🧚 The Golden Maiden · page 2

It was not that which the Smith had hoped to see, for the ill-working serving-men had broken the spells that he was weaving.81 It was not a golden war-steed with shoes of silver.82 It was not a monstrous eagle with beak of hardest iron.83 It was only a young lamb, small and feeble, with fleece of mingled gold and silver.84

Ilmarinen looked at the tiny beast and felt no pleasure.85 A child might have liked it as a plaything, but a hero delights not in useless toys.86

“I did not call for you, my lambkin,” he said, disappointed and sorrowing.87 “You are gentle, you are harmless, but my magic spells should have wrought something far better and more beautiful.88 I desire a golden maiden and no other form will please me.”89

So saying, he thrust the lamb back into the boiling caldron, forcing it down to the very bottom.90 Then he threw in more gold, and with each handful of the yellow metal he muttered a new rune of magic words and magic import.91 The fire burned fitfully beneath and around the caldron.92 Tongues of blue flame encircled it, sheets of white flame enveloped it, a sound like the humming of bees issued from its broad mouth.93

Ilmarinen threw fresh coal into the furnace and heaped it high above the draught hole.94 He worked the bellows, steadily, gently, persistently.95 The fire roared, the flames danced, the heat became intense.96 For hours the hero labored without cessation; for hours he muttered spells of enchantment, suffering nothing to break in upon his thoughts or distract from the mystic power of his words.97 When he at last, had reached the end, had recited all the proper runes and sayings, he stopped blowing the bellows, and with great caution stooped down and looked into the caldron.98

The flames died suddenly away, and out of the vessel there sprang a wonderful image—the image of a beautiful maiden.99 In face and form she was indeed lovely—lovelier than any other woman, save one, that Ilmarinen had ever seen.100 Her head was of silver and her hair was golden.101 Her eyes sparkled like precious stones and were blue as the summer sky, yet she saw nothing.102 Her ears were dainty and blushing like pink rose leaves, yet she heard nothing.103 Her lips were tender and sweet and red like twin cranberries meeting beneath her faultless nose, yet she tasted not, smelled nothing.104 Her mouth served not for speaking nor yet for eating or smiling.105 Her fingers were long and tapering and her hands small and shapely, yet she felt nothing.106 Her feet were well-formed and comely, yet they would not support her, she could not stand.107

“O my loved one!108 O my lost one!109 O thou who wert once the Maid of Beauty, come and dwell in this golden body!” cried the enraptured Smith.110 “Come, and once more be the joy of my poor life!”111

He lifted the Golden Maiden and placed her in the cushioned seat wherein his lost wife had often reposed.112 He put his arm around her waist, but she did not return his caress.113 He kissed her cherry red lips, but they were cold, cold, cold.114 He spoke many endearing words in her ear, but she gave him no answer.115 He took her hands between his own, but there was no throbbing of life in them.116

“She is cold, so cold!” he muttered.117 “She is like ice, like snow in midwinter!”118

Then he laid her on a silken couch, put soft pillows beneath her head, and covered her with warm blankets and quilted coverlets.119 And as he did so he prayed unceasingly to the dear dead one whom he had loved so much:120

“O thou who wert once the Maid of Beauty, come and dwell in this body of gold!121 Come and give life to this precious maiden; fill her veins with blood, give warmth to her body, sight to her eyes, hearing to her ears!”122

All night long he sat beside the couch, holding the maiden’s hands and breathing his own warm breath into her face.123 All night long he moaned and wept and called the name of his lost wife whom the beasts had devoured.124 At length the new day dawned and the sunlight streamed into the room and fell upon the couch.125 The Golden Maiden was as cold as before, her face was white with frost, her body was frozen to the blankets.126

“Ah, me! there is no hope!” said the Smith, despairing utterly; and he lifted the image from its resting place.127 “Never will the dead come to life again, never will my loved one return to me.128 Henceforth I shall walk alone upon the earth.”129

He took the Golden Maiden gently in his arms, he smoothed the drapery about her, and carried her to his old friend, the Minstrel.130

“O Wainamoinen, tried and true!” he cried.131 “Here I bring you a present—a maiden of great worth, golden and beautiful.132 See her fair face, her comely form, her feet so small and shapely.”133

The Minstrel, wise and steadfast, looked at the image closely, admiringly.134 Then he said, “She is indeed a pretty maiden, and the likeness is perfect.135 But wherefore do you bring her to me?”136

“Dear brother, friend, companion,” answered the Smith, “I bring her to you because I love you, because I would make you happy.137 Years ago we both wooed the same Maid of Beauty.138 I won her because I was young; you lost her because you were old.139 I know what must have been your sorrow and disappointment.140 Now, when there can be no more joy for me, I bring you this Golden Maiden to be your solace and delight.141 She has the form and features of the Maid of Beauty, and I doubt not she will please you.142 She will sit on your knee and nestle dovelike in your arms—and she is worth her weight in gold.”143

“I want no golden maiden!” cried the Minstrel half angrily, sternly.144 “For what is gold without sense, without soul?145 I have heard of young fools who wedded silly maidens, brainless women, soulless ladies, just for gold.146 But think you that one in my position would stoop to such folly?”147

“I know that you are wise, my brother,” said the Smith, “and you are the master of all magic.148 Perhaps you might endow this Golden Maiden with sense, with warm blood, with a noble soul.”149

“Jumala alone has that power,” answered Wainamoinen, “and to Jumala let us give all praise.150 Carry this image back to your smithy, thrust the Golden Maiden into your furnace, and then you may forge from her all sorts of objects, beautiful, useful, precious.151 For never will your Maid of Beauty return from Tuonela to dwell in a body so base and worthless.”152

Sorrowfully, regretfully, Ilmarinen obeyed.153 Back to his smithy he carried the golden image; he thrust it into his furnace; he watched it melt and disappear in the terrible heat.154 Then he turned himself about and walked out silently into the darkness.155 And for many a sad day the people of Wainola sought him in vain and then mourned him as dead.156