ring from the
maiden's finger and clove it in twain with his sword. One half he gave
to his son, and the other to the gardener's daughter, and said, "If God
has created you for one another, the two halves of the ring will grow
together of themselves at the proper time, so that the point at which
the ring was divided cannot be detected. Let each keep their half till
the time shall be fulfilled."
The queen was ready to burst with rage when she saw her stepson, whom
she thought had disappeared for ever, suddenly return as the undisputed
heir to the throne, for the king had only two daughters by his second
marriage. A few years afterwards the king closed his eyes in death, and
his son became king. Notwithstanding the great wrongs which he had
received from his stepmother, he would not return evil for evil, but
left her to the justice of God. Although she no longer hoped to set one
of her daughters on the throne in his place, she hoped at least to wed
him to a noble lady of her own family; but he answered, "I will not
consent, for I have chosen my bride long since." When the queen-dowager
learned that the young king was resolved to marry a maiden of low birth,
she incited the highest councillors of the kingdom to attempt
unanimously to prevent it. But the king remained firm, and would not
yield. After the matter had been discussed for a long time, the king
announced his final decision. "We will give a great feast, and invite
all the princesses and all the other unmarried ladies of high birth; and
if I find one among them who surpasses my chosen bride in grace and
beauty, I will marry her. But if this is not the case, my betrothed
shall become my consort."
Thereupon a magnificent feast was prepared in the royal palace, which
was to last a fortnight, that the king might have full opportunity of
considering whether any of the ladies surpassed the gardener's daughter.
All the great ladies in the neighbourhood were invited to bring their
daughters to the feast, and as the object of the gathering was generally
known, every maiden hoped that the great prize would fall to her. The
feast drew to a close, and yet the king had not met with one who pleased
his fancy. On the last day of the feast the highest councillors of the
kingdom again presented themselves before the king, and said, as the
queen had instructed them, that if the king did not make his choice
before evening, an insurrection might break out, for all his subjects
wished the king to marry. The king replied, "I will accede to the wish
of my subjects, and will announce my choice this evening." Then, unknown
to the others, he sent a trustworthy messenger to bring the gardener's
daughter away secretly, and to keep her in concealment till evening. In
the evening the royal palace was ablaze with light, and all the great
ladies were robed in their most elegant attire, expecting the moment
which should bring them good fortune or the reverse. But the king
advanced to a young lady in the hall who was so muffled up that you
could hardly see the tip of her nose. All were struck with the simple
dress of the stranger. She was clothed in fine white linen, and wore
neither silk, satin, nor gold, while all the other ladies were robed
from head to foot in silks and satins. Some curled their lips, and
others turned up their noses, but the king took no notice, but loosed
the maiden's head-gear, and led her to the queen-dowager, saying, "Here
is my chosen bride, whom I will take as my consort, and I invite all who
are here assembled to my wedding." The queen-dowager cried out angrily,
"What better could be expected of a man who was reared as a herd-boy? If
you want to go back to your business, take the maid with you, who may
perhaps understand tending swine, but is quite unfit for a king's
consort. Such a peasant girl can only disgrace the throne of a king."
These words moved the king to anger, and he answered sternly, "I am
king, and can do what I will, but woe to you who have brought my former
condition to my remembrance; and you have also reminded me who reduced
me to this. However, as no sensible man buys a cat in a sack, I will
show you all before we separate that I could nowhere have found a more
suitable bride than this very maiden, who is as pure and good as an
angel from heaven." As he spoke, he left the room, but soon returned
with the old man whom he had known ever since he was a herd-boy, and who
had afterwards put the king on the track of his son. The old man was a
famous sorcerer from Finland, who knew many secret arts. The king said,
"Mighty sorcerer, show us by your art the inmost character of the
maidens here present, that we may know which of them is most worthy to
become my bride." The sorcerer took a bottle filled with a liquid that
looked like wine, muttered a spell over it, and directed the maidens to
gather in the midst of the hall. He then sprinkled a few drops on the
head of each, and they all fell asleep as they stood. But what a
wonderful thing now happened! In a short time they were all so
transformed that none retained her human shape, but some were changed
into snakes, wolves, bears, toads, swine, or cats, and others became
hawks or other birds of prey. But among all these bestial forms was a
beautiful rose-bush, covered with flowers, and with two doves nestling
on its branches. And this was the gardener's daughter whom the king had
chosen as his consort. Then said the king, "We have now seen the inmost
kernel of each, and I am not going to let myself be dazzled by the outer
shell." The queen-dowager could not contain herself for rage, but the
matter was so clear that she was unable to help herself. Then the
sorcerer fumigated all the maidens with magic herbs, which roused them
from their sleep and restored them to their human shapes. The king
received his beloved from the rose-bush, and asked for her half-ring,
and when the maiden drew it from her bosom, he took his own half-ring,
and laid them together on the palm of his hand, when the two halves
immediately united, and no eye could perceive a crack or any indication
of the spot where the sword-stroke had cleft the ring. "Now my honoured
father's wish has come to pass," said the young king, and celebrated his
union with the gardener's daughter on the same evening. He invited all
those present to a wedding-feast, but the noble ladies had learned what
wonders had taken place during their sleep, and they returned home full
of shame. But so much the greater was the joy of the king's subjects
that their queen was a perfect woman both in form and character.
When the wedding festivities were ended, the king assembled all the
leading judges of the kingdom and asked them what punishment was fitting
for a criminal who had secretly stolen away the king's son, and had him
brought up in a peasant's cot as a herd-boy, and had afterwards treated
the youth with insolent contempt after he had recovered his former
position. All the judges answered with one accord, "Such a criminal is
worthy to die on the gallows." Then said the king, "Good! let the
queen-dowager be brought to trial." The queen-dowager was summoned, and
the sentence was announced to her. When she heard it, she turned as
white as the wall, and fell on her knees before the young king pleading
for mercy. The king said, "I give you your life, and I should never have
brought you before the court if it had not happened that you lately
insulted me respecting the misfortunes which I endured through your
crime; but you cannot remain in my kingdom any longer. You must pack up
your goods this very day, and quit my city before sundown. An escort
will accompany you to the frontier. But beware lest you ever set foot
again in my territories, for any man, even the meanest, has leave to
kill you like a mad dog. Your daughters, who are also the daughters of
my honoured father, may remain here, for they are innocent of the crimes
which rest upon your soul."
Now that the queen-dowager was banished, the young king built two pretty
houses near his city, one of which he assigned to the parents of his
bride, and the other to his own foster-father, who had so carefully
brought up the helpless prince. The prince who had grown up as a
herd-boy and his low-born bride lived happily to the end, and ruled
their subjects with as much affection as parents their children.
* * * * *
The story of Tiidu[154] the Flute-player introduces us to a mysterious
old man, and is therefore given a place after the narrative of the
stolen prince. It contains many points of interest, including the
cosmopolitan incident of the Nose-tree (which, however, some critics
suggest is probably a recent addition); but it is long and tedious in
the original, and therefore only an abstract is given here.
[Footnote 151: Compare pages 246 and 248.]
[Footnote 152: The word translated "lout" means literally
"filthy-nose."]
[Footnote 153: In the _Kalevala_, Runo 33, Kullervo revenges himself in
the same manner upon the wife of Ilmarinen, whom he has been serving as
herd-boy, and who has treated him with great cruelty and harshness.]
[Footnote 154: Titus.]
TIIDU THE FLUTE-PLAYER.
A poor man with a large family had among them a lazy useless son who
would do nothing but play tunes on a willow-pipe. One day a strange old
man passed by, and asked what trade he would prefer. He replied that he
would like to be rich and independent. The old man advised him to make
use of the gift he had, and to earn money enough by playing on his
willow-flute to buy a flute.[155] So Tiidu left his home without telling
his parents of his intention, but they were glad enough to be rid of
him. He wandered from village to village till he had earned enough money
to buy a good flute, and in a few years he became a famous and
prosperous flute-player. But his avarice left him no peace, and he heard
so much of the wealth of the land of Kungla, that he longed to go there
to make his fortune.
One day he arrived at the town of Narva, where he found a ship just
sailing for Kungla; but as he could not afford to pay his passage, he
contrived to smuggle himself on board with the aid of one of the
sailors. On the following night, Tiidu's friend threw him into the sea
with a rope round his body, when Tiidu began to cry for help, and his
friend roused the other sailors. The captain crossed himself thrice, and
on being assured by the sailors that it was not a spirit but a mortal
man, ordered a rope to be thrown to the aid of the swimmer. As soon as
Tiidu seized the rope, he cut away that which was fastened round him,
and on being hauled on board, pretended to have swum from the shore. On
this the captain offered him a free passage, and he amused the crew with
his flute during the voyage.
When Tiidu reached Kungla, he set out for the capital, which he found to
be a city of great wealth and splendour. He was afraid to try his luck
with his flute, and after many days he succeeded in obtaining a post as
kitchen-boy. All the utensils were of gold and silver, the food was
cooked in silver pots, the cakes were baked in silver pans, and dinner
was served up in golden cups and dishes, and even the pigs fed from
silver pails. Tiidu's month's wages were larger than he would have
earned in a year at home, but still he was very discontented.
One day Tiidu's master gave a christening, and distributed fine clothes
to his servants; and next Sunday Tiidu put them on and went to a
pleasure-garden, where he met his old friend who had advised him to play
the flute, and who now reproached him for having neglected to use it in
Kungla. He made him fetch it and begin to play, when a crowd gathered
round, who made a good collection for Tiidu. The old man gave Tiidu
full instructions how to follow the vocation of a flute-player
profitably, and Tiidu followed his advice and grew very rich.
At last he decided to return home, and chartered a ship to convey
himself and his treasures to his native land; but a great storm arose,
the ship was wrecked, and only Tiidu contrived to struggle ashore. He
lay dazed for a time, and dreamed that the old man visited him, and gave
him a pull from his flask. Next morning, much refreshed, he wandered
into the country, which he found to be an uninhabited island. He now
repented of his undutiful conduct in leaving his parents, and felt his
sad plight to be a fitting punishment for his fault.
All at once he saw a tree with beautiful red apples, feasted on them,
lay down to sleep for the night, breakfasted on the apples, and walked
on; but on stooping down to drink at a spring, he saw to his horror that
his nose hung down to his middle, and looked like the wattles of an
enraged turkey-cock; and the more he lamented his misfortune, the bigger
and bluer became his nose. At last he discovered a nut-tree, and found
that eating a few nuts restored his nose to its natural state. So he
laid in a stock of nuts, wove himself a basket, which he filled with
apples, and then slept under the tree, when the old man appeared to him
in a dream, advised him to return to the shore, and gave him a new
flute.
When he reached the shore, he was picked up by a passing vessel, and
returned to Kungla, where he disguised himself, sold the apples at the
palace, and next day presented himself in another guise as a learned
foreign physician to cure the king and the royal family of the
turkey-disease. In return, Tiidu asked only as much reward as would
enable him to purchase an estate on which he could live comfortably for
the rest of his life, but the king cheerfully gave him three times as
much as he asked, and Tiidu then went to the harbour and sailed home.
First, however, he paid his passage-money to the captain who had rescued
him from the desert island.
On reaching home, Tiidu found his father and several brothers and
sisters still living, but his mother and some of his brothers were dead.
He bought an estate, invited the whole family to a great feast, and
revealed himself to them, and he insisted that they should all settle on
his estate, and that his father should stay with him in his own house
as long as he lived.
A little later he married a good and pretty but dowerless girl, and on
entering the bridal chamber they found that it contained all the
treasures which Tiidu had lost at sea, with a paper attached: "Even the
depths of the sea restore the treasures which they have stolen to a good
son who cares for parents and relatives." But Tiidu never discovered
anything about the aged enchanter who had been his friend and protector.
[Footnote 155: Here, as well as in the stories relative to the
Thunder-God's musical instrument, Loewe calls it a bagpipe; but I do not
find this meaning for the word in the dictionaries. Still, in the
present story, it appears to have been a rather expensive instrument.]
THE LUCKY EGG.
(KREUTZWALD.)
Once upon a time a poor man lived in a great forest with his wife. God
had given them eight children, and the elder ones were already earning
their living with strangers. So the parents were not much rejoiced when
a ninth little son was born to them in their old age. But as God had
given it to them, they were obliged to accept it, and to have it
christened according to Christian usage. But they could find no one
willing to stand sponsor for the child, for everybody thought that if
the parents died, the child would be left a burden on their hands. Then
said the father, "I will take the child and carry it to church next
Sunday, and say that although I can find no sponsors for the child, the
parson may please himself. Then, whether he christens the child or not,
no sin can rest on my soul."
When he set out on Sunday, he found a beggar sitting by the wayside near
his house, who asked for alms. The father said, "I have nothing to give
you, dear brother, for I must pay out the few copecks which I have in my
pocket for the christening. But if you will do me a kindness, come and
stand godfather to my child, and afterwards go home with me, and share
the christening feast which my good wife has prepared." The beggar, who
had never before been invited to stand godfather to anybody's child,
joyfully accepted the man's proposal, and went with him to the church.
Just as they arrived, a magnificent carriage and four drove up, and a
young Saxon lady alighted from it. The poor man thought, "Now I'll try
my luck for the last time." He bowed respectfully to the unknown lady,
and said, "Noble lady, whoever you may be! will you not have the
kindness to stand godmother to my child?" The lady consented.
When the child was brought up to be baptized after the sermon, the
parson and the congregation were much surprised to see a poor beggar-man
and a proud handsome lady standing together as sponsors for the child.
The child was baptized by the name of Paertel.[156] The rich lady paid
the christening fees, and also made a christening present of three
roubles, which much rejoiced the child's father. The beggar went home to
the christening feast. Before leaving in the evening, he took from his
pocket a small box wrapped in a piece of rag, and gave it to the child's
mother, saying, "My christening gift is poor enough, but do not despise
it, for it may possibly bring your son good fortune some day. I had a
very clever aunt, who understood all sorts of magic arts, and before she
died she gave me the bird's egg in this little box, saying, 'When
something quite unexpected happens to you, which you could never have
imagined, then part with this egg. If it comes into the possession of
him for whom it is destined, it may bring him great good fortune. But
guard the egg like the apple of your eye, that it does not break, for
the shell of fortune is tender.' But although I am nearly sixty years
old, nothing unexpected has happened to me till to-day, when I was
invited to stand as godfather, and my first thought was, You must give
the egg to the child as a christening gift."
The little Paertel grew and prospered, and became the delight of his
parents, and at the age of ten he was sent to another village to become
herd-boy to a rich farmer. All the people of the household were well
satisfied with the herd-boy, as he was a good quiet fellow, who never
gave any annoyance to his companions. When he left home, his mother put
his christening gift in his pocket, and charged him to keep it as safe
as the apple of his eye, and Paertel did so. There was an old lime-tree
in the pasturage, and a large granite rock lay under it. The boy was
very fond of this place, and every day in summer he used to go and sit
on the stone under the lime-tree. Here he used to eat the lunch which
was given him every morning, and he quenched his thirst at a little
brook hard by. Paertel had no friendship with the other herd-boys, who
were up to all sorts of pranks. It was remarkable that there was no such
fine grass anywhere as between the stone and the spring, and although
the flocks grazed here every day, next morning the grass looked more
like that of an enclosed meadow than of a pasturage.
When Paertel slept a little while on the stone on a hot day, he had
wonderfully pleasant dreams, and when he awoke, the sounds of music and
song were still in his ears, so that he dreamed on after his eyes were
open. The stone was like a dear friend to him, and he parted from it
every day with a heavy heart, and returned to it next day full of
longing. Thus Paertel lived till he was fifteen years old, and was no
longer to be herd-boy. His master now employed him as a farm-labourer,
but did not give him any heavier work than he was able to accomplish. On
Sundays and summer evenings, the other young men used to go to visit
their sweethearts, but Paertel did not join their company. He stole away,
in deep meditation, to his favourite lime-tree in the pasturage, and
often sat under it for half the night. One Sunday evening he was sitting
on the stone playing the flute, when a milk-white snake crept out from
under the stone. It raised its head as if to listen, and looked at
Paertel with its bright eyes, which shone like fire. This happened
often, and whenever Paertel had any time to spare, he used to hasten to
the stone to see the beautiful white snake, which at last became so
familiar with him that it often coiled round his leg.
Paertel was now growing up to be a young man; his father and mother were
dead, and his brothers and sisters lived widely scattered, and seldom
heard any tidings of each other, and still more rarely met. But the
white snake had grown dearer to him than his brothers and sisters, and
his thoughts were with her by day, and he dreamed of her almost every
night. This made the wintertime seem very long to him, when the earth
was frozen and the snow lay deep on the ground. When the sun-rays melted
the snow in spring and the ground was thawed, Paertel's first walk was to
the stone under the lime-trees, though there was not a leaf to be seen
upon the tree as yet. O what joy! As soon as he breathed forth his
longing in the notes of the flute, the white snake crept out from under
the stone, and played about his feet. But it seemed to Paertel to-day
that the snake shed tears, and this made his heart sad. He now let no
evening pass without visiting the stone, and the snake grew continually
tamer, and she would let him stroke her; but if he tried to hold her
fast, she slipped through his fingers, and crept back under the stone.
On Midsummer Eve all the villagers, old and young, went together to St.
John's fire. Paertel was not allowed to stay behind, though his heart
drew him in another direction. But in the midst of the fun, when all the
others were singing, dancing, and amusing themselves, he slipped away to
the lime-tree, the only place where his heart was at ease. When he drew
near, he saw a clear bright fire shining from the stone, which surprised
him very much, for, as far as he knew, nobody but himself ever visited
the spot. But when he reached the stone, the fire had disappeared,
without leaving either ashes or sparks behind it. He sat down on the
stone, and began to play on his flute as usual. All at once the fire
blazed up again, and it was nothing else than the sparkling eyes of the
white snake. She played about his feet again, allowed him to stroke her,
and gazed at him as wistfully as if she was going to speak. It must have
been almost midnight when the snake crept back to her nest under the
stone, and did not reappear while Paertel was playing. As he took the
instrument from his mouth and put it in his pocket and prepared to go
home, the leaves of the lime-tree rustled in the breeze so strangely
that it sounded like a human voice, and he thought he heard the
following words repeated several times:
"Thin-shelled is the egg of Fortune,
And the heart is full of sorrow;
Venture not to spoil your fortune."
Thereupon he experienced such a painful longing that his heart was like
to break, and yet he did not know himself what he pined for. He began to
weep bitterly, and lamented, "What does the lucky egg avail me, when no
happiness is permitted me in this world? I have felt from childhood that
I was unfit to mix with men, for they do not understand me, and I do not
understand them. What causes pleasure to them is painful to me, while I
myself know not what could make me happy, and how then should others
know it? Riches and poverty stood together as my sponsors, and therefore
nothing will go right with me."
Suddenly it became as bright around him as if the mid-day sun was
shining on the lime-tree and the rock, and he could not open his eyes
for a time, until he had got used to the light. Then he beheld a lovely
female figure sitting beside him on the stone, clad in snow-white
raiment, as if an angel had flown down from heaven. The maiden's voice
sounded sweeter to him than the song of the nightingale as she addressed
him. "Dear youth, fear nothing, but give heed to the prayer of an
unhappy girl. I am imprisoned in a miserable dungeon, and if you do not
pity me, I can never hope to escape. O dear youth, take pity on me, and
do not cast me off! I am the daughter of a king of the East, possessed
of fabulous riches in gold and silver, but all this avails me nothing,
for an enchanter has compelled me to live under this stone in the form
of a white snake. I have lived thus for many centuries, without ever
growing older. Although I never injured any human being, all fled before
my shape, as soon as they beheld me. You are the only living being who
did not fly at my approach; you have even allowed me to play about your
feet, and have often kindly stroked me with your hand. Your kindness has
led me to hope that you might be able to effect my deliverance. Your
heart is as pure as that of a child, as yet ignorant of falsehood and
deception. You have all the signs which point to my rescue; a noble
lady and a beggar stood together as your sponsors, and your christening
gift was the egg of Good Fortune. I am only permitted to resume my human
form once in twenty-five years on Midsummer Eve, and to wander about the
earth for an hour, and if I should meet with a youth pure in heart, and
with your peculiarities, who would listen to my request, I might be
released from my long imprisonment. Save me, O save me from this endless
imprisonment! I beseech you in the name of all the angels."
Having thus spoken, she fell at Paertel's feet, embraced his knees, and
wept bitterly.
Paertel's heart was melted by her tears and supplications, and he begged
the maiden to stand up, and to tell him what he could do to rescue her.
"If it was possible for me to save you," said he, "I would go through
fire and water. I am filled with an unknown longing which allows me no
peace; but what I long for, I cannot tell."
The maiden answered, "Come here again to-morrow evening about sunset,
and if I meet you in my snake-form, and wind myself round your body like
a girdle, and kiss you three times, do not start or shrink back, or I
shall again be overwhelmed by the waters of enchantment, and who knows
for how many centuries?"
As she spoke, the maiden vanished from the youth's sight, and he again
heard the sighing in the leaves of the lime-tree:
"Thin-shelled is the egg of Fortune,
And the heart is full of sorrow;
Venture not to spoil your fortune."
Paertel went home and lay down to sleep before dawn, but his rest was
disturbed by wonderfully varied dreams, some beautiful, some hideous. He
sprang up with a shriek, for a dream showed him the white snake coiling
round his breast and suffocating him. But he thought no more of this
horrible picture, and firmly resolved to release the princess from the
bonds of enchantment, even if he himself should perish. Nevertheless his
heart failed him more and more as the sun sank nearer the horizon. At
the appointed time he stood by the stone under the lime-tree, and gazed,
sighing, towards heaven, praying for strength and courage, that he might
not tremble with weakness when the snake should coil round his body and
kiss him. Suddenly he remembered the lucky egg: he took the little box
from his pocket, opened it, and took the little egg, which was not
larger than that of a sparrow, between his fingers.
At this moment the snow-white snake glided from under the stone, wound
round his body, and had just raised her head to kiss him, when--he
himself knew not how it happened--he pushed the lucky egg into her
mouth. His heart froze within him, but he stood firm, without shrinking,
till the snake had kissed him three times. A tremendous flash and crash
followed, as if the stone had been struck by lightning, and amid the
loud pealing of the thunder, Paertel fell on the ground like one dead,
and knew nothing more of what happened to him.
But at this terrible moment the bondage of the enchantment was loosened,
and the royal maiden was released from her long captivity. When Paertel
awakened from his heavy swoon, he found himself lying on cushions of
white silk in a magnificent glass room of a sky-blue colour. The fair
maiden knelt by his bedside, patted his cheek, and cried out, when he
opened his eyes, "Thanks to the Heavenly Father who has heard my prayer,
and a thousand thousand thanks to you, dear youth, who released me from
my long enchantment! Take my kingdom as your reward, along with this
beautiful palace, and all my treasures, and if you will, accept me also
as your bride into the bargain! You shall always live here in happiness,
as befits the lord of the lucky egg. Hitherto your lot has been as that
of your godfather, but now you succeed to a better lot, such as fell to
your godmother."
No one could now come between Paertel and his happiness and good fortune,
and all the unknown longings of his heart, which constantly drew him
back under the lime-tree, were finally laid to rest. He lived apart from
the world with his dear bride in the enjoyment of the greatest happiness
until his death.
But great sorrow was caused by his disappearance, both in the village,
and in the farm-house where he had worked, and where he was much loved
for his steady quiet ways. All the people went out to look for him, and
their first visit was to the lime-tree which Paertel was accustomed to
visit so often, and towards which they had seen him going on the
previous evening. Great was the amazement of the people when they found
no trace of either Paertel, the lime-tree, or the stone. The little
spring near was dried up, and no trace of anything that had thus
vanished was ever again beheld by human eyes.
* * * * *
Kreutzwald relates several other stories of young adventurers who go
forth into the world to seek their fortunes with the aid of powerful
protectors.
In one of these, "The Magician in the Pocket," a young man releases a
magician who had been imprisoned by his enemy under a great stone, after
which the magician accompanies him in his wanderings in the form of a
flea, and helps him to deliver four princesses from enchantment, one of
whom he marries. In another, "The God-Daughter of the Rock-Maidens," a
young girl named Maasika (Strawberry) is taken down into an underground
region by her godmothers, the rock-spirits, one of whom her mother had
once aided when in distress. When she is grown up, she goes out into the
world, kills the king of the serpents, and disenchants a king, queen,
and prince, who prove to be the parents and brother of her godmothers,
and she marries the prince. In a third story, "The Foundling," the hero
likewise goes out in a similar manner, and meets with various adventures
before marrying a princess.
[Footnote 156: Bartholomew.]
* * * * *
THE HERO OF ESTHONIA
AND OTHER STUDIES IN THE
ROMANTIC LITERATURE OF
THAT COUNTRY
_COMPILED
FROM ESTHONIAN AND GERMAN SOURCES BY_
W.F. KIRBY, F.L.S., F.E.S., ETC.
CORRESPONDING MEMBER OF THE FINNISH
LITERARY SOCIETY
WITH A MAP OF ESTHONIA
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOLUME THE SECOND
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCXCV
CONTENTS OF VOL. II
_PART II_
ESTHONIAN FOLK-TALES--(_continued_)
SECTION III
COSMOPOLITAN STORIES
PAGE
BLUEBEARD (THE WIFE-MURDERER) 1
CINDERELLA (TUHKA TRIINU) 4
THE DRAGON-SLAYER (THE LUCKY ROUBLE) 6
THE DWARF'S CHRISTENING 8
THE ENVIOUS SISTERS (THE PRINCE WHO RESCUED HIS BROTHERS) 9
THE GIFTED BROTHERS (SWIFTFOOT, QUICKHAND, AND SHARPEYE) 12
THE SWIFT-FOOTED PRINCESS 23
THE IDIOT'S LUCK (STRANGE TALE OF AN OX) 24
THE MAGICIAN'S HEIRS (THE DWARFS' QUARREL) 24
THE MAN IN THE MOON 29
VIDEVIK, KOIT, AND AeMARIK 30
THE MAIDEN AT THE VASKJALA BRIDGE 34
THE WOMAN IN THE MOON 37
POLYPHEMUS 38
RED RIDING-HOOD (THE DEVIL'S VISIT) 38
SNOWWHITE, THE GLASS MOUNTAIN, AND THE DESPISED YOUNGEST SON
(THE PRINCESS WHO SLEPT FOR SEVEN YEARS) 40
THE THREE SISTERS 43
THE THREE WISHES (LOPPI AND LAPPI) 45
THE WITCH-BRIDE (ROUGUTAJA'S DAUGHTER) 45
THE STEPMOTHER 46
SECTION IV
FAMILIAR STORIES OF NORTHERN EUROPE
MELUSINA 48
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE
(THE POWERFUL CRAYFISH AND THE INSATIABLE WIFE) 48
THE MERMAID 49
HOW THE SEA BECAME SALT 70
THE TWO BROTHERS AND THE FROST 71
THE SOLDIER AND THE DEVIL 76
SECTION V
STORIES OF THE GODS AND SPIRITS OF THE ELEMENTS
THE SONG-GOD'S DEPARTURE 81
JUTTA 85
THE TWELVE DAUGHTERS 87
THE FOUR GIFTS OF THE WATER-SPRITE 98
THE LAKE-DWELLERS 98
THE FAITHLESS FISHERMAN 104
THE MERMAID AND THE LORD OF PAHLEN 106
THE SPIRITS OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS 107
THE SPIRIT OF THE WHIRLWIND 110
THE WILL O' THE WISPS 111
THE FOUNDLING 112
THE CAVE-DWELLERS 114
THE COMPASSIONATE WOODCUTTER 125
CHRISTIAN VARIANT OF SAME 127
THE GOOD DEED REWARDED 128
SECTION VI
HEATH LEGENDS
THE WONDERFUL HAYCOCK 133
THE MAGIC EGG 134
SECTION VII
LAKE LEGENDS
LAKE PEIPUS 136
THE LAKE AT EUSEKUeLL 142
EMMU LAKE AND VIRTS LAKE 144
THE BLUE SPRING 145
THE BLACK POOL 146
SECTION VIII
STORIES OF THE DEVIL AND OF BLACK MAGIC
THE SON OF THE THUNDER-GOD 149
THE MOON-PAINTER 159
THE TREASURE-BRINGER 168
THE WOODEN MAN AND THE BIRCH-BARK MAID 180
THE COMPASSIONATE SHOEMAKER 182
MISCELLANEOUS STORIES OF THE DEVIL 185
MARTIN AND HIS DEAD MASTER 188
THE HUNTER'S LOST LUCK 191
THE COINERS OF LEAL 192
THE BEWITCHED HORSE 193
SECTION IX
HIDDEN TREASURES
THE COURAGEOUS BARN-KEEPER 195
THE GALLOWS-DWARFS 210
THE TREASURE AT KERTELL 222
THE GOLDEN SNAKES 224
THE DEVIL'S TREASURE 225
THE NOCTURNAL CHURCH-GOERS 226
SECTION X
ORIENTAL TALES
THE MAIDENS WHO BATHED IN THE MOONLIGHT 233
THE NORTHERN FROG 237
SECTION XI
CHURCH STORIES
THE CHURCH AT REVEL 262
THE CHURCH AT PUeHALEPP 263
THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY CROSS 265
THE CHURCH AT FELLIN 265
SECTION XII
UNNATURAL BROTHERS
THE RICH BROTHER AND THE POOR ONE 267
SECTION XIII
PLAGUE-LEGENDS 271
SECTION XIV
BEAST-STORIES
WOLF-STORIES 274
THE MAN WITH THE BAST SHOES 278
WHY THE DOG AND CAT AND THE CAT AND MOUSE ARE ENEMIES 282
THE ORIGIN OF THE SWALLOW 283
THE SPIDER AND THE HORNET 284
THE OFFICIOUS FLIES 285
_PART III_
ESTHONIAN BALLADS, &c.
THE HERALD OF WAR 285
THE BLUE BIRD (I.) 292
THE BLUE BIRD (II.) 296
CHARM AGAINST SNAKE-BITE 298
BIBLIOGRAPHY 299
INDEX AND GLOSSARY 305
PART II
ESTHONIAN FOLK-TALES
(_continued_)
SECTION III
_COSMOPOLITAN STORIES_
Under this heading we propose to notice a series of tales which are
almost the common property of all nations, and the origin of which is
lost in remote antiquity. These we have arranged under their most
familiar names in alphabetical order.
BLUEBEARD.
(KREUTZWALD.)
The Esthonian version of "Bluebeard" (the Wife-Murderer) is very similar
to the usual story. A rich lord, reported to have vast treasure-vaults
under his castle, lost his wives very fast, and married, as his twelfth
wife, the youngest of the three daughters of a reduced gentleman in the
neighbourhood. An orphan boy had been brought up in the household, and
had served first as gooseherd, and then as page; but he was always known
as "Goose-Tony." He was nearly of the same age as the young lady, who
had been his playmate, and he declared that the rich suitor was a
murderer; his heart told him so, and his presentiments had never yet
deceived him. The boy was scolded and threatened, but his warnings made
so much impression that he was allowed to accompany the bride to her new
home.
Three weeks afterwards, the husband set out on a journey, leaving his
keys with his wife, among which was the gold key of the forbidden
chamber. He warned her that if she even looked in, he would be forced to
behead her with his own hand. She begged him in vain to take charge of
it himself; but he refused, and left it with her.
Next morning one of the lady's sisters came to stay with her; but a day
or two afterwards the page gave her another warning, after which he
suddenly disappeared, and no trace of him could be found. The two
sisters looked over the house, and at last encouraged each other to
enter the secret chamber. In the middle stood an oaken block with a
broad axe upon it, and the floor was splashed with blood. In the
background against the wall stood a table, with the bloody heads of the
squire's former wives ranged upon it. The lady dropped the key in her
horror, and on picking it up found it covered with blood-stains, which
nothing could remove, while the door stood a handbreadth open, as if an
invisible wedge had fallen between the door and the door-post.
The squire was not expected to return for a week, but he came back next
morning, and rushed upstairs in a frenzied rage, dragged his wife to the
block by her hair, and was just lifting the axe, when he was struck down
by Goose-Tony with a heavy cudgel, and bound. He was brought to justice,
and sentenced to death, and his property was adjudged to his widow, who
shortly after married the page who had saved her life.
CINDERELLA.
(KREUTZWALD.)
The Esthonian story of Tuhka-Triinu (Ash-Katie[1]), as given by
Kreutzwald, is more on the lines of the German _Aschenputtel_ than on
those of the French _Cendrillon_.
Once upon a time there lived a rich man with his wife and an only
daughter. When the mother dies, she directs her daughter to plant a tree
on her grave, where the birds can find food and shelter.[2] The father
marries a widow with two daughters, who ill-treat the motherless girl,
declaring that she shall be their slave-girl. A magpie cries from the
summit of the tree, "Poor child, poor child! why do you not go and
complain to the rowan-tree? Ask for counsel, when your hard life will be
lightened."
She goes to the grave at night, and a voice asks her to whom she should
appeal, and in whom she should trust, and she answers, "God." Then the
voice tells her to call the cock and hen to help her, when she has work
to do which she cannot perform by herself.
When the king's ball is announced, Cinderella has to dress her sisters,
after which the eldest throws lentils into the ashes, telling her to
pick them up; but this is done by the cock and hen. She is left at home
weeping, and a voice tells her to go and shake the rowan-tree. When she
had done so, a light appeared in the darkness, and she saw a woman
sitting on the summit of the tree. She was an ell high, and clothed in
golden raiment, and she held a small basket and a gold wand in her
hands. She took a hen's egg from her basket, which she turned into a
coach; six mice formed the horses, a black beetle[3] formed the
coachman, and two speckled butterflies the footmen.
The little witch-maiden then dressed Tuhka Triinu as magnificently as a
Saxon lady. She then sent her to the ball, warning her to leave before
the cock crows for the third time, as everything will then resume its
original shape. On the second night Tuhka Triinu took to flight, and
lost one of her little gold shoes, which the prince found next morning.
When it came to be tried on, Tuhka Triinu's sisters, who thought they
had small feet, tugged and squeezed without success. But the shoe fitted
Tuhka Triinu. Her guardian again robed her magnificently, and she
married the prince.[4]
[Footnote 1: Here Cinderella's real name is Katrina; in Finnish she is
sometimes called Kristina (see Miss Cox, _Cinderella_, p. 552), while in
Slavonic tales she is called Marya, and in some German adaptations
Aennchen.]
[Footnote 2: When Vaeinaemoeinen cleared the forest, he left a birch-tree
standing for the same purpose (_Kalevala_, Runo ii.).]
[Footnote 3: A black dung-beetle (_Geotrupes_) is meant, not a
cockroach.]
[Footnote 4: This story is one of those which Loewe has passed over, and
it is also omitted by Miss Cox.]
THE DRAGON-SLAYER.
We find this story in a familiar form in that of "The Lucky Rouble"
(Kreutzwald). The father of three sons, before his death, gives
Peter,[5] the youngest, a magic silver rouble, which always returns to
the pocket of its possessor. Peter afterwards meets a one-eyed old man,
who sells him three black dogs, named Run-for-Food, Tear-Down, and
Break-Iron. Afterwards, when passing through a forest, he meets a grand
coach, in which a princess, who has been chosen by lot to be delivered
over to a monster, is being conveyed to her doom. Peter abides the
issue, and encounters the monster, which is described as like a bear,
but much bigger than a horse, covered with scales instead of hair, with
two crooked horns on the head, two long wings, long boars' tusks, and
long legs and claws.[6] With the assistance of the dog Tear-Down, Peter
kills the monster, cuts off his horns and tusks, and leaves the princess
with the coachman, promising to return in three years. The coachman
compels the princess by threats to say that he killed the dragon; but
the princess contrives to delay her marriage with the coachman, and on
the wedding-day Peter returns, is imprisoned by order of the king, but
released by Break-Iron. Then he sends Run-for-Food to the princess, who
recognises him, and reveals the secret to her father. The coachman is
condemned to death, and Peter produces the horns and claws of the
dragon, and marries the princess, when the dogs, whose mission is
accomplished, assume the forms of swans, and fly away.
[Footnote 5: Peeter.]
[Footnote 6: Not a bad description of a conventional dragon. If these
stories could be traced back to their original source, we should
certainly find them to be founded on traditions of some of the great
extinct Saurians. They are too explicit, and too discordant, to be
founded only on rumours of the existence of crocodiles.]
THE DWARF'S CHRISTENING.
(JANNSEN.)
This story takes a very similar form in Esthonia to that familiar to us
nearer home. A young lady out walking with her maid encounters a snake,
which the maid wishes to destroy, but the lady remonstrates. A few days
afterwards, a little man enters her room and asks her to become
godmother to his child. She at last consents, and he promises to fetch
her at the right time, and informs her that he lives under the kitchen
steps in the subterranean kingdom.
Next Thursday evening, the dwarf leads her down a long flight of stairs
to a great house with many rooms, all lit up with tapers and full of
company. She was invited to take her seat at table, but on looking up,
she saw a sharp sword suspended over her head. She wanted to flee, but
the master ordered the sword to be removed, and the child's mother told
her that her own life lately hung on a hair, for she was the snake whose
life she had saved. When the young lady left, the master filled her
apron with earth, but she shook it out, whereupon he raked it up, and
pressed it on her again, saying, "Don't despise the least gift from a
grateful heart." In the morning, of course, it had turned to gold and
silver.
After this, the dwarf often visited the young lady, and at length asked
her to pour a jug of milk under the kitchen-stairs every morning. But
one day the wicked maid ordered a dishful of boiling milk to be poured
down very early. Presently the dwarf came weeping to the young lady,
saying that his child had been scalded to death by the hot milk. But he
knew who was to blame; let her put what she most valued together, and
leave the house at once. She did so, and on looking back, she saw the
whole house in flames, and in a few hours nothing remained of it and its
inhabitants but a heap of ashes. But the lady took another house,
married happily, and lived to see her children's children.
THE ENVIOUS SISTERS.
The Esthonian version of this story (the last in Galland's original
translation of the _Thousand and One Nights_, and also found in Germany
and elsewhere), is peculiarly fantastic as "The Prince who rescued his
Brothers" (Kreutzwald). A young king was very ill, and the soothsayers
and magicians could not cure him. One of the magicians, however, at
length finding that the king's hands and arms were gold-coloured to the
elbows, his legs silver-coloured to the knees, and his belly of the
colour of blue glass, told him that he would only be cured by marrying a
young bride similarly coloured. Such a bride was discovered in the
daughter of one of the king's generals, and she was made queen. The
queen was confined of six boys at once; but her elder sister was jealous
of her, and availed herself of the services of an old witch, who carried
the children away by night, and handed them over to the Old Boy,
replacing them with puppies. The queen was confined a second and a third
time, each time of three princes, who suffered the same fate, but the
nurse contrived to hide one of the last three princes. Nevertheless, the
king was now so enraged that he ordered the mother and child to be
thrown into the sea on an iron bed for a boat. But it floated away with
them; and when the prince was seven weeks old, he had grown to be a
young man, and he began to talk to his mother. Soon afterwards they
reached an island, when the prince kicked the bed to pieces, and they
went ashore. The prince met an old man, who gave him a hatchet which
would build houses, and a wand which would change ants into men;
whereupon the prince built and populated a city. The prince then changed
himself into a flea, and went to his father's palace. The king had
married the wicked sister-in-law, and she was trying to persuade him not
to visit the island where the queen and prince had settled, but to visit
another country, where he would see more wonderful things. He went; but
his son had already removed the wonders to his own island, and he
returned disappointed. As the king was still bent on visiting the
island, the new queen advised him instead to visit a country where he
would see eleven men, coloured like himself. When the prince told his
mother what he had heard, she knew that they were her sons. Then the
queen prepared three cakes, one poisoned, and the others mixed with milk
from her breast. The prince set out, gave the poisoned cake to the old
devil who guarded his brothers, and divided the other cakes with them.
They then escaped to the prince's island in the form of doves, and
presently the king and queen arrived, and the king was informed of the
whole plot.
Then the king ordered the wicked queen and the sorceress to be put to
death, and settled down in his son's island with his wife and children.
THE GIFTED BROTHERS.
(KREUTZWALD.)
This familiar story appears in the form of Swiftfoot, Quickhand, and
Sharpeye. It begins with the lamentation of a rich but childless wife,
who is consoled by a pretty little girl,[7] who suddenly appeared, and
directed her to boil three eggs of a black hen for her husband's supper,
and then to send him to bed, but to walk in the open air herself before
retiring. In due course, three strong boys were born, and the fairy came
to see them in their cradles. She took a ball of red thread from her
pocket, and tied threads round the ankles of one boy, the wrists of
another, and the temples of the third. She directed the mother not to
disturb the threads till the children were taken to the christening,
and then to burn the threads, collect the ashes in a spoon, and moisten
them with milk from her breast; and as soon as the children were brought
home from the christening, to give each two drops of the mixture on his
tongue. Of course one boy was gifted with great swiftness, and another
with great strength and skill in handiwork, and another with great
sharpness of sight.
When they grew up, the youths separated to seek their fortunes, agreeing
to meet at home in three years' time, and Swiftfoot went eastwards, and
entered into the service of a king as groom, and made himself famous in
that capacity.
Quickhand, who went southwards, could take up any trade without learning
it, and could turn out twenty coats or pairs of shoes in a day, better
made than the best tailor or shoemaker. He too made himself famous by
supplying a whole army with a full outfit at the shortest notice, when
all the workmen in the kingdom were unable to do so by the time
required.
The adventures of Sharpeye may be given more in detail.
Sharpeye, the third brother, set out westwards. He wandered about for a
long time from one place to another without meeting with any profitable
employment. He could easily earn enough anywhere for his daily expenses
as a good shot, but what could he make in this way to bring home? At
length he reached a large city, where everybody was talking about a
misfortune which had befallen the king thrice already, but which no one
was able to comprehend or guard against. The king had a valuable tree in
his garden, which bore golden apples, many of which were as large as a
great ball of thread, and might have been worth many thousand roubles.
It may be imagined that such fruit was not left uncounted, and that
guards were stationed around night and day to prevent any attempt at
robbery. Nevertheless one of the largest apples, valued at six thousand
roubles, had been stolen every night for three nights running. The
guards had neither seen the thief nor been able to discover any trace of
him. It immediately occurred to Sharpeye that there must be some very
strange trick in the affair, which his piercing sight might perhaps
enable him to discover. He thought that if the thief did not approach
the tree incorporeally and invisibly, he would never be able to escape
his sharp eyes. He therefore asked the king to allow him to visit the
garden to make his observations without the knowledge of the guards. On
receiving permission, he prepared himself a place of concealment in the
summit of a tree not far from the golden apple-tree, where no one could
see him, while his sharp eyes could pierce everywhere, and see
everything that happened. He took with him a bag of bread and a bottle
of milk, so that there would be no need for him to leave his
hiding-place. He now kept close watch on the golden apple-tree, and on
everything around it. The guards were posted round the tree in three
rows, so close that not a mouse could have crept between them
unobserved. The thief must have wings, for he could not reach the tree
by the ground. But Sharpeye could detect nothing all day which looked
like a thief. Towards sunset a little yellow moth fluttered round the
tree, and at last settled on a branch which bore a very fine apple.
Everybody could understand just as well as Sharpeye that a little moth
could not carry a golden apple away from the tree, but as he could see
nothing bigger, he kept his eyes fixed upon it. The sun had set long
ago, and the last traces of twilight were fading from the horizon, but
the lanterns round the tree gave so much light that he could see
everything distinctly. The yellow moth still sat motionless on the
branch. It was about midnight when the eyes of the watchman in the tree
closed for a moment. How long he dozed, he could not tell, but when his
eyes fell next upon the apple-tree, he saw that the yellow moth was no
longer sitting on the branch, and was still more startled to discover
that the beautiful golden apple on that branch had also disappeared. He
could not doubt that a theft had been committed, but if the concealed
watchman had related the affair, people would have thought him mad, for
even a child might know that a moth could not carry away a golden apple.
In the morning there was again a great uproar when it was discovered
that another apple was missing without any of the guards having seen a
trace of the thief. But Sharpeye went to the king again and said, "It is
true that I have seen as little of the thief as your guards; but if
there is a skilful magician in or near the town, let me know, and I hope
with his aid to catch the thief to-night." As soon as he learned where
the magician lived, he went straight to him. The two men consulted what
was best to be done, and at length Sharpeye cried out, "I have hit upon
a plan. Can you make a woven net so strong by magic that the thread will
hold the most powerful creature fast, and then we can chain up the thief
so that he cannot escape again?" The magician said it was possible, and
took three large spiders, which he made so strong by sorcery that no
creature could escape from their meshes, and put them in a little box,
which he gave to Sharpeye, saying, "Place these spiders wherever you
like, and point with your finger where they shall spin their net, and
they will immediately spin a cage round the prisoner, which only
Mana's[8] power can loosen; and I will come to your aid myself, if
needful."
Sharpeye hid the box in his bosom, and crept back to his tree to wait
the upshot of the affair. He saw the yellow moth fluttering round the
apple-tree at the same time as the day before; but it waited much longer
before settling on a branch which bore a large golden apple. Sharpeye
immediately slid down from his tree, went up to the golden apple-tree,
set a ladder against it, and climbed up carefully, so as not to scare
the moth, and set each of his small weavers on separate branches. One
spider was a few spans above the moth, a second to the right, and a
third to the left, and then Sharpeye drew lines with his finger
backwards and forwards round the moth, which sat motionless with raised
wings. At sunset the watcher was back in his hiding-place in the tree,
from whence he saw to his joy that his three weavers had woven a net
round the moth on all sides, from which it could not hope to escape, if
the magician possessed the power which he pretended. The man in the tree
did his best to keep awake, but nevertheless his eyes closed all at
once. How long he slept he knew not, but he was roused up by a great
noise. When he looked round, he saw that the soldiers on guard were
running about the apple-tree like ants, and shouting, and in the tree
sat an old grey-bearded man with a golden apple in his hand in an iron
net. Sharpeye jumped hastily from his tree, but before he reached the
apple-tree the king himself arrived. He had sprung from his bed at the
shouts of the guards, and hurried to see what unusual event was
happening in the garden. There sat the thief in the tree, and could not
get away. "Most noble king," said Sharpeye, "you can now go quietly to
rest again, and sleep till to-morrow morning, for the thief cannot now
escape us. If he was as strong again as he is, he could not break the
magic meshes of his cage." The king thanked him, and ordered the greater
part of the soldiers to retire to rest also, leaving only a few on guard
under the tree. Sharpeye, who had kept watch for two nights and two
days, also went away to sleep.
Next morning the magician went to the king's palace. He was glad when he
saw the thief in the cage, and would not let him out till the fellow
showed himself in his real form. At last he cut off half his beard under
his chin, called for a light and began to singe the hairs.[9] Oh, how
the bird in the iron cage suffered now! He shrieked pitifully and beat
himself with pain, but the magician went on singeing fresh hairs to make
the thief manageable. At last he said, "Confess who you are." The fellow
answered, "I am the servant of the sorcerer Piirisilla,[10] who sent me
here to steal." The magician began again to singe the hairs. "Ow! ow!"
shouted the sorcerer; "give me time and I will confess. I am not the
servant, but the sorcerer's son." Again they singed his hairs, when the
prisoner yelled out, "I'm the sorcerer Piirisilla himself." "Show
yourself in your proper form or I'll singe you again," said the mighty
magician. Then the little man in the cage began to expand, and grew in a
few minutes to the size of an ordinary man, who could have carried off a
golden apple easily. He was taken down from the tree in the cage, and
asked where the stolen apples were hidden. He offered to show the place
himself, but Sharpeye begged the king not to let the thief out of the
cage, or he would become a moth again, and escape. They were obliged to
singe his hair many times before he would give up all the stolen
property; and at last, when all the golden apples had been recovered,
the thief was burned in the cage, and his ashes scattered to the winds.
There was great rejoicing when the three brothers returned home at the
end of the term agreed upon. Shortly afterwards, hearing that the
daughter of a rich king in the North was destined as the bride of any
one who could perform three wonderful feats, they set out to the court
of her father.
The first feat was to watch a swift reindeer cow for a whole day, and
bring her back to the stable at night; the second to bolt the palace
door in the evening; and the third was to shoot an arrow straight
through the middle of an apple, which a man, standing on the top of a
high hill, held in his mouth by the stalk.
The three brothers were so much alike that as each could accomplish one
of the feats only, they decided to personate the same man, which was not
difficult, when they trimmed their beards to exactly the same pattern.
Swiftfoot went first to the king, and the princess peeped at him through
the crack of the door, and fell in love with him, wishing she could
hobble the reindeer's feet that the handsome man might win her. However,
he found that he was easily a match for the reindeer, though she could
have run across the world in a single day. In the evening he brought the
cow back to her stable, and after supper returned to his brothers.
Next day, Quickhand dressed himself up like his brother, and went to the
court, where every one took him for Swiftfoot. The princess again peeped
at him, and wished she could drive away the witch from the palace door.
This witch was accustomed to change herself into the iron door bar, and
if any one climbed a ladder to close it, she would grasp his hand, and
set the folding doors swinging backwards and forwards till morning,
while the man swung helpless in her grasp. But Quickhand ordered an iron
hand to be made,[11] which he heated red hot, and mounting the ladder,
held it out to the witch, and shot the bolt at the moment that she
grasped it; and the door remained bolted till the king rose in the
morning. Quickhand spent that day with the king, and returned to his
brothers in the evening.
Next day, Sharpeye went to the palace, and it was arranged that the
shooting feat should come off on the following morning; and the princess
declared that she would part with all she possessed to ensure his
success. The man who held the apple on the mountain looked no bigger
than a crow, and fearing for his own safety, did not hold the apple by
the stalk, but in his mouth, thinking that the marksman would be more
likely to shoot the arrow at a safe distance from him. But Sharpeye
struck the apple precisely in the middle, carrying away a bit of flesh
from each cheek of the holder with it.
Sharpeye declined the king's proposal to betroth him to his daughter
immediately, and he returned to his brothers, when they rejoiced in
their success like children, and then cast lots[12] for the
princess.[13] The lot fell to Sharpeye, who married the princess, while
his two brothers returned home, when they bought large estates and lived
like princes.
The brothers are once spoken of as "Swedes," for what reason does not
appear. Another story on similar lines is that of the Swift-footed
Princess (Kreutzwald); but here the various feats, including the race
against the princess, who will not marry unless she is worsted in a
foot-race, are performed by the gifted servants in the train of the
prince who seeks her in marriage.
[Footnote 7: The word used means a little girl or a doll; Loewe
translates it "doll," which seems to be incorrect in this place.]
[Footnote 8: The God of Death.]
[Footnote 9: Combings or cuttings of hair are never burned or allowed to
be blown about in the air in Esthonia, but carefully buried; otherwise
the owner would suffer from violent headache.]
[Footnote 10: This word would have no apparent meaning as a proper name;
but Loewe suggests that it might be a corruption of Virgilius, which,
though not impossible, seems rather far fetched.]
[Footnote 11: Compare vol. i. p. 176.]
[Footnote 12: Their good faith and absence of envy is as conspicuous as
in the case of the sons of Kalev (vol. i. p. 58).]
[Footnote 13: When the five Pandavas, the heroes of the Maha-Bharata,
were returning victorious from an expedition during which Arjuna had won
the princess Draupadi in a contest with the bow, their mother, hearing
them coming, but not knowing what had happened, cried out, "Share
equally what you have brought." Upon which it was arranged that she
should become the joint wife of the five brother princes.]
THE IDIOT'S LUCK.
We find this form of the story of the despised younger son in the
"Strange Tale of an Ox" (Kreutzwald). A dying father leaves an ox to his
third son, a simpleton, who goes to sell it, and when passing through a
wood he hears a noise in a tree, and thinks it is an offer to buy the
ox; so he ties it to the tree, and takes a log home with him as security
for the money. Not receiving it when he expected, he breaks open the
log, and finds a jar of money inside. He afterwards kills a shepherd who
tries to cheat him out of it; and it is given out that the shepherd has
been carried away by the devil.
THE MAGICIAN'S HEIRS.
(KREUTZWALD.)
The story of the traveller who appropriates the magical properties over
which the sons of a dead magician are quarrelling is widely
distributed, and frequently occurs as a mere incident in a story; as,
for example, in that of Hasan of El Basrah in the _Thousand and One
Nights_. In the Esthonian story of the "Dwarf's[14] Quarrel," the
articles form the leading _motif_, but mixed up with details curiously
resembling some Celtic fairy tales.
A man passing through a wood came upon a small clearing, where he found
three dwarfs beating, pushing, kicking, and biting each other, and
tearing each other's hair so that it was shocking to see them. They
proved to be fighting over an old hat, composed of the parings of
finger-nails[15], the wearer of which could see everything taking place
in the world, whether near or far; a pair of bast shoes, which would
carry the wearer anywhere at a step; and a stick which would demolish
everything before it. Each of the dwarfs wanted to take all these
articles, to go to a great wedding which was just taking place in
Courland. The referee put on the hat, saw the wedding, and told the
dwarfs to stand with their backs to him, when he demolished them with
the stick, only three drops of water being left where they had been
standing. Then he went to the wedding in Courland, where he found a
great number of people assembled, both high and low, for the entertainer
was a very rich householder.
As the wearer of the magic hat could see everything hidden as well as
obvious, he saw when he lifted his eyes to the crossbeams[16] that there
were a vast crowd of little guests both there and on the door-posts, who
seemed to be far more numerous than the invited guests. But no one else
could see the little people. Presently some of them began to whisper,
"Look there; our old uncle's come to the feast too." "No," answered
others, "it seems that this stranger has our uncle's hat, shoes, and
stick, but uncle himself isn't here." Meantime, covered dishes were
brought in for the feast. Then the stranger saw what nobody else could
perceive, that the good food was abstracted from the dishes with
wonderful quickness, and worse put in its place. It went just the same
with the jugs and bottles. Then the stranger asked for the master of the
house, greeted him politely, and said, "Don't be offended that I have
come to the feast as an uninvited stranger." "You are welcome,"
returned the host. "We have plenty to eat and drink, so that we are not
inconvenienced by a few uninvited guests." The stranger rejoined, "I can
well believe that one or two uninvited guests would make no difference,
but if the uninvited guests are far more numerous than those who are
invited, the richest host may run short." "I don't understand you," said
the host. The stranger gave him the hat, saying, "Put my hat on, and
raise your eyes to the crossbeams, and then you'll see them." The host
did so, and when he saw the tricks that the little guests were playing
with the feast, he turned as pale as death, and cried out with a
trembling voice, "Ah! my friend, my heart never dreamed of such guests;
and now I've taken off your hat, they've all vanished. How can I ever
get rid of them?" The owner of the hat returned, "I will soon rid you of
these little guests, if you will ask the invited guests to step out for
a short time, closing the doors and windows carefully, and taking care
that no chink or crack in the wall remains unstopped." Although the
founder of the feast did not quite understand what he meant, he
consented to the stranger's offer, and asked him to get rid of the
little nuisances.
In a short time the room was cleared of all the invited guests, the
doors, windows, and other openings were carefully closed, and the
stranger was left alone with the little guests. Then he began to swing
his cudgel towards the crossbeams and corners of the room so vigorously
that it was a pleasure to behold. In a few moments the whole mob of
little guests was annihilated, and as many drops of water were left on
the floor as if it had been raining heavily. Only one auger-hole had
been accidentally left unstopped, through which one of the dwarfs
slipped out, although the cudgel might still have reached the fugitive.
He fled across the enclosure, bellowing, "Oh, oh, what a calamity! Many
a time have I been terrified at the arrows of old father Pikne,[17] but
they are nothing to this cudgel!"
When the host had convinced himself, by the aid of the magic hat, that
the room was cleared of the dwarfs, he invited the guests to re-enter.
During the feast the omniscient man read the secret thoughts of the
wedding-guests, and learned much which the others did not suspect. The
bridegroom thought more of the wealth of his father-in-law than of his
young wife; and she, who was not altogether faultless, hoped that her
husband and her matron's cap would protect her from scandal. It's a
great pity that such a hat is no longer to be met with in our times.
[Footnote 14: The Esthonian term is peculiar. "Ox-knee people"--_i.e._,
people as tall as an ox's knee.]
[Footnote 15: Compare the _Kalevipoeg_, Cantos 13 and 14.]
[Footnote 16: Compare Croker's Irish story of "Master and Man."]
[Footnote 17: The Thunder-God.]
THE MAN IN THE MOON.
Stories of the Man in the Moon are generally common. In Esthonia it is
generally the Woman in the Moon, as may be seen in the two beautiful
legends of Videvik, and of the Maiden at the Vaskjalla Bridge. The short
legend which follows these resembles that in the Prose Edda relative to
two children carrying a bucket (Jack and Jill?) who were taken to
himself by the Moon. The story of the Moon-Painter might have been
inserted here; but it seemed to come in more appropriately in another
place.
We meet with sons and daughters of the Sun and Moon among the Finns and
Lapps, as well as among the Esthonians.
VIDEVIK, KOIT, AND AeMARIK[18]
(_Twilight, Dawn, and Evening Twilight_).
The Creator had three diligent servants--two fair and lovely maidens,
Videvik and Aemarik, and the slender youth Koit. They fulfilled his
orders and looked after his affairs. One evening at sunset, Videvik, the
eldest, came back from ploughing with her oxen, and led them to the
river to drink. But maidens are always accustomed to think first of
their own bright faces, and so was it with the charming Videvik. She
thought no more of the oxen, but stepped to the water's edge and looked
down. And behold, her brown eyes and red cheeks looked back upon her
from the surface of the stream, and her heart beat with pleasure. But
the Moon, whom the Creator had ordered to take the place of the setting
sun to enlighten the world, forgot his duty, and hurried down to the
earth to the bed of the stream. Here he stayed with Videvik, mouth to
mouth and lip to lip.
But while the Moon thus forgot his duty, his light became extinguished,
and thick darkness covered the land as he lay on Videvik's heart. And
now a great misfortune happened. The wolf, the wild beast of the forest,
who could work mischief when no eye could see him, attacked one of
Videvik's oxen and tore him to pieces. The nightingale sang loudly
through the dark thicket, "Idle maid, idle maid, long is the night.
Black stripes to the yoke, to the yoke! Bring the whip, bring the whip,
whip, whip, whip." But Videvik heard nothing. She had forgotten
everything but her love.
Early in the morning, when Koit rose from his couch, Videvik awakened at
last from her dream of love. When she saw the evil deed that the wolf
had wrought, she began to weep bitterly. But the tears of her innocent
affliction were not hidden from the Creator. He descended from his
heaven to punish the evil-doer and to bring the criminal to justice. He
dealt out severe punishment to the wolf, and yoked him high in heaven
with the ox, to draw water for ever, driven by the iron rod of the
pole-star.[19] But to Videvik he said, "As the Moon has touched thee
with the light of his beauty and has wooed thee, I will forgive thee,
and if thou lovest him from thy heart, I will not hinder you, and you
shall be wedded. But from thee, Videvik, I look for faithful watch and
vigilance that the Moon begins his course at the right time, and that
deep darkness falls no more on earth at night, when the evil powers can
work mischief at their pleasure. Rule over the night, and take care that
a happy peace prevails in its course."
Thus the moon received Videvik as his wife. Her friendly countenance
still smiles down upon us, and is reflected in the mirror of the brook,
where she first enjoyed the love of her consort.
Then the Creator summoned Koit and Aemarik to his presence, and said, "I
will guard against any further negligence respecting the light of the
world, lest darkness should again get the upper hand, and I will appoint
two watchers under whose care all shall run its course. The Moon and
Videvik shall illumine the night with their radiance at the appointed
time. Koit and Aemarik, to your watch and ward I intrust the light of day
beneath the firmament. Fulfil your duty with diligence. To thy care, my
daughter Aemarik, I entrust the sinking sun. Receive him on the horizon,
and carefully extinguish all the sparks every evening, lest any harm
should ensue, and lead him to his setting. Koit, my active son, let it
be thy care to receive the sun from the hands of Aemarik when he is ready
to begin his course, and to kindle new light, that there may never be
any deficiency."
The two servants of the sun did their duty with diligence, so that the
sun was never absent from the sky for a day. Then began the long summer
nights when Koit and Aemarik join their hands, when their hearts beat and
their lips meet in a kiss, while the birds in the woods sing sweet songs
each according to his note, when flowers blossom, the trees flourish,
and all the world rejoices. At this time the Creator descended from his
golden throne to earth to celebrate the festival of Lijon.[20] He found
all his works and affairs in good order, and rejoiced in his creation,
and said to Koit and Aemarik, "I am well pleased with your management,
and desire your lasting happiness. From henceforth be husband and wife."
But the two exclaimed with one voice, "Father, let us enjoy our
happiness undisturbed. We are content with our lot, and will remain
lover and beloved, for thus we enjoy a happiness which is ever young and
new."
Then the Creator granted them their desire, and returned to his golden
heaven.
* * * * *
The versions given by Boecler and Jannsen differ slightly.
[Footnote 18: This story has been already printed in English, (Jones and
Kropf, _Folk-Tales of the Magyars_, pp. 326-328), but I was unwilling to
omit it.]
[Footnote 19: The constellation of the Great Bear is of course
intended.]
[Footnote 20: The dictionary gives no further explanation than "Name of
a mythical personage."]
THE MAIDEN AT THE VASKJALA BRIDGE.
(KREUTZWALD.)
On a beautiful and quiet summer evening many years ago, a pious maiden
went to the Vaskjala[21] Bridge to bathe and refresh herself after the
heat of the day. The sky was clear, and the song of the nightingale
re-echoed from the neighbouring alder thicket. The Moon ascended to his
heavenly pavilion, and gazed down with friendly eyes on the wreath of
the maiden with the golden hair and rosy cheeks. The maiden's heart was
pure and innocent, and modest and clear as the waters of the spring to
its very depths. Suddenly she felt her heart beat faster, and a strange
longing seized her, and she could no longer turn her eyes away from the
face of the Moon. For because she was so good and pure and innocent, she
had won the love of the Moon, who desired to fulfil her secret longings
and the wish of her heart. But the pious maiden cherished but one wish
in her heart, which she could not venture to express or to ask the Moon
to fulfil, for she longed to depart from this world and to dwell for
ever beneath the sky with the Moon, but the Moon knew the unexpressed
thoughts of her heart.
It was again a lovely evening. The air was calm and peaceful, and again
the song of the nightingale resounded through the night. The Moon gazed
down once more into the depths at the bottom of the river near the
Vaskjala Bridge, but no longer alone as before. The fair face of the
maiden gazed down with him into the depths, and has ever since been
visible in the Moon. Above in the far sky she lives in joy and
contentment, and only desires that other maidens might share her
happiness. So on moonlight nights her friendly eyes gaze down on her
mortal sisters, and she seeks to invite them as her guests. But none
among them is so pure and modest and innocent as herself, and therefore
none is worthy to ascend to her in the Moon. Sometimes this troubles the
maiden in the Moon, and she hides her face sorrowfully in a black veil.
Yet she does not abandon all hope, but trusts that on some future day
one of her earthly sisters may be found sufficiently pious and pure and
innocent for the Moon to call her to share this blessed life. So from
time to time the Moon-maiden gazes down on the earth with increasing
hope and laughing eyes, with her face unveiled, as on the happy evening
when she first looked down from heaven on the Vaskjala Bridge. But the
best and most intelligent of the daughters of earth fall into error and
wander into by-paths, and none among them is pious and innocent enough
to become the Moon's companion. This makes the heart of the pious
Moon-maiden sorrowful again, and she turns her face from us once more,
and hides it under her black veil.
[Footnote 21: According to Jannsen, the forest which once surrounded the
river Vaskia, which flows through a village of the same name near Revel,
was formerly sacred to a goddess named Vaskia.]
THE WOMAN IN THE MOON.
(JANNSEN.)
One Saturday evening a woman went very late to the river to fetch water.
The Moon shone brightly in the heavens, and she said to him, "Why do you
stand gaping up there? You'd better come and help me carry water. I must
work here, and you dawdle about above!"
Suddenly the Moon came down from above, but he seized the woman and took
her with him into the sky. There she still stands with her two pails as
a warning to everybody not to work too late in the evening on holidays.
But the Moon knows no rest, and can never dawdle about, for he must
wander from land to land, and everywhere illumine the darkness of night
with his light.[22]
[Footnote 22: Compare the _Kalevipoeg_, Canto 1.]
POLYPHEMUS.
(JANNSEN.)
In the Esthonian version the Devil visits a locksmith, who promises to
cast him new eyes. When the Devil calls for them, he binds him to a
bench on his back, telling him that his name is Myself. He then pours
molten tin into his eyes, and the Devil jumps up with the pain, and
rushes out with the bench on his back, telling his companions that
"Myself" has done it. He dies miserably, and the dog, fox, rat, and wolf
bury him under the dung of a white mare. "Since this," adds the
narrator, "there has been no devil more." There is a very similar story
from Swedish Lappmark, in which the man who outwits and blinds a giant
tells him that his own name is "Nobody."[23]
[Footnote 23: Poestion, _Lapplaendische Maerchen_, p. 122. Another Lapp
version, almost identical with Homer's, is given by Latham,
_Nationalities of Europe_, i. p. 237.]
RED RIDING-HOOD.
One of the most fantastic stories of this series is "The Devil's Visit"
(Jannsen: Veckenstedt), which, notwithstanding its subject, has an
absurd resemblance in some of its details to "Little Red Riding-Hood."
Two men and their wives lived together in a cottage; one couple had
three children, the others were childless. One day, both husbands were
absent, and the Devil and his son knocked at the door in their
semblance, and sat down to supper. But the eldest child said secretly,
"Mother, mother, father's got long claws!" The second said, "Mother,
mother, he's got a tail too!" And the youngest added, "Mother, mother,
he's got iron teeth in his mouth." The woman comforted the children, and
while the childless woman went with one of the devils, the mother put
the children to bed on the stove, laid juniper twigs in front, and made
the sign of the cross over them.
She then gave the Devil the end of her girdle to hold, by which to draw
her to him, but she fastened the other end to a log of wood, and climbed
on the roof for safety, taking with her a three-pronged fork. As soon as
the devils began to devour the supposed women,[24] the elder discovered
that he had been deceived; and his son advised him to devour the
children; but he could not get at them. Then his son advised him to look
for the mother; and he tried to climb on the roof, but the woman struck
him back with the fork, and he called to his son for help. The son
immediately rushed out of the cottage to get his share of the prey, when
a red cock crew, and the Devil cried out, "He's my half-brother," and
tried again to get on the roof. Then crowed a white cock, and the Devil
cried out, "He's my godfather," and scrambled on the corner of the
gable. Then crowed a black cock, when the Devil cried out, "He's my
murderer!" and both devils vanished, as if they had sunk into the
ground.
[Footnote 24: It must be said, to the credit of the Esthonian devils,
that they only appear occasionally in the light of ogres. In many tales
they are harmless, and sometimes amiable.]
SNOWWHITE, THE GLASS MOUNTAIN, AND THE DESPISED YOUNGEST SON.
We have these tales combined in the story of the "Princess who slept for
seven years" (Kreutzwald).
A princess falls into a deep sleep, and is placed by a magician in a
glass coffin. A glass mountain is prepared, on which the coffin is
fixed. Up the glass mountain the successful suitor must ride when seven
years and seven days have expired, when the princess will awake and give
him a ring.
Meanwhile an old peasant dies, leaving his house and property to his two
elder sons, and charging them to take care of the third, who is
considered rather lazy and stupid, but who has a good heart.[25] He
charges his three sons to watch, one each night, by his grave; but the
elder ones excuse themselves, leaving the duty to the youngest son. The
eldest brother proposes to turn the youngest out of the house, but is
dissuaded by the other, who thinks it would look too bad.
When the king promises his daughter to whoever can climb the glass
mountain,[26] the two elder brothers dress themselves in fine clothes,
and set off, leaving the youngest at home, lest he should disgrace them
by his shabby appearance. But he receives from his father a bronze horse
and bronze armour, and rides a third of the way up the mountain. On the
second day he receives a silver steed and silver armour, and rides more
than half-way up; and on the third day he receives a golden steed and
golden armour, and rides to the summit. Then the lid of the glass case
flies open, the maiden raises herself and gives the knight a ring, and
he rides down with her to her father.
Next day it is proclaimed that whoever can produce the ring shall marry
the princess; and, to the astonishment of the two elder brothers, the
youngest claims the prize. The magician explains to the king that the
young man is in reality the son of a powerful monarch, but was stolen
away in infancy and brought up as a peasant, and the king accepts him as
his son-in-law. His indolence was not an inherent defect, but had been
imposed upon him by the witch who had stolen him. On Sunday he appeared
before the people in his golden armour and mounted on his golden horse,
but his reputed brothers died of rage and envy.
[Footnote 25: There are several very similar stories in Finnish.]
[Footnote 26: Compare the story of "Princess Helena the Fair" (Ralston's
_Russian Folk-Tales_, p. 256).]
THE THREE SISTERS.[27]
(JANNSEN.)
This is the familiar story of an ill-used younger sister. A countryman
was taking game to market, and his two elder daughters asked him to
bring them fine clothes, but the youngest asked him to bring her
anything he got gratis. A shopkeeper offered him a kitten, which he
brought to the youngest girl, who treated it kindly. On the two
following Sundays, the elder sisters went to church to show off their
fine clothes, leaving the younger one at home. She went into the garden,
and a pied magpie settled on the fence, which the cat pursued, and on
the first Sunday it dropped a gold brooch, and on the second two gold
rings.
As the third Sunday was wet, the two elder sisters stayed at home, but
sent the youngest to church; so she adorned herself with her finery and
set out, and at church she attracted general attention. When her sisters
heard of it, they insisted on knowing her secret; and they carried the
kitten into the garden several times, to no purpose, for as they had
always ill-treated it before, it only bit and scratched them. At last
they killed it, and threw it among the rushes by the side of the lake.
When the youngest sister missed the kitten, she went out weeping into
the wood. Her sisters followed her, murdered her, and buried her under a
heap of sand, covering the grave with reeds, and when they went home
they told their father that she had been carried away by gipsies. A
shepherd, passing that way made himself a flute, and it sang the
maiden's sorrowful end. When this reached the ears of the prince, he
ordered the body to be exhumed and carried to his castle, and by
direction of the flute, it was reanimated with water from the healing
well in the prince's courtyard. The maiden immediately begged the life
of her sisters, who were released. Her hand was then sought for in
marriage by a young nobleman, whom she accepted. After this, she begged
the prince to restore her kitten to life too with the healing water, and
the two sisters were sent to fetch it; but the reed-bed by the lake gave
way under their feet, and they both perished miserably; for neither they
nor the kitten were ever seen again. But the descendants of the
youngest sister still bear a cat on their escutcheon.
[Footnote 27: The commencement of this story reminds us of "Beauty and
the Beast;" the second part is that of the "Magic Flute."]
THE THREE WISHES.
This well-known story appears in one of its commonest forms in the tale
of "Loppi and Lappi" (Kreutzwald), a quarrelsome couple who are granted
three wishes by a fairy. At supper-time the wife wishes for a sausage,
which is wished on and off her nose, and the couple remain as poor as
before.
THE WITCH-BRIDE.
Versions of this story are common in Finland as well as in Esthonia. One
of the latter is "Rougutaja's Daughter" (Kreutzwald). Old Rougutaja[28]
lived with his wife and daughter in a wood. The daughter had a beautiful
face, but it was reported that her skin was of bark, and she could find
no suitors. At last the mother contrived to inveigle a youth into
marrying her daughter by means of a love-philtre, but on the first night
he ran away, and shortly afterwards married another bride. On the birth
of a child, the witch-mother transforms the young mother into a wolf,
and substitutes her own daughter. The nurse is ordered to take the
crying child for a walk; she meets the wolf; the deceit is discovered,
and the husband inveigles the witch-mother and daughter into the
bathhouse, and burns it down.
There is little in this story except the bark-skin of the witch-bride to
distinguish it from the numerous variants among other peoples.
* * * * *
Another story belonging to the class of the witch-bride is
[Footnote 28: See vol. i. p. 22.]
THE STEPMOTHER.
(KREUTZWALD.)
Here the two girls are half-sisters, not step-sisters; and the younger
one is dressed up, and married, veiled, to the suitor of the other. When
the husband discovers the deception, he throws the false bride under the
ice of a river on the way, and takes his own bride instead. Next year,
the mother, on her way to visit her supposed daughter and her child,
gathers a water-lily, which tells her that it is her own daughter. Then
the mother and daughter are transformed into a black dog and a black
cat, with the aid of a magician; but their attempts at revenge are
frustrated by a sorceress, who had previously befriended the young
mother.
SECTION IV
_FAMILIAR STORIES OF NORTHERN EUROPE_
Under this heading we include variants of well-known but not
cosmopolitan tales, some of which are of considerable interest. Among
them is a variant of "Melusina," close in some points, but presenting
many features of difference.
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE.
Kreutzwald's story of "The Powerful Crayfish and the Insatiable Wife" is
almost identical with that of Grimm. At last the woman wishes to be God,
and the crayfish sends the foolish couple back to their poverty.
THE MERMAID.[29]
(KREUTZWALD.)
In the happy days of old, better men lived on earth than now, and the
Heavenly Father revealed many wonders to them which are now quite
concealed, or but rarely manifested to a child of fortune. It is true
that the birds sing and the beasts converse as of old, but unhappily we
no longer comprehend their speech, and what they say brings us neither
profit nor wisdom.
In old days a fair mermaid dwelt on the shores of the province of Laeaene.
She often appeared to the people, and my grandfather's father, who was
reared in the neighbourhood, sometimes saw her sitting on a rock, but
the little fellow did not venture to approach her. The maiden a |
