The Story of Kullervo Page 3

  Untamo then in blind rage seeing that all his sorcery availed nought had him hanged shamefully on a tree. And there the child of his brother Kalervo dangled high from a great oak for two nights and a third night and then Untamo sent at dawn to see whether Kullervo was dead upon the gallows or no. And his servant returned in fear: and such were his words: ‘Lord, Kullervo has in no wise perished as yet: nor is dead upon the gallows, but in his hand he holdeth a great knife and has scored wondrous things therewith upon the tree and all its bark is covered with carvings wherein chiefly is to be seen a great fish (now this was Kalervo’s sign of old) and wolves and bears and a huge hound such as might even be one of the great pack of Tuoni.’

  Now this magic that had saved Kullervo’s life was the last hair of Musti: and the knife was the great knife Sikki: his father’s, which his mother had given to him: and thereafter Kullervo treasured the knife Sikki beyond all silver and gold.

  Untamoinen felt afraid and yielded perforce to the great magic that guarded the boy, and sent him to become a slave and to labour for him without pay and but scant fostering: indeed often would he have starved but for Wanōna who, though Unti treated her scarcely better, spared her brother much from her little. No compassion for these twins did their elder brother and sister show, but sought rather by subservience to Unti to get easier life for themselves: and a great resentment did Kullervo store up for himself and daily he grew more morose and violent and to no one did he speak gently but to Wanōna and not seldom was he short with her.

  So when Kullervo had waxed taller and stronger Untamo sent for him and spake thus: ‘In my house I have retained you and meted wages to you as methought thy bearing merited – food for thy belly or a buffet for thy ear: now must thou labour and thrall or servant work will I appoint for you. Go now, make me a clearing in the near thicket of the Blue Forest. Go now.’ And Kuli went. But he was not ill pleased, for though but of two years he deemed himself grown to manhood in that now he had an axe set in hand, and he sang as he fared him to the woodlands.

  Song of Sākehonto in the woodland:

  Now a man in sooth I deem me

  Though mine ages have seen few summers

  And this springtime in the woodlands

  Still is new to me and lovely.

  Nobler am I now than erstwhile

  And the strength of five within me

  And the valour of my father

  In the springtime in the woodlands

  Swells within me Sākehonto.

  O mine axe my dearest brother –

  Such an axe as fits a chieftain,

  Lo we go to fell the birch-trees

  And to hew their white shafts slender:

  For I ground thee in the morning

  And at even wrought a handle;

  And thy blade shall smite the tree-boles

  And the wooded mountains waken

  And the timber crash to earthward

  In the springtime in the woodland

  Neath thy stroke mine iron brother.

  And thus fared Sākehonto to the forest slashing at all that he saw to the right or to the left, him recking little of the wrack, and a great tree-swathe lay behind him for great was his strength. Then came he to a dense part of the forest high up on one of the slopes of the mountains of gloom, nor was he afraid for he had affinity with wild things and Mauri’s [Musti’s] magic was about him, and there he chose out the mightiest trees and hewed them, felling the stout at one blow and the weaker at a half. And when seven mighty trees lay before him on a sudden he cast his axe from him that it half cleft through a great oak that groaned thereat: but the axe held there quivering.

  But Sāki shouted, ‘May Tanto Lord of Hell do such labour and send Lempo for the timbers fashioning.’

  And he sang:

  Let no sapling sprout here ever

  Nor the blades of grass stand greening

  While the mighty earth endureth

  Or the golden moon is shining

  And its rays come filtering dimly

  Through the boughs of Saki’s forest.

  Now the seed to earth hath fallen

  And the young corn shooteth upward

  And its tender leaf unfoldeth

  Till the stalks do form upon it.

  May it never come to earing

  Nor its yellow head droop ripely

  In this clearing in the forest

  In the woods of Sākehonto.

  And within a while came forth Ūlto to gaze about him to learn how the son of Kampo his slave had made a clearing in the forest but he found no clearing but rather a ruthless hacking here and there and a spoilage of the best of trees: and thereon he reflected saying, ‘For such labour is the knave unsuited, for he has spoiled the best timber and now I know not whither to send him or to what I may set him.’

  But he bethought him and sent the boy to make a fencing betwixt some of his fields and the wild; and to this work then Honto set out but he gathered the mightiest of the trees he had felled and hewed thereto others: firs and lofty pines from blue Puhōsa and used them as fence stakes; and these he bound securely with rowans and wattled: and made the tree-wall continuous without break or gap: nor did he set a gate within it nor leave an opening or chink but said to himself grimly, ‘He who may not soar swift aloft like a bird nor burrow like the wild things may never pass across it or pierce through Honto’s fence work.’

  But this over-stout fence displeased Ūlto and he chid his slave of war for the fence stood without gate or gap beneath, without chink or crevice resting on the wide earth beneath and towering amongst Ukko’s clouds above.

  For this do men call a lofty Pine ridge ‘Sāri’s hedge’.

  ‘For such labour,’ said Ūlto, ‘art thou unsuited: nor know I to what I may set thee, but get thee hence, there is rye for threshing ready.’ So Sāri got him to the threshing in wrath and threshed the rye to powder and chaff that the winds of Wenwe took it and blew as a dust in Ūlto’s eyes, whereat he was wroth and Sāri fled. And his mother was feared for that and Wanōna wept, but his brother and elder sister chid them for they said that Sāri did nought but make Ūlto angered and of that anger’s ill did they all have a share while Sāri skulked the woodlands. Thereat was Sāri’s heart bitter, and Ūlto spake of selling as a bond slave into a distant country and being rid of the lad.

  His mother spake then pleading, ‘O Sārihontō if you fare abroad, if you go as a bond slave into a distant country, if you perish among unknown men, who will have thought for thy mother or daily tend the hapless dame?’ And Sāri in evil mood answered singing out in light heart and whistling thereto:

  Let her starve upon a haycock

  Let her stifle in the cowbyre

  And thereto his brother and sister joined their voices saying,

  Who shall daily aid thy brother?

  Who shall tend him in the future?

  To which he got only this answer,

  Let him perish in the forest

  Or lie fainting in the meadow.

  And his sister upbraided him saying he was hard of heart, and he made answer. ‘For thee treacherous sister though thou be a daughter of Keime I care not: but I shall grieve to part from Wanōna.’

  Then he left them and Ūlto thinking of the lad’s size and growing strength relented and resolved to set him yet to other tasks, and is it told how he went to lay his largest drag-net and as he grasped his oar asked aloud, ‘Now shall I pull amain with all my vigour or with but common effort?’ And the steersman said: ‘Now row amain, for thou canst not pull this boat atwain.’

  Then Sāri Kampa’s son rowed with all his might and sundered the wood rowlocks and shattered the ribs of juniper and the aspen planking of the boat he splintered.

  Quoth Ūlto when he saw, ‘Nay, thou understandst not rowing, go thresh the fish into the dragnet: maybe to more purpose wilt thou thresh the water with threshing-pole than with foam.’ But Sāri as he was raising his pole asked aloud, ‘Shall I thresh amain with manly vigour or but leisure
ly with common effort threshing with the pole?’ And the net-man said, ‘Nay, thresh amain. Wouldst thou call it labour if thou threshed not with thy might but at thine ease only?’ So Sāri threshed with all his might and churned the water to soup and threshed the net to tow and battered the fish to slime. And Ūlto’s wrath knew no bounds and he said, ‘Utterly useless is the knave: whatsoever work I give him he spoils from malice: I will sell him as a bond-slave in the Great Land. There the Smith Āsemo will have him that his strength may wield the hammer.’

  And Sāri wept in wrath and in bitterness of heart for his sundering from Wanōna and the black dog Mauri. Then his brother said, ‘Not for thee shall I be weeping if I hear thou has perished afar off. I will find himself a brother better than thou and more comely too to see.’ For Sāri was not fair in his face but swart and illfavoured and his stature assorted not with his breadth. And Sāri said,

  Not for thee shall I go weeping

  If I hear that thou hast perished:

  I will make me such a brother –

  with great ease: on him a head of stone and a mouth of sallow, and his eyes shall be cranberries and his hair of withered stubble: and legs of willow twigs I’ll make him and his flesh of rotten trees I’ll fashion – and even so he will be more a brother and better than thou art.’

  And his elder sister asked whether he was weeping for his folly and he said nay, for he was fain to leave her and she said that for her part she would not grieve at his sending nor even did she hear he had perished in the marshes and vanished from the people, for so she should find herself a brother and one more skilful and more fair to boot. And Sāri said, ‘Nor for you shall I go weeping if I hear that thou hast perished. I can make me such a sister out of clay and reeds with a head of stone and eyes of cranberries and ears of water lily and a body of maple, and a better sister than thou art.’

  Then his mother spake to him soothingly.

  Oh my sweet one O my dearest

  I the fair one who has borne thee

  I the golden one who nursed thee

  I shall weep for thy destruction

  If I hear that thou hast perished

  And hast vanished from the people.

  Scarce thou knowest a mother’s feelings

  Or a mother’s heart it seemeth

  And if tears be still left in me

  For my grieving for thy father

  I shall weep for this our parting

  I shall weep for thy destruction

  And my tears shall fall in summer

  And still hotly fall in winter

  Till they melt [the] snows around me

  And the ground is bared and thawing

  And the earth again grows verdant

  And my tears run through the greenness.

  O my fair one O my nursling

  Kullervoinen Kullervoinen

  Sārihonto son of Kampa.

  But Sāri’s heart was black with bitterness and he said, ‘Thou wilt weep not and if thou dost, then weep: weep till the house is flooded, weep until the paths are swimming and the byre a marsh, for I reck not and shall be far hence.’ And Sāri son of Kampa did Ūlto take abroad with him and through the land of Telea where dwelt Āsemo the smith, nor did Sāri see aught of Oanōra [Wanōna] at his parting and that hurt him: but Mauri followed him afar off and his baying in the nighttime brought some cheer to Sāri and he had still his knife Sikki.

  And the smith, for he deemed Sāri a worthless knave and uncouth, gave Ūlto but two outworn kettles and five old rakes and six scythes in payment and with that Ūlto had to return content not.

  And now did Sāri drink not only the bitter draught of thralldom but eat the poisoned bread of solitude and loneliness thereto: and he grew more ill favoured and crooked, broad and illknit and knotty and unrestrained and unsoftened, and fared often into the wild wastes with Mauri: and grew to know the fierce wolves and to converse even with Uru the bear: nor did such comrades improve his mind and the temper of his heart, but never did he forget in the deep of his mind his vow of long ago and wrath with Ūlto, but no tender feelings would he let his heart cherish for his folk afar save a[t] whiles for Wanōna.

  Now Āsemo had to wife the daughter [of] Koi Queen of the marshlands of the north, whence he carried magic and many other dark things to Puhōsa and even to Sutsi by the broad rivers and the reed-fenced pools. She was fair but to Āsemo alone sweet. Treacherous and hard and little love did she bestow on the uncouth thrall and little did Sāri bid for her love or kindness.

  Now as yet Āsemo set not his new thrall to any labour for he had men enough, and for many months did Sāri wander in wildness till at the egging of his wife the smith bade Sāri become his wife’s servant and do all her bidding. And then was Koi’s daughter glad for she trusted to make use of his strength to lighten her labour about the house and to tease and punish him for his slights and roughness towards her aforetime.

  But as may be expected, he proved an ill bondservant and great dislike for Sāri grew up in his [Āsemo’s] wife’s heart and no spite she could wreak against him did she ever forego. And it came to a day many and many a summer since Sāri was sold out of Dear Puhōsa and left the blue woods and Wanōna, that seeking to rid the house of his hulking presence the wife of Āsemo pondered deep and bethought her to set him as her herdsman and send him afar to tend her wide flocks in the open lands all about.

  Then set she herself to baking: and in malice did she prepare the food for the neatherd to take with him. Grimly working to herself she made a loaf and a great cake. Now the cake she made of oats below with a little wheat above it, but between she inserted a mighty flint – saying the while, ‘Break thou the teeth of Sāri O flint: rend thou the tongue of Kampa’s son that speaketh always harshness and knows of no respect to those above him. For she thought how Sāri would stuff the whole into his mouth at a bite, for greedy he was in manner of eating, not unlike the wolves his comrades.

  Then she spread the cake with butter and upon the crust laid bacon and calling Sāri bid him go tend the flocks that day nor return until the evening, and the cake she gave him as his allowance, bidding him eat not until the herd was driven into the wood. Then sent she Sāri forth, saying after him:

  Let him herd among the bushes

  And the milch kine in the meadow:

  These with wide horns to the aspens

  These with curved horns to the birches

  That they thus may fatten on them

  And their flesh be sweet and goodly.

  Out upon the open meadows

  Out among the forest borders

  Wandering in the birchen woodland

  And the lofty growing aspens.

  Lowing now in silver copses

  Roaming in the golden firwoods.

  And as her great herds and her herdsman got them afar, something belike of foreboding seized her and she prayed to Ilu the God of Heaven who is good and dwells in Manatomi. And her prayer was in the fashion of a song and very long, whereof some was thus:

  Guard my kine O gracious Ilu

  From the perils in the pathway

  That they come not into danger

  Nor may fall on evil fortune.

  If my herdsman is an ill one

  Make the willow then a neatherd

  Let the alder watch the cattle

  And the mountain ash protect them

  Let the cherry lead them homeward

  In the milktime in the even.

  If the willow will not herd them

  Nor the mountain ash protect them

  And the alder will not watch them

  Nor the cherry drive them homeward

  Send thou then thy better servants,

  Send the daughters of Ilwinti

  To guard my kine from danger

  And protect my horned cattle

  For a many are thy maidens

  At thy bidding in Manoine

  And skilled to herd the white kine

  On the blue meads of Ilwinti

  Until
Ukko comes to milk them

  And gives drink to thirsty Kēme.

  Come thou maidens great and ancient

  Mighty daughters of the Heaven

  Come thou children of Malōlo

  At Ilukko’s mighty bidding

  O [Uorlen?] most wise one

  Do thou guard my flock from evil

  Where the willows will not ward them

  Out across the quaking marshland

  Where the surface ever shifteth

  And the greedy depths are gulping.

  O thou Sampia most lovely

  Blow the honey-horn most gaily.

  Where the alder will not tend them

  Do thou pasture all my cattle

  Making flowers upon the hummocks:

  With the melody of the mead-horn

  Make thou fair this heathland border

  And enchant the skirting forest

  That my kine have food and fodder,

  And have golden hay in plenty

  And the heads of silver grasses.

  O Palikki’s little damsel

  And Telenda thy companion

  Where the rowan will not tend them

  Dig my cattle wells all silver

  Down on both sides of their pasture

  With your straying feet of magic

  Cause the grey springs to spout coolly

  And the streams that flow by swiftly

  And the speedy running rivers

  Twixt the shining banks of grassland

  To give drink of honey sweetness

  That the herd may suck the water

  And the juice may trickle richly

  To their swelling teeming udders

  And the milk may flow in runlets

  And may foam in streams of whiteness.

  But Kaltūse thrifty mistress

  And arrester of all evil,

  Where the wild things will not guard them

  Fend the sprite of ill far from them

  That no idle hands do milk them

  And their milk on earth be wasted