Troubadour Tales 4

Troubadour Tales 4

Elsa knew a great number of these song-stories and delighted above all

things to learn a new one. But, as she sat by the fire, the warmth at

last made her drowsy; presently the harp fell from her hands, and still

leaning against her father she dropped into a sound sleep.

 

The next morning was crisp and frosty, but the sun, rising in a strange

slanting ring, tempered the September chill almost to mildness. Indeed

the sun behaves very oddly in Finland; it was then circling round the

sky in its autumn course, never setting, as in our country, but staying

up a little way all night, and all the while weaving its spiral rings

lower and lower down the sky. By and by it would hide altogether and

not show itself for many weeks. So while the light lasted every one was

making the most of it.

 

Elsa was astir early; breakfast had long been over; she had swept the

house with the broom of birch twigs, and was now outside the cottage

helping her mother churn.

 

As she pushed the wooden dasher up and down, the wind blew the color

into her cheeks and her hair about her face. She wore a close little

woolen hood, a homespun dress and a long apron embroidered in bright

colors, 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; but

who, 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 carts

of Finland. As she looked, it turned into the narrow lane of birch

trees 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 journeying

through the country. Last night he passed at our farm and to-night he

would spend at thine. He wishes much to speak with peasant Sveaborg

about certain matters he is seeking to learn.” Then catching sight of

Elsa, “Good morrow to thee, Elsa! How comes the churning? It hath made

thy 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 beard

were gray. He was wrapped in a long traveling cloak, and walked with

a staff. As Fru Sveaborg led the way to the cottage door he coughed

slightly and drew his cloak closer about him.

 

Within the living-room, the Fru hastened to set before them fresh milk

and bread, and then she and Jan gossiped a while over farm matters,

while the stranger, who seemed weary, went to rest in the little guest

chamber, which was always in readiness for travelers.

 

In the afternoon, as Elsa sat by the fireplace spinning, Herr Lönnrot

came into the room, and seating himself on the bench, began to talk to

her.

 

“Art very busy, little one?” he said; “canst thou not sing a song for

an old man? I trow yonder tiny kantele fits thy fingers as if fashioned

for them!”

 

“Aye, sir,” answered Elsa shyly, “if thou really wishest, I will sing

the little charm-song I have just learned.”

 

With this she took the kantele, and drawing a wooden stool beside the

bench began to sing. Though her voice rose somewhat timidly at first,

presently she lost herself in the music and poetry, and sang many of

the strange Finnish songs.

 

As Herr Lönnrot listened to the little girl his eyes brightened and he

smiled with pleasure; and when, by and by, she ceased, he drew her to

his side and stroked her hair.

 

He then questioned her carefully about the songs that she and her

father knew, and told her that he himself was even then traveling

through Finland for the express purpose of gathering together all the

songs of the peasant folk, though not so much for the music as for the

sake of the words, which he was most anxious to learn. He told her

further, how, for many years, the great scholars of Finland had been

certain that a great and wonderfully beautiful song-story, a story of

heroes and wizards and fairies, had become broken up and scattered

among the people, just as if some beautiful stained-glass window should

come to pieces, and the different fragments fall into the hands of many

different persons, and be scattered about so that no one could make

out the first picture unless all the pieces could be found and fitted

together again.

 

Now the song-story, Herr Lönnrot said, was made up ages before; long

before people had paper or pens with which to write. So the story had

been handed down from parents to their children, who sang it from year

to year simply from memory; for people had wonderful memories in those

days.

 

It had begun so very long ago, however, and the whole story was so

long, that the peasant folk had gradually forgotten parts of it; in

some families one part or rune, as the people called it, would be

handed down from generation to generation, and in others, some other

part.

 

Now Herr Lönnrot was a physician of much learning, and aside from

his work of healing the sick, he had a great fondness for beautiful

stories. He had spent much time among the peasants especially to learn

such parts of the lost song-story as they might happen to know, and was

now devoting his old age to gathering up as many as possible of these

runes.

 

And then, he told Elsa, he intended to fit them together and write them

down so that none should ever again be forgotten, and so that the

whole world might read this great Finnish story.

 

“Ah,” said Herr Lönnrot, with kindling eyes, “every one who has love

for old Finland should help save this wonderful song, for ’twill be to

the glory of our nation, even as the songs of Homer have been to the

glory of the Greeks!”

 

And in this Herr Lönnrot spoke what is perfectly true: for all wise

persons know that to add a beautiful poem or song or story to the

collection that every nation gradually makes up for itself, is rightly

considered a far more glorious thing than to discover a whole mountain

of gold and diamonds. And so the Herr wished greatly to find and

restore this beautiful scattered story to the poetic wealth of Finland

and of the world.

 

He then went on to explain to Elsa that the scholars found these songs

to cluster about three ancient heroes, and of these, one, the mighty

wizard Wainamoinen, was the most powerful of all.

 

Here Elsa, who had been listening attentively, smiled.

 

“Yes,” she said, “I know many songs of Wainamoinen and the rest.”

 

“Of that I am sure,” said Herr Lönnrot; “but there is one rune that

tells of the birth of the harp: how Wainamoinen fashioned the first

kantele from the bones of a magic fish, and how he sang with such

marvelous sweetness that all living things drew near to harken to him.

Of this rune I have heard many peasant-singers speak, but have sought

in vain for one who can teach me the whole of it. And I must find it

before I can complete the story!”

 

Here Herr Lönnrot sighed, and dropping his head upon his breast seemed

lost in thought. Presently a fit of coughing seized him; and then he

continued:

 

“Dost think, little one, that thy father knows aught of this rune?”

 

[Illustration]

 

Elsa thought very hard trying to recall the rune; she was obliged to

answer:

 

“Nay, sir; in truth he hath taught me many runes about Wainamoinen and

the others, but I know not how the harp was born. But,” she added,

“my father will be home at supper-time; he is helping thatch neighbor

Friedvic’s new barn, and perhaps he can tell thee!”

 

“Perhaps,” said Herr Lönnrot. “Thy neighbor Jan told me he thought thy

father knew something of this rune I seek.”

 

Even as they talked, a whistle sounded without, and Elsa clapped her

hands joyously.

 

“There is my father now!” and bounding to the door she flung it wide

open. As the peasant Sveaborg stepped within, seeing Herr Lönnrot, he

took off his cap and greeted him kindly, for strangers were always

welcome at the Sveaborg farm.

 

When the Herr told him why he was journeying through the country, and

of the lost rune he was seeking, Elsa’s father grew much interested.

 

“The birth of the harp! Ah, sir,” said he, “I know not the whole rune

myself, but I know of a peasant who does. I have heard him sing it,

and truly ’tis of marvelous beauty! But he is very aged, and odd,

sir”—here peasant Sveaborg tapped his forehead meaningly “and will

teach it to no one else. Even now, I have been told, he is very ill,

and like to die. I know not if thou canst learn aught from him, but if

thou wishest, I will take thee thither to-morrow.” And while they were

busy arranging the trip for the morrow, Fru Sveaborg came in, and with

Elsa’s help soon set out the evening meal.

 

As they ate their bowls of _pimea_ or sour milk, which is the chief

part of every Finnish meal, Herr Lönnrot entertained them with

wonderful stories of his travels and news of the outside world,

till all were charmed; and Elsa, especially, thought him the most

delightful traveler their roof had ever sheltered. Her admiration for

him deepened as the evening wore on, for the Herr, though evidently in

feeble health and weary from his journey, yet talked so pleasantly that

all were sorry when by and by he bade them good night.

 

The next morning at breakfast, Herr Lönnrot did not appear; but the