Runo L: Marjatta

Marjatta the petted damselIn her home long time was growing,In the home of her great father,In her tender mother's dwelling,And five chains wore out completely,And six rings she wore out likewise;For her father's keys she used them,Which around her waist were hanging.

And she wore out half the threshold,With her skirts as she was passing,And she half destroyed the raftersWhere she hung her silken ribands,And she half destroyed the door-postsAs her fine sleeves rubbed against them,And the planking of the flooringWore away beneath her slippers.

Marjatta the petted damselWas a very little damsel,And was always pure and holy,And was ever very modest,And she fed on fish the finest,And the soft bark of the fir-tree,But the eggs of hens ate never,Over which the cocks were crowing,And the flesh of ewe she ate not,Had the ewe with ram been running.

If her mother sent her milking,Yet she did not go to milking,And she spoke the words which follow:"Never such a maid as I amUdders of the cows should handle,Which with bulls have been disporting,If no milk from calf is flowing,Or from calf it is not running."

If her father sent her sledging,In a stallion's sledge she went not,If a mare her brother brought her,Then these words the maiden uttered:"Never will I sit in mares' sledge,Which with stallion has been running,If no foals the sledge are drawing,Which have numbered six months only."

Marjatta the petted damsel,She who always lived a virgin,Always greeted as a maiden,Modest maid with locks unbraided,Went to lead the herds to pasture,And beside the sheep was walking.

On the hill the sheep were straying,To the top the lambs were climbing,On the plain the maiden wandered,Tripping through the alder bushes,While there called the golden cuckoo,And the silvery birds were singing.

Marjatta the petted damsel,Looked around her and she listened,Sitting on the hill of berries,Resting on the sloping hillside,And she spoke the words which follow,And in words like these expressed her:"Call thou on, O golden cuckoo,Sing thou still, O bird of silver,Sing thou from thy breast of silver!Tell me true, O Saxon strawberry,Shall I long remain unhooded,Long among the flocks as herd-girl,On the wide-extending heathlands,And the far-extending woodlands,For one summer, for two summers,Or for five or six of summers,Or perchance for ten long summers,Or the time fulfilled already?"

Marjatta the petted damsel,For a while lived on as herd-girl.Evil is the life of shepherd,Far too heavy for a maiden;In the grass a snake is creeping,In the grass the lizards wriggling.

But not there a snake was writhing,Nor in grass the lizards wriggling.From the hill there cried a berry,From the heath there cried a cranberry,"O thou maiden, come and pluck me,Rosy-cheeked one, come and gather,Come with breast of tin to pluck me,With thy copper belt to choose me,Ere the slug should come to eat me,Or the black worm should disturb me.

"There are hundreds who have seen me,Thousands more have sat beside me,Girls by hundreds, wives by thousands,Children, too, that none can number;None among them yet has touched me,None has gathered me, the wretched."

Marjatta the petted damsel,Went a very little distance,Went to look upon the berry,And the cranberry to gather,With her skilful hands to pluck it,With her beauteous hands to pluck it.

On the hill she found the berry,On the heath she found the cranberry;'Twas a berry in appearance,And it seemed to be a cranberry,But from ground too high for eating,On a tree too weak for climbing.

From the heath a stick she lifted,That she might pull down the berry;Then from ground the berry mountedUpward to her shoes so pretty,From her pretty shoes arose it,Upward to her knees of whiteness,Rising from her knees of whitenessUpward to her skirts that rustled.

To her buckled belt arose it,To her breast from buckled girdle,From her breast to chin arose it,To her lips from chin arose it,Then into her mouth it glided,And along her tongue it hastened,From her tongue to throat it glided,And it dropped into her stomach.

Marjatta the petted damsel,After this had chanced grew pregnant,And it soon increased upon her,And her burden soon was heavy.

Then she cast aside her girdle,Loosely dressed, without a girdle,Secretly she sought the bathroom,And she hid her in the darkness.

Always was her mother thinking,And her mother pondered ever:"What has chanced to our Marjatta,What has happened to our house-dove,That she casts aside her girdle,Always dresses loosely, beltless,Goes in secret to the bathroom,And she hides her in the darkness?"

And a baby gave her answer,And the little child made answer:"This has chanced to our Marjatta,This befel the wretched creature,She has been too long a herd-girl,With the flocks too far has wandered."

And she bore her heavy burden,And the pain it brought upon her,Bore it seven months, bore it eight months,Bore it through the ninth month also,By the reckoning of old women,And for half the tenth month also.

While the tenth month thus was passing,Then the girl was filled with anguish,Grievous sufferings came upon her,And the weight oppressed her sorely.

For a bath she asked her mother,"O my very dearest mother,Make a warm place ready for me,And a warm room ready for me,Where the girl awhile may rest her.In the house of suffering women."

But her mother gave her answer,Answered thus, the aged woman:"Woe to thee, O whore of Hiisi,Tell me now with whom thou restedst,With a man as yet unmarried,Or beside a married hero?"

Marjatta the petted damsel,Then replied to her in thiswise:"Neither with a man unmarried,Nor with any married hero,But I sought the hill of berries,And I went to pluck the cranberries,And I took what seemed a berry,And upon my tongue I laid it,Quickly in my throat it glided,And it dropped into my stomach.Thus it is that I am pregnant,Thus it comes that I am pregnant."

For a bath she asked her father,"O my very dearest father,Give me now a well-warmed refuge,Make a warm room ready for me,Where the suffering one may rest her,And the girl endure her suffering."

But her father gave her answer,Gave her back a shameful answer:"Go thou forth from here, O strumpet,Wander forth, O wench for burning,To the bears' own rocky caverns,To the caves where bears are lurking,Thither forth to bear, O strumpet,Bear thy children, wench of fire."

Marjatta the petted damsel,Then returned submissive answer:"Not at all am I a strumpet,Neither am a wench for burning;I shall bear a mighty hero,And shall bear a noble offspring,He shall be a mighty conqueror,Strong as even Väinämöinen."

Then the maid was greatly troubledWhere to go, and how to journey,Where a bath she might provide her,And she spoke the words which follow:"O my little damsel Piltti,Thou the best of all my handmaids,Find me now a bath in village,Find a bath near reed-fringed brooklet,Where the suffering one may rest her,And the girl endure her suffering.Go at once, and hasten quickly,For my need is of the greatest."

Then the little damsel Piltti,Answered in the words that follow:"Where am I to ask a bathroom,Who will help me to obtain it?"

Thereupon did our MarjattaAnswer in the words which follow:"Go and ask a bath from Ruotus,Near where issues forth the Reed-brook."

Then the little maiden PilttiListened to her words obedient,Always ready, heedless never,Always quick, avoiding gossip,Like a mist, away she hurried,To the yard like snake she hastened,With her hands her skirts she lifted,In her hands her dress she twisted,And upon her course she hastenedStraight unto the house of Ruotus.Hills re-echoed to her footsteps,Shook the mountains as she climbed them,On the heath the cones were dancing,Gravel scattered o'er the marshes;Thus she came to Ruotus' dwelling,And the house she quickly entered.

In his shirt sat wicked Ruotus,Eating, drinking like the great ones,In his shirt at end of table,In a shirt of finest linen,And he asked as he was eating,Grunted, leaning o'er the table,"What have you to say, you beggar,Wretch, why come you running hither?"

Then the little damsel PilttiAnswered in the words that follow:"Here I seek a village bathroom,Seek a bath near reed-fringed brooklet,That relief may reach the suffering,For the need is very pressing."

Then the wicked wife of RuotusPresently with arms a-kimbo,Slouched along upon the flooring,Swept to middle of the flooring,And she asked upon her coming,Speaking in the words which follow:"Who is seeking for a bathroom,Who is seeking for assistance?"

Said the little damsel Piltti,"Needed 'tis for our Marjatta."

Then the wicked wife of RuotusAnswered in the words that follow:"Vacant baths are rare in village,None at mouth of reed-fringed streamlet.There's a bath upon the clearing,And a stable in the pinewood,Where the whore may bear her children,And the vile one cast her offspring,While the horses there are breathing,Let her take a bath and welcome."

Then the little maiden Piltti,Hurried back with rapid footsteps,And upon her course she hastened,And she said on her arrival:"In the village is no bathroom,None beside the rush-fringed streamlet,And the wicked wife of Ruotus,Only spoke the words which follow:'Vacant baths are none in village,None at mouth of reed-fringed streamlet.There's a bath upon the clearing,And a stable in the pinewood,Where the whore may bear her children,And the vile one cast her offspring,While the horses there are breathing,Let her take a bath and welcome.'This was all she said unto me,This is truly what she answered."

Marjatta the hapless maidenWhen she heard, burst forth in weeping,And she spoke the words that follow:"Thither must I then betake me,Even like an outcast labourer,Even like a hired servant,I must go upon the clearing,And must wander to the pinewood."

In her hands her skirt she lifted,With her hands her skirt she twisted,And she took the bath-whisks with her,Of the softest leaves and branches,And with hasty steps went onward,In the greatest pain of body,To the stable in the pinewood,And the stall on hill of Tapio.

And she spoke the words which follow,And in words like these expressed her:"Come thou to my aid, Creator,To my aid, O thou most gracious,In this anxious time of labour,In this time of hardest labour.Free the damsel from her burden,From her pains release the woman,That she perish not in torment,May not perish in her anguish."

When at length her journey ended,Then she spoke the words which follow:"O thou good horse, breathe upon me,O thou draught-foal, snort upon me,Breathe a vapour-bath around me,Send thou warmth throughout the bathroom,That relief may reach the sufferer,For the need is very pressing."

Then the good horse breathed upon her,And the draught-foal snorted on her,Over all her suffering body.When the horse desisted breathing,Steam was spread throughout the stable,Like the steam of boiling water.

Marjatta the hapless maiden,She, the holy little maiden,Bathed her in a bath sufficient,Till she had relieved her suffering,And a little boy was born her,And a sinless child was given,On the hay in horses' stable,On the hay in horses' manger.

Then she washed the little infant,And in swaddling-clothes she wrapped him,On her knees she took the infant,And she wrapped her garments round him.There she reared the little infant,Thus she reared the beauteous infant,Reared her little golden apple,And her little staff of silver,And upon her lap she nursed it,With her hands did she caress it.

On her knees she laid the infant,On her lap she laid the infant,And began to brush his hair straight,And began to smooth his hair down,When from off her knees he vanished,From her lap the infant vanished.

Marjatta the hapless maidenFell into the greatest trouble,And she hurried off to seek him,Seek her little boy, the infant,And she sought her golden apple,Sought her little staff of silver,Sought him underneath the millstones,Underneath the sledge while running,Underneath the sieve while sifting,Underneath the lidless basket;Trees she moved, and grass divided,Spreading out the tender herbage.

Long the little boy she sought for,Sought her son, the little infant,Sought him through the hills and pinewoods,On the heath among the heather,Searched through every tuft of heather,And in every bush she sought him,Roots of juniper updigging,And of trees the branches straightening.

Then she thought to wander further,And she went upon her wanderings,And there came a star to meet her,And before the star she bowed her."Star, whom Jumala created,Know you nothing of my infant,Where my little son is hidden,Where is hid my golden apple?"

And the star made answer to her:"If I knew I would not tell it.He it was who me created,Made me, through these days of evilIn the cold to shine for ever,And to glimmer through the darkness."

Then she thought to wander further,And she went upon her wanderings,And the moon came next to meet her,And she bowed herself before him."Moon, whom Jumala created,Know you nothing of my infant,Where my little son is hidden,Where is hid my golden apple?"

And the moon made answer to her:"If I knew I would not tell it.He it was who me created,Always in these days of evilThrough the night to watch all lonely,And to sleep throughout the daytime."

Then she thought to wander further,And she went upon her wanderings,And there came the sun to meet her,And she bowed herself before him."Sun, whom Jumala created,Know you nothing of my infant,Where my little son is hidden,Where is hid my golden apple?"

And the sun made answer wisely:"Well indeed I know your infant.He it was who me created,In these days of finest weather,Golden rays to shed about me,Silver rays to scatter round me.

"Well indeed I know your infant,Know your son, unhappy mother!There thy little son is hidden,There is hid thy golden apple,In the swamps to waistband sunken,To his arm-pits in the marshlands."

Marjatta the hapless maidenSought her infant in the marshes,In the swamps her son discovered,And she brought him home in triumph.Then the son of our MarjattaGrew into a youth most beauteous,But they knew not what to call him,Did not know what name to give him,But his mother called him Floweret,And the strangers called him Sluggard.

And they sought a man to cross him,And to sprinkle him with water;And an old man came to cross him,Virokannas to baptize him.

Then these words the old man uttered,And in words like these expressed him:"With the cross I will not sign him,Nor will I baptize the infant,Not till he has been examined,And a judgment passed upon him."

Who shall dare to come to try him,Test him, and pass sentence on him?Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,He the great primeval sorcerer,He alone came forth to try him,And to test him and pass sentence.

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,Sentence gave in words that follow:"As the boy from marsh has risen,From the ground, and from a berry,On the ground they now shall lay him,Where the hills are thick with berries,Or shall to the swamps conduct him,On the trees his head to shatter."

Then the half-month old spoke loudly,And the fortnight-old cried loudly:"O thou old and wretched creature,Wretched old man, void of insight,O how stupid is your judgment,How contemptible thy sentence!Thou hast grievous crimes committed,Likewise deeds of greatest folly,Yet to swamps they did not lead thee,Shattered not thy head on tree-trunks,When thyself, in youthful folly,Gave the child of thine own mother,That thou thus mightst 'scape destruction,And release thyself in thiswise.

"And again thou wast not carried,And abandoned in the marshes,When thyself in youthful folly,Caused the young maids to be sunken,In the depths beneath the billows,To the black ooze at the bottom."

Then the old man quickly crossed him,Quick baptized the child with water,As the king of all Carelia,And the lord of all the mighty.

Then was Väinämöinen angry,Greatly shamed and greatly angry,And prepared himself to journeyFrom the lake's extended margin,And began his songs of magic,For the last time sang them loudly,Sang himself a boat of copper,With a copper deck provided.

In the stern himself he seated,Sailing o'er the sparkling billows,Still he sang on his departure,And he sang as he was sailing:"May the time pass quickly o'er us,One day passes, comes another,And again shall I be needed.Men will look for me, and miss me,To construct another Sampo,And another harp to make me,Make another moon for gleaming,And another sun for shining.When the sun and moon are absent,In the air no joy remaineth."

Then the aged VäinämöinenWent upon his journey singing,Sailing in his boat of copper,In his vessel made of copper,Sailed away to loftier regions,To the land beneath the heavens.

There he rested with his vessel,Rested weary, with his vessel,But his kantele he left us,Left his charming harp in Suomi,For his people's lasting pleasure,Mighty songs for Suomi's children.

Now my mouth must cease from speaking,And my tongue be bound securely,Cease the chanting of my verses,And my lively songs abandon.Even thus must horses rest them,When a long course is completed,Even iron must be weariedWhen the grass is mown in summer,And the water-drops be weary,As they trace the river's windings,And the fire must be extinguishedWhen throughout the night 'tis burning.Wherefore should our songs not falter;As our sweet songs we are singing,For the lengthy evenings' pleasure,Singing later than the sunset?

Thus I heard the people talking,And again it was repeated:"E'en the waterfall when flowingYields no endless stream of water,Nor does an accomplished singer,Sing till all his knowledge fail him.Better 'tis to sit in silenceThan to break off in the middle."

Now my song remains completed,'Tis completed and abandoned.In a ball I wind my lays up,As a ball I cast them from me,On the storehouse floor I lay them,With a lock of bone secure them,That from thence escape they never,Nor in time may be untwisted,Not unless the lock be opened,And its jaws should be extended,Not unless the teeth be opened,And the tongue again is moving.

What would now avail my singing,If the songs I sang were bad ones,If I sang in every valley,And I sang in every firwood?For my mother lives no longer,Wakes no more my own old mother,Nor my golden one can hear me,Nought can learn my dear old mother,None would hear me but the fir-trees,Learn, save branches of the pine-trees,Or the tender leaves of birch-trees,Or the charming mountain ash-tree.

I was small when died my mother,Weak was I without my mother;On the stones like lark she left me,On the rocks like thrush she left me,Left me like a lark to sing there,Or to sing as sings the throstle,In the wardship of a stranger,At the will of a step-mother,And she drove me forth, unhappy,Forth she drove the unloved infant,To a wind-swept home she drove me,To the north-wind's home she drove meThat against the wind defenceless,Winds might sweep away the orphan.

Like a lark away I wandered,Like a hapless bird I wanderedShelterless about the country;Wearily I wandered onward,Till with every wind acquainted,I their roaring comprehended;In the frost I learned to shudder,And I learned to cry with freezing.

Even now do many people,Many people I encounter,Speak to me in angry accents,Rudest speeches hurl against me,Curses on my tongue they shower,And about my voice cry loudly,Likewise they abuse my grumblingAnd they call my songs too lengthy,And they say I sing too badly,And my song's accented wrongly.

May you not, O friendly people,As a wondrous thing regard itThat I sang so much in childhood,And when small, I sang so badly.I received no store of learning,Never travelled to the learned.Foreign words were never taught me,Neither songs from distant countries.Others have had all instruction,From my home I journeyed never,Always did I help my mother,And I dwelt for ever near her,In the house received instruction,'Neath the rafters of my storehouse,By the spindle of my mother,By my brother's heap of shavings,In my very earliest childhood,In a shirt that hung in tatters.

But let this be as it may be,I have shown the way to singers,Showed the way, and broke the tree-tops,Cut the branches, shown the pathways.This way therefore leads the pathway,Here the path lies newly opened,Widely open for the singers,And for greater ballad singers,For the young, who now are growing,For the rising generation.