A sort of Northern Apollo, who is named
Wannemunna, and is, doubtless, the Wäinämöinen
of the Finns, is an important personage in
Esthonian mythology. According to another
legend of the Emmajöggi, the whole human race
and all the animals were summoned to the
mountain formed of the earth thrown up in
the great digging, that they might be instructed
by Wannemunna in the art of song. When
they were all assembled, a rustling sound was
heard in the air, and Wannemunna alighted on
the hill-top, where he smoothed his ringlets,
shook his garments, stroked his beard, cleared
his voice, and executed on a stringed instrument
a prelude, which was immediately followed by a
song that delighted all hearers, and most of all
the vocalist himself (a state of things by no
means peculiar to Esthonia). The Emmajöggi
stopped her course, the wind forgot to blow,
the beasts and birds listened attentively: in fact,
all the incidents that usually follow the performance
of an Orpheus took place on this occasion.
But most of the auditors were unable to take in
the whole of what they heard. The trees only
retained the rustling in the air which
accompanied the musician's descent, and they imitate
it with their leaves to this day. The
Emmajöggi caught the rustling sound of his garment,
and still repeats it in the rushing of her waters.
The harshest notes of the music were retained
by the winds. The singing-birds, especially the
lark and the nightingale, mastered the prelude.
In short, every creature caught something, save
the fish, who carried their eyes, but not their
ears, above the surface of the water, and thus
merely saw the movement of the musician's lips,
without hearing the sound of his voice. Hence,
to the present day, they are dumb, though they
move their mouths. Man alone could understand
the whole of Wannemunna's song, as he
sang of the vastness of the heavens, of the
glory of the earth, of the pleasant banks of the
Emmajöggi, and of the destinies of the human
race. And so much was Wannemunna
penetrated by the beauty of his own performance, that
the tears he shed wetted six coats and seven
shirts completely through. Thus, thoroughly
watered, he ascended to the dwelling of Old
Father, that he might regale him with his music
and his song. Privileged ears may sometimes
hear him even now, as he sings on high, and
from time to time he sends his messages to earth,
that man may not altogether lose the gift of
song. And at some distant day he will come
again to earth, and bestow happiness on
Esthonia.

What a lovely story would this be were it
not for the unlucky shirts and coats! But those
who are accustomed to the legends of primitive
races will not be startled by leaps from the
sublime to the ridiculous.

Esthonia is not entirely destitute of heroic
legends. The giant Kallewe Poeg is, to all
intents and purposes, an Esthonian Hercules,
immortalised by his feats of strength. As his
name signifies, he was the son of Kallewe, an
ancient deity, who was a mighty ruler in his
time, and who, when he was on his death-bed,
told his wife that after his decease she would
bring forth a son more strongly resembling his
father than two others already in the world.
He would not divide his dominions, but said,
that when his youngest son had grown up, the
right of succeeding to the paternal rule should
be settled by lot. His disconsolate widow dug
for him a grave with her own hands, and raised
over it a heap of stones, on the coast near Revel.

The trial of skill that was to settle the
question of succession to the dominions of Kallewe
occurred on the borders of a lake near Dorpat.
The three brothers took as many large stones of
equal weight, and threw them in the order of
their ages. The two elder were, of course,
defeated by the youngest, and quietly departed,
leaving him on his father's throne. A large block
of granite, split by lightning, and about half as
high again as an average man, is still shown in
the vicinity of the lake as the stone flung by
Kallewe Poeg.

When his land was threatened with an
invasion, Kallewe Poeg walked through the great
lake Peipus to fetch planks from the opposite
side, and returned with twelve dozen, though
he had been put to a considerable inconvenience
by a rough-headed sorcerer, who had blown
upon the waters till they were mountains high,
and nearly reached his waist. As soon as he
had recrossed, he fell asleep on a hill that is
still known as the "Kallewe Poeg Säng" (bed
of Kallewe Poeg); and while he was in this
helpless condition, snoring so mightily that the
neighbouring mountains groaned, his sword was
stolen by his enemy, the sorcerer, who could
only lift it by means of enchantment, and soon
let it drop into a stream from which he could
not recover it. This sword had been manufactured
in Finland by the giant's uncle, who
furnished a remarkable instance of the value of
the number seven; for he occupied seven years
in making the weapon out of seven sorts of iron,
uttered seven magic spells during the process,
and tempered it in seven waters. After a long
search, it was found by Kallewe Poeg, who,
however, left it in the stream, that it might be
wielded by some future deliverer of his country,
to whom it would reveal itself of its own accord.
This extra task accomplished, Kallewe Poeg put
his load of planks upon his shoulders, and when
he had proceeded some distance, was assailed by
three magicians, who pulled up several trees by
the roots, and used them as clubs. The hero
soon put them to flight, being greatly cheered
by a voice which he heard in the forest. This
belonged to the hedgehog, on whom Old Father
had not bestowed a skin, but to whom, out of
gratitude, Kallewe Poeg gave a piece of his rough
cloak. When shortly afterwards he collected
some sand in this cloak to make a couch, some
of it fell through the hole produced by his gift
to the hedgehog, and was sufficient to form a
small mountain. After sundry other adventures
he built for his residence a city on the sea-coast,
and governed the country round. This was the
origin of Revel.