many vile people in the world ready to accuse innocent persons, and
proceeds to set all his doings in such a plausible light, that the
king, instead of sentencing him again to death, allows him to settle
his case by fighting a judiciary duel with the Wolf. The preparations
for the duel are ludicrous because the Fox, advised by the Ape, is
shaven smooth, greased until too slippery to be held, and duly
strengthened by advice and potations. Blinded by the sand continually
whisked into his eyes by the Fox's tail, unable to hold his all too
slippery opponent, the Wolf is beaten and the Fox acquitted by the
Judgment of God!
Although Noble now offers to make Reynard his privy counsellor, the
Fox returns home, where his admiring wife and children welcome him
rapturously.
In some versions of the tale Reynard further avenges himself by
suggesting, when the king is taken ill, that he can be cured if he
eats the head of a wolf just seven years old, knowing the only wolf of
that age is Isegrim, who throughout the epic is fooled by the clever
Fox, the hero of endless adventures which have delighted young and old
for centuries.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 33: See the author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]
SCANDINAVIAN EPICS
The different Scandinavian dialects formed but one language until
about 1000 A.D., when they split up into two great groups, the East
Northern including the Danish and Swedish; and the West Northern
including the Icelandic, Norwegian, and Faroese. Danish literature
boasts of some five hundred chivalric ballads (Kjaempeviser), on
partly historical and partly mythical themes, which were composed
between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. It was the Danish
translator of the Bible who introduced his countrymen to Charlemagne
and Ogier, whose legends received their finished forms at his hands.
In 1555 Reynard the Fox was translated into Danish from the French, in
1663 the Heimskringla from the Icelandic, but it was in 1641 that
Arrebo composed the Hexaemeron or first real Danish epic. In the
nineteenth century Paludan Müller also wrote epics, which, however,
are not very popular outside of his country. The runes of Sweden bear
witness to the existence of sundry ancient sagas or epics which
perished when Christianity was introduced into the land. In the Middle
Ages, a gleeman at the court of Queen Euphemia (1303-12) composed the
Euphemiaviser, or romances of chivalry done into Swedish verse. The
greatest epic work of Sweden is, however, Tegner's Frithjof's Saga
(1846), relating the adventures and courtship of an old Scandinavian
hero, a work of which a complete synopsis is given in the author's
Legends of the Middle Ages.
The élite of the Norwegians emigrated to Iceland for political reasons
during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Owing to their
geographical isolation and to the long winters, these people were
thrown entirely on their own resources for amusement. The hours of
darkness were beguiled by tales and songs, so young and old naturally
delighted in the recitations of the skalds. This gave birth to an oral
literature of great value, and, although many of the works of the
skalds have perished, the Icelanders fortunately recovered in
1643,--after centuries of oblivion,--the Elder Edda, an
eleventh-century collection of thirty-three poems on mythical and
heroic subjects by Saemunt the Wise.
There is also a similar work in prose known as the Younger Edda, by
Snorro Sturluson, which contains tales of Scandinavian mythology, and
this writer also collected many of the old hero tales in his
Heimskringla.
Many of the old sagas have been preserved in more or less perfect
forms. They are generally divided into three groups, the first
including sagas on historical themes, such as the Egilssaga, the
Eyrbyggjasaga, the Njalssaga, the Laxdaelasaga, and the already
mentioned Heimskringla.
The second, mythical, or heroic group comprises the Grettis saga and
the Volsunga, the finest of all the sagas and one of the main sources
of the Nibelungenlied and of Wagner's Trilogy. This epic has been
wonderfully rendered in modern English by William Morris.
In the third and last group are massed together the romantic epics,
translations or imitations of the Latin, French, and German epics and
romances, relating to Alexander, Charlemagne, Parsival, etc. The
finest saga in this group is the Gunnlaugssaga.
Norwegian literature goes back to the skald Bragi (_c._ 800), whose
principal poem, Ragnarsdrapa, relates the marvellous adventures of the
national hero Ragnar Lodbrog. This poem was incorporated by Snorro
Sturluson in what is known as the Snorro Edda. Most of the poems in
the Elder Edda are also of Norwegian origin, as well as Hvin's
Haustlöng or account of a famous warrior. In the thirteenth century
prose sagas were plentiful among the Danes, who took special pleasure
in the Thidrekssaga (1250), or life and adventures of Dietrich von
Bern; in the Karlamagnussaga, or story of Charlemagne; and in the
Barlaamssaga ok Josaphats, or Hebrew tale of Barlaam and Josaphat.
Norway also possesses a rich fund of folk tales, which have been
collected by Asbjörnsen, and which, having many of the qualities of
prose epics, have delighted many generations.
THE VOLSUNGA SAGA[34]
The Second Part of the Edda contains the famous Volsunga Saga, or Epic
of the Volsungs, which has not only given rise to the Nibelungenlied
and to Wagner's famous Trilogy of operas, but also to William Morris'
Sigurd the Volsung. The plot of this, the most characteristic and
famous of the Scandinavian sagas, is as follows:
Volsung, a lineal descendant from Odin, built his dwelling around the
trunk of a mighty oak, the Branstock, whose branches overshadowed his
whole dwelling. When Signy, Volsung's only daughter, was married
against her will to Siggier, king of the Goths, a one-eyed stranger
(Odin) suddenly appeared among the wedding guests, and thrust a
priceless sword (Balmung) deep into the bole of the homestead oak.
Before departing, as abruptly as he had come, the stranger proclaimed
the weapon should belong to the man who pulled it out, and prophesied
that it would assure him the victory in every fight.
"Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift
To pluck it from the oak-wood e'en take it for my gift.
Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail
Until the night's beginning and the ending of the tale."[35]
Although conscious that Odin had been in their midst, Volsung
courteously invited the bridegroom to try his luck first, then himself
attempted to draw out the divine sword, before he bade his ten sons
exert their strength in turn. Only the youngest, Sigmund, was at last
able to perform the required feat, and when Siggier eagerly offered to
purchase his trophy from him, he firmly refused to part with it. Full
of anger at this refusal, the Goth departed on the morrow, but
although Signy loyally warned her kinsmen that her husband was
plotting revenge, the Volsungs accepted his invitation to visit them
soon.
When Volsung and his ten sons arrived in Gothland, Signy again bade
them beware of coming treachery, but all in vain. The brave Volsungs,
drawn into an ambush by their wily foe, were seized and bound fast to
a fallen tree in a lonely forest, where every night a wild beast
devoured one of these helpless men. Closely watched by her cruel
husband, Signy could lend no aid to the prisoners, but when none but
Sigmund, the youngest, was left, she directed a slave to smear his
face with honey. The wild beast, attracted by the sweet odor, licked
the face of the last prisoner, who, thus enabled to catch its tongue
between his teeth, struggled with the beast until his bonds broke and
he was free!
When Siggier sent to investigate as usual the next morning, his
messenger reported no prisoners were left bound to the tree and that
only a heap of bones was visible. Sure his foes were all dead, Siggier
ceased to watch his wife, who, stealing out into the forest to bury
the remains of her kin, discovered Sigmund in a thicket, and promised
to aid him to obtain his revenge. To redeem this promise she sent to
her brother, one after another, two of her sons to be trained as
avengers, but, as both of these children proved deficient in courage,
she came to the conclusion none but a pure-blooded Volsung would meet
their requirements. To secure an offspring of this strain, Signy,
disguised as a gypsy, secretly visited her brother's hut, and when
their child, Sinfiotli, was older, sent him to Sigmund to foster and
train.
With a youthful helper whom nothing could daunt, Sigmund, after
achieving sundry adventures, lay in wait in Siggier's cellar, but,
warned by two of his young children that murderers were hiding behind
his casks, Siggier had them seized and cast into separate cells. There
he decreed they should starve to death. But, before their prison was
closed, Signy cast into it a bundle of straw, wherein she had
concealed Balmung, the magic sword. Thanks to this weapon, Sigmund and
Sinfiotli not only hewed their way out of their separate prisons, but
slew all the Goths who attempted to escape from Siggier's dwelling,
which they set aflame. But, although both proposed to save Signy, she
merely stepped out of the house long enough to reveal Sinfiotli's
origin and bade them farewell, ere she plunged back into the flames!
And then King Siggier's roof-tree upheaved for its utmost fall,
And its huge walls clashed together, and its mean and lowly things
The fire of death confounded with the tokens of the kings.
A sign for many people on the land of the Goths it lay,
A lamp of the earth none needed, for the bright sun brought the day.
Feeling he had done his duty by avenging his father's and brothers'
death, Sigmund now returned home, where in his old age he was slain in
battle shortly after his marriage to a young wife. Finding him dying
on the battle-field, this wife bore off the fragments of his magic
sword as sole inheritance for his child, whom she hoped would prove a
boy who could avenge him. One version of the story relates that to
escape the pursuit of Sigmund's foes this expectant mother plunged
into the woods and sought help and refuge in the smithy of Mimer, a
magician as well as a blacksmith. Here she gave birth to Sigurd, who,
as she died when he was born, was brought up by Mimer, who marvelled
to find the boy absolutely fearless.
Another version claims that, discovered by a Viking, mourning over her
dead spouse, the widow was carried off by him, and consented to become
his wife on condition he would prove a good foster-father to Sigmund's
child. In this home Sigurd was educated by the wisest of men, Regin,
who taught him all a hero need know, and directed him how to select
his wonderful steed Grane or Greyfell (a descendant of Odin's
Sleipnir), from a neighboring stud.
Seeing the youth ready for adventure, Regin now told him how the gods
Odin, Hoenir, and Loki, wandering upon earth in the guise of men, once
slew an otter, which they carried to a neighboring hut, asking to have
its meat served for their dinner. Their host, however, exclaiming they
had killed his eldest son who often assumed the form of an otter,
seized and bound them fast, vowing they should not be free until they
gave as ransom gold enough to cover the huge otter-skin.
The gods, knowing none but a magic treasure would suffice for that,
bargained for the release of Loki, who departed in quest of the dwarf
Andvari, the collector of an immense hoard of gold by magic means. As
the wily Andvari could not easily be found, it required all the
astuteness of the god of evil to discover him in the guise of a fish
at the source of the Rhine, and to catch him by means of the
sea-goddess' infallible net.
Having the dwarf in his power, Loki wrung from him his huge treasure,
his Helm of Dread, or cap of invisibility, and even tore from his very
finger a magic ring of gold, thus incurring the dwarf's curse.
"For men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold,
Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.
Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay;
And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall
loathe the day.
Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands
Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!"
Scorning this prediction, Loki hastened to the rescue of his
fellow-gods; but, as the otter-skin stretched further and further, it
required not only all the treasure, but even the helmet and the
serpent ring of gold, to cover it and thus complete the required
ransom.
The new owner of the treasure now gloated over his gold until his very
nature changed, and he was transformed into a hideous dragon. One of
his two remaining sons, Fafnir, entering the hut, slew the dragon
before he realized it was his father, and then, fascinated by treasure
and ring, bore them off to a lonely heath, where in the guise of a
dragon he too mounted guard over them. This appropriation of these
treasures was keenly resented by his brother Regin, who, unable to
cope with the robber himself, now begged Sigurd to help him. Like
Mimer in the other version of the tale, Regin was an experienced
blacksmith, but, notwithstanding all his skill, Sigurd broke every
blade he forged for this task. Finally the young hero hammered out of
the fragments of his dead father's blade a weapon which sheared the
anvil in two, and could neatly divide a number of fleeces floating
down a stream.
Properly mounted and armed, Sigurd was guided by Regin to the
Glittering Heath, the place where Fafnir guarded his gold. A one-eyed
ferry-man (Odin) conveyed the youth across the river, advising him to
dig a pit in the track the dragon had worn in his frequent trips to
the river to drink. Hidden in this pit--the ferry-man explained--the
youth could mortally wound the dragon while he crawled over his head.
This advice being too pertinent to be scorned, Sigurd faithfully
carried out the plan and slew the dragon, whose fiery blood poured
down upon him and made every part of his body invulnerable, save a
tiny spot between his shoulders, where a lime-leaf stuck so closely
that the dragon blood did not touch the skin.
While Sigurd was still contemplating the fallen monster, Regin joined
him, and, fearing lest he might claim part of the gold, plotted to
slay him. First, he bade Sigurd cut out the heart of the dragon and
roast it for him, a task which the youth obediently performed, but in
the course of which he stuck a burnt finger in his mouth to allay the
smart. This taste of Fafnir's heart blood then and there conferred
upon Sigurd the power to understand the language of some birds near
by, which exclaimed that Regin was coming behind him to slay him with
his own sword! Enraged at such ingratitude and treachery, Sigurd now
slew Regin, and after piling up most of the treasure in a cave,--where
it continued to be guarded by the dragon's corpse,--Sigurd rode away,
taking with him his sword, the magic helmet, and the ring.
Still guided by the birds, Sigurd next rode up a mountain, crowned by
a baleful light, which he presently discovered emanated from a fire
forming a barrier of flame around a fortress. Setting spurs to his
divine steed, Sigurd rode right through these flames, which then
flickered and died down, and discovered in the centre of the fortress
a mound, whereon lay an apparently lifeless warrior. Using his sword
to cut the armor fastenings, Sigurd discovered, beneath this armor,
the Valkyr or battle-maiden Brynhild, who, on recovering
consciousness, hailed her return to life and light with rapture and
warmly thanked her deliverer. Then the two, having fallen in love with
each other at first sight, explained to each other who they were; and
Sigurd, after relating his own origin and adventures, learned that
Brynhild, a Valkyr, having defied Odin by saving a man he had doomed
to death, had been condemned to mate with any mortal who claimed her
hand. Dreading to become the prey of a coward, Brynhild implored Odin
to surround her with a barrier of fire which none save a brave man
could cross. Although a goddess, she admits she loves her rescuer, and
gladly accepts the magic ring he tenders and promises to be his wife.
Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again,
They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.
The hero, however, doomed to press on in quest of further adventures,
soon left Brynhild in the castle where he had found her, still
protected by the barrier of flame, and rode off to Burgundy, the land
of the Niblungs. Here reigned Guiki, whose fair daughter Gudrun once
dreamt that a falcon, after hovering for some time over her house,
nestled in her bosom, which she soon beheld dyed red by its
life-blood. Disturbed by this ominous dream, Gudrun visited Brynhild
and besought her interpretation, only to learn she would marry a king
who would in time be slain by his foes.
Shortly after this occurrence, Sigurd reached the land of the Niblungs
and challenged Gunnar, brother of Gudrun, to fight. But, rather than
cross swords with the slayer of a dragon, Gunnar offered the stranger
his hand in friendship and sent for his sister to give him the cup of
welcome. While sojourning here with the Niblungs, Sigurd distinguished
himself by athletic feats and, when war broke out, by conquering
their foes. These proofs of strength and daring captivated the heart
of Gudrun, who, seeing Sigurd paid no attention to her, finally
prevailed upon her mother to give her a love potion, which she offered
to him on his return from one of his adventures.
"He laughed and took the cup: but therein with the blood of the earth
Earth's hidden might was mingled, and deeds of the cold sea's birth,
And things that the high gods turn from, and a tangle of strange love,
Deep guile, and strong compelling, that whoso drank thereof
Should remember not his longing, should cast his love away,
Remembering dead desire but as night remembereth day."
No sooner has this potion been quaffed than our hero, utterly
oblivious of earlier promises to Brynhild, sued for Gudrun's hand, and
was promised she should be his bride if he helped Gunnar secure
Brynhild.
In behalf of his future brother-in-law--whose form he assumed--Sigurd
once more rode through the flames, and, although haunted by vague
memories of the past, wrested from Brynhild the magic betrothal ring
he had given her, and claimed her as bride. Compelled by fate to wed
any man who rode through the flames to claim her, Brynhild reluctantly
obeyed Sigurd--whom she did not recognize--and was duly married to
Gunnar, king of the Niblungs. But, on perceiving Sigurd at his court,
she vainly strove to make him remember her and his vows, and was
filled with bitter resentment when she perceived his utter devotion to
Gudrun, his present bride.
Meantime, although Gunnar had secured the wife he coveted, he was
anything but a happy man, for Brynhild would not allow him to approach
her. Sigurd, to whom he finally confided this unsatisfactory state of
affairs, finally volunteered to exert his fabulous strength to reduce
to obedience the rebellious bride, whom he turned over to his
brother-in-law in a submissive mood, after depriving her of her girdle
and ring, which he carried off as trophies and gave to Gudrun.
Brynhild's resentment, however, still smouldered, and when Gudrun,
her sister-in-law, attempted to claim precedence when they were
bathing in the river, she openly quarrelled with her. In the course of
this dispute, Gudrun exhibited the magic ring, loudly proclaiming her
husband had wooed and won Gunnar's bride! Two distinct parties now
defined themselves at court, where Högni, a kinsman of the Niblungs,
vehemently espoused Brynhild's cause. By some secret means--for his
was a dark and tortuous mind, ever plotting evil--Högni discovered the
trick of the magic potion, as well as Brynhild's previous wooing by
Sigurd, and proposed to her to avenge by blood the insult she had
received.
According to one version of the tale, Högni, who discovers in what
spot Sigurd is vulnerable, attacks him while he is asleep in bed and
runs his lance through the fatal spot. The dying Sigurd therefore has
only time to bid his wife watch over their children ere he expires. By
order of Gudrun, his corpse is placed on a pyre, where it is to be
consumed with his wonderful weapons and horse. Just as the flames are
rising, Brynhild, who does not wish to survive the man she loves,
either plunges into the flames and is consumed too, or stabs herself
and asks that her corpse be burned beside Sigurd's, his naked sword
lying between them, and the magic ring on her finger.
"I pray thee a prayer, the last word in the world I speak,
That ye bear me forth to Sigurd and the hand my hand would seek;
The bale for the dead is builded, it is wrought full wide on the plain,
It is raised for Earth's best Helper, and thereon is room for twain:
Ye have hung the shields about it, and the Southland hangings spread,
There lay me adown by Sigurd and my head beside his head:
But ere ye leave us sleeping, draw his Wrath from out the sheath,
And lay that Light of the Branstock and the blade that frighted Death
Betwixt my side and Sigurd's, as it lay that while agone,
When once in one bed together we twain were laid alone:
How then when the flames flare upward may I be left behind?
How then may the road he wendeth be hard for my feet to find?
How then in the gates of Valhall may the door of the gleaming ring
Clash to on the heel of Sigurd, as I follow on my king?"
Another version of the tale relates that Sigurd was slain by Högni
while hunting in the forest, as the story runs in the Nibelungenlied.
Next we are informed that the king of the Huns demanded satisfaction
from Gunnar for his sister Brynhild's death, and was promised Gudrun's
hand in marriage. By means of another magic potion, Sigurd's widow was
induced to marry the king of the Huns, to whom she bore two sons. But,
when the effect of the potion wore off, she loathed this second
marriage and dreamed only of avenging Sigurd's death and of getting
rid of her second spouse.
As in the Nibelungenlied, Atli invited her kin to Hungary, where they
arrived after burying the golden hoard in a secret spot in the Rhine,
a spot they pledged themselves never to reveal. Once more we have a
ride to Hungary, but Gudrun, seeing her husband means treachery,
fights by her brother's side. Throughout this battle Gunnar sustains
the courage of the Niblungs by playing on his harp, but, when only he
and Högni are left, they are overpowered and flung into prison. There
Atli vainly tries to make them confess the hiding-place of the hoard,
and, hearing Gunnar will not speak as long as Högni lives, finally
orders this warrior slain and his heart brought into Gunnar's
presence.
Convinced at last that the momentous secret now lies with him alone,
Gunnar flatly refuses to reveal it.
Then was Gunnar silent a little, and the shout in the hall had died,
And he spoke as a man awakening, and turned on Atli's pride.
"Thou all-rich King of the Eastlands, e'en such a man might I be
That I might utter a word, and the heart should be glad in thee,
And I should live and be sorry: for I, I only am left
To tell of the ransom of Odin, and the wealth from the toiler reft.
Lo, once it lay in the water, hid deep adown it lay,
Till the gods were grieved and lacking, and men saw it and the day:
Let it lie in the water once more, let the gods be rich and in peace!
But I at least in the world from the words and the babble shall cease."
In his rage Atli orders the bound prisoner cast into a pit full of
venomous serpents, where, his harp being flung after him in derision,
Gunnar twangs its strings with his toes until he dies. To celebrate
this victory, Atli orders a magnificent banquet, where he is so
overcome by his many potations that Gudrun either stabs him to death
with Sigurd's sword, or sets fire to the palace and perishes with the
Huns, according to different versions of the story.
A third version claims that, either cast into the sea or set adrift in
a vessel in punishment for murdering Atli, Gudrun landed in Denmark,
where she married the king and bore him three sons. These youths, in
an attempt to avenge the death of their fair step-sister Swanhild,
were stoned to death. As for Gudrun, overwhelmed by the calamities
which had visited her in the course of her life, she finally committed
suicide by casting herself into the flames of a huge funeral pyre.
This saga is evidently a sun myth, the blood of the final massacres
and the flames of the pyre being emblems of the sunset, and the
slaying of Fafnir representing the defeat of cold and darkness which
have carried off the golden hoard of summer.
Ye have heard of Sigurd aforetime, how the foes of God he slew;
How forth from the darksome desert the Gold of the Waters he drew;
How he wakened Love on the Mountain, and wakened Brynhild the Bright,
And dwelt upon Earth for a season, and shone in all men's sight.
Ye have heard of the Cloudy People, and the dimming of the day,
And the latter world's confusion, and Sigurd gone away;
Now ye know of the Need of the Niblungs and the end of broken troth,
All the death of kings and of kindreds and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 34: See the author's "Myths of Northern Lands."]
[Footnote 35: All the quotations in this chapter are from Wm. Morris'
"Sigurd the Volsung."]
RUSSIAN AND FINNISH EPICS
There is strong evidence that the Finns, or some closely allied race,
once spread over the greater part of central Europe. The two or more
million Finns who now occupy Finland, and are subject--much against
their will--to the Czar, are the proud possessors of an epic poem--the
Kalevala--which until last century existed only in the memory of a few
peasants. Scattered parts of this poem were published in 1822 by
Zacharias Topelius, and Elias Lönnrot, who patiently travelled about
to collect the remainder, was the first to arrange the 22,793 verses
into 50 runes or cantos. The Kalevala attracted immediate attention
and has already been translated into most modern languages. Like most
epics, its source is in the mythology and folk-lore of the people, and
its style has been closely imitated by Longfellow in his Hiawatha. The
latest English adaptation of this great epic is Baldwin's "Sampo."
Although Russian literature is rich in folk poetry and epic songs,
none of the latter have been written down until lately, with the
exception of the twelfth-century Song of Igor's Band. The outline of
this epic is that Igor, prince of Southern Russia, after being
defeated and made prisoner, effected his escape with the help of a
slave. Among the fine passages in this work we note Nature's grief
over the prince's capture and the lament of his faithful consort.
It was only in the nineteenth century, after Zhukovski and Batyushkoff
had translated into Russian some of the world's great masterpieces,
such as Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered and Homer's Odyssey, that Pushkin
wrote (1820) the epic Ruslan and Lyudmila, drawing the materials
therefore from Russian antiquity and from popular legends.
There are in Russia and Siberia any number of epic songs or "bylinas,"
dating from legendary times to the present day, which have recently
been collected by Kireyevski and others, and which already fill some
ten volumes. The heroes of these songs are either personifications of
the forces of nature or favorite historical personages. They form
great cycles, one clustering for instance around Vladimir and the
ancient capital of Russia, Kiev, another around the free city of
Novgorod, and a third belonging to the later Moscow period. The
principal hero of many of the Russian folk tales, and of the epic
songs most frequently sung by wandering bards, is Ilya Muromets, who
nobly protects widows and orphans and often displays his fabulous
strength by reducing mighty oaks to kindling wood with a few blows!
THE KALEVALA, OR THE LAND OF HEROES
The national epic of the Finns was rescued from oblivion by Topelius
and Lönnrot, two physicians, who took it down from the mouth of the
people and published it in the first half of the nineteenth century.
It consists in 22,793 lines, divided into fifty runes, and is
considered by a great German authority--Steinthal--as one of the four
great national epics of the world.
Not only does it relate "the ever-varying contests between Finns and
Laplanders," but that between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil, for
in the poem the Finns personify Light and Good, while the Lapps are
emblems of Darkness and Evil. The Sampo, which is mentioned in this
poem, and which seems to have been some sort of a magic grist-mill,
holds the same place in Finn mythology as the Golden Fleece in that of
the Greeks. Many of the poems incorporated in this epic date back some
three thousand years, and the epic itself is composed in alliterative
verse, although it also contains rhythm of line and sound, as the
following introductory lines prove.
Mastered by desire impulsive,
By a mighty inward urging,
I am ready now for singing,
Ready to begin the chanting
Of our nation's ancient folk-song
Handed down from by-gone ages,
In my mouth the words are melting,
From my lips the tones are gliding,
From my tongue they wish to hasten;
When my willing teeth are parted,
When my ready mouth is opened,
Songs of ancient wit and wisdom
Hasten from me not unwilling.[36]
The proem then invites all people to listen to legends of by-gone
times and to the teachings of the wizard Wainamoinen, to admire the
works of Ilmarinen and the doings of Youkahainen in the pastures of
the Northland and in the meads of Kalevala. It adds that these runes
were caught from the winds, the waves, and the forest branches, and
have been preserved in the Northland ever since.
_Rune I._ In the first rune we are informed that Ilmater, daughter of
the air, weary of floating alone in space, finally descended to the
ocean, where she was rocked in the cradle of the deep seven hundred,
years. She made use of this time to create, out of the eggs of a wild
duck, the canopy of the heavens, and the spherical earth, with its
islands, rocks, and continents. At the end of these seven hundred
years, Ilmater gave birth to Wainamoinen, having waited all this time
to be delivered of him, and having vainly called all living creatures
to her aid. After coming into the world, this wonderful child floated
about on the ocean eight years, and then drew himself up on a barren
promontory to admire the sun, moon, and starry skies.
_Rune II._ After living alone for some time on this promontory or
island, Wainamoinen summoned Pellerwoinen, "first-born of the plains
and prairies," and bade him scatter broadcast seeds for the trees
which were destined to clothe both vales and hillsides. In a twinkling
of an eye, every variety of forest growth waved its branches hither
and thither, and, although Wainamoinen rejoiced to see the forest, he
soon discovered that the oak, the "tree of heaven," was lacking in it.
Because the oak still slept within an acorn, Wainamoinen wondered how
to conjure it out of its hiding-place, and, after consulting five
water-maidens, called the giant Tursus out of the depths of the ocean.
After burning the hay the water-maidens raked together, this giant
planted in the ashes an acorn, which quickly sprouted, and whence
arose a tree of such mighty proportions that its branches hid the rays
of the sun and blotted out the starlight.
Terrified by what he had done, Wainamoinen wondered how to get rid of
the oak, and implored his mother to send some one to help him.
Immediately there rose from the sea a pygmy, armed in copper, whom
Wainamoinen deemed incapable of coping with so large a tree, until the
dwarf suddenly transformed himself into a giant of such proportions
that four blows from his copper axe felled the oak, scattering its
trunk to the east, its top to the west, its leaves to the south, and
its branches to the north. The chips from the fallen oak were
collected by a Northland maiden to make enchanted arrows for a
magician, and the soil it overshadowed immediately began to bear
vegetation of sundry kinds.
Gazing at this new growth Wainamoinen discovered every kind of seed
sprouting there save barley. Soon after he found seven grains of this
cereal on the sea-shore and consulted the birds how best to plant
them. They advised him to fell the forests, burn the branches, and
plant the barley in the land thus cleared. While obeying these
directions in the main, Wainamoinen allowed the birch to stand,
declaring there must be some place where the cuckoo and the eagle
could build their nests. These two birds, greatly pleased by this
attention, watched Wainamoinen as he sowed his seed, and heard him
chant a prayer to Ukko, Father of Heaven, to send down rain to help it
germinate. This prayer was answered to such, good purpose that eight
days later Wainamoinen found a crop of barley ready to harvest, and
heard the cuckoo's notes as it perched in the birch trees.
"Therefore I have left the birch-tree,
Left the birch-tree only growing,
Home for thee for joyful singing.
Call thou here, O sweet-voiced cuckoo,
Sing thou here from throat of velvet,
Sing thou here with voice of silver,
Sing the cuckoo's golden flute-notes;
Call at morning, call at evening,
Call within the hour of noontide,
For the better growth of forests,
For the ripening of the barley,
For the richness of the Northland,
For the joy of Kalevala."
_Rune III._ In the beautiful Land of the Heroes--Kalevala--Wainamoinen
sang songs so wonderful that their fame spread northward to the land
of the Lapps, and prompted Youkahainen to journey southward and
challenge the "ancient minstrel" to a singing contest. In vain
Youkahainen's parents strove to dissuade him from this undertaking;
the bold youth harnessed his sledge and drove rapidly southward,
colliding with Wainamoinen, who was also out in his sledge that day.
Although Wainamoinen was modest, his opponent was boastful and boldly
proposed they show their skill by singing. Invited to sing first,
Wainamoinen chanted a set of commonplace axioms; but when Youkahainen
imitated him, the ancient minstrel challenged his guest to sing of
creation or philosophy. Although Youkahainen now claimed he and seven
other primeval heroes saw how the earth was fashioned, how the sky was
arched, and how the silvery moon and golden sun were set in position,
Wainamoinen termed him prince of liars and averred he was not present
at the creation as he claimed. This contradiction so enraged
Youkahainen that he offered to fight, but, instead of accepting this
challenge, Wainamoinen sang a magic song of such power that it
resolved Youkahainen's sled and harness to their primitive components,
and caused him to sink ever deeper into quicksands which finally rose
to his very lips. Realizing his desperate plight, Youkahainen implored
Wainamoinen to cease his enchantments, offering as a ransom for his
life all manner of magic gifts which Wainamoinen scorned. In fact, it
was only when the culprit promised him the hand of his sister Aino
that the ancient minstrel reversed his spell, and not only released
Youkahainen, but restored to him all his possessions.
The defeated bard now returns to Lapland, and on arriving there
smashes his sledge in token of anger. His parents wonderingly question
him, and, on learning he has promised his sister's hand in marriage to
the magician Wainamoinen, they are delighted that she should marry so
influential a man, although the maiden herself mourns because all
pleasures are to be taken from her forever.
_Rune IV._ While out in the forest gathering birch shoots for brooms,
this maiden soon after is seen by Wainamoinen, who bids her adorn
herself for her wedding, whereupon she petulantly casts off the
ornaments she wears and returns home weeping without them. When her
parents inquire what this means, Aino insists she will not marry the
old magician, until her mother bribes her by the offer of some
wonderful treasures, bestowed by the Daughter of the Sun and Moon, and
which until now have been hidden in the depths of the earth.
Although decked in these magnificent adornments, the girl wanders
around the fields, wishing she were dead, for marriage has no
attractions for her and she is not anxious to become an old man's
bride. Stealing down to the sea-shore, she finally lays aside her
garments and ornaments and swims to a neighboring rock, where she no
sooner perches than it topples over, and she sinks to the bottom of
the sea! There Aino perishes, and the water is formed of her blood,
the fish from her flesh, the willows from her ribs, and the sea-grass
from her hair! Then all nature wonders how the news of her drowning
shall be conveyed to her parents, and when the bear, wolf, and fox
refuse to transmit so sad a message, the sea-maidens depute the hare,
threatening to roast him unless he does their bidding.
Learning her daughter has perished thus miserably, the mother of Aino
recognizes that parents should not compel daughters to marry against
their will.
"Listen, all ye mothers, listen,
Learn from me a tale of wisdom:
Never urge unwilling daughters
From the dwellings of their fathers,
To the bridegrooms that they love not,
Not as I, inhuman mother,
Drove away my lovely Aino,
Fairest daughter of the Northland."
Her sorrow is such that three streams of tears flow from her eyes and,
increasing as they flow, form cataracts, between which rise three
pinnacles of rock, whereon grow birches, upon which cuckoos forever
chant of "love, suitors, and consolation!"
_Rune V._ The news of Aino's death travels swiftly southward, and
Wainamoinen, hearing that his bride has perished, is plunged in grief.
When he seeks consolation from the water-maidens they bid him go out
fishing. After angling for many a day, he finally secures a salmon,
larger and more beautiful than any fish ever seen before. He is
opening his knife to cut the salmon open, when it suddenly springs
back into the deep, saying it was Aino who had come to join him but
who now escapes in punishment for his cruelty. Not discouraged by this
first failure, Wainamoinen fishes on, until the spirit of his mother
bids him travel northward and seek a suitable wife among the Lapps.
"Take for thee a life companion
From the honest homes of Suomi,
One of Northland's honest daughters;
She will charm thee with her sweetness,
Make thee happy through her goodness,
Form perfection, manners easy,
Every step and movement graceful,
Full of wit and good behavior,
Honor to thy home and kindred."
_Rune VI._ Preparing for a journey northward, Wainamoinen bestrides
his magic steed, and galloping over the plains of Kalevala crosses the
Blue Sea as if it were land. The bard Youkahainen, foreseeing his
coming, lies in wait for him and prepares arrows to shoot him,
although his mother warns him not to attempt anything of the kind. It
is the third poisoned arrow from Youkahainen's bow which strikes
Wainamoinen's horse, which immediately sinks to the bottom of the sea,
leaving its rider to struggle in the water some eight years. Meantime
Youkahainen exults because his foe is dead, although his mother
insists her son has merely brought woe upon the earth.
_Rune VII._ Instead of treading the waves, Wainamoinen swims about
until an eagle--grateful because he left birch-trees for birds to
perch upon--swoops down, invites him to climb upon its back, and
swiftly bears him to the dismal northland Sariola. There Wainamoinen
is discovered by the Maid of Beauty, who sends her mother, toothless
Louhi, to invite him into the house, where she bountifully feeds him.
Next Louhi promises to supply Wainamoinen with a steed to return home
and to give him her daughter in marriage, provided he will forge for
her the Sampo, or magic grist-mill. Although Wainamoinen cannot do
this, he promises that his brother, the blacksmith Ilmarinen, shall
forge it for her, and thus secures the promise of the hand of the Maid
of Beauty. This bargain made, Wainamoinen drives away in a sledge
provided by his hostess, who cautions him not to look up as he travels
along, lest misfortune befall him.
_Rune VIII._ Instead of obeying these injunctions, Wainamoinen gazes
upward on his way home, and thus discovers the Maid of Beauty, or
Maiden of the Rainbow, weaving "a gold and silver air-gown." When he
invites her to come with him, she pertly rejoins the birds have
informed her a married woman's life is unenviable, for wives "are like
dogs enchained in kennel." When Wainamoinen insists wives are queens,
and begs her to listen to his wooing, she retorts when he has split a
golden hair with an edgeless knife, has snared a bird's egg with an
invisible snare, has peeled a sandstone, and made a whipstock from ice
without leaving any shavings, she may consider his proposal.
These impossible tasks are quickly accomplished by the wizard, but,
while filling the Rainbow Maiden's last order to fashion a ship out
of her broken spindle--Wainamoinen accidentally cuts his knee so badly
that the blood flows so fast no charm can stop it. In vain different
remedies are tried, in vain Wainamoinen seeks help at sundry houses
the blood continues to pour out of his wound until it looks as if he
would die.
_Rune IX._ Wainamoinen finally enters a cottage where two girls dip up
some of his blood, and where an old man informs him he can be healed
if he will only "sing the origin of iron." Thereupon Wainamoinen
chants that Ukko, Creator of Heaven, having cut air and water asunder,
created three lovely maidens, whose milk, scattered over the earth,
supplied iron of three different hues. He adds that Fire then caught
Iron, and carried it off to its furnace, where Ilmarinen discovered a
way to harden it into steel by means of venom brought to him by the
bird of Hades.
This song finished, the old man checks the flow of blood, and sends
his daughters to collect various herbs, out of which he manufactures a
magic balsam which cures the cut immediately.
_Rune X and XI._ Wainamoinen now hastens back to Kalevala and
interviews his brother Ilmarinen, who refuses to journey northward or
to forge the magic Sampo. To induce the smith to do his will,
Wainamoinen persuades him to climb a lofty fir-tree, on whose branches
he claims to have hung the moon and the Great Bear. While Ilmarinen is
up in this tree, the wizard Wainamoinen causes a violent storm to blow
his brother off to the Northland, where, welcomed by Louhi, Ilmarinen
sets up his forge, and after four days' arduous work produces the
magic sampo.
"I will forge for thee the Sampo,
Hammer thee the lid in colors,
From the tips of white-swan feathers,
From the milk of greatest virtue,
From a single grain of barley,
From the finest wool of lambkins,
Since I forged the arch of heaven,
Forged the air a concave cover,
Ere the earth had a beginning."
The sorceress is so pleased with the Sampo--by means of which she
daily grinds out treasure untold--that, after hiding it away safely in
a mountain, she authorizes Ilmarinen to woo the Maid of Beauty, who
assures him also she never will marry. Saddened by this refusal,
Ilmarinen longs for home, whither he is wafted in Louhi's magic boat
of copper.
Meanwhile Wainamoinen has been building a magic boat in which to sail
northward. He is aided in this work by Lemminkainen, who, seeing the
Maid of Beauty, boldly kidnaps her. But the maiden consents to be his
spouse only if he will promise never to fight, a pledge he readily
gives in exchange for hers to forego all village dances. These vows
duly exchanged, the young couple are united, and all goes well as long
as both scrupulously keep their promise.
_Rune XII._ The time comes, however, when Lemminkainen goes fishing,
and during his absence his wife secretly attends a village dance. When
the husband returns, his sister informs him his bride has broken her
promise, whereupon Lemminkainen vows it is time he too should break
his, and, harnessing his sleigh, starts off for Lapland to fight. On
arriving there he enters sundry houses, and finally meets in one of
them a minstrel, whose song he roughly criticises. Then, seizing the
man's harp, Lemminkainen chants all sorts of spells, until all present
are under their influence save a blind shepherd, whom Lemminkainen
allows to go, and who hastens down to the River of Death, declaring he
will there await the singer's arrival.
_Runes XIII and XIV._ Lemminkainen now asks Louhi for her second
daughter, whom she refuses to give him, declaring that after deserting
her first daughter he can obtain her second only by catching the wild
moose ranging in the fields of Hisi (Death), by bridling his
fire-breathing steed, and by killing with his first arrow the great
swan swimming on the River of Death. The first two tasks, although
bristling with difficulties, are safely accomplished by Lemminkainen,
but when he reaches the River of Death, the blind shepherd--who is
lying there in wait for him ruthlessly slays him, chops his body into
pieces, and casts them into the stream.
_Rune XV._ After vainly awaiting Lemminkainen's return, his aged
mother, seeing blood drip from his hair-brush, concludes evil must
have befallen her son. She therefore hastens northward, and threatens
to destroy Louhi's magic Sampo unless the sorceress will reveal what
has become of Lemminkainen. Louhi then confesses that she sent him
down to Hades to hunt the Death swan, so Lemminkainen's mother hastens
down to the River of Death, only to learn her son has perished.
Hastening back to the blacksmith Ilmarinen, the frantic mother
beseeches him to make her a rake with a handle five hundred fathoms
long, and armed with this implement begins to dredge the river.
Presently she fishes out one by one the garments and various fragments
of her son! Thanks to powerful incantations she restores Lemminkainen
to life, speech, and motion, whereupon the youth thanks her, and
graphically relates how he came to his death. But, although he is home
once more, Lemminkainen is always thinking of the beautiful maiden he
wooed, and he still longs to kill the swan swimming on the River of
Death!
_Runes XVI and XVII._ Leaving Lemminkainen, the poem now relates how
Wainamoinen built a boat, asking the God of the Forest to supply him
with the necessary material for its different parts. When questioned,
the trees one after another declare they are unfit for ship-building,
until the oak proffers its strong trunk. Wainamoinen now constructs
his vessel, but discovers he lacks three "master words" to finish it
properly. After vainly seeking these words among birds and animals, he
crosses the River of Death in a boat, only to find the magic formula
is unknown even to the angel of Death! The words are, however, well
known to Wipunen, a giant of whom he goes in quest. Prying open the
monster's lips to force him to speak, Wainamoinen stumbles and
accidentally falls into the huge maw and is swallowed alive. But,
unwilling to remain indefinitely in the dark recesses of the giant's
body, Wainamoinen soon sets up a forge in the entrails of the
colossus, thus causing him such keen discomfort that the monster
proposes to eject his guest, who flatly refuses to be dislodged until
he learns the magic words. Having thus cleverly secured what he is
seeking, Wainamoinen returns home and completes a boat, which proves
self-propelling, and speedily bears him to the Northland to woo the
Maiden of the Rainbow.
Thus the ancient Wainamoinen
Built the boat with magic only,
And with magic launched his vessel,
Using not the hand to touch it,
Using not the foot to move it,
Using not the knee to turn it,
Using nothing to propel it.
Thus the third task was completed,
For the hostess of Pohyola,
Dowry for the Maid of Beauty
Sitting on the arch of heaven,
On the bow of many colors.
_Rune XVIII._ Wainamoinen's departure in the magic vessel is noted by
Ilmarinen's sister, who immediately informs her brother a suitor is
starting to woo the girl he covets. Jumping into his sled Ilmarinen
drives off, and both suitors approach the maiden's dwelling from
different points at the self-same time. Seeing them draw near, the
witch Louhi bids her daughter accept the older man--because he brings
a boat-load of treasures--and to refuse the empty-handed youth. But
the daughter, who prefers a young bridegroom, declares that the smith
who fashioned the incomparable Sampo cannot be an undesirable match.
When Wainamoinen therefore lands from his ship and invites her to go
sailing with him, she refuses his invitation. Heavy-hearted,
Wainamoinen is obliged to return home alone, and, on arriving there,
issues the wise decree that old men should never woo mere girls or
attempt to rival young men.
_Rune XIX._ In his turn Ilmarinen now woos the Rainbow Maiden, and is
told by Louhi that ere he can claim his bride he must plough the
serpent-field of Hades, bring back from that place the Tuoni-bear
safely muzzled, and catch a monster pike swimming in the River of
Death Helped by the Maiden of the Rainbow, Ilmarinen accomplishes
these three difficult feats, by first forging the plough, noose, and
fishing eagle required.
_Runes XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, and XXIV._ Now extensive preparations are
made for the marriage of Ilmarinen and the Maiden of the Rainbow. Not
only is the mighty ox of Harjala slain and roasted, but beer is brewed
for the first time in the Northland, and many verses are devoted to
describe the processes by which this national drink was brought to its
state of perfection! When at last Ilmarinen appears to take away his
bride, the Rainbow Maiden seems unwilling to go, and objects that a
wife is her husband's slave, and has to spend all her days in pleasing
him, his father, and his mother. Although her lament is touching
indeed, the bride-advisor directs her to please her new relatives,
admonishes Ilmarinen to treat her kindly, and watches the two set off,
the Rainbow Maiden shedding bitter tears at leaving her beloved home.
_Rune XXV._ The bride and bridegroom are next warmly welcomed by
Ilmarinen's family, old Wainamoinen himself singing at their bridal
feast, and again instructing the bride to be all love and submission
and to expect nothing save bitterness and hardship from marriage.
Having concluded his song by praising the father who built the house,
the mother who keeps it, and having blessed bridegroom and bride,
Wainamoinen departs for the Land of the Dead, to borrow an auger to
repair his sled, which has fallen to pieces while he sang.
_Rune XXVI._ Meanwhile Lemminkainen, angry because he alone has
received no invitation to the wedding banquet, decides, in spite of
his mother's advice, to go forth and take his revenge. Although he has
to overcome a flaming eagle, pass through a pit of fire, slay a wolf
and a bear, and destroy a wall of snakes mounting guard at the
entrance of Lapland before he can reach his destination, his spells
and incantations safely overcome these and other dire perils. _Runes
XXVII and XXVIII._ Reaching Northland at last, Lemminkainen slays the
husband of Louhi, from whom he escapes before she can attack him. His
mother now warns him his foes will pursue him and advises him to go to
the Isle of Refuge, situated in the centre of the Tenth Ocean, and
abide there for three years, pledging himself not to fight again for
sixty summers.
_Rune XXIX._ We now have a description of the Isle of Refuge, where
Lemminkainen tarries three whole years with the sea-maidens, who bid
him a tender farewell when he sails away again. He has, however,
proved neglectful toward one of them, a spinster, who curses him,
vowing he will suffer many things in return for his neglect. True to
her prediction, he encounters many dangers on the homeward journey,
and finds his house reduced to ashes and his parents gone! But,
although he mourns for them as dead, he soon discovers them hiding in
the forest, to escape the fury of the Lapps.
_Rune XXX._ To punish these foes Lemminkainen now sets out for the
north, taking with him Tiera, hero of the broadsword, who is to help
him. Aware of his coming, Louhi bids her son Frost stop them by
holding their vessel fast in the ice, but Lemminkainen trudges over
the ice, hurls the Frost-God into the fire, and, somewhat discouraged,
returns home.
_Runes XXXI, XXXII, and XXXIII._ During this time a slave,
Kullerwoinen, the son of Evil, has been sold to Ilmarinen to serve as
his shepherd. The Rainbow Maiden therefore sends him forth with her
cattle, giving him a loaf of bread as sole sustenance. When the son of
Evil attempts to cut this bread, he breaks his knife, for the
housewife has baked a flint-stone in it. In his anger the shepherd
conjures up wolves and bears, which devour the cattle, and which he
drives home in their stead after dark. When the Rainbow Maiden
therefore unsuspectingly tries to milk them, she is instantly devoured
by these wild beasts.
_Runes XXXIV and XXXV._ Having thus effected his revenge, the Spirit
of Evil hurries away to his tribe-folk, who bid him perform sundry
tasks, in the course of which he crowns his evil deeds by assaulting a
sister who was lost in infancy, and whom he therefore fails to
recognize. On discovering the identity of her ravisher, the unhappy
girl throws herself into the river, where she perishes.
_Rune XXXVI._ Forbidden by his mother to commit suicide in punishment
for his crime, Kullerwoinen decides to seek death on the field of
battle. Although the various members of his family see him depart
without regret, his mother assures him nothing can destroy her love
for her son.
"Canst not fathom love maternal,
Canst not smother her affection;
Bitterly I'll mourn thy downfall,
I would weep if thou shouldst perish,
Shouldst thou leave my race forever;
I would weep in court or cabin,
Sprinkle all these fields with tear-drops,
Weep great rivers to the ocean,
Weep to melt the snows of Northland,
Make the hillocks green with weeping,
Weep at morning, weep at evening,
Weep three years in bitter sorrow
O'er the death of Kullerwoinen!"
Kullerwoinen, armed with a magic sword, does great slaughter among his
foes, and returns home only to find all his kin have perished. While
he mourns their death, his mother's spirit bids him follow his
watch-dog--the only living creature left him. During this strange
promenade, coming to the spot where he assaulted his sister,
Kullerwoinen falls upon his magic sword and dies, an episode which
inspires Wainamoinen with these words of wisdom:
"If the child is not well nurtured,
Is not rocked and led uprightly,
Though he grow to years of manhood,
Bear a strong and shapely body,
He will never know discretion,
Never eat the bread of honor,
Never drink the cup of wisdom."
_Rune XXXVII and XXXVIII._ Meantime Ilmarinen, after grieving three
months for the loss of the Rainbow Maiden, proceeds to fashion himself
a wife out of gold and silver, but, as she is lifeless and
unresponsive, he offers her to Wainamoinen,--who refuses her,--and
travels northward once more to woo a sister of his former bride. On
arriving at Louhi's house,--undeterred by many evil omens which have
crossed his path,--Ilmarinen sues for a bride. Louhi reproaches him
for the treatment her first daughter has undergone, but, although the
second maiden refuses to follow him, he boldly carries her off by
force. She is, however, so unhappy with him that the blacksmith
finally changes her into a sea-gull.
"I have changed the hateful virgin
To a sea-gull on the ocean;
Now she calls above the waters,
Screeches from the ocean-islands,
On the rocks she calls and murmurs,
Vainly calling for a suitor."
_Runes XXXIX, XL, and XLI._ To comfort himself, Ilmarinen concludes he
would like to have the Sampo, and persuades Wainamoinen and
Lemminkainen to accompany him northward to get it. This time they sail
in a magic ship, which is stranded on the shoulders of a huge pike.
Wainamoinen kills this fish, and from its bones and sinews fashions
the first harp, an instrument so wonderful that none but he can play
it, but, whenever he touches its strings, trees dance about him, wild
animals crouch at his feet, and the hearts of men are filled with
rapture.
All of Northland stopped and listened.
Every creature in the forest,
All the beasts that haunt the woodlands,
On their nimble feet came bounding,
Came to listen to his playing,
Came to hear his songs of joyance.
The music which he makes is so touching that it draws tears even from
the player's eyes, tears which drop down into the sea, where they are
transformed into pearls, which are brought to him by a duck.
Gathered Wainamoinen's tear-drops
From the blue sea's pebbly bottom,
From the deep, pellucid waters;
Brought them to the great magician,
Beautifully formed and colored,
Glistening in the silver sunshine,
Glimmering in the golden moonlight,
Many-colored as the rainbow,
Fitting ornaments for heroes,
Jewels for the maids of beauty.
This the origin of sea-pearls
And the blue-duck's beauteous plumage.
_Runes XLII and XLIII._ Having lulled the Spirits of Evil to sleep
with magic music, Wainamoinen and Ilmarinen go in quest of the Sampo,
which they find hidden in the bosom of a magic mountain and bear away
in triumph. The spell they have laid upon all living creatures is
broken only when Louhi discovers her loss and sets out in pursuit of
the robbers of her treasure.
In various guises she attacks them, finally transforming herself into
a huge eagle and pouncing down upon the Sampo, which she tries to bear
away in her talons. But Wainamoinen fights this aggressor to such good
purpose that it drops the Sampo into the sea, where it is dashed to
pieces! Not only has Wainamoinen lost the Sampo,--whose fragments he
collects and buries so that they may bring prosperity to his
people,--but his magic harp has also fallen overboard during his fight
with Louhi.
_Runes XLIV and XLV._ Wainamoinen therefore proceeds to construct a
second harp from the wood of the birch, while Louhi, who has returned
northward but who still owes him a grudge, sends down from the north
nine fell diseases,--colic, pleurisy, fever, ulcer, plague,
consumption, gout, sterility, and cancer,--all of which Wainamoinen
routs by means of the vapor baths which he discovers.
_Rune XLVI._ Hearing that Wainamoinen prospers in spite of all she can
do, Louhi is so disappointed that she sends a magic bear to devour him
and his brother. But, hearing this monster is coming, Wainamoinen
directs the blacksmith to make him a wonderful spear, with which he
slays the bear, whose skin and flesh prove a boon to his people.
_Runes XLVII and XLVIII._ Still angry, Louhi steals from Wainamoinen
the sun, moon, and fire, and thus all the homes in Kalevala are cold,
dark, and cheerless. Gazing downward, Ukko, king of the heaven,
wonders because he sees no light, and sends down a flash of lightning,
which, after striking the earth, drops into the sea and is swallowed
by a pike. This fiery mouthful, however, proves so uncomfortable, that
the fish swims madly around until swallowed by another. Learning that
the fire-ball is now in a pike, Wainamoinen fishes until he secures
that greedy denizen of the deep. Opening his quarry, he seizes the
lightning, which burns his fingers so badly that he drops it, until he
decides to convey it to his people in the wood of an elm.
_Rune XLIX._ Although fire is thus restored to mankind, the sun and
the moon are still missing. Ilmarinen therefore forges a magnificent
silver moon and golden sun, in the vain hope of replacing the orbs
which Louhi has stolen, and which are hidden in the cave where she
once treasured the Sampo. Discovering this fact by magic means,
Wainamoinen starts out in quest of sun and moon, and, by changing
himself into a pike to cross the river, reaches the land of Louhi,
defeats her sons, and finds the orbs he is seeking guarded by a
multitude of snakes. Although Wainamoinen slays these keepers, he
cannot recover the captive sun or moon until Louhi, who has meantime
assumed the form of an eagle and then of a dove, sends them back to
Kalevala, where their return is hailed with joy.
"Greetings to thee, Sun of fortune;
Greetings to thee, Moon of good-luck;
Welcome sunshine, welcome moonlight;
Golden is the dawn of morning!
Free art thou, O Sun of silver,
Free again, O Moon beloved,
As the sacred cuckoo's singing,
As the ring-dove's liquid cooing.
Rise, thou silver Sun, each morning,
Source of light and life hereafter,
Bring us daily joyful greetings,
Fill our homes with peace and plenty,
That our sowing, fishing, hunting,
May be prospered by thy coming.
Travel on thy daily journey,
Let the Moon be ever with thee;
Glide along thy way rejoicing,
End thy journeyings in slumber;
Rest at evening in the ocean,
When thy daily cares have ended,
To the good of all thy people,
To the pleasure of Wainola,
To the joy of Kalevala!"
_Rune L._ Meanwhile there had been dwelling in the Northland a happy
maiden named Mariatta, who, wandering on the hillsides, once asked the
cuckoo how long she would remain unmarried, and heard a magic voice
bid her gather a certain berry. No sooner had she done so than the
berry popped into her mouth, and soon after she bore a child, which
being the offspring of a berry was to be called Flower. Because her
mother indignantly cast her off, she wandered about seeking a place
where she could give birth to her child. She was finally compelled to
take refuge in the manger of the fiery steed of Hisi, where her infant
was charitably warmed by the firesteed's breath. But once, while the
mother was slumbering, the child vanished, and the mother vainly
sought it until the Sun informed her she would find it sleeping among
the reeds and rushes in Swamp-land.
Mariatta, child of beauty,
Virgin-mother of the Northland,
Straightway seeks her babe in Swamp-land,
Finds him in the reeds and rushes;
Takes the young child on her bosom
To the dwelling of her father.
Mariatta soon discovered him there, growing in grace and beauty, but
priests refused to baptize him because he was considered a wizard.
When Wainamoinen sentenced the mother to death, the infant, although
only two weeks old, hotly reproached him, declaring that, although
guilty of many follies, his people have always forgiven him. Hearing
this, Wainamoinen, justly rebuked, baptized the child, who in time
grew up to be a hero and became the greatest warrior in the land.
Wainamoinen, having grown feeble with passing years, finally built for
himself a copper vessel, wherein, after singing a farewell song, he
sailed "out into the west," and vanished in the midst of the sunset
clouds, leaving behind him as an inheritance to his people his
wondrous songs.
Thus the ancient Wainamoinen,
In his copper-banded vessel,
Left his tribe in Kalevala,
Sailing o'er the rolling billows,
Sailing through the azure vapors,
Sailing through the dusk of evening,
Sailing to the fiery sunset,
To the higher-landed regions,
To the lower verge of heaven;
Quickly gained the far horizon,
Gained the purple-colored harbor,
There his bark he firmly anchored,
Rested in his boat of copper;
But he left his harp of magic,
Left his songs and wisdom-sayings,
To the lasting joy of Suomi.
The poem concludes with an epilogue, wherein the bard declares it
contains many of the folk-tales of his native country, and that as far
as rhythm is concerned--
"Nature was my only teacher,
Woods and waters my instructors."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 36: All the quotations in this chapter are from Crawford's
translation of the "Kalevala."]
THE EPICS OF CENTRAL EUROPE AND OF THE BALKAN PENINSULA
German being talked in a large part of Switzerland and of Austria,
these countries claim a great share in the Teutonic epics, many of
whose episodes are located within their borders. Both the Swiss and
the Austrian nations are formed, however, of various peoples, so while
some of the Swiss boast of German blood and traditions, others are
more closely related to the French or to the Italians. To study Swiss
literature one must therefore seek its sources in German, French, and
Italian books. It is, though, considered very remarkable that there
exists no great Swiss epic on the deeds of William Tell, a national
hero whose literary fame rests almost exclusively upon folk-tales and
upon Schiller's great drama.[37]
No political division boasts of a greater mixture of races and
languages than the Austro-Hungarian empire, whose literature is
therefore like a many-faceted jewel. Aside from many Germans, there
are within the borders of the empire large numbers of Czechs or
Bohemians, who in the thirteenth century delighted in translations of
the Alexandreis, of Tristram, and of other epic poems and romances,
and whose first printed volume in 1468 was a reproduction of the
Trojan Cycle.
There are also the Hungarians, whose literary language continued to be
Latin until after the Reformation, and whose earliest epics treat of
such themes as the "Life of St. Catherine of Alexandria." It was,
therefore, only in the seventeenth century that Zrinyi, Gyöngyösi,
Liszti, and other poets began to compose Magyar epics which roused
their countrymen to rebel against their foes, the Turks. In the
nineteenth century patriotism was further fostered among this people
by the stirring epics of Czuczor, Petöfi (whose masterpiece is Janes
Vilez), and of Vörösmarty, and then, too, were compiled the first
collections of genuine Hungarian folk-tales. Among these the
adventures of the national Samson (Toldi) have served as basis for
Arany's modern national epic in twelve cantos.
Part of Poland being incorporated in the Austro-Hungarian empire, it
cannot be amiss to mention here the fact that its literature is
particularly rich in folk-tales, animal epics, apologues, religious
legends, and hero tales, although none of the poetical versions of
these works seem to be of sufficient weight or importance to require
detailed treatment in this volume.
With the exception of ancient Greece,--whose epic literature is so
rich and still exerts such an influence as to demand separate
treatment,--there do not seem to be any epics of great literary value
among the various races now occupying the Balkan Peninsula. Old
Rumanian literature, written in the Slavic tongue, boasts a few rhymed
chronicles which are sometimes termed epics, while modern Rumanian
prides itself upon Joan Delaemi's locally famous Epic of the Gypsies.
In Servia one discovers ancient epic songs celebrating the great feats
of national heroes and heroines, and relating particularly to the
country's prolonged struggle for independence. After translating the
main works of Tasso from the Italian for the benefit of his
countrymen, one of their poets--Gundulitch--composed a twenty-canto
epic entitled Osman, wherein he described the war between the Poles
and Turks in 1621. The Servian dramatist Palmotitch later composed the
Christiad, or life of Christ, and in the nineteenth century
Milutinovitch wrote a Servian epic, while Mazuranie and Bogovitch
penned similar poems in Croatian. As for the Bulgarians they do not
seem to have any epic of note.
Turkish literature having been successively under Persian, Arabic, and
French influence, has no characteristic epics, although it possesses
wonderful cycles of fairy and folk-tales,--material from which
excellent epics could be evolved were it handled by a poet of genius.
The Asiatic part of Turkey being occupied mainly by Arabians, who
profess the Mohammedan religion, it is natural that the sayings and
doings of Mohammed should form no small part of their literature. The
most important of these collections in regard to the Prophet were made
by Al-Bukhari, Muslem, and Al-Tirmidhi.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 37: See the author's "Legends of Switzerland."]
HEBREW AND EARLY CHRISTIAN EPICS
JOB
The Book of Job ranks as "one of that group of five or six world poems
that stand as universal expressions of the human spirit." For that
reason it is considered the representative Hebrew epic, and, as it
depicts the conflicts of a human soul, it has also been termed the
"epic of the inner life."
Written after the exile,--probably in the latter part of the fourth
century B.C.,--it incorporates various older poems, for the theme is
thought to antedate the Exodus. In the prologue we have a description
of Job, a model sheik of the land of Uz, whose righteousness wins such
complete approval from God that the Almighty proudly quotes his
servant before his assembled council as a perfect man. "The
Adversary," Satan, now dramatically presents himself, and, when
taunted by God with Job's virtues, sarcastically retorts it is easy to
be good when favored with continual prosperity.
Thus challenged, and feeling sure of his subject, God allows Satan to
do his worst and thus test the real worth of Job. In quick succession
we now behold a once happy and prosperous man deprived of children,
wealth, and health,--misfortunes so swift and dire that his friends in
lengthy speeches insist he has offended God, for such trials as his
can only be sent in punishment for grievous sins. The exhortations of
Job's three argumentative friends, as well as of a later-comer, and of
his wife, extend over a period of seven days, and cover three whole
cycles; but, in spite of all they say, Job steadfastly refuses to
curse God as they advise.
Unaware of the Heavenly council or of the fact that he is being
tested, Job, in spite of trials and friends, patiently reiterates "The
Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away," and, when his wife bids him
curse God and die, pathetically inquires, "What! shall we receive good
at the hand of God, and shall we not receive evil?"
There are, besides, whole passages in this book where Job gives way to
his overwhelming grief, these laments being evidently either fragments
from another, older version of the story, or tokens that even such
fortitude as his gave way under pressure of disease and of his
friends' injudicious attempts at consolation. These laments exceed in
pathos any other Hebrew poem, while Job's descriptions of God's power
and wisdom attain to a superbly exalted strain.
Having silenced Zopher, Eliphaz, and Bildad, by assuring them he will
be vindicated in heaven,--if not sooner,--Job watches them and his
last friend depart, and is finally left alone. Then only, and in an
epilogue, we are informed that, having thus been tried in the furnace
of affliction and proved true gold, Job receives from God, as reward,
a double measure of health, wealth, and descendants, so that all men
may know he has not sinned and that his unshaken faith found favor in
the eyes of God.
Some Jewish writers quote Ecclesiastes as their best sample of
didactic epic, and others would fain rank as epics the tales of Naomi
and Ruth, of Esther and Ahasuerus, and even the idyllic Song of Songs
by Solomon. Early Christian writers also see in Revelations, or the
Apocalypse, by St. John, the Seer of Patmos, a brilliant example of
the mystical or prophetic epic.
ARABIAN AND PERSIAN EPICS
"The long caravan marches across the monotonous deserts, when the
camel's steady swing bends the rider's body almost double, taught the
Arab to sing rhymes." But the poems thus sung by camel-drivers are
generally short and never reach epic might or length. None of those
older poems now exist, and it was only when travellers applied the
Syrian alphabet to the Arabic tongue in the sixth century that written
records began to be kept of favorite compositions. Poets were then
looked upon as wise men, or magicians, and called upon, like Balaam,
in times of danger, to utter spells or incantations against the foe.
The most ancient pre-Islamic poems were written in golden ink,
suspended in the Kaaba at Mecca, and are known in Arabia as the
"necklace of pearls."
Many of these poems--which replace epics in the East--follow fixed
rules, the author being bound to "begin by a reference to the forsaken
camping grounds. Next he must lament, and pray his comrades to halt,
while he calls up the memory of the dwellers who had departed in
search of other encampments and fresh water springs. Then he begins to
touch on love matters, bewailing the tortures to which his passion
puts him, and thus attracting interest and attention to himself. He
recounts his hard and toilsome journeying in the desert, dwells on the
lean condition of his steed, which he lauds and describes, and
finally, with the object of obtaining those proofs of generosity which
were the bard's expected meed and sole support, he winds up with a
panegyric of the prince or governor in whose presence the poem is
recited."
Throughout the East, professional story-tellers still spend their
lives travelling about and entertaining audiences in towns and tents
with poems and legends, many of the latter treating of desert feuds
and battles and forming part of a collection known as the Arab Days.
With the founding of Bagdad by the Abbasides, Persian influence
begins to make itself felt, not only in politics but in literature
also, although Arabic was the sole language of the empire of the
Caliphs. The greatest literary work in this literature is the famous
"Arabian Nights," an anonymous collection of tales connected by a
thread of narrative. Its purport is that an Eastern monarch, "to
protect himself against the craft and infidelity of women resolves
that the wife he chooses him every day shall be put to death before
the next." Two sisters devote their lives to put an end to such
massacres. The eldest, who becomes the king's wife, begs that her
sister may spend the last night of her life in their room. At dawn the
royal bride entertains her sister with a story which is cleverly left
unfinished. Such is the sultan's curiosity to hear the end, that the
bride of a night is not slain, as usual. But as soon as one tale is
ended another is begun, and for one thousand and one nights the clever
narrator keeps her audience of two in suspense. Most of the tales told
in this collection are obviously of Persian origin, and are contained
in the Hasâr Afsâna (The Thousand Tales) which was translated into
Arabic in the tenth century. But some authorities claim that these
stories originated in India and were brought into Persia before
Alexander's conquests. These tales are so popular that they have been
translated into every civilized language and are often termed prose
epics.
Arabic also boasts a romance of chivalry entitled "Romance of
'Antar,'" ascribed to Al Asmai (739-831), which contains the chief
events in Arab history before the advent of Mahomet and is hence often
termed the Arab Iliad.
The "Romance of Beni Hilâl" and that of "Abu Zaid," which form part of
a cycle of 38 legends, are popular in Egypt to this day.
THE SHAH-NAMEH, OR EPIC OF KINGS
This Persian epic was composed by the poet Abul Kasin Mansur, who sang
so sweetly that his master termed him Firdusi, or Singer of Paradise,
by which name he is best known, although he is also called the "Homer
of the East." Mahmoud, Shah of Persia, who lived about 920 B.C.,
decided to have the chronicles of the land put into rhyme, and engaged
Firdusi for this piece of work, promising him a thousand gold pieces
for every thousand distichs he finished. Firdusi, who had long wished
to build stone embankments for the river whose overflow devastated his
native town, begged the king to withhold payment until the work was
done.
At the end of thirty-three years, when the poem was completed, the
grand vizier, after counting its sixty-thousand couplets, concluded
not to pay for it in gold, and sent instead sixty thousand small
pieces of silver. On receiving so inadequate a reward, Firdusi became
so angry that, after distributing the money among the bearers and
writing an insulting poem to the king, he fled first to Mazinderan and
then to Bagdad, where he lingered until shortly before his death, when
he returned to Tous. Tradition claims that the Shah; hearing he had
come home,--and having meantime discovered the trickery of his
minister,--immediately sent Firdusi sixty thousand pieces of gold, but
that the money arrived only as his corpse was being lowered into the
tomb! As the poet's daughter indignantly refused to accept this tardy
atonement, another relative took the money and built the dike which
Firdusi had longed to see.
We know that Persian monarchs made sundry attempts to collect the
annals of their country, but these collections were scattered at the
time of the Arabian conquest, so that only a few documents were
brought back to Persia later on. Although the poem of Firdusi claims
to be a complete history of Persia, it contains so many marvels that,
were it not for its wonderful diction, it would not have survived,
although he declares he has written,
"What no tide
Shall ever wash away, what men
Unborn shall read o'er ocean wide."[38]
The poem opens with the description of a ruler so prosperous that the
Spirit of Evil sent a mighty devil (deev) to conquer him. Thanks to
the effort of this demon, the king's son was slain, and, as the
monarch died of grief, it was his grandson who succeeded him. During a
forty-centuries reign this king gave fire to his people, taught them
irrigation and agriculture, and bestowed names on all the beasts.
His son and successor taught mortals how to spin and weave, and the
demons, in hopes of destroying him, imparted to him the arts of
reading and writing. Next came the famous Persian hero Jemshid, who is
said to have reigned seven hundred years, and to have divided the
Persian nation into four classes,--priests, warriors, artisans, and
husbandmen. During his reign, which is the Age of Gold of Persia, the
world was divided into separate parts, and the city of Persepolis
founded, where two columns of the ruined royal palace still bear the
name of the monarch who instituted the national festival of Persia
(Neurouz).
Having accomplished all these wonderful things, Jemshid became so
conceited that he wished to be worshipped, whereupon a neighboring
volcano vomited smoke and ashes and innumerable snakes infested the
land. Then Prince Zohak of Arabia was sent by the Evil Spirit to drive
away Jemshid and to take possession of his throne. Although at first
Zohak was very virtuous, the Evil Spirit, having gotten him in his
power, began to serve him in guise of a cook. Once, having succeeded
in pleasing him, he begged permission as reward to kiss the king
between his shoulders. But no sooner had this demon's lips touched the
royal back than two black serpents sprang up there, serpents which
could not be destroyed, and which could only be kept quiet by being
fed with human brains.
"If life hath any charm for thee,
The brains of men their food must be."
Zohak, "the Serpent King," as he is now invariably called, was
therefore obliged to prey upon his subjects to satisfy the appetite
of these serpents, and, as two men were required daily for that
purpose during the next thousand years, the realm was sorely
depopulated.
The serpents still on human brains were fed,
And every day two youthful victims bled;
The sword, still ready, thirsting still to strike,
Warrior and slave were sacrificed alike.
Naturally, all the Persians grew to loathe their monarch, and, when
the seventeenth and last child of the blacksmith Kavah was seized to
feed the serpents, this man rebelled, and, raising his leathern apron
as a standard, rallied the Persians around him. He then informed them
that, if they would only fight beneath "the flag of Kavah,"--which is
now the Persian ensign,--he would give them as king Feridoun, a son of
Jemshid, born during his exile. Hearing this, the rebels went in quest
of Feridoun, "the glorious," in regard to whom Zohak has been favored
with sundry visions, although he had been brought up in secret, his
sole nurse being a faithful cow. When this animal died at last, the
grateful Feridoun made a mace of one of its big bones, and armed with
that weapon, defeated Zohak, who was chained to a mountain, where he
was tortured by visions of his victims for a thousand years. Meantime
Feridoun occupied so justly the throne of Persia--where he reigned
some five hundred years--that his realm became an earthly Paradise.
At the end of this long reign, Feridoun despatched his three sons to
Arabia in quest of wives, and on their return proceeded to test their
mettle by meeting them in the shape of a dragon. While the eldest son
retreated, crying that a wise and prudent man never strives with
dragons, the second advanced recklessly, without thinking of
protecting himself. The third, however, set to work in a business-like
way, not only to rescue his foolhardy brother, but to slay the dragon.
On perceiving this, the father resumed his wonted form, and announced
he would divide his realm into three parts, of which the best share,
Iran or Persia, was bestowed upon Trij, the son who had shown both
courage and prudence.
Not long after this division, the two elder brothers united to despoil
the younger, but, although they succeeded in slaying him, his infant
daughter was brought up by the aged Feridoun, and in due time gave
birth to a son, Minuchir, destined to avenge his grandfather's death
by defeating and slaying his great-uncles. Having done this, Minuchir
occupied the throne, while his favorite vassal was made governor of
one of the newly conquered realms. This swarthy, dark-haired man
proved perfectly happy in these new estates until he heard his wife
had given birth to a son with snow-white hair.
"No human being of this earth could give to such a monster birth,
He must be of the demon race, though human still in form and face.
If not a demon, he at least, appears a parti-colored beast."
Such an offspring seeming nothing short of a curse, the father had
little Zal exposed on Mt. Alborz, where he expected he would perish in
a brief space of time.
On the top of this mountain the Simurgh, or Bird of God,--a marvellous
golden-feathered eagle,--had built a nest of ebony and sandal-wood,
lined with spices, around which she had piled all manner of precious
stones, whose glitter pleased her. Hearing the cry of a babe, this
great bird swooped downward, and, fastening her talons in the child's
dress, bore him safely away to her aerie, where she dropped him in the
nest beside two eaglets. These little birds proved kind to the young
prince, although they were able to leave their nest long before he
could walk about and play with the precious stones.
It was only when Zal was about eight years old that his father
suddenly realized he had committed a deadly sin, and was
correspondingly relieved to learn in a dream that his child had not
perished, but had been nursed by the Simurgh. Hastening to the
mountain, the father besought the Bird of God to give back his son,
whereupon the golden-feathered eagle, after taking affectionate leave
of little Zal (upon whom she bestowed a feather which was to be cast
into the fire in time of need), bore him back to his father.
"Having watched thee with fondness by day and by night,
And supplied all thy wants with a mother's delight,
Oh, forget not thy nurse--still be faithful to me,
And my heart will be ever devoted to thee."
The father now brought up young Zal, who soon became so remarkable for
strength and bravery that he promised to become the greatest warrior
the world had ever known. In early manhood this youth journeyed to
Kabul, where he beheld the lovely Rudaveh, who belonged to the race of
the Serpent King. The arrival of a young but white-haired warrior
caused such a sensation at court that the princess, who had already
fallen in love with him on hearsay, became anxious to meet him.
One day, when the maidens were gathering roses near his pavilion, Zal
shot a bird, which falling in their midst gave them an occasion to
address him. He, too, had heard so much about the loveliness of
Rudaveh, that he questioned her attendants and gave them jewels to
take to her. Such gifts quickly paved the way for an interview, for
Rudaveh immediately sent for Zal. On appearing beneath her window,
this lover began so sweet a serenade that the princess stepped out in
her balcony, where, loosening her long black braids,--which hung down
to the ground,--she bade Zal use them to climb up to her. He, however,
gallantly refused, for fear he should hurt her, and deftly flinging
his noose upward caught it fast in a projection, and thus safely
reached the balcony, where this Persian Romeo acceptably wooed his
Juliet.
The royal parents, on discovering these clandestine meetings,
questioned the young man, who proved his intelligence by solving six
riddles, and, after giving satisfactory tokens of his other
qualifications, was allowed to marry the princess, for the oracles
predicted that from this union would arise a hero who would honor his
native land.
Time now passed happily until the moment came when Rudaveh's life was
in imminent danger. In his quandary, Zal flung the golden feather into
the fire with so trembling a hand that it fell to one side so that
only one edge was singed. This proved sufficient, however, to summon
the faithful Simurgh, who, after rapturously caressing her nursling,
whispered in his ear a magic word, which not only enabled him to save
the life of his dying wife, but also assured his becoming the happy
father of a stalwart son named Rustem.
This boy, stronger and handsomer than any child yet born, required no
less than ten nurses, and after being weaned ate as much as five men!
Such being the case, he was able, by the time he was eight years of
age, to slay a mad white elephant with a single stroke of his fist.
Many similar feats were performed during the boyhood of this Persian
Hercules, who longed to fight when the realm was finally invaded by
the Tartar chief Afrasiab and war began to devastate the land.
Loud neighed the steeds, and their resounding hoofs
Shook the deep caverns of the earth; the dust
Rose up in clouds and hid the azure heavens.--
Bright beamed the swords, and in that carnage wide,
Blood flowed like water.
When the Persians, in their distress, implored Zal to meet and defeat
this dreaded foe, the hero answered he was far too old to perform such
a task, but that his son Rustem would fight in his stead. Before
sending him forth, however, Zal bade Rustem select a suitable steed,
and, from all those paraded before him, the youth picked out a
rose-colored colt called Rakush (lightning) whom no one had ever been
able to mount, although he was quite old enough to use. After lassoing
and taming this wonderful steed,--which obeyed him alone,--Rustem,
armed with a mace, set out to meet the foe, sent hither as he knew by
the evil spirit. Then, to oppose Afrasiab, Rustem placed Kaikobad, a
descendant of the old royal family, on the throne, after driving away
the foe. The wise Kaikobad, who reigned peacefully one hundred years,
was, however, succeeded by a very foolish son, Kaikous, who, ill
satisfied with the extent of his realm, undertook to conquer
Mazinderan, which was in the hands of demons, but which he had coveted
ever since it had been described by a young bard who sang:
"And mark me, that untravelled man
Who never saw Mazinderan
And all the charms its bowers possess,
Has never tasted happiness."
On hearing his master propose such a conquest, Zal vainly
remonstrated, but the foolish monarch set out, and on arriving in
Mazinderan was defeated by the demons, who blinded him and his army
and detained them prisoners. No sooner did the news of this calamity
reach Zal, than he bade Rustem go rescue the foolish monarch, adding
that, although it had taken Kaikous six months to reach his
destination, Rustem could get there in seven days, provided he were
willing to brave great dangers.
Of course the hero selected the shorter route, and on the first day
slew a wild ass, which he roasted for supper before lying down to
rest. The odor of roast meat, however, attracted a lion, which would
have made a meal of the sleeping Rustem, had not his brave steed
fought with hoofs and teeth until he succeeded in slaying the beast of
prey. Awakened only as the fight ended, Rustem reproved his horse for
risking his life in this reckless way and bade him henceforth call for
aid.
"Oh, Rakush, why so thoughtless grown
To fight a lion thus alone?
For had it been thy fate to bleed
And not thy foe, O gallant steed!
How could thy master have conveyed
His helm, and battle-axe, and blade,
Unaided to Mazinderan?
Why didst thou fail to give the alarm,
And save thyself from chance of harm,
By neighing loudly in my ear?
But, though thy bold heart knows no fear,
From such unwise exploits refrain
Nor try a lion's strength again."
During the second day's journey, Rustem was saved from perishing of
thirst by following a stray ram to a mountain stream; and on the third
night, having forbidden his horse to attack any foe without warning
him, Rustem was twice awakened by the loud neighing of Rakush, who had
seen an eighty-yard long dragon draw near. Each time he neighed,
however, the dragon disappeared, so Rustem, seeing nought, reproved
his horse for breaking his rest. The third time, however, he caught a
glimpse of the dragon's fiery eyes, so, attacking him, he slew him,
thanks to the help of his horse. The fourth day was signalized by
other marvellous adventures, and on the fifth, while journeying
through the land of magic, Rustem was met by a sorceress, who tried to
win him by many wiles. Although he accepted the banquet and cup of
wine she tendered, he no sooner bade her quaff it in the name of God,
than she was forced to resume her fiendish form, whereupon he slew
her.
On the sixth day, Rustem, forced to ride through a land where the sun
never shone, allowed his intelligent steed to guide him, and thus
safely reached on the seventh a land of plenty and light, where he lay
down to rest. There, while he was sleeping, the people of Mazinderan
captured his wonderful steed. But, following the traces of his
struggling horse, Rustem, by dint of great exertions, made them give
back Rakush, and forced them to guide him to the cave where the White
Demon was detaining his fellow-countrymen prisoners.
In front of this cave Rustem found an array of demons, and, after
conquering them all, forced his way into the Persian hell, whence he
rescued his companions, whose sight he restored by trickling the blood
of the White Demon into their sightless eyes.
Having thus earned the title of "champion of the world," Rustem
escorted the stupid king home, but this monarch, not satisfied with
this blunder, committed one folly after another. We are told that he
even undertook to fly, his special make of aeroplane being a carpet
borne by four starving eagles, fastened to the four corners of its
frame, and frantically striving to reach a piece of meat fixed
temptingly above and ahead of them.
Time and again the foolish monarch Kaikous was rescued by the efforts
of Rustem, who, in the course of his wanderings, finally came to the
court of a king, whose daughter, loving him by hearsay, had his horse
stolen from him. When Rustem angrily demanded the return of his steed,
the monarch assured him he should have Rakush on the morrow. But that
night the beautiful princess, Tamineh, stole into Rustem's room, and,
after waking him, promised he should have his horse provided he would
marry her. Charmed by her beauty and grace, Rustem readily consented,
and found such attractions in his bride that he lingered by her side
for some time.
The moment came, however, when the foolish monarch required Rustem's
services, and, as Tamineh was not able at that time to bear the long
journey, Rustem bade her a fond farewell, leaving an onyx bracelet
bearing the image of the Simurgh, with which he bade her deck their
expected child. In due time the lovely princess gave birth to a
beautiful boy, whom she called Sorab (sunshine), but, fearing lest
Rustem should take him away to train him as a warrior, she sent word
to him that she had given birth to a daughter. Girls being of minor
importance in Persia, Rustem inquired no further about this child, and
was kept so busy serving his monarch that he never once visited his
wife while his son was growing up.
For a long time Tamineh jealously guarded the secret of Sorab's birth,
fearing lest her young son would want to go forth and do battle too.
But when she could no longer keep him home, she told him the story of
her wooing:
"Listen, my child, and you shall hear
Of the wondrous love of a maiden dear
For a mighty warrior, the pride of his day
Who loved, and married, and rode away,
For this is the romance of Rustem."
The lad, who had always cherished a romantic admiration for Rustem,
was overjoyed to learn his origin, and departed only after being
reminded that he must never fight his father, although about to help
the Tartars in a war against Persia. Sorab was doing so because
everybody was tired of the foolish king, who was to be overthrown, so
that Rustem could be placed on the throne in his stead. To make sure
her son should not fail to recognize his father, Tamineh sent with him
two faithful servants who had known Rustem well when he came to woo
her.
Meantime Afrasiab, chief of the Tartars, delighted to have Sorab's aid
against Persia, cautioned all his warriors not to tell the youth,
should his father appear in the opposite army, for he slyly hoped "the
young lion would kill the old one," and felt sure that, were he only
rid of father and son, he would be able to rule over Persia himself.
In the course of this war young Sorab met with many adventures,
fighting once against an Amazon, who by trickery managed to escape
from him. However, Sorab kept hoping the time would come when he and
his father would meet face to face, and, whenever a fray was about to
take place, he always bade his companions scan the ranks of the foe to
make sure that Rustem was not there.[39]
Meantime the foolish king, having gotten the worst in the war, had
sent for Rustem, who, for reconnoitring purposes, entered the Tartar
camp as a spy. There he beheld Sorab, and could not help admiring the
young warrior, of whose many brave exploits he had already heard.
While thus sneaking about the enemy's tent, Rustem was discovered by
the two servants whom Tamineh had placed by her son's side, both of
whom he killed before they could give the alarm. Thus, when Sorab and
Rustem finally came face to face, there was no one at hand to point
out the son to the father or inform the son of his close relationship
to his antagonist. After the war had raged for some time, Sorab
challenged the Persians to a single fight, for he was anxious to
distinguish himself, knowing that should he win a great triumph his
father would hear of it, and inquire the origin of the youth of whom
such tales were told:
"Come then, hear now, and grant me what I ask.
Let the two armies rest to-day; but I
Will challenge forth the bravest Persian lords
To meet me, man to man: If I prevail,
Rustum will surely hear it; if I fall--
Old man, the dead need no one, claim no kin.
Dim is the rumor of a common fight,
Where host meets host, and many names are sunk;
But of a single combat fame speaks clear."[40]
Such was the reputation of Sorab, however, that none of the Persians
dared encounter him, and urged Rustem to undertake this task himself.
Fearing lest so youthful an opponent should withdraw if he heard the
name of his antagonist, or that he should pride himself too greatly on
the honor done him, Rustem went into battle in disguise.
On seeing a stalwart old warrior approach, Sorab felt strangely moved,
and, running to meet him, begged to know his name, for he had a
premonition that this was Rustem. The father, too, seized by a
peculiar feeling of tenderness for this youth, commented to himself
that had he a male descendant he would fain have had him look like
Sorab, and therefore tried to make him withdraw his challenge.
Notwithstanding Sorab's eager inquiries, Rustem obstinately refused to
divulge his name, and, seeing his opponent would not desist, bade him
begin the fight without further ado.
And then he turned and sternly spake aloud,--
"Rise! wherefore dost thou vainly question thus
Of Rustum? I am here whom thou hast called
By challenge forth; make good thy vaunt, or yield!
Is it with Rustum only thou wouldst fight?
Rash boy, men look on Rustum's face, and flee!
For well I know, that did great Rustum stand
Before thy face this day, and were revealed,
There would be then no talk of fighting more."
For three consecutive days the battle raged, father and son proving
of equal strength and skill. But, although Sorab once overthrew
Rustem, he generously stepped aside and allowed the aged warrior to
recover his footing. Several times, also, the young man proposed that
they sheathe their swords, for his heart continued to be attracted to
his opponent, who, fighting down similar emotions, always taunted his
antagonist into renewing the fight.
He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
Together, as two eagles on one prey
Come rushing down together from the clouds,
One from the east, one from the west; their skulls
Dashed with a clang together, and a din
Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
Make often in the forest's heart at morn,
Of hewing axes, crashing trees,--such blows
Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.
It was only on the fifth day that Rustem, forgetting everything in the
excitement of the moment, met his foe with his usual war cry, "Rustem,
Rustem." The mere sound of so beloved a name so paralyzed Sorab, that,
instead of meeting this onslaught, he sank beneath his father's blow.
Then he gasped that, although dying, his adversary could not pride
himself upon having fairly won the victory, for nothing short of his
father's name could have disarmed him thus!
"But that belovèd name unnerved my arm,--
That name, and something, I confess, in thee,
Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield
Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe.
And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate.
But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear:
The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death!
My father, whom I seek through all the world,
He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!"
On hearing these words, Rustem anxiously demanded explanation, only to
learn that the man he had mortally wounded was his own son, as was
only too surely proved by the bracelet decorated with the Simurgh
which Sorab exhibited.
It was that griffin which of old reared Zal,
Rustum's great father, whom they left to die,
A helpless babe, among the rocks;
Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved;
Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.
Not only did broken-hearted Rustem hang over his dying son in
speechless grief, but the steed Rakush wept bitter tears over the
youth who had so longed to bestride him.
And awe fell on both the hosts,
When they saw Rustum's grief; and Ruksh, the horse,
With his head bowing to the ground, and mane
Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
First to the one, then to the other, moved
His head, as if inquiring what their grief
Might mean; and from his dark compassionate eyes,
The big warm tears rolled down and caked the sand.
In hopes of saving his son, Rustem vainly implored the foolish monarch
to bestow upon him a drop of some magic ointment he owned. But Sorab
expired without this aid in Rustem's arms, and the broken-hearted
father burned his remains on a pyre. Then he conveyed to his home
Sorab's ashes, and sent the young hero's riderless steed back to his
poor mother, who died of grief.
We are told that the foolish king proved so fortunate as to have a
noble and generous son named Siawush, of whom he became so jealous
that the youth had to leave home and was brought up by Rustem. The
step-mother, who had so poisoned his father's mind against him,
plotted Siawush's death as soon as he returned to court, by accusing
him of making love to her. In anger the father decreed that Siawush
should submit to the test of fire, so huge furnaces were lighted,
through which the young man rode unharmed, the Angel of Pity and the
spirit of his dead mother standing on either side of him to guard him
from injury. Because the step-mother had wrongfully accused Siawush,
she too was condemned to pass through the fire, but her step-son,
knowing she could never stand such an ordeal, pleaded successfully in
her behalf.
Not daring to remain at his father's court, this young prince
withdrew among the Tartars, where he married Afrasiab's daughter. But
such were his qualities and noble deeds, that his wicked father-in-law
became jealous enough of him to slay him. He did not, however, succeed
in exterminating the race, for a kind-hearted nobleman, Piran-Wisa,
secreted Siawush's little son, and entrusted him to a goat-herd to
bring up. When Afrasiab discovered a few years later that this child
was still living, he planned to put him to death, until the nobleman
assured him the child was an idiot and would, therefore, never work
him any harm. Only half convinced, Afrasiab sent for the youth,
Kai-Khosrau, who, duly instructed by his protector, returned such
crazy answers to his grandfather's questions, that Afrasiab felt
satisfied he was an idiot indeed.
This young prince, having attained manhood, led a rebellion so
successfully that he not only dethroned his grandfather, Afrasiab, but
also recovered his hereditary throne of Persia. There he reigned for
many years, at the end of which he became so anxious to leave this
world, that he prayed the good god (Ormudz) to receive him in his
bosom. In a dream this divinity informed the king that, as soon as his
affairs were in order and his successor named, his wish would be
granted. Kai-Khosrau, therefore, made all his arrangements, and set
out on the journey to the next world, bidding his friends not try to
accompany him, for the road would be too hard for them to travel. In
spite of these injunctions, a few faithful followers went with him,
until they reached a place where the cold was so intense that they all
froze to death, and thus left him to continue alone the journey from
whence he never returned.
And not a trace was left behind,
And not a dimple on the wave;
All sought, but sought in vain, to find
The spot which proved Kai-Khosrau's grave.
The successor which Kai-Khosrau had chosen proved a just ruler until
he became jealous of his own son, Isfendiyar, who was also a great
warrior, and who, like Rustem, accomplished seven great works. He,
too, overcame demons, wolves, lions, enchanters, dragons, and
unchained elements, and on one occasion proceeded to rescue two of his
sisters, who were detained captives in the fortress of Arjasp, a demon
king. Knowing he could not enter this stronghold by force, Isfendiyar
penetrated into it in the guise of a merchant, having hidden in his
chests a number of soldiers, who were to help him when the right
moment came. Thanks to their aid and to the fact that he began by
intoxicating his foe, Isfendiyar triumphed.
The time came, however, when Isfendiyar was ordered by his father to
bring Rustem to court in chains. This task proved most distasteful to
the prince, who, on approaching Rustem, explained that he was not a
free agent. Because the old hero obstinately refused to be manacled,
the two warriors began fighting, and at the end of the day Rustem and
his steed were so severely wounded that Isfendiyar felt sure they
would not be able to renew the fight on the morrow.
It happened, however, that the aged Zal, on seeing his wounded son,
remembered his partly burned feather, and promptly cast it into the
fire. Immediately the Simurgh appeared, and with one touch of her
golden wings healed the horse, and used her clever beak to draw the
lance out of Rustem's side. Having thus healed her nursling's son, the
Simurgh vanished, leaving Rustem and his steed in such good condition
that they were able to renew the battle on the morrow. This time,
Isfendiyar perished beneath Rustem's blows, exclaiming that the hero
was not to blame for his death and that he fell victim to his father's
hate. In token of forgiveness, he begged Rustem to bring up his son, a
wish which was piously carried out by the brave warrior as long as he
lived.
Because it had been written in the stars that "he who slew Isfendiyar
would die miserably," Rustem was somewhat prepared for his tragic
fate. It seems his young half-brother finally became so jealous of him
that he plotted to kill him by digging seven pits lined with swords
and spears. These were hidden in a road along which Rustem had to
travel when he came in the king's name to claim tribute. Falling into
the first pit, Rustem set his spurs to Rakush's sides; and the brave
steed, although wounded, leaped out of this trap, only to tumble into
a second and third. From pit to pit Rustem and his dauntless horse
landed at the bottom of the seventh, fainting from their many wounds.
The treacherous step-brother now drew cautiously near to ascertain
whether Rustem were dead, whereupon our hero begged for his bow and
arrows, declaring he wished to ward off the wild beasts as long as he
remained alive. The unsuspecting brother, therefore, flung the desired
weapons down into the pit, but no sooner were they within reach, than
Rustem fitted an arrow to the string, casting such a baleful look at
his step-brother that this coward hastened to take refuge behind a
tree. No obstacle could, however, balk the righteously angry Rustem,
who sent his arrow straight through the trunk into his brother's
heart, thus punishing the murderer for his dastardly trick. Then,
returning thanks for having been allowed to avenge his wrongs, Rustem
breathed his last beside his faithful steed.
On hearing his son had perished, Zal sent an army to lay Kabul waste,
and, having recovered the corpses of Rustem and of his steed, laid
them piously to rest in a magnificent tomb in Seistan.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 38: All the quotations in this article taken from the
Shah-Nameh are from Champeon's translation.]
[Footnote 39: It is this part of the story which Matthew Arnold
rendered so ably in his "Sohrab and Rustum," one of his best-known
poems.]
[Footnote 40: All the quotations in regard to this episode are from
Matthew Arnold's "Sohrab and Rustum."]
INDIAN EPICS
Besides the two great classical epics (Mahàkavyas)--the Mahabharata
and the Ramayana--Indian literature claims eighteen Puranas, each of
which bears a distinctive title. These Puranas treat mainly of
"ancient legendary lore," and contain many tales of gods and sages, as
well as descriptions of the Hindu world, with Mount Meru as its
centre, and also of the deluge.
Many of the incidents of the two great epics inspired later poets to
compose what are known as kavyas, or court epics. Six of these by
Bahrtruhari are termed Great Court Epics (Mahàkavyas), and another, by
the poet Açvaghosha, describing the doings of Buddha at length, was
translated, into Chinese between 414 and 421 A.D. The Golden Age for
the court epics (which were written from 200 B.C. to 1100 A.D.) was
during the sixth century of our era.
In the fifth century A.D. the poet Kalidasa composed a nineteen-canto
epic, entitled Raghuvamça, wherein he related at length the life of
Rama, as well as of Rama's ancestors and of his twenty-four
successors. This poem abounds in striking similes, as does also the
same poet's Kumarasambhava or Birth and Wooing of the War God Siva.
There are, however, sundry cantos in all these poems which are too
erotic to meet with favor among modern readers. Kalidasa is also the
author of an epic in Prakrit, wherein he sings of the building of the
bridge between India and Ceylon and of the death of Ravana.
We are told that the Ramayana inspired the greatest poet of Mediaeval
India, Tulsi Das, to compose the Ram Charit Manas, an epic wherein he
gives a somewhat shorter and very popular version of Rama's
adventures. This work still serves as a sort of Bible for a hundred
million of the people of northern India.
The poet Kaviraja (c. 800 A.D.) composed an epic wherein he combines
the Ramayana and Mahabharata into one single poem. This is a Hindu
_tour de force_, for we are told that "the composition is so arranged
that by the use of ambiguous words and phrases the story of the
Ramayana and the Mahabharata is told at one and the same time. The
same words, according to the sense in which they are understood,
narrate the events of each epic."
THE RAMAYANA
This Hindu epic, an older poem than the Mahabharata, was composed in
Sanscrit some five hundred years before our era, and is contained in
seven books, aggregating twenty-four thousand verses. It is often
termed "the Odyssey of the East," and relates events which are said to
have occurred between two thousand and nine hundred B.C. The poem is
generally attributed to Válmikí, a hermit on the bank of the Ganges,
who, seeing one bird of a happy pair slain, made use of a strange
metre in relating the occurrence to Brahma. This god immediately bade
him employ the same in narrating the adventures of Rama, one of the
seven incarnations of the god Vishnu.
"Praise to Válmikí, bird of charming song,
Who mounts on Poesy's sublimest spray,
And sweetly sings with accents clear and strong
Rama, aye Rama, in his deathless lay."[41]
The poem opens with a description of the ancient city of Ayodhya
(Oude), beautifully situated on the banks of a river and ruled by a
childless rajah.