THE LAND OF TUONELA
Tuonela—the Land of Shades! Does any one know where that country lies?
On what chart is its location shown? Where are its boundary lines, and
what is its extent?
Many are they who have gone thither—some by land, some by sea—yet none
have returned to tell others of what they have learned. They who once
enter that mysterious land may not hope to depart therefrom, neither
must they send word home to their kindred and friends. They are
thenceforth the subjects of King Tuoni, and must abide forever with
him.
Is the place very far? Is the road thither a long one? Is it difficult
to find?
Oh, the distance is great, but all roads lead to that land. You may
arrive there quickly, in a day, in an hour, perhaps even in the
twinkling of an eye—and quite before you expect to do so. You need not
inquire the way nor ask about the road—you cannot fail to find it; and
sooner or later you must walk in it, whether you wish or not.
The Minstrel’s journey was both long and hard, [E] for he had
undertaken it of his own free will. The road was exceeding rough, and
perils beset him at every step. Dark were the forests through which he
passed; broad and deep were the rivers which he crossed; high and
rugged were the mountains which reared themselves before him. For six
days—yes, for seven painful days he toiled through thickets of thorns;
for seven eventful days he cut his way through a magic wilderness of
hazel; for seven other days he groped through dark hedges of juniper
and tangled masses of wild briars; and then, for three times seven days
he wandered through desert lands and wide wastes of snow where there
was no shelter from the storm and no place to rest his weary feet.
Three score and ten days, three score and ten nights, were the measure
of his journey; and at length he found himself on the shore of a mighty
river, deep, dark, and sluggish. He looked, and on the farther side he
saw a gray castle and a long white shore, and he knew that it was
Tuoni’s land—the land of silence and of mystery. He walked up and down
the river bank, hoping to find some way to cross, but the water was
everywhere deep, and the current, although sluggish, was everywhere
strong. At length, however, he saw a sort of landing-place, where was a
post for mooring a boat, and at the top of the post was a sign-board
with words painted upon it:
FERRY TO TUONELA
CALL TO THE KEEPER ON THE FARTHER SHORE;
THE KEEPER WILL QUICKLY FERRY YOU O’ER.
Wainamoinen stood upon the sand and shouted with all his might:
“Ho! Keeper of the ferry! Bring thy boat quickly. Here is a traveller
who desires to be carried over the water. Haste thee hither!”
The unwonted sound of a human voice rolled thunderously across the
river, stirring the sluggish stream to its very depths; it awakened the
echoes in the distant colorless hills of Tuonela, and with deafening
roar broke the silence of ages.
The water-door of the castle opened, and a dwarfish maiden came forth,
looking inquiringly across the river. Very small she was, but
well-shaped and comely. Her eyes gleamed like lightning and her face
was stern and pitiless. She was the daughter of Tuoni, and to her
belonged the duty of keeping the ferry whereby the shades of mortals
were carried to her father’s kingdom. Sharply, and in shrill, cutting
tones, she answered the call of the Minstrel:
“Who are you who calls so lustily? Why have you come to this river with
body so strong and active? Tell me truly if you would be ferried to
Tuonela.”
The Minstrel was old and cunning, and because he feared to tell the
maiden the truth, he answered her with guileful words: “I am a poor
woodsman from the Land of Heroes. Yesterday, as I was felling a tree,
your father, Tuoni, smote me. He smote me and made me his thrall; he
made me his thrall and bade me come hither to his kingdom. This is why
I stand on the shore and call to you so lustily.”
“You speak falsely!” cried the dwarfish maiden, with anger in her
tones. “If my father had made you his thrall, he would be with you now.
His hat would be on your head and his gloves would be on your hands.
His mark would be on your forehead and your voice would not resound
like thunder upon the water. Tell me who you are, and tell me truly, or
never will I ferry you to Tuonela.”
But Wainamoinen still trusted in his cunning, and he made up another
guileful story to deceive her. “Perhaps it was not Tuoni who sent me,”
he said. “Now that I think of it, it was Iron who smote me. Sharp Iron,
pitiless Iron in shape of a sword pierced my heart, and I was forced
unwillingly to seek the kingdom of Tuoni. So come, I pray you, and
ferry me over the river.”
The dwarfish maiden could scarce contain herself for anger. She smote
the air with her fists and shouted, “Now I know that you are a liar! If
Iron had smitten you I would see blood trickling from your wounds; your
face would be scarlet; your hands would be crimson. But there you stand
unscarred, unmarked, with the hue of health upon your cheeks. What do
you hope to gain by trying to deceive me?”
“Far be it from me to deceive you,” said the artful hero, foolishly and
without judgment. “O daughter of Tuoni, I will tell you the truth! Now
that I think of it, I am quite sure that it was Water that sent me
hither. I was a fisherman, and I sailed too far from the shore. The
deep sea overcame me, and the raging waves seized me, and when my
breath failed me and my strength was gone, Water commanded me to come
quickly to Tuonela. So, hasten, I pray you, and row me over the river.”
The sharp-eyed daughter of the king was furious. With savage looks and
threatening gestures, she answered the cunning Minstrel: “O foolish
fellow, why do you tell such falsehoods? Do you think that I will
believe you? If the waves had overcome you, if Water had sent you, your
coat would be wringing wet and your wan face would be overspread with
moisture. How, then, do you stand so proudly, your hair dry, your
cheeks glowing, and your clothing untouched by dampness? Tell me the
truth, for you will gain nothing by falsehoods.”
The foolish Minstrel listened, and his heart grew stubborn. Then he
answered her with flattering words, deeming that thus she would be
pleased and therefore easily deceived. “O lovely keeper of Tuoni’s
ferry, speak not so harshly to a lone, weary, traveller! Never have I
seen such beauty as yours; never have I heard a voice so sweet. And now
I will tell you truly why I have come hither. I am the victim and the
thrall of Fire. Three days ago I was seized by Fire, the elder brother
of Iron. Very roughly did he handle me, and little mercy did he show.
And this is why my clothing is dry and my hair untouched by dampness.
So, sweet lady, hasten to be kind and carry me over the ferry.”
Tuoni’s daughter trembled now with rage and shame. Her patience was
wellnigh gone, she no longer felt pity for the aged traveller. Yet she
answered him once again and in tones decided and severe:
“O foolish, foolish fellow!” she said. “If Fire had seized you and sent
you hither, your hair and beard would be singed, your eyebrows would be
scorched, your feet would be blistered. Three falsehoods you have told
me—yes, four barefaced lies you have shouted across the water. Now,
beware that you tell me not another. Speak with clean lips and say
truly why you have come hither with healthy body and with red heart
beating lustily.”
Then Wainamoinen saw that it was vain to practice deceit with one so
skilled in the ways of life and death. So he answered her truthfully
and half-ashamed: “I pray you, pardon the slippings of my tongue, for
my heart does not lend itself to falsehood. Months ago I began to build
a magic vessel in which to sail the northern seas. With one song I laid
the keel, with another I framed the gunwales, with a third I fastened
the ribs in their places. All my tools, my hammer, my auger, my saw, my
chisels, were words of magic. But, when my work was almost finished,
lo! my tools failed me. Three smooth holes still needed boring, three
strong bolts still needed driving, three broad planks still needed
fastening—and I lacked the three mystic words with which to do these
things. So I have come boldly to Tuonela to borrow the tools which I
desire so greatly—the three lost words that shall make my boat
seaworthy and safe. This, fair maiden, is the truth!”
“Stupid fellow!” cried Tuoni’s daughter. “You have neither wit nor
wisdom. Have you lived to be an old, old man and yet never learned that
the liar is sure to be discovered? And now that you speak the truth, do
you think that you deserve any favors from me?”
“I deserve nothing,” answered the Minstrel, humbly, contritely, yet
cunningly. “I only pray you to do me a great, although undeserved,
favor. Come and ferry me over the water.”
The dwarfish maiden hesitated, standing beside her boat. Then in
half-sad tones, as though in pity, she said, “You do not know what you
ask, foolish hero. Never has any one who came to my father’s palefaced
country returned to home or friends. This river being once crossed by
you, you can never cross again. Turn back while you can, and think not
to visit my father in his strong castle. Hasten away, and seek your own
home and kindred ere it is too late.”
The Minstrel heeded not her warning; for never yet had he abandoned a
task once begun.
“I am old,” he said, “and many are the perils I have faced and many the
dangers I have escaped. I am not a woman that I should say, ‘I cannot’;
I am not a coward that I should say, ‘I dare not!’ So, come now, tiny
daughter of Tuoni. Come, and quickly row me over your ferry.”
The maiden said not another word. She leaped into her boat, she seized
the oars, and with lightning speed she crossed the river. The broad,
flat-bottomed vessel grated against the shore where the Minstrel was
standing; he saw that it was roomy and large, and he stepped quickly
aboard, not looking behind him. Then, instantly, and without sound, ten
thousand shades who had been waiting unseen and intangible on the
shore, glided also into the boat and stood beside him. The tiny maiden
received each one silently, taking note of every mark or sign or other
means of recognition. When all were safely aboard, she again seized the
oars and with swift and sturdy strokes rowed her strong craft across
the stream.
“Farewell, brave but foolhardy hero!” she said as the boat touched the
farther shore and Wainamoinen leaped out upon the beach. “None but the
prince of wizards could thus have come to Tuonela; and yet there is no
magic strong enough to save you from your doom.”
But the Minstrel was undaunted. He buckled his girdle about him, and
with long strides hastened toward the great house which he knew must be
King Tuoni’s palace.
At the door the queen met him and softly welcomed him. “Come in, most
honored of guests!” she said. “Never before has a living hero dared to
cross this threshold.”
She led him into the broad hall, she seated him on soft cushions, she
threw a mantle of finest cloth over his shoulders. Then she brought him
food and drink, and bade him refresh himself and be joyful. But when he
lifted the covers of the enticing dishes, and when he looked into the
foaming pitchers, what did he see? Vile things in plenty—the poison of
serpents, the spawn of toads, shiny lizards, squirming worms—a medley
of horrors indescribable and foul.
“I thank you, mighty queen,” the Minstrel said politely, “but my errand
in Tuonela permits neither eating nor drinking. No morsel of food will
I taste until I have made known the business that brings me hither.”
Then in a few words wisely spoken he told her plainly, truly, the
object of his visit.
The queen listened, and her ashy-pale face grew paler still and an
unpitying smile overspread her joyless countenance. When he had
finished she answered him briefly and sternly:
“Truly there are magic words in plenty stored up in Tuoni’s treasure
houses; but they are neither sold nor lent nor yet given away. The king
imparts his knowledge to none; the secrets of his kingdom remain
unknown forever. Rash man! You have come hither uninvited; you shall
not soon depart.”
Even while she was speaking she began her spells of enchantment. She
waved her wand of slumber and chanted strange runes never heard on this
side of the dark water. Softly, very softly, she began to sing a weird
lullaby—a song of the silent land. And Wainamoinen neither spoke nor
made resistance, but, wrapping his cloak about him, he laid himself
down to sleep on the dread couch of King Tuoni.