From the book
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Village “Big Hill” is very picturesque… For just kaksygrivna (20 kopeks) – Korels’ favourite coin, (they don’t like asking more or less than that) I bought twelve-string Finnish kantele (“gantele” in Korelian) in some home. Kantele is an ancient Finnish musical instrument, carved of a piece of wood. It looks a lot like Russian gusli. According to the ancient legend, great Väinämöinen was playing it at the time of his creation of the universe. That extremely intersting and original Finnish saga about world creation is the foundation of a poem called “Kalevala”. Kantele is a rare thing nowadays and not many know how to play on it. On my plea to play kantele, Korels excused themselves by pretence of lacking skills. I’ve already lost hope to hear folk music here, when suddenly, walking by the village I saw blind gray old man, who was basking in late afternoon sun. He didn’t know a word in Russian, and when somebody has put kantele in his hands, he tenderly touched the strings and dreamingly smiled remembering something from a long time ago with the help of its sounds. He quickly tuned the instrument, and sad native melody filled the air. Kantele has deep soft sound, slightly sad, melancholic but at the same time magnificent. . . . In wild forests and sacred groves, where pagan Korels performed their rituals some time ago, these deep solemn sounds would have filled Korelian soul with that sacred trembling which by forest magic is still around. …Soon almost the whole village gathered by the fence. Old man sat near and played kantele. Even Korels themselves rarely heard him play. He didn’t have many melodies, so when I asked to play some old Korelian songs, he played something that he, himself couldn’t explain. The notes, although wild, sad, and interrupted by long pauses were undisputably beautiful. Later he played Barynja and Kazachok (traditional Russian melodies) and his fingers were running swiftly over 12 kantele’s strings. I’ve seen many nice faces in Korelian crowd. Slightly ginger- headed, with long messed hair, fair coloured moustaches and light blue eyes, listeners sat childishly on the fence, listened to the music and looked with curiosity at me – the stranger… There was almost nighttime, but old man had played and played his two or three melodies. Last rays of evening sun were falling on reddish Korelian faces, leaving fine childishly pure impression… but it was time to go. Translated by Margarita Matthew, 2024 |