THE LOST RUNE
THE LEGEND OF A LOST POEM AND THE ADVENTURES OF LITTLE ELSA IN RESTORING IT TO HER PEOPLE
Eery, airy, Elf and fairy, Steep me deep in magic dreams! Charm from harm of water witches, Guide where hide the hoarded riches Sunken in Suomi streams!
As the strains of Elsa’s voice floated up and wandered away amongthe cottage rafters, “Bravo”! cried her father; “bravo, little one!Already thou singest like the April cuckoo!” Elsa, the little Finnishgirl thus addressed, smiled with pleasure, and nestled closer to herfather’s reindeer coat as he proudly patted her fair hair and gave heran approving hug.
The two were sitting on a rude bench drawn out from the cottage wall;and here they had been all the evening, singing snatches of strangeold songs, and toasting their toes at the turf fire that blazed in thegreat fireplace.
It was barely September, but in the far North, the winter begins earlyand the winds sweep with a bitter chill across the wide plains ofSuomi, the old name by which the Finnish people love best to call theirland.
Elsa’s father and mother—the mother was now drowsing over herknitting, on the other side of the hearth—were well-to-do peasantfarmer folk. They owned the land, called from their name the “Sveaborgfarm,” and the cottage, which was large of its kind; that is to say, ithad two rooms besides the great living-room and the loft.
One of these extra rooms, however, was set apart for the use ofoccasional travelers; for in Finland, through the country, inns of anykind are very few, and at that time, as now, certain of the betterfarm-houses were set apart as places where travelers might be sure ofentertainment for the night at least. As Elsa’s home lay on one of themain roads, the cottage now and then sheltered one of the few strangerswho sometimes journey through the land.
The other little chamber belonged to Elsa, who was the only child;but the main business of living was carried on in the great room withthe hearth. It was a quaint place, broad and low; the walls werecovered with a rough plaster, and overhead the rafters showed brownwith smoke; just below these were fastened two slender poles from oneof which hung festoons of dried herbs, while on the other were strunga great number of large flat brown rings, which were nothing lessthan the family bread for the winter. For the Finnish peasants do nottrouble themselves to bake too often, and they like their bread madeinto these curious ring-shaped loaves which they thus hang away untilneeded; nor do they mind how hard and dry it becomes.
On one side of the cottage walls were several large presses wherecheeses were making; and opposite these were two little doors thatseemed to open into cupboards; cupboards, however, where no Finnishchild would ever think of looking for jam or sweetmeats, for, as is thecustom of the country, behind the doors were fastened in the thick walltwo shelf-like beds, where Elsa’s father and mother slept.
But the chief feature, the heart of all the room, was the greatfireplace; at one side of it was built a huge brick oven, in whichElsa’s mother baked the queer flat-bread for the family, and sometimes,when the nights were very, very cold, she would make for Elsa a littlebed on top of the warm bricks, which was always so cozy that the littlegirl did not care that it was a trifle hard.
The broad hearth in front of the oven was also of brick, and thishearth, as in every peasant’s cottage, was the favorite gatheringplace. Here through the long winter evenings, and days when the sunbarely peeped above the horizon, they loved to sit and sing over theirquaint old songs and repeat in verse the strange and beautiful storiesthat have been handed down in Finland for hundreds, perhaps thousands,of years.
Indeed, all Finnish peasants have always been wonderfully fond of musicand poetry, and, to this day, as in Elsa’s time—which was nearly ahundred years ago—in almost every house may be found at least oneof the curious harps of ancient shape, which the people make forthemselves out of bone or wood. There are but few peasants who can notsing some old story to the music of this instrument which they call“kantele.”
Elsa’s father was an especially skilful harper, and Elsa herself seemedto inherit a large part of his passion for music and poetry. He hadmade for her a little kantele of her own, and to the soft weird musicshe struck from its strings, she sang her little song,
Eery, airy, Elf and fairy.
These lines, however, were but the beginning of a song intended tocharm and overpower the wicked water-witches; for, as all the worldknows, Finland is the home of all manner of fairy folk, of elves andgnomes and wizards and witches; at least so all Finnish folk declare;and innumerable are the charm-songs and incantations and marveloustales handed down from generation to generation, telling of the witchesand fairies of Suomi.
Elsa knew a great number of these song-stories and delighted above allthings to learn a new one. But, as she sat by the fire, the warmth atlast made her drowsy; presently the harp fell from her hands, and stillleaning against her father she dropped into a sound sleep.
The next morning was crisp and frosty, but the sun, rising in a strangeslanting ring, tempered the September chill almost to mildness. Indeedthe sun behaves very oddly in Finland; it was then circling round thesky in its autumn course, never setting, as in our country, but stayingup a little way all night, and all the while weaving its spiral ringslower and lower down the sky. By and by it would hide altogether andnot show itself for many weeks. So while the light lasted every one wasmaking the most of it.
Elsa was astir early; breakfast had long been over; she had swept thehouse with the broom of birch twigs, and was now outside the cottagehelping her mother churn.
As she pushed the wooden dasher up and down, the wind blew the colorinto her cheeks and her hair about her face. She wore a close littlewoolen hood, a homespun dress and a long apron embroidered in brightcolors, and on her feet were wooden shoes.
All at once Elsa’s quick ears caught the sound of wheels.
“See, mother!” she exclaimed, “there is Jan of the Ohlsen farm; butwho, thinkest thou, is the stranger beside him?”
Fru Sveaborg shaded her eyes with her hand, and sure enough, saw,jogging up the road, a pony dragging one of the odd two-wheeled cartsof Finland. As she looked, it turned into the narrow lane of birchtrees leading to the cottage.
Jan drew rein.
“Good morrow, neighbor Sveaborg!” he called out.
Then as the Fru left her churn and came toward them, he said:
“This traveler is Herr Lönnrot, from Helsingfors, who is journeyingthrough the country. Last night he passed at our farm and to-night hewould spend at thine. He wishes much to speak with peasant Sveaborgabout certain matters he is seeking to learn.” Then catching sight ofElsa, “Good morrow to thee, Elsa! How comes the churning? It hath madethy cheeks red as cloud-berries!”
Elsa shyly drew near her mother, as the latter greeted Jan, and,courtesying to the stranger, assured him of a welcome at their home.
Jan then jumped from the cart to help Herr Lönnrot, who was an old man.He had a gentle face with kindly blue eyes, and his hair and beardwere gray. He was wrapped in a long traveling cloak, and walked witha staff. As Fru Sveaborg led the way to the cottage door he coughedslightly and drew his cloak closer about him.
Within the living-room, the Fru hastened to set before them fresh milkand bread, and then she and Jan gossiped a while over farm matters,while the stranger, who seemed weary, went to rest in the little guestchamber, which was always in readiness for travelers.
In the afternoon, as Elsa sat by the fireplace spinning, Herr Lönnrotcame into the room, and seating himself on the bench, began to talk toher.
“Art very busy, little one?” he said; “canst thou not sing a song foran old man? I trow yonder tiny kantele fits thy fingers as if fashionedfor them!”
“Aye, sir,” answered Elsa shyly, “if thou really wishest, I will singthe little charm-song I have just learned.”
With this she took the kantele, and draw
ing a wooden stool beside thebench began to sing. Though her voice rose somewhat timidly at first,presently she lost herself in the music and poetry, and sang many ofthe strange Finnish songs.
As Herr Lönnrot listened to the little girl his eyes brightened and hesmiled with pleasure; and when, by and by, she ceased, he drew her tohis side and stroked her hair.
He then questioned her carefully about the songs that she and herfather knew, and told her that he himself was even then travelingthrough Finland for the express purpose of gathering together all thesongs of the peasant folk, though not so much for the music as for thesake of the words, which he was most anxious to learn. He told herfurther, how, for many years, the great scholars of Finland had beencertain that a great and wonderfully beautiful song-story, a story ofheroes and wizards and fairies, had become broken up and scatteredamong the people, just as if some beautiful stained-glass window shouldcome to pieces, and the different fragments fall into the hands of manydifferent persons, and be scattered about so that no one could makeout the first picture unless all the pieces could be found and fittedtogether