Project Gutenberg's Through Finland in Carts, by Ethel Brilliana Alec-Tweedie

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Title: Through Finland in Carts

Author: Ethel Brilliana Alec-Tweedie

Release Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #27743]

Language: English

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Transcriber's note:
Inconsistent spelling has been preserved, especially in the Finnish and
Swedish snippets found throughout the book. Only obvious errors have been
corrected, and a listing of those can be found at the end of this e-text.




THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS

[Illustration: MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE.]




THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS

BY
MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE

AUTHOR OF
"MEXICO AS I SAW IT," ETC.

[Illustration]

THOMAS NELSON & SONS
LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN
AND NEW YORK


TO MY HUSBAND
ALEC

TO MY DEAREST FRIEND
SIR JOHN ERIC ERICHSEN, BART., F.R.S., LL.D.

TO MY FATHER
DR. GEORGE HARLEY, F.R.S., F.R.C.P.

ALL OF WHOM DIED SUDDENLY WITHIN A SPACE OF FIVE MONTHS
I DEDICATE THESE PAGES IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE
OF THEIR LOVING INTEREST IN MY WORK




CONTENTS


  CHAP.                                                      PAGE

      I. OUR FIRST PEEP AT FINLAND                             11

     II. A FINNISH COUNTRY-HOUSE                               43

    III. FINNISH BATHS                                         64

     IV. A NIGHT IN A MONASTERY                                84

      V. SORDAVALA, OR A MUSICAL FESTIVAL                     112

     VI. "KALEVALA," AN EPIC POEM                             136

    VII. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS                                  169

   VIII. IMATRA'S ROARING CATARACT                            197

     IX. "KOKKO" FIRES                                        210

      X. WOMEN AND EDUCATION                                  219

     XI. A HAUNTED CASTLE                                     238

    XII. PUNKAHARJU                                           265

   XIII. THE LIFE OF A TREE                                   275

    XIV. THROUGH SAVOLAX IN CARTS                             288

     XV. ON WE JOG                                            309

    XVI. A "TORP" AND "TORPPARI" WEDDING                      335

   XVII. TAR-BOATS                                            365

  XVIII. DESCENDING THE RAPIDS                                381

    XIX. SALMON--ULEÅBORG                                     406

     XX. A FASHIONABLE WATERING-PLACE                         434


  APPENDIX.

  QUESTIONS OF NATIONALITY AND POLITICS                       448




PREFACE


When I was first approached by Messrs. Nelson and Sons for permission to
publish _Through Finland in Carts_ in their shilling series, I felt
surprised. So many books and papers have jostled one another along my
path since my first journey to Finland, I had almost forgotten the
volume.

Turning to an old notebook, I see it was published in 1897 at sixteen
shillings. It appeared in a second edition. The demand still continued,
so a third edition, entirely revised and reprinted, was published at a
cheaper rate. Others followed, and it now appears on the market at the
reduced price of one shilling. Cheapness generally means deterioration
of goods, but cheapness in books spells popularity.

Since the last revise appeared, a few years ago, I had not opened the
pages of this volume; and strange though it may seem, I took it up to
correct with almost as much novelty as if it had been a new book by some
one else. An author lives with his work. He sees every page, every
paragraph, by day and by night. He cannot get away from it, it haunts
him; yet once the bark is launched on the waters of Fate, other things
fill his mind, and in a year or two he forgets which book contains some
special reference, or describes some particular thought. This is not
imagination but fact. The slate of memory would become too full and
confused were such not the case.

Finland has been progressing, and yet in the main Finland remains the
same. It is steeped in tradition and romance. There are more trains,
more hotels, larger towns; but that bright little land is still bravely
fighting her own battles, still forging ahead; small, contented, well
educated, self-reliant, and full of hopes for the future.

Finland has Home Rule under Russia, and her Parliament was the first to
admit women members.

For those interested in the political position of Finland, an appendix,
which has been brought up to date in every way possible, will be found
at the end of this volume.

                                                      E. ALEC TWEEDIE.

LONDON, _Easter 1913_.




THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS




CHAPTER I

OUR FIRST PEEP AT FINLAND


It is worth the journey to Finland to enjoy a bath; then and not till
then does one know what it is to be _really_ clean.

Finland is famous for its baths and its beauties; its sky effects and
its waterways; its quaint customs and its poetry; its people and their
pluck. Finland will repay a visit.

Foreign travel fills the mind even if it empties the pocket. Amusement
is absolutely essential for a healthy mind.

Finland, or, as the natives call it in Finnish, _Suomi_, is a country of
lakes and islands. It is a vast continent about which strangers until
lately hardly knew anything, beyond such rude facts as are learnt at
school, viz., that "Finland is surrounded by the Gulfs of Finland and
Bothnia on the South and West, and bordered by Russia and Lapland on the
East and North," and yet Finland is larger than our own England,
Scotland, Ireland, aye, and the Netherlands, all put together.

When we first thought of going to _Suomi_, we naturally tried to procure
a Finnish guide-book and map; but no guide-book was to be obtained in
all London, except one small pamphlet about a dozen pages long; while at
our best-known map shop the only thing we could find was an enormous
cardboard chart costing thirty shillings. No one ever dreamed of going
to Finland. Nevertheless, Finland is not the home of barbarians, as some
folk then imagined; neither do Polar bears walk continually about the
streets, nor reindeer pull sledges in summer--items that have several
times been suggested to the writer.

Nothing daunted by want of information, however, we packed up our traps
and started.

We were three women, my sister, Frau von Lilly--a born Finlander--and
the writer of the following pages. That was the beginning of the party,
but it increased in numbers as we went along--a young man here, a young
girl there, an old man, or an old woman, joined us at different times,
and, alas, left us again.

Having made charming friends in that far-away land, and picked their
brains for information as diligently as the epicure does the back of a
grouse for succulent morsels, we finally--my sister and I--jogged home
again alone.

This looks bad in print! The reader will say, "Oh, how disagreeable they
must have been, those two, that every one should have deserted them!"
but this would be a mistake, for we flatter ourselves that we really
are rather nice, and only "adverse circumstances" deprived us of our
friends one by one.

Love and Friendship are the finest assets in the Bank of Life.

Grave trouble had fallen at my door. Life had been a happy bounteous
chain; the links had snapped suddenly and unexpectedly, and solace and
substance could only be found in work.

'Tis often harder to live than to die.

Immediate and constant work lay before me. The cuckoo's note trilled
forth in England, that sad, sad note that seemed to haunt me and speed
me on life's way. No sooner had I landed in _Suomi_ than the cuckoos
came to greet me. The same sad tone had followed me across the ocean to
remind me hourly of all the trouble I had gone through. The cuckoo would
not let me rest or forget; he sang a song of sympathy and encouragement.

It was on a brilliant sunny morning early in June that the trim little
ship _Urania_ steamed between the many islands round the coast to enter,
after four and a half days' passage from Hull, the port of
_Helsingfors_. How many thousands of posts, growing apparently out of
the sea, are to be met with round the shores of Finland! Millions, we
might say; for not only the coast line, which is some eight hundred
miles in length, but all the lakes and fjords through which steamers
pass are marked out most carefully by wooden stakes, or near the large
towns by stony banks and painted signs upon the rocks of the islands.
Sometimes the channels are so dangerous that the little steamers have to
proceed at half-speed, carefully threading their way in and out of the
posts, as a drag at Hurlingham winds its course between barrels at the
four-in-hand competitions.

Many places, we learnt, are highly dangerous to attempt at night, on
account of these stakes, which are put down by Government boats in the
spring after the ice has gone, and are taken up in November before it
forms again, because for about seven months all sea traffic is
impossible. Sometimes the channels are so narrow and shallow that the
screw of the steamer has to be stopped while the vessel glides through
between the rocks, the very revolutions of the screw drawing more water
than can be allowed in that particular _skär_ of tiny islands and rocks.
At other times we have seen the steamer kept off some rocky promontory
where it was necessary for her to turn sharply, by the sailors jumping
on to the bank and easing her along by the aid of stout poles; or again,
in the canals we have known her towed round particular points by the aid
of ropes. In fact, the navigation of Finland is one continual source of
surprise and amazement.

Finland is still rising out of the sea. Rocks that were marked with
paint one hundred and fifty years ago at the water's edge, now show that
the sea has gone down four or five feet. This is particularly noticeable
in the north: where large ships once sailed, a rowing boat hardly finds
waterway. Seaports have had to be moved. Slowly and gradually Finland
is emerging from the waters, just as slowly and gradually the people are
making their voice heard among other nations.

Few people in Great Britain realize the beauties of Finland. It is flat,
but it is fascinating. It is a land of waterways, interspersed with
forests. The winter is very cold, the summer very hot; the winter very
dark, the summer eternal light. _Helsingfors_ is one of the most
picturesque harbours in the world. It is not like anywhere else,
although it resembles Stockholm somewhat. It is so sunny and bright in
the summer, so delicious in colourings and reflections, that the primary
thought of the intricate watery entrance to the chief capital is one of
delight.

The first impressions on entering the Finnish harbour of _Helsingfors_
were very pleasing; there was a certain indefinable charm about the
scene as we passed in and out among the thickly-wooded islands, or dived
between those strong but almost hidden fortifications of which the
Russians are so proud. Once having passed these impregnable mysteries,
we found ourselves in more open water, and before us lay the town with
its fine Russian church of red brick with rounded dome, the Finnish
church of white stone, and several other handsome buildings denoting a
place of importance and considerable beauty. We were hardly alongside
the quay before a dozen Finnish officials swarmed on board to examine
the luggage, but no one seemed to have to pay anything; a small ticket
stuck on the baggage saving all further trouble.

Swedish, Finnish, and Russian, the three languages of the country, were
being spoken on every side, and actually the names of the streets, with
all necessary information, are displayed in these three different forms
of speech, though Russian is not acknowledged as a language of Finland,
the two native and official languages being Swedish and Finnish. Only
those who have travelled in Russia proper can have any idea of the joy
this means to a stranger; it is bad enough to be in any land where one
cannot speak the language, but it is a hundred times worse to be in a
country where one cannot read a word, and yet once over the border of
Russia the visitor is helpless. Vs becomes Bs, and such general
hieroglyphics prevail that although one sees charming tram-cars
everywhere, one cannot form the remotest idea where they are going, so
as to verify them on the map--indeed, cannot even tell from the written
lettering whether the buildings are churches or museums, or only music
halls.

Finnish is generally written with German lettering, Swedish with Latin,
and the Russian in its own queer upside down fashion, so that even in a
primitive place like Finland every one can understand one or other of
the placards, notices, and signs.

Not being in any particular hurry, we lingered on the steamer's bridge
as the clock was striking the hour of noon--Finnish time, by the way,
being a hundred minutes in advance of English time--and surveyed the
strange scene. Somehow _Helsingfors_ did not look like a Northern
capital, and it seemed hard to believe, in that brilliant sunshine,
that for two or three months during every year the harbour is solidly
ice-bound.

Yet the little carriages, a sort of droschky, savouring of Petersburg,
and the coachmen (_Isvoschtschik_) certainly did not come from any
Southern or Western clime. These small vehicles, which barely hold a
couple of occupants and have no back rest, are rather like large
perambulators, in front of which sits the driver, whose headgear was
then of beaver, like a squashed top hat, very broad at the top,
narrowing sharply to a wide curly brim, which curious head-covering,
well forced down over his ears, is generally ornamented with a black
velvet band, and a buckle, sometimes of silver, stuck right in the
front.

Perhaps, however, the most wonderful part of the _Suomi_ Jehu's attire
was his petticoat. He had a double-breasted blue-cloth coat fastening
down the side, which at the waist was pleated on to the upper part in
great fat folds more than an inch wide, so that from behind he almost
looked like a Scheveningen fishwife; while, if he was not fat enough for
fashionable requirements, he wore an additional pillow before and
behind, and tied a light girdle round his waist to keep his dress in
place.

All this strange beauty could be admired at a very cheap rate, for
passengers are able to drive to any part of the town for fifty _penniä_,
equal to fivepence in English money. These coachmen, about eighty inches
in girth, fascinated us; they were so fat and so round, so packed in
padding that on hot days they went to sleep sitting bolt upright on
their box, their inside pillows and outside pleats forming their only
and sufficient support. It was a funny sight to see half a dozen
_Isvoschtschiks_ in a row, the men sound asleep, their arms folded, and
their heads resting on their manly chests, in this case cuirassed with a
feathery pillow.

Drawing these Finnish carriages, are those strange wooden hoops over the
horses' withers so familiar on the Russian droschky, but perhaps most
extraordinary of all are the strong shafts fixed inside the wheels,
while the traces from the collar are secured to the axle itself outside
the wheel. That seemed a novelty to our mind any way, and reminded us of
the old riddle, "What is the difference between an inside Irish car and
an outside Irish car?" "The former has the wheels outside, the latter
has the wheels inside."

At the present day much of this picturesqueness has passed away, and
coachmen and chauffeurs in Western livery and the motor taxi-cab have
largely replaced them.

Queer carts on two wheels were drawn up along the quay to bear the
passengers' luggage to its destination, but stop--do not imagine every
one rushes and tears about in Finland, and that a few minutes sufficed
to clear the decks and quay. Far from it; we were among a Northern
people proverbially as dilatory and slow as any Southern nation, for in
the extreme North as in the extreme South time is _not_ money--nay, more
than that, time waits on _every_ man.

Therefore from the bridge of our steamer we heard much talking in
strange tongues, we saw much movement of queerly-dressed folk, but we
did not see much expedition, and before we left Finland we found that
the boasted hour and forty minutes advance on the clock really meant
much the same thing as our own time, for about this period was always
wasted in preparations, so that in the end England and Finland were
about quits with the great enemy. Three delightful Finnish proverbs tell
us, "Time is always before one," "God did not create hurry," "There is
nothing in this world so abundant as time," and, as a nation, Finns
gratefully accept the fact.

Every one seemed to be met by friends, showing how rarely strangers
visited the land. Indeed the arrival of the Hull boat, once a week, was
one of the great events of _Helsingfors_ life, and every one who could
went down to see her come in.

A delightful lady--a Finlander--who had travelled with us, and had told
us about her home in Boston, where she holds classes for Swedish
gymnastics, was all excitement when her friends came on board. She
travels to _Suomi_ every year, spending nearly three weeks _en route_,
to enjoy a couple of months' holiday in the summer at her father's
parsonage, near _Hangö_. That remarkably fine specimen of his race, Herr
S----, was met by wife, and brother, and a host of students--for he
returned from Malmö, victorious, with the Finnish flag. He, with
twenty-three friends, had just been to Sweden for a gymnastic
competition, in which Finland had won great honours, and no wonder, if
the rest of the twenty-three were as well-made and well-built as this
hardy descendant of a Viking race.

Then again a Finnish gentleman had to be transhipped with his family,
his horses, his groom, and his dogs, to wait for the next vessel to
convey them nearer to his country seat, with its excellent fishing close
to Imatra. He was said to be one of the wealthiest men in Finland,
although he really lived in England, and merely returned to his native
country in the summer months to catch salmon, trout, or grayling.

Then--oh yes, we must not forget them--there were the emigrants, nearly
sixty in number, returning from America for a holiday, though a few
declared they had made enough money and would not require to go back
again. There are whole districts of Finlanders in the United States, and
excellent settlers they make, these hardy children of the North. They
had been ill on the voyage, had looked shabby and depressed, but, as
they came within sight of their native land, they appeared on deck
beaming with smiles, and dressed out wondrous fine, in anticipation of
their home-coming.

But were they excited? Not a bit of it. Nothing excites a Finn. Although
he is very patriotic he cannot lightly rise to laughter or descend to
tears; his unruffled temperament is, perhaps, one of the chief
characteristics of his strange nature.

Yes, every one seemed met by friends on that hot June day; and we were
lucky too, for our kindly cicerone, Frau von Lilly, who had tempted us
to Finland, and had acquaintances in every port, was welcomed by her
brother and other relations, all of whom were so good to us that we left
their land many weeks afterwards with the most grateful recollections of
overwhelming hospitality.

Our welcome to Finland was most cordial, and the kindly greetings made
us feel at once at home among a strange people, none of whose three
languages we could talk; but, as one of them spoke French, another
English, and a third German, we found no difficulty in getting along.
Such servants as knew Swedish easily understood the Norwegian words we
had learnt sufficiently well to enable us to get about during two
enjoyable and memorable visits to Norway,[A] although strange
explanations and translations were vouchsafed us sometimes; as, for
instance, when eating some very _stodgy_ bread, a lady remarked, "It is
not good, it is unripe dough" (pronounced like cough).

We looked amazed, but discovered that she meant that the loaf was not
sufficiently baked.

As we drove along in the little droschky we passed the market, a
delightfully gay scene, where all the butchers wore bright pink blouses
or coats, and the women white handkerchiefs over their heads. We bumped
over cobble stones and across tram lines, little heeded by the numbers
of bicyclists, both men and women, riding about in every direction, for
Finland was in the forefront in the vogue for bicycle-riding. It was
most amusing to notice the cycles stacked in the railway vans of that
northern clime, while on the steamers it is nothing extraordinary to see
a dozen or more cycles amongst the passengers' luggage. In the matter of
steamers, the companies are very generous to the cyclist, for he is not
required to take a ticket for his machine, which passes as ordinary
baggage.

Although we supply the Finlanders with machines, we might take a lesson
from them in the matter of registration. At the back of every saddle in
large figures was engraved the number, bought at the time of
registration for four marks (three shillings and fourpence),
consequently, in case of accident or theft, the bicycle could
immediately be identified; a protection alike for the bicyclist and the
person to whom through reckless riding an accident is caused.

_Helsingfors_, although the capital, is not a large town, having only
150,000 inhabitants, but there are nearly five thousand registered
bicycles plying in its streets. The percentage of riders is enormous,
and yet cycling is only possible for about five months every year, the
country being covered with snow and ice the rest of the time. Here we
pass a Russian officer, who is busy pedalling along, dressed in his full
uniform, with his sword hanging at his side. One might imagine a sword
would be in the way on a cycle; but not at all, the Finland or Russian
officer is an adept in the art, and jumps off and on as though a sword
were no more hindrance than the spurs which he always wears in his
boots. There is a girl student--for the University is open to men and
women alike, who have equal advantages in everything, and among the
large number who avail themselves of the State's generosity are many
cycling dames.

The Finlander is brave. He rides over roads that would strike terror
into our souls, for even in towns the cobble stones are so awful that no
one, who has not trudged over Finnish streets on a hot summer's day, can
have any idea of the roughness. A Finlander does not mind the cobbles,
for as he says, "they are cheap, and wear better than anything else,
and, after all, we never actually live in the towns during summer, so
the roads do not affect us; and for the other months of the year they
are covered with snow, so that they are buried sometimes a foot or two
deep, and then sledges glide happily over them."

It is over such stones that the cyclist rides, and the stranger pauses
aghast to see him being nearly bumped off his machine--as we have
ourselves bumped towards the bottom of a steep hill when coasting--and
not apparently minding it in the least, judging by the benign smile
playing upon his usually solemn physiognomy. He steers deftly in and out
of the larger boulders, and soon shows us that he is a thorough master
of his iron steed.

All the students of both sexes wear the most charming cap. In shape it
closely resembles a yachting cap; the top is made of white velvet, the
snout of black leather, and the black velvet band that encircles the
head is ornamented in front by a small gold badge emblematic of the
University. No one dare don this cap, or at least the badge, until he
has passed his matriculation examination.

White velvet sounds thriftless; but in Finland, in the summer, it is
very hot and dry; in fact, the three or four months of summer are really
summer in all its glory. It is all daylight and there is no night, so
that June, July, and August seem one perpetual midsummer day. For
travelling or country rides, the Finland student wears a small linen
cover over his white velvet cap, which is made to fix on so neatly that
the stranger does not at first detect it is a cover at all. In the
winter, the white cap is laid aside, and a black velvet one takes its
place.

Among the lower orders the women work like slaves, because they must.
Women naturally do the washing in every land, and in the Finnish
waterways there are regular platforms built out into the sea, at such a
height that the laundresses can lean over the side and rinse their
clothes, while the actual washing is performed at wooden tables, where
they scrub linen with brushes made for the purpose.

Yet it seemed to us strange indeed to see women cleaning the streets;
huge broom in hand they marched about and swept the paths, while a whole
gang of female labourers were weeding the roadways.

Women in _Suomi_ do many unusual things; but none excited our surprise
so much as to see half a dozen of them building a house. They were
standing on scaffolding plastering the wall, while others were
completing the carpentry work of a door; subsequently we learnt there
were no fewer than six hundred women builders and carpenters in
Finland.

The Finns, though intellectually most interesting, are not as a rule
attractive in person. Generally small of stature, thickset, with high
cheek-bones, and eyes inherited from their Tartar-Mongolian ancestors,
they cannot be considered good-looking; while the peculiar manner in
which the blonde male peasants cut their hair is not becoming to their
sunburnt skins, which are generally a brilliant red, especially about
the neck where it appears below the light, fluffy, downy locks. Fat men
are not uncommon; and their fatness is too frequently of a kind to make
one shudder, for it resembles dropsy, and is, as a rule, the outcome of
liqueur drinking, a very pernicious habit, in which many Finlanders
indulge to excess. There are men in _Suomi_--dozens of them--so fat that
no healthy Englishman could ever attain to such dimensions; one of them
will completely occupy the seat of an _Isvoschtschik_, while the amount
of adipose tissue round his wrists and cheeks seems absolutely
incredible when seen for the first time, and one wonders how any chair
or carriage can ever bear such a weight. Inordinately fat men are
certainly one of the least pleasing peculiarities of these northern
nationalities.

Top hats seemed specially favoured by Finnish gentlemen.

Flannel shirts and top hats are, to an English mind, incongruities; but
in _Suomi_ fashion smiles approvingly on such an extraordinary
combination. At the various towns, therefore, mashers strolled about
attired in very bright-coloured flannel shirts, turned down flannel
collars, trimmed with little bows of silken cord with tassels to fasten
them at the neck, and _orthodox tall hats_.

The Finnish peasant women are as partial to pink cotton blouses as the
Russian peasant men are to red flannel shirts, and the bright colours of
the bodices, and the pretty white or black handkerchiefs over their
heads, with gaily coloured scarves twisted round their throats, add to
the charm of the _Helsingfors_ market-place, where they sit in rows
under queer old cotton umbrellas, the most fashionable shade for which
appears to be bright blue.

The market is a feature in Finland, and in a measure takes the place of
shops in other countries. For instance, waggons containing butcher's
meat stand in rows, beside numerous carts full of fish, while fruit and
flowers, cakes and bread-stuffs in trucks abound. Indeed, so fully are
these markets supplied, it seems almost unnecessary to have any shops at
all.

The old market folk all drink coffee, or let us be frank at once and say
chicory, for a really good cup of coffee is rare in Finland, whereas
chicory is grown largely and drunk everywhere, the Finlanders believing
that the peculiar bitter taste they know and love so well is coffee.
Pure coffee, brewed from the berry, is a luxury yet to be discovered by
them.

As we drove along, we noticed at many of the street corners large and
sonorous bells made of brass, and furnished with chains to pull them. We
wondered what this might mean, and speculated whether the watchman went
round and rang forth the hours, Doomsday fashion.

On asking information we were told--

"They are fire-bells, very loud, which can be heard at some distance."

"But does not a strong wind cause them to ring?"

"No; they must be pulled and pulled hard; but you had better not try, or
you may be fined heavily."

So we refrained, and pondered over the fire-bells.

It is as necessary to have a passport in Finland as in Russia. But
whereas in Russia a passport is demanded at once, almost before one has
crossed the threshold of an hotel, one can stay in a Finnish town for
three days without having to prove one's identity; any longer stay in a
hotel or private house often necessitates the passport being sent to the
police. It is a most extraordinary thing that a Finn should require a
passport to take him in or out of Russia; such, however, is the case,
and if a man in _Wiborg_ wishes to go to St. Petersburg to shop, see a
theatre, or to spend a day with a friend, he must procure a passport for
the length of time of his intended visit. This is only a trifle;
nevertheless it is a little bit of red-tapism to which the Finlander
might object. But it may have its advantages, for the passport
rigorously keeps anarchists, socialists, Jews, and beggars out of
_Suomi_.

Until 1905, the press was severely restricted by the Censor, though not
to the same extent as in Russia itself, where hardly a day passes
without some paragraph being obliterated from every newspaper. Indeed,
in St. Petersburg an English friend told us that during the six years he
had lived there he had a daily paper sent to him from London, and that
probably on an average of three days a week, during all that time, it
would reach him with all political information about Russia stamped out,
or a whole page torn away.

We ourselves saw eight inches blackened over in _The Times_, and about
the same length in that day's _Kölnische Zeitung_ and _Independence
Belge_ totally obliterated in Petersburg. We received English papers
pretty regularly during our jaunt through Finland, and what amazed us
most was the fact that, although this black mark absolutely obliterated
the contents, no one on receiving the paper could have told that the
cover had been tampered with in the least, as it always arrived in its
own wrapper, addressed in the handwriting we knew so well. It remained
an endless source of amazement to us how the authorities managed to pull
the paper out and put it in again without perceptibly ruffling the
cover.

It is not unknown for a Finnish paper, when ready for delivery, to have
some objection made to its contents, in which case it must not be
distributed; consequently, a notice is issued stating that such and such
a paper has been delayed in publication, and the edition will be ready
at a later hour in the afternoon. The plain meaning of which is that
the whole newspaper has been confiscated, and the entire edition
reprinted, the objectionable piece being taken out. _Presshinder_ is by
no means uncommon.

Unfortunately "a house divided against itself falleth," which is a
serious hindrance to progress. That _Suomi_ is divided, every one who
has studied Finnish politics must know. With its Russian rule, its
Finnish and Swedish proclivities, and its three languages, the country
has indeed much to fight against.

For those who are interested in the subject of its Home Rule, an
Appendix will be found at the end of this volume.

Very important changes have of late taken place in Finland. Less than
half a century ago the whole country--at least the whole educated
country--was still Swedish at heart and Swedish in language. From Sweden
Finland had borrowed its literature and its laws until Russia stepped
in, when the Finn began to assert himself. The ploughman is now educated
and raising his voice with no uncertain sound on behalf of his own
country and his language, and to-day the greatest party in the
Parliament are the Social-Democrats.

The national air of Finland is _Maamme_ or _Vårt Land_ in Swedish ("Our
Land").

The words were written by the famous poet, J. L. Runeburg, in Swedish,
which was at that time the language of the upper classes, and translated
into Finnish, the music being composed by Frederick Pacius. In Finnish
the words are--

MAAMME

    Oi maamme, Suomi, synnyinmaa, soi sana kultainen!
    Ei laaksoa, ei kukkulaa, ei vettä rantaa rakkaampaa,
    Kuin kotimaa tää pohjainen, maa kallis isien.

    On Maamme köyhä, siksi jää jos kultaa kaipaa ken.
    Sen kyllä vieras hylkäjää, mut meille kallein maa on tää
    Kans' salojen ja saarien se meist' on kultainen.

    Ovatpa meistä rakkahat kohinat koskien,
    Ikuisten honkain huminat, täht' yömme, kesät kirkkahat
    Kaikk', kaikki laulain loistaen mi lumes' sydämen.

    Täss' auroin, miekoin, miettehin isämme sotivat,
    Kun päivä piili pilvihin tai loisti onnen paistehin,
    Täss' Suomen kansan suurimmat he vaivat kokivat.

    Ken taistelut ne kaikki voi kertoilla kansan tään,
    Kun sota laaksoissamme soi ja halla nälän tuskat toi?
    Sen vert' ei mittaa yksikään ei kärsimystäkään.

    Täss' on se veri vuotanut edestä meidänkin,
    Täss' ilonsa on nauttinut ja tässä huoltain huokaillut
    Se kansa, jolle muinoisin kuormamme pantihin.

    Täss' olla meidän mieluist' on ja kaikki suotuisaa;
    Vaikk' onni mikä tulkohon, meill' isänmaa on verraton.
    Mit' oisi maassa armaampaa, mit' oisi kalliimpaa?

    Ja tässä' täss' on tämä maa, sen näkee silmämme;
    Me kättä voimme ojentaa, ja vettä, rantaa osoittaa,
    Ja sanoa: kas tuoss on se, maa armas isäimme!

    Jos loistoon meitä saatettais vaikk' kultapilvihin,
    Miss' itkien ei huoattais' vaan tähtein riemun sielu sais,
    Ois tähän kurjaan kotihin halumme kwitenkin.

    Totunuden, runon kotimaa, maa tuhatjärvinen,
    Elomme sulta suojan saa, sä toivojen ja muistoin maa,
    Ain' ollos onnen vaihdellen, sä vapaa, riemuinen.

    Sun kukoistukses' kuorestaan kerrankin puhkeaa;
    Viel' lempemme saa nousemaan sun toivos, riemus loistossaan,
    Ja kerran laulus' synnyinmaa, korkeemman kaiun saa.

When the _Maamme_ is sung every one rises, the men take off their hats,
and nearly all those present join in the song, their demeanour being
most respectful, for a Finn is nothing if not patriotic.

Another very popular air is the following, written by Zachris Topelius,
whose fairy tales are now being translated into English--

    SINUN MAASI
    (_Finnish_)

    Laps' Suomen, älä vaihda pois
    Sun maatas ihanaa!
    Sill' leipä vieraan karvast 'ois
    Ja sana karkeaa.
    Sen taivas, päiv' on loistoton,
    Sen sydän sulle outo on.
    Laps' Suomen, älä vaihda pois
    Sun maatas ihanaa!

    Laps' Suomen, kaunis sull' on maa
    Ja suuri, loistokas.
    Veet välkkyy, maat sen vihoittaa,
    Sen rant 'on maineikas.
    Yö kirkas, päivä lämpöinen
    Ja taivas tuhattähtinen,
    Laps' Suomen, kaunis sull 'on maa
    Ja suuri, loistokas.

    Laps' Suomen, armas maasi tää
    Siis muista ainiaan!
    Sull 'onnea ja elämää
    Ej muuall' ollenkaan.
    Jos minne tiesi olkohon,
    Niin juures' synnyinmaassas' on
    Laps' Suomen, armas maasi tää
    Siis muista ainiaan!

    DITT LAND
    (_Swedish_)

    O barn af Finland, byt ej bort
    Din ädla fosterjord!
    En främlings bröd är hårdt och torrt,
    Och klanglöst är hans ord.
    Hans sol är blek, hans himmel grå,
    Hans hjerta kan ej ditt förstå.
    O barn af Finland, byt ej bort
    Din ädla fosterjord.

    O Finland's barn, ditt land är godt,
    Ditt land är stort och skönt.
    Dess jord är grön, dess haf är blått,
    Dess strand af ära krönt.
    Dess natt är ljus, dess sol är klar,
    Dess himmel tusen stjernor bar.
    O Finland's barn, ditt land är godt,
    Ditt land är stort och skönt.

    Och derför, barn af Finland, minns
    Ditt ädla fosterland!
    Ej ro, ej lif, ej lycka finns
    I fjerran från dess strand.
    Hvarhelst din väg i verlden går,
    Din rot är der din vagga står.
    Och derför, barn af Finland, minns
    Ditt ädla fosterland!

    THY LAND[B]
    (_English_)

    O child of Finland, wherefore fly
      Thy noble Fatherland?
    The stranger's bread is hard and dry,
      And harsh his speech and hand;
    His skies are lead, his heart is dead
      Thy heart to understand.
    O child of Finland, wherefore fly
      Thy noble Fatherland?

    O Finland's heir, thy land is fair
      And bright from bound to bound;
    Her seas serene; no gayer green
      On tree or lea is found.
    Her sun's a blaze of golden rays,
      Her night an eve star-crowned.
    O Finland's heir, no land more rare
      Or nobly fair is found.

    Then, child of Finland, ne'er forget
      Thy noble Fatherland;
    For peace of mind is not to find
      Upon a stranger's strand.
    To that bright earth that gave thee birth
      Thou owest heart and hand.
    Then fealty swear to Finland fair,
      Our famous Fatherland.

We dined at several restaurants in _Helsingfors_; for, in the summer,
the Finlanders live entirely out of doors, and they certainly make the
most of the fine weather when they have it. Perhaps our brightest
dining-place was on the island of _Högholmen_, to which little steamers
ply continually; but as we arrived at the landing-stage when a vessel
had just left, we engaged a boat to row us across. It was a typical
Finnish boat, pointed at both ends, wide in the middle, and a loving
couple sitting side by side rowed us over. They were not young, and they
were not beautiful; in fact, they looked so old, so sunburnt, and so
wrinkled, that we wondered how many years over a hundred they had
completed. But, judging by the way they put their backs into the work,
they could not have been as ancient as they appeared.

[Illustration: OUR SHIP IN WINTER.]

One of the first words one hears in Finland is _straxt_, which means
"immediately," and we soon found it was in universal use. No order is
complete without the word _straxt_ as an addition, and, naturally, the
stranger thinks what a remarkably punctual and generally up-to-time sort
of people the Finns must be. But the voyager seems born to be
disappointed. No Finn ever hurried himself for anybody or anything; the
word _straxt_ means, at least, a quarter of an hour, and the visitor may
consider himself lucky if that quarter of an hour does not drag itself
out to thirty minutes.

A man asks for his bill. _Straxt_ is the reply. He suggests his luggage
being fetched downstairs, reminds the landlord that the _kärra_ (little
carts) were ordered for noon, now long past.

"_Straxt, straxt_," is smilingly answered, but the landlord does not
move--not he; what is to be gained by being in a hurry? why fidget? an
hour hence is quite as good as the present quickly fleeting by. So
soothing his conscience by the word _straxt_, he leisurely goes on with
his work, and as "like master, like man," those below him do not hurry
either, for which reason most things in Finland are dominated more by
chance than ruled by time.

It is annoying, it is often exasperating, but there is a superb calm, or
shall we say obstinacy, about the Finnish character that absolutely
refuses to be bustled, or hurried, or jostled.

They are a grave, solid people, who understand a joke even less than the
Scotch, while such a thing as chaff is absolutely unintelligible to
them. Life to the Finns seems a serious matter which can be only
undertaken after long thought and much deliberation. They lose much
pleasure by their seriousness. They sing continually, but all their
music is sad; they dance sometimes, but the native dances are seldom
boisterous as in other lands. They read much and think deeply, for
unlike the Russians, only 25 per cent. of whom can read, in Finland both
rich and poor are wonderfully well educated; but they smile seldom, and
look upon jokes and fun as contemptible. Education is one constant
enquiry, and knowledge is but an assimilation of replies.

The men and women enjoy great freedom. Educated in the same schools,
they are brought up to ignore sex; the young folk can go out for a whole
day together, walking or snow-shoeing, skating or sledging, and a
chaperon is unheard of; yet in all social gatherings, as an antithesis
to this, we find an unexpected restraint. At a party the men all
congregate in one room, or at one end of the table, leaving the women
desolate, while the young of both sexes look askance at one another,
and, in the presence of their elders, never exchange a word, in spite of
their boasted freedom. Society is paradoxical.

More than that, by way of discouraging healthy chatter and fun among the
young people, the elder folk always monopolise conversation, two persons
invariably discussing some particular point, while twenty sit silently
round listening--result, that young men and women know little of one
another if they only meet in society, and the _bon camaraderie_ supposed
to result from the system of mixed education is conspicuous by its
absence. Everything is against it. The very chairs are placed round a
room in such a way that people must perforce sit in a circle--that
dreaded circle which strikes terror into the heart of a British hostess.
Even on the balconies an enormous table, with chairs packed closely
round it, is constantly in evidence, so that the circle is even to be
found there, with the consequence that every one sits and stares at
every one else, except the people who may or may not keep up a
conversation. The strange part of the whole arrangement is that
Finlanders do not understand how prim they really are socially, and talk
of their freedom, and their enormous emancipation, as they sit at table,
where the greater number of those present never dare venture to say
anything, while the young men and women rarely even sit together. They
apparently make up for lost time when away from their elders.

The people are most hospitable, to strangers particularly so, and
certainly the flowers and the books and sweets we were given, to say
nothing of invitations received to stay in houses after an hour's
acquaintance, to dine or sup, to come here or go there, were quite
delightful. They are generous to a remarkable degree, and hospitable
beyond praise. This is a Northern characteristic like honesty; both of
which traits are sadly lacking in the Southern peoples. Kindness and
thoughtfulness touch a warm chord in the heart of a stranger, and make
him feel that Finland is a delightful country, and her people the
staunchest of friends. But, after this divergence, let us return to our
first drive.

Those slouching men in long jack boots, butchers' blouses of white and
shapeless form, are Russian soldiers. Soldiers, indeed! where is the
smartness, the upright bearing, the stately tread and general air of
cleanliness one expects in a soldier? These men look as if they had just
tumbled out of their beds and were still wearing night-shirts; even the
officers appeared strange to our English ideas, although medals adorned
their breasts and swords hung at their sides even when bicycling.

"Do you mix much with the Russians?" we asked one of our new friends.

"Hardly at all; they have conquered us, they rule us, they plant whole
regiments among us, and they don't even take the trouble to understand
us, or to learn our language. No, we keep to ourselves, and they keep
to themselves; our temperaments are so different we could never mix."

And this is true. The position of Alsace-Lorraine towards Germany is
much the same as that of Finland towards Russia. Both have been
conquered by a country speaking another language to their own, and of
totally foreign temperament to themselves. After forty years the people
of Alsace-Lorraine are as staunchly French as before, and the same
applies to the position of the Finlanders.

Life in _Helsingfors_ is very pleasant for strangers in the summer; but
for the natives it has no attraction. Accustomed to a long and ice-bound
winter, the moment May comes every family, possessed of any means, flits
to the country for three or four months. All the schools close for
twelve weeks, and the children, who have worked hard during the long
dark winter, thoroughly enjoy their holiday. Summer comes suddenly and
goes swiftly. The days then are long, as the nights are short, for in
the north of Finland there is a midnight sun, and even in _Helsingfors_,
during June, he does not set till about eleven, consequently it remains
light all night--that strange weird sort of light that we English folk
only know as appertaining to very early morning. As we sat finishing
supper about ten o'clock at the Kapellet, we were strongly reminded of
the light at three A.M. one morning, only a week or two before, when we
had bumped to Covent Garden to see the early market, one of London's
least known but most interesting sights, in our friendly green-grocer's
van, with Mr. and Mrs. Green-grocer for sole companions.

The Kapellet is a delightful restaurant in the chief street of
_Helsingfors_, standing among trees, under which many seats and tables
are placed, and where an excellent military band plays during meal
times. Strange meal times they are too, for, after early coffee and
roll, every one breakfasts between ten and twelve on meats with beer or
wine, not an egg and fish breakfast such as we have, but a regular solid
meal. Finlanders in towns dine from two to four, and sit down to supper
between eight and ten, so that they have three solid meat meals a
day--probably a necessity in such a climate--and drink wines and spirits
at each of these functions, which so closely resemble one another that
the stranger would have difficulty in knowing which was supper and which
was breakfast.

In the summer mostly men frequent the Kapellet, for their wives and
families are away at their villas on the islands. Apparently any one can
build a villa on any island, and the moment he does so, like Robinson
Crusoe, he is master of the situation. One does not require to pay more
than a trifle for the site, and a beautiful wooden house can be erected
in about two months for two or three hundred pounds. Parents who are
well off generally have a nice island and a comfortable house, and when
their sons and daughters marry, they build thereon small villas for
them; thus whole families, scattered during the greater part of the
year, come together every summer.

For this reason family life in Finland is delightful. There are many
thousand islands--millions, one might almost say--and therefore plenty
of room for all. Finland is like a sponge; the lakes and islands being
represented by the holes.

We lived in a flat at _Helsingfors_. Frau von Lilly's brothers had a
delightful _étage_, with a dear old housekeeper, and thither we went.
Mina looked after our wants splendidly, and smiled upon us all day as
strange sort of beings because we liked so much _hett vatten_ (hot
water). She was always opening our door and walking in, for no one ever
dreams of knocking in Finland; standing before us, her hands folded on
her portly form, she smiled and smiled again. _Mycket bra_ (very nice),
we repeated incessantly to her joy--but still she stayed, whether
anxious to attend to our wants or to have a look at Englishwomen and
their occupations we know not; one thing, however, is certain, that
without a word in common we became fast friends. Her beautifully
polished floors made us afraid to walk across them, and the large rooms,
broad beds, and lots of towels came as a real treat after nearly five
days at sea. Every one lives in flats in the towns, there are only a few
private houses, and therefore long stone flights of stairs lead to the
"appartement" as they do in Germany, while the rooms, with their
enormous stoves and endless doors, remind one continually of _das
Vaterland_.

From our flat, which stood high, we had a most glorious view.
Immediately in front was the students' club, while beyond were the
Parliament Houses, charming churches, the fine park given to the town by
Henrik Borgström, the lovely harbour, the fortifications, and the deep,
dark sea.

As the sun set we revelled in the glories visible from our balcony, and
thoroughly enjoyed the charms of the Northern night. Midnight suns must
be seen to be understood, the gorgeous lights are enthralling. Our souls
were steeped in that great silence.

It is during such nights as these that vegetation springs into
existence. A day is like a fortnight under that endless sky of light.
Hence the almost tropical vegetation that so amazed us at times in this
ice-bound land. For though the Gulf of Bothnia is frozen for many
months, and the folk walk backwards and forwards to Sweden, the summer
bursts forth in such luxuriance that the flowers verily seem to have
been only hiding under the snow, ready to raise their heads. The land is
quickly covered by bloom as if kissed by fairy lips. And the corn is
ripe and ready for cutting before the first star is seen to twinkle in
the heavens.

Just outside our window, which looked away over the Russian and Lutheran
churches to the sea, we watched a house which was being built with some
interest. The town stands either on massive glacial rocks, or, in other
parts that have been reclaimed from the sea, on soft sand; in the latter
case the erection has to be reared on piles. For the foundation of the
house mentioned, long stakes, about twenty feet in length, were driven
into the ground. Above this pile a sort of crane was erected, from which
hung a large heavy stone caught by iron prongs. Some twenty men stood
round the crane, and with one "Heave oh!" pulled the stone up to the
top, where, being let loose, it fell with a tremendous thud upon the
head of the luckless pile, which was driven with every successive blow
deeper into the earth. When all the piles were thus driven home, four or
five feet apart, rough bits of rock or stone were fitted in between
them, and the whole was boarded over with wood after the fashion of a
flooring, on top of which the house itself was built. The men worked all
day and all night in relays at the job.

_Helsingfors_ is very advanced in its ideas; it then had electric light
everywhere, telephones in each house, and so on; nevertheless, it only
possessed one large carriage, and that was a landau which belonged to
the hotel. In this splendid vehicle, with two horses and a coachman
bedecked like an English beadle, we went for a drive, and so remarkable
was the appearance of our equipage that every one turned round to look
at us, and, as we afterwards learned, to wonder who we could possibly
be, since we looked English, spoke German, and drove out with
Finlanders.

Many happy days might be passed in _Helsingfors_, which contains museums
and various places of interest. But it is essentially a winter town,
and, as all the smart folk had flown and the windows were as closely
barred as those of London in August and September, we hurried on to
gayer and quainter scenes, which unfolded many strange experiences, or
this summer trip to Finland would never have been written.

During the ten weeks we were in _Suomi_ we slept in twenty-six different
beds. Beds did we say? Save the mark! We slept under twenty-six
different _circumstances_, would be more to the point, for our nights of
rest, or unrest, were passed in a variety of ways--in beautiful brass
bedsteads with spring mattresses; in wooden boxes dragged out until they
became a bed, the mattress being stuffed with the _luikku_ or _ruopo_
plant, which makes a hard and knotty couch. We slept in the bunks of
ships, which for curiosity's sake we measured, and found seldom exceeded
eighteen inches in width; we lay on the floor with only a rug dividing
us from the wooden boards; or we reposed on a canvas deck-chair, which
originally cost about five shillings in London; we even dozed on the top
of a dining-room table; and last, but not least, to avoid giving
ourselves up as a meal to unwelcome visitors, we avoided beds
altogether, and slept on the top of a grand piano, or, more properly
speaking, an old-fashioned spinet, the notes of which gave forth a hard
and tinny sound when touched.

It must not be imagined from this that there were not beds, for beds
were generally procurable, lots of beds, in fact, the mattresses piled
one on the top of another. BUT--well, we preferred the spinet!

FOOTNOTES:

[A] _A Winter Jaunt to Norway._

[B] Translated from the Swedish by Alfred Perceval Graves.




CHAPTER II

A FINNISH COUNTRY-HOUSE


A seventeen hours' trip in the _Kaiser Wilhelm_ along the coast brought
us from _Helsingfors_ to _Wiborg_. The passage lay between innumerable
islands, and every landing-place was thickly strewn with wood ready for
export.

Finland is a primitive country, and we could not help smiling at the
spectacle of a family removal. When changing residences it is evidently
not considered necessary to pack up anything, consequently the entire
contents of a house were put on board and removed from the ship without
any wrappings whatsoever. The mattresses and the blankets were not even
tied together. Pictures were all left loose, looking-glasses stood
uncovered, yet, thanks to the gentleness and honesty of the Finnish
sailors, nothing appeared to get broken, and when we left the quay we
saw the owner of these chattels standing complacently in the midst of
his household gods, from which, judging by the serenity of his smile,
nothing had been stolen or lost.

As we neared _Wiborg_ we were all excitement as to what a visit to a
country-house would be like, especially as we were going among
strangers, having been most hospitably invited to stay with the
relations of our Finnish friend on their summer island-home of
_Ilkeäsaari_.

As the _Kaiser Wilhelm_ hove-to alongside the quay, we were warmly
welcomed by the English and American Consuls and Baron Theodore von
B----. There were many passengers, but not much luggage, and
consequently, by the time we had exchanged a few words of greeting, we
discovered that every one of our boxes and bags had been placed singly
in state on the seat of separate _droschkies_. The row of five
Russian-dressed cabbies were much disappointed when they found that the
many fares they had anticipated were not in store for them, and that all
the luggage was to go upon one cart sent for the purpose, while the
solitary landau and pair in waiting was our host's private carriage,
intended to bear us some three hours' drive to his quaintly situated
residence.

Passing the old castle of _Wiborg_ with its modern red roof and many
centuries of Swedish history, then the palace of the Governor, to say
nothing of numbers of villa residences further on, where the folk of St.
Petersburg--only two hours distant by train--settle down for the summer
to enjoy sea-bathing, we plunged into a charming pine-wood, through
which the roadway was so narrow that the trees literally swished the
carriage as it passed. Drawing up suddenly we discovered that a stretch
of water divided us from our island home, and as we were in a carriage,
and there was no bridge, it seemed for a moment as if further progress
were impossible.

Nothing of the kind, however, the carriage was calmly driven on to a
kind of wide barge made for the purpose, the horses' noses being
reflected in the water into which they peered. So clear were the
reflections that evening, that the butterflies fluttering overhead were
so distinctly visible in the water that it seemed almost impossible to
believe them other than denizens of the lake along with the fishes.

The picturesque-looking man, wearing a pink cotton shirt and slouch hat,
who had been waiting for our arrival, came on to the floating bridge
beside us, and by means of pulleys and ropes, to work which he turned a
handle, ferried us across to the opposite bank. This was a private
arrangement and very ingenious, and away we trotted merrily through the
pines, the earth, moss-grown and fern-strewn, intersected here and there
by massive boulders of rock.

So rocky indeed was the road in parts that the carriage was driven over
huge blocks of granite, while distinct marks of past glacial movement
were everywhere visible.

Ah! there was the house, much larger than a villa, entirely made of
wood, except for the stone foundations containing the cellars. The solid
trees of which it was built were painted white, so that it looked very
sunny and cheerful. A flight of wooden steps led to the front door, and
to the numerous balconies by which, Finnish fashion, the house was
nearly surrounded.

The warmest welcome awaited us; we were received as though we had been
old and dear friends, instead of total strangers from a foreign land.
Our host, the Captain and his Fru, were, luckily for us, excellent
German scholars; indeed all the family spoke that language fluently,
while some of the members could also speak English.

Our hostess's first exclamation when we arrived at her beautiful country
home was an inquiry as to the contents of the large hold-all.

"Rugs," we replied, "and fur coats."

"Rugs and fur coats," she exclaimed in amusement. "What for?"

"To wear, of course," we answered.

"Did you think Finland was cold, then?" she asked.

"Certainly," we returned, "so we have each brought a rug and a fur-lined
coat."

She laughed and said, "Far better to have brought cotton frocks."

It was our turn now to be amazed, and we asked her what she meant by
cotton frocks.

"Why, do you not know that our summer is much hotter than it is in
England--it is shorter, but much warmer."

We were surprised. But she was right, as subsequent events proved, and
our bundle of rugs was an everlasting joke during the whole of our
journey through _Suomi_, for having brought them we would not part with
them, although during the whole of June, July, and August, we never
undid them once nor opened an umbrella, except one night while
descending the famous _Uleå_ rapids, when, if we had owned all the furs
in Britain, we could not have kept ourselves warm, so impregnated with
cold damp was the atmosphere.

The island _Ilkeäsaari_ is the scene of a huge family gathering each
summer, after a truly Finnish fashion, for besides the big house, which
is a sort of rendezvous for every one, the married sons and daughters
have also their own summer residences within a stone's throw; the
parents' house is a general dining-hall on Sundays and sometimes on
other days also.

Could any more delightful household be imagined? Clever and interesting
in every way, with advanced ideas and wide interests, their home almost
cosmopolitan in its English, French, and German literature, the elder
folk ready and willing to chat on any theme in several tongues, the
children talking Finnish to the servants, French to their governess, or
Swedish to their parents, it was altogether an ideal family life in
every sense, and more than charming to the strangers to whom
_Ilkeäsaari_ opened its doors and gave such a kindly welcome.

It is only in the homes of the people, rich and poor, one can learn
anything of their characteristics. One may live in the large hotels of
London, Paris, St. Petersburg, or Rome, and yet know almost nothing of
the nations in whose midst we find ourselves. Food is much the same all
over Europe, waiters wear regulation black coats and white ties,
drawing-rooms and reading-rooms contain _The Times_, the _Kölnische
Zeitung_, or the _Novóe Vremya_; and when, guide-book in hand, we walk
through the streets to visit the museums, we imagine we are learning the
innermost lives of the people, of whom we generally know mighty little.
One week in the smallest private house teaches us more than a month in
the largest hotel in the world. "All very well," says the reader; "but
how are we to get into the private houses?"

Ah, there is the rub. We must open our own doors first; we must learn
some languages, that golden key to travel, and when foreigners come into
our midst with introductions, we must show them our homes and our lives
if we want them to do the same for us. As it is, that humiliating cry is
always sounding in our ears--

"English people never speak anything but English, and they are
inhospitable to strangers; they are a proud nation and cold."

It is a libel, a hideous libel; but one which is, unfortunately,
believed all over the Continent by foreigners not thoroughly acquainted
with English folk in their own homes.

English, being the language of commerce, is fast becoming the language
of the world, in spite of its imperfections; but to enjoy a country one
must be able to converse in its own tongue.

The Finnish summer is not long, but it is both light and warm, the
average temperature being as much higher than our own as it is lower in
winter, and the people certainly enjoy both seasons to the full. Every
country-house is surrounded by balconies, and on them all meals are
served in the summer. We were fortunate enough to dine in many family
circles, and to see much of the life of the rich, as well as the life of
the poor.

One of the greatest features of a high-class Finnish meal is the
_Smörgåsbord_. On a side-table in every dining-room rows of little
appetising dishes are arranged, and in the middle stands a large silver
urn, _brännvin_, containing at least a couple of liqueurs or schnapps,
each of which comes out of a different tap. Every man takes a small
glass of brandy, which is made in Finland from corn, and is very strong.
No brandy is allowed to be imported from Russia or _vice versâ_, a rule
very strictly adhered to in both countries. Having had their drink and
probably _Skålat_ ("I drink your health") to their respective friends,
each takes a small plate, knife, and fork from the pile placed close at
hand, and helps himself to such odds and ends as he fancies before
returning to the dining-table to enjoy them. Generally four or five
things are heaped on each plate, but as they are only small delicacies
they do not materially interfere with the appetite. Usually in summer
the _Smörgåsbord_ contains--

_Salt_, _graf lax_, raw or smoked salmon.

_Rädiser_, radishes.

_Ost_, cheese of various kinds, shaved very thin and eaten with black
bread and butter, _Bondost_ and _Baueruk_ being two favourite kinds
among the peasantry.

_Kaviar_, which is quite excellent and unlike anything we have in
England, being the whole eggs of the sturgeon instead of a messy black
compound.

_Renstek_, smoked reindeer, which is not nearly so nice as it is when
eaten fresh in the winter in Norway.

_Ägg_, cold hard-boiled eggs cut in slices and arranged with sardines or
anchovies.

_Ost omelette_, a delicious sort of custard or omelette, made with
cheese and served hot, although everything else on the side-table is
cold.

Mushrooms cooked in cream is another favourite dish.

Then small glass plates with slices of cold eel in jelly, salmon in
jelly, tongue, ham, potted meat, etc., complete the _Smörgåsbord_, which
is often composed of fifteen or twenty dishes.

These delicacies are many of them delicious, but as the same things
appear at each meal three times a day, one gets heartily sick of them in
the end, and, to an English mind, they certainly seem out of place at
breakfast time.

There are many excellent breads in Finland--

_Frankt bröd_ is really French bread; but anything white is called
_Frankt bröd_, and very good it is, as a rule.

_Råg bröd_, or rye bread, is the ordinary black bread of the country,
made in large flat loaves.

_Hålkaka_, the peasants' only food in some parts, is baked two or three
times a year, so they put the bread away in a loft or upon the kitchen
rafters; consequently, by the time the next baking day comes round it is
as hard as a brick. A knife often cannot cut it. It is invariably sour,
some of the last mixing being always left in the tub or bucket, that the
necessary acidity may be ensured.

_Knäckebröd_ is a thin kind of cake, made of rye and corn together,
something like Scotch oatcake, with a hole in the middle, so that it
may be strung up in rows like onions on a stick in the kitchen. When
thin and fresh it is excellent, but when thick and stale a dog biscuit
would be equally palatable.

_Wiborgs kringla_, called in Finnish _Wiipurin rinkeli_, is a great
speciality, its real home and origin being _Wiborg_ itself. It is a sort
of cake, but its peculiarity is that it is baked on straw, some of the
straw always adhering to the bottom. It is made in the form of a true
lover's knot, of the less fantastic kind, and a golden sign of this
shape hangs outside to determine a baker's shop; even in Petersburg and
in the north of Finland a modified representation of the _Wiborgs
kringla_ also denotes a bakery.

Having partaken of the odds and ends mentioned, the ordinary mid-day
meal or dinner begins, usually between two and four o'clock.

The hostess, who sits at the head of the table, with her husband
generally on one side and her most honoured guest on the other, with two
huge soup-tureens before her, asks those present whether they will have
soup or _filbunke_, a very favourite summer dish. This is made from
fresh milk which has stood in a tureen till it turns sour and forms a
sort of curds, when it is eaten with sugar and powdered ginger. It
appears at every meal in the summer, and is excellent on a hot day. It
must be made of fresh milk left twenty-four hours in a warm kitchen for
the cream to rise, and twenty-four hours in the cellar, free from
draught, to cool afterwards. The castor sugar is invariably served in a
tall silver basin--that is to say, the bowl, with its two elegant
handles, stands on a well-modelled pillar about eight or ten inches
high, altogether a very superior and majestic form of sugar basin.

There are two special drinks in Finland--one for the rich, the other for
the poor.

_Mjöd_ is one of the most delicious beverages imaginable. It is not
champagne, and not cider, but a sort of effervescing drink of pale
yellow colour made at the breweries, and extremely refreshing on a hot
day. It costs about one shilling and sixpence a bottle, sometimes more,
and is often handed round during an afternoon call with the coffee and
_marmelader_, the famous Russian sweetmeats made of candied fruits.

The other drink is called in Swedish _Svagdricka_, but as it is really a
peasant drink, and as the peasants speak Finnish, it is generally known
as _Kalja_, pronounced "Kal-e-yah." It looks black, and is really small
beer. Very small indeed it is, too, with a nasty burnt taste, and the
natives up-country all make it for themselves, each farm having half a
dozen or twenty hop poles of its own, which flavours the _Kalja_ for the
whole party for a year, so its strength of hop or amount of bubble is
not very great.

From the middle of June till the middle of July we ate wild strawberries
three times a day with sugar and cream! They simply abound, and very
delicious these little _Mansikka_ are. So plentiful are they that
_Suomi_ is actually known as "strawberry land."

There are numbers of wild berries in Finland; indeed, they are quite a
speciality, and greet the traveller daily in soup--sweet soups being
very general--or they are made into delicious syrups, are served as
compôte with meat, or transformed into puddings.

Here are a few of them--

     Finnish.           Latin.

    _Mansikka_      _Fragaria vesca_           Wild strawberries, found in
                                                 profusion everywhere.

    _Mesikka_       _Rubus arcticus_           Red, with splendid aroma.
                                                 Liqueur is made from them.

    _Vaatukka_      _Rubus idaeus_             Wild raspberry.

    _Lakka_         _Rubus chamaemorus_        Black. Often made into a
                                                 kind of black juice, and
                                                 taken as sweet soup.

    _Mustikka_      _Vaccinium myrtillus_      (Wortleberries)--Black.
                                                 Often made into soup of
                                                 a glorious colour.

    _Puolukka_      _Vaccinium vitis idaea_    (Red whortleberry)--Like a
                                                 small cranberry. Eaten
                                                 with meat.

    _Juolukka_      _Vaccinium uliginosum_     A common black kind of
                                                 berry, not very eatable.

    _Herukka_       _Ribes nigrum_             Cranberry.

    _Karpalo_       _Vaccinium occycoccus_     This berry is not gathered
                                                 in the autumn, but is left
                                                 under the snow all the
                                                 winter, ready to be picked
                                                 in spring when the snow
                                                 melts, as the fruit is
                                                 better when it has been
                                                 frozen. It keeps in a tub
                                                 for months without any
                                                 preparation, and is
                                                 particularly good as a
                                                 jelly when eaten with
                                                 cream.

    _Muurain_       (Swedish, _Hjortron_)      In appearance is like a
                                                 yellow raspberry; grows
                                                 in the extreme north in
                                                 the morasses during
                                                 August. It is a most
                                                 delicious fruit, with
                                                 a pine-tree flavour.

"Will you have some sweetbread?" we were once asked, but as we were
drinking coffee at the moment we rather wondered why we should be going
back to the _éntrees_--our stupidity, of course. Sweetbread is the name
given to all simple forms of cake in Finland; a great deal of it is
eaten, and it is particularly good.

At dinner, hock, claret, or light beer are drunk as a rule; but at
breakfast and supper, beer and milk are the usual beverages, the latter
appearing in enormous jugs--indeed, we have actually seen a glass one
that stood over two feet high.

After dinner, coffee is immediately served with cream, not hot milk;
after supper, tea is generally handed round, the hostess brewing it at
the table.

Beside her stands a huge _samovar_, which is really a Russian urn, and
not a teapot as generally supposed. Inside it are hot coals or coke,
round the tin of which is the boiling water, while above it stands the
teapot, kept hot by the water below. It is generally very good tea, for
it comes from China in blocks through Siberia, but it is much better
when drunk with thin slices of lemon than with milk. As a rule, it is
served to men in tumblers, and to women in cups, an etiquette with an
unknown origin. It is pale-straw colour, and looks horribly weak, and so
it is, but with lemon it forms a very refreshing beverage.

At the end of each meal every one at the table goes and shakes hands
with the host and hostess and says "_tack_" (thank you); certainly a
pretty little courtesy on the part of strangers, but rather monotonous
from children, when there are many of them, as there often are in
Finland, especially when the little ones cluster round the parents or
grandparents as a sort of joke, and prolong the "_tack_" for an
indefinite period.

Then the men smoke; seldom the women, for, although so close to Russia,
Finnish women rarely imitate their neighbours in this habit. The elder
men smoke tremendously, especially cigarettes, fifty or sixty per diem
being nothing uncommon. In fact, this smoking has become so terrible a
curse that there is now a movement among the students, most of whom seem
to be anti-smokers, against tobacco, so perhaps the new generation may
not have such black teeth and yellow fingers.

But to return to the first impressions of our country-house. The
balconies are made very wide so as to admit a dining-table, and as the
roofs of the houses project a couple of feet beyond the balcony, in
order to throw the winter's snows on to the ground instead of allowing
them to block up the verandahs, there is plenty of shade; that is
occasionally increased by hanging curtains of red and white striped
canvas, which can be drawn together, and form quite a little room. They
were the jolliest, happiest meals in that island home! Every one spoke
German--the language we all knew best in common--and conversation,
jokes, and merriment never flagged as we sat facing that glorious view
of pine-wood and water, while the lilac (just two months later than in
England) scented the air, or the hawthorn afforded shelter for endless
birds who were constantly singing. Among the most notable cries was that
of the friendly cuckoo. Fourteen, and even twenty, of us often dined
together--the daughters, sons, husbands, wives, and children from the
other houses frequently gathering round the father's board. And in the
cool of the evening we usually went for a row on the lake.

Every one boats in Finland. Two or three sailing boats, and some dozen
rowing skiffs and canvas _kanots_ of different sizes, lay upon the
Captain's water, and at all times and seasons some person was away in
one of them, or down at the bathing house enjoying a so-called sea-bath,
although it was not really salt water, being more of an inland lake.
Canoeing is one of the great sports of Finland, and yet it is only
within the last ten years that these _kanots_ have come in such
universal use, although no country was ever better fitted for the
purpose, for it is one series of long lakes joined together by beautiful
rivers. Dr. August Ramsay must be termed the Father of Finnish canoeing,
for it was his book on the subject that made the sport so fashionable.
Funnily enough, these Finnish canoes are always made of canvas stretched
over ribs of wood. They are two and a half to three feet wide and some
twenty feet long; therefore they are pretty solid and can be used with a
sail. An Englishman fond of the sport cannot do better than take a
summer jaunt to Finland, and with his canoe travel through some of the
most beautiful parts of that captivating country.

Finlanders lead a very jolly, independent, happy life during the summer
months. They seem to throw off their cares and responsibilities and to
make up their minds to enjoy the long, balmy days, and, as they are not
devoured by the midges which eat up strangers alive, they have nought to
ruffle the even tenor of their way.

After supper, when the day's work is over, and the great heat has gone,
boating parties are made up, and, in the brilliant midnight sunsets,
they glide in and out of the islands, visit distant friends, singing the
while some of the delightful melodies for which their land is justly
famous.

Even as far back as 1896, when I paid my first visit to Finland, and
when telephones were barely in general use in England, _Suomi_ was ahead
of us.

The great excitement in the homes was the ring of the telephone bell and
the Swedish cry, "Hulloa! ring up so and so," which at first we imagined
was being translated into English for our benefit. Telephones are very
cheap there, costing about a couple of pounds a year, and they are
universal; for, like Norway, Finland was one of the first countries to
be riddled with them, and a delightful luxury they are, for by their
means one can live out of the world, and yet be in it.

In those early days of telephones strange things happened. _Pekka_ was
madly in love with _Ilma_, a wondrously beautiful maid. He heard rumours
that she was trifling with another. He could not stand the torture even
for a few hours, and so "rang up" the mansion of the family _Heikkilä_.

Joy, he heard the voice of _Ilma_ in answer, and said, "Is it you, dear
one? I, _Pekka_, am here."

A soft sigh replied.

"Are you glad to hear _Pekka_--do you care for him just a little?"

"Yes," sighed the fair maid.

"Darling, it is not true you care for _Armas Merikanto_?"

"No, no!" she cried.

"You like me--you love me?"

"Yes," she softly murmured.

"Will you be my wife?"

"I will, _Pekka_."

Overjoyed, _Pekka_ almost hugged the wooden box that brought him such
glad tidings.

"When may I come to see you, darling--my little wife?"

"Come, _Pekka_--come for dinner at three o'clock."

A few more sweet nothings, and, quite enraptured, he returned to his
dull office routine. At three o'clock, spick and span, with a golden
ring in his pocket, he presented himself at the house of the
_Heikkiläs_.

In the salon stood the mother. He went towards her to receive her
motherly congratulations. She rushed forward to meet him, as all good
mothers-in-law should, and, throwing herself into his arms, she cried--

"Take me, _Pekka_, dearest _Pekka_; I am yours till death."

"Mine?"

"Yes. I have loved you long, darling _Pekka_, and I am ready whenever
you can fix a day for our marriage!"

Tableau!

_Moral_--beware of telephones!

Matrimony generally expects too much and gets too little. Courtship
proved the same in this case.

The first thing that strikes a stranger on entering a Finnish
country-house is the mats, placed at the foot of every staircase and
outside every door. They are made of the loose branches of the pine-tree
neatly laid on the top of one another to form an even round mat, these
branches being so constantly renewed that they always give off a
delicious fresh smell. The next surprise is the enormous white porcelain
stove or oven found in every room; so enormous are these _kakelugn_ that
they reach the ceiling, and are sometimes four feet long and three or
four feet deep. The floors of all the rooms are painted raw-sienna
colour, and very brightly polished. To our mind it seems a pity not to
stain the natural wood instead of thus spoiling its beauty, but yellow
paint is at present the fashion, and fashion is always beautiful, some
folk say. In winter carpets and rugs are put down, but during summer the
rooms are swept daily (at all events in the country) with a broom made
of a bundle of fresh, green birch leaves--somewhat primitive, but very
efficacious, for when the leaves are a little damp they lick up dust in
a wonderful manner. These little brooms are constantly renewed, being
literally nothing more than a bundle of birch boughs tied tightly
together. They cost nothing in a land where trees grow so fast that it
is difficult for a peasant to keep the ground near his house free from
their encroachments.

In truth, Finland is utterly charming. Its lakes, its canals, its
rivers, its forests, are beautiful, and its customs are interesting. It
is primitive and picturesque, and its people are most kind and
hospitable, but--and oh! it is a very big _but_ indeed, there exists a
Finnish pest.

Strolling through those beautiful dark pines and silver birch woods, he
is ever by one's side; sailing or rowing over the lakes, that Finnish
demon intrudes himself. Sitting quietly at meals, we know the fiend is
under the table, while, as we rest on the balcony in the evening,
watching a glorious sun sinking to rest an hour before midnight, he
whispers in our ears or peeps into our eyes. He is here, there, and
everywhere; he is omnipresent--this curse of Finland. He is very small,
his colour is such that he is hardly visible, and he is sly and crafty,
so that the unwary stranger little guesses that his constant and almost
unseen companion will speedily bring havoc to his comfort and dismay
into his life. The little wretch is called _Mygga_ in Swedish or
_Itikainen_ in Finnish, the Finnish words being pronounced exactly as
they are written, in the German style of calling i, e, etc.

In English he is a mosquito of a very virulent description, and in
Finland he is a peculiarly knowing little brute, and shows a hideous
partiality for strangers, not apparently caring much for the taste of
Finnish blood.

He loves Englishwomen as inordinately as they loathe him, and,
personally, the writer suffered such tortures that her ankles became hot
and swollen, and at last, in spite of lavender oil, ammonia and camphor
baths, grew so stiff that walking became positively painful, and her
ears and eyes mere distorted lumps of inflamed flesh! Therefore, dear
lady reader, be prepared when you visit Midgeland to become absolutely
hideous and unrecognisable. When a kindly servant brings a rug to wind
round your legs under the dinner-table on the balcony, gladly accept
that rug.

There are not merely mosquitoes but--but--that awful experience must be
told in another chapter.

As a town _Wiborg_ is nothing to boast of. There is nothing very
remarkable about any ordinary Finnish town, with the exception of the
capital, _Helsingfors_, where all the best buildings are centered and
built of stone. Most of the towns are modern and generally ugly,
because, being of wood, they are so apt to be burnt down, that
architects give neither time nor thought to their structural beauty, or,
even when not so destroyed, the original houses--which seldom last over
a hundred years--have fallen out of repair and been replaced by
undecorative wooden structures. Stone houses are few and far between,
and, as a rule, the wooden dwellings are only one storey high, because
fires in such low buildings are more easily extinguished, and, land not
being of much value, the space required for such edifices can easily be
afforded. These wooden dwellings are usually painted dark red in the
smaller towns, and lighter shades in the larger, while here and there
on the walls are to be seen iron rosettes and other queer sort of
ornaments, really used as a means of keeping the house together. No one,
not even a Finn, could call the average native town beautiful, although
some excellent stone educational buildings are springing up here and
there.

The capital is charmingly situated and has several very nice buildings,
and is therefore an exception, but even in the case of _Wiborg_ the shop
windows are small and uninviting, the streets are shockingly laid with
enormous boulder stones and sometimes even bits of rock, while
pavements, according to our ideas, hardly exist.

The religion being Lutheran there are no beautiful churches, only simple
whitewashed edifices, extremely plain inside, with an organ at one end,
an altar and perhaps one picture at the other. In the case of _Kuopio_
(which town possesses a Bishop) the cathedral is only lighted by
candles, and, during the service, a man goes round continually putting
out those that have burnt too low with a wet sponge tied to the end of a
stick!

One of the chief characteristics of the towns, most noticeable to a
stranger, is that none of the windows are ever open. The Finn dreads
fresh air as much as he dreads _daily_ ablutions, and therefore any room
a stranger enters at any hour is certain to be stuffy and oppressive.

One day in _Wiborg_, overcome with the intense heat, we went into a
confectioner's where ices were provided, to get cool. Imagine our horror
to find that the double windows were hermetically sealed, although the
café invited the patronage of strangers by placards stating "ices were
for sale." What irony! To eat an ice in a hothouse as a means of getting
cool.

_Wiborg_ has a big market, and every day a grand trade is done in that
large open space, and as we wandered from one cart of meat to another of
vegetables or black bread, or peeped at the quaint pottery or marvellous
baskets made from shavings of wood neatly plaited, our attention was
arrested by fish tartlets. We paused to look; yes, a sort of pasty the
shape of a saucer was adorned in the middle with a number of small fish
about the size of sardines. They were made of _suola kala_ (salted
fish), eaten raw by the peasants; we now saw them in _Wiborg_ for the
first time, though, unhappily, not for the last, since these fish
tartlets haunted us at every stage of our journey up country.

What weird and wonderful foods one eats and often enjoys when
travelling.

Strange dishes, different languages, quaint customs, and unexpected
characteristics all add to the charms of a new land; but it requires
brains to admire anything new.

Fools are always stubborn, even in their appreciation of the beautiful.




CHAPTER III

FINNISH BATHS


No one can be many days in Finland without hearing murmurs of the
bath-house.

A Finnish bath once taken by man or woman can never be forgotten!

A real native bath is one of the specialities of the country. Even in
the old songs of the _Kalevala_ they speak of the "cleansing and healing
vapours of the heated bath-room."

Poets have described the bath in verse, artists have drawn it on canvas,
and singers have warbled forth its charms; nevertheless, it is not every
traveller who has penetrated the strange mystery. Most strange and most
mysterious it is. But I anticipate.

Every house in the country, however humble that house may be, boasts its
_bastu_, or bath-house, called in Finnish _Sauna_. As we passed along
the country roads, noting the hay piled up on a sort of tent erection
made of pine trunks, to dry in the sun before being stowed away into
small wooden houses for protection during the winter, or nearly drove
over one of those strange long-haired pigs, the bristles on whose backs
reminded one of a hog-maned polo pony, one saw these _bastus_
continually. Among the cluster of little buildings that form the farm,
the bath-house, indeed, stands forth alone, and is easily recognisable,
one of its walls, against which the stove stands, being usually black,
even on the outside, from smoke.

Every Saturday, year in, year out, that stove is heated, and the whole
family have a bath--not singly, oh dear, no, but altogether, men, women,
and children; farmer, wife, brothers, sisters, labourers, friends, and
the dogs too, if they have a mind; so that once in each week the entire
population of Finland is clean, although few of them know what daily
ablutions, even of the most primitive kind, mean, while hot water is
almost as difficult to procure in _Suomi_ as a great auk's egg in
England.

Naturally any institution so purely national as the Finnish _bastu_ was
worth investigating--in fact, could not be omitted from our programme.
Bathing with the peasants themselves, however, being impossible, we
arranged to enjoy the extraordinary pleasure at a friend's house, where
we could be duly washed by one of her own servants; for, be it
understood, there is always one servant in every better-class
establishment who understands the _bastu_, and can, and does wash the
family.

When _she_ is washed, we unfortunately omitted to inquire. In towns,
such as _Helsingfors_, there are professional women-washers, who go from
house to house to bathe and massage men and women alike. Theirs is a
regular trade, and as the higher class of the profession receive about a
shilling for "attending" each bath given at a private house, the
employment is not one to be despised. Neither is it, as proved by the
fact that there are over 300 public bathing-women in little Finland.

On the eventful night of our initiation, supper was over, the
house-party and guests were all assembled on the balcony, the women
engaged in needlework, and the men smoking cigarettes, when _Saima_, the
Finnish servant, arrived to solemnly announce in a loud tone that the
English lady's bath was ready. Taking a fond farewell of the family, I
marched solemnly behind the flaxen-haired _Saima_, who had thoroughly
entered into the spirit of the joke of giving an English lady a Finnish
bath, neither the bather nor attendant being able to understand one word
of what the other spoke. Down an avenue overshadowed by trees we
proceeded, getting a peep of a perfectly glorious sunset which bathed
one side of the lake in yellow hues, while the other was lighted by an
enormous blood-red moon, for in those Northern climes there are many
strange natural effects far more beautiful than in the South. It was a
wonderful evening, and I paused to consider which was the more
beautiful, the departing day or the coming night, both of which were
fighting for supremacy.

_Saima_ would brook no delay, however, so I had to hurry on. Immediately
before us was the _bastu_--a wee wooden house like a small Swiss châlet,
the outer room, where I undressed, containing a large oven. The inner
room boasted only one small window, through which the departing day did
not shine very brilliantly, luckily for my modesty. Its furniture was
only a large-sized tin bath filled with cold water, opposite to which
were seven very wide wooden steps like a staircase, twelve feet wide
perhaps, the top step forming a kind of platform where there was just
room to sit without one's head touching the tarred ceiling above. The
steps and the platform were covered with straw--Finnish fashion--for the
great occasion.

I wondered what next, but had not much time for speculation, for
_Saima_--who only took off her outer dress--grasped me by the hand, her
face aglow with the intense heat, led me up the wooden staircase, and
signed her will that I should sit on the straw-strewn platform afore
honourably mentioned.

Oh, the heat! Many of us know Turkish baths; but then we take them
gradually, whereas in the _bastu_ one plunges into volcanic fires at
once. Blinking in the dim light, I found that beside us was a
brick-built stove, for which the fire, as I had noticed while disrobing,
is in the outer chamber, and when the washing-woman threw a pail of
water upon the surface of the great heated stones, placed for the
purpose inside the stove, the steam ascended in volumes, and the
temperature went up, until I exclaimed, in one of the few Swedish
sentences I knew, "_Mycket hett_" (very hot), at which agonised remark
_Saima_ laughed uproariously, and, nodding and smiling, fetched another
pail of water from the cold bath, and threw its contents on the brick
furnace in order that more steaming fumes might ascend. Almost stifled I
blinked, and gasped, and groaned by turns, repeating again and again,
"_Mycket hett_," "_alltför hett_" (too hot), "_Tack så mycket_" (thank
you), in tones of anguish. Much amused, _Saima_--who, be it understood,
was a Swedish-speaking Finn--stood smiling cheerfully at my
discomfiture; but, happily, at last she seemed to think I might have had
enough, for, after waving my hands hopelessly to the accompaniment of
"_Nej tack, nej tack_" (no thank you), she apparently understood and
desisted.

A moment later, through the steam, her smiling face ascended the stairs,
with a pail of hot water in one hand, and a lump of soft soap in the
other, on which was a large bundle of white fibre, something like hemp.
Dipping this in the pail, she soon made a lather with the soap, and,
taking up limb after limb, scrubbed hard and long--scrubbed until my
skin tingled, and in the damp mysterious heat I began to wonder how much
of my body would emerge from the ordeal. This scrubbing was a long
process, and if the Finns wash one another as industriously as _Saima_
washed me, no one in Finland should ever be dirty, although most of them
must lose several skins a year. Pails of water were then thrown over me,
over the straw, over everything, and I heard the soapy water gurgling
away into the lake below, which was covered with yellow and white
water-lilies. Lilies cannot object to soap, or they would never bloom in
Finland as they do.

"_Mycket bra_" (very good), I called again and again, hoping that
appreciation might perhaps make _Saima_ desist, as the exclamations at
the heat did not seem to alarm her. More water was thrown on to the
steaming bricks, and _Saima_ retired, returning immediately with a great
bundle of birch leaves, tied up with a string, such as I had often seen
her on former occasions sweeping the floors with. Dipping the branches
of the birch into a pail of hot water she proceeded to beat her victim
all over! Yes, beat me, beat me hard. She laughed, and I laughed; but
the more I laughed the harder she thumped, till the sharp edges of the
leaves left almost a sting, while the strong healthy _Saima_ beat me
harder and harder, dipping the leaves into hot water continually, and
grinning cheerily all the time.

The peasantry in Finland are occasionally good enough to wash one
another, and stories are told of a dozen of them sitting in rows on the
wooden steps, each man vigorously beating his neighbour with birch
boughs.

At harvest time, when the heat is very great, and the work very hard,
labourers have a bath _every night_! Frequently, after our wonderful
experience at _Ilkeäsaari_, we saw, while journeying farther into the
country, shoals of human beings strolling off to enjoy their _bastu_ or
_Sauna_.

It was a weird and wonderful experience. I was really beginning to feel
the heat dreadful after an hour, and was confident the blood must be
galloping through my veins. Finally the good-tempered Finnish maid
appeared to be of the same mind, for she fetched a pail of cold water,
and, pouring a good drop on my head--which made me jump--she dipped her
birch branches therein and switched them over me. Had I followed true
Finnish fashion I should then have taken a midnight plunge straight into
the lake outside--or in winter taken a roll in the snow--but, our bath
being rather more aristocratic, I only descended the slippery steps,
really gasping with the heat and treatment, and jumped into that bath of
cold water previously mentioned; before--clad only in burning hot
towels--returning to the outer room to dress.

I puffed and panted, and, quite exhausted, longed for a Turkish divan
and quiet rest before, robed in fur coats and thick under-garments, I
trotted home to bed.

The bath was taken, the mystery unravelled; I had been washed according
to native ideas and customs, and understood what the whole thing meant.
Some pleasures are too nearly allied to pain to be really pleasant.

Whether it was the heat, or exhaustion, or the loss of one skin or many,
I know not; but after a glass of _mjöd_, that most delicious and
refreshing of Finnish drinks, I slept splendidly--the first time after
weeks of anxiety and grief--and felt fit next morning for any amount of
hard work, even for a journey to Russia through Finland, though we did
not speak or understand the language of either country. Adversity may
develop character, but it is mighty unpleasant.

The Finnish peasant thinks nothing of being seen by his friends or his
neighbours in a state of nature, _apropos_ of which peculiarity a
well-known general told us the following story--

He had been inspecting a district, and for his benefit parades, etc.,
were held. Some hours afterwards he went for a ride, and on returning to
the village he passed a _Sauna_, where the folk were enjoying their
primitive kind of Turkish bath. According to the usual custom one of the
men came out to dress himself; but, having left his clothes in a little
pile some twenty feet from the _Sauna_ door, he had hardly looked out
his things when he noticed that the general was upon him. Though not in
the least confused by the fact of his nakedness, for which he made no
apology, he nevertheless exclaimed in tones of horror, "The general! the
general!" and began rummaging among the articles on the ground, till at
last he pulled forth a wig, which, all in a hurry, he clapped on his
head wrong side up, then standing proudly erect he saluted the general
as he passed.

The poor fellow evidently considered his wig of much more importance
than his shirt. Modesty is a matter of climate and custom, just as
morals are a matter of geography.

Another amusing story is told of an elegant Englishman who had heard so
much of Finnish baths that he determined to try one; having arrived at
some small town, he told the _Isvoschtschik_ to go to the _bastu_. Away
they drove, and finally drew up at a very nice house, where he paid the
twopence halfpenny fare for his cab, rang the bell, and was admitted by
a woman servant. He only knew half a dozen words in Swedish, but
repeated _bastu_ to the smiling lass, being surprised at the elegance
of the furniture in the room into which he had been shown. The girl
smiled again and left him. However, thinking it was all right, he
proceeded to undress, and, having entirely disrobed, he stood ready to
be escorted into the bath, and accordingly rang for the woman to come
and wash and massage him. A few moments later the door opened, and a
very beautiful young dame stood before him. She was no masseuse, but the
wife of the pastor, into whose house he had come by mistake owing to his
want of knowledge of the pronunciation of the language. Tableau!

We had many curious experiences when bathing in the lakes, and seemed to
excite as much interest in the peasantry of Finland as a Chinaman with
his pigtail would in a small country village in England. At _Sordavala_,
for instance, there was a charming little bath-house belonging to our
next host, for which we got the key and prepared to enjoy a swim. A
bathing-dress was not to be bought for love or money. No one had ever
heard of such a thing, but my sister's modesty forbade her appearing
without one so near a town, and, now that we had left our kind hostess
at _Ilkeäsaari_, she could no longer borrow one. Through the town of
_Sordavala_, therefore, we marched from shop to shop until we lighted
upon a sort of store where linen goods were procurable. Blue and
white-striped galatea exactly suited the purpose, as it would be light
for packing, and the colour could not run. We bought it, we paid for it,
and home we marched. In less than an hour that gown was cut out by the
aid of a pair of nail scissors, without any kind or sort of pattern
whatever, and was sewn up ready for use. Out my sister went to bathe,
triumphant; but so rare was a bathing-dress that the onlookers thought
the English lady had fallen into the water by mischance with all her
clothes on.

My sister had hardly taken a plunge from the spring-board into the water
below, before every man, woman, and child in the neighbourhood began
exclaiming one to the other, "The English lady has tumbled in," and,
absolutely, before the bather's head could appear again from the depths
of the water they had all run to the bank to have a look at the
phenomenon, more prepared to rescue her from drowning than to see her
swimming far out into the lake with clothes on. Of course their interest
was heightened by the appearance of the dress and cap, for even the
better-class Finlanders very rarely wear any covering on their bodies
while bathing, and as the women never dive or swim under water a cap is
not necessary to keep their hair dry. They evidently considered my
sister and her attire something remarkably funny.

Again at _Iisalmi_, another place of some importance, when we went down
to the bath-house we found it surrounded by dozens of boys of all ages
and descriptions, who were enjoying themselves gamboling in the water.

A Finnish gentleman of the town, to whom we had an introduction, kindly
came with us to unlock the door and see that everything was
satisfactory, and he quickly explained to the boys they must go away
into the next cove as strange ladies were about to bathe. Very
reluctantly they went, and, wishing us good-bye and a pleasant dip, he
went too.

We undressed, donned our aquatic attire, plunged into the water, to
discover, in a few moments, a row of grinning spectators, varying in age
from three years old to thirty, sitting up on the banks like monkeys in
a cage, thoroughly enjoying the joke. They laughed and they chatted,
they pointed, they waved their arms, and they evidently considered our
performances most extraordinary.

These are only two instances out of many, for everywhere we went we
caused interest and amusement.

One of our party through Northern Finland was a magnificent swimmer. He
had a cheery way of jumping into a boat, rowing himself far out into the
lake, and then taking a header which excited the admiration of all
beholders. At _Kuopio_ he rowed far out as was his usual habit, while
the old women of the bath-house watched his performance from the shore.
One minute went by, and he did not reappear; two minutes went by, and
they still did not see his head. "He is drowned, he is drowned," they
shrieked in despair, and great was the hubbub and dismay which ensued
before he came up again smiling some distance from the spot where he had
originally plunged from the boat. Besides being a strong swimmer, he was
a remarkable diver, and if two minutes and a half be the length of time
a human being can breathe under water, then we can safely say two
minutes and a half was the length of time he always stayed, for in every
town we halted he invariably caused consternation in the heart of some
one, who thought the stranger in their midst had gone to a watery grave.
He preferred the boat for the sake of his dive, but, as a rule, every
one in Finland bathes from the bath-houses, where there are little rooms
for undressing, in front of which a big stretch of the lake is walled in
as a swimming bath. A penny is the usual charge, and an extra penny for
the towel.

Although every Finlander bathes, as, indeed, they must do during their
hot summers, every Finlander does not swim, and it is a remarkable thing
that among the women, who go daily--sometimes twice a day--to the
swimming bath, most of them will sit on the steps or haul themselves
round by means of a rope, and never learn how to keep themselves afloat
without artificial help.

Walking through the park at _Kuopio_ one day with the Baroness
Michaeloff, my attention was arrested by the extraordinary number of ant
hills we passed.

"They are used for baths," she explained.

"For what?" I asked, thinking I could not have heard aright.

"For baths," she repeated; "formerly these _muurahais kylpy_ (ant-heap
baths) were quite commonly employed as a cure for rheumatism and many
other ailments; but now I fancy it is only the peasants who take them,
or very old folk, perhaps."

"Can an ant bath be had here?"

"Certainly. But surely you don't think of taking one?"

"Indeed I do, though. I am trying all the baths of Finland, and an
ant-heap bath must not be omitted, if it is possible to have such a
thing."

The kindly lady laughed heartily as she said, "Mais, Madame, est-ce que
possible que vous vouliez prendre un de ces bains?"

"Certainment, cela me fait plaisir," I replied, and accordingly we then
and there marched off to the bath-house to see how my desire might best
be accomplished.

The whole matter did not take long to arrange. Next day, at ten o'clock,
the _muurahais kylpy_ bath was to be ready, and, in spite of all the
chaff round the governor's dinner-table that night about my queer
experiment, nothing daunted I presented myself at the appointed hour.
The head _Fröken_, who luckily spoke German, explained that my bath was
ready.

Into a dear little room I went, and lo, the hot water in the bath was
brown! while, floating on the surface, I saw a small linen sack, shaped
like a pillow-case, securely tied at the end. The cushion contained the
ant-heap, on which boiling water had been poured, so that the animals
were really dead, the colour of the water having come from their bodies,
and the room was impregnated with the odour of pines.

Did I shiver at the thought? Well, a little, perhaps; nevertheless, I
tumbled into the warm water, and was scrubbed Finnish fashion by the
old bath-woman, with her scrubbing brush, her soft soap, her birch
branches, and, afterwards, her massage (given under the water), the
_Fröken_ sitting all the while on the sofa, chatting affably, and
describing how the peasants omitted the sacks and simply threw the
ant-heap _au naturel_ into the bath.

The small room had two doors--one opening into the passage, and one into
the douche-chamber, which also served for another bathroom. Presently
the first of the doors opened, and a girl, without apology, entered and
took away a sponge. Did this intrusion make me feel shy? Well, you see,
one gets over shyness after being washed like a baby once or twice; but
she had hardly disappeared before the other door opened, giving
admission to a second woman, who came in and deposited a towel; a moment
later some one else appeared, and after a good stare departed; then came
a fourth on some pretext or other, and I was beginning to think of the
queer stories told of Japan, where the whole paper wall slides back, and
the natives enjoy the spectacle of English folk bathing, when yet a
fifth came into the room. This was too much, and I asked the _Fröken_
why they had all forgotten so many things.

She laughed merrily.

"I'm afraid it's curiosity to see an English lady having an ant-heap
bath, so please don't be angry," and she laughed again.

A spectacle, verily! But who could be angry with such innocent people? I
had come to try a strange Finnish bath which interested me--why should
they not come to see a queer Englishwoman if it amused them? Flinging
shyness to the winds, therefore, I smiled and grinned at the next woman
who entered as though I liked being on view and she went away happy.

What was a _muurahais kylpy_ like? Candidly, it resembled any other
ordinary warm bath, only the water was very black, and there was a
strange aromatic odour about it; but there was nothing horrible in the
experience, although I had a good douche--three kinds of good douches in
fact--for the sake of peace of mind afterwards.

A douche is delightful, especially on a hot day, and the bath-woman was
particularly anxious that I should try the various kinds arranged from
the floor, the ceiling, and the walls of the room.

"But," I explained to the lady with a good deal of patting and
gesticulation, "hair a yard long cannot be wet every day, even in the
summer time, and to have a shower-bath was impossible, as she could not
lend a cap."

She looked distressed, but she was not going to be beaten, and beckoning
for me to wait, she departed, returning a few minutes afterwards with a
small white china basin; this she put on her head upside down, to show
me that it would serve the purpose of a cap, and holding the rim with
both hands she moved it round and round, in a way which indicated that
wherever the water of the shower-bath was falling most was the side to
move the basin to.

It was an original idea this shower-bath trick, and it answered very
well, but then baths in Finland are an art, and Finland without its
bath-houses would not be Finland at all, so I had the shower feeling
like a plum pudding inside a basin.

The reason that the _muurahais kylpy_ bath is efficacious for rheumatism
and of strengthening property is due to the amount of formic acid the
ants contain. Added to which, these industrious little animals live upon
the pine needles, and therefore suck all the strength from the most
juicy part of the turpentiny pine, and, as we all know, turpentine is
much employed in all kinds of embrocation used for rheumatism, lumbago,
and sprains. Soon we shall give up these appliances in favour of
inoculation maybe.

The next strange bath we experienced was in a waterfall, and was yet
more remarkable. Yes, in a real waterfall where a tremendous volume of
water dashed down about ten feet. It was at _Kajana_, a town lying on a
stretch of the famous _Uleå_ rapids. The real fall is about forty feet,
over which not even the tar-boats--described in a later chapter--dare
venture; consequently, two locks, each containing twenty feet of water,
have been made for their use. No one could swim, even in the calmer
waters above or below the locks, because of the cataracts, so a
bath-house has been erected beside the fall, to which the water is
brought, by means of a wooden trough, to a sort of small chamber, where
it rushes in. That waterfall bath was a most alarming place. It was
almost dark as we entered the little chamber through which the water
passed.

How shall we describe it? It was a small room about eight or ten feet
square, with a wooden floor and walls. The top of the wall facing us did
not join the roof by about a foot, so as to enable the water to rush in,
and the bottom of the wall behind us did not reach the floor by another
foot, so as to allow the water to rush out. Some half-dozen stairs
descended from the platform on which we stood to the floor below, but as
the only light came in where the falling water was always dripping, the
walls were soaking wet, and therefore quite black. It was dull and
mystic to say the least of it. Once the full force of the water was
turned on by the large wooden arm, it poured in with such tremendous
force from about ten feet above, that in a moment the floor below was a
bubbling, seething, frothing pool, and as we descended the steps into
this bath, now some two or three feet deep, the force of the stream was
so great that we had actually to hold on by the rail of the stairs to
keep our feet at all on the slippery floor below. It was a lovely
sensation. A piece of bacon bubbling about in the fat of the frying-pan
must experience something like the same movement as we did, bobbing up
and down in this rapidly flowing stream. It almost bumped us over, it
lifted us off our feet, and yet, as the water swirled round us, the
feeling was delicious, and its very coldness was most enjoyable after
the heat outside, and the dust we had travelled through.

As we grew courageous and accustomed to the darkness, we walked more
under the fall itself, but the water, simply thumping on our backs and
shoulders, came with such force, that we felt exactly as if we were
being well pummelled with a pair of boxing-gloves, or being violently
massaged, a delicious tingling sensation being the result. It washed our
hair and rinsed it in a way it had never been rinsed before; but the
force of the water was so great that it was impossible to keep our whole
head under the fall for more than a second at a time, as it almost
stunned us. The volume was so strong that it would have rendered us
quickly insensible. We women all emerged from the waterfall-bath like
drowned rats; or, to put it more poetically, like mermaids, feeling
splendidly refreshed, and wider awake than we had probably ever felt in
our lives before. The magnitude and force of that waterfall-bath makes
me gasp even now to remember. It requires a stout heart to stand
underneath it; nevertheless, how delicious the experience to the
travel-stained and weary traveller, who had been suffering from tropical
sun, and driving for days along dusty roads in springless carts.

We four women had taken the opportunity of washing our powdered hair,
the accumulation of many days' dust, back to its natural colour, and, as
we all possessed locks which fell considerably below our waists, they
would not dry in five minutes, therefore, each with a towel over her
shoulders, we came up on to the little pier, hat in hand, and our hair
hanging down our backs. It certainly was somewhat primitive to sit all
in a row, with our backs to the sun, on the fashionable promenade or
pier of the town. But the town was not big, and the fashion was not
great, and we gradually screwed up our courage, and finally walked home
through the streets in the same way, carrying our hats, with towels over
our shoulders for cloaks. That was all very well, but when we reached
the small hotel the dinner was already on the table, for we had dallied
so long over our bath that our gentlemen were impatiently waiting for
our advent, and persuaded us not to stop to dress our hair as they were
starving, so down we sat, just as we were, to partake of the meal.

But one hardly ever does anything uncommon or a little out of the
ordinances of society, in this world, without being sorry for it
afterwards, and having put off struggling with knots, tangled plaits,
and hair-pins, until after dinner, we were horrified when the door
opened and three unknown men marched in to join our meal. There was no
escape; we were caught like rats in cages. What on earth they thought of
strange women sitting in towels, and with dishevelled locks, we dare not
think. Imagine our confusion.

One was a lieutenant in the army; he was young and shy, and his
discomfiture at the scene was even greater than our own. The second
proved to be a delightful man; a young engineer who was employed in
planning the route for the new railway to _Kajana_. He told us that he
had been for over a month travelling through the forests and bogs of the
country, surveying for the best route for the projected line, and that
the wooden staves we had noticed so often along the road, as we drove
from _Kuopio_, were the marks laid down as the most suitable direction
for the railway to take.

He had heard of us, for some peasants had told him, with great
excitement, that morning that a party of eight people were driving
through _Savolax_, and some of them were English. Poor man, he told us
of his sufferings in the bogs, and how in some of the low-lying
districts the mosquitoes had tormented him so awfully that he had been
quite ill. Even Finlanders suffer sometimes, it would seem; therefore
strangers need not complain. Sir Ronald Ross has done so much to
obliterate the malaria-carrying mosquito, perhaps he would like to turn
his attention to Finland and Lapland where mosquitoes are a veritable
curse to enjoyment if not to health.

In spite of our dishevelled locks, we after all enjoyed a very pleasant
meal.




CHAPTER IV

A NIGHT IN A MONASTERY


Having torn ourselves away from our kind friends at _Ilkeäsaari_ for a
time, and digressed from our story to describe Finnish baths, we must
now own that the prospect of a night in a monastery was very
exciting--more especially when that monastery chanced to belong to
Russia, and to stand alone on an island in the middle of the great
_Ladoga_ lake, which no doubt once joined together the White Sea and the
Gulf of Finland. It is the largest lake in Europe, and celebrated also
for the cold temperature of its water, which, in spite of its vast size,
is always more or less frozen over in winter. It never warms in summer,
and therefore there can be little or no bathing around its shores.

_Sordavala_, where we embarked--of which more anon--is Finnish, staunch
Finnish, while _Valamo_, where we landed, is a Russian monastery;
therefore no love exists between the two centres, and few arrangements
are made for the comfort and transport of strangers, with the result
that a couple of steamers go and come as they like; no one knew when
they would start, and much less when they would return. Nevertheless, on
one eventful Sunday morning, the longest day of the year, we were
hoisted on board the _Baallam_ (the V, true Russian fashion, had turned
into a B) from our little boat below, and seated ourselves comfortably
on the vessel which belongs to the famous monastery. Though we had been
in many ships, manned by many types of sailors, from the swarthy Moor to
the short sturdy Icelander, the agile Italian to the fearless Norseman,
we here encountered a class of sailor we had never seen before.

He was tall and lank and lean; he wore a sort of long gown of black
cloth, green on the shoulders with age, and frayed at the elbows, while
a girdle of plaited wool encircled his waist. He had no collar or cuffs,
but his feet were encased in long sea-boots, which peeped out from under
his petticoats, and his hair--well, his hair hung over his shoulders
almost to his waist, and on his head was placed a high round black-cloth
cap. He was like no class or form of sailor we had ever seen before. He
was something weird and uncanny. His face was neither bronzed by the sea
nor tanned by the sun, but had an unhealthy pallor about it, and his
sunken eyes looked wistfully over a world of which he seemingly knew
nothing. Yet he was a sailor, this antithesis of a Jack Tar, and he was
also--a Russian monk! His hands were none of the cleanest, his clothes
none of the sweetest; but it was not salt water that made them so--it
was oil and age.

We were well armed with an introduction to the _Igumen_ or head of the
monastery, the sort of cardinal or bishop of the island. And we were
also provided with a large basket of provisions, since no one can get
anything at _Valamo_ except such food as the monks eat and cook
themselves, not but that their food is generally good enough as simple
fare goes; but at the precise time of our visit there happened to be a
great fast in the Greek Church, during which it is impossible to secure
even milk and butter, the monks being forbidden such luxuries. The only
things obtainable were black bread, soup made from cabbage, groats, a
sort of buck-wheat porridge cooked in oil, and small beer or tea. On
such diet or on potato soup, the seventy monks and four hundred
probationers live for _six weeks_ in the height of summer, as well as at
Easter and other festivals. Oil is used profusely in cooking at such
periods as a sort of penance. At other seasons milk and butter are
allowed, fish is eaten on Sundays, and more farinaceous and vegetable
foods enjoyed, although strong beer, wine, and meat are never touched.

Knowing the difficulty of getting food of any kind during one of these
strict fasts, and not being particularly devoted to rancid oil, we asked
a friend to be sure and order for us a good basket of eatables, and,
among other things, a fowl.

It may be well to mention that Frau von Lilly accompanied us on our trip
to _Sordavala_, _Valamo_, and _Imatra_, acting as guide, cicerone, and
friend. Being an excellent linguist, and well versed in the manners and
customs of her country, her aid was invaluable; indeed, it is to her we
owe much of the success of our summer jaunt to Finland. At _Sordavala_,
however, we were joined for a few days by a young Finlander, whose
family name is a household word in _Suomi_, and who, though still
youthful, having inherited the wisdom of his ancestors, and kindly
patronising ways, proved such an excellent courier, organiser, and
companion, that in joke we christened him "Grandpapa," finding his
wisdom far beyond his years.

Poor Grandpapa! How we teased the youth, how we imposed upon his good
nature; but through it all he emerged victorious, and has the
gratification of knowing he finally escorted two Englishwomen through
some of the wild untrodden paths of his native land, and shipped them
for home, alive and well, and none the worse for strange
experiences--experiences not unmixed at times with a spice of danger.

Such were our travelling companions, joined later by Grandpapa's
handsome sisters, and a very delightful student, whose father is one of
the best-known men in Finland; to say nothing of a young baron, a
magister, and a General, who accompanied us for a day or two at
different points along our route, and then left us again, to attend
other calls of duty; often our party increased to six, eight, or ten, so
we were always well looked after.

To Grandpapa was entrusted the ordering of a fowl for _Valamo_, for the
party of four.

"What? A whole fowl?" he asked.

"Certainly. Surely you would not provide half a fowl for four people,
would you?"

"No. But I might provide four fowls for one person, which would be more
suitable."

We smiled a sickly smile, at what we supposed to be an attempt at
Finnish humour too profound for our weak intellects to grasp, or perhaps
our smile veiled the hidden sarcasm we felt within at such poor fun.

Grandpapa forgot the fowl; but in his sleep he suddenly awoke from a
dreadful nightmare, during the horrors of which that cackling creature
glared upon him in the enormity of his sin. Next morning he was up
before the chickens' elderly friends, the cocks, began to crow, and ere
they had completed their morning song, well--the stock of the farmyard
was lessened.

Before we steamed away from the little pier, the basket of eatables
arrived, and we went off happy in the possession of a fowl, sardines,
cold eggs, tea, white bread and butter, a large bottle of milk, to say
nothing of a small cellar of birch-bark plaitings which formed a
basket, containing Lager beer and soda water. All this, as written down,
may seem a too goodly supply, but be it remembered we were three healthy
women who had to be provisioned for thirty-six hours; Grandpapa did not
come with us to the monastery.

Two hours' steam over the northern portion of that enormous lake brought
forty islands, which form a group called _Valamo_, in sight, with the
great white and blue-domed Russian church standing out clearly against a
lovely sky. This building took four years to finish. The monks built
nearly all of it themselves, made the bricks, carved the wood, painted
the walls, ceilings, etc., and did all the goldsmith's work for lamps
and altars. It is very massive, very great, catholic in its gaudy style,
but sadly wanting tone. Much may, however, be accomplished by the kindly
hand of time, which often renders the crudest things artistic, as it
gently heals the wounds of grief.

We were struck by the size of the place; close beside the monastery and
large church was a huge building, a sort of hotel for visitors,
containing two thousand beds! They are small rooms and small beds, 'tis
true, but at times of great pilgrimages and Greek festivals they are
quite full. No one pays; hospitality, such as it is, is free; the
visitor merely gives what he likes to the church on leaving. But the
monks, who dispense hospitality gratis, do a roaring trade in
photographs and rosaries, and are very pressing to sell them to
strangers, not that they need be, as the monastery is noted for its
riches. It certainly does not display any sign of wealth on the backs of
its inhabitants, for some of their long coats looked green and yellow
with age, and we were not surprised at their shabby appearance when we
learned that they each only had one coat a year in which to do all their
work, no matter how dirty that work might be. Are they not there to
mortify the flesh and learn economy? What is the want of raiment when
compared with the wants of the soul?

They are given triennially an enormous thick fur coat, cap, and gloves,
so their wardrobes are not large, and some of the men seem to take
little interest in keeping even their few garments clean or tidy.

Beyond this hostelry with its two thousand beds, which was built by the
monks to house their better-class visitors, is yet another large
building for the use of the poorer pilgrims, who sometimes come in
hundreds at a time to do penance at this famous monastery. Besides the
two vast barracks for strangers, are stables for eighty horses, a shed
for sixty cows, large gardens, piers, and storehouses, so that _Valamo_
is really a huge colony, a little world, not entirely inhabited by men,
however, for many of the pilgrims are women, while several of the
scrubbers and cleaners in the hostelries are old wives.

Leaving the boat we walked up a hill, and then up some wide steps,
behind the white stone copings of which purple and white lilac nodded
and scented the air. This staircase was more like one in the famous
Borghesa Gardens at Rome than anything we could have expected to meet
with in the north-east of Europe, mid-way between Britain and Siberia.
Passing under an archway we found ourselves in a huge courtyard; just
opposite to where we stood was the refectory. On the right the church,
Or rather two churches, for the one is really built over the other,
appeared looking very imposing. All around the quadrangle were the
cells. Each monk had one for himself, as well as a novice to attend on
him, such are his privileges; in the other cells two novices are housed
together, and have to take it in turns to keep their small and
comfortless abode clean and tidy.

It was a wondrous sight that met our view. The mid-day meal was just
over when we arrived, four hundred and seventy men were streaming out
of the dining-hall. How strange they looked, each man clothed in a long
black robe like a catholic priest, and each wearing his beard unshaven
and his hair long, for, in imitation of our Lord, they let their hair
grow to any length, never touching it with steel; the locks of some few
fell almost to their waist, but, as a rule, a man's hair does not seem
to grow longer than his shoulders, although cases have been known where
it has reached the knee. Strange to say, at _Valamo_ most of the monks
had curls, and a lovely sort of auburn seemed the prevailing colour of
their hair. If they had only kept it nicely, the wavy locks and pretty
warm colour would have been charming, but in most instances it was dirty
and unkempt. Their faces and hands were as dirty as their coats, and
altogether the idea that cleanliness is next to godliness seemed to be
totally wanting in that island; still there were exceptions, and two of
them luckily fell to our lot.

We stood on the steps of the church transfixed. It seemed such a strange
scene. It was no religious ceremony, merely the return of the monks and
novices from their mid-day meal in the refectory, but yet the spectacle
was fascinating.

Out of the door came the great _Igumen_; his face was kindly, and his
locks hung over his shoulders. His cloth hat almost covered his eyes,
and his long black veil fell behind him like a train. A crucifix and a
cross lay upon his breast, and he walked with the stately tread of a
Pope. He was followed by his monks clad in the same high straight cloth
hats--like top hats in shape but minus the brim--from which also fell
black-cloth veils. When in church long-trained skirts are added by the
monks, who remain covered during most of the service; every one else
uncovering.

On walked the _Igumen_ with lordly mien, monks, novices, and pilgrims
bowing and crouching before him, some of them kneeling and touching the
ground with their foreheads many times, others kissing his hands, or
even the hems of his garments. Each and all were pleading for some holy
privilege.

The lower grades followed the priests respectfully. Novices of the
monastery kissed the ordinary monks' hands, for the latter of course are
holy and worthy of much reverence, or the monks and novices fell upon
one another's necks as they did in the old Bible days. We thought at
first they were kissing, but we soon saw their lips merely touched first
one shoulder and then another, a more usual salutation than a handshake
in the monastery. Such obeisance from man to man was wonderful, and the
overpowering delight in the faces of the pilgrims was striking, as they
accomplished the deeds of reverence they had come so many hundreds of
miles shoeless to perform. Sometimes as many as three thousand pilgrims
arrive in one day.

To the great _Igumen_, as he neared his door, we gave our letter of
introduction; he quickly glanced at it, then, turning to a handsome
young novice standing near, spoke a few words, and, with a wave of his
hand, a sweet smile and distant bow, passed on.

Forward came the young man. He was about six feet high, thin and
lithesome, very cleanly and gentlemanly in appearance, with the most
beautiful face imaginable, the sort of spiritual countenance one finds
in the old masters when they strove to represent St. John, and his soft
auburn hair fell on his shoulders with a round curl at the end. He was a
type of a beautiful boy, twenty years of age perhaps.

Doffing his black cloth cap, he said--

"Vielleicht die Damen sprechen deutsch?" (Perhaps the ladies talk
German?)

"Gewiss" (certainly), we answered, only too delighted to be addressed in
a language we knew amongst those Russian-speaking folk.

Then he continued, "If you allow me I will show you our homes. The
_Igumen_ has put me entirely at your disposal."

He spoke so charmingly and so fluently, we could not refrain from asking
him where he had learnt to speak such excellent German.

"My mother is German," he replied, "but my father is Russian, and,
therefore, I must belong to the Orthodox Church." Of course, it is a
known fact that if the father belongs to the Greek Church all the
children must belong to that church, and once Greek always Greek.

He seemed to have a sad look in his eyes as he said this, and we asked
if he liked being in the monastery. "Of course. Certainly. It is quite
of my own free will."

He laid great emphasis on _my own free will_, but, somehow, there was a
ring in his voice that made us feel there was more force than truth in
the assertion, and, being urged by curiosity, we led the conversation
back to the same theme later in the day.

He took us to the guest's apartment first. We passed under a large
archway, where, bidding us wait a moment, he ran on to a couple of
priests, who were sitting like sentinels at either side of a
staircase, and, after some parley with them, returned and explained he
had arranged for us to have room No. 25.

We discovered subsequently that all the women's rooms were on the first
floor, and those of all the men on the second; husbands and wives
invariably being separated.

Our guide courteously asked us to follow him, and, accordingly, down a
long and somewhat dark corridor we wandered to No. 25. The walls of the
gallery were plainly whitewashed, and ornamented only by an occasional
small picture of a saint, before which most passers-by paused and
crossed themselves.

No. 25 proved to be but a tiny room, a sort of long cupboard, containing
three little wooden beds, two chairs, and one stool, which latter served
as a wash-hand stand; there was besides a small table in the window, and
positively nothing else. It could not have been more sparsely furnished,
and it could not have been smaller, for there was only enough space to
pass up and down between the beds. It savoured of a ship's cabin, yet it
was the honoured guest-chamber of a monastery where hospitality coupled
with strict simplicity reigned.

Ere leaving us with the most gracious of bows, our new friend explained
he would return anon.

At once we unpacked our small bundle, and arranged our luncheon basket,
so that on our return, in an hour's time, after visiting the gardens,
for which our novice had gone to fetch the key, we might have something
to eat.

When we re-entered our tiny chamber for that festive meal, we asked
Brother Sebastian, who had meantime charmed us by his gracious kindly
ways, if he would join us.

He looked sadly and wistfully at the viands, ere he answered, "No, thank
you, Gnädige Frau--I must not."

There really seemed no harm in feeding the poor ill-nourished monk, so,
spite of the refusal, we begged him out of sheer humanity to change his
mind, and have some of our precious chicken.

"I ought not to eat with strangers," he replied. "A little tea and
bread, however, I will take, if you please; such small luxuries are
allowed in fasting time, but I must not have any sardines or fowl, or
cheese, or butter, or milk, thank you," he continued, as we handed each
in turn.

It seemed as though we had been reckoning without our host. Where, oh!
where, was the much-discussed chicken? Each parcel we opened proved to
be something else, and we looked from one to the other amazed. Grandpapa
was not there to ask, but Grandpapa had told us the story of his dream,
a mere phantasy of crowing chanticleers, and we began to fear he had
never ordered that chicken at all.

We were really getting more than anxious when the last parcel--a very
small one--lay in its white paper at the bottom of that basket.

Even Brother Sebastian began to share our anxiety and sorrow, as he
consolingly told us no meat, fish, or fowl was to be procured for love
or money on the Island. Slowly and sadly we undid that little parcel,
and lo! happily sitting on the white paper were three small pigeons.

"No chicken, but small pigeons," we exclaimed--"how ridiculous; why,
they are so tiny there is nothing on them."

Yet it turned out the creatures were not pigeons but the typical fowls
eaten in Finland during the month of July. Almost as soon as the baby
chicken has learnt to walk about alone, and long before he is the
possessor of real feathers, his owner marks him for slaughter; he is
killed and eaten. Very extravagant, but very delicious. A Hamburger fowl
or a French poussin is good and tender, but he is nothing to be compared
with the succulent Finlander, whose wishing-bone is not one inch long.

Having devoured a whole fowl for my dinner, I brought away the small
bone as a memento of a ravenous appetite--unappeased by an entire spring
chicken.

Brother Sebastian smiled at the incident, and we tried to persuade him
to change his mind and join us; he looked longingly at the modest
dainties which seemed to bring back recollections of the days when he
lived in the world, and enjoyed the pleasures thereof, but he only
said--

"Besten Dank, meine Dame, but my conscience will not let me eat such
luxuries. I cannot take more than the Church allows in fast times--the
tea and bread is amply sufficient, for this is white bread, and that is
a delicacy I have not tasted for years; all ours is black and sour. I
should like to eat a sardine, but my conscience would kill me
afterwards, you see."

As we did not wish to kill the unsophisticated youth, we pressed him no
further.

What a picture we made, we four, in a far-away chamber of the _Valamo_
Monastery with that beautiful boy sitting on the queer coverleted couch.

He told us that three years previously he had "made a fault." We did not
ask of what nature, and he did not say; he only stated that his father
who was a high official in the Russian Army, had, on the advice of the
priest, sent him here to repent.

"Was it not very strange at first?"

"Yes, for you see we live in Moscow, and my father knows every one, and
there are many grand people always at our house. It seemed difficult to
me because most of the inmates here are peasants, and once within the
monastery walls we are all equal; we are all men, and God's servants.
Rank counts as nothing, for no one knows our names except the _Igumen_
himself. When we enter we give up our garments, our money, our identity,
and clothe ourselves as servants of the Church until we leave again, or
take the vows of monks and give up the world for ever."

"How do you become monks?" we inquired, interested.

"We cannot do so till we are thirty years of age--we are novices at
first, and free to go away, but at thirty we can decide to take the
vows, give up all we possess, and dedicate our lives to the Church, if
we desire to do so. Then our name is struck off the police rolls."

"You are lost, in fact?"

"Yes, lost to the world, for although while novices we can get away
occasionally for a time on important business, once we become monks it
is hardly possible to obtain leave of absence. A monk," he continued
proudly, "wears a tall hat, has a room to himself, is waited upon by a
probationer, sits at the upper table, and leads a much easier life as
regards all kinds of work."

He had spoken such splendid German, this fine young fellow with the
sympathetic eyes, through which his very soul shone, that we again
complimented him.

"I used to speak some French," he said; "for we had a French governess,
as children, and always spoke that language in the nursery; but since I
have been here there has been so little occasion to employ it, I have
quite forgotten that tongue. Indeed, in four years--for I have stayed
some months beyond my time of punishment--I find even my German, which,
as I told you, is my mother's language, getting rusty, and I am not sure
that I could write it in _Latenischen-Buchstaben_ now at all."

"What a pity," we exclaimed, "that you do not read French and German so
as to keep your knowledge up to date."

"We are not allowed to read anything that is not in the Cloister
Monastery," he replied, "which for the most part only contains
theological books, with a few scientific works, and those are written in
Russian, Hebrew, Slavonic, and Greek, so I have no chance, you see."

"Do you mean to say you have no opportunity of keeping up the knowledge
you already possess?"

"Not that kind of knowledge. I love botany, but there are no books
relating to botany here--so I am forgetting that also. We never read,
even the monks seldom do."

"But you have the newspapers," we remarked, horrified to think of a
young intellect rotting and mouldering away in such a manner.

"I have not seen a newspaper for nearly four years, never since I came
here. We are not allowed such things."

"But you said you were sent here for only three years' punishment--how
does it happen you have remained for nearly four?"

"Because I chose to stay on; you see I have lost touch with the world.
My parents sent me here against my will, now I stay here against their
will, because they have unfitted me by the life I have led here for that
from which I came."

We listened appalled.

"Will you tell me some news, kind ladies?" he added, the while a
mournful look came into his face, "for, as the _Igumen_ said I might
take you round to-day and stay with you, I should like to hear
something to tell the others to-night."

"What sort of news?" we asked, a lump rising in our throats as we
realised the sadness of this young life. Gently born and gently bred,
educated as a gentleman, for nearly four years he had mixed with those
beneath him, socially and intellectually, until he had almost reached
their level. He lived with those by birth his inferiors, although he
kept himself smart and clean and tidy.

"Oh!" he said, "I remember Home Rule was written about when I last saw
the papers. Home Rule for Ireland like one has in Finland."

Hardly believing in his total innocence of the outer world, we asked--

"Does no one ever really see a paper in this monastery?"

"The _Igumen_ does, I think, no one else; but I did hear, through
visitors, that our young Tzarwitch had been made Tzar lately."

Oh! the pity of it all. Talking to this beautiful boy was like speaking
to a spirit from another world.

We ransacked our brains as to what would interest an educated young man,
whose knowledge of the events that had engrossed his fellows for four
whole years was a perfect blank.

"Have you heard of horseless carriages and flying machines?" we asked.

"No. What are they; what do you mean? Don't joke, please, because every
true word you say is of value to me, you see," he said, in an almost
beseeching tone, with a wistful expression in his eyes.

It was very touching, and we almost wept over his boyish pleasure at our
description of modern doings. We told him of everything and anything we
could think of, and he sat, poor lad, the while sipping tea without milk
or sugar as though it were nectar, and eating white bread, as if the
most tasty of French confections.

"You _are_ good to me," he said; "you are kind to tell me," and tears
sparkled in his eyes.

"Why, why," in distress we asked him, "do you stay here?"

"It is very nice," he said, but we heard that strange ring again in the
voice of that beautiful boy.

"But to live here is selfish and wrong; you live for yourself, you do
not teach the ignorant, or heal the sick; you bury yourself away from
temptation, so there is no virtue in being good. Ignorance is not
virtue, it is knowledge tempered by abstinence that spells victory. You
are educated in mind and strong in body; you could do much finer work
for your God by going into the world than by staying at _Valamo_. You
ought to mix among your fellows, help them in their lives, and show them
a good example in your own."

"You think so?" he almost gasped, rising from his seat. "So help me,
God! I have been feeling as much myself. I know there is something wrong
in this reposeful life; I feel--I feel sometimes--and yet, _I am very
happy here_." A statement it was quite impossible to believe.

We spoke to him very earnestly, for there was something deeply touching
about the lad, and then he repeated he was free to go if he chose. He
explained that when his penance was performed and he was free to leave,
some months before, he had become so accustomed to the life, so afraid
of the world, that he chose to remain. But that, latterly, doubts began
to trouble him, and now, well, he was glad to hear us talk; it had done
him good, for he never, never before talked so much to strangers, and it
was perhaps wrong for him to do so now. If such were the case, might
Heaven forgive him.

"But come," he finished, as though desirous of changing the subject, "I
must show you our refectory."

We had become so entranced by the boy, his doubts and fears, that we
rose reluctantly to follow the gaunt youth, whose bodily and mental
strength seemed wasting away in that atmosphere of baleful repose.

He showed us the great dining-hall where the wooden tables were laid for
supper. There were no cloths; cloths being only used for great
feast-days, and the simplicity was greater than a convict prison, and
the diet far more strict. Yet these men chose it of their own free will.
No wonder our starving classes elect to live in prison at the country's
expense during the cold winter months, and to sleep in our public parks
during the summer; such a life is far preferable, more free and yet well
cared for than that of the Russian monk.

Little brown earthenware soup plates, with delicious pale-green glazed
china linings, stood in front of every monk's place. Benches without
backs were their seats, and tall wooden boxes their salt-cellars. On
each table stood a couple of large pewter soup-tureens filled with small
beer; they drink from a sort of pewter soup ladle, which they replace on
the edge of the pot after use.

What about germ disease in such a place, O ye bacteriologists? But
certainly the average monk looks very ill, even when presumably healthy!

In the olden feudal days in England meals were arranged in precisely the
same way, as may be seen to-day in College Halls at the Universities or
the London Temple. Here in the Monastery the raised dais at the end was
occupied by the _Igumen_, seated on a chair of state; his most important
monks were next him, then came the lower grades, and below the wooden
salts sat the novices and apprentices.

Three meals a day are served in this hall, a long grace preceding and
closing each, and a certain number of the younger men are told off to
wait on the others, which they have to do as silently as possible, while
portions of the Bible are read out by a monk during each meal from a
high desk.

After leaving the dining-room we went over the workshops, where in
winter everything of every sort is made; these four hundred and seventy
men--if they do not work for the outer world--work for themselves and
their island home. They build their churches and other edifices, make
the bricks and mortar, their coats and clothes, their boots and shoes,
mould their pottery, carve their wooden church ornamentations, shape
them in plaster, or beat them in metal. There are goldsmiths and
joiners, leather tanners and furriers, amongst them, and during the long
dreary frozen winters they all ply these trades. Verily a small body of
socialists, each working for the general good of the little colony.

It is then they make the sacred pictures, the _ikons_ for which the
monastery is famous, which, together with rosaries and photos, are sold
during the summer months to visitors. When these things are disposed of
the monks count their profits and make their bills by the aid of
coloured balls on a frame, such as children sometimes learn to count
with. There are five red balls on one bar, five yellow on another, etc.,
and by some deft and mysterious movement of these balls the monk, like
any ordinary Russian shopkeeper, quickly makes up his bills and presents
his account.

"You must come in one of our pilgrim boats to another of our islands,"
said our friend Sebastian, to which proposal we readily agreed.

What a boat it was! Talk of the old Viking ships that sailed to America
or Iceland, and held a couple of hundred persons. The _Valamo_ pilgrim's
boat did not fall far short in bulk and capacity of those old historic
craft. Six oars on each side, and three or four men at each, with plenty
of room in the well, or at the stern and bows, for another hundred
persons to stow themselves away. We were not pilgrims, and the _Igumen_
had kindly ordered a steam launch to tug us. Some fifty or sixty other
visitors took advantage of the occasion and accompanied us on our "water
party."

It was certainly very beautiful and most unique. Monks in all ages and
all countries have ever seemed to pitch upon the most lovely spots of
mother earth in which to plant their homes, and our friends at _Valamo_
were not behind in this respect.

We were amazed at the beautiful waterways, constantly reminding us of
the backwaters in the Thames. On the banks we passed farms;
splendid-looking creameries, where all the milk was now being made into
butter or cheese for the winter--luxuries denied, as has been said
before, to _Valamo_ during the fasting season.

We came to a primitive pier, where the trees hung right over the sides,
the leaves dipping into the water. It was very secluded, very beautiful,
and wonderfully reposeful. Our path lay through a lovely wood, where
wild flowers grew in profusion, among them a kind of wild orchid with a
delicious perfume, and the small wild arum lily. It is strange that such
rare plants should grow there, when one remembers that for six or eight
months of the year the land is ice-bound. On the island we visited a
small church, within the sacred precincts of which no woman's foot dare
tread, but we had a peep at another chapel where a hermit once lived. He
never spoke to any one for seven years, and slept nightly in his coffin,
in which he was not buried, however, it being necessary to keep the
article for visitors to gaze upon.

On our return we much enjoyed a cup of tea in our cloister chamber,
where the Russian _samovar_ was boiling in readiness. It was not long
ere the sonorous monastery bell tolled six, and every one turned towards
the church for service, which was to last till about nine
o'clock--service of that duration being a daily occurrence. Every one
stands the whole of the time. After nine o'clock the monks and novices
go to bed, but at three A.M. the great bell rings and they all have to
get up again for another service, which lasts for two or three hours
more. Altogether at _Valamo_ about five or six hours out of every
twenty-four are spent in prayer.

During the winter months every one in the monastery has to be present at
both the day and night services, namely, stand or kneel on bare flags in
the church for the time just mentioned. In summer the authorities are
not so strict, and provided all attend the service every night, and the
second one two or three times a week, nothing is said about a couple or
so being missed.

Being a monastery church, all the men stood on one side, the women,
visitors, and pilgrims on the other, during the service at which we were
present. Afterwards, in the Greek Churches in St. Petersburg, we found
that the sexes were not divided in this manner.

It was the first time we had participated at a Russian service, and the
chief impression left on our minds was the endless movement of the
congregation. They were everlastingly crossing themselves, not once, but
two or three times running, and every few minutes they all did it again;
then about every twelfth person would kneel down, and putting his hands
on the floor before him touch the ground with his forehead like the
Mohammedans when they pray to the Prophet, and tell their beads as true
monks tell theirs. One man we watched go down _forty times running_ and
cross himself three times between each reverence! A penance, no doubt,
but a penance unlikely to do any one much good, at least so we could not
help thinking.

Again, a woman, a poor fat old pilgrim, who got on her knees with the
greatest difficulty, remained with her forehead on the ground for at
least five minutes, till we really began to wonder if she were dead; but
at last she rose after some trouble, for we had to help her up, and we
fervently hoped that was the end of her penance, poor old soul. Not a
bit of it; a quarter of an hour afterwards she was down again and when
we left she was still praying. Then a strange-looking sort of priest
came and stood beside us, instead of joining the other men who clustered
round the _Igumen's_ throne or before the altar. After scrutinising him
for some time, surprised at a man standing among the women, we
discovered _he_ was a _she_ come on a pilgrimage to pray. She of strange
garb was an abbess!

The reverence in the Greek Church is far more living than it now is in
the Church of Rome, though outwardly both are so much alike to the
outsider. The Catholic priests cannot marry, while the priests in the
Greek Church may do so.

We were getting very tired of standing listening to the monotonous
reading of the psalms, watching the priests walking about in their long
black robes, taking their hats off and on, and endlessly kneeling or
bowing to the great _Igumen_ who stood during the whole ceremony on a
carved wooden throne covered with scarlet velvet. The singing was very
unequal. The choirs came in from both sides of the altar twice, and
formed themselves into a half circle on the floor of the church--as
choirs used to do at the representations of the Greek plays of old. We
were well-nigh suffocated with incense and the strange odour that
emanates from a Russian peasant, and had begun to think of those queer
little wooden beds in which we were to pass the night--and what a
contrast the primitive cell was to that gorgeous glittering church--when
we saw our "beautiful boy" beckoning to us.

We followed him out.

"I have bad news for you," he said; "your boat for to-morrow is to leave
to-night--in half an hour."

"Why?" we asked, aghast.

"The other passengers desire to leave to-night and proceed by way of the
_Holy Island_ back to _Sordavala_; they all wish it, so the captain is
going."

"But is there no other boat for us?"

"None to-morrow," he replied.

"But it was arranged to leave to-morrow," we faltered. "We took our
tickets on that understanding; we have unpacked here; we are prepared
for a night in a monastery, and have given up our rooms at _Sordavala_."

"It is of no avail," he said; "the greatest number carry the day here,
and the others all want to go. I have done my best, but it is of no
use."

We rushed to our cloister-chamber, bundled our things into a bag, and
marched off to the boat, sorry indeed to miss our night in the
monastery, and still more sorry to leave that beautiful youth behind on
his island home, an island which rises solitary from one of the deepest
parts of the vast _Ladoga_ lake--rises like a pyramid over a thousand
feet through the water, and yet remains almost hillless on the
surface, though covered with dense foliage. As we glided over the
perfectly still water, we saw the blue domes of the new church in the
sunlight, towering above the woods like the guardian angel of the
island.

We had made friends with several of the monks who spoke a little French
or German, and who came to see us off and wish us a pleasant journey.
They followed our steamer along the banks and waved good-bye again and
again, especially Brother Sebastian, who had spent nearly twelve hours
in our company during that glorious summer day.

What would become of him, we wondered. Would he waste his life among
those men, so few of whom were, socially or intellectually, his equals,
or would he return to the world?

Drops of water make the ocean, and grains of sand build up the universe:
would he, atom though he was, return to his position in society, lead an
honest, noble, virtuous life, and by his influence help his nation?

_Holy Island_ was perhaps more beautiful than _Valamo_, and although so
near to _Valamo_ the natural features were entirely changed. Here the
rocks rose straight out of the water for a hundred feet or more, like a
perpendicular wall, but lying very much deeper under the sea, as the
iceberg does--they were such strange rocks, they looked as if they were
sliced down straight by man's hand, instead of being nature's own work.
We landed and walked along a wonderful pathway, hewn out of the side of
the solid rock, from which we looked sheer down into the water below;
here and there the path was only made of wooden plankings, which joined
one rock to another over some yawning chasm below. Suddenly we came upon
a cave, a strange wee place about fifteen feet long and four wide, where
a holy friar had once lived and prayed, although it was so low he was
unable to stand upright. An altar still remains with its ever-burning
lamp, but the religious element was rather spoilt, when a couple of
monks met us and asked the gentlemen for cigars, though smoking is
prohibited by their sect.

On this island the wild arum lilies we had before noticed grew
profusely, while the vegetation everywhere was beautiful, and yet eight
or ten feet of snow covered the ground all through the long winter. As
we left _Holy Island_, it was past ten o'clock at night, and yet what
could that be? We were far away from land, and still there seemed to be
land quite close to us. What could it mean? It was a mirage. Such a
mirage is sometimes seen on the vast _Ladoga_ lake as in the plains of
Egypt, and vastly beautiful it was. A fitting ending to a strangely
beautiful day we thought, as we softly glided over the water.

It was the longest day of the year, and when at eleven P.M. we neared
_Sordavala_ the sun had not set. Its glorious reflections and warm
colourings stirred our hearts' inmost depths, and bathed us in a sweet
content as we sat silent and awed, dreaming of the strangely pathetic
story of that beautiful boy.




CHAPTER V

SORDAVALA, OR A MUSICAL FESTIVAL


Terror had entered our souls when we read in the _Nya Pressen_, the day
before leaving for the musical festival at _Sordavala_, the following:
"_Sordavala_ has only thirteen hundred inhabitants, and some ten
thousand people have arrived for the _Juhla_. They are sleeping on
floors and tables, and any one who can get even a share in a bed must be
more than satisfied. Food cannot be procured, and general discomfort
reigns." This was not cheerful; indeed the prospect seemed terrible,
more especially when, after getting up at five o'clock, and driving some
miles to _Wiborg_, we arrived at the station only to find the train
crammed from end to end, and not a chance of a seat anywhere. Confusion
reigned, every one was struggling with every one else for places, and
the scrimmage was as great as though it were "a cheap trip to Margate
and back" in the height of the season. There were only second and
third-class carriages, with a sort of fourth, which was said to hold
"forty men or eight horses," and had no windows, but was provided with
rough benches and odd boxes for the passengers to sit on. In such a
terrible railway carriage all the members of the brass band travelled
with their music stands and instruments.

We ran from end to end of the platform in despair. It was the only train
of the day, and _full_. Even Frau von Lilly, with all her Swedish and
all her Finnish, could not succeed in finding places. At last an
official stepped forward, and, touching his hat, remarked--

"There are no seats to be had in any compartment, but, as so many
persons desire to go on, we shall probably send a relief train in an
hour."

"Are we to wait on the chance of 'probably'?"

"Yes, I think you must. In fact, I am almost sure you must; but in any
case you cannot go in that; it is just off."

And sure enough away steamed number one before the stolid Finns could
make up their minds to despatch number two; nevertheless, an hour
afterwards the relief train was ready and comparatively empty, so we
travelled in peace.

All these slow arrangements and avoidances of committal to any
announcement of fact, constantly reminded us of Scotland--indeed, it is
quite remarkable how closely a Finn and a Highlander resemble each other
in appearance, in stolid worth, and dogged deliberation; how they eat
porridge or _gröt_, oatcake or _knäckebröd_, and have many other strange
little peculiarities of manner and diet in common.

We got under weigh at last, and settled down for a few restful hours in
a comfortable Finnish railway carriage. The train, ever dignified and
deliberate of pace, had just passed _Jaakkima_ in the South-East of
Finland, almost due North from Petersburg. The heat was great that June
day, and here and there, as the engine puffed through the pine forests,
dense columns of smoke rising from the woods near the railway lines
alarmed all who beheld, and warned the neighbouring peasants to dig
trenches, which alone could stay the fierce flames, rapidly gathering
force, that meant destruction.

At many stations we paused, not necessarily for passengers to alight or
ascend, but to stock our engine with fuel. There, stacked high and wide
and broad, was the wood cut into pieces about two feet long, intended to
feed our locomotive, and a couple of men were always in readiness to
throw it into the tender as quickly as possible, compatible with the
slowness of the Finn.

The heat in the train was so intense that it made us feel drowsy, but,
as we fortunately had the end compartment in the corridor-carriage, we
were able to open the door and get a breath of air. A bridge somewhat
insecure-looking joined us to the next waggon, and a very amusing scene
presented itself. The guard was flirting with a Finnish maid, a typical
peasant, with a comely figure, set off by a well-fitting bodice. She had
high cheek-bones and a wondrous round moon face; a large, good-tempered
mouth filled with beautiful teeth, a good complexion, and weak, thin,
straight flaxen hair, combed back from a very high forehead. She wore
the usual handkerchief over her head. Had she been dark instead of fair,
judging by the width of her face and the lines of her eyes, she might
have been a Chinese; but to an English mind she appeared anything but
beautiful, although clean and healthy looking. She, like many others of
her class, had the neatest hands and feet imaginable, although the
latter were encased in black mohair boots with elastic sides, a very
favourite foot-covering in Finland.

All along the line there ran a sort of tumbledown wooden fencing,
loosely made, and about four or five feet high, meant to keep back the
snow in winter. The very thought of snow was refreshing on that broiling
day.

As we gasped with the heat, and pondered over the scrambled meal at
_Jaakkima_, we listened to the strangely sad but entrancing singing of a
number of peasants in the next waggon, all bound like ourselves for
_Sordavala_, although they were really rehearsing for the Festival,
while we were drowsily proceeding thither merely as spectators.

How they flirted those two on the bridge outside our carriage. Spite of
the hard outlines of her face, and her peculiarly small Finnish eyes,
the maiden managed to ogle and smile upon the guard standing with his
hands upon the rail; so slender was the support, that it seemed as if he
might readily fall off the train and be killed by the wheels below. The
flirtation was not only on her side, for presently he took her hand, a
fat little round hand, with a golden circle upon one of the fingers,
which denoted betrothal or marriage, and pressed it fondly. We could not
understand their Finnish speech; but there is a language comprehensible
to all, in every clime. That the pair were in love no one could for a
moment doubt, and that they heeded nothing of those quaint old Finnish
chants, distinctly audible from the opposite carriage, was evident, for
they talked on and on.

We passed _Niva_; here and there the waters of a lake glinted in the
sunshine, or a river wound away to the sea, strewn with floating wood,
as though its waters were one huge raft.

The singing ceased; save the merry laugh of the Finnish girl, nothing
but the click-cluck-click of the wheels was audible. The guard leaned
over her, whispered in her ear, then, as if yielding to some sudden
impulse, pressed her to his heart; and, still to the accompaniment of
that endless click-cluck-click, implanted a kiss on her full round lips.
For a moment they stood thus, held in warm embrace, muttering those
sweet nothings which to lovers mean all the world.

Suddenly the door behind them opened, and one of the singers, nervous
and excited from the long practice of his national airs, came upon the
bridge to let the gentle zephyrs cool his heated brow.

All smiles, this sunburnt blonde, whose hair fell in long locks, cut off
straight, like the ancient saints in pictures, stood before us--his pink
flannel shirt almost matching the colour of his complexion.

In a moment all was changed; his happy smile vanished into a glance of
deadly hate, the colour fled from his face, leaving him ashy-pale, fire
literally shot from his eyes as he gazed upon his affianced bride; but
he did not speak.

His hand violently sought his belt, and in a moment the long blade of
one of those Scandinavian _puukko_--knives all peasants use--gleamed in
the sunshine. For an instant he balanced it on high, and then, with a
shriek more wild than human, he plunged the blade deep down into his
betrothed's white breast.

Like a tiger the guilty guard sprang upon him; madly they fought while
the girl lay still and senseless at their feet, a tiny stream of blood
trickling from her breast.

Northern rage once roused is uncontrollable; and there, on the bridge of
the moving train, those two men struggled for mastery, till--yes,
yes--the light railing gave way, and together the hater and the hated
fell over the side, and were cut to pieces by the wheels.

What a moment! a groan, a piercing shriek, rent the air!

Then, with a gasp, hot and cold, and wet by turns, I woke to find it was
all a dream!

       *       *       *       *       *

The run to _Sordavala_ proved a hot and tedious journey of seven hours,
but even dusty railway journeys must come to an end, and we arrived at
our destination in Eastern Finland about three o'clock.

The crowd at the country station was horrible, and the clamour for cabs,
carts, and the general odds and ends of vehicles in waiting to transfer
us to our destination, reminded us much of Ober Ammergau on a smaller
scale.

This _Sordavala_ festival is really the outcome of an old religious
ceremony, just as the Welsh Eisteddfod is a child of Druidical meetings
for prayer and song. In ancient days bards sang and prayed, and now both
in Finland and in England the survival is a sort of musical competition.

Our Eisteddfod, encouraged by the landed proprietors of Wales, forms a
useful bond between landlord and tenant, employer and employed. It is
held yearly, in different towns, and prizes are given for choir singing,
for which fifty to a hundred voices will assemble from one village, all
the choirs joining together in some of the great choruses. Rewards are
also given for knitting, for the best national costumes, for solo
singing, violin and harp playing, for original poems in Welsh, and for
recitations.

In Finland the competition, strangely enough, also takes place once a
year, and dates back to the old _Runo_ Singers, who orally handed down
the national music from generation to generation. Each time the Festival
is, as in Wales, held in a different town, the idea being to raise the
tastes of the populace, and to encourage the practice of music among a
thoroughly musical people. Clubs or choirs are sent from all corners of
Finland to compete; the old national airs--of which there are hundreds,
ay thousands--are sung, and that unique native instrument the _Kantele_
is played. For hundreds of years these _Runo_ Singers have handed on the
songs of their forefathers by word of mouth, and have kept their history
alive.

It was _Elias Lönnrot_ who collected these _Kantele_ songs. For years
and years he travelled about the country gathering them together by ear
and word of mouth, and, having weeded out the repetitions, he edited the
famous epical _Kalevala_, and later collected quantities of other lyric
ballads from the heathen times, and published them as _Kanteletar_. Thus
much ancient music and verse was revived that had almost been forgotten.
But of this we must speak in the next chapter.

That Finland is thoroughly musical may be inferred from the dozens of
choirs sent to the _Sordavala_ Festival from all parts of the country.
The peasant voices, in spite of being but slightly trained, or at all
events trained very little, sing together wonderfully. Indeed, it was
surprising to find how they could all take their proper parts, and keep
to them; but the supreme delight, perhaps, of the Festival was the
student corps, composed of fifty men from the University of
_Helsingfors_, who sang together most beautifully, the choir being
conducted by one of themselves. They had some glorious voices among
them, and as they sang the national airs of Finland, marching backwards
and forwards to the park, their feet keeping time with their music, the
effect of their distant singing in the pine-woods was most enthralling.

Strangely enough, when they went to sing on the public platform raised
in the park for the occasion, they wore evening dress and white gloves.
Dress-clothes are somewhat of a rarity in Finland, as they are in many
other continental countries; but there they stood in a semicircle on the
dais, each man with his white velvet student cap in his hand, and, to
the spectators, standing a little in the distance, the effect of
snowy-white shirt, white gloves, and white cap shown up in the glancing
sunbeams by black clothes, was somewhat funny.

The performers met with tremendous applause, and certainly deserved it.
Although German students often sing beautifully, and are indeed famous
for their rendering of the _Volkslieder_, those from _Helsingfors_ sang
as well if not better.

We often dined at the same hotel where they lodged, during the week, and
when they marched in they sang a grace. After they had finished their
dinner, they generally, before leaving, sang two or three songs by
special request of visitors dining at the various tables.

Morning, noon, and night those students sang! Small bands of them went
to meet the trains coming in, if they expected friends, and stood upon
the platform lustily singing their welcome. They went to see other
friends off, and, amidst much doffing of caps, they sang farewell songs.
They marched in torchlight processions--although the torches were not
very successful when all was daylight--and everywhere they went they met
with the greatest enthusiasm.

Modern singing at the Festival, in parts and glees, was very good,
showing the great musical talent of the people, while especially
delightful were the out-of-door concerts. Another charm of the Festival
consisted in the exhibition of peasants' work.

As we entered the museum where we were to hear the _Kantele_ Concert,
we stood transfixed. At a bare wooden table a quite, quite old man with
long-flowing locks was sitting with his elbows on the boards, his hands
stretched over his _Kantele_, which he was playing delightfully.

The small flat musical instrument reminded one of the zither of Tyrol,
while the strange airs bore some similarity to the bagpipe music of
Scotland, at least in time, which, like the piper, the old man beat with
his foot. His blue eyes were fixed on the wall opposite, with a strange,
weird, far-off look, and never for one moment did he relax his gaze. He
seemed absolutely absorbed by his music, and as the queer old figure--a
sort of Moses with his long beard--played his native instrument, amid
the quaint trappings of the museum for background, we felt enthralled by
the sombre surroundings and curious apparition, who might have been
_Wäinämöinen_ himself, the mythological god of music in Finland.

Others followed; they all played charmingly, and their usually sombre
faces seemed quite changed by the sounds of music. Music has always
played an important part in the history of Finland--for good be it
owned, and not, as Tolstoi suggested, to arouse the vilest passions.

Look at the faces of the people dowered with such legends. The _Runo_
Singers live in another world from ours. Theirs is the land of poetry
and romance; theirs the careless, happy dream of life. The things of
this world, the sordid littleness, the petty struggles, the very fight
for bread, they wot not of, for they are content with little. Socialism
and Syndicalism have not robbed them of life's joys.

They sit and sing, and dream. See the far-away look on yon man's
features; see how intensely he gazes on some vision painted visibly for
him on the blank wall. His very face and mind seem transported to other
realms. As the song rises and falls his expression alters, and when he
strikes those stirring chords on the _Kantele_ and speaks of bloodshed
and war his whole being seems changed.

We noticed one peculiarity with the _Runo_ Singers, viz., that each
vocalist repeated the whole line twice. For instance--

"The old man fished." All the others took up the word "fished," and then
every one present sang the whole of the line a second time in company
with the original singer, again repeating the word _fished_ at the end
alone. After that the original singer took up the next line by himself,
his friends repeating the last word, ere joining him in the repetition
of the line itself.

This seemed to be a speciality, for we noticed it again and again, and,
as the performers all chanted well together, the effect was delightful;
at the same time the practice unduly lengthens the progress of the
songs, some of which go on for hours in a dull, monotonous recitative.

We always had to cross the river at _Sordavala_ whenever we went out to
dinner, or attended any of the concerts, as our home was on one bank and
the representations and restaurant on the other, and one old Russian
boatman was particularly attentive in waiting about for us at the hours
when he thought it likely we should require to be ferried over. His bark
was decorated, like all the other craft at _Sordavala_, with silver
birch, which, as we knew, is sacred in Finland, and great branches of
its silver boughs were cut to ornament the _kuiru_ (native boats). It
was wonderful what a pretty effect this gave, for they were not little
boughs, but great branches stuck on the rowlocks in such a manner as to
make the boat appear a veritable bower. When several craft were on the
water together, they had the effect of a beautiful picture, with the red
and pink shirts of the boatmen, and the white or black handkerchiefs
over the women's heads.

Our old Russian was a wonderful-looking individual, with shaggy grisly
locks which fell in regular ringlets upon his shoulders--the sort of man
one would love to paint. Every wrinkle upon his face was italicised by
dirt, and his faded red shirt appeared a dream of colour for an artist's
eye. He was much interested in us all, and at last he ventured to ask
Frau von Lilly where the ladies came from.

"England," she replied in Russian.

"Ah! I know about England," he returned; "it has many big towns, and
they are strong towns. England is much afraid that our Tzar might take
those big towns."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes, _I know_; but the ladies do not look English, they are so dark. Is
it the fierce sun of their country that has burned them so black?"

We laughed; we had heard of many things, but not often of "the fierce
sun of England."

"_You_ are not English?" he went on, addressing our friend.

"No," replied Frau von Lilly, "I am a Finlander."

"You? Why, you speak Russian, and you are dark, too; your face is not
like a Finn's, it is not wide enough, and your hair is too black. He,"
pointing to Grandpapa, "is a Finlander, and looks like one."

Fancy such observations from an old Russian boatman. The same wonderful
interest in our concerns and welfare was, however, evinced on all sides.
The whole town of _Sordavala_ had positively thrilled with excitement
when the Committee of the Fête learned that some English people were
coming to their Festival. Instantly that Committee wrote to say they
would do everything they could for the visitors' "komfort," which they
certainly did. They gave us the best rooms in the place, they opened
their museums for us that we might view them, privately, they gave us
_Runo_ singing entertainments with ourselves for sole audience, they
found seats for us in the theatre when every seat was sold, and they
treated us in all ways as though we had been princesses. But everything
we said was noted, and everything we did cautiously watched; therefore
for a short time we tasted something of the horrors of that publicity
which must be the bane of existence to royalty.

Long after we had left _Sordavala_ we happened to refer to that town
when conversing with some friends.

"Isn't it amusing?" one of them observed. "I saw in the paper the other
day that some English people who went to _Sordavala_ for the Festival,
had written beforehand a letter to the Manager of the Committee to say
"they required a suite of apartments, not higher than the third floor,
with a bathroom."

We could not help smiling. It was the old story of "The Three Black
Crows" over again! We had been the only English people at the Festival,
we had never written a line ourselves to any member of the Committee; a
native friend had done so for us, however, saying "that rooms would be
required for three ladies, two English, and one Finnish."

One of the features of the Festival which interested us the most was a
representation, at a little improvised theatre, of a typical modern
Finnish play, by Finnish actors.

_Anna Liisa_ was the piece chosen, because it was a peasant drama. It is
written by one of Finland's greatest dramatists--perhaps the greatest in
the Finnish language--and a woman!

It was only a small impromptu theatre, packed to suffocation by a most
wonderfully sympathetic audience, but as the play was very
representative, we give a slight sketch of the subject.

The curtain rose on a little peasant log-hut with its huge chimney,
where over a small native stove heated by wood, pots were boiling.

Fixed to a chair was a spinning machine, made of wood and shaped like an
umbrella, which twisted round and round, while the bride-elect, with
her fair hair hanging down in a plait, sat upon the stage.

Her fiancé says how happy they will be in three weeks when they are
married; but _Anna Liisa_, although desperately in love with her
betrothed, hangs back, and refuses to sit upon his knee. At last
_Johannes_ coaxes her to his side, and expresses huge delight at the
prospect of their future. He tells her how he loves her with a
never-fading love, is certain of her goodness, and that she has never
loved any one else; he warmly praises her virtue; but, nevertheless, as
he speaks, she shudders. Immediately an old woman comes in (_Husso_),
the mother of _Mikko_, a man with whom _Anna Liisa_ had formerly had
some relations; her words are of evil import, for she tells the girl if
she marries _Johannes_, who has just left the room, she will do her
harm.

_Anna_ pretending not to care, the old woman becomes furious and
threatens her.

"I shall tell of your intrigue with my son. I have but to whisper of
a----"

"Mother, no, no."

"But I can, and I will, and more than that, may speak of----"

The girl implores, tells of her real, honest love for _Johannes_,
beseeches _Mikko's_ mother to hold her peace, but the woman is obdurate.

_Anna_ suffers tortures when left alone with her little sister, because
the girl will talk of the delights of the coming wedding, and how nice
it would be if _Anna Liisa_ had a child for her to dress like a doll.
The bride's father and mother, who know nothing of their daughter's
intrigue, come and drink coffee, and like true peasants they pour the
coffee into a saucer, and putting a bit of sugar into their mouths
imbibe the beverage through it, supporting the saucer on five fingers.
Thus happily they all sit together--a real representation of life in a
peasant home. In the midst of it all the former lover, _Mikko_, who was
once a servant on the farm, comes in and is very insulting to the
bridegroom-elect, and very insinuating to _Anna Liisa_. At last
_Johannes_ gets angry; threats ensue. _Mikko_ says "that he was once
engaged to a girl and intends to have her" (looking pointedly at _Anna
Liisa_). It seems as if the whole story would be revealed, but at that
moment the little sister rushes in to say _Mikko's_ horse has run away,
and he goes off, leaving the bride and bridegroom alone, when the former
implores _Johannes_ to trust her always and in everything, which he
promises to do, greatly wondering the while at her request.

When the second act opens the father and mother are discussing before
_Anna Liisa_ her own virtues. They say what a good wife their child will
make, they lay stress upon her honesty, integrity, and truthfulness, and
while the words sink into the guilty girl's heart like gall and
wormwood, she sits and knits with apparent calmness. At last, however,
the parents leave the room, and while she is thinking of following them,
in comes _Mikko_. Finding herself alone with _Mikko_ the poor girl
entreats him to leave her, to leave her in peace and happiness to marry
the man she loves, and if possible to forget her guilty past.

"If you marry me you will get peace," he says.

"No. Nor shall I ever know peace again," she replies; "but I may have
some happiness."

At this moment her fiancé enters the room. _Mikko_ seizes the
opportunity to tell him there is a secret between them that will disturb
the happiness of all his future life. The girl appeals to _Mikko_ by
looks and gesticulations, but each time he manages to evade her gaze,
and utters such strange insinuations that at last _Johannes_ exclaims--

"This is too much!" and a desperate quarrel ensues.

_Anna Liisa_ wishes to speak alone with _Mikko_. To this _Johannes_
objects, thinking that _Anna Liisa_ ought not to have any secret with
_Mikko_ unknown to him.

Then the whole family bundles home, having been to the store to buy
things for the approaching festival.

"The matter is so," says _Mikko_, "that _Anna Liisa_ was my bride four
years ago. And now I come to take her, but that fellow has in the
meantime----"

_The Father._ "Your bride! That's a lie."

_The Mother._ "Good gracious! You want me to believe all kinds of
things--_Anna Liisa_--who then was only fifteen years old. Don't listen
to such things, _Johannes_. They're only senseless chat. I'll warrant
that they have no foundation whatever. Besides, others would certainly
have noticed had any such relations existed between them."

_Mikko._ "It was not noticed. We succeeded in concealing it so well that
nobody had the slightest idea."

_The Father._ "Shut up, _Mikko_, ere I get furious. That my daughter
should have secret intrigues with a groom. Fie, for shame! How dare you
spread such vile slander. Had it concerned any other!--But _Anna Liisa_,
whom everybody knows to be the most steady and honourable girl in the
whole neighbourhood. That you can be so impudent. For shame, I say once
more."

_Mikko._ "Ask _Anna Liisa_ herself if I have spoken truth or falsehood."

_The Father._ "Can't you open your mouth, girl? Clear yourself from such
disgusting insults."

_The Mother._ "Defend yourself, _Anna Liisa_."

_Johannes._ "Say that he lies, and I will believe you."

Matters have gone too far. The disclosure cannot be put off.

Broken-hearted she only exclaims--

"Oh, good God!"

_Mikko_ in his mad rage fetches his old mother, who corroborates all he
has said, and tells the story of _Anna Liisa's_ guilt, adding--

"And she could have been put in prison."

"Why?" they all cry in chorus.

"Because she murdered her child."

_Anna Liisa_ says nothing for a time, but finally she falls on her knees
before her father and implores his pardon. Then she confesses that
everything the woman has said is true, even the accusation that she
murdered her own child.

Her father snatches up a hatchet and tries to kill her, in which attempt
he would have succeeded had not _Mikko_ interfered and dragged her away.

When the third act opens the father, mother, and fiancé are found
discussing the situation, and finally deciding to let their friends come
to the congratulatory festival on first reading of the banns, and
pretend that nothing unusual had happened. Afterwards they could
rearrange the relationship.

The mother, who had been watching _Anna Liisa_, is afraid of her curious
apathetic behaviour, and looks out of the window, when she sees her
setting off in a boat, apparently with the purpose of self-destruction.
She and the fiancé rush off to save her and bring her home. The girl
explains in wild despair how she thought she saw her child under the
water, and intended to jump in and rescue him. She raves somewhat like
Ophelia in _Hamlet_, but her former lover _Mikko_ comes back to her, and
whispers in her ear. She rejects him violently.

"Let me get away from here," she murmurs to her mother, "let me get
away," and a very sad and touching scene ensues.

The little sister bounds in straight from church, and says how lovely it
was to hear the banns read, and to think the wedding was so near. She
decorates the room with wreaths of pine branches, and festoons of the
birch-tree, such festoons as we make into trails with holly and ivy for
Christmas decorations. She jumps for joy as the guests begin to arrive,
and in this strange play the father actually thinks it right for his
daughter to marry _Mikko_, her seducer, whom he welcomes, and they
arrange affairs comfortably between them.

This is very remarkable. In most countries it would be considered right
for the father to expel his daughter's lover from his house; but in this
play of _Minna Canth's_ she draws a very Finnish characteristic.

"_Se oli niin sallittu_" ("It is so ordained") is a sort of motto
amongst this Northern people. Whether it is that they are phlegmatic,
wanting in energy, fatalists, or what, one cannot say, but certain it is
that they sit down and accept the inevitable as calmly as the Mohammedan
does when he remarks: "It is the will of Allah."

The festivities proceed. An old fiddler and more peasants appear. The
men sit down on one side of the room, the women on the other, and the
former lover, _Mikko_, thinking himself the bridegroom-elect, cheerfully
invites every one to dance. The old fiddler strikes up a merry air, and
they dance the _jenka_, a sort of schottische, joyously. Gaiety
prevails, the girl's father being apparently as happy as his guests,
when the door opens and the rector of the parish and other distinguished
guests enter.

"Where is the bride?" it is asked.

No one knew exactly how to answer; _Johannes_ no longer wishes to marry
her, and she refuses to marry her former lover, _Mikko_.

Again the priest asks: "Where is the bride?"

After waiting some time the door opens slowly. _Anna Liisa_ enters and
is greeted--as is usual on such occasions--by cries of _Eläköön,
eläköön_ (let her live!) in chorus. Answering with the unusual words:
"Let God's Holy Spirit live in us!" the girl advanced into the room and
stood before them, robed in the black gown which it is the fashion for
peasant brides in Finland to wear. The clergyman addressed her as a
bride.

"I am not a bride," she replies, as she stands sadly alone in her black
robe.

"What do you mean? the banns have just been read," he asks.

"All is broken off between _Johannes_ and me," she tragically replies,
and then, turning to the clergyman, she says: "My conscience won't keep
it any longer; for four years long I have----"

_Mikko_ and his mother try all they can to prevent her speaking.

But the clergyman, seeing the girl wishes to say something, thrusts them
aside and exhorts her to proceed.

"I am a great sinner," says the girl tremulously. A breathless silence
seizes every one present as _Anna_ continues, "Four years ago I had a
child, in the forest yonder, and, I, poor creature, I killed it."

At this juncture a bailiff, who chanced to be of the company, rises and
inquires if her parents knew this at the time.

"No," she answers in her clear and dulcet tones, "they knew nothing."

Turning to her heartbroken parents with great earnestness, she says:

"Father and mother, do not grieve for me! Do not sorrow! I am not in
trouble any more. You see how glad I am. Never in my life have I felt
so happy."

_Johannes_ (touched). "_Anna Liisa_----!"

_The Father._ "Don't you then consider the disgrace you have brought
over our gray hair?"

_Anna Liisa._ "I repent. Forgive me! Oh, that I could once make good
what I have done wrong!"

The Mistress of Ristola and other guests express their sympathy with the
parents.

_Mikko_ (aside to _Husso_). "There's nothing more to be done. Things
must have their course. Let us be off!"

                                                            [_Exeunt._

_The Father._ "Oh, that I could get into my grave! That's my only hope."

_Rector._ "Not so, dear friends, not so! You have no reason for sorrow
at this moment, but gladness and joy. The Spirit of God has been working
in your daughter and has gained the victory. Do not look upon this
matter as the world does, but from a higher standpoint. Until to-day
_Anna Liisa_ has erred. Now she has found the right way. Let us thank
and praise the Lord of Heaven!"

_Mistress of Ristola._ "Yes, it is truly so. It is a chastisement for
the flesh, but not to the spirit."

_The Father._ "We are shortsighted, we human beings. We do not always
comprehend the purposes of the Almighty."

_The Mother._ "And the earthly mind always seeks to govern."

_Rector._ "Let us strive the more to progress in the life of the Spirit,
and by God's help we can win like _Anna Liisa_ (grasping _Anna Liisa's_
hand). Yes, go in peace, my child. Go where your conscience compels you
to go, and the Heavenly Father strengthen you that you may hold out to
the end. We did congratulate you on a less important change in external
life, but a thousand times more warmly do we congratulate you on the
change in your inner life."

_Doctor._ "I agree with the Rector. Good-bye!"

_Anna Liisa_ (embracing first her father and then her mother).
"Good-bye, father! good-bye, mother! good-bye! Good-bye all!"

_Chorus._ "Good-bye, we wish you happiness."

_Johannes._ "_Anna Liisa_, won't you bid me farewell?"

_Anna Liisa._ "Certainly! Good-bye, _Johannes_."

_Johannes._ "The Lord keep you, _Anna Liisa_. But one word more--you are
as pure and good in heart as I thought you from the first."

_Anna Liisa._ "Thank you for your kindness.... I have found everlasting
life and happiness. Now, Mr. Bailiff, I am ready, give me the severest
punishment you can. I am ready to meet it all."

_Rector._ "She is following the everlasting road. Blessed is she."

                              _Curtain._

The idea of this very strange play has been undoubtedly taken from one
of Tolstoi's well-known books, but _Minna Canth_ herself is a great
writer. She seizes the subtleties of life, draws character with a strong
hand, and appreciates the value of dramatic situations. No wonder the
Finlanders admire a woman who writes in their own tongue, and feel
proud of her as one of themselves.

Never have I seen an audience weep so much as the audience wept that
night at the _Suomalainen Teaatteri_ (Finnish Theatre): they positively
sobbed. Was it that they seldom saw a play, or was it that the generally
phlegmatic Finn once roused is really intensely emotional?

Possibly if the fact were known, the minds of those spectators were not
so actively engaged in criticism, that they could not appreciate healthy
enjoyment. But as much cannot be said for a fashionable blasé audience,
which is too bored to care to be entertained.




CHAPTER VI

"KALEVALA," AN EPIC POEM


Many strange customs still linger in East Finland, probably because the
inhabitants, far removed from civilisation, cling tenaciously to the
traditions and usages of their forefathers. As a fitting ending
therefore to the _Sordavala_ Festival, an accurate representation of a
native wedding of a hundred years ago was given, perhaps for the reason
that the performers were thus naturally enabled to introduce many of the
bridal songs contained in their great epic poem, _Kalevala_, and their
collection of lyric poems called _Kanteletar_.

The open-air stage was cleverly arranged, and the performance proved
really a dramatic representation of music we had heard the delightful
_Runo_ singers chanting for days. They were old _Runo_ bards, however,
and as it was feared their voices would not reach the eight or ten
thousand people assembled in the open-air arena, younger and stronger
folk had been taught the different roles by them.

The wedding festivities were unlike anything to which we are accustomed.
They began with a formal betrothal. In a log hut sat the bride's family,
the mother spinning at one of the wooden erections so closely resembling
an oar. The father and his friends were meantime gathered round a table
drinking small beer (_Kalja_) from large wooden pots, or rather buckets,
called _haarikka_. Each man helped himself out of the _haarikka_ by
dipping into that vessel the usual wooden spoon and sipping its
contents, after which performance he replaced the spoon in the bucket.

Thus happily occupied sat the family till the bridegroom and his friends
arrived.

It is not considered proper for an intending bridegroom ever to propose
in person, consequently a spokesman has always to be employed, who
expatiates on the many excellent qualities possessed by the modest
lover.

Even the spokesman, however, deems it strict etiquette at first to
prevaricate concerning the real nature of his errand, and consequently
the actor told a cock-and-bull story about the purchase of a horse;
rather a transparent bit of make-believe considering the matter had been
quietly arranged previously.

At last, after some ridiculous talk about that imaginary horse, a formal
request was made for the daughter's hand, and finally the bride herself
appeared, solemnly led in as if a prisoner.

Silent and alone, with head bent sadly down, she stood in the middle of
the room till asked if she were willing "To marry this man?" when,
without looking up, she answered "Yes."

Then the "weeping woman" who is hired for such occasions--just as in
days, happily gone by, English families used to hire mutes for
funerals--put her arm round the bride's waist, and, with bowed head,
swinging her body to and fro the while, began in a most melancholy voice
to sing "The Bride's Lament to her Home." The paid professional chants
the words of the _Kalevala_, which are supposed to embody every bride's
sentiments, implores her parents not to hurry her away. She begs her
brother to keep her, not to let the breach between them be so large as
the _Ladoga_ lake; might she remain even so long in her father's house
as it will take to catch the fish and cook them.

After that she was placed in a chair, and her mother, with pomp and
gravity, undid her "maiden plait," her loosened hair denoting that she
could no longer be regarded as a maiden. All her relations came and
pulled at her hair, which fell over her shoulders, to assure themselves
the plait was really undone. Then the _weeping woman_, swaying to and
fro as before, sang another dirge over her--a most melancholy form of
betrothal, we thought--and finally put a white linen cap on the bride's
head, trimmed with lace, which completely concealed her face. Thus
covered, the bride and the weeping woman sat side by side on chairs,
when, still swaying their bodies as if in unutterable grief, they
recited more bridal songs, all of the same dreary character. Finally,
the bride had a verse sung for her by the weeping woman addressed to her
parents, to each of whom she clung in turn. Her father, mother,
brothers, sisters, etc., were singly poetically addressed after the
following doleful but remarkable fashion:--

    O the anguish of the parting,
    O the pain of separation,
    From these walls renowned and ancient,
    From this village of the Northland,
    From these scenes of peace and plenty,
    Where my faithful mother taught me,
    Where my father gave instruction
    To me in my happy childhood,
    When my years were few and tender!
    As a child I did not fancy,
    Never thought of separation
    From the confines of this cottage,
    From these dear old hills and mountains;
    But, alas! I now must journey,
    Since I now cannot escape it;
    Empty is the bowl of parting,
    All the fare-well beer is taken,
    And my husband's sledge is waiting,
    With the break-board looking southward,
    Looking from my father's dwelling.

    How shall I give compensation,
    How repay, on my departure,
    All the kindness of my mother,
    All the counsel of my father,
    All the friendship of my brother,
    All my sister's warm affection?
    Gratitude to thee, dear father,
    For my father life and blessings,
    For the comforts of thy table,
    For the pleasures of my childhood!
    Gratitude to thee, dear mother,
    For thy tender care and guidance,
    For my birth and for my culture,
    Nurtured by thy purest life-blood!
    Gratitude to thee, dear brother,
    Gratitude to thee, sweet sister,
    To the servants of my childhood,
    To my many friends and playmates!

        Never, never, aged father,
    Never, thou, beloved mother,
    Never, ye, my kindred spirits,
    Never harbour care nor sorrow,
    Never fall to bitter weeping,
    Since thy child has gone to strangers,
    To the meadows of _Wäinölä_,
    From her father's fields and firesides.
    Shines the Sun of the Creator,
    Shines the golden Moon of _Ukko_,
    Glitter all the stars of heaven,
    In the firmament of ether,
    Full as bright on other homesteads;
    Not upon my father's uplands,
    Not upon my home in childhood,
    Shines the Star of Joyance only.

        Now the time has come for parting
    From my father's golden firesides,
    From my brother's welcome hearth-stone,
    From the chambers of my sister,
    From my mother's happy dwelling;
    Now I leave the swamps and lowlands,
    Leave the grassy vales and mountains,
    Leave the crystal lakes and rivers,
    Leave the shores and sandy shallows,
    Leave the white-capped surging billows,
    Where the maidens swim and linger,
    Where the mermaids sing and frolic;
    Leave the swamps to those that wander,
    Leave the cornfields to the plowman,
    Leave the forests to the weary,
    Leave the heather to the rover,
    Leave the copses to the stranger,
    Leave the alleys to the beggar,
    Leave the courtyards to the rambler,
    Leave the portals to the servant,
    Leave the matting to the sweeper,
    Leave the highways to the roebuck,
    Leave the woodland-glens to lynxes,
    Leave the lowlands to the wild-geese,
    And the birch-tree to the cuckoo.
    Now I leave these friends of childhood,
    Journey southward with my husband,
    To the arms of Night and Winter,
    O'er the ice-grown seas of Northland.

All this must have seemed very sad to the bridegroom, who sat dumb in a
corner, a perfect nonentity.

Moral for all young men--Never get married in Finland.

The second scene represented the wedding. It was the bridegroom's house.
They had been to the church, and he was bringing her home. The guests
were assembled to receive her, some were baking cakes in great haste,
others arranging the pots of _Kalja_, all excited and joyful.

At last some one rushed in to say "They are coming, they are coming,"
and immediately appeared a procession of peasants with the bride and
bridegroom _hand in hand_. She wore a dark-red cashmere gown with a
handsomely embroidered white apron, and large round silver brooch, such
as the Highlanders of Scotland use to fasten their kilt; but she was
still covered by the linen cap with its lace adornments, which hung over
her face. She was solemnly escorted to a seat by the table, and only
raised this veil when the meal began. After "the breakfast" was over,
four young men and four girls danced a sort of lancers, with grand
variations, and executed gymnastic feats--frog dancing and a sort of
Highland-reel step--very pretty and very quaint. The bride and
bridegroom did not join in the measure--both sat solemn as judges;
indeed, a _Karjalan_ wedding is a monstrously sad affair for the
bridegroom, at all events, for he plays a rôle of no importance, while
it must be a melancholy business for the bride.

The men's dresses were of ordinary cloth with bright-coloured linen
shirts, and leather boots turned up at the toe, the soft leather legs
reaching nearly to the knees, the last two or three inches being laced
_behind_, so as to enable the wearer to pull them on. The sisters of the
bride wore crowns composed of plain bands of various-coloured
ribbons--nearly a quarter of a yard high in front, but diminishing
towards the back, where the ends of the ribbons hung below the waist.

The words of the bride's lament are so strange, that we give some of
them from _Kalevala_, thinking every man who reads the lines will
sympathise with the wretched bridegroom, and every woman wish to have as
devoted a husband as the young man is exhorted to make.

But alas! there comes a day of reckoning, when he may "instruct her with
a willow," and even "use the birch-rod from the mountains."


THE BRIDE'S FAREWELL

    Bridegroom, thou beloved hero,
    Brave descendant of thy fathers,
    When thou goest on a journey,
    When thou drivest on the highway,
    Driving with the Rainbow-daughter,
    Fairest bride of _Sariola_,
    Do not lead her as a titmouse,
    As a cuckoo of the forest,
    Into unfrequented places,
    Into copses of the borders,
    Into brier-fields and brambles,
    Into unproductive marshes;
    Let her wander not, nor stumble
    On opposing rocks and rubbish.
    Never in her father's dwelling,
    Never in her mother's courtyard,
    Has she fallen into ditches,
    Stumbled hard against the fences,
    Run through brier-fields, nor brambles,
    Fallen over rocks, nor rubbish.

        Magic bridegroom of _Wäinölä_,
    Wise descendant of the heroes,
    Never let thy young wife suffer,
    Never let her be neglected,
    Never let her sit in darkness,
    Never leave her unattended.
    Never in her father's mansion,
    In the chambers of her mother,
    Has she sat alone in darkness,
    Has she suffered for attention;
    Sat she by the crystal window,
    Sat and rocked, in peace and plenty,
    Evenings for her father's pleasure,
    Mornings for her mother's sunshine.
    Never mayest thou, O bridegroom,
    Lead the Maiden of the Rainbow
    To the mortar filled with sea-grass,
    There to grind the bark for cooking,
    There to bake her bread from stubble,
    There to knead her dough from tan-bark.
    Never in her father's dwelling,
    Never in her mother's mansion,
    Was she taken to the mortar,
    There to bake her bread from sea-grass.
    Thou should'st lead the Bride of Beauty
    To the garner's rich abundance,
    There to draw the till of barley,
    Grind the flower and knead for baking,
    There to brew the beer for drinking,
    Wheaten flour for honey-biscuits.

        Hero-bridegroom of _Wäinölä_,
    Never cause thy Bride of Beauty
    To regret her day of marriage;
    Never make her shed a tear-drop,
    Never fill her cup with sorrow.
    Should there ever come an evening
    When thy wife shall feel unhappy,
    Put the harness on thy racer,
    Hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,
    Take her to her father's dwelling,
    To the household of her mother;
    Never in thy hero-lifetime,
    Never while the moonbeams glimmer,
    Give thy fair spouse evil treatment,
    Never treat her as thy servant;
    Do not bar her from the cellar,
    Do not lock thy best provisions.
    Never in her father's mansion,
    Never by her faithful mother
    Was she treated as a hireling.

        Honoured bridegroom of the Northland,
    Proud descendant of the fathers,
    If thou treatest well thy young wife,
    Worthily wilt thou be treated;
    When thou goest to her homestead,
    When thou visitest her father,
    Thou shalt meet a cordial welcome.

        Censure not the Bride of Beauty,
    Never grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,
    Never say in tones reproachful,
    She was born in lowly station,
    That her father was unworthy;
    Honoured are thy bride's relations,
    From an old-time tribe her kindred;
    When of corn they sowed a measure,
    Each one's portion was a kernel;
    When they sowed a cask of flax-seed,
    Each received a thread of linen.
    Never, never, magic husband,
    Treat thy beauty-bride unkindly,
    Teach her not with lash of servants,
    Strike her not with thongs of leather;
    Never has she wept in anguish,
    From the birch-whip of her mother.
    Stand before her like a rampart,
    Be to her a strong protection,
    Do not let thy mother chide her,
    Let thy father not upbraid her,
    Never let thy guests offend her;
    Should thy servants bring annoyance,
    They may need the master's censure;
    Do not harm the Bride of Beauty,
    Never injure her thou lovest;
    Three long years hast thou been wooing,
    Hoping every month to win her.

        Counsel with the bride of heaven,
    To thy young wife give instruction,
    Kindly teach thy bride in secret,
    In the long and dreary evenings,
    When thou sittest at the fireside;
    Teach one year, in words of kindness,
    Teach with eyes of love a second,
    In the third year teach with firmness.
    If she should not heed thy teaching,
    Should not hear thy kindly counsel,
    After three long years of effort,
    Cut a reed upon the lowlands,
    Cut a nettle from the border,
    Teach thy wife with harder measures.
    In the fourth year, if she heed not,
    Threaten her with sterner treatment,
    With the stalks of rougher edges,
    Use not yet the thongs of leather,
    Do not touch her with the birch-whip.
    If she should not heed this warning,
    Should she pay thee no attention,
    Cut a rod upon the mountains,
    Or a willow in the valleys,
    Hide it underneath thy mantle,
    That the stranger may not see it,
    Show it to thy wife in secret,
    Shame her thus to do her duty,
    Strike not yet, though disobeying.
    Should she disregard this warning,
    Still refuse to heed thy wishes,
    Then instruct her with the willow,
    Use the birch-rod from the mountains,
    In the closet of thy dwelling,
    In the attic of thy mansion;
    Strike her not upon the common,
    Do not conquer her in public,
    Lest the villagers should see thee,
    Lest the neighbours hear her weeping,
    And the forests learn thy troubles.
    Touch thy wife upon the shoulders,
    Let her stiffened back be softened;
    Do not touch her on the forehead,
    Nor upon the ears, nor visage;
    If a ridge be on her forehead,
    Or a blue mark on her eyelids,
    Then her mother would perceive it,
    And her father would take notice,
    All the village-workmen see it,
    And the village-women ask her:
        "Hast thou been in heat of battle,
    Hast thou struggled in a conflict,
    Or perchance the wolves have torn thee,
    Or the forest bears embraced thee,
    Or the black-wolf be thy husband,
    And the bear be thy protector?"

           *       *       *       *       *

        By the fireplace lay a gray-beard,
    On the hearth-stone lay a beggar,
    And the old man spake as follows:--
        "Never, never, hero-husband,
    Follow thou thy young wife's wishes,
    Follow not her inclinations,
    As, alas! I did, regretful;
    Bought my bride the bread of barley,
    Veal, and beer, and best of butter,
    Fish and fowl of all descriptions,
    Beer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling,
    Wheat from all the distant nations,
    All the dainties of the Northland;
    But this all was unavailing,
    Gave my wife no satisfaction,
    Often came she to my chamber,
    Tore my sable locks in frenzy,
    With a visage fierce and frightful,
    With her eyeballs flashing anger,
    Scolding on and scolding ever,
    Ever speaking words of evil,
    Using epithets the vilest,
    Thought me but a block for chopping.
    Then I sought for other measures,
    Used on her my last resources,
    Cut a birch-whip in the forest,
    And she spake in terms endearing;
    Cut a juniper or willow,
    And she called me 'hero-darling';
    When with lash my wife I threatened,
    Hung she on my neck with kisses."
        Thus the bridegroom was instructed,
    Thus the last advices given.

           *       *       *       *       *

        Then the Maiden of the Rainbow,
    Beauteous bride of _Ilmarinen_,
    Sighing heavily and moaning,
    Fell to weeping, heavy-hearted,
    Spake these words from depths of sorrow:
        "Near, indeed, the separation,
    Near, alas! the time for parting,
    Near the time of my departure;
    Fare thee well, my dear old homestead,
    Fare ye well, my native bowers;
    It would give me joy unceasing
    Could I linger here for ever.
    Now farewell, ye halls and portals
    Leading to my father's mansion;
    It would give me joy unceasing
    Could I linger here for ever."

[Illustration: GROUP OF RUNO BARDS.]

What a delightful representation! A beautiful scene of peasant life a
hundred years ago. The charm of the singing in the open air, the people
dressed in the old costumes, the scene really correct, old spinning
wheels, etc., having been borrowed from the museum for the purpose.

It was a charming picture, one well worth retaining on the retina of
memory.

It was the last day; the _Karjalan_ wedding was over, and all the
choirs, numbering altogether nearly a thousand voices, sang chants and
hymns most beautifully, their combined voices being heard far through
the woods and across the lakes.

It was really a grand spectacle, those thousand men and women on the
platform, comprising peasants, farmers, students, professors, all
brought together merely to sing, while below and on the opposite hill
three thousand seats were filled by a mixed audience, behind whom again,
among the pine-trees, sat several thousand more. As a final effort the
conductor called upon every one to join in the National Anthem. Up rose
ten thousand or twelve thousand persons, and, as one man, they sang
their patriotic verses beneath the blue canopy of heaven. It was
wonderful; to a stranger the harmony of the whole was amazing; indeed,
so successful did it prove, that national song after national song was
sung by that musical audience. We looked on and marvelled. Music
attracts in Finland, for from end to end of the land the people are
imbued with its spirit and feel its power.

The sun blazed, the pine cones scented the air, the birds sang, and we
felt transported back to old Druidical days when people met in the open
for song and prayer. It was all very simple, but very delightful, and
the people seemed to most thoroughly enjoy hearing their national airs;
the whole scene again reminded us of Ober Ammergau, or of a Highland
out-of-door Communion Service.

Alas! the Finnish national dress has almost disappeared, but at the
_Sordavala_ Festival a great attempt was made to revive it at the
enormous open-air concerts in the public park, where some of the girls,
lying or sitting under the pine-trees on the hill opposite listening to
the choir singing, wore the dress of _Suomi_.

The national colours are red and yellow, or white and bright blue, and
much dispute arises as to which is really right, for while the heraldry
book says red and yellow, the country folk maintain blue and white.
White loose blouses of fine Finnish flannel seemed most in favour, with
a short full underskirt of the same material; geometrical embroidery
about two inches wide in all colours and patterns being put round the
hem of the short dress as well as brace fashion over the bodice; in some
cases a very vivid shade of green, a sort of pinafore bodice with a
large apron of the same colour falling in front, was noticeable; the
embroidery in claret and dark green running round all the border lines;
at the neck this embroidery was put on more thickly, and also at the
waist belt. Round the apron hung a deep and handsome fringe; altogether
the dress with its striking colours and tin or silver hangings was very
pleasing. Unfortunately the girls seemed to think that even when they
wore their national dress they ought to wear also a hat and gloves;
although even the simplest hat spoils the effect.

At the back of the wood, where we wandered for a little shade and quiet
rest, we found our dear friends the "_Runo_ singers." The name
originated from the ancient songs having been written down on sticks,
the _Runo_ writing being cut or burnt in, this was the bards' only form
of music. Now these strange musical memoranda can only be found in
museums. Our _Runo_ singers, delighted with the success of the
marriage-play they had coached, welcomed us warmly, and at once rose to
shake hands as we paused to listen to their _kantele_ playing and quaint
chanting.

It may be well to mention that the Finnish language is very remarkable.
Like Gaelic, it is musical, soft and dulcet, expressive and poetical,
comes from a very old root, and is, in fact, one of the most interesting
languages we possess. But some of the Finnish words are extremely long,
in which respect they excel even the German. As a specimen of what a
Finnish word can be, we may give _Oppimattomuudessansakin_, meaning,
"Even in his ignorance."

The language is intensely difficult to learn, for it has sixteen cases,
a fact sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. However, there is one
good thing about Finnish, namely, that it is spoken absolutely
phonetically, emphasis being invariably laid on the first syllable. For
instance, the above word is pronounced (the "i" being spoken as "e")
Oppi-ma-tto-muu-des-san-sa-kin.

Finnish possesses a _you_ and a _thou_, which fact, though it cannot
lighten the difficulties, does away with the terrible third person
invariably in use in Swedish, where people say calmly:

"Has the Herr Professor enjoyed his breakfast?"

"Yes, thanks, and I hope the Mrs. Authoress has done the same."

By the Swedish-speaking Finns it is considered the worst of ill-breeding
for a younger person to address an elder as "you," or for strangers to
speak to one another except in the manner above indicated.

Finnish is one of the softest of tongues, and of all European languages
most closely resembles the _Magyar_ or Hungarian. Both of these come
from the Ugrian stock of _Agglutinative_ languages, and therefore they
always stick to the roots of the word and make grammatical changes by
suffixes. Vowels are employed so incessantly that the words are round
and soft, and lend themselves easily to song. There are only twenty-two
letters in the Finnish alphabet, and as _F_ is very seldom employed,
even that number is decreased. The use of vowels is endless; the dotted
ö, equivalent to the French _eu_, being often followed by an e or i, and
thereby rendered doubly soft.

Finns freely employ _thou_ and _thee_, and add to these forms of
endearment numerous suffixes. Human names, all animals, plants, metals,
stones, trees--anything, in fact--can be used in the diminutive form.

Finnish is almost as difficult to learn as Chinese. Every noun has
sixteen cases, and the suffixes alter so much, one hardly recognises the
more complicated as the outcome of the original nominative. It takes,
therefore, almost a lifetime to learn Finnish thoroughly, although the
structure of their sentences is simple, and, being a nation little
given to gush, adverbs and adjectives are seldom used.

As an example of Finnish, we give the following table made out at our
request, so that we might learn a few sentences likely to prove useful
when travelling in the less-frequented parts of the country--every
letter is pronounced as written.

              FINNISH.                         ENGLISH.

    _Hyvää huomenta._                   Good morning.
    _Hyvää iltaa._                      Good evening.
    _Hyvää päivää._                     Good day.
    _Hyvää yötä._                       Good night.
    _Hyvästi._                          Adieu.
    _Jumalan haltuun._                  God be with you.
    _Kuinka voitte?_                    How are you?
    _Olkaa niin hyvä._                  Be so kind.
    _Pyydän_, or _olkaa niin hyvä_.     Please; yes, please.
    _Kiitoksia._                        Thank you.
    _Kiitän._                           I thank you.
    _Saisinko minä vuoteen._            I want a bed.
    _Saisinko minä yösijaa?_            Can I stay the night?
    _Saisinko luvan tietää mitäruokaa   May I know what there is to
      teillä on?_                         eat?
    _Saisiko täällä ruokaa?_            Can we get anything to eat?
    _Saisiko täällä juomaa?_            Can we get anything to drink?
    _Paljoko se maksaa?_}               What does it cost?
    _Mitä se maksaa?_   }
    _Mitä olen velkaa?_                 What do I owe you?
    _Mitä olemme velkaa?_               What do we owe you?
    _Me tahdomme lähteä_                We would like to leave at one
     (or _matkustaa_) _kello yksi._       o'clock.
    _Millä tunnilla saavumme perille?_  At what time will we arrive?
    _Kuinka kaukana se on?_             How far is it?
    _Onko sinne pitkältä?_              Is it far from here?
    _Olkaa hyvä tuokaa vielä lihaa._    Please bring some more meat.
    _Kuulkaa?_                          Do you hear?
    _Heti._                             Quick.

    FINNISH.       ENGLISH.       FINNISH.       ENGLISH.

    _Maitoa._      Milk.          _Leipää._      Bread.
    _Voita._       Butter.        _Kahvia._      Coffee.
    _Sokeria._     Sugar.         _Kaloja._      Fish.
    _Munia._       Eggs.          _Olutta._      Beer.

The foregoing are all in the objective case; in the nominative they
would be:--

    _Liha, Maito, Leipä, Voi, Kahvi, Sokeri, Kala, Muna, Olut._

The numeration table is as follows:--

    _Yksi._                         1.
    _Kaksi._                        2.
    _Kolme._                        3.
    _Neljä._                        4.
    _Viisi._                        5.
    _Kuusi._                        6.
    _Seitsemän._                    7.
    _Kahdeksan._                    8.
    _Yhdeksän._                     9.
    _Kymmene._                     10.
    _Kaksikymmentä._               20.
    _Kaksikymmentä yksi._          21.
    _Kaksikymmentä kaksi._         22.
    _Kolme kymmentä._              30.
    _Neljä kymmentä._              40.
    _Viisi kymmentä._              50.
    _Sata._                       100.
    _Kaksisataa._                 200.
    _Kolme sataa._                300.
    _Tuhat._                     1000.
    _Kaksi tuhatta._             2000.
    _Kolme tuhatta._             3000.
    _Miljoona._             1,000,000.
    _Tuhat kahdeksansataa
      yhdeksänkymmentä kuusi._   1896.

To show the difficulties of the declensions, we take, as an example, the
ordinary word land.

Declensions of the word Maa=Land.

                        SINGULARIS.     PLURALIS.

    _Nominativus._        maa.           maa-t.
    _Genetivus._          maa-n.         mai-den.
    _Ackusativus._        maa-n.         maa-t.
    _Instructivus._       maa-n.         mai-n.
    _Essivus._            maa-na.        mai-na.
    _Partitivus._         maa-ta.        mai-ta.
    _Translativus._       maa-ksi.       mai-ksi.

                   Inner local cases.

    _Inessivus._          maa-ssa.       mai-ssa.
    _Elativus._           maa-sta.       mai-sta.
    _Illativus._          maa-han.       mai-hin.

                   Outer local cases.

    _Adessivus._          maa-lla.       mai-lla.
    _Ablativus._          maa-lta.       mai-lta.
    _Allativus._          maa-lle.       mai-lle.
    _Abessivus._          maa-tta.       mai-tta.
    _Komitalivus._                       mai-ne.

Is such a declension not enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart?

But now to return to the _Kalevala_ itself, which is said to be one of
the grandest epic poems in existence. The word _Kalevala_ means "Land of
heroes," and it is undoubtedly a poem of nature-worship. It points to a
contest between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil, and in this case the
Light and Good are represented by the Finns, the Darkness and Evil by
the Laps. Although it is a poem of nature-worship, full of most
wonderful descriptions--some of the lines in praise of the moon and sun,
the sea and water-ways, the rivers and hills, and the wondrous pine
forests of Finland, are full of marvellous charm--it also tells the
story of love, and many touching scenes are represented in its verses.

"It is unlike other epics," says Edward Clodd, "in the absence of any
apotheosis of clique or clan or dynasty, and in the theatre of action
being in no ideal world where the gods sit lonely on Olympus, apart from
men. Its songs have a common author, the whole Finnish people; the light
of common day, more than that of the supernatural, illumines them."

Before going further, it may be well to mention how the _Kalevala_ came
into existence. Finland is thinly peopled, but every Finn is at heart
musical and poetical; therefore, far removed from the civilised world,
they made songs among themselves--fantastic descriptions of their own
country. By word of mouth these poems were handed on from generation to
generation, and generally sung to the accompaniment of the _kantele_ in
a weird sort of chant. By such means the wonderful _Sagas_ of Iceland
were preserved to us until the year 1270, when they first began to be
written down on sheepskins, in Runic writing, for Iceland at that date
shone as a glorious literary light when all was gloom around. By means
of tales, and poems, and chanted songs, the Arabian Nights stories, so
dearly loved by the Arabs, which as yet have not been collected as they
should have been, are related even to-day by the professional
story-tellers we have seen in the market-places of Morocco.

Professor _Elias Lönnrot_, as mentioned in the last chapter, realising
the value to scholars and antiquaries of the wonderful poems of Finland,
so descriptive of the manners and customs of the Finns, set to work in
the middle of the nineteenth century to collect and bring them out in
book form before they were totally forgotten. This was a tremendous
undertaking; he travelled through the wildest parts of Finland;
disguised as a peasant, he walked from village to village, from
homestead to homestead, living the life of the people, and collecting,
bit by bit, the poems of his country. As in all mythological or gipsy
tales, he found many versions of the same subject, for naturally verses
handed on orally change a little in different districts from generation
to generation. But he was not to be beaten by this extra amount of work,
and finally wove into a connected whole the substance of the wondrous
tales he had heard from the peasantry. This whole he called _Kalevala_,
the name of the district where the heroes of the poem once existed.
Gramophones will in future collect such treasures for posterity.

In 1835 the first edition appeared. It contained thirty-two runos or
cantos of about twelve thousand lines, and the second, which was
published in 1849, contained fifty runos or about twenty-two thousand
eight hundred lines (seven thousand more than the _Iliad_).

There is no doubt about it, experts declare, that the poems or verses
were written at different times, but it is nearly all of pre-Christian
origin, for, with the exception of a few prayers in the last pages,
there are few signs of Christian influence.

No one knows exactly how these poems originated. Indeed, the _Kalevala_
is unique among epics, although distinct traces of foreign influence may
occasionally be found, the Christian influence being only noticeable in
the last runos when the Virgin's Son, the Child Christ, appears, after
which advent _Wäinämöinen_ disappears for unknown lands. With this
exception the entire poem is of much earlier date.

The last runo is truly remarkable.

"_Mariatta_, child of beauty," becomes wedded to a berry--

    Like a cranberry in feature,
    Like a strawberry in flavour.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Wedded to the mountain berry

           *       *       *       *       *

    Wedded only to his honour.

           *       *       *       *       *

    I shall bear a noble hero,
    I shall bear a son immortal,
    Who will rule among the mighty,
    Rule the ancient _Wäinämöinen_.

           *       *       *       *       *

    In the stable is a manger,
    Fitting birth-place for the hero.

           *       *       *       *       *

    Thereupon the horse, in pity,
    Breathed the moisture of his nostrils,
    On the body of the Virgin,
    Wrapped her in a cloud of vapour,
    Gave her warmth and needed comforts,
    Gave his aid to the afflicted
    To the virgin _Mariatta_.
    There the babe was born and cradled,
    Cradled in a woodland manger.

This shows Christian origin!

_Wäinämöinen's_ place is gradually usurped by the "Wonder-babe," and the
former departs in this stanza--

    Thus the ancient _Wäinämöinen_,
    In his copper-banded vessel
    Left his tribe in _Kalevala_,
    Sailing o'er the rolling billows,
    Sailing through the azure vapours,
    Sailing through the dusk of evening,
    Sailing to the fiery sunset,
    To the higher landed regions,
    To the lower verge of heaven;
    Quickly gained the far horizon,
    Gained the purple-coloured harbour,
    There his bark he firmly anchored,
    Rested in his boat of copper;
    But he left his harp of magic,
    Left his songs and wisdom sayings
    To the lasting joy of _Suomi_.

Thus old _Wäinämöinen_ sails away into unfathomable depths.

The _Kalevala_ has, up to the present time, been a much-neglected poem,
but there is now an excellent English translation by Martin Crawford, an
American by birth, from which we have taken the liberty of quoting. Mr.
Andrew Lang has charmingly discoursed on the great national poem of the
Finns, and Mr. Edward Clodd, who wrote a delightful series of articles
in _Knowledge_ on the same subject, has kindly placed his notes in my
hands.

There is no doubt about it that the fantastic mythology of the Finns has
not received as much attention as it deserves. "Although mythology and
theology are one," says Mr. Clodd, "we find among the ancient Finns the
worship of natural objects, all living things being credited with life,
and all their relations being regarded as the actions of the mighty
powers."

Naturally in a country so undisturbed and isolated as Finland, fantastic
mythology took firm root, and we certainly find the most romantic and
weird verses in connection with the chief heroes of the _Kalevala_,
namely, _Wäinämöinen_ and _Ilmarinen_, who broadly resemble the Norse
demigods Odin and Thor.

After any one has been to Finland, he reads the _Kalevala_ with
amazement. What pen could describe more faithfully the ways of the
people? Every line is pregnant with life. Their food, their clothing,
their manners and customs, their thoughts and characteristics are all
vividly drawn, as they were hundreds of years ago, and as they remain
to-day.

When we peep into the mysteries of the _Kalevala_ and see how trees are
sacred, how animals are mythological, as, for instance, in the
forty-sixth rune, which speaks of the bear who "was born in lands
between sun and moon, and died not by man's deeds, but by his own will,"
we understand the Finnish people. Indeed the wolf, the horse, the duck,
and all animals find their place in this wondrous _Kalevala_; and dream
stories are woven round each creature till the whole life of Finland has
become impregnated by a fantastic sort of romance.

The _Kalevala_ opens with a creation myth of the earth, sea, and sky
from an egg, but instead of the heroes living in some supernatural home
of their own, they come down from heaven, distribute gifts among men,
and work their wonders by aid of magic, at the same time living with the
people, and entering into their daily toils.

It is strange that the self-developing egg should occur in the
_Kalevala_ of Northern Europe, for it also appears among the Hindoos and
other Eastern peoples, pointing, maybe, to the Mongolian origin of the
Finnish people.

The way the life of the people is depicted seems simply marvellous, and
the description holds good even at the present time. For instance, these
lines taken at hazard speak of spinning, etc.--

    Many beauteous things the maiden,
    With the spindle has accomplished,
    Spun and woven with her fingers;
    Dresses of the finest texture
    She in winter has upfolded,
    Bleached them in the days of spring-time,
    Dried them at the hour of noonday,
    For our couches finest linen,
    For our heads the softest pillows,
    For our comfort woollen blankets.

Or, again, speaking of the bride's home, it likens the father-in-law to
her father, and describes the way they all live together in Finland even
to-day, and bids her accept the new family as her own--

    Learn to labour with thy kindred;
    Good the home for thee to dwell in,
    Good enough for bride and daughter.
    At thy hand will rest the milk-pail,
    And the churn awaits thine order;
    It is well here for the maiden,
    Happy will the young bride labour,
    Easy are the resting branches;
    Here the host is like thy father,
    Like thy mother is the hostess,
    All the sons are like thy brothers,
    Like thy sisters are the daughters.

Here is another touch--the shoes made from the plaited birch bark, so
commonly in use even at the present time; and, again, the bread made
from bark in times of famine has ever been the Finnish peasant's food--

    Even sing the lads of Lapland
    In their straw-shoes filled with joyance,
    Drinking but a cup of water,
    Eating but the bitter tan bark.

    These my dear old father sang me
    When at work with knife or hatchet;
    These my tender mother taught me
    When she twirled the flying spindle,
    When a child upon the matting
    By her feet I rolled and tumbled.

To-day, Finnish women still wash in the streams, and they beat their
clothes upon the rocks just as they did hundreds, one might say
thousands, of years ago and more--for the greater part of _Kalevala_ was
most undoubtedly written long before the Christian era in Finland.

    Northlands fair and slender maiden
    Washing on the shore a head-dress,
    Beating on the rocks her garments,
    Rinsing there her silken raiment.

In the following rune we find an excellent description of the land, and
even a line showing that in those remote days trees were burned down to
clear the land, the ashes remaining for manure--a common practice now.

    Groves arose in varied beauty,
    Beautifully grew the forests,
    And again, the vines and flowers.
    Birds again sang in the tree-tops,
    Noisily the merry thrushes,
    And the cuckoos in the birch-trees;
    On the mountains grew the berries,
    Golden flowers in the meadows,
    And the herbs of many colours,
    Many lands of vegetation;
    But the barley is not growing.

    _Osma's_ barley will not flourish,
    Not the barley of _Wäinölä_,
    If the soil be not made ready,
    If the forest be not levelled,
    And the branches burned to ashes.
    Only left the birch-tree standing
    For the birds a place of resting,
    Where might sing the sweet-voiced cuckoo,
    Sacred bird in sacred branches.

One could go on quoting passages from this strange epic--but suffice it
to say that in the forty-sixth rune _Wäinämöinen_ speaks to _Otso_, the
bear--

    _Otso_, thou my well beloved,
    Honey eater of the woodlands,
    Let not anger swell thy bosom.

    _Otso_ was not born a beggar,
    Was not born among the rushes,
    Was not cradled in a manger;
    Honey-paw was born in ether
    In the regions of the Moonland.

    With the chains of gold she bound it
    To the pine-tree's topmost branches.
    There she rocked the thing of magic,
    Rocked to life the tender baby,
    'Mid the blossoms of the pine-tree,
    On the fir-top set with needles;
    Thus the young bear well was nurtured.

    Sacred _Otso_ grew and flourished,
    Quickly grew with graceful movements,
    Short of feet, with crooked ankles,
    Wide of mouth and broad of forehead,
    Short his nose, his fur robe velvet;
    But his claws were not well fashioned,
    Neither were his teeth implanted.

    Swore the bear a sacred promise
    That he would not harm the worthy,
    Never do a deed of evil.
    Then _Mielikki_, woodland hostess,
    Wisest maid of _Tapiola_,
    Sought for teeth and claws to give him,
    From the stoutest mountain-ashes,
    From the juniper and oak-tree,
    From the dry knots of the alder.
    Teeth and claws of these were worthless,
    Would not render goodly service.
    Grew a fir-tree on the mountain,
    Grew a stately pine in Northland,
    And the fir had silver branches,
    Bearing golden cones abundant;
    These the sylvan maiden gathered,
    Teeth and claws of these she fashioned,
    In the jaws and feet of _Otso_
    Set them for the best of uses.

    Taught him how to walk a hero.

    He freely gave his life to others.

These are only a few stanzas taken haphazard from _Kalevala_, but they
give some idea of its power.

At the Festival we met, among the Runo performers, a delightful woman.
About forty, fat and broad, she had a cheerful countenance and kindly
eyes, and she sang--if such dirges could be called singing--old Finnish
songs, all of which seemingly lacked an end. She was absolutely
charming, however, perfectly natural and unaffected, and when we got her
in a corner, away from the audience, proved even more captivating than
before the public.

First she sang a cradle song, and, as she moaned out the strange music,
she patted her foot up and down and swayed her body to and fro, as
though she were nursing a baby. She was simply frank too, and when asked
to sing one particular song exclaimed--

"Oh yes, I can sing that beautifully; I sing it better than any one on
the East Coast of Finland."

Abundant tears shed for no sufficient cause--for no cause at all,
indeed--would seem to be a characteristic of these lady vocalists.

The singer of the bear legend wore a beautiful red-brocaded cap. In
fact, her attire was altogether remarkable; her skirt, a pretty shade of
purple shot with gold silk, was cut in such a way as to form a sort of
corset bodice with braces across the shoulders, under which she wore a
white chemisette. A beautiful, rich, red silk apron, and a set of
well-chosen coloured scarves drawn across the breast completed her
costume and added to the fantastic colouring and picturesqueness of the
whole. She was very friendly; again and again she shook hands with us
all in turn, and, during one of the most mournful of her songs, she sat
so close to me that her elbow rested in my lap, while real tears coursed
down her cheeks. It was quite touching to witness the true emotion of
the woman; she rocked herself to and fro, and mopped her eyes with a
neatly folded white cotton handkerchief, the while she seemed totally
oblivious of our presence and enwrapped in her music. When she had
finished she wiped away her tears, and then, as if suddenly recalled
from another world, she appeared to realise the fact that we were
present, and, overcome with grief, she apologised most abjectly for
having forgotten herself so far as to cry before the strange ladies!
This was no affectation; the woman was downrightly sorry, and it was not
until we had patted her fondly and smiled our best thanks that she could
be pacified at all and believe we were not offended.

In her calmer moments she drew, as we thought, a wonderful purse from
under her apron--a cloth embroidered thing with beads upon it. Great was
our surprise to discover that it contained snuff, from which she helped
herself at intervals during the entertainment, never omitting to offer
us some before she took her own pinch.

This unexpected generosity reminded us of an incident that occurred
while crossing the Grosser Glockner mountain in the Tyrol, when we were
overtaken by a violent snowstorm. Being above the snow line the cold and
wind were intense. One of the guides, feeling sorry for us and evidently
thinking we looked blue with cold, produced from his _rucksack_ a large
flask which contained his dearly loved schnapps. He unscrewed the cork
and gravely offered it to us each in turn. There was no glass, nor did
he even attempt to wipe the rim, although but an hour before we had seen
all the guides drinking from the same bottle.

This equality of class is always to be found in lands where civilisation
has not stepped in. "Each man is as good as his neighbour" is a motto in
the remote parts of Finland, as it is in the Bavarian Highlands and
other less-known parts. What the peasants have, they give freely; their
goodness of heart and thoughtfulness are remarkable.

The _Runo_ woman, who wept so unrestrainedly, had most beautiful teeth,
and her smile added a particular charm to her face. When she was not
singing she busied herself with spinning flax on the usual wooden oar,
about five feet long and much carved and ornamented at one end. On the
top, at the opposite end, was a small flat piece like another oar blade,
only broader and shorter, fixed at such an angle that when she sat down
upon it the carved piece stood up slant-wise beside her. Halfway up the
blade some coloured cotton bands secured a bundle of flax, while in her
hand she held a bobbin on to which she wove the thread.

She was never idle, for, when not occupied in singing to us, she spent
her time spinning, always repeating, however, the second line of the
other performers.

Another woman danced with her head bent low, a very strange slow shuffle
round and round, something like an Arab measure, but after a while she
broke into a sort of waltz. The dancing, like the _Runo_ music, was
primitive.

These _Runo_ singers could but be regarded as a connecting link between
the present and the past.

Here were people, the representatives of generations gone before, who
had handed down by word of mouth the runes of that wonderful epic, the
_Kalevala_. Just such folk as these had sat during long winters in their
small wooden huts, practically windowless; besides, it was generally too
cold to put back the wooden shutter, used for economy instead of glass,
for more than a few moments at a time; they had sat in the dusk chanting
the songs of their land, the mystic lines of which they had sucked in
almost with their mother's milk, until music and verse filled their very
souls. The weird, the wild, the fantastic, had become their nature. The
mind loves to dwell on the supernatural, the unreal; and in those
lonely, dreary, darkened lives mythological legends flourished as
mushrooms in a cellar. The population literally feasted on the mythical,
just as the twentieth century society revels in Christian Science,
Theosophy, or New Thought.

As the women applied the scrutcher to the flax, or carded the wool, they
dreamed wild dreams of ghosts and goblins, and repeated to themselves,
in queer chant, the stories of the sacred bear, or those beautiful lines
to the sun and the moon to be found in _Kalevala_. They lived again with
_Ahti_, the Finnish sea god, otherwise called _Lemminkäinen_; or the
husband invoked the aid of charms, as at his work he recited how
_Lemminkäinen_ reached _Pohjola_ but to quarrel and fight, and related
verses showing how he finally cut off the head of the representative
champion of the beautiful _Louhi_. Or wild stories of an ox with a
thousand heads engrossed their fancy, and they lingered fondly over the
tales of the hundred horns to plough up the land. Or, again, the old
wife would chime in with the weird rune where _Wäinämöinen's_ harp blew
into the sea, when a boat was manned with a thousand oars to fetch it
back, but _Wäinämöinen_ destroyed that boat by means of magic.

_Louhi_ then changed herself into an eagle, with claws and scythes of
iron, and wondrous breastplate, while on her wings she bore aloft a
thousand armed men, and upon her tail sat a hundred archers, and ten
upon every feather.

    With one wing she sweeps the heavens,
    With the other sweeps the waters.

This is cleverly represented in a picture by _Gallén_, a well-known
Finnish artist.

In another stirring verse, the poem goes on to tell how _Louhi_ swooped
down upon the heroes, when desperate battle ensued for the treasure
under dispute.

Wounded and exhausted, _Louhi_ threw the treasure into the sea rather
than surrender it, emblematic still in the tenacity of the Finnish
race.




CHAPTER VII

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS


Such are the manners and customs of the past; now let us take a look at
the _Suomi_ of to-day, that we may better understand the life of the
people before we start on our trip in carts through the interior of that
enchanting but far-away land.

For some hundreds of years Finland belonged to Sweden, and the stamp of
Sweden is to be found on its inhabitants; especially among the
aristocracy, who still speak that language in their homes. But in 1808
Russia stepped across the frontier, seized Finland, annexed it as her
own, and a year later the King of Sweden renounced all his claims.

Since Finland was ceded to Russia, the Russian sovereigns, as Grand
Dukes of Finland, have on the whole faithfully observed the pledges
given to the Grand Duchy by Alexander I., though, especially in recent
years, they have been frequently broken.

It was because the Finlanders behaved so well that the Tzar conceded
much, and left them their independent constitution and their Lutheran
Church. The Tzar is really the Grand Duke of Finland. The
Governor-General is President of the Senate, which is the real Executive
Body in Finland. The Diet has no executive power; only legislative
authority. It is composed of four Houses--the Nobles, the Clergy, the
Burghers, and the Peasants. The members of Parliament meet every third
year, and have the power of voting money, altering the constitutional
laws of the country, and regulating commercial enterprise.

Since 1863 has come the renaissance of Finland. Art, literature,
industry, commerce, and politics have revived. The people saw themselves
once more a nation conscious of its own gigantic tenacity of soul,
prompted with a knowledge of its destiny, though sneered at, and
threatened on all sides by famine, contempt, and absorption. Finland is
like a man who has slept long and suddenly wakes up refreshed, with
renewed vigour to work. That is why he has come so much forward in the
last quarter of the century, and is now prepared to make gigantic
strides. Learned, artistic, commercial, and athletic societies sprang
up, each imbued with a fresh and sincere national enthusiasm.
Tournaments were held for _ski_, rifle-shooting, yachting, and other
sports. Attention was called to the ancient songs and national music,
and the great musical festivals, such as was held at _Sordavala_, were
reinstated.

Parliament began meeting regularly, and hope beamed brightly.
Nevertheless danger is lurking within and without, for the Finlanders
speak three languages; the _Finlanders_ themselves only speak Finnish,
the more educated people speak Swedish, and in official circles they
must know Russian, a language which has been forced upon them; while
the great Russian people are ready to overwhelm and absorb, and march
over them to new fields. Still, as a Finlander truly said to the writer,
"The destiny of a people is in the hands of the Lord, and Finland has
courage in God;" and therefore it is possible a great future may be in
store for that beautiful country, beautiful whether we peep at
_Tavasland_, _Karelen_, or _Österbotten_.

The people in _Tavasland_ are fair-haired, slow, but exceedingly
tenacious, and also somewhat boorish. Here the principal towns,
manufactures, etc., are to be found. Many of the inhabitants speak
Swedish, and all have been influenced by Sweden.

The following little anecdote gives some idea of the character of the
natives of _Tavasland_:--

A fortress was besieged by the Russians in 1808. After a severe struggle
it was at last taken by assault, when the Russians discovered that
fifty-five out of the sixty defenders were dead. _But none had yielded!_

The people are determined and persevering, and it is no uncommon thing
for a lad to follow the plough until he is thirteen years of age,
reading for his school and his university, and finally taking his M.A.
degree, and even becoming a Professor.

The people of the _Karelen_ district are quicker and of lighter heart.
They are nearer to Russia, and the Russian influence is distinctly seen.
They are not so cleanly or so highly educated as the rest of the
country, but they are musical and artistic.

One must remember the word Finn implies native peasant; the upper
classes are called Finlanders. Until lately the two spoken languages of
Finland represented two parties. The Finns were the native peasants who
only spoke Finnish, the Radical party practically--the upper classes who
spoke Swedish among themselves were known as _Svecomans_, and roughly
represented the Conservatives. But since the serious troubles early in
the twentieth century, these two parties have been more closely drawn
together against Russia, and _Finlander_ is the common name for both
Finnish-speaking and Swedish-speaking people. _Finn_ is often used as
synonymous with Finlander. There are Swedish peasants as well as
Finnish; and while the Finn speaks only Finnish, the Finlander only knew
Swedish until quite lately, except what he was pleased to call "Kitchen
Finnish," for use amongst his servants; but every year the Finlander is
learning more and more of his native language, and Swedish bids fair to
be relegated to the classics as far as Finland is concerned.

The _Fennomans_ take interest in, and work for the Finnish language,
literature, and culture; while the _Svecomans_, who are principally
composed of the old Swedish families, try to maintain the old Swedish
culture in Finland.

Since 1899 Finland's relations with Russia and the defence of the
Finnish Constitution is the principal question in politics.

Party strife is terrible. It would be far better if the _Fennomans_ and
_Svecomans_ tried to remember that their real object is the same,
namely, the welfare of their own country, and turned their attention
only in that direction instead of to petty and often ridiculous
political squabblings.

It is wonderful to note how democratic the people are in Finland. Each
peasant is a gentleman at heart, brave, hasty, independent, and he
expects every one to treat him as his equal.

Few persons are rich in Finland according to English lights, but many
are comfortably off. It would be almost impossible there to live beyond
one's income, or to pretend to have more than is really the case, for
when the returns are sent in for the income tax, the income of each
individual is published. In January every year, in the _Helsingfors_
newspapers, rows and rows of names appear, and opposite them the exact
income of the owner. This does not apply if the returns are less than
£200 a year; but, otherwise, every one knows and openly discusses what
every one else has.

Very amusing to a stranger, but horrible for the persons concerned.
Fancy Jones saying to Brown, "Well, old chap, as you have £800 a year, I
think you could afford a better house and occasionally a new suit of
clothes;" and even if Jones didn't make such a remark, his friend
feeling he thought it!

It is the fashion for each town to select a committee in December for
the purpose of taxing the people. Every one is taxed. The tax is called
a _skatt-öre_, the word originating from the small coin of that name,
and each town decides whether the _öre_ shall be charged on two hundred
or four hundred marks. Let us take as an example a 400-mark _öre_
(tax). The first four hundred marks are free; but payment is required on
every further four hundred, and so on. For instance, if a man has 16,000
marks, he pays nothing on the first four hundred, and has therefore
thirty-nine sets of four hundred to pay for, which is called thirty-nine
_skatt-öre_. If overtaxed, the aggrieved person can complain to a second
committee; and this sometimes happens. The tax varies very much; in some
of the seaport towns, which receive heavy dues, the _öre_, which
includes parochial rates, is very low. In _Wiborg_ they have had to pay
as much as fifteen marks on every four hundred; but as a rule it is
less.

The habit of publishing the returns of all the incomes began about 1890,
and is now a subject of much annoyance--as much annoyance to a Finlander
as the habit of never knocking at the door to a stranger. No one ever
thinks of knocking at a door in Finland. People simply march in, and as
few doors possess bolts, the consequences are sometimes appalling,
especially to English people, who go through more daily ablutions than
most nations, and prefer to do them in private. During our visit to
_Sordavala_, for the Musical Festival, we had some curious experiences
in connection with boltless doors. We were located at the brewer's. Now
this was a great favour, as he was a private individual who cheerfully
gave up his beautiful salon upholstered in red velvet "to the English
ladies," but, unfortunately, this sumptuous apartment was reached by a
smaller chamber where a man had to sleep. Not only that, but the
sleeping apartment of the man was really a passage which conducted
directly into the _Konttoori_ or office of the brewery. As far as the
man was concerned, this did not so much matter; eventually he became
quite accustomed to hearing his door suddenly opened and seeing a
stranger with an empty basket on his arm standing before him and
demanding the way to the _Konttoori_ (which is pronounced, by the bye,
exactly in the same manner as an Irishman says _country_), when with a
wave of the hand he indicated the office. But for us it was different.
One morning, when the gentleman occupant of the passage was away and we
were in the early stage of dressing, our door opened, and a fat burly
man dashed into the middle of our room, where he stood transfixed, as
well he might.

"Go away," we exclaimed. He heeded not. We waved and indicated, with the
help of a brandished stocking, our desire that he should leave our
apartment. But the stolidity of a Finn is always remarkable, and the
appearance of strange Englishwomen in somewhat unusual attire appeared
really to fascinate the gentleman, who neither moved nor spoke, only
simply stared. "Go away," we repeated, gesticulating more violently than
before. The situation was intensely awkward, and it seemed to us as
though hours instead of moments had passed since the entrance of our
burly friend, and we were just wondering how on earth we were to get rid
of him, when slowly, as though rolling the letters round his mouth, he
pronounced the word _Konttoori_.

"Yes, go into the country," we answered, pointing vehemently in the
direction of that oft-inquired-for office. Very solemnly and quietly he
turned round and marched out of the door--let us hope much impressed and
less disconcerted by the interview than we had been. Once we were rid of
him, we sat down and laughed so immoderately over the scene that the
_bed_, one of those wooden collapsable affairs, peculiar to the country,
on which my sister was sitting, completely gave way, and she was
deposited upon the floor. The peals of merriment that followed this
second misadventure apparently aroused the interest of some other
visitor outside, for again the door opened and a youth of about
seventeen stood before us. This was really getting too much of a good
thing, for what may be considered a joke once becomes distressing if
repeated a second time, and absolutely appalling on a third occasion.

However, as we could not understand him, and he could not understand us,
we wished him good-morning, and gently waved him away. Eleven times in
the course of five days did odd men and women thus rush like avalanches
into our room, all having mistaken the way to the _Konttoori_.

Another peculiarity of the Finlander is that he never shakes hands. He
seizes one's digits as though they were a pump handle, and warmly holds
them, wrestles with them, waggles them, until the unsuspecting Britisher
wonders if he will ever again be able to claim his hand as his own. In
this way the gentleman from the Grand Duchy is demonstrative with his
acquaintances; he is very publicly devoted also to his wife, fondling
her before his friends. On the other hand, he seldom kisses his mother,
and never his sisters. Indeed, all the outward affection seems reserved
for husbands and wives; daughters seldom kiss their parents, and
brothers and sisters rarely even shake hands. This struck us as
particularly strange, because the members of an English family generally
greet one another warmly when meeting for breakfast, especially parents
and children; yet in Finland, as a rule, they hardly take any notice of
one another. A certain son we knew kissed his mother's hand on the
occasion of leaving her for some weeks, while he merely nodded to his
brothers and sisters standing around.

Another strange freak, in a land where there is no night for two or
three months, is that the better houses never have shutters, and seldom
blinds, at the windows; therefore the sun streams in undisturbed; and
when a room has four windows, as happened to us at _Sordavala_, the
light of day becomes a positive nuisance, and a few green calico blinds
an absolute godsend; indeed, almost as essential as the oil of cloves or
lavender or the ammonia bottle for gnat bites, or the mosquito
head-nets, if one sleeps with open windows. Mosquitoes have fed upon me
in tropical lands, but they are gentlemen in comparison with the rough
brutality of the mosquitoes of the far North; there their innings is
short and violent.

It is indeed a strange experience to sleep with one's head in a sort of
meat safe, for that is what these unsightly green muslin bags called
mosquito nets resemble. They are flat on the top, with a sort of curtain
hanging down all round, which one ties neatly under one's chin before
retiring to rest. Behold a beautiful lady--for all ladies are as certain
to be beautiful when they write about themselves, as that authoresses
are all old and ugly, which seems to be a universal idea in the eyes of
the public generally--behold then a beautiful lady enveloped in a large
unwieldy and very wobbly net head-covering, of such a vivid green hue
that the unfortunate wearer looks jaundiced beneath! Well, they had one
advantage, they saved some bites, and they afforded us much amusement;
but becoming they were not.

In our strange chamber, with its four windows only protected by white
muslin blinds from the fierce glare of that inquisitive sun, that seemed
to peer in upon our movements all day and all night, we endured a small
martyrdom, till we begged the maid to make our beds the reverse way;
that is, to put the pillows where one's feet are usually to be found, as
by this means the wooden bedstead kept a little of the light out of our
weary eyes. No one can realise the weariness of eternal light until he
has experienced it, any more than he can appreciate the glaring effects
of everlasting day. We stayed with our kind friends at _Sordavala_ for
some days, and were a great source of interest to the servant, who, one
day screwing up her courage, curiosity having got the better of her
shyness, thus addressed a person she thought could furnish the required
information--

"Is it part of the English ladies' religion to sleep the wrong way
round?"

"No," was the reply; "what do you mean?"

"Is it in their worship that they should sleep with their heads towards
the sun?"

"Certainly not; how did such an idea get into your head?"

"Every night the English ladies have made me make their beds the wrong
way round, and I thought perhaps it was one of their religious customs."

We were much amused when this conversation was repeated to us. Such a
notion as keeping the sun out of one's eyes had never entered the girl's
head. Apparently Finlanders cannot have too much sunlight; probably by
way of contrast to the darkness they live in during the long winter, for
be it remembered that in the far North, where we travelled later, the
sun disappears altogether in December and January, and winter every year
lasts for eight or nine months.

We were surprised to find that every basin is left by the housemaid with
cold water in it, and there it stands waiting at all seasons; but such a
thing as warm water is considered positively indecent, and the servant
generally looks as if she would fall down with amazement at the mention
of such a strange thing being wanted.

In quite a large hotel at which we were once staying, the landlord being
the only person who could speak anything except Finnish, we asked him
at night if he would be so kind as to explain to the housemaid that we
wished to be called at half-past seven the following morning, when we
should like her to bring us hot water.

"Certainement, Madame," he replied, and bowing low took his leave.

After a few minutes we heard a knock at the door (the door actually
possessed a bolt or he would not have knocked), and on opening it we
found the landlord.

"Pardon, Madame, but how much hot water do you want for grog?"

"No, no," we answered; "to wash with."

He looked amazed; evidently he was more accustomed to people drinking
tumblers of hot water--for grog--than he was to our requiring it for
washing purposes.

Finland has much to learn in the way of sanitation, and yet more as to
the advisability of a daily bath, for while even in hotels they give one
an enormous carafe, which might be called a giraffe, its neck is so
long, filled with drinking water surrounded by endless tumblers, the
basin is scarcely bigger than a sugar bowl, while the jug is about the
size of a cream ewer.

Very, very tired one night we arrived at a little inn. The beds were not
made, and, knowing how long it took a Finn to accomplish anything of the
kind, we begged her to be as quick as possible, as we were dead beat.
She pulled out the wooden bed, she thumped the mattress, and at last she
went away, we hoped and believed to fetch the sheets. She remained
absent for some time, but when she returned it was not with the sheets;
it was with what to her mind was far more important, viz., a tin tray on
which were arranged _four glass tumblers and a huge glass bottle full of
fresh water_, which she had been to the bottom of the garden to pump
from a deep well!

We often pondered over that water subject, and wondered whether Finns
had nightly carousals with the innocent bottle, or whether drinking
_aqua pura_ is a part of their religion, as the housemaid had thought
sleeping with our heads the wrong way was a part of ours!

Our minds were greatly exercised also as to why the pillows were so hard
and often gave forth such a strange smell, but that mystery was one day
solved. When driving along a pretty road, we saw masses of soft white
cotton flower waving in the wind, the silvery sheen catching the
sunlight and making it look like fluffy snow. This we were told was
_luikku_, the Latin name of which is _Eriophorum angustifolium_. Women
were gathering it and packing it into a sack.

"That," explained our Finnish friend, "is used for stuffing the pillows
and sometimes even beds."

"Really?" we returned; "then that is why they are so hard and lumpy."

"Oh, but there is another plant even less soft than the _luikku_, which
is employed for the same purpose. It grows at the water's edge and is a
kind of rush."

This plant turned out to be _ruoko_ (_Phragmites communis_), a common
species of water shrub in Finland; after its dark red flowers have
turned silvery gray, they look beautiful swaying with the wind, the long
reed-like leaves making a pretty swish at the water's edge as they bend.
Going up the canals it is quite strange to notice how, when the steamer
sucks the water from the sides to her screw, the _ruoko_ sways and bows
its head down to her, and, as she passes on, it lifts its majestic head
again, and gently sways down the other side as though to bid the ship
farewell.

In the summer months, when things often have to be done in a hurry,
getting in the hay or reaping the harvest, for instance, since the
moment the weather is propitious and the crop ripe no time must be lost,
or a night's frost may prove destructive to all the crops, it is very
common to have a _talkko_.

A _talkko_ is a sort of popular amusement at which a great deal of work
is done. The farmer invites all his friends to help him clear a rye
field, for example. They all come in eager haste, and generally have a
sort of picnic. Work proceeds much quicker in company than alone, and
while they reap with old-fashioned sickles, they chat and laugh and sing
their national songs, eat and make merry on small beer, that terrible
concoction which we explained before is called _Kalja_, which they drink
out of the same spoon, regardless of disease germs.

The corn and rye when cut are put on pine-tree trunks to dry. They saw
down the small pines, chop off the branch a foot from the trunk, plant
them in a line along the field, and loosely throw their crop over these
stumps exposed to the sun and wind; then, after binding by hand, carry
them on sledges--summer sledges--to the farmstead, where thrashing, also
by hand, completes the business of harvesting.

Farm work is very primitive still in parts of Finland; the small plough,
behind which the native plods, guiding it in and out of the stones,
which his small sturdy pony drags, is a long and tedious business.

A _talkko_ relieves labour much; and thus it comes to pass that, after
Jones and party have helped Smith on Monday, Smith and party help Jones
on Tuesday; a very socialistic arrangement, like many others in _Suomi_.

From the poor the rich have taken a hint, and where, in England, we have
work parties for bazaars, or to make garments for the village clubs, in
Finland they have a _talkko_. Especially is this the custom just before
Christmas time, when many presents have to be got ready, and all the
girl friends assemble and prepare their little gifts for distribution on
Christmas Eve. On this night there is much festivity. A tree is lighted
even in the poorest homes, and presents are exchanged amid much feasting
and merriment.

Christmas comes in the winter, when snow and ice are everywhere;
therefore the richer folk drive to their balls and parties in sledges,
rolled up in furs, and big skating-parties are the order of the day.

It is amusing at these gatherings to hear the young people all calling
one another by their Christian names, and as some of the real Finnish
names are musical and pretty, we give a few of the most usual--

    MEN.

    Onni
    Ilmari
    Yrjö (George)
    Väinö
    Armas
    Aarne
    Arvo
    Reijo
    Esko
    Heikki (Henry)
    Urpo
    Eero (Eric)
    Mauno (Magnus)
    Lauri (Laurence)
    Vilho (William)
    Toivo
    Pekka (Peter)
    Ahti (Kalevala)
    Sampsa    "
    Antero    "
    Youko     "
    Kullervo  "
    Kalervo   "
    Untamo    "
    Kammo     "
    Nyyrikki  "
    Osmo      "
    Valio
    Ensi

    WOMEN.

    Aino
    Saima
    Helmi
    Aili
    Kyllikki
    Eine
    Aura
    Sirkka
    Lempi
    Siviä
    Rauha (Friede, Irene)
    Hellin
    Ainikki (Kalevala)
    Ilpotar      "
    Inkeri       "
    Louhi        "
    Lyyli, or Lyylikki
    Mielikki (Kalevala)
    Tellervo     "
    Tuulikki     "
    Hilja
    Tyyne
    Suoma
    Alli
    Impi
    Laina
    Ilma
    Iri

    SURNAMES.

    Aaltola
    Vuorio
    Lallukka
    Ritola
    Aitamurto
    Haapaoja
    Häkli
    Sutinen
    Pösö
    Matikainen
    Koskinen
    Piispanen
    Pilvi (a cloud)
    Vitikka
    Vipunen (Kalevala)
    Korhonen
    Lyytikäinen
    Päivärinta
    Päiviö
    Makkonen
    Porkka
    Rahkonen
    Ojanen
    Reijonen
    Alkio
    Teittinen

Winter in the South of Finland generally sets in about the last week of
November, and when it comes is usually very severe, while the nights are
long and the days short. As a rule the air is dry, and therefore that
delightful fresh crispness, which is so invigorating, prevails, as it
does in Norway, where, one day when we were with Dr. Nansen at Lysaker,
the thermometer registered 9° below zero Fahr., yet we found it far less
cold than England on a mild damp day.

The mean temperature of the North of Finland is 27° Fahr., and round
_Helsingfors_ in the South, 38° Fahr.

As November advances every one in the Southern districts looks forward
eagerly to black ice; that is to say, that the ice should form before
the first fall of snow covers the land. This often happens, and then the
lakes, the rivers, and all round the coast, rapidly freeze some inches
thick, the surface being as flat as a looking-glass, unless the wind has
seriously disturbed the ice much while forming, and Finland becomes one
enormous skating-rink from end to end. Every one throughout the country
skates--men, women, and children. Out they come in the early morning,
and, with some refreshments in their pockets, they accomplish visits and
journeys which, to the uninitiated, seem impossible. Fifty or sixty
miles a day can be managed on skates, and even the peasantry avail
themselves of this opportunity of enjoying sport, and, at the same time,
accomplishing a vast amount of friendly visiting and work. It is during
this black ice that the ice-boats are most in requisition; for the
bumpiness so often experienced when snow has settled on the frozen
surface does not exist, and the ice-boats' speed, which is tremendous at
all times, becomes absolutely terrific and wildly exciting, as we know
from our experiences in Holland.

However, Finland is not always so fortunate, and sometimes the frost and
snow come together; and then, although the peasantry, as in Holland,
skate over the waterways to market and on business, the better-class
folk, who skate for amusement, betake them to rinks.

Roadways are marked out on the ice in Finland the same as in Norway;
that is to say, little holes are dug along the would-be path into which
small fir-trees are stuck, and therefore these impromptu roads look like
little avenues.

In the case of an ice-rink, fir-trees are planted all round the edge in
a veritable wall, to keep out the non-paying public. Bands play in the
afternoon and evening, and when it becomes too dark to see by nature's
light, electric lamps are kindled, and the place becomes a regular
rendezvous, not only for skaters, but for onlookers, who walk about on
those bright starlight evenings, chatting to their friends, sipping
their coffee, and listening to the music.

As a rule, in Finland they go in more for distance than figure-skating,
as is also the case in Holland, Norway, etc., where long distances have
to be traversed, and speed is of more importance than style. Still, in
the Finnish towns, where people skate on rinks merely for amusement,
some beautiful figure-skating may be seen.

Once a Finnish lady went over to Paris and received the sum of £120 a
month for giving entertainments in figure-skating. All Paris was
charmed, and Finland naturally felt proud.

Sledging, of course, is everywhere necessary in Finland in the winter,
and only those who have enjoyed the delights of a drive, with a good
horse briskly passing through the crisp air to the tingling of sleigh
bells, can realise its delights.

_Skidåkning_ is also much in vogue, but in Finland it is not so
dangerous as in more mountainous countries. In Norway _ski_ are
absolutely essential. There the snow lies so deep on the mountains and
in the valleys that the peasantry could never get about at all were it
not for their _ski_. But in Finland the country is so much flatter, and
the lakes so much more numerous, that people can walk on the hard-frozen
surface readily. Therefore the peasantry--except in certain
districts--do not use _ski_ so much as a necessity, as for pleasure and
sport. The upper classes go on _skidor_ as constantly as they skate.
They get up competitions; they go for whole days' expeditions into the
country, and, on their "wooden shoon," enjoy themselves thoroughly in
the winter months.

In a _Winter Jaunt to Norway_, I described a jump of eighty-eight feet
made on these strange snow-shoes, and the _ski_ themselves, as
follows:--

     It is perhaps a bold statement to call _ski_-racing one of the
     finest sports of the world, but to our mind it undoubtedly is, and
     one which requires wondrous pluck and skill, and for a man to jump
     eighty-eight feet from a height, with a pair of _ski_ securely
     fixed on his feet, requires some courage!

     They are utterly unlike Canadian snow-shoes, because they are
     required for a very hilly country, and over a great depth of snow.
     An ordinary-sized man's _ski_ are eight or nine feet long. They are
     only about 4½ inches wide, and an inch at the thickest part,
     that is to say, immediately under the foot, but towards either end
     they taper to half this thickness. As a rule they are both the
     same length, and pointed upwards at the toes; but in some of the
     Norwegian valleys and in Finland, one _ski_ is much longer than the
     other, and that one is usually quite flat.

     In the middle of this plank-like piece of wood, which is split with
     the grain to stand the great strain often imposed upon it, and
     never sawn at all, the toes are fastened by a leather strap.
     Another strap goes round the heel in a sort of loop fashion,
     securing the foot, but at the same time giving the heel full play.
     A special _ski_ boot is worn over enormously thick horsehair
     stockings. This boot has no hard sole at all, and, instead of being
     sewn at the sides, the large piece of thick leather which goes
     under the foot is brought well over the top and secured to what
     might ordinarily be called a leather tongue. At the back of the
     boot is a small strap, which is used to fasten the _ski_ heel-strap
     securely to the boot. Once fixed on the _ski_, the foot is so
     secure no fall can loosen it, and the only way to extricate the
     foot is to undo the three straps. Outside these huge ungainly hair
     stockings and strangely comfortable boots very thick gaiters are
     worn. It is very necessary to keep the feet and legs warm in such a
     cold land as Norway, where the mercury freezes oft-times in the
     thermometers, and snow six or seven feet deep covers the land
     sometimes for months. Such cold sounds appalling, but it is quite
     the reverse. The air is absolutely dry, and there is seldom any
     wind.

     At the given word, No. 1 rushed from the plateau on the hilltop,
     down the hill itself. The pace, in consequence of the steepness,
     was tremendous. On he came; on to the little platform built out
     from the mountain-side he rushed; then, with a huge spring, his
     legs doubled up, and whirling his arms like a windmill to keep his
     balance, he jumped.

     Oh, what a moment of profound excitement! Would he regain his
     footing all that distance below? Balancing himself for a moment in
     the air after his jump, he regained his footing, and sped away down
     the hillside, stopping himself by a sharp turn of the _ski_ as he
     was nearing the loudly applauding spectators. One after another
     they came, and at least 50 per cent, succeeded in landing on their
     feet and speeding away.

     The longest jump of all was 26½ metres, that is to say, nearly
     88 feet, and this was done by Ustvedt; but he did not regain his
     footing. Ingemann Sverre, who jumped 22 metres, and landed on his
     feet to continue his course, won the king's cup and the ladies'
     purse.

     We looked on and marvelled.

     Since then a hundred and twenty feet is the record jump. Strange
     as it may seem, _ski_ was a word practically unknown in England.

Such competitions are now held in Finland, where _ski_ soon promise to
be as fashionable as in Norway. _Ski_ are called--

    In Swedish _Skida_, plural _Skidor_.
    In Finnish _Suksi_,   "    _Sukset_.

They are almost the same as the Norwegian shoes, excepting that they
always have an inward curve under the foot, and seldom have a
heel-strap. The heel-strap is only necessary for jumping or for going
uphill, and as there is little jumping and no hills to speak of in
Finland, the shoe, being curved up at the toe like a Chinaman's, is
sufficient to keep the _Sukset_ on the feet.

Bears, as said before, do not walk hourly in the streets of Finland.
Nevertheless, bears do exist, and in the Northern and Easterly districts
in considerable numbers. It is in winter that the bear-hunts take place,
and, having discovered the whereabouts of the monarch of the forest, the
Finlander disturbs him from his winter sleep, either by smoke or by the
aid of dogs, and then for days follows him over the snow. The bear is an
adept at walking through snow, but man on _sukset_ is his match. After
circling bruin in parties, or chasing him alone, the bear generally
falls in the end to some sportsman's gun. It is a great day when the
dead bear is brought back to the village, and one usually celebrated by
a triumphal procession, merry-making, and a grand feast, followed by
much singing of the national songs, handed down from father to son, and
thrilling tales of wondrous acts of daring at bear-hunts, for, as we
have seen, in the _Kalevala_ the bear is a great subject for the poet's
verse. The man who fired the fatal shot is, on the occasion of the
bear-feast, naturally the hero, and for him it is an occasion to be
gratefully remembered. Every Finn speaks with profound admiration and
bated breath of _Mårten Kitunen_, who during his life killed a hundred
and ninety-eight fully-grown bears, besides innumerable young ones. It
must not be imagined from this that bear-killing is an easy sport; on
the contrary, it is extremely dangerous, for the fatigue and perils of
_skidåkning_ the wild forests, with a very low temperature, for hours
and hours is in itself a perilous pastime. Frost-bite is by no means
uncommon, and, of course, in such cold, it is impossible to sit down and
rest, lest that drowsy sleep, so dreaded in northern climates, should
take hold of the weary man and gradually lull him into his last slumber.
Nevertheless, women, who in Finland are particularly enterprising,
sometimes take part in bear-hunts, and it is on record that several have
themselves shot fully-grown animals. No mean achievement for a woman;
but Finnish women are go-ahead, and have given the world a lead by
gaining admittance to Parliament.

Many women stalk the deer in Scotland, and some have made wonderful
bags, but then, although stalking often necessitates many weary hours'
walking, there is not in Scotland such severe and perilous cold to deal
with. In Finland many ladies shoot, and when a hare is killed the cry
of _All's Tod_ rings through the forest, and sounds almost as
inspiriting as the cry of the hounds at home.

Tobogganing is another great institution in Finland, and as the hills in
the South are not steep enough for a really good spin, the Finlanders
put up a _Kälkbacke_ or _Skrinnbacke_, in imitation of their Russian
friends, and enjoy rattling spins, and moments of intense excitement,
gliding down these dangerous routes. They are really switchbacks made of
ice and snow, and as they are steep, the pace is terrific.

In summer yachting is one of the great institutions of Finland, and we
were lucky enough to be in _Wiborg_ at the time of the great race
between _Wiborg_ and _Helsingfors_ for the Yacht Cup.

It was a delightful day, and a large steamer having been chartered by
our host, whose son was the President of the _Wiborg_ Yacht Club, he
invited his friends to see the race. We were a very merry party of forty
or fifty, as we steamed away from the _Wiborg_ pier to where the two
yachts were to meet.

The _Menelik_ belongs to _Wiborg_; the _Thelma_ to _Helsingfors_. The
_Menelik_ is a lugger, built in _Wiborg_ at the yard of Hackman Company,
although designed by Arthur E. Payne of Southampton. She is a two and a
half rater.

The _Helsingfors_ boat was designed by Charles Sibbick in Cowes,
England.

The Yacht Club in _Helsingfors_ began its existence in 1876, and is
certainly in a very flourishing condition. The course was a long one,
and the two best days' sailing out of three secures the Cup. The first
day was a trial to the patience of the steersmen. It was a dead calm;
such a calm as one seldom meets with, and not until the afternoon did
the faintest breeze spring up, while even then the sailing so far
exceeded the seven hours' time allowed that the day was drawn as a
blank.

But, as onlookers, we enjoyed ourselves immensely; there were numbers of
steamers like ourselves on pleasure bent, the umpire's boat, and several
rowing boats which had managed to come out so far to sea, the day being
calm. The end was all that our kind host could wish, for the _Menelik_
won by three minutes. Yachting and canoeing are fine pastimes in this
land of waterways.

Dancing is a very popular form of entertainment in Finland, and often
indulged in by old and young. It is quite a custom on Saturday evening
for the young folk from various villages to meet together at some
workmen's recreation room, or at one of the larger farms, and have a
ball. One of the best specimens of such an entertainment we chanced to
see was at the old-world city of _Åbo_. About a mile from the town a new
park has been opened, in the arrangements of which our friend, the Chief
of the Police, took the greatest interest, and to it, after a charming
little dinner, he escorted us to see the peasant ball in full swing.

Every Saturday at six o'clock it begins; and, as some sort of restraint
is necessary, the sum of one penny is charged to each would-be dancer.

In the middle of the park is a large _kiosk_, big enough for a
couple of hundred folk to pirouette at a time. It has a roof supported
by pillars, but there are no side walls. A couple of fiddlers were
playing hard when we entered, and a cornet coming in at odd minutes
composed the band, and, until midnight, the couples twirled and whisked
round and round the wooden floor. Why should not something of the kind
be allowed in our parks from seven to twelve in the evening at a charge
of a few pence?

The great national dance of the country is called the _jenka_. It is
more like a schottische perhaps than anything else; and really it was
extraordinary to see how well these peasants danced, and how they beat
time. Thoroughly they entered into the spirit of the thing, the polka,
waltz, and _jenka_ being all danced in turn, until the park closed.

Writing letters in Finland is an expensive amusement. Every epistle, not
delivered by private hand, costs twopence for transmission; rather a
high rate for home postage, considering that foreign letters only cost a
fourth more. Postcards cost one penny, whether for home or foreign use.

This high rate of postage seems very remarkable, considering the almost
universal adoption of my father's old friend's (Sir Rowland Hill)
enlightened suggestion that a penny would pay.

We learn that during the year 1896 our English post-office passed
1,834,200,000 letters and 314,500,000 postcards; and, writing on the
same subject, the Duke of Norfolk said, "The penny letter has long been
known to be the sheet anchor of the post-office, and it is interesting
to record that no less than 95 per cent. of the total number of inland
letters passed for a penny each." Fifteen years later every
English-speaking land could be reached by a penny stamp.

Finland might take the hint and institute a penny post; but we hope she
will not send some fifty thousand letters _unaddressed_, as we English
did, their valuable contents amounting to several thousands of pounds!

The quickest postal route to Finland is _viâ St. Petersburg_; but
letters are often delayed to be searched, and they are not unfrequently
lost, so that all important epistles are best registered; and one
Finnish family, some of whose relations live in Germany, told us they
never thought of sending letters either way without registering them
first.

Finland has her own stamps, but all letters passing direct from Russia
to Finland, or Finland to Russia, must have special stamps upon them,
the Tzar having forbidden the Finnish stamps to be used on letters going
out of Finland, which is contrary to Finnish laws.

Telegrams from or to Finland are ruinous. Even in _Suomi_ itself they
cost a small fortune, and outside they are even worse; but then no one
telegraphs to any one in the territory, for almost every person has a
telephone, which can be annexed from town to town, and those who have
not telephones can go to a public office in every village and expend a
penny on their message, therefore in that respect the Finns are in
advance of us.

We were amused to find the Finlanders very inquisitive. This is as much
a trait in their character as their stubborn obstinacy, their intense
truthfulness, or their wondrous honesty. And a Finn runs a Scotchman
very hard in evading a straightforward answer.

"Does the train leave at two?"

The question is replied to by the Scot, "Maybe it does;" but the
Finlander says, "It is advertised to do so;" thus getting out of a
direct answer, for where the Englishman would say "Yes" or "No" if he
knew, the other two nations would never dream of doing such a thing. The
inhabitants of this Grand Duchy are, as has been stated, wondrously
inquisitive. The peasant asks where you come from the moment he sees you
are a stranger, and the better-class folk soon turn the traveller in
their midst inside out with questions. They ask not only "Where do you
come from?" but, "Where are you going?" "What is your business?" "Have
you a husband, wife, father, mother, brother, sisters," and so on. One
inquiry is piled upon another, just as is the custom in the United
States, where a railway journey is like a query and answer column.

The Finns do it all most good-naturedly, 'tis true, but occasionally it
is inconvenient nevertheless.

Finns are very intense; they are men of few words; slow to anger, and
slower to forgive. They never do anything in a hurry. Life is very
serious to them, and they endure great privations with patience. They
never trifle; flirtation they abhor; and chaff they simply do not
understand. They are honest to a degree, kindhearted, respect law and
order, and love peace. They are more than hospitable; they are, in fact,
overpoweringly generous in their invitations to the veriest stranger;
they are kind in their dealings with foreigners--doing their best to
entertain them, to understand their speech, although often speaking four
or five languages themselves, and to show them all they can of their
land, of which they are immensely proud.

They have none of the beauty, brilliancy, or charm of the South; but all
the sterling assets and good qualities of the North.




CHAPTER VIII

IMATRA'S ROARING CATARACT


The scenery of Finland is, as a rule, neither grand nor impressive. It
has not the mountains of Switzerland topped with everlasting snow, nor
the rocky fjords of Norway; no dear little Tyrolese chalets, nor sweet
English cottages set in fair gardens, no splendid stretches of
emerald-green sward, and iron-bound coast scenery such as is the delight
of the tourist in Ireland, nor purple-crowned hills as in Scotland;
nevertheless, it has a charm of its own, and can boast more lakes,
canals, and rivers, all connected in some marvellous way, than any of
the countries mentioned.

It is indeed a land of many thousand lakes, and one might add many, many
thousand islands. There are large islands covered with pine forests,
tiny solitary rocky islets, on which perchance a house has been built
for a pilot; mere patches of earth islands, where flourishes one
solitary pine, that looks from a distance as if it were actually growing
on the surface of the water.

Round the coast line there are dangerous and hidden haunts where
smuggling goes on to a large extent, while, when traversing the inland
lakes, big steamers have to keep to certain routes marked by
buoys--sometimes merely by sticks.

Except in the far North the country is very flat, and even in the North
a few hundred feet is the limit of the highest land. Further South even
less elevation is found, although the country is by no means so
uniformly level as Holland, Denmark, or Russia.

One can travel nearly all over Finland in steamers, and very comfortable
steamers they are too, with nice little cabins and good restaurants.
Provided with one's own deck-chair, many pleasant days can be passed on
the calm waters round the coast, or the yet calmer lakes and canals
inland, where one marvels at the engineering skill and the wonderful
steering powers of English-speaking captains of Finnish birth.

We decided on our way back from _Sordavala_ to stop at the famous
cataract of _Imatra_. It was one of the few railway journeys we made
during our jaunt in Finland, for we always went by water for choice, and
it proved somewhat remarkable.

Can there be such a thing as a musical train? If so, verily the name
would apply to that by which we travelled. The passengers were made up
of odds and ends; among them were most of the students who had taken
part in the Festival, a great many representatives of various choirs,
some of the athletes who had charmed us with their gymnastic exercises,
for which the country is famous, and several visitors like ourselves. Of
course, these folk never previously practised singing together, but
after Professor Dickenson, standing on the platform, had returned thanks
on behalf of the visitors for their cordial reception in _Sordavala_,
which speech was replied to by the Mayor of the town, some one called
upon the audience to sing the national air "_Maamme_." The voices rose
and fell immediately. Heads were poked out from carriage windows in
order that lusty throats might sing their beloved air. All at once three
students on the platform waved their caps on high, and a regular musical
performance ensued. To a stranger it seemed a remarkable demonstration.

Supposing the occupants of an English train were suddenly called upon to
sing "God save the King," what would be the result? Why, that more than
half the passengers would prove so shy they could not even attempt it;
another quarter might wander about the notes at their own sweet will,
and, perhaps, a small percentage would sing it in tune. But then, just
think, the Finns are so imbued with music, and practise so
continually--for they seem to sing on every conceivable occasion--that
the sopranos naturally took up their part, the basses and the tenors
kept to their own notes, and perfect harmony prevailed.

Not content with singing half a dozen songs while waiting for the train
to get under way, many carriage loads sang off and on during the whole
seven hours of the journey to _Andrea_, where we changed in order to
catch a train for _Imatra_. Having an hour to spare at this junction, a
walk was suggested along the railway line. This was not at all so
dangerous a feat as might be imagined, for although only a single line,
trains ran so very seldom that pedestrians might walk up and down for
half a day and never see one.

We wandered with a delightful man whose rôle it was to act as
interpreter between the Finnish and Swedish languages in the House of
Commons, a position called _tulkki_ or translator, just as Canada uses
interpreters for English and French.

We were amazed to find him conversant with all kinds of English
literature; he spoke with familiarity of Dickens, Thackeray,
Shakespeare, twelve of whose plays, by the bye, have been translated
into Finnish and performed at the theatre, and he was even acquainted
with the works of Rudyard Kipling, Swinburne, Browning, and Mrs. Humphry
Ward. With equal aptitude he discussed Daudet and Zola, Tolstoi and
Tourgenieff, and, to our astonishment, we found that although he spoke
only indifferent German, he could read English, French, German, and
Russian authors in the original.

As we wandered down the railway line, our attention was arrested by an
extraordinary carriage which stood on a siding. A sort of engine was in
front, but, behind, a glass house composed the remainder of the waggon.
We had never before seen anything like it, and wondered if it could be
an observatory on wheels, until we noticed that in the forepart of the
train was a snow-plough, such as is to be seen on every engine in Norway
during mid-winter, a plough which closely resembles an American
cow-catcher.

"That," remarked our friend, "is a Finnish snow-plough. It is with the
greatest difficulty we can keep the lines clear in winter, and it is not
sufficient to have an ordinary snow-plough attached to the engine,
therefore, just as ice-breakers endeavour to keep the port of _Hangö_
open during winter, so these snow-ploughs ply to and fro along the
railway lines, throwing up vast heaps of snow on each side, until they
make a wall sometimes ten or twelve feet high. These walls form a sort
of protection to the trains, and gradually become so hard that, by the
end of the winter snow, they might be built of stone, they are so
strong."

There are not many railways in Finland, the first being laid in 1862;
with the exception of private ones, which are narrow, they all have the
wide Russian gauge.

Speaking of the ice-breaker at _Hangö_, we may say that, in spite of all
endeavours to keep the only winter port of Finland open during the cold
months, ice sometimes gains the mastery, and for several weeks that
Finnish port becomes closed.

Our friend was a most interesting companion, and explained something of
the mysteries of the University. He told us that it was first founded in
1640 at _Åbo_, but in 1829, when _Åbo_ was burnt to ashes and many
thousand volumes were destroyed, it was considered advisable to move the
University to _Helsingfors_, a town which at that time had a larger
population than the older capital.

"You see," he said, "we have no Court here, no great wealth, but few
nobility, and, therefore, every one and everything is centred round our
University. It comprises four faculties--Theology, Law, Medicine, and
Philosophy."

"What does your title of _Magister_ mean?" we ventured to ask.

"It is equivalent to your M.A.," he said; "but our degrees are only
given every fourth year, when we keep up much old-fashioned pomp. Crowds
of people come to see the ceremony, and all the successful candidates,
as they receive their degrees, are given, if they are Master of Arts, a
gold ring, if doctors, a silk-covered hat, while on their heads a crown
of laurels is actually placed. It is an old custom for each man to
choose one from among his lady friends to be his _wreath-binder_, and
she is supposed to undertake the making of his laurel crown. This was
all very well so long as men only took the degree, but great jokes have
arisen since women have stepped in, because ladies naturally think it is
only right that men should weave their laurel-wreaths."

"And do they?"

"I believe they do. If not actually with their own hands, they
superintend the making of such wreaths for their lady friends, whom we
welcome to our University with open arms."

When we had arrived at _Andrea_, on our journey to _Imatra_ from the
Russian frontier, out tumbled a number of cyclists, who found to their
distress that it would be necessary to wait about half an hour to
continue their journey. It was overpoweringly hot; these young students
stood on the platform discussing the situation, and at last they
decided to cycle the twenty or thirty miles instead of waiting for the
train. They took off their coats and strapped them on to the handles of
their machines, and in pretty flannel shirts, gaily chaffing and
laughing, off they started for their ride. We rather pitied them, as we
saw them start under those melting sun's rays, and preferred our own
idea of a quiet stroll.

At last we heard the whistle of our train, and had to scamper back along
the railway line in order to secure our seats.

We crawled along, in the usual fashion of Finnish trains, to the
world-renowned _Imatra_. Arrived at the hotel, which is built beside the
roaring cataract, where thousands of tons of water rush and tear from
January to December, we went into the dining-room to order dinner, and
there, sitting round the table in the best of spirits, were the
students, who had actually ridden quicker from _Andrea_ than our train
had brought us.

Parts of Finland are very beautiful, and travelling through the country
is a most interesting experience; but, at the same time, there are none
of the excellent motor roads such as we find in France or Germany. It is
not a good country for motorists, waterways being its chief attraction,
and its boat service is excellent; but the roads, although well marked
by sign-posts and mile-stones (kilometres), are certainly not good.

Oh! the joy that night of being in a real hotel, with a real brass
bedstead and a real spring mattress, to say nothing of once again
seeing a proper sized wash-hand basin and jug.

Above the roar of the seething waters, fretting at our very feet, claps
of thunder made themselves heard, and rain descended in torrents, while
vivid, flashes of lightning lit up the wondrous cataract of _Imatra_.

Thunderstorms are quite common in those parts, and we felt glad of that
one, as it did something to dispel for a time the oppressive heat.

Next morning the scene was changed, and as we looked in calm weather
from the balcony window, we were fascinated by the vast volume of water
dashing ceaselessly on its ruthless way below.

Later, sitting on a rocky boulder, we gazed in awe at the scene before
us. This was _Imatra_. This is one of the three famous falls which form
the chain of a vast cataract. This avalanche of foam and spray, this
swirling, tearing, rushing stream, this endless torrent pursuing its
wild course, year in, year out--this was _Imatra_, one of the strongest
water powers in the world--the Niagara of Europe.

Not a waterfall in the real sense of the word, for within the space of
half a mile the water only actually falls about forty feet; but that
narrow channel, scarcely twenty yards across, with its rock-bound walls,
is daily washed by thousands and thousands of tons of foaming water,
poured into it from the quickly flowing _Vuoksen's_ wide waters.

As we sat and contemplated one of the grandest efforts of creation, this
wonderful compression of a vast river into a narrow gorge, we realised
how small is the power of man compared with the mighty strength of
nature. See how the waves, which can be likened only to the waves of the
sea in time of storm, as if in fury at their sudden compression, rush
over that rock, then curl back, and pause in the air a moment before
tearing on, roaring and hissing with rage, to the whirlpool farther down
the stream. See how they dash from side to side, see how the spray rises
in the air for the dainty sunlight to play among its foam. Hear the
noise, like that of thunder, as a great angry white horse dashes down
that storm-washed chasm. This is strength and force and power, this is
beauty and grandeur. This is _Imatra_, one of Finland's gems set in a
regal crown.

Such a scene enters one's very soul; such grand majestic power, such
might, such force, inspire one with lofty feelings, and make one realise
a greater power, a greater strength than our poor world can give. Are we
not all the better for looking on such scenes? These vast glories of
nature, however, should be viewed in peace to enable the spectator to
enjoy their greatness and to receive their full influence. Niagara is
more vast--and Niagara is boarded by chimneys and men's villainy.
_Imatra_, if humbler, therefore, is almost more impressive.

Yet the hand of the Philistine is, alas! to be found even in primitive
Finland. As the modern Roman lights his glorious Colosseum with red and
purple fires, so the Finn illumines his wondrous falls with electric
light; spans it by the most modern of modern bridges, and does not even
attempt to hide "the latest improvements" by a coating of pine trunks.
Worse still, he writes or carves his name on every bench and on numerous
rocks, and erects hideous summer-houses built of wooden plankings and
tin, where the knotted pine-tree would have been as useful and twice as
picturesque.

Finland, pause! If you wish to entice travellers to your shores, to
bring strangers among you, keep your beautiful nature unspoiled, or,
where change is absolutely necessary, try to imitate nature's own
methods by using the glorious trees around you, instead of iron and tin
shaped by man's hand; pause before you have murdered your natural
loveliness by ghastly modernity, or you will be too late.

Attend to your sanitation if you will--that requires seeing to badly;
provide more water and more towels for travellers who are accustomed to
wash themselves in private, but don't imagine hideous modern erections
will attract tourists, they but discourage them.

_Imatra_ is glorious. _Wallinkoski_, the lower fall, is more
picturesque, perhaps, but both are wonderful; they are worth journeying
far to see, and holding in recollection for ever. We have nothing like
them anywhere in Britain. The Falls of Foyers are as crumbs in a loaf of
bread when compared with _Imatra_. The fall at Badgastein is as nothing
beside Finland's great cataract; _Hönefos_ in Norway a mere trifle. In
Europe _Imatra_ stands alone, with _perhaps_ the exception of its
solitary rival, _Trollhättan_ in Sweden, the exquisite beauty of which
is already marred by the sacrilegious hand of the Philistine.

Above all, Finland, you should not allow St. Petersburg to light her
streets with your water power; there is enough water in _Imatra_ to
light half Europe--but keep it for yourselves, keep it as a pearl in a
beautiful casket. _Imatra_ is one of Finland's grandest possessions.

It seems impossible that salmon could live in such a cataract, but yet
it is a fact that they do.

Verily, Finland is a paradise for fishermen. A paradise for lines and
rods, reels and flies, for masters of the piscatorial art; there are to
be found freshwater lakes, and glorious rivers full of fish. Some call
it the heaven of anglers, and permission to fish can easily be obtained,
and is absurdly inexpensive.

The best-known spot is _Harraka_, near _Imatra_, because the English
Fishing Club from St. Petersburg found sport in those wonderful waters
until they acquired _Varpa Saari_, an island a little farther down the
river.

The _Saimen Lake_ is about 150 miles long, and the river _Vuoksen_,
which forms _Imatra_, joins this fishing water with the famous _Ladoga_,
the largest lake in Europe, which again empties itself into the sea by
the _Neva_. This is not a fishing-book, or pages might be written of
happy hours spent with grayling or trout with a fly, or spinning from a
boat with a minnow.

Kind reader, have you ever been driven in a _Black Maria_? That is, we
believe, the name of the cumbersome carriage which conveys prisoners
from one police-station to another, or to their prison home? We have;
but it was not an English _Black Maria_, and, luckily, we were never
anywhere taken from one police-station to another. Our _Black Maria_ was
the omnibus that plies between _Imatra_ and _Rättijärvi_, some twenty
miles distant, where we travelled in order to catch the steamer which
was to convey us down the famous _Saimen Canal_ back to our delightful
_Ilkeäsaari_ host, in time for the annual _Johanni_ and the wonderful
_Kokko_ fires, more famous in Finland to-day than the Baal fires
formerly were in Britain.

It was a beautiful drive; at least we gathered that it would have been a
beautiful drive if we had not been shut up in the _Black Maria_. As it
was, we were nearly jolted to death on the hardest of hard wooden seats,
and arrived stiff, sore, and tired, with aching backs at _Rättijärvi_.

A good dinner, however, soon made us forget our miseries, though it
really seemed as if we had come in a prison van, when, the moment our
_Black Maria_ drew up at the small inn, a man rushed down the steps,
seized upon our poor friend the _Magister_ and began, violently
gesticulating, to explain something about money.

What on earth had the poor _Magister_ done that he should be jumped on
in this way? Were we criminals without our knowledge, and was this our
jailor who stood gesticulating, and scowling, and waving his arms about
in excitement? We felt we must immediately produce our passports to
prove our respectability, and, strong in our knowledge of innocence,
were quite prepared to maintain our rights of freedom in spite of the
appearance of any limb of Finnish law.

After all, it proved to be a mere flash in the pan. Explanation was soon
vouchsafed. We had driven that morning in a private carriage to
_Wallinkoski_ to see the wonderful fall below _Imatra_, and the
landlord, having forgotten to charge that journey in the bill, had
allowed us to leave _Imatra_ without paying for his beautiful equipage;
discovering his mistake, however, as soon as our backs were turned, he
had telephoned to the inn that we should send back the money by _Black
Maria_. Though we had so dishonestly departed without paying our just
debts, nothing worse came of the matter.

We might have been locked up in a Finnish prison!

We paid in coin for the carriage, and by our profound gratitude to the
_Magister_ and Grandpapa, who had added so ably to our enjoyment. Our
time together for the moment was over, and once more my sister and I
were alone.




CHAPTER IX

"KOKKO" FIRES


As we stood on the little pier at _Rättijärvi_, waiting for the steamer
which was to bear us down the beautiful _Saimen Canal_, we were somewhat
horrified to find that the only other probable passengers were two men,
both of whom were practically unable to keep on their feet. In honour of
the day they had apparently been having a jollification, and it will
ever remain a marvel to us that they did not tumble over the side of the
pier--which had no railing--into the water beneath.

It seemed almost impossible, under the circumstances, to believe that in
the rural districts of Finland generally there are no licensed houses,
except in a few health resorts, where a medical man is stationed. Also
at a few railway stations _bona fide_ travellers may be supplied. There
is a strict law against importing spirits at all into Finland, while if
more than ten litres are sent from one place to another in the country
they are "subject to control." Indeed, no person, unless licensed to
sell spirits, is allowed to keep more than six litres in his house for
every grown-up individual living in the establishment; and the same
rigorous rules that apply to spirits are enforced against liqueurs
which, when tried at a temperature of 15° Celsius, are found to contain
more than twenty-two per cent. of alcohol.

The temperance regulations are most stringent, and yet we are
reluctantly obliged to own we saw a vast amount of drunkenness in
_Suomi_. Small wonder, then, that the moment women became members of
Parliament the first thing they did was to legislate for the diminution
of this lack of sobriety.

The Civic Authorities can, and do, give the whole trade of wine,
spirits, and liqueurs as a monopoly for two consecutive years to
companies who undertake to sell, not for their own gain, but "in the
interests of morality and sobriety;" three-fifths of the profits being
paid to the town for general purposes of usefulness, and the remaining
two-fifths to the State.

As regards beer--in the country the County Councils rule the selling, in
the towns the Civic Authorities. The brewers are, however, allowed to
sell beer, provided they do not give more than twenty-five litres to one
person.

The Senate or the Governor can, in some cases, grant special licenses,
to sell wines and spirits to bathing-places, steamers, etc.,--from all
of which careful, not to say stringent, regulations, it may be inferred
that Finland is rigorous as regards the drink question; wherefore
strangers feel all the more surprised to meet inebriates so constantly,
as we must, unfortunately, admit was the case when we were in Finland.

The two men rolling about at the end of the pier and, singing lustily,
sadly disturbed our peace of mind, for my sister and I were going back
to _Ilkeäsaari_ alone, and as they seemed likely to be our only
companions, we felt a couple of hours spent in such society would be
rather more than we cared for. They might be affectionate or abusive, or
they might even commit suicide, they were so deadly drunk.

Ah! what was that? Emerging from a lock came a bower of greenery rather
than a steamer. The little ship was literally covered, not only with
branches, but with whole birch-trees, and very pretty she looked as she
glided towards us, decorated for the famous _Juhannus-ilta_ (Midsummer
Day).

Taking hasty farewells of Grandpapa and the _Magister_, whom we were to
meet again a week or two later, we hurried on board, and found to our
joy that the unsteady Finlanders were not allowed to follow us. With a
puff and a whistle the steamer left such undesirable passengers behind,
and the last we saw of them was fighting and struggling with one
another, each man apparently imagining, in his muddled imbecility, that
his own companion had kept him from going on board, whereas in reality
the ticket-collector, now safely journeying with us, was the sole
offender.

It is a delightful journey down the famous _Saimen Canal_, and there was
a particular charm about it that night, because, as evening advanced,
great beacon fires illuminated the scene.

This _Canal_, which took eleven years to make, is very beautiful. It
passes through twenty-eight locks, generally with a fall of about nine
feet for each; that is to say, the entire fall is nearly three hundred
feet. The canal is only wide enough for one ship to pass at a time,
except at the _crossing_ places; and when steamers pass up or down, all
other traffic has to draw into one of these sidings.

We thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful night as we glided over that
wonderful achievement of engineering skill. The locks were only just
large enough to admit our steamer, and it really seemed as if but a few
inches at either end and at the sides were to spare.

It was Midsummer Day; the greatest day of the whole year in a Finn's
estimation. Hence the decorations. We passed steamers all gaily
festooned with the sacred birch, as our own little ship, and huge barges
of wood ornamented in similar fashion floating down to the sea.
Picturesque little girls, with handkerchiefs tied over their heads, were
running about on the banks selling wild strawberries. They were dressed
in long skirts, which hung to their ankles, and wore no shoes or
stockings.

In spite of the terrific thunderstorm on the previous night, the
thermometer had stood all day at about 96° in the shade. As we glided
along, a lurid black sky looked threatening behind us, while forked
lightning--such forked lightning as we had never seen before--played
games in the heavens. And yet, at the self-same time, on the other side
was to be seen one of the most glorious sunsets that can possibly be
imagined; one of those marvellous bits of colour which make those who
behold it feel how inadequate are brush and canvas to reproduce such
glorious tones.

These Finland skies and glorious nights, almost midnight suns, in June,
July, and August, are worth the journey. The sunrises and sunsets of the
Arctic are more beautiful than in the Tropics.

We were now returning to finish our visit at _Ilkeäsaari_, and, it being
the Finnish Midsummer Day, we had been compelled to hurry our trip from
_Sordavala_ somewhat, so as to be back in time to see the famous pagan
_Kokko_ fires.

As is well known, it was--till comparatively recent times--the custom
even in England to light on St. John's Eve _Bael_ or _Baal_ fires, which
were really a survival of pagan Sun Worship. All over Finland _Bael_
fires are still lighted on _Juhannus-ilta_ (Midsummer Eve).

The people look forward from year to year to these _Kokko_ fires, as
_Juhanni_ is the great festival both for rich and poor. All is bustle
and confusion on the 23rd of June, preparing for the event. Then comes
the lighting of the _Kokko_, and, later in the evening, the _bond-dans_
or ball--no one apparently going to bed that night--which ball is
followed by a universal holiday.

As to the origin of the _Kokko_ fires, no one in Finland seems very
certain. The custom must be a very ancient one, though it is continued
universally in that little-known country to the present day. As a rule,
the bonfire is lit on the top of a hill, or in places where there is
water at the water's edge, preferably on a small island, or sometimes on
a raft which, when ignited, is floated out over the surface of the
lake.

The 24th of June being about the brightest day in a land where, at that
time of year, it is everlasting daylight, the effect of the brilliant
artificial illumination is marred in consequence of the absence of a
gloomy, weird, and mysteriously indistinct background of night, the sky
in those high latitudes being, during the summer nights, never darker
than it is in England at dawn. Nevertheless, the _Kokko_ are so big that
they assert themselves, and as we sailed down the canal we must have
passed a dozen or more of those flaming beacons. It is difficult to
estimate their size. Wood in Finland is comparatively valueless; tar is
literally made on the premises; consequently old tar-barrels are placed
one on the top of another, branches, and even trunks of trees, surmount
the whole, and the erection is some twenty or thirty feet high before it
is ignited. Imagine, then, the flames that ascend when once the magic
match fires the much-betarred heap.

For hours and hours those _Kokko_ fires burnt. Indeed, it would be
considered ill luck if they did not smoulder through the whole of the
night. And it is round such festive flames that the peasant folks gather
to dance and sing and play games, and generally celebrate the festival
of the ancient god _Bael_. The large landed proprietors invite their
tenantry to these great ceremonies, and for hours before it is time to
light the fire, boats are arriving laden with guests.

When we landed about ten o'clock on the private pier at _Ilkeäsaari_, at
which we had asked our captain to set us ashore, we were warmly met by
our former hostess, and told that their _Kokko_ was ready and only
waiting our arrival to be ignited. So away we all sped to the other side
of the island to see the fun.

All the members of the family had assembled--some thirty or forty
people, in fact, for Finland is famous for big families--and tables of
cakes and coffee were spread at a point from which every one could see
the enormous _Kokko_, as high as a haystack, standing on a lonely rock
in the water. The boatmen went off and lighted it, having thrown
turpentine over the dried branches, and stacked up tar-barrels, so that
it might the more readily catch fire, and in a few moments huge volumes
of smoke began to ascend, and the flames danced high into the heavens.
Great tongues of fire leapt and sprung on high, only to be reflected in
all their glory in the smooth waters below. Peering down an avenue of
pine-trees to the lake beyond, that fire looked very grand--a splendid
relic of ancient heathenism.

Every one sang as the _Kokko_ burst into flame. The General of the
garrison, the dapper young lieutenant, the dear old grandmother, the men
and women students of the party in their pretty white caps, the children
dressed as dear little Swedish peasants--all joined the choruses; while
behind were the servants and the real peasants themselves. The tenants
had come over the water to enjoy the fun at their master's home in boats
so gaily decorated and garnished with huge boughs of the sacred
birch-tree that the boat itself was almost hidden. Finnish singing is
generally rather weird chanting, sad and melancholy, but not without a
strange fascination, and the way a number of odd people in that huge
assembly could sing together, each taking his or her own part, without
any previous practice, again showed the marvellous amount of music
inborn in the Finlander.

It was a beautiful night. The rich shades of the sunset fighting the
warm colours of the flames, the gurgling of the water, and the surging
of the peasants' boats, or the swish of their oars as they rowed
to the festival in gay holiday attire, was something to be
remembered--something picturesque and almost barbaric. The surroundings
were poetical, the scene weird, the music delightful, and a glowing
lustre overspread it all as the ascending flames shed lurid lights on
the faces of the spectators, while the rocks on which we stood reflected
the warm colours caught by the trunks of the pine-trees, whose tops
soared heavenwards as though trying to kiss the fleeting clouds.

Laughter and merriment rent the air, as youth mingled with age, riches
with poverty, in true happiness, for was it not _Juhannus-ilta_--a night
when all must be gay!

Gradually, as the time wore on, the fires burnt low, the lights and
reflections became less and less distinct on the water, the shadows of
evening fell, and the dew of night was in the air; then, and not till
then, did we repair to a huge room adjoining the house, used for the
grandchildren to play in during summer, or for weddings and such like
festivals, and here the family, the guests, the servants, and the
peasants danced. It was like a tenants' ball at a Scotch castle or Irish
domain, with a touch of greater novelty. Finnish dances are strange; a
young man spies a young woman, he rushes at her, seizes her by the
waist, dances lustily, and then lets her go as if she were a hot potato.
But that night there was a hero--a real live hero--the native of a
neighbouring village, who had been away in America for seven years, and
just returned rich and prosperous, and full of adventures, to his
fatherland. His advent had been awaited with keen interest by all the
village maids; rivalry for his favours ran rife. Every girl in the place
was dying to talk to him, to dance with him, and he, in return, told
them "how beautiful every woman was in America, how they talked, and
sang, and danced, and laughed, and how America was enchanting," until
all the maids grew jealous.

We slipped off to bed at midnight, tired after our tedious journey, and
anxious to read quietly the bundles of letters from folk at home, which
had been awaiting our return, but the _bond-dans_ went on till
breakfast-time, for a Finn who cannot dance the _jenka_ all through the
midsummer night is not considered worthy of his country.

The festivals continued all the next day for those who were not too
sleepy to enjoy them.




CHAPTER X

WOMEN AND EDUCATION


Before describing our own life in a haunted castle, with its joys and
its fears, we must pause and reflect on two of the most important
factors in Finnish life--the position of women, and the excellence of
education. For it is the present advancement of both that will make a
future for _Suomi_, and even to-day can teach us much.

In 1890 the population of Finland numbered two and a half millions,
which included--

    Females          1,208,599
    Males            1,171,541
                     _________
         Total       2,380,140

In 1908 the figures were--

    Females          1,515,916
    Males            1,496,933
                     _________
         Total       3,012,849

These figures show that there has been a large preponderance of the
female sex, and though in the last twenty years this surplus has
diminished by one half, it may perhaps in some measure account for the
wonderful way in which women have pushed themselves to the front and
ceased to look upon matrimony as the only profession open to the sex.

The system of public instruction is making rapid progress. The expenses
of primary education are divided between the State and the Communes,
while those of the higher education generally fall on the State.

The Finnish University, founded in 1640, is maintained by the latter,
and includes four faculties.

In 1870 the first woman matriculated at the University, three years
later another followed suit, but until 1885 they were alone, when two
others joined them. It was very difficult in those days to obtain
permission to enter for the matriculation; as will be seen, there are at
present a large number of female students, several of whom have taken
degrees in medicine, dentistry, arts, law, and science.

The woman question is now one of great moment in Finland, but the first
book published on the subject only appeared in May 1894. This _Calendar
of Women's Work_ was really a great undertaking, and the statistics and
materials to complete it were collected by more than a thousand agents
of both sexes, the Senate giving a grant of three thousand marks to pay
for the printing expenses. Its object was, by giving careful tables of
employment, and names and addresses of employers, to enable young women
readily to find a vocation.

Beginning by a historic sketch, it showed how Finnish linen was famous
as early as 1552, and how taxes were paid by such means at that time.

It pointed out the present great desire to increase home industries, and
stated that out of five hundred and thirty parishes applied to, four
hundred had sent to the Women's Association asking for help in the
formation of schools, or loan of patterns and models, implements and
tools.

It noticed how, in 1890, a vast number of women were employed upon the
land: 8580 peasants, 2516 farmers, 5631 cottagers, and 76,857
agricultural servants; we must remember Finnish women are physically
strong and well-fitted for agricultural work.

It showed how dairy work was being much taken up by women, who tended
the cows, milked them, made the butter, for which they obtained prizes,
and went on to notice how gardening was being developed in the country,
and how it might further be undertaken with advantage.

There are in 1912 fourteen dairying schools, thirty-seven schools for
the care of cattle, and twelve housekeeping and gardening schools--all
for women.

In fact, one cannot travel through Finland without being struck by the
position of women on every side. It may, of course, arise from the fact
that the Finns are poor, and, large families not being uncommon, it is
impossible for the parents to keep their daughters in idleness; and as
no country is more democratic than Finland, where there is no court and
little aristocracy, the daughters of senators and generals take up all
kinds of work. Whatever the cause, it is amazing to find the vast number
of employments open to women, and the excellent way in which they fill
these posts. There is no law to prevent women working at anything they
choose.

Amongst the unmarried women it is more the exception than the rule to
find them idle, and instead of work being looked upon as degrading, it
is admired on all sides, especially teaching, which is considered one of
the finest positions for a man or woman in Finland. And it is scientific
teaching, for they learn how to impart knowledge to others, instead of
doing it in a dilatory and dilettante manner, as so often happens
elsewhere.

We were impressed by the force and the marvellous energy and splendid
independence of the women of _Suomi_, who became independent workers
long before their sisters in Britain.

All this is particularly interesting with the struggle going on now
around us, for to our mind it is remarkable that so remote a country,
one so little known and so unappreciated, should have thus suddenly
burst forth and hold the most advanced ideas for both men and women.
That endless sex question is never discussed. There is no sex question
in Finland, _men and women are practically equals_, and on that basis
society is formed. Sex equality has always been a characteristic of the
race, as we find from the ancient _Kalevala_ poem.

In spite of advanced education, in spite of the emancipation of women
(which is erroneously supposed to work otherwise), Finland is noted for
its morality, and, indeed, stands among the nations of Europe as one of
the most virtuous.

There is no married woman's property act, all property being owned
jointly by husband and wife. This is called the marriage right.

In the excellent pamphlet printed for the Chicago Exhibition, we find
the following:--

     MARRIAGE

     _Marriageable Age._--According to the law which is now in force, a
     girl need be no more than fifteen years of age in order to be
     marriageable. Very few girls, however, marry at such an early age.
     Among the peasantry, women, as a rule, marry earlier than they do
     among the cultivated classes.

     _The Solemnisation of Marriages._--According to the law of 1734,
     which remained valid until 1864, a spinster could not marry without
     the consent of her father, or, if he were dead, of her mother. Both
     parents being dead, this duty devolved upon the eldest male member
     of the family.

     In the year 1864 (31st October) a law was enacted according to
     which girls, after their twenty-first year, are free to marry
     without the consent of either father or mother. For a marriage to
     be lawful the banns must be read from the pulpit on three several
     Sundays, and the marriage ceremony must be performed by a
     clergyman.

     _Statutes of 1889._--In the statutes of 1889 the law on antenuptial
     marriage agreements was altered to the advantage of the wife. By
     means of antenuptial agreements a woman may now not only retain as
     her special property whatever she possessed before marriage, and
     whatever she may have, after marriage, inherited, received as a
     gift, or as a legacy, but she may also _reserve for herself the
     right of taking charge of and managing her own property and the
     income thereof_.

In 1908, a law was passed enacting that no girl under the age of
seventeen years should marry. How much wiser than in England.

As soon as the marriage ceremony has been performed, "the husband
becomes the natural guardian of his wife," is responsible for her and
manages _their_ property.

In spite, however, of a woman being under the legal guardianship of her
husband, there is probably no country where women are held in more
reverence and respect than in Finland. While in Germany the middle
class _Hausfrau_ takes a back seat, hardly speaking before her lord and
master, and being in many cases scarcely better than a general servant
(of the Jack-of-all-trades and master of none class), doing a little
cooking, seeing to the dusting and cleaning, helping make the beds, wash
the children, and everlastingly producing her big basket of
_Handarbeit_, the Finnish woman, although just as domesticated, is less
ostentatious in her performance of such duties, and, like her sisters in
England, attends to her household matters in the morning, according to a
regulated plan worked out for herself; trains her servants properly,
and, having set the clock going for the day, expects the machinery to
work. Every decent household should be managed on some such plan, and we
all know that the busier the woman the more comfortable, as a rule, she
makes her home; the mere fact of her having an occupation, inspires
those about her to work. Added to which, the busy woman knows order and
method are the only means by which satisfactory results can possibly be
obtained, and that order and method which she has acquired herself she
is able to teach her less-educated domestics, or anyway inspire them
with it.

Idle people are always apparently busy; but it is the business of
muddle, while really busy people always have time for everything, and
keep everything in its place.

Finnish ladies are thoroughly well educated. They are musical and
artistic, beautiful needle-women, manage their homes well, and they
have read enough to join in any discussion in which they take an
interest. They are, consequently, treated by their husbands as equals,
and although until 1907 they had no political rights, women were much
employed in government services. They were not debarred from becoming
members of the great societies. For instance, as far back as 1897, among
the two hundred and twelve Fellows that composed the Geographical
Society of Finland there were seventy-three women, yet in 1913 our Royal
Geographical Society shrieked at the idea of woman entering their
portals. The Swedish Literary Society, with thirteen hundred members,
has eighty-two women on its books. The same with the philanthropic
societies, music, art, etc. In fact, all doors are open to women.

Ladies have done much for the cause of temperance, and in all
philanthropic movements they are busy; they have organised schools for
the deaf, dumb, blind, and crippled, and look after night shelters,
mothers' unions, ragged unions, rescue homes, working homes for
children, benevolent societies, etc.

The pamphlet, speaking of unmarried women, also says--

     _Rights of Unmarried Women enlarged._--In 1864 (on the 31st of
     October) _the position of unmarried women_ was improved. According
     to the law that was then enacted, an unmarried woman--

     1. When she has reached her fifteenth year, may take charge of
     whatever she may earn.

     2. When she has reached her twenty-first year she may manage her
     own property, if she chooses to do so, provided that she informs
     the court of her intention.

     3. When she has reached her twenty-fifth year she is of age, and
     may manage her own property without informing the court thereof.

     _Rights of Inheritance._--In the beginning of the Swedish rule our
     country probably conformed to the old Swedish laws and regulations,
     according to which women had a right to _inherit property_ only in
     cases where there were no male heirs.

     _Legislation of Birger Jarl: Women inherited one-third._--In the
     middle of the thirteenth century, Finnish (as well as Swedish)
     women were awarded the right of inheriting _a third part_ of the
     property left by their parents, whereas two-thirds accrued to the
     male heirs. For this improvement our women were indebted to Birger
     Jarl, the great Swedish legislator and statesman, who bears an
     honoured name in our history.

     Many exceptions, however, were made to this rule. Where the father
     was a landowner, for instance, the principal estate always
     descended to the son, whereas the daughter had to be content with
     some smaller estate of less value, or with part of the personal
     property.

     _Legislation of 1734: Daughters and Sons of Town People, etc.,
     inherit Equal Shares._--Such was the state of things for several
     centuries, till it was at last changed somewhat for the better when
     the law of 1734 came into force. This law decreed that the sons and
     daughters of commoners living in towns, and those of the clergy,
     were to inherit _equal shares_. The daughters of the nobility and
     of all landowners in the country, however, remained in the same
     position as before.

     _Law now in force: Daughters and Sons inherit Equal Shares._--This
     lasted nearly one and a half centuries, until _in all classes of
     society_ the daughters received the right of inheriting _equal
     shares_ with the sons, which they did, according to a law enacted
     on 27th June 1878. _Hence Finnish women now possess the same rights
     of inheritance as men._ The latter, however, still in some cases
     have the advantage over women; _e.g._ where there is landed
     property to be inherited and the principal estate cannot be
     conveniently divided, then the brother or male heir is entitled to
     purchase the sister's part. The benefit thus accruing to the son
     injures the position of the daughter, in case the brother is a
     spendthrift or unable to pay the sum which represents her share of
     the paternal estate. Among the peasantry it is still customary to
     buy off the daughter with a small sum of money, regardless of what
     the true value of the estate may be, or with part of the
     personality, so that the male heir may have the whole of the
     estate.

Divorce is somewhat uncommon in Finland. Indeed, next to Belgium, that
country shows the smallest number of divorced marriages; still divorce
may be granted on the following grounds:--

     On the plea of adultery. It is not, however, enough for the guilty
     party to acknowledge his or her guilt, which must be fully proved,
     as well as the time when, the place where, and the person with
     whom, it was committed.

     If either husband or wife have, after the betrothal but before the
     marriage, committed adultery with some one else, and this is made
     known after marriage, the innocent party may claim a divorce, if he
     or she demand it.

     The law is in this respect severer with women than with men; for if
     a husband be informed of his wife having been seduced by some one
     else before her betrothal with him, he has the right to claim
     divorce from her, but the wife has not the same right _vice versâ_.

     On the plea of deliberate desertion or prolonged absence. If either
     husband or wife absent himself or herself from home and do not
     return within a year after, the other party having inserted in the
     official newspapers of the country an advertisement calling on him
     or her to return, the one who remained at home has the right to sue
     for a divorce.

Far more marriages are marred by incompatibility of temper than by
actual immorality, and, surely, if two people find they have made a
mistake, and are irritants instead of sedatives to one another, they
should not be left to champ and fret like horses at too severe a bit,
for all their long sad lives--to mar one another's happiness, to worry
their children, and annoy their friends. Our hideously cruel separation
orders merely encourage immorality. Finland shows us an excellent
example. The very fact of being able to get free makes folk less
inclined to struggle at their chains. If life is intolerable to Mrs.
Jones in Finland, away she goes by herself; at the end of a year Mr.
Jones advertises three times in the paper for his wife or for
information that will lead to his knowing her whereabouts; no one
responds, and Mr. Jones can sue for and obtain a divorce without any of
those scandalous details appearing in the press which are a disgrace to
English journalism.

     If either husband or wife be sentenced to imprisonment for life.

     Besides these cases, which are set forth in the law as sufficient
     causes for divorce, there are other circumstances in consequence of
     which a marriage may be dissolved,--but only by means of direct
     application to the Emperor and Grand Duke of Finland, who may grant
     it as a favour. A divorced wife is considered as a widow; she has
     no more duties toward her husband, and can dispose of her person as
     well as of her property. A divorced couple may peaceably settle all
     about the children; but if they cannot do this, the innocent parent
     is entitled to take charge of them. Both parents must contribute
     means for their maintenance and education.

Since 1906, women in Finland have had exactly the same political rights
as men. Practically every man and woman over twenty-four years of age
may not only vote for Parliament, but is also eligible as a member. At
the election of 1907, nineteen women members were returned; this number
has fluctuated, however, and in 1912 there are but fourteen women
members.

They also have municipal rights. Unmarried women, widows, and divorced
women, provided they submitted to the necessary conditions, were given
the municipal vote in 1873. Women are members of School Boards, Poor Law
Guardians, and are eligible as members of several other municipal and
parochial Boards; but they may not be chosen for Town Councils or the
corresponding councils in rural parishes. In 1908 the Diet passed a new
law concerning the municipal vote, giving equal rights to men and women,
but that law being very Radical had--four years later--not received the
sanction of the sovereign.

In the matter of education Finland is most advanced; and the fees all up
the scale from folk-schools to the University itself are extremely low.

The folk-schools in 1910 were attended by 188,479 children, which was
6.11 per cent. of the population. The same year there were 2677 female
teachers and 2222 male teachers in the folk-schools. Every country
Commune has at least one permanent folk-school, but most have several.
There are besides these, ambulatory schools, where teachers visit remote
villages and hold classes, in order that children may not suffer by
being a long distance from a folk-school.

Besides the folk-schools there are secondary schools, most of them
leading up to the University. These numbered, in 1912, one hundred and
twenty-seven. Seventy-four of them are mixed schools, and twenty-seven
for boys only, the other twenty-six being for girls.

Many preparatory schools exist under private auspices, over which there
is no State inspection.

The better-class children go to the secondary schools, though they are
open to all classes, the fees being only thirty-two shillings per annum,
with a reduction for brothers or sisters, and 20 per cent. of the whole
number of pupils are received free of charge. In the private schools the
annual fee varies, but rarely rises above ten pounds.

In Helsingfors the salaries for teachers in folk-schools are different
for men and women, the latter receiving from 2000 to 3000 marks a year,
and the men from 2400 to nearly 4000 marks per annum.

In the country Communes, however, salaries are now the same for men and
women; but a teacher with a family dependent on him receives a bonus in
addition to the salary, and this applies to men and women equally.

Could anything be better? Truly, a eugenic doctrine in the best sense.
Could we in England not learn one of our many needed lessons in
education from Finland on this point? All are entitled to a pension
after thirty years' service.

Beyond the folk-schools are practical continuation classes for
needlework, cooking, weaving, household work, and book-keeping.

And then, again, there are People's Colleges for both sexes aged about
eighteen, for the advancement of culture and knowledge, and to kindle
noble impulses.

One of these People's Colleges was established by a woman for women, and
has now obtained a grant from the public funds.

Besides all the foregoing there are normal institutes or seminaries for
folk-school teachers of both sexes; six of these seminaries are for
Finnish folk-school teaching, and two for Swedish ones.

The instruction is free, candidates must be eighteen years of age, and
the subjects are:--Biblical history and the Bible, Christianity and
moral philosophy, popular psychology, pedagogics and the science of
teaching, school-keeping, the mother tongue and the reading of suitable
works in it, mathematics, geography, history, the statistics of Finland,
natural history, calligraphy, writing of short essays, drawing and
modelling, singing and instrumental music, elementary anatomy,
physiology, and the care of small children according to the laws of
hygiene. To all this long list there are added for female students,
instruction in needlework and weaving, housekeeping, and gardening; and
for the male, _slöjd_, gardening, and fieldwork.

There are also State high schools for girls doing excellent work.

THE AMOUNT OF SALARIES AT THE STATE HIGH
SCHOOLS FOR GIRLS.

  +-------------------------------+---------+------------+-----------+
  |                               | No. of  |  Salary--  |   Salary  |
  |                               | Lessons |   Marks    | increased |
  |                               | a Week  |  (Finnish  |   after   |
  |                               |         | currency). |  fifteen  |
  |                               |         |            |   years.  |
  +-------------------------------+---------+------------+-----------+
  | Lady Principal (lodgings free |         |            |           |
  |   of charge)                  |   14    |    2000    |   3200    |
  | Teachers (female)             |   20    |    1800    |   3000    |
  | Assistant Teachers (female)-- |         |            |           |
  |   Drawing and Calligraphy     |   10    |    1000    |   1600    |
  |   Singing                     |    7    |     700    |    980    |
  |   Gymnastics                  |   15    |    1500    |   2400    |
  | "Kollega" (male or female)    |         |            |           |
  |   Senior                      |   22    |    3800    |   6200    |
  | "Kollega" (male or female)    |         |            |           |
  |   Junior                      |   22    |    3600    |   6000    |
  +-------------------------------+---------+------------+-----------+

In _Helsingfors_ and _Wiborg_, where the living is more expensive than
in other Finnish towns, the principals and the lady teachers (but not
the "kollegas") are in receipt of an addition to their salaries. Thus
in _Helsingfors_ a lady principal receives from the beginning 2800
marks, and after fifteen years' service, 4000.

Although this does not sound high remuneration, it must be remembered
that salaries and expenses are proportionately low in _Suomi_.

Every woman entering the University must obtain permission from the
Chancellor. He always grants it now, though formerly he often refused.
There are, in 1912, 730 women out of a total of 3030 students--that is,
24 per cent.

There is no general annual fee at the University; at matriculation every
student pays thirty-six shillings, and there is a small extra charge for
the use of the laboratories; and, of course, students needing special
instruction in any particular subject pay their professor a separate
fee, about a pound per annum. In addition there are small fees for the
examinations.

Men and women pay exactly the same, and enter for the same examinations,
working side by side. The first woman to take a degree at the University
(_bacca laureate_) was _Fröken Emma Irene Aström_ in 1873, when she was
appointed professor (_lector_) at one of the seminaries for the
education of folk-school teachers.

In 1884 the Finnish Women's Association was formed, having obtained
permission from the State for their name. Their object is to work for
the elevation of their sex, intellectually and morally, and to better
women's social and economical position.

Thirty years have seen the formation of many such societies; perhaps the
greatest of them is an association called "Martha," similar to our
English Mothers' Union. Its purpose is to approach the different classes
and to heighten the standard of life among the poor by developing the
women's ability in housekeeping and educating their children. It is
spread all over the country, and has more than a hundred and fifty
affiliated associations.

As we have already noticed, women follow many occupations which in the
British islands are regarded as entirely men's employments--bricklaying,
carpentry, paper-hanging, slaughtering, ship-loading, were all to be
found in the returns, when I was in the country, under _women's work_.
In public offices they were constantly employed long before women in
Britain were recognised as capable of doing clerical work on a large
scale; and even now, while our banks are staffed entirely by men, women
in Finland are largely employed as clerks in banks as well as in
insurance offices. They monopolise the telephone, and are in great
request as compositors.

But turning to the more domestic duties of women; the Finns are as
thorough in these as in other branches of education. It was at one time
rather a fashion for the young ladies of Finland to go over to Sweden
and enter what is called a _Hushållskola_, the literal translation of
which is a "household school." They are taught cooking, laundry-work,
weaving, dressmaking, house-maid's work, everything, in fact, that a
woman could possibly want to know if she were left without any
servants, or even on a desert island. They are practically instructed
how to garden, they are sent marketing, they are taught to fish, and,
having landed their prey, how to clean and cook it. In fact, they are
fitted to be maids-of-all-work, skilled labourers and sportsmen, at one
and the same time.

The full course occupies about eighteen months, and met with such
success in Sweden that Finlanders have now organised several
_Hushållskola_ in Finland itself.

In 1799 one _Wibeleins_ started a sort of technical education scheme. He
printed books to further the weaving trade, gave prizes for spun thread,
etc., to encourage the old trade then dying away--for women in the time
of _Kalevala_ wove, embroidered, spun, and worked in silver and bronze,
at least so say the bards. Indeed, in 1529, _Åbo_ linen was so famous
that it was always used by the King of Sweden, therefore it is not
surprising that weaving is still quite a pastime among Finnish ladies,
and every cottager knows how to ply her shuttle. Where it has fallen
into disuse women go about the country to teach and revive the decaying
industry.

It is very sad when old trades disappear in rural districts, for nothing
can take their place. No modern factories are started near at hand to
employ the folk, and the result is they give up their old occupations
and too often do not take to new instead. For instance, the once famous
lace of _Raumo_, formerly sent in large quantities to Sweden and Russia
(the thread came from England), was almost a forgotten art; but as with
us, care has been taken to restore these old local industries, and
_Raumo_ lace-making is now in a most flourishing state.

The many employments open to women do not make the more fortunate forget
those in trouble. Nursing the sick is a favourite profession in Finland,
the emolument varying from two to six hundred marks per annum, in
addition to board, etc.

Massage is a very old institution, so ancient that every village since
the olden times has had at least one rubbing woman, as they call her. In
the country they are generally given food in payment, but in towns from
twenty-five penni to a mark for the time occupied. So many women do
massage that really every one seems to know something about it, and one
almost feels that massage must have originated in _Suomi_. It is
certainly a great feature of Finnish life; and in addition to these
massage women, who work for next to nothing, and who are merely peasant
women, there are now everywhere in Finland highly trained masseuses, or,
as they prefer to be called, "sick-gymnasts."

The University maintains courses, lasting for three years, for the
training of such "sick-gymnasts," and the pupils are very often ladies
from the best families. A qualified "sick-gymnast" often gets a
remunerative practice, and may make an annual income of 10,000 marks or
more.

The physical development of women is given a high place in the school
curriculum in Finland, as was instanced in the Olympic games at
Stockholm in 1912, when a group of Finnish girls proved by their
suppleness of body and gymnastic proficiency that the traditions of
Southern Greece are ably maintained to-day in Finland in the North.

One must not leave the subject of women in _Suomi_ without touching upon
their achievements in literature and the sister arts.

The earliest woman writer was _Sarah Wacklin_ (1790-1846), who has left
a valuable record of Finnish life in the first years of the nineteenth
century. Her successors took up the question of the rights of women, and
their emancipation; and the works of _Mrs. Fredrika Runeberg_
(1807-1879) and _Miss Adelaide Ehrnroth_ both set forth the arguments of
the cause most strongly, not only in articles and pamphlets, but in
novels of a high standard.

Since then many women have entered their names on the roll of the
country's literature, and, strangely enough, the two girls I chaperoned
through Finland--for, of course, being married I could act as a
chaperone--were so inspired by the work of writing and its manifold
interests, that both of them took to the pen later, and one is known
to-day as _Paul Waineman_, and the other as _Baroness Léonie Aminoff_.

When we went to _Kuopio_ we hoped to meet _Minna Canth_, one
of the first Finnish writers in the country, whose powers as a dramatist
we had learnt at _Sordavala_. We inquired where she lived, and found
that she had a drapery store.

Every one in Finland works in some way, and, all work being considered
honourable, the shopkeeper is equal to the noble.

_Minna Canth's_ husband died some years ago, and being left with a
family, she started this store, and certainly, when one realised that
she was a woman with children to look after, that she wrote much--which
we know takes time--it is perfectly wonderful how she could find energy
and leisure to look after her shop. Yet it was so, and the business was
in a most flourishing condition.

Finnish lady artists for the first time received international prizes
and medals at the great World's Exhibition in Paris in the year 1889.

Of the achievements of Finland's women artists during the last twenty
years I must not write in detail, for Finland has forged ahead in art as
in other matters. At the time of my first visit, few Finnish women had
devoted themselves to sculpture, and only one--_Miss Sigrid af
Forselles_--had accomplished really good work. But to-day she no longer
stands alone.

Already we see the first generation that benefited by the recognition of
the power of women enjoying the prime of early manhood and womanhood;
and it is certain that in the enormous upheaval in the old order of
things that is going on all over the world, _Suomi_ will hold her own in
the forefront of education, for the learning of the mother must prove a
valuable asset in moulding the characters of the citizens of the
future.




CHAPTER XI

A HAUNTED CASTLE


The bells rang! It was four A.M. when the ship _Concordia_, which had
been our home for thirty-six hours, arrived at _Nyslott_, one of the
small towns which are sparsely scattered over Finland.

_Nyslott_ is famous for two things: its very modern "bath cure"
accompanied by a "kasino"--of which French watering-places need have no
jealousy--and, by way of extreme from such modernity, its other
attraction is an old ruined castle, built originally in 1475. The castle
is the most perfect left in Finland, and its position is certainly the
most picturesque, for it stands quite alone on an island of rock, round
which the current forms endless whirlpools. It is built with sharp
buttresses, and once had five towers, of which, alas, only three remain,
but those three are very perfect.

What stories that castle could tell of wars and sieges, of Russian and
Swedish possessors, of Catholic and Lutheran sway, and of cruelty too
horrible to dwell upon, although one cannot help realising its
possibilities after entering the little dark cell in which two men were
built up to live together in darkness and in hunger till death ended
their sufferings.

The Roman Catholic Chapel still remains; windowless, save for a small
hole over the stone altar, which certainly suggests artificial light
having been thrown from behind on some sacred relic or picture--a
theatrical effect not unknown to that faith. Its uneven stone floor, and
its niches for the sacramental cup, all remain in weird darkness to
remind one of ages long gone by. In turn the Castle has been Catholic,
Lutheran, and Greek--so three persuasions have had their sway, and each
has left its mark.

Our thoughtful friend, Grandpapa, whom we had left a fortnight before at
_Rättijärvi_, was waiting for us at _Nyslott_, or rather, a moment after
the ship stopped at the quayside in the early dawn of morning, he
arrived, accompanied by a man in a boat, one of those regular Finnish
boats pointed at each end known as a _kuiru_.

"Where are we to live?" we called, over the side.

"In the Castle, as you wished," was the reply; and overjoyed at the
prospect of anything so romantic, we quickly transferred ourselves and
our baggage into the boat below.

"I'm very anxious about this arrangement," said our youthful old friend.
"When I arrived a fortnight ago, and found there was not a room to be
had in the town, I was in despair; after wandering from house to house,
again I beseeched the little hotel to take me in; but even their sofas
were occupied. However, determining not to leave _Nyslott_ till I had
seen the famous castle, I got a boat and rowed across. _Veni, vidi,
vici_--for I persuaded the watchman to put me up for the night, and
there I am still. When, yesterday, I could find no habitation for you, I
reluctantly telegraphed that the town was full and I was only put up by
the _Vahtimestari_ of the Castle. Imagine my horror when I got your
reply--'_Arrive_ 4 A.M., _arrange stay Castle_.'"

"Were you so very much horrified?" we laughed. "We thought it would be
such fun, and so delightfully romantic."

"It was no fun to me. I felt utterly taken aback, and went off to
consult an artist friend, who was painting the queer old place.

"'Nonsense, my dear fellow,' he said, 'you can't lodge ladies in this
barrack. It's all very well for two watchmen, or for you, if you like,
to rough it--but for women--nonsense, it is impossible.'

"'But,' I remarked, 'they are very enterprising, and one of them, who is
writing a book, loves queer corners, odd experiences, and native life.'

"'I daresay,' replied he, 'but this Castle, I repeat, is impossible,
especially for Englishwomen, who are all accustomed to much luxury.'

"Back into the town I went again to try for rooms, but without success.
What was to be done? You were on the way, time was growing short, and I
had arranged nothing. So once more to my watchman I returned and told
him my awful dilemma, and the depths of my despair. He so thoroughly
entered into the spirit of the thing, that he promised to do the best he
could, and in an hour's time he had arranged for extra towels and a few
necessaries to be sent over from the town."

"Delightful!" we exclaimed; "what a dear man! It is like a romance in a
story book."

"But my story is not finished," Grandpapa replied, with a rueful face;
"we had set to work to sweep, and brush, and clean with a will, in order
to make the room more worthy of its occupants, when the _Vahtimestari_
suddenly said--

"'I'm afraid, after all, you will have to go and get permission from the
Mayor, or I may get into trouble for allowing ladies to sleep in this
ruined Castle.'"

Here was an adventure. Our hearts quailed a little as we waited
breathlessly for the finish of the story.

"I got into the boat," went on our friend, "pulled on shore, and set off
to the Mayor, in order to obtain permission for you to sleep there. At
first he sternly refused.

"'Ridiculous!' he said, 'bats and owls, goblins and ghosts! that is not
a fit home for ladies--ridiculous, and quite impossible.'

"I explained and argued, told him how enterprising you were, and how
well versed in travel, and at last he gave in, saying, 'Well, the old
Castle has withstood many sieges, and it is hard it must give in without
powder or shot to two Englishwomen.'

"Thus his reluctant permission was granted, and away I came triumphant.
You are to have the watchmen's room, they the kitchen, and I am to
sleep in the Lutheran Church, which chances to have a roof."

We were delighted, and at once started for our haunted Castle. We rowed
away to our island home, and, when we appreciated the difficulty of
steering through the fast-running whirlpool, to the only gate with its
fine portcullis, we realised we were indeed on adventure bent.

It was barely dawn, and as we swept over the seething waters, and stood
under the ancient archway, we felt like Mary Queen of Scots before the
gates of Fotheringay.

We were indeed triumphantly triumphant. Far from the whistle of a train,
right in the interior of Finland, standing beneath the portals of a
famous castle virtually ruined and uninhabited--we felt at home.

The streaks of early morning sunlight lent enchantment to the romantic
surroundings, as we wandered along queer passages, where the walls
varied from five to fifteen feet thick, peeped into cellars and
dungeons, and bending our heads under Norman arches, at last entered the
first courtyard. We saw mysterious winding staircases, generally spiral,
leading up and down into deep dark mystery. Certainly so far the ruins
did not look as though they would protect any one from wind and rain,
and we passed on, through walls that seemed impregnable, to ruined
chambers, utterly roofless, in and out of which pigeons were flying
happily at their sweet will.

The second courtyard was gravelled; but round its sides tangled beds of
syringa in full flower, red and black currants nearly ripe, pretty wild
roses and lilac almost looked homely, while white and yellow marguerites
shadowed dear little wild strawberries, and a general air of naturalness
prevailed. We had reached the very centre of our enchanted castle! How
often had this courtyard been the scene of revelry, of tournaments and
joustings, at which lovely woman had smiled and distributed her favours
from the surrounding battlements.

"There is your room," exclaimed Grandpapa at last, pointing to a modern
little bit of building erected for the custodian's use, in which, sure
enough, was a real glass window.

Up the modern steps we mounted, to find a nice big room, poorly
furnished, 'tis true, with one bed and a garden seat, two wooden chairs
and a long wooden school bench, a table on which stood a brown
earthenware bowl, and a large glass water carafe, that glass bottle
which had haunted us since we set foot in Finland. The bench was to do
duty for washstand and the impedimenta thereto. The wooden floor was
delightfully scrubbed, and what mattered the simplicity when all was so
delightfully clean!

Lo and behold, a bouquet of flowers stood in a tumbler on the table, the
votive offering of the Finnish custodian himself; a charming welcome to
his English visitors.

Out of this large bare chamber led a dear little kitchen, and farther
along a passage and up some stairs we came to the old church--capable
of seating a couple of hundred persons, although it did not really
possess a single seat--which was to serve as Grandpapa's bedroom.
Churches invariably do service for sleepers even to-day in Iceland,
where hotels are practically non-existent, except in two or three
instances, and even habitations are few and far between.[C]

So this was to be for a brief space our home; a real, wild, weird,
romantic home, seated on its rocky island away from the world, away from
every sign of life save pigeons or bats; full of grim spirits--if
tradition were to be believed--and nightly walked by strange women and
blood-stained men--for stories there are in plenty concerning the great
Castle of _Olavin Linna_ as the Finns call it, at _Savonlinna_, the
Finnish name for _Nyslott_.

We wandered everywhere: we peered into all the mysteries. Verily a ruin.
Mounting to an upper floor by the solid stone steps outside, we found
ourselves in another chamber, the roof of which was supported by
rafters, through the thick walls of which a long dark passage led us
round two sides of the courtyard, passing a small tower by the way from
which we could see yet another court, whose wide grass-grown ramparts
overhung the rapidly-flowing current of the lake.

Here was the hall of the knights, a long and dark chamber--so dark, in
fact, that we wondered how any one had ever been able to see clearly in
it. On all sides were rooms and pitch-black dungeons, for at the time
the Castle was built (1475) the powers-that-were thought nothing of
shutting people up in dark little holes, where they left them to die,
and the _Olavin Linna_ seems to have been particularly rich in such
choice chambers. From where we stood, a few steps up a winding staircase
led us to a big tower containing a large round room, called the ladies'
drawing-room. The dames of that period certainly had a glorious view all
round for miles and miles, although they were far removed from the life
going on below. From this point of vantage we saw how the Castle
literally covered the whole of the rock, and occupied a most commanding
position where three lakes met. As we wandered down again, we chanced
into a queer sort of chamber, wherein half a dozen weird straggling
trees struggled to exist. It was almost dark; the storms of winter could
rustle through those blank windows, and the trees were white, and gray,
and sickly--more like phantoms than real trees--so queer and withered
and pale and anæmic were their leaves, and yet they stood eight or ten
feet high, showing they had boldly struggled for life.

After having thus gained a general idea, snatched a sort of bird's-eye
view of this strange Castle, we returned to our room and investigated
its capabilities.

There was _one_ small bed, already honourably mentioned, and a garden
seat--one of those well-known benches made of thin wooden laths, with a
rounded uncomfortable seat and back.

"Could we manage with such meagre accommodation?" Grandpapa asked
timorously, "or must another bed be hired; that is to say, if another
bed can be hired, or bought, in a town already overcrowded."

We looked at our friend's troubled face, and, feeling we had already
caused him a sad amount of inconvenience, valiantly replied, "We will
manage." And manage we did.

To the "elderly scribe" was allotted the bed, a very finely carved
wooden erection; but let me at once own that, although I had slept on
hay in a tent in other lands, passed a night on a dining-room table,
several on the floor, and in deck-chairs, I never slept in anything
quite so "knobby" as that extraordinary bed. A lump here, and a lump
there, always seemed to select the most inconvenient part of one's frame
to stick in, and sometimes getting on a nerve quite numbed the spot.
After the first night I asked the _Vahtimestari_ to turn and knead the
mattress, which he cheerfully promised to do, and no doubt did. But all
his turning and pounding was perfectly useless, so after a second
restless night, which left me beautifully black and blue from head to
foot, I determined to investigate the mysteries of that bed for myself.

When I removed the under-sheet a bewildering problem was solved. On the
top of the mattress lay an enormous coat, lined throughout with black
sheepskin. Its double-rolled collar had made a huge ridge down the
middle of my back, across which a thick waist-belt had not
unsuccessfully tried to form a bridge--the sleeves could only be
accounted mountains, while innumerable buttons had left their impress on
every inch of my body! I felt very sorry for my flesh that morning!

Four nights passed on a hard garden seat does not sound entrancing;
nevertheless, on such a non-captivating couch, my sister, helped by rugs
and a pillow, slept the sleep of the just, and of youth.

Her "plank bed" may have been--nay, certainly must have been--hard, and
the Castle certainly was primitive, but everything, bedding included,
was spotlessly clean, and, after all, cleanliness and a quiet conscience
compensate for much--anyhow she slept; that is a fact for which I can
vouch.

During the first night of our stay at _Nyslott_ one of us lay and
dreamed a semi-waking dream, in which the old rock--Nature's
fortress--appeared in the lake bleak, bare, grim, and lonely until 1475,
when the first stones of _Olavin Linna_ were laid. After that the scene
suddenly shifted, and the bloody battles of 1743, when _Nyslott_ was
taken by the Russians, were again fought for the benefit of a new
spectator, only, as it seemed, for the Castle to be given back four
years later to Finland! A very curious reminiscence to occur to any
person's mind between "sleeping and waking." Later on, that over-tired
traveller mused dreamily on the three periods of history, pictured
scenes during the two hundred and sixty-eight years of Swedish
sovereignty, the half century under Russian sway, and the more modern
happenings under Finnish rule, its troubles practically ended in 1871,
from which date they have been but a souvenir in the history of Europe.

_Olavin Linna_ was the spot around which three different races met and
struggled; the Russians, the Finns, and the Swedes. The Russians with
their superior numbers, their riches, and their sharpness, pushed the
Finns towards the North and took their country, the now northern half of
Russia in Europe. The Swedes came and conquered the Slavs; founded a
dynasty and called their State Russia (_i.e._ Sweden, _Ruotsi_ being the
Finnish name for Sweden to this day). The Swedes also conquered the
remaining part of ancient Finland, and introduced Christianity, and the
strong and freedom-loving Scandinavian law.

The struggle now remained between the Scandinavians and the
Slavs--between a democratic and courageous race and an oligarchic and
diplomatic one. Then our Castle--our own--for had we not conquered
it?--was built on the frontier to resist the inroads of the Slavs. But
again the Russians were triumphant. Sweden succumbed, while Russia took
the remainder of ancient Finland. Since then Russia has become a great
power.

Alexander I. granted to that part of Finland, imbued with Scandinavian
law, the privilege of considering itself a nation, and continuing its
former laws and government. Under this state of things the country grew
prosperous. It arose and shook itself from its dormant existence of the
previous six hundred years, collected its own traditions, and worked
hard for education, so that it might continue a distinct race.

Then was built the large modern red brick schoolhouse at _Savonlinna_--a
fortress of learning to take the place of the old Castle, and to teach
the people that "the pen is indeed mightier than the sword."

One of us twain dreamed again! Saw the Castle built by _Erik Tott_, a
member of one of the greatest Finnish-Swedish families, and read the
inscription--

     _Anno Domini 1475 leth iag Erik Axelsson Ridder i Lagnö, bygia
     thette Slåt, Gud till loff, Christum, helga Christna tro till
     styrkielse, och thå var hustra min Elin Götstaffsdotter i
     Lagmansöö._

Translation--

     Anno Domini 1475 let Erik, son of Axel Knight of Lagnö, build this
     Castle to the Glory of God, to strengthen the Holy Christian Faith
     in Christ: and then was my wife's name Elin, daughter of
     Götstaff[D] in Lagmansöö.

That weary traveller saw the indignation at its erection at _Nyslott_,
just within the Russian limits of the frontier, saw the five splendid
towers finished, of which three now remain, and the _Bastion Dick_
properly rebuilt.

And then all grew suddenly dark, and, in a deeper sleep, that dreamer
groped along the gloomy subterranean passage, said to run from the clock
tower to the town, seemed to hear the rushing water, a hundred and
twenty feet deep at this point, tearing like a cataract overhead, peered
into those many strange dark chambers, and hearkened, appalled, to the
piercing shrieks of those two wretched men bricked up together in
yonder small chamber, in darkness till death brought relief.

What a life, and what a death! Four stone walls round a room about six
feet by ten--with an earthen floor and a low ceiling--no window for
light, no stove for warmth in that bitterly cold land.

Half waking from troubled slumber the weary traveller shivered to think
of the horror that had been enacted so close to her elaborately carved
bedstead and its lumpy mattress.

How hot it still was! The day had been almost tropical, but it is a
merciful provision of Providence that all days, even one beginning at
four A.M., must end at last, and as I, the nineteenth century traveller,
the "elderly scribe," aroused myself sufficiently to shake off those
terrible visions of a cruel past, I realised it was getting on for
midnight. I heard our friend going to rest in his chapel-chamber, and,
turning over, tried to go to sleep. How quiet everything was! Except for
the gnawing of the rats or mice under the floor--no unusual sound in an
old castle, of course--and so unconsciousness came--I slept--yes, I
slept--till----

Ah! what was that! Was it? yes, it was--some one calling; and yet it
could not be.

The custodians had both retired to their kitchen to rest I knew--for had
I not heard them trudging upstairs to seek their improvised couches long
before?--and yet, most certainly, a loud strange call had broken the
silence of night. Was it, really uttered by a human being, or could it
be--no, no, of course not. A spirit? Ridiculous! The very idea was
preposterous, and, lying down again, I argued how absurd were such
fears, how I had been simply dreaming; over-fatigued after a long day's
travel--how, in fact, my mind was disorganised, and the best thing to do
was to fall asleep at once. At that moment a tremendous peal of thunder
broke overhead, while, simultaneously, the whole room was flooded with
light. It played over the walls, it danced over the floor, and then a
clap more tremendous than the first seemed to shake the very building.
Yet through the roll of heaven's artillery I heard that hideous weird
cry distinctly audible.

Starting up again in response, I began to think sleeping in a haunted
castle was not such fun after all; that there _must be_ something very
uncanny about _Nyslott_, more especially when a strange door creaked on
its hinges, that sort of rasping squeak one associates with the opening
of a door generally kept firmly closed--and muffled feet pattered over
the stairs.

Nearer came the sound, nearer, yet nearer. My heart jumped into my
mouth, it ceased almost to beat as the strange footsteps stopped on the
very threshold of our room. "Oh!" I gasped, thinking that in another
moment spirit fingers would turn the handle, and a ghostly figure enter
the room. What form would it take? Would the phantom be man or
woman--tall or short--an assassin, murderer, or victim? Yes, the steps
had ceased at our very door, and the next moment they would be upon us.

But after that brief pause the muffled patter passed on, it became more
and more indistinct, and again all was still.

What a relief! it was perhaps nothing after all--imagination,
hallucination probably, but nothing real--nothing any way to fear.

Stay though! The voice, a voice, another voice unheard before, spoke in
murmured accents, and then a deeper bass than that which had previously
called shouted again and again in muffled reply.

This was too horrible!

It must be a ghost; nay, not even a single ghost but two, and what
chance had one poor living woman and a sleeping girl against such odds
from the spirit land?

The whole thing, even at _Nyslott_, seemed too terribly impossible; so I
pinched myself to make sure I was awake, only to hear the awful
footsteps--duplicated--_coming back_! By this time my sister was awake,
and lazily asking "What is the matter?"

"H-st-st," I answered under my breath.

Thud, thud--the mysterious footsteps drew nearer and nearer--

They were almost again at our door, when absolutely petrified by fear,
and clammy by reason of the awful _Nyslott_ stories we had been told, we
twain sat up straight feeling creepy and cold all over.

The footsteps came on apace, and we held our breath, thinking our time
had come; but was it? could it be? Yes, yes, thank heaven it was! We
recognised the voice of _our own custodian talking softly to his
comrade_.

It was no ghost after all! only the under _Vahtimestari_ who, having
spent the evening on shore, shouted as usual to be admitted. It was his
strange voice echoing through those empty corridors and vaulted
chambers that had waked us from our first sleep. His cries not being
heard by reason of thunder roaring and rolling, he had called and called
again with increasing energy till admitted.

What an unromantic ending to a most weird story, with every surrounding
at hand, every element ready except the actual ghost himself! A happy
ending. Stay, now it is over, I almost wish the ending had been less
happy and more romantic.

Woman is seldom satisfied, and man never! One woman, however, I am not
ashamed to say, was never in all her previous life so frightened as
during that midnight hour at _Nyslott_.

Happy days followed after this terrifying episode. We explored dark
chambers with a candle and matches, we cooked coffee on the stove for
breakfast, and boiled eggs in an enormous tea-kettle, aided in our
pleasant toil by two smiling much-interested watchmen, and afterwards
ate our meal among tangled shrubs in a courtyard shaded from the sun's
heat by a linden tree.

We idled generally; wrote letters, scribbled up our diaries, chatted or
made sketches in the _Bastion Dick_ with its eight windows, each of
which are at the narrow end of a wall measuring fifteen feet thick, thus
forming the deep recesses of a large octagonal chamber with long benches
stretching down the side of each of the fifteen feet walls. A wondrous
and remarkable hall, always cool even on a hot day with its windowless
look-outs over that beautiful lake.

Up the centre of this huge hall was a column of solid masonry coming
from the chamber below, and rising some thirty feet to support the
arched roof.

We enjoyed it all; but, be it owned, the life was very primitive, and to
many people would have seemed ghastly.

For dinner (which is always between two and four in Finland), we were
obliged to cross to the _Kasino_ or _Societetzhuset_ (Hotel), our
commissariat and _chef de cuisine_ not rising to the requirements of
such a meal.

We learnt how ugly ordinary small Finnish towns are, with their
one-storey wooden houses, ill-paved roads, totally devoid of side
paths--how very like cheap wooden Noah's arks, such as children have;
all straight and plain with glaring windows painted round with white
paint, no gardens of any kind, while every casement is blocked with a
big indiarubber plant. Generally they possess a huge stone or brick
school-house, large enough to contain all the thousand inhabitants in
the district, instead of the town's two hundred children, but then it is
built ready for contingencies.

All this hideous inartistic modernity contrasted sadly with the massive
beauty and vast strength of our castellated home.

_Nyslott_, as already said, is famous for its baths, which are a great
institution, and charmingly arranged--douche baths, steam, mud,
swimming, etc., and about forty or fifty little private rooms, some
containing sofas--and at least a dozen women to attend to the comfort
of visitors. They are regular Finnish bathing-women, wearing the
ordinary uniform of their calling, viz. a thick blue serge skirt, red
flannel outside stays, opening at the lacing in front and showing the
white cotton chemise that is _de rigueur_, cut low at the neck and with
quite short sleeves, a very pretty simple dress that allows great
freedom to the arms when massaging, one of the important items of every
Finnish bath.

We always returned to our castellated home for our evening meal, and,
armed with a basket containing sardines, bread, butter, cold tongue, or
ham, delicious cakes or fruit for dessert, we thoroughly enjoyed
ourselves.

Our table in the courtyard was gray with age, and notched with the
initials of young Philistines of former generations. We had no cloth,
why should we; our forefathers ate without cloths and were happy
nevertheless. We had a large brown earthenware pot, such as is used as a
bread pan in England, at the head of the table filled with milk, which
we served by dipping a cup into its depths. A mat of birch bark was our
bread trencher, a cabbage leaf our butter dish, for although we had
plates and knives and forks, cups and tumblers, there were not enough to
accommodate the many articles displayed upon our liberal board.

The pigeons generally joined us at our meal, and seemed to know when we
sallied forth in solemn procession, each with a black tin tray, what
coming event was casting its shadow before, for they began to arrive
whenever they heard the first rattle of cups and saucers. Our feathered
friends guessed intuitively that scraps would immediately follow the
pleasant music, more delectable than any the Castle had hitherto
furnished. If our bedroom was quaint, our youthful Grandpapa's was
quainter.

Never was there a more strange sleeping-chamber than the old church
where Grandpapa reposed on a mattress on the floor. It was a long narrow
room with windows on both sides, the only place which boasted real
windows except our own room, and the wee kitchen in that rambling old
_Olavin Linna_.

Although this church had been Catholic, Lutheran, and Greek, and then
Lutheran again, all that remained of decoration were the remnants of an
altar, at the far end, above which hung a large picture of the
Crucifixion, and below a representation of the Lord's Supper; both badly
painted, if one might judge from the scant colour remaining on the
canvas. On one side stood a pulpit with a top like an extinguisher, much
the worse for wear; formerly it had been painted all over with bright
colours, the panels of the saints being surrounded by garish festoons
and queer designs. In the opposite corner of the room was a very
remarkable representation of Our Lord, with the five foolish virgins on
one side, and the five wise ones on the other. It was a truly wonderful
picture, for all the arms were out of drawing and all the heads too big
for the bodies, and every one of the faces hideous. But even more
wonderful than all the rest was the dado painted on a wooden panelling
which ran round the church. The background was pale green, and the
persons represented were prophets, apostles, and saints in the most
rude form of art. Finnish art about a hundred and fifty years ago
closely resembled the very earliest examples known of the Italian, only
it was yet a hundredfold more primitive. But then, we presume, the
village artist had never really seen a good picture in his life, and had
nothing to go by.

On the panels were the following:--

_P. Isak_ (P. standing for Pylia = saint), dressed in a blue kilt, with
black top boots, a red cape, and a black billycock hat!

_P. Jacob_, who was next to him, wore brown knickerbockers and long
stockings, a red and blue plaid, and a red felt hat.

_P. Samuel_ had a hat like a Jewish Rabbi and a long black cloak.

_Judas Iskariot_ a most wonderful red head and beard, and carried in his
hand a Finnish peasant's tobacco pouch.

But the most wonderful was _Noak_ or Noah in blue and white tartan
knickerbockers with a short kilt above them, carrying a red cloak and
black slouch hat _over his arm_.

At the end of the room, opposite the altar, was a sort of wide wooden
stair, on which prisoners used to sit during service at the commencement
of the nineteenth century.

We bathed in that hot weather from the rock on which _Nyslott_ is built,
and enjoyed the cool water amazingly. To find a safe spot, however, from
which to make our plunge proved a difficulty, and one we had to solve
for ourselves.

Leaving the main and only entrance of the Castle, and descending some
wide steps leading to the water edge, bathing dresses and towels in
hand, we found a little ledge of stone-work barely twelve inches broad,
just above the level of the lake. Literally only a foothold. Any nervous
person inclined to turn giddy would hardly have dared to venture along
such a path at all. But it led to the only spot where we could stand on
solid earth outside the Castle walls, so completely did the edifice
cover the rock on which it was built. A gust of wind at the turn of the
tower almost blew us over, it was so sudden and unexpected.

After climbing on in this way for a short while we came to a little cove
between two towers, with enough land for three or four trees to find
soil to grow on, and beneath them a perfect bed of wild strawberries. It
was a very small and very primitive bath chamber, but trees afforded
shade from the sun's powerful rays, and two massive walls shut us in
from curious eyes.

Near the Castle gate the water was smooth, but the current round other
parts of the battlements was great, and almost baffled the wonderful
swimming powers of Grandpapa and his friend, the delightful student who
joined us at _Nyslott_, fresh from his newly-won honours at the
University. They swam round it--but they had a struggle to accomplish
their feat.

Our student was a great acquisition to the party, though many scenes we
lived together were not altogether devoid of embarrassment. We spoke
English, French, and German, but he knew no language that we knew. For
his University work he had learned book-German, and could read it well,
but he had never heard it spoken, and his tongue had never framed the
words. Still, with this solid foundation, we soon taught him, and at the
end of the three weeks that he spent with us, we flatter ourselves his
German was _excellent_! Many a laugh we had over his deliciously amusing
struggles, and, in spite of being a Finlander, he laughed too.

We also had many quaint linguistic adventures with our "hotel keeper."

That custodian was a poet--a real live poet. He used to disappear for
hours; and we wondered where he was, until one fine day, as we rowed
home to our enchanted Castle, we saw a man on the top of the watch tower
waving his arms and gesticulating with dramatic gestures into space.
This was our _Vahtimestari_. From his exalted position, with one of the
most beautiful panoramas eye could wish lying at his feet--resting on a
famous battlement, that had withstood the ravages of love and war--he
evolved his magic verse. Truly no scene could be more inspiring, no
motive more sublime, for even we humble humdrum matter-of-fact
Englishwomen felt almost inspired to tempt the poet's muse. But happily
no--our friends are spared--the passion was but fleeting.

One day our _Vahtimestari_ met us all smiles. We could not quite
understand what he meant, but Grandpapa and our student told us some
strange news as soon as the _Vahtimestari_ had imparted it to them.

It seemed that a party of people had rung the bell on the shore for the
Castle boat to go to fetch them, so, accordingly, our nocturnal host had
gone across to earn his penny per head for ferrying them over. A papa,
mamma, son, and daughters, with a couple of acquaintances, comprised the
party. They calmly owned they had not come to see the Castle--they had
seen it before. They had come to see the English ladies. Was it really
true that two Englishwomen were staying there as the papers stated? Had
they actually come from London? What were they like? What did they do?
And why on earth did they sleep among the ghosts and hobgoblins?

Then, in a hushed voice and with subdued breath they asked--

"Are they mad?"

"No," the man answered, "he didn't think they were, they seemed much
like other folk."

"Could they talk."

"Not Finnish; but they understand a little Swedish, and talk French and
German with their friends."

"Did they do anything very remarkable or strange?"

"No. They cook their breakfast, and afterwards eat it; write, work,
sketch, and bathe; in fact, they are ordinary people and seem quite
sane."

"Could they see the strange ladies?"

"He was afraid not, as they were on shore."

"Might they see where they slept?"

"Certainly," replied the _Vahtimestari_.

And on reaching the room they exclaimed--

"Why, this is an ordinary room with windows, how very disappointing,"
whereupon, much distressed and disillusioned, they turned and departed.

At this very time we were walking on the promenade in front of the
bath-houses, where a nice fat comfortable-looking old gentleman stood
before me, and cap in hand asked in English--

"Excuse me, do you like Finland?"

"Very much," I replied, smiling at the question; "but why do you ask?"

"I am a Finn--we all are Finns, and we are very proud of our country,
about which most of Europe knows nothing, or at least next to nothing,
and I am desirous to hear what you think of it all?"

"I am delighted with it. But again I must ask why you inquire?"

"Because we all know about _you_ from the newspapers (not one word of
which we could read ourselves), and we are very anxious you should like
us and our land, and tell the people in England we are not barbarians as
they suppose. Please excuse my speaking to you, but I am the spokesman
of many, who will be delighted to hear you are satisfied, and wish you a
pleasant journey. If a stranger may be so bold--I thank you for coming."

"Finland certainly deserves to be better known," I replied.

"You think so? oh, I am glad;" and after a few minutes more conversation
he said, "I hope you will enjoy _Punkaharju_."

"How do you know I am going to _Punkaharju_?"

"I heard so, and that you are actually living in our Castle, and that
you are going through the country to _Uleåborg_."

I almost collapsed; but he was so nice and so smiling I dared not be
angry at his somewhat inquisitive interest in my movements.

On another occasion it was an elderly general who calmly sat down and
addressed me in German, in order to inquire what I was going to write,
how I was going to write it, and when it would appear.

These are only three instances of several, all showing the keen interest
of the people that the land may be known and the Finlander a little
better understood than he is by half the world to-day, who seem to
imagine him to be a cross between a Laplander and an Esquimo--instead of
what he really is, a very cultured gentleman.

My sister eased the troubles of life for me by kindly doing the packing;
but once, so she says, virtue seized me in a rigid grip--and I packed.

It was at _Olavin Linna_--at our Castle. We were leaving next day, and
one Gladstone had to be filled with things we did not want for a short
time, and the other to be packed with everything we required
immediately.

I worked hard. Sorted everything; filled the Gladstone with clean linen,
guide books, foods, papers, etc., strapped it, and then,
feeling the incarnation of industry and pride, threw myself
on that precious deck-chair to rest and read.

Presently my sister danced into the room. I told her of my virtue,
received her congratulations and thanks, beamed with delight at my
success, and answered her question as to the whereabouts of her bathing
cap that "I had never seen it."

"Strange," she said, "I feel sure I left it on the window-sill to dry
last night as usual, and it has gone, and I want a swim."

We both looked. We went down into the courtyard and scrambled among the
lilac bushes immediately below the window. Finally, we decided it had
been left on the tree at the bathing ground the night before. So off she
went round that dangerous edge to find the cap. It was not there.

We called Grandpapa--Grandpapa called the _Vahtimestari_--the
_Vahtimestari_ called his under man; every one explained to every one
else what was missing. At last the custodian remarked--

"Oh, now I understand what you mean; that sponge bag which lies beside
the bathing dresses to dry; I didn't know what you meant by 'cap to
bathe.'"

"Yes, yes, that is it," replied Grandpapa; "where is it?"

"I don't know."

"But it must be found. This lady dives and swims under water, and her
long hair would get wet without it."

And so we looked, and looked, and all looked again.

"Let us go and buy another," remarked my sister in desperation.

"Impossible," replied our student, who had now joined in the search,
"you might get one in _Helsingfors_, but nowhere else."

We were in despair. Before evening the whole town had heard of the
English ladies' strange loss, and the bathing cap was as much commented
upon as though it had been a dynamite bomb.

Confession, they say, is good for the soul. Then let me own my sin. The
next day that bathing cap was found--_I had packed it up_!

Wherefore my sister on all inconvenient occasions says--

"Yes, she packed _once_; she put away everything we wanted, and left out
everything we had no use for."

How cruelly frank one's relations are!

       *       *       *       *       *

Alas! my haunted Castle is restored, and the revels of the ghosts and
the goblins are now disturbed by the shrieks and snorts of the modern
locomotive.

FOOTNOTES:

[C] A Girl's Ride in Iceland.

[D] Götstaff is old Finnish for Gustavus.




CHAPTER XII

PUNKAHARJU


Every one we met in Finland told us to make a point of seeing
_Punkaharju_, just as strangers in London might be advised to visit the
Tower, though in this case the great show was not a historical place,
the work of men's hands, but a freak of Nature in one of her most
charming moods.

_Punkaharju_ being only a short distance from _Nyslott_, we proceeded
thither in a small steamer supposed to start at noon.

By one of those lucky chances that sometimes occur in life, we happened
to arrive at the steamer half an hour before the time she was advertised
to sail, and were, to say the least of it, barely on board before a
whistle sounded, when away we went. We were amazed at this proceeding,
and, taking out our watches, discovered it still wanted _twenty_ minutes
to the time printed in the newspapers and on the advertisement at the
bath-house.

It was only another instance showing that punctuality is absolutely
considered of no value in Finland, for the steamer actually did start
twenty minutes before its appointed hour, and no one then or after made
the slightest complaint.

Imagine our Flying Scotchman speeding North even one minute before the
advertised hour!

Having been told that _Punkaharju_ was very full during the summer
holiday season, we had therefore asked our charming student friend, who
preceded us by a day, to kindly engage rooms to await our arrival. What
was our surprise when we arrived at the little pier, not only to meet
him beaming with smiles as he hurried to say he had secured rooms, but
to find a lady who had travelled with us some days before from _Wiborg_
and spoke English well, warmly welcoming us, the while she exclaimed--

"I found the Hotel was so full when I came that I told the landlord
rooms would be required to-night, for I did not wish you to be
disappointed."

She was a stranger, and her thoughtfulness was very kind. The plot
thickened, however, a moment afterwards, when the Russian General, who
had also travelled for a whole day on a steamer with us, arrived in his
scarlet-lined uniform, and, saluting profoundly, begged to inform Madame
he had taken the liberty of bespeaking rooms "as the Hotel was very
full."

This was somewhat alarming, and it actually turned out that three suites
of rooms had been engaged for us by three different people, each out of
the goodness of his heart trying to avoid the dreadful possibility of
our being sent away roofless. No wonder our host, thinking such a number
of Englishwomen were arriving, had procured the only carriage in the
neighbourhood and ordered it and a cart to come down to the pier and
await this vast influx of folk. Although the Hotel was not a hundred
yards actually from where we stood, everybody insisted on our getting
into the little carriage for the honour of the thing, and my sister and
I drove off in triumph by a somewhat circuitous route to the Hotel, only
to find all our friends and acquaintances there before us, as they had
come up the short way by the steps.

Even more strange was the fact that each one of our kind friends had
told a certain Judge and his wife of our probable arrival, and promised
to introduce the strange English women to them, while, funnily enough,
we ourselves bore an introduction from the lady's brother, so, before
any of our _compagnons de voyage_ had time to introduce us, we had
already made the acquaintance of the Judge and his wife through that
gentleman's card. They were all exceedingly kind to us, and we
thoroughly enjoyed our short stay among them. Such friendliness is very
marked in Finland.

_Punkaharju_ is certainly a strange freak of Nature. Imagine a series of
the most queerly-shaped islands all joined together by a natural
roadway, for, strange to say, there is a ridge of land sometimes
absolutely only the width of the road joining these islands in a
connective chain. For about five miles these four or five islands are
bound together in this very mysterious manner, so mysterious, in fact,
that it seems impossible, as one walks along the roadway, to believe it
is nature's freak and not man's hand that has made this extraordinary
thoroughfare. It is most beautiful in the wider parts, where, there
being more land, the traveller comes upon lovely dells, while the most
marvellous mosses and ferns lie under the pine trees, and the flowers
are beautiful.

No wonder _Runeberg_ the poet loved to linger here--a veritable
enchanted spot.

The morning after our arrival we had a delightful expedition in a boat
to the end of the islands; but as a sudden storm got up, in the way that
storms sometimes do in Finland, we experienced great difficulty in
landing, and were ultimately carried from the boat to the beach in
somewhat undignified fashion. However, we landed somehow, and most of us
escaped without even wet feet. Just above us was a woodman's house,
where our kind Judge had ordered coffee to be in readiness, and thither
we started, a little cold and somewhat wet from the waves that had
entered our bark and sprinkled us. On the way we paused to eat wild
strawberries and to look at the ancient Russian bakeries buried in the
earth. These primitive ovens of stone are of great size, for a whole
regiment had been stationed here at the time of the war early in the
last century when Russia conquered Finland. And then we all sat on the
balcony of the woodman's cottage and enjoyed our coffee, poured from a
dear little copper pot, together with the black bread and excellent
butter, which were served with it.

On that balcony some six or eight languages were spoken by our Finnish
friends, such wonderful linguists are they as a nation. At the end of
our meal the wind subsided and out came the most brilliant sunshine,
changing the whole scene from storm to calm, like a fairy transformation
at the pantomime.

We walked back to the Hotel, and the Finlanders proved to be right. As a
beautiful bit of quaint nature, _Punkaharju_ equals some of the finest
passes in Scotland, while its formation is really most remarkable.

A ridiculous incident happened that day at dinner. Grandpapa, like a
great many other persons in Finland, being a vegetarian, had gone to the
rubicund and comfortable landlord that morning and explained that he
wanted vegetables and fruit for his dinner. At four o'clock, the time
for our mid-day meal, we all seated ourselves at table with excellent
appetites, the Judge being on my left hand and his wife on my right.

We had all fetched our trifles from the _Smörgåsbord_, and there ensued
a pause before the arrival of the soup. Solemnly a servant, bearing a
large dish, came up to our table, and in front of our youthful Grandpapa
deposited her burden. His title naturally gave him precedence of us
all--an honour his years scarcely warranted. The dish was covered with a
white serviette, and when he lifted the cloth, lo! some two dozen eggs
were lying within its folds.

"How extraordinary," he said; "I told the landlord I was a vegetarian,
and should like some suitable food; surely he does not think I am going
to eat this tremendous supply of eggs."

We laughed.

"Where is our dinner?" we asked, a question which interested us much
more than his too liberal supply.

"Oh! it will come in a moment," he replied cheerfully.

"But did you order it?" we ventured to inquire.

"No, I cannot say I did. There is a _table d'hôte_."

Unmercifully we chaffed him. Fancy his daring to order his own dinner,
and never inquiring whether we were to have anything to eat or not; he,
who had catered for our wants in the mysteries of that castle home, so
basely to desert us now.

He really looked quite distressed.

"I'm extremely sorry," he said, "but I thought, being in a hotel, you
were sure to have everything you wanted. Of course there is a _table
d'hôte_ meal."

At this juncture the servant returned, bearing another large dish. _Our_
dinner, of course, we hoped. Not a bit of it. A large white china basin,
full of slices of cucumber, cut, about a quarter of an inch thick, as
cucumber is generally served in Finnish houses, again solemnly paused in
front of Grandpapa. He looked a little uneasy as he inquired for _our
dinner_.

"This is for the gentleman," she solemnly remarked; and so dish number
two, containing at least three entire cucumbers for the vegetarian's
dinner, was left before him. Another pause, and still our soup did not
come; but the girl returned, this time bearing a glass dish on a long
spiral stand filled with red stewed fruit, which, with all solemnity,
she deposited in front of Grandpapa.

His countenance fell. Twenty-four eggs, three cucumbers, and about three
quarts of stewed fruit, besides an enormous jug of milk and an entire
loaf of bread, surrounded his plate, while we hungry mortals were
waiting for even crumbs.

Fact was, the good housewife, unaccustomed to vegetarians, could not
rightly gauge their appetites, and as the gentleman had ordered his own
dinner she thought, and rightly, he was somebody very great, and
accordingly gave him the best of what she had, and that in large
quantities.

After dinner, which, let us own, was excellent, we had to leave our kind
friends and drive back in the soft light of the night to _Nyslott_, for
which purpose we had ordered two _kärra_ (Swedish for cart), _karryts_
(Finnish name), a proceeding which filled the Judge and his wife with
horror.

"It is impossible," they said, "that you can drive such a distance in
one of our ordinary Finnish _kärra_. You do not know what you are
undertaking. You will be shaken to death. Do wait and return to-morrow
by the steamer."

We laughed at their fears, for had we not made up our minds to travel a
couple of hundred miles through Finland at a not much later date by
means of these very _kärra_? Certainly, however, when we reached the
door our hearts failed us a little.

The most primitive of market carts in England could not approach the
discomfort of this strange Finnish conveyance. There were two wheels,
undoubtedly, placed across which a sort of rough-and-ready box formed
the cart; on this a seat without a back was "reserved" for us. The body
of the _kärra_ was strewn with hay, and behind us and below us, and
before us our luggage was stacked, a small boy of twelve sitting on our
feet with his legs dangling out at the side while he drove the little
vehicle.

Grandpapa and I got into one, our student friend and my sister into the
other, and away we went amid the kindly farewells of all the occupants
of the hostelry, who seemed to think we were little short of mad to
undertake a long tiring journey in native carts, and to elect to sleep
at our haunted castle on an island, instead of in a proper hotel.

We survived our drive--nay more, we enjoyed it thoroughly, although so
shaken we feared to lose every tooth in our heads. It was a lovely
evening, and we munched wild strawberries by the way, which we bought
for twopence in a birch-bark basket from a shoeless little urchin on the
road. We had no spoon of course; but we had been long enough in Finland
to know the correct way to eat wild strawberries was with a pin. The pin
reminds us of pricks, and pricks somehow remind of soap, and soap
reminds us of a little incident which may here be mentioned.

An old traveller never leaves home without a supply of soap; so,
naturally, being _very_ old travellers, we started with many cakes among
our treasured possessions. But in the interior of _Suomi_, quite
suddenly, one of our travelling companions confided to us the fact that
he had finished his soap, and could not get another piece. My sister's
heart melted, and she gave away our last bit but one, our soap having
likewise taken unto itself wings. He was overjoyed, for English soap is
a much-appreciated luxury in all foreign lands. Some days went by and
the solitary piece we had preserved grew beautifully less and less; but
we hoped to get some more at each little village we came to. We did not
like to confide our want to our friend, lest he should feel that he had
deprived us of a luxury--we might say a necessity.

Every morning my sister grumbled that our soap was getting smaller and
smaller, which indeed it was, while the chance of replacing it grew more
and more remote. Her grief was so real, her distress so great, that I
could not help laughing at her discomfiture, and, whenever possible,
informed her that I was about to wash my hands for the sake of enjoying
the last lather of our rapidly dwindling treasure. At last she became
desperate.

"I don't care what it costs," she said; "I don't care how long it takes,
but I am going out to get a piece of soap, if I die for it."

So out she went, and verily she was gone for hours. I began to think she
had either "died for it," or got into difficulties with the language, or
been locked up in a Finnish prison!

I was sitting writing my notes, when suddenly the door was thrown open,
and my sister, her face aflame with heat and excitement, appeared with a
large bright orange parcel under her arm.

"I've got it, I've got it," she exclaimed.

"Got what--the measles or scarlet fever?"

"Soap," she replied with a tragic air, waving the bright orange bag over
her head.

"You don't mean to say that enormous parcel contains soap?"

"I do," she replied. "I never intend to be without soap again, and so I
bought all I could get. At least," with a merry twinkle and in an
undertone, she added, "I brought away as little as I could, after
explaining to the man for half an hour I did not want the enormous
quantity he wished to press upon me."

Dear readers, it was not beautiful pink scented soap, it was not made in
Paris or London; heaven only knows the place of its birth; it gave forth
no delicious perfume; it was neither green, nor yellow, nor pink, to
look upon. It was a hideous brown brick made in Lapland, I should think,
and so hard it had probably been frozen at the North Pole itself.

But that was not all; when we began to wash, this wondrous soap which
had cost so much trouble to procure--such hours in its pursuit--was
evidently some preparation for scrubbing floors and rough household
utensils, for there was a sandy grit about it which made us clean,
certainly, but only at the expense of parting with our skin.

My poor sister! Her comedy ended in tragedy.




CHAPTER XIII

THE LIFE OF A TREE


What different things are prized in different lands!

When walking round a beautiful park on an island in _Suomi_, the whole
of which and a lovely mansion belonged to our host, he pointed with
great pride to three oak trees, and said--

"Look at our oaks, are they not wonderful?"

We almost smiled. They were oaks, certainly, perhaps as big in
circumference as a soup plate, which to an English mind was nothing; but
the oak, called in Finnish _Jumalan Puu_, or God's tree, is a great
rarity in _Suomi_, and much prized, whereas the splendid silver birches
and glorious pines, which call forth such praise and admiration from
strangers, count for nothing, in spite of the magnificent luxuriance of
their growth.

The pine is one of the most majestic of all trees. It is so superbly
stately--so unbending to the breeze. It raises its royal head
aloft--soaring heavenwards, heedless of all around; while the silvery
floating clouds gently kiss its lofty boughs, as they fleet rapidly
hither and thither in their endless chase round this world. Deep and
dark are the leaves, strong and unresisting; but even they have their
tender points, and the young shoots are deliciously green and sweet
scented. Look at its solid stem--so straight that every maiden passing
by sighs as she attempts to imitate its superb carriage, and those very
stems are coloured by a wondrous pinky hue oft-times; so pink, in fact,
we pause to wonder if it be painted by Nature's brush, or is merely a
whim of sunset playing upon the sturdy bark.

Look beneath the pine; its dark and solid grandeur protects and fosters
the tenderest of green carpets. See the moss of palest green, its long
fronds appearing like ferns, or note those real ferns and coarser
bracken fighting the brambles for supremacy or trying to flout that
little wild rose daring to assert its individuality.

Pines and silver birches flourish on all sides.

Everything or anything can apparently be made of birch bark in
Finland--shoes, baskets, huge or small, salt bottles, flower vases--even
an entire suit of clothing is hanging up in _Helsingfors_ Museum,
manufactured from the bark of the silver birch.

The bark thus used, however, is often cut from the growing tree, but
this requires to be carefully done so as not to destroy the sap. As one
drives through the forests, one notices that many of the trees have
dark-brown rings a foot or more wide round their trunks, showing where
the bark has been stripped away. The ribband for plaiting is made, as a
rule, about an inch wide, although narrower necessarily for fine work,
and then it is plaited in and out, each article being made double, so
that the shiny silvery surface may show on either side. Even baby
children manipulate the birch bark, and one may pass a cluster of such
small fry by the roadside, shoeless and stockingless, all busily
plaiting baskets with their nimble little fingers. We often marvelled at
their dexterity.

What were those packets of brown paper securely fixed to the top of long
poles all over that field, we wondered?

"Why, sheets of birch bark," answered our friend, "put out to dry in the
sun for the peasants to plait baskets and boxes, shoes and satchels,
such as you have just seen; they peeled those trees before cutting them
down."

On another of our drives we noticed bunches of dried leaves tied at the
top of some of the wooden poles which support the strangely tumbledown
looking wooden fences which are found everywhere in Finland, and serve
not only as boundaries to fields but also to keep up the snow.

"What are those dead leaves?" we asked the lad who drove our _kärra_.

"They are there to dry in the sun, for the sheep to eat in the winter,"
was his reply, with which we ought to have rested satisfied; but
thinking that was not quite correct, as they were in patches round some
fields and not in others, we asked the boy of the second springless
vehicle the same question.

"Those," he said, "are put up to dry in the sun round the rye fields,
and in the autumn, when the first frost comes and might destroy the
whole crop in a single night, they are lighted, and the warmth and the
wind from them protect the crops till they can be hastily gathered the
next day."

This sounded much more probable, and subsequently proved perfectly
correct. These sudden autumn frosts are the farmer's terror, for his
crops being left out one day too long may mean ruin, and that he will
have to mix birch bark or Iceland moss with his winter's bread to eke it
out, poor soul!

The export of timber from Finland is really its chief trade.

 +-----+------------------+--------------+----------------------+
 |     |  Export of Wood, |  Wood Pulp.  |  Paper, chiefly made |
 |     |  Cubic Metres    |  Kilograms.  |  from Wood Pulp.     |
 |     | (about 36 Cubic  |              |   Kilograms.         |
 |     |  Feet).          |              |                      |
 +-----+------------------+--------------+----------------------+
 |1874 |      843,031     |   3,116,139  |      1,317,021       |
 |1884 |    1,229,008     |   9,326,288  |      8,464,841       |
 |1894 |    1,722,322     |  33,802,916  |     17,675,856       |
 |1895 |    2,704,126     |  35,548,000  |         ..           |
 |1896 |    2,136,888     |  39,096,000  |         ..           |
 +-----+------------------+--------------+----------------------+

In 1909, 5,073,513 cubic metres of wood were exported, and 192,373,500
kilograms of pulp and paper.

From this table it will be seen that a large quantity of pulp is
exported, likewise a great deal of paper, and chiefly to our own
country.

England exports to Finland somewhat, but very little, of her own
produce, unfortunately; tea, coffee, sugar, and such foreign wares being
transhipped from England and Germany--principally from the latter to
Finland. The foreign inland trade of _Suomi_ is chiefly in the hands of
the Germans. "Made in Germany" is as often found on articles of
commerce, as it is in England. Well done, Germany!

We gained some idea of the magnitude of the Finnish wood trade when
passing _Kotka_, a town in the Gulf of Finland, lying between
_Helsingfors_ and _Wiborg_.

Immense stacks of sawn wood were piled up at _Kotka_, and in the bay lay
at least a dozen large ships and steamers, with barges lying on either
side filling them with freight as quickly as possible for export to
other lands.

The trees of Finland _are_ Finland. They are the gold mines of the
country, the props of the people, the products of the earth; the money
bags that feed most of its two million and a half of inhabitants. The
life of a Finnish tree is worth retailing from the day of its birth
until it forms the floor or walls of a prince's palace or a peasant's
hut. To say that Finland is one huge forest is not true, for the
lakes--of which there are five or six thousand--play an important part,
and cover about one-sixth of the country, but these lakes, rivers, and
waterways all take their share in the wood trade. Some of the lakes are
really inland seas, and very rough seas too. Tradition says they are
bottomless--anyway, many of them are of enormous depth. Tradition might
well say the forests are boundless, for what is not water in Finland is
one vast and wonderful expanse of wood.

Now let us look at the life of a tree. Like Topsy "it growed;" it was
not planted by man. Those vast pine forests, extending for miles and
miles, actual mines of wealth, are a mere veneer to granite rocks. That
is the wonderful part of it all, granite is the basis, granite
distinctly showing the progress of glaciers of a former period.

Such is the foundation, and above that a foot or two of soil, sometimes
less, for the rocks themselves often appear through the slight covering;
but yet out of this scant earth and stone the trees are multiplied.

Standing on the top of the tower of the old castle--alas! so hideously
restored--at _Wiborg_, one can see for miles and miles nothing but lakes
and trees, and as we lingered and wondered at the flatness of the land
our attention was arrested by patches of smoke.

"Forest fires, one of the curses of the land," we learned. "In hot
weather there are often awful fires; look, there are five to be seen
from this tower at one moment, all doing much damage and causing great
anxiety, because the resin in the pines makes them burn furiously."

"How do they put them out?" we asked.

"Every one is summoned from far and near; indeed, the people come
themselves when they see smoke, and all hands set to work felling trees
towards the fire in order to make an open space round the flaming woods,
or beating with long poles the dry burning mass which spreads the fire.
It is no light labour; sometimes miles of trenching have to be dug as
the only means whereby a fire can be extinguished; all are willing to
help, for, directly or indirectly, all are connected with the wood
trade."

Here and there where we travelled, the forests were on fire--fires
luckily not caused by those chance conflagrations, which do so much harm
in Finland, but duly organised to clear a certain district. Matters are
arranged in this wise: when a man wants to plough more land, he selects
a nice stretch of wood, saws down all the big trees, which he sledges
away, the next set (in point of size) he also hews down, but leaves
where they fall, with all their boughs and leaves on, till the sun dries
them. Then he makes a fire in their midst, the dried leaves soon catch,
and in a few hours the whole acreage is bare except for the tree trunks,
which are only charred and serve later for firewood. All the farm hands,
often augmented by neighbours, assist at these fires, for although a man
may wish to clear two or three acres, if the flames were not watched,
they would soon lay twenty or thirty bare, and perhaps destroy an entire
forest. The ashes lie on the ground and become manure, so that when,
during the following summer, he begins to plough, the sandy soil is
fairly well-fed, and ultimately mildly prolific. He is very ingenious
this peasant, and takes the greatest care not to let the flames spread
beyond his appointed boundary, beating them with huge sticks, as
required, and keeping the flames well in hand. The disastrous forest
fires, caused by accidental circumstances, spoil the finest timber, and
can only be stayed in their wild career, as we remarked elsewhere, by
digging trenches, over which the roaring flames cannot pass. Such fires
are one of the curses of Finland, and do almost as much harm as a
flight of locusts in Morocco.

"How old are those trees we see, twenty or thirty years?"

Our friend the _Kommerserådet_ smiled.

"Far, far more," he replied; "speaking roughly, every tree eight inches
in diameter twenty feet from the ground is eighty years old, nine inches
ninety years, ten inches a hundred years old, and so on."

We were amazed to think that these vast forests should be so old, for if
it took so long for a tree to grow, and so many millions were felled
every year, it seemed to us that the land would soon be barren.

"Not at all," our friend replied; "a forest is never cleared. Only trees
which have reached a proper girth are felled. In every forest but a
certain number of trees are cut each year, so that fresh ones are in a
continuous stream taking their places."

Rich merchants possess their own forests, their own saw-mills, their own
store houses, and even their own ships; but the bulk of exporters pay
for cut timber. In hiring a forest the tenant takes it on lease for so
many years with the right to fell all trees so soon as they reach
certain dimensions. The doomed trees are marked, and now we must follow
their after course.

In the autumn and winter they are felled and left for the first fall of
snow, when they are dragged, sometimes two or three logs one behind the
other fixed together with iron chains, to the nearest open road for
further conveyance by sledge when the snow permits.

No single horse could move such a weight in summer, but by the aid of
sledges and snow all is changed, and away gallop the little steeds down
the mountain side, pushed forward at times by the weight behind. By this
means the trees are conveyed to the nearest waterway.

Then the logs are stamped with the owner's registered mark and rolled
upon the ice of lake or river, to await the natural transport of spring.
Once the ice thaws the forests begin to move, for as "Birnam Wood
marched to Dunsinane," the Finnish forests float to other lands.

Imagine the helter-skelter of those thousands of trees over the roaring,
rushing waterfalls, or along the rapidly flowing cataracts and flooded
rivers. To prevent these wooden horses getting caught-up on the banks
along their watery course, men with long poles "personally conduct" huge
batches to the coast, or, where they are likely to get fixed, a sort of
wooden fencing is built in the river to direct their course. On, on they
voyage, those soldiers of the forest, for hundreds of miles to the
coast, till, finally arriving at such an enormous wood export town as
_Kotka_, they meet their doom.

Wherever the chain of waterways is composed of large lakes, the logs are
conveyed to the coast by means of enormous rafts. It is really most
ingenious; head and tail into a ring half-a-mile or more in
circumference float the pine trees, coupled together by iron clamps.
Inside these the newly-cut logs, which look like a rope of sausages,
are thrust end on end, until they make a perfectly solid floor floating
on the surface of the water. Now, as a raft of this kind contains many
thousand logs, which means a considerable amount of money value, it is
conveyed to the coast with the greatest care. At one end a small house
is built on the raft itself, on which live the two or three men who have
to escort this floating island across the lakes, attend to the logs that
get out of place, or secure the fastenings of the outside wood which
binds the whole together.

Naturally it takes some weeks for such a vast island to reach the coast,
and as it is sometimes necessary for various reasons to stop on the
journey, a horse goes on the raft so as to let down or pull up the
anchor when necessary. It is truly wonderful to think that on a floating
mass of tree trunks, merely bound together by a primitive barrier or
outside ring, men should live for weeks, and a horse should have its
stabling. Yet such is the case, and many times during our three months'
summer sojourn in Finland we passed these floating islands wending their
way to the coast.

Of course, it is understood rafts can only travel over the vast lakes,
and that on rivers the wood must go separately in the manner before
described. But in such a river as the _Uleå_, where the salmon fishing
is of as great importance, if not greater than wood, the latter are only
allowed to pass down until the day when salmon fishing commences. On the
completion of the floating season the stock logs at _Kotka_ often amount
to a million pieces. That alone gives some idea of this wonderful
industry. About a mile above _Kotka_ the logs are received by the
floating inspector and his trained sorters, who separate and distribute,
according to the marks thereon, the logs to their respective owners.

Large floating houses await their arrival, and as the back part of these
sheds are divided by half a dozen or so openings leading into the water
pens, the men at work quickly turn the timber over, see the owners'
names, and by means of a pole steer it into the space belonging to that
owner, so that in time each water pen becomes filled with the trees
belonging to its proprietor.

All this time the steam saw-mills are waiting for their prey, and, like
the pigs at Chicago who come out smoked and cooked hams, according to
tradition, the trees that go in have half a dozen saws run into them at
once, and out come boards and planks of various thicknesses and widths.
The middle bit--the plum of the cake--is the worst in this instance, for
it contains the heart, which is bad wood for working as it splits and
twists on drying; the rest is converted into deals, battens, and boards.
The outside slab pieces are made into staves for barrels, while the
general odds and ends that remain behind are used as fuel for engines,
steamboats, or private house consumption in Finland, where coal being
practically unknown, wood takes its place.

The sawn wood is stacked up for miles and miles along the waterside to
season ready for export, and, as a rule, the Finnish owners sell their
timber with the clause that it should be ready to be shipped at "first
open water," when away go the pines, cargo after cargo, the best being
sent to England, and other qualities to France, Germany, etc. Thus from
Finland comes much of the wood that makes our floors, our window frames,
our railings, and our doors, and lights our daily fires--it enters the
peasant hut, and it finds a place in the royal palace.

Another big trade is birch--a class of wood cut up into reels and
bobbins for England; and yet another is aspen, which wood is supplied to
Sweden in large quantities to make matches. Not only are matches pure
and simple made enormously in Sweden; but when leaving Gothenburg on our
homeward journey we saw hundreds of large cases being put on board our
steamer. Although very big, one man carried a case with ease, much to
our surprise, for anything so enormous in the way of cargo was generally
hoisted on board with a crane. What a revelation! These cases contained
match boxes, which are sent by thousands every week to England.

There is an enormous export of wood spirit made from sawdust; yet even
then, until lately, it was difficult to get rid of the superfluous
sawdust, a great deal of which was burned away in large furnaces.
Sawdust now plays an important rôle in the trade of Finland, and silk
factories have been started, for pulp; for our French friends have found
that beautiful fabrics can be made from wood, which takes dye almost
better than silk woven by a painstaking little worm, only costs a
fraction of the money, and sells almost equally well.

So that wood for building purposes, for matches or fuel, pulp for paper,
sawdust for spirit and silk, are the outcome of the life of a Finnish
tree. People can be clothed in wood, get drunk on wood, read print on
wood, and get warmed and their food cooked by wood.




CHAPTER XIV

THROUGH SAVOLAX IN CARTS


We were in despair!

By the kindness of the Governor of the district everything had been
arranged for a drive of a couple hundred miles through some of the
prettiest parts of the country from _Kuopio_ to _Iisalmi_. We were to
have a carriage with a hood (a rare honour) and two horses, to dawdle as
we liked by the way, and just order our vehicle when and as we wanted
it, so that we might really peep into the homes of the people, as well
as avail ourselves of the Baron's many kind introductions. But late on
the afternoon before that named for leaving, our cicerone Grandpapa
found it was imperative for him to remain a couple of days longer in
_Kuopio_ to receive his sisters who were to join our party, therefore we
found ourselves stranded so far as his escort was concerned.

"How were we two Englishwomen to travel alone through the very centre of
Finland, where no one spoke a word except his own language?" asked the
Governor.

"Perfectly," we replied; "we can travel anywhere, so far as that goes,
by signs and with a map; but, of course, we shall _learn_ nothing
more than what we can see with our eyes, for we shall not know how to
ask for information, and therefore half the pleasure and interest of the
journey will be lost."

[Illustration: BURNING THE FORESTS.

(After Eero Järnefelt.)]

"Were I not compelled to go on an official journey to-morrow," replied
the fine, tall, and charming Governor, "I should come myself--as it is,
will you accept the escort of my son?"

"Willingly, thankfully," we replied.

Baron George spoke French, German, and Swedish, and was a good Finnish
scholar besides. _He_ was to have gone on a bicycle tour that very
afternoon, but kindly altered all his plans to pass a couple of days as
our guide, cicerone, and friend, and a third on his return journey
alone.

Accordingly we started at nine A.M. on the next morning, and drove over
sixty miles through Finland during the two following days, by a route
soon to be followed by railway engines, for it had already been surveyed
for that purpose, and little posts here and there denoted the projected
route.

Seen off by the Governor's family, who had shown us the greatest
hospitality and kindness during our stay in _Kuopio_, we were peeped at
by half the town as we started; for English people, and a hooded vehicle
driving through _Savolax_ was no mean event, especially when these same
visitors had been entertained by the Governor of the district.

After a spin of five kilometres, or about two and a half English miles,
we reached the _lossi_, and our adventures began. A mile and a half of
water had to be crossed; naturally there was no bridge, nor was there
any friendly ice on those hot days, therefore a _lossi_ or boat, rather
like a river barge, conveys passengers--a _rara avis_--horses, and
carriage right over that wide expanse of lake. Our hearts sank when we
saw the boat. It was simply a shell, without seats or even a platform
for the carriage. The old boat was big, but our equipage appeared even
bigger, and we looked on in dismay, wondering how on earth we were ever
to get across unless we took half a dozen journeys, in bits, to and fro.

Afterwards our dismay turned to admiration at the skill with which the
whole thing was accomplished. First, our pair of mustard-coloured
ponies, with long tails, big bodies and small legs--who, by the bye,
went splendidly for two long days--were unharnessed, their primitive
trappings, much mended with string and rope, being thrown into our
carriage; then two planks of wood were laid from the empty boat to the
top step of the landing-stage on which we stood, men, seizing each of
the four wheels, slowly trundled the heavy carriage along those planks
to the barge's side. So far so good; but the boat was in the water, and
the carriage some feet higher up on the pier; more planks being speedily
arranged, however, it was most cleverly slipped down the pier's side on
them, and after others had been placed the right distance apart for the
wheels to stand on, into the boat itself. So there our victoria--if we
may call our vehicle by so grand a name--stood right across the boat,
its pole and bar being reflected in the lake, over which they hung on
the one side, the luggage and hood of the vehicle projecting over the
water on the other.

As though accustomed to such strange feats, those "mustard pots" walked
down the steps of the primitive pier, lifted their feet over the boat's
side most dexterously--as a lady in fine shoes might daintily cross some
muddy road--and stood head and tail next the carriage.

A Finnish pony is a marvel. He has no chest, is so narrow, one almost
wonders, when standing before his head, where his body can really be. He
has fine legs with good hoofs and fetlocks; he looks ill-groomed and
ill-cared for, his tail is long and bushy, and his mane unkempt. Yet he
goes up hill or down dale at a good pace (averaging six miles an hour),
and he will do thirty miles easily in a day and not turn a hair. They
are wonderful little animals these mustard-coloured steeds of Finland,
and as agile and sure-footed as a cat, although not so famous as the
fast trotters of _Suomi_.

Then we three got in and sat down, in what little space remained,
finding room on planks placed between the wheels. We certainly made a
boat full, and a queer cargo we were.

Two women "ferrymen" found room to row in front, the coachman attended
to his horses, one of which was inclined to be restive, while a man,
whose flaxen hair was so light it looked positively white against his
red burnt neck, stood rowing behind us; and thus in three-quarters of an
hour we reached the other side, in as wonderful a transport as the
trains we had seen put on steamers in Denmark, Sicily, or the States,
but much more exciting and primitive.

Gaily and cheerfully, meantime, we discussed the prospects of our visit
to Lapland; for the Northern part of Finland is the country of reindeer
and Laps, and thither we had made up our minds to go as a fitting finish
to our summer jaunt. From _Uleåborg_ we were to take the steamer to
_Tornea_, and there to commence a drive which promised to be most
interesting, if a little cold and perhaps not quite so pretty as our
long journey through _Savolax_ in _kärra_ or carts.

We drove on through lovely scenery till twelve o'clock, when we arrived
at a post-house for luncheon.

What a scene met our eyes! An enormous kitchen, a wooden-floored,
ceilinged and walled room about thirty feet square, boasting five
windows--large and airy, I was about to say, but it just missed being
airy because no fresh breeze was ever allowed to enter except by the
door. At one end was the usual enormous fireplace, with its large
chimney and small cooking stove, into which wood had continually to be
piled, coal being as unknown to the inland Finn as the sea-serpent
itself. At the other end of the room, opposite the fireplace, was a
large wooden table with benches arranged along two sides, at which the
labourers were feeding, for the one o'clock bell hanging above the roof
had just been rung by the farmer, and they had all come in for their
mid-day meal. It was really a wonderful scene; five men wearing coloured
shirts, and four women, with white handkerchiefs over their heads, were
sitting round the table, and between each couple was a small wooden,
long-handled pail, from which the pair, each duly provided with a wooden
spoon, were helping themselves. Finnish peasants--and until lately even
Finnish town servants--all feed from one pot and drink from one bowl in
truly Eastern fashion. The small wooden receptacle, which really served
as a basin, contained _piimää_ or skimmed milk that had gone sour, a
composition somewhat allied to _skyr_, on which peasants live in
Iceland, only that _skyr_ is sheep's milk often months old, and _piimää_
is cow's milk fairly fresh. This _piimää_ with sour black bread and
salted but uncooked small fish (_suolo-kala_) is the peasant's fare,
yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, almost always the same! These people
never taste meat, unless it be for a treat salted, while fresh
vegetables are unknown, cabbage even being a luxury. Each labourer
pulled his _puukko_ (knife) from its sheath at his waist--alas, too
frequently pulled in anger--and cutting hunks of brown bread, dragged a
fish like a sardine (only it was dry and salt) from another wooden tub,
and cutting off bits ate them together, after the fashion of a sandwich,
helping himself every now and then with a wooden spoon to a lump of the
sour milk, or, when his companion was not doing the same, raising the
pail--the wooden walls of which were half an inch thick--to his lips and
drinking the more watery part of his harmless liquor.

_Haili_ also haunted us in every peasant home. It is another species of
small fish which the peasants eat raw, a little salt being its only
preparation. They seem to buy or catch _haili_ by the ton, and then
keep them for months in the cellar. We were always seeing them eat these
_haili_, which looked something like sprats, and tasted ineffably nasty.
On high days and holidays they partake of them accompanied with baked
potatoes; but potatoes are somewhat rare, and therefore the fish on
black bread alone constitutes the usual meal. Sometimes better-class
folk eat _haili_, but then they have them grilled on charcoal; these are
rich people, for coal is as great a luxury to them even as potatoes to
the poor.

They seemed very happy, those men and women who had been up and hard at
work in the fields since three or four in the morning, and would not
have finished their day's labour till between eight and nine P.M., for
the summer is short, and while it lasts the peasant gets little or no
sleep, his entire livelihood depending upon almost incessant work during
the light warm days. I believe many people only sleep for a couple of
hours during the summer light, and make up for it in the provinces in
winter when it is dark. It was the 10th of July; the hay was cut
everywhere, and thrown up on the wooden palings erected for that
purpose, or the old pine trees stuck here and there, to dry before being
piled up on little sledges that were to convey it to the nearest wooden
shanty, to be stacked for winter use.

Sledges convey the hay crop in the summer along the roadways, where
wheels would be dragged from their axles by the stones and rocks.

A year or two ago, when hay was very scarce in England, quantities were
sent over from Finland, and excellent it was, full of clover and sweet
flowers, for although only grown in patches--sometimes even scraps by
the roadside--the quality of the crop repays the enormous patience and
labour necessary to produce it.

Finland's wild flowers are renowned, and the hay is full of
sweet-scented blossoms.

The peasant farmer at whose _majatalo_ we halted was a rich man, and had
let out some of his farms to people in a smaller way, who in return had
to give him fourteen days' labour in the year whenever he demanded them,
also many bags of rye--in regular old feudal style--for money did not
pass between them. Just as well, perhaps, considering that Finnish money
a couple of hundred years ago weighed several pounds--indeed its
unwieldiness may have been the origin of this exchange of labour for
land. We actually saw an old coin over two feet long and one foot wide
in the _Sordavala_ Museum. It is made of copper about one-eighth of an
inch thick, with uneven edges as though it had been rolled out like a
piece of pastry, and bears the name Kristina 1624-1654, with one coin
stamped in the middle about the size of a florin, and one at each of the
corners. How delightfully easy travelling must have been in those days
with a hundred such useful little coins in one's possession. Paper money
now takes their place.

There were many more coins half that size, the earliest being a Carl
XI.

All through the year the peasant farmer recently referred to employed
six hands, and he told us that the men earned a hundred and twenty marks
a year (£5), and a woman fifty or sixty (£2), with clothes, board, and
lodging. It did not seem to be very grand pay; but then the labourers
had no expenses, and were, judging from their appearance, well cared
for.

Later, when wandering round the homestead, we found a shed full of
sledges, filled with hay and covered by coarse woven sheets, made by the
family (for every decent house spins and weaves for itself), and in
these the hired labourers slept. It was all very primitive, but
wondrously clean.

In truly Finnish fashion the family was varied. First we saw an aged
mother, a delightful old soul, whose husband was dead and whose eldest
son therefore worked the farm. He had a wife and five children, the
latter being all much of an age. He also had a sister with her invalid
husband, and his younger brother and one child--so that there were
several relationships under the same roof, let us hope proving "Union is
Strength," although we hardly think the English temperament would care
for such family gatherings.

In the kitchen-dining-room was a baby in a cradle, and another sort of
crib was hanging from the ceiling by cords, the infant lying in a kind
of linen pocket on a pillow.

We were much amazed to see a patent process by which the infant in the
cradle was being fed. It was a wooden bed, in shape like an old German
one, and at one side of it projected an arm of wood curved round in
such a way that it came up from the side of the cradle and bent almost
over the child's face. Great was our amazement to find that a cow horn
was fixed into this wooden arm, so that the thin part of the horn
reached the baby's mouth, while the thick part stood up three or four
inches above the hole in the wood in which it was resting. Was it a toy,
we marvelled, because, if so, it seemed remarkably dangerous to have
anything so hard in such near proximity to a baby's face, but great was
our surprise on closer examination to find it was a feeding-bottle.

The horn was hollow, and on the thin end was a primitive teat of linen,
through which the baby was drawing the milk poured in at the top of this
novel feeding-bottle.

In a corner of the same room was a wonderful frame on rollers to teach a
child to walk. There was a small round hole through which the infant was
pulled, so that the polished ring supported it under the armpits, from
that rim four wooden pillars slanted outwards, being bound together at
the bottom by other pieces of wood securely fixed to four rolling
castors. In this the child could move; and the little brat rolled about
from side to side of the uneven flooring, securely held up in its wooden
cage. A small child of five was peeling potatoes, specially dug up in
our honour, beside a wooden bucket, while a cat played with a kitten,
and a servant girl--for well-to-do farmers have servants--made black
bread in a huge tub, the dough being so heavy and solid that she could
not turn it over at all, and only managed to knead it by doubling her
fists and regularly plunging them to the bottom with all her strength.
Her sunburnt arms disappeared far above her elbow, and judging by the
way the meal stuck to her she found bread-making very hard work.
Finlanders only bake every few weeks, so the bread is often made with a
hole and hung up in rows from the ceiling, or, if not, is placed on the
kitchen rafters till wanted. This bread is invariably sour--the natives
like it so--and to get it rightly flavoured they always leave a little
in the tub, that it may taste the next batch, as sour cream turns the
new cream for butter. She was not a bad-looking girl; Dame Nature had
been kinder to her than to most of her sex in Finland.

Somehow that scene did not look real--it had a kind of theatrical
effect. The surroundings were too like a museum; the entry of the
labourers after the chiming of the bell closely resembled a stage
effect--the old grandmother, the children, the bright cotton shirts
and skirts, the wondrous fireplace, the spinning-wheel and
weaving-frame--yes, it all seemed too picturesque, too full of colour,
and too well grouped to be an event in our commonplace every-day life.
Yet this was merely a peep at a Finnish home, in which just such a scene
is enacted every day--a home but little off the beaten tracks, and only
a short distance from steamboats and trains. The way to understand
anything of a land or its people is to leave the tourist route and peep
into its homes for one's self.

In Finland there are always post-stations about every eight or twelve
miles, according to requirements or capabilities of the peasantry, where
horses and beds can be procured. They are called _majatalo_ in Finnish,
or _gästgivferi_ in Swedish. Well-to-do farmers are chosen for the post,
because they can afford better accommodation to strangers, and generally
there are one or two who apply for the honour, more than for the hundred
(or two hundred marks in some instances) subsidy they get for keeping up
the _majatalo_.

The Governor of the Province then has to choose the most suitable
applicant, settles the charge for food and beds, according to the class
of accommodation, and writes them out officially (in three languages) on
cards, to be hung up in the rooms, provides the farmer with a
_Päiväkirja_, or Daybook, in which it says: "Two horses must always be
ready, and two carts, or if an extra turnout be required, double fare
may be charged." Fourteen penni the kilometre (or about twopence
halfpenny a mile) is the ordinary charge for a horse and trap, a room
and a bed are sixty penni, an ordinary meal sixty, coffee ten, and so
on; so that the prices are not ruinous. Indeed, travelling in the
interior of Finland is altogether moderate, when done as the Finns do it
by posting, but a private carriage is an enormous expense, and, on the
whole, it is just as dear to travel in _Suomi_ as in Normandy, Brittany,
or the Tyrol. Of course it is not so expensive as London, Paris, or
Vienna. How could it be, where there are none of the luxuries of these
vast cities? Every one has to sign the _Päiväkirja_, stating from
whence he came, whither he goes, and how many horses he had. Complaints
are also entered, and the book has to go periodically to the Governor
for inspection. So the whole posting arrangement is well looked after.

We fared very well at our first _majatalo_, but of course we had to wait
over an hour before we got anything to eat. One always must in Finland,
and, although a trial to the temper at first, it is a good lesson in
restraint, and by degrees we grew accustomed to it. One can get
accustomed to anything--man is as adaptable as the trees.

We had black bread--nothing else can be got in peasant homes--and any
one who cannot accept its sourness, and one might add hardness, must
provide himself with white bread from the towns. We got excellent butter
of course--the smallest home has good butter and milk in Finland, where
the little native cows can be bought for sixty or a hundred marks. They
live on what they can find in the summer, and dried birch leaves, moss,
or an occasional "delikatess" of hay in the winter. We had also
deliciously cold fresh milk, that and coffee being the only drinks
procurable, as a rule, and a small fish with a pink skin like a mullet,
fresh out of the water, was served nicely fried in butter, the farmer
having sent a man to catch it on our arrival.

There was cold bacon, too poisonous in appearance to touch, and hot
eggs, but no egg-cups, of course. We bumped the round heavy end of the
eggs, and stood them up on our plates, native fashion, and felt we had
learnt a trick that might be useful when egg-cups fell short in England.
In fact, before we left our peasant homes, we had begun to look upon an
egg-cup as a totally unnecessary luxury, and to find ourselves so
capable of managing without one, that the egg no longer ran out at the
wrong end, as it did at first in our inexperienced hands, but behaved as
every well-behaved egg ought to do--that is to say, sit up on its end
and appear as if it liked it.

One terrible-looking dish adorned our table on this and many occasions.
It was pike--caught, cleaned, opened, salted, and kept till wanted; a
piece, being laid flat on a plate to be served, is cut in thin slices
and spread on bread and butter by those who care to eat the luxury. At
the bone it was red, and gradually tapered away to a white
gelatinous-looking stuff. We never dared venture upon this choice raw
dish. It had a particularly distasteful appearance. As there was no
_filbunke_, made of sour unskimmed milk, which we had learnt to enjoy,
we had to content ourselves with _piimää_, the skimmed milk curdled; but
as we were visitors, and not peasants, tumblers of fresh cream had been
poured over it, and with sugar it tasted really excellent. It was a
primitive dinner, but with fresh fish and eggs, milk and cream, no one
need starve, and we only paid fivepence each for our mid-day meal, such
a sum being fixed on the tariff. Our dear comfortable old hostess was
fascinated by our presence, and sat smiling and blinking beside us all
the time, her hands, folded over her portly form below the short
straight cotton jacket she wore, were raised occasionally to
retie her black silk head-covering. Again and again she
murmured--"_Englantilaiset_" (Englishwoman), and nodded approval.

Poor Baron George, our kindly cicerone, had to answer all her questions
about England, our age, size, weight, height, the price of our clothing,
why our hair was so dark--an endless subject of inquiry among the
peasantry--and to ply her with questions from us in return.

It was with real regret we left these folk, they were so honest and
simple, so far removed from civilisation and its corrupting influences
on their thoughts, that they and their life seemed to take us back a
couple of centuries at least.

The family came out and shook hands with us on leaving; but not before
they had one and all sat down in our grand carriage, just to see what it
was like. Individually, we thought it a ramshackle old chaise, but
further acquaintance with the springless native carts made us look back
at that victoria as if it were the Lord Mayor's Coach!

It is no uncommon thing for the roofs of the houses in _Savolax_ to be
thatched with thin strips of wood an inch or so wide, similar to our old
shingle roofs in the west of England. At _Wiborg_ we were shown, among
the curiosities of the town, a red-tiled roof, which Finlanders thought
as wonderful as we thought their wooden thatch. These were quite common
formerly, but are now condemned by the Insurance Companies.

Such is life. What we eat, others despise; what we think beautiful,
others find hideous; what we call virtue, other lands consider vice;
what to us is novel and interesting is to others mere commonplace; the
more we travel, and the more we read, the less we find we know; except
that there may be good and use in all things, and that other men and
women, with whom we have not one idea in common, are quite as clever or
good as ourselves--more so, perhaps.

"Why, what is that? Three stone chimneys without any house," we
exclaimed, seeing three brick erections standing bleak and alone in the
midst of a dreary waste.

"Ah," replied Baron George, "that is one of the sad sides of Finnish
life. Those three stone chimneys are the only remains of what was once a
three-roomed house. All the dwellings, as you know, are entirely built
of wood, except for the brick chimneys. These three great gaunt towers
mean fire, and perhaps starvation. One of those little houses will burn
to the ground in an hour, on a dry windy night, and all the toil of
years, all the wealth of its proprietor, the home of his family, be
reduced to the few ashes you see on the ground, while the clock marks
one short hour."

It seemed horrible. Those three chimneys looked so gaunt and sad. Where
were the folk who had lived beside them, cooked beneath them, and spent
their lives of grief or joy?

Outside every house in Finland stands a large wooden ladder, tall enough
to reach to the top of the roof, for fire is very common, and generally
ends in everything being demolished by the flames. Buckets of water,
passed on by hand, can do little to avert disaster, when the old wooden
home is dry as tinder and often rotten to the core.

Again our attention was arrested as we jogged along by the earth mounds;
those queer green mounds that look like graves in a country
church-yard, which are so common in Iceland, where they grow so close
together, there is often hardly room for a pony's feet to pass between,
but on the origin of which scientists disagree. The grass-grown
sand--sand as beautiful and silvery as the sand of Iona, but here was no
sea, although it had left its deposits in ages long gone by--was
beautifully fresh and green.

Iceland moss, too, grows in profusion--a very useful commodity for the
peasants, who plug out the draughts between the wooden walls of their
houses with it, or make it into a kind of medicinal drink, as the
Buckinghamshire peasant makes her nettle tea from the wondrous stinging
nettles that grow five feet high in some of the lovely lanes of wooded
Bucks.

Iceland moss, indeed, has taken the place of bread in times of famine,
for that or the bark of the pine tree has been ground down many times
into flour and mixed with a little rye for the half-starved peasants'
only sustenance.

With all their sufferings and their hardships, can one be surprised that
they take life seriously?

That evening at ten o'clock--but it might have been seven judging by the
brilliancy of the sunset--we rowed on the lake, accompanied by a
grandson of Finland's greatest poet, _Runeberg_.

It really was a wonderful night; we English have no idea of the
gorgeousness of long July sunsets in Finland, just as we little dream of
the heat of the day, or the length and beauty of the evenings. It is in
these wondrous sunny glows, which spread themselves like a mantle, that
the hundreds of miles of lakes and thousands and thousands of islands
look their best. And there are many such evenings. Evenings when one
feels at peace with all the world, and one's thoughts soar higher than
the busy turmoil of the crowded city.

It is these wonderful nights that impress the stranger most of all in
Finland. There is something to make even the most prosaic feel poetical.
There is a dull dreariness, a sombre sadness in the scene, and at the
same time a rich warmth of colouring, a strength of Nature that makes
even the least artistic feel the wonders of the picture spread out
before them, and, withal, a peacefulness, for these vast tracts of
uninhabited land mean repose. Those numerous pine forests, denoting
quiet, and the wide, wide canopy of Heaven, unbroken by mountain or
hill, give one an idea of vast extent and wild expanse.

Finland is reposeful; and has a charm about it which is particularly its
own.

It was on such an evening as this that we rowed over the wide deep
waters of _Maaninka_, as still as a mirror, to the little white church,
with its tower soaring out of the pines, on the other side. We had been
joined by several new friends, all anxious to show us their church; but,
individually, our happiness was a little spoilt by the fact that the
boat was leaking badly, and we could positively see the water rising in
her bottom. Up--up--up--the water crept.

We had been in many curious boats before, and had become quite
accustomed to folding our petticoats neatly up on our laps, but this
boat filled more rapidly than usual, and we did not run for the bank
till six or eight inches of water actually covered her bottom. It rose
apace, and before we reached the shore our feet and our skirts were well
up on our seats for safety, and, verily, we were well-nigh swamped.

Out we scrambled; the men immediately beached the frail bark, and as
they did so the water all ran away. "What an extraordinary thing," we
thought, and when they pulled her right on to shore we saw the last
drops disappearing from the boat.

"Why, the plug is out," one of them exclaimed, and, sure enough, the
plug was out! In the bottom of every Finnish boat they have a round
hole, and this round hole contains a large cork or plug, so that when
the craft fills with water, as she invariably does from a leak, or
spray, or other causes, they merely pull her up on to the shore, take
out the plug, and let the water run away. But in this particular case
the plug had never been put in, or had somehow got lost, and we actually
rowed across a lake with the water rising at the rate of about half an
inch a minute.

We scrambled up over the slippery pine needles to the crest of the
little eminence on which the church stood, and found ourselves in the
most primitive of churchyards. There was no attempt at law or order, for
the graves had just been put down between the trees wherever there was
room for them. We noticed a painted clock on several of the wooden
tombstones, evidently intended to indicate the exact hour at which the
person lying under the sod had died. For instance, it would stand at
twenty-two minutes to four o'clock, which was the precise moment the
dead man expired, carefully noted by the exactitude of the Finns, who
are very particular about such matters. In the newspapers, for example,
it is stated, "Johanson died, aged 46 years 11 months and 4 days," and
this record of the number of days is by no means uncommon. They are a
most exact nation.

The _Maaninka_ church, like so many others in Finland, has its
important-looking bell-tower standing quite a distance away from the
main building. We climbed to the top after some persuasion, and
certainly our trouble was repaid by a glorious view.

But, alas! every Finlander has a hobby, and that hobby is that at every
point where there is a view of any sort or description, in fact, one
might say where there is no view at all, he erects an _Aussichtsturm_.
These outlook towers are a bane of existence to a stranger. One goes out
to dinner and is taken for a walk round the island. At every conceivable
point is an outlook tower, generally only a summer-house, but, alas,
there are usually some steps leading to the top which one toils up, and
has the fatigue of doing so without any reward, as they are not high
enough to afford any better view at the summit than one has at the base.

To go to the top of St. Peter's in Rome, St. Paul's in London, the Isaak
Church in Petersburg, the Citadel at Quebec, or the Castle of
Chapultepec in Mexico, is worth the fatigue, but to toil up twenty steps
on a hot summer's day and clamber down again, to repeat the operation a
quarter of a mile farther on, and so _ad lib._, becomes somewhat
monotonous, and one begins to wish that every outlook tower in Finland
might be banished from the country. Stop, once we ascended an outlook
tower that more than rewarded our labour. It was at _Kuopio_, which town
we had just left--perhaps the most beautifully situated in all
Finland--and as the night when we arrived chanced to be particularly
brilliant, the view from the top of that outlook tower will be long
treasured in remembrance.

To many of us the recollection of the past is a storehouse of precious
gems; the realisation of the present is often without sparkle; yet the
anticipation of the future is fraught with glitter, and the crown of
happiness is ever before our eyes.




CHAPTER XV

ON WE JOG


It is difficult for strangers to travel through the heart of Finland,
for every person may not be so lucky as to be passed on from one
charming friend to another equally delightful, as we were; and,
therefore, we would like to suggest the formation of a guides' bureau at
_Helsingfors_, where men and women teachers from the schools--who are
thoroughly well educated and always hold excellent social positions in
Finland--could be engaged as couriers. These teachers speak English,
French, and German, and would probably be glad to improve that knowledge
for a few weeks by acting as friendly guides for a trifling sum in
return for their expenses.

It is only a suggestion, but the schools being closed in June, July, and
August, the teachers are then free, and voyageurs are willing to
explore, though their imperfect knowledge of Finnish prevents their
penetrating far from steamers and trains.

As we drove towards _Lapinlahti_ we were surprised by many things: the
smallness of the sheep, generally black, and very like those of
_Astrakhan_; the hairiness of the pigs, often piebald; the politeness
of the natives, all of whom curtsied or took off their hats; the
delicious smell the sun was drawing out of the pine trees, and, perhaps
more wonderful still, the luxuriance of gorgeously coloured
wild-flowers, which are often as beautiful as in spring-time in
Switzerland or Morocco; the numbers of singing birds, and, above all,
the many delicious wild berries. The wild strawberries of Finland in
July are surprising, great dishes of them appear at every meal. Paris
has learnt to appreciate them, and at all the grand restaurants of Paris
cultivated "wild strawberries" appear. In Finland, the peasant children
slice a foot square of bark from a birch tree, bend it into the shape of
a box without a lid, then sew the sides together with a twig by the aid
of their long native knives, and, having filled the basket, eagerly
accept a penny for its contents. Every one eats strawberries. The
peasants themselves half live on them, and, certainly, the wild berries
of Switzerland are far less numerous, and not more sweet than those of
Finland.

As evening drew on smoke rose from the proximity of the homesteads, and
we wondered what it could be, for there are never any trees near the
houses.

These are the cow-fires, lighted when the animals come to be milked. The
poor creatures are so pestered and tormented by gnats and flies--of
which Finland has more than her share--that fires are kindled towards
evening, a dozen in one field sometimes, where they are to be milked, to
keep the torments away. The cows are wonderfully clever, they know the
value of the fires, and all huddle close up to them, glad of the restful
reprieve, after the worry they have endured all day. Poor patient
beasts, there they stand, chewing the cud, first with one side of their
body turned towards the flames and then the other, the filmy smoke, the
glow of the fire and the rays of the sunlight, hiding and showing
distinctly by turns the girls and their kine. The dairymaids come with
their stools to milk their soft-eyed friends, and on blazing hot summer
evenings they all sit closely huddled round the fires together.

These milkmaids have some strange superstitions still lurking in their
breasts, and the juice of the big birch tree is sometimes given to cows
to make them yield better butter.

_Lapinlahti_ is a typical Finnish village, and had at least one
newspaper of its own, so advanced were the folk, even at the time of my
first visit.

Outside the little post-station we were much amused to read on a board
"528 kilos. to St. Petersburg, 470 kilos. to Uleåborg." But we were more
amazed on our return from a ramble, prepared to grumble that the meal
ordered an hour before was not ready, when the host walked into the
room, and, making a most polite bow, said in excellent English--

"Good day, ladies."

"Do you speak English?" we asked.

"Certainly. I think I ought to after doing so for sixteen years."

We were immensely surprised. Who could have expected to find in the
interior of Finland a peasant landlord who was also an English linguist?
He seemed even more delighted to see us, than we were to have an
opportunity of learning something concerning the country from one
speaking our own tongue so perfectly, for it is a little difficult to
unravel intricate matters when the intermediary is a Swedish-speaking
Finlander, who has to translate what the peasant says into French or
German for your information, you again retranslating it into English for
your own purposes.

Our host spoke English fluently, and it turned out that, having been a
sailor like so many of the Finns, he had spent sixteen years of his life
on board English vessels. He preferred them, he said, as the pay was
twice as good as on the Finnish boats.

He told us that many of his countrymen went away to sea for a few years
and saved money, the wise ones bringing it home and investing it in a
plot of land; "but," he added, "they do not all succeed, for many of
them have become so accustomed to a roving life, and know so little of
farming, that they cannot manage to make it pay. I have worked very hard
myself, and am getting along all right;" and, looking at his
surroundings, we certainly thought he must be doing very well indeed.

The most remarkable rocking-chair we had ever seen in our lives stood in
his sitting-room. The Finlanders love rocking-chairs as dearly as the
Americans do, but it is not often that they are double; our host's,
however, was more than double--it was big enough for two fat Finlanders,
or three ordinary persons to sit in a row at the same time, and it
afforded us some amusement.

As there is hardly a house in Finland without its rocking-chair, so
there is seldom a house which is not decorated somewhere or other with
elk horns. The elk, like deer, shed their horns every year, and as
Finland is crowded with these Arctic beasts, the horns are picked up in
large quantities. They are handsome, but heavy, for the ordinary elk
horn is far more ponderous in shape and weight and equal in width to a
Scotch Royal. The ingenuity of the Finlander is great in making these
handsome horns into hat-stands, umbrella-holders, stools,
newspaper-racks, and portfolio-stands, or interlacing them in such a
manner as to form a frieze round the top of the entrance hall in their
homes. A really good pair will cost as much as twenty-five shillings,
but when less well-grown, or in any way chipped or damaged, they can be
bought for a couple of shillings.

A Finnish hall, besides its elk-horn decorations, is somewhat of a
curiosity. For instance, at one of the Governor's houses where we
chanced to dine, we saw for the first time with surprise what we
repeatedly saw again in Finland. Along either wall was a wooden stand
with rows and rows of pegs upon it for holding hats and coats. There
were two pegs, one below the other, so that the coat might go beneath,
while the hat resting over it did not get hurt. But below each of these
pegs, a few inches from the floor, was a little wooden box with an open
side. They really looked like forty or fifty small nests for hens to lay
their eggs in, and we were very much interested to know what they could
be for. What was our surprise to learn they were for goloshes.

In winter the younger guests arrive on snow-shoes (_skidor_), but
during wet weather or when the road is muddy, during the thaws of
spring, they always wear goloshes, and as it is considered the worst of
taste to enter a room with dirty boots, the goloshes are left behind
with the coat in the hall. This reminded us of Henrik Ibsen's home in
Christiania, where the hall was strewn with goloshes. So much is this
the fashion that we actually saw people walking about in indiarubber
"gummies," as our American friends call them, during almost tropical
weather. Habit becomes second nature.

Whether that meal at _Lapinlahti_, with its English-speaking landlord,
was specially prepared for our honour or whether it was always excellent
at that _majatalo_ we cannot say, but it lingers in remembrance as one
of the most luxurious feasts we had in the wilds of _Suomi_.

The heat was so great that afternoon as we drove towards _Iisalmi_--two
or three inches of dust covering the roadways--that we determined to
drive no more in the daytime, and that our future expeditions should be
at night; a plan which we carried out most successfully. On future
occasions we started at six in the afternoon, drove till midnight,
and perhaps did a couple or three hours more at four or five in the
morning; think of it!

After peeping into some well-arranged Free Schools, looking at a college
for technical education, being invited with true Finnish hospitality to
stay and sleep at every house we entered, we drew up at the next
_majatalo_ to _Lapinlahti_. It was the post-house, and at the same time
a farm; but the first thing that arrested our attention was the
smoke--it really seemed as if we were never to get away from smoke for
forest-burning or cow-milking. This time volumes were ascending from the
_sauna_ or bath-house, for it was Saturday night, and it appeared as if
the population were about to have their weekly cleansing. The _sauna_
door was very small, and the person about to enter had to step up over a
foot of boarding to effect his object, just as we were compelled to do
on Fridtjof Nansen's ship the _Fram_,[E] when she lay in Christiania
dock a week or two before leaving for her ice-drift. In the case of the
_Fram_ the doors were high up and small, to keep out the snow, as they
are likewise in the Finnish peasants' homes, excepting when they arrange
a snow-guard or sort of fore-chamber of loose pine trees, laid wigwam
fashion on the top of one another, to keep back the drifts. We had
hardly settled down to our evening meal--in the bedroom of course,
everything is done in bedrooms in Finland, visitors received,
etc.--before we saw a number of men and women hurrying to the _sauna_,
where, in true native fashion, after undressing _outside_, all
disappeared _en masse_ into that tremendous hot vapour room, where they
beat one another with birch branches dipped in hot water, as described
in the chapter on Finnish baths. In _Kalevala_ we read of these mixed
baths thus--

    So he hastened to the bath-house,
    Found therein a group of maidens
    Working each upon a birch broom.

When this performance was over they redressed _outside_, which is a
custom even when the ground is deeply covered with snow.

Our host, a finely-made young fellow, fondly nursing a baby of about two
years old, seeing our interest in everything, was very anxious we should
join the bath party, and begged Baron George to tell us of its charms,
an invitation we politely but firmly refused. He showed his home. When
we reached a room upstairs--for the house actually possessed two
storeys--we stood back amazed. Long poles suspended from ropes hung from
the ceiling, and there in rows, and rows, and rows, we beheld clothing,
mostly under-linen. Some were as coarse as sacking; others were finer;
but there seemed enough for a regiment--something like the linen we once
saw in a harem in Tangier, but Tangier is a hot country where change of
raiment is often necessary, and the owner was a rich man, while Finland
is for most part of the year cold, and our landlord only a farmer. The
mystery was soon explained; the farmer had to provide clothing for all
his labourers--a strange custom of the country--and these garments were
intended for eight or nine servants, as well as a large family.
Moreover, as washing in the winter with ice-covered lakes is a serious
matter, two or three big washes a year are all Finns can manage, the
spring wash being one of the great events in their lives. The finer
linen belonged to the master's family, the coarser to the labourers, and
there must have been hundreds of articles in that loft.

When we left the room he locked the door carefully, and hung up the key
beside it. This is truly Finnish. One arrives at a church; the door is
locked, but one need not turn away, merely glance at the woodwork round
the door, where the key is probably hanging. It is the same
everywhere--in private houses, baths, churches, hotels; even in more
primitive parts one finds the door locked for safety--from what peril we
know not, as honesty is proverbial in Finland--and the key hung up
beside it for convenience.

Why are the northern peoples so honest, the southern peoples such
thieves?

Our night's lodging disclosed another peculiarity;--nothing is more
mysterious than a Finnish bed. In the daytime every bed is shut up. The
two wooden ends are pushed together within three feet of one another,
kaleidoscope fashion, the mattress, pillows, and bedclothes being
doubled between; but more than that, many of the little beds pull also
out into double ones from the sides--altogether the capacities of a
_Suomi_ couch are wondrous and remarkable. Yet, again, the peasants'
homes contain awfully hard straight wooden sofas, terrible-looking
things, and out of the box part comes the bedding, the boards of the
seat forming the _soft_ couch on which weary travellers seek repose, and
often do not find it.

Finnish beds are truly terrible; for wood attracts unpleasant things,
and beds which are not only never aired, but actually packed up, are
scarcely to be recommended in hot weather. One should have the skin of a
rhinoceros and no sense of smell to rest in the peasant homes of _Suomi_
during the hot weather. Seaweed was formerly used for stuffing
mattresses on the coast in England; indeed some such bedding still
remains at Walmer Castle; but the plant in use for that purpose in the
peasant homes of Finland gives off a particularly stuffy odour.

The country and its people are most captivating and well worth studying,
even though the towns are nearly all ugly and uninteresting. Hospitality
is rife; but the peasants must keep their beds in better order and learn
something of sanitation if they hope to attract strangers. As matters
are, everything is painfully primitive, spite of the rooms--beds
excepted--being beautifully clean.

In winter, sportsmen hunt the wild bear of Finland; at all seasons elk
are to be seen, but elk-hunting was legally forbidden until quite
recently. There are long-haired wild-looking pigs roving about that
might do for an impromptu pig-stick. There are feathered fowl in
abundance, and fish for the asking, many kinds of sport and many kinds
of hunts, but, alas, there is a very important one we would all gladly
do without--that provided by the zoological gardens in the peasant's
bed. Possibly the straw mattresses or _luikko_ may be the cause, or the
shut-up wooden frames of the bedstead, or the moss used to keep the
rooms warm and exclude draughts, still the fact remains that, while the
people themselves bathe often and keep their homes clean, their beds are
apt to shock an unhappy traveller who, though he have to part with all
his comforts and luggage on a _kärra_ ride, should, if he value his
life, stick fast to insect powder and ammonia, and the joyful preventive
of lavender oil.

Well we remember a horrible experience. We had driven all day, and were
dead tired when we retired to rest, where big, fat, well-nourished brown
things soon disturbed our peace; and, judging by the number of occupants
that shared our couch, the peasant had let his bed out many times over.
Sitting bolt up, we killed one, two, three, then we turned over and
tried again to sleep; but a few moments and up we had to sit once more.
Keating had failed utterly--Finnish bed-fiends smile at Keating--four,
five, six--there they were like an advancing army. At last we could
stand it no longer, and passed the night in our deck-chairs. Those
folding deck-chairs were a constant joy. In the morning we peeped at the
nice linen sheets; sprinkled on the beds were brown-red patches, here
and there as numerous as plums in a pudding, each telling the horrible
tale of murders committed by English women.

We had to rough it while travelling from _Kuopio_ to _Uleåborg_. Often
eggs, milk, and black bread with good butter were the only reliable
forms of food procurable, and the jolting of the carts was rather
trying; but the clothes of the party suffered even more than
ourselves--one shoe gradually began to part company with its sole, one
straw hat gradually divided its brim from its crown, one of the men's
coats nearly parted company from its sleeve, and the lining inside tore
and hung down outside. We had not time to stop and mend such things as
we might have mended, so we gradually grew to look worse and worse, our
hair turning gray with dust, and our faces growing copper-coloured with
the sun. We hardly looked up to West End style, and our beauty, if we
ever possessed any, was no longer delicate and ethereal, but ruddy and
robust. We were in the best of health and spirits, chaffing and laughing
all day long, for what is the use of grumbling and growling over
discomforts that cannot be helped--and half the joy of _compagnons de
voyage_ is to laugh away disagreeables at the time, or to chat over
curious reminiscences afterwards.

_Never less alone than when alone_ is a true maxim; but not for
travelling; a pleasant companion adds a hundredfold to the pleasures of
the journey, especially when the friendship is strong enough to stand
the occasional strains on the temper which must occur along wild
untrodden paths.

On that memorable drive through _Savolax_ in Northern Finland, we paid a
somewhat amusing and typical visit to a _Pappi_ (clergyman) at a
_Pappila_, or rectory. These country _Luthersk Kyrka_ (Lutheran
churches) are few and far between, a minister's district often extending
eight or ten miles in every direction, and his parishioners therefore
numbering about six or eight thousand, many of whom come ten miles or
more to church, as they do in the Highlands of Scotland, where the Free
Kirk is almost identical with the Lutheran Church of Finland. In both
cases the post of minister is advertised as vacant, applicants send in
names, which are "sifted," after which process the most suitable are
asked to come and perform a service, and finally the _Pappi_ of Finland,
or minister of Scotland, is chosen by the people.

There is seldom an organ in the Finnish country churches, and, until
Andrew Carnegie gave some, hardly ever in the Scotch Highlands--each
religion has, however, its precentor or _Lukkari_, who leads the
singing; both churches are very simple and plain--merely
whitewashed--perhaps one picture over the altar--otherwise no
ornamentation of any kind.

On one of our long drives we came to a village proudly possessing a
church and a minister all to itself, and, being armed with an
introduction to the _Pappi_, we arranged to call at the _Pappila_.

"Yes," replied a small boy with flaxen locks, "the _Pappi_ is at home."
Hearing which good news in we went. It was a large house for Finland,
where a pastor is a great person. There were stables and cow-sheds, a
granary, and quite a nice-sized one-storeyed wooden house. We marched
into the salon--a specimen of every other drawing-room one meets; the
wooden floor was painted ochre, and polished, before each window stood
large indiarubber plants, and between the double windows was a layer
of Iceland moss to keep out the draughts of winter, although at the time
of our visit in July the thermometer stood somewhere about 90° Fahr., as
it often does in Finland during summer, when the heat is sometimes
intense. Before the middle window was the everlasting high-backed prim
sofa of honour, on which the stranger or distinguished guest is always
placed; before it the accustomed small table, with its white mat lying
diamond fashion over the stuff cloth cover, all stiff and neat; also at
other corners of the room were other tables surrounded by half a dozen
similarly uncomfortable chairs, and in the corner was that rocking-chair
which is never absent from any home. Poor Finlanders! they do not even
know the luxury of a real English armchair, or a Chesterfield sofa, but
always have to sit straight up as if waiting to eat their dinner--very
healthy, no doubt, but rather trying to those accustomed to less formal
drawing-room arrangements. But then it must be remembered that
everything is done to encourage general conversation in Finland, and the
rooms seem specially set out with that object.

In a moment one of the three double doors opened, and a lady of middle
age, wearing a cotton gown, entered, and bade us welcome. She could only
speak Finnish, so although we all smiled graciously, conversation came
to an untimely end, for Finnish is as unlike English, French, German, or
even Swedish, as Gaelic is to Greek. Happily the _Pappi_ soon appeared;
a fine-looking man with a beard and a kindly face. He spoke Swedish, and
could understand a few German words; so he spoke Swedish, we spoke
German very slowly, and the conversation, although, as may be imagined,
not animated, was quite successful, particularly as it was helped
occasionally by a translation from our cicerone, who could talk French
fluently. We were particularly struck by a splendid old clock,
wondrously painted, which stood in a corner of the room. A grandfather's
clock is a very common piece of furniture in Finland, and in many of the
farmhouses we visited we saw the queer old wooden cases we love so well
in England, painted with true native art. Just as the Norwegians love
ornamenting their woodwork with strange designs, so the Finns are
partial to geometrical drawings of all descriptions; therefore corner
cupboards, old bureaus, and grandfather clocks often come in for this
form of decoration. Another favourite idea is to have a small cup of
shot on the writing-table, into which the pen is dug when not in
use--and sand is still used in many places instead of blotting-paper.

While the _Pappi_ was explaining many things, his wife had slipped away,
as good wives in _Suomi_ always do, to order or make the coffee, because
no matter at what time one pays a visit, coffee and cakes invariably
appear in about half an hour; it is absolute rudeness to leave before
they come, and it is good taste to drink two cups, although not such an
offence to omit doing so as it is to leave a Moorish home without
swallowing three cups of sweet mint-flavoured tea.

We were getting on nicely with our languages, endlessly repeating
_Voi_, _Voi_, which seems to be as useful in Finnish as _so_ in German,
helped by a good deal of polite smiling, when a door opened and mamma
returned, followed by a boy of seventeen, who was introduced as "our
son." We got up and shook hands. He seized our finger, and bowed his
head with a little jerk over it--that was not all, however, for, as if
desirous of dislocating his neck, he repeated the performance with a
second handshake. This was extra politeness on his part--two handshakes,
two jerky bows; all so friendly and so homely.

By the time he had finished, we realised that another boy, a little
younger, was standing behind ready to continue the entertainment.

Then came a girl, and seven small children, all brushed up and made
beautiful for the occasion, marched in in a row to make acquaintance
with the _Englantilaiset_, each, after he or she had greeted us, quietly
sitting down at one of the other tables, where they all remained
placidly staring during the rest of the visit. A circle is considered
the right thing in Finland, and the old people alone talk--the young
folk listening, and, let us hope, improving their minds. Coffee came at
last; a funny little maid, with her hair in a long plait, brought in a
tray, with a pretty embroidered cloth, a magnificent plated coffee-pot,
luscious cream, and most appetising cakes, something like shortbread,
and baked at home. We ate and we drank, we smiled upon the homely kind
hostess, we shook hands with her, and all the children in a row on
leaving, and the pastor, with a huge bunch of keys, accompanied us to
see his church, which, funnily enough, we could only reach by the help
of a small boat--all very well in the summer when boats can go, or in
the winter when there is ice to cross, but rather disheartening at the
mid-seasons, when crossing becomes a serious business and requires great
skill. There was a "church boat" lying near by, a great huge cumbersome
sort of concern that twelve people could row at a time, and two or three
times as many more stand or sit in, and on Sundays this boat plied to
and fro with the congregation. The church boats are quite an institution
in Finland. They will sometimes hold as many as a hundred persons--like
the old pilgrim boats--some twenty or thirty taking the oars at once. It
is etiquette for every one to take a turn at rowing, and, as the church
is often far away from the parishioners, it is no unusual thing for the
church boat to start on Saturday night, when the Sabbath is really
supposed to begin, and it is quite a feature in the life of _Suomi_ to
see the peasants arriving on Saturday evening straight from their work
at the waterside, at the appointed time for starting to their devotions,
with their little bundles of best clothes. They are all very friendly,
and as they row to the church they generally sing, for there is no
occasion on which a number of Finns meet together that they do not burst
into song. This weekly meeting is much valued.

Arrived at the church, they put up for the night at the homesteads round
about, for be it understood the church is often some distance even from
a village; or, if balmy summer, they lie down beneath the trees and,
under the brilliant canopy of heaven, take their rest.

When morning comes the women don their black frocks, the black or white
head-scarves, take their Bibles--neatly folded up in white
handkerchiefs--from their pockets, and generally prepare themselves for
the great event of the week. When the church service, which lasts some
hours, is over, they either turn up their skirts, or more often than not
take off their best things and, putting them back into the little
bundle, prepare to row home again.

The church boats are, of course, only used in the summer; in the winter
the route is much shortened by the universal snow and ice, which makes
it possible to sledge over land or sea alike, and make many short cuts.
On a later date we went to a Sabbath service at a _Luthersk Kyrka_, and
a very remarkable affair it proved. As we drove up to the church about
one o'clock, we found over a hundred _kärra_ or native carts standing
outside. In these funny "machines," as our Scotch friends would rightly
call them, many of the congregation had arrived, and, after having tied
their horses to the railings outside, gone in to service. The church
held nearly four thousand people, and every man and woman present was a
peasant. The building was crowded to excess, the sexes being divided by
the centre aisle. Nearly every one wore black, that being considered the
proper wear for Sundays, weddings, and festivals, especially for the
married women, who also wore black silk handkerchiefs over their heads.
Each woman carried a large white handkerchief in her hand, upon which
she leaned her head while praying. Subsequently we found that all the
females rolled their prayer-books up in these cloths while carrying them
home.

Service had begun at ten, so that three hours of it was over when we
arrived, and the Communion, which lasted another hour and a half, was
about to begin. The place was packed, the day very hot, and the peasant
atmosphere a little oppressive. We were much struck by the children;
mere babies actually being nursed by their mothers, while elder urchins
walked in and out of the building--going sometimes to have a game with
various other little friends amidst the graves outside, plaiting
daisy-chains, or telling fortunes by large ox-eyed daisies. The men
walked out also and enjoyed a pipe or gossip with a neighbour, and there
was that general air of freedom which prevails in a Roman Catholic
Church during divine service; nevertheless, the intense simplicity, the
devotion, the general inclination to moan and weep, reminded us of the
Highland Kirk. But it was very surprising to hear the Pastor tell his
congregation that at a certain day he would be at an appointed place to
receive grain, butter, potatoes, calves, etc. The clergymen are paid in
"kind," which to them is a suitable arrangement, as they are generally
peasants' sons and well able to attend to their own glebes; but it did
sound funny to hear a clergyman, standing in the pulpit, talk of butter
and eggs.

When the congregation stood up we naturally stood up with them. The
Finlanders are short, and for two women five feet seven or eight high,
with hats on the tops of their heads, suddenly to rise, amazed a
congregation the female members of which were seldom taller than five
feet one or two, and wore nothing on their heads but a flat
handkerchief. We felt like giraffes towering over the rest of the
people, and grew gradually more and more ashamed of our height and hats,
simple though the latter were. How we longed to be short and have our
heads covered with black silk handkerchiefs like the rest of the folk
around, so as to be unnoticeable in their midst.

We felt we were a very disturbing influence; for, gradually, those who
had not noticed our entrance began to realise there was something
strange in the church, and nudged their friends to look at two tall
women--dark into the bargain--each with a hat on her head. Their
surprise might be forgiven, for to them we must have appeared strange
apparitions indeed. In that church there was no organ, but a young man
got up and started the singing, just as a precentor does in the
Highlands; having once given them the tune, that vast congregation
followed his lead very much at their own sweet wills.

For our own part, certainly, we came away much impressed by their
devoutness, and not a little touched and interested by the simplicity of
the Lutheran service.

When we came out some of the men, who had previously slipped away, were
beginning to harness their ponies in order to drive very possibly ten
miles. Little groups were also forming to enjoy the luncheons brought in
handkerchiefs, ere starting to walk back long distances to their homes.

Verily, we might have been in Scotland; there were the gossips round the
church doors, the plate to hold the pence, covered with a white cloth,
ay, and even the dogs were waiting; there were the women lifting up
their black skirts, inside out, exactly as her Highland sister when
attired in her best gown. How like in many characteristics the two
nations are.

It seems ridiculous to be always writing of the intense heat in Finland,
but as it is generally supposed to be a cold country, where furs and
rugs are necessary even in the summer, we could not help being struck by
the fact of the almost tropical temperature, at times, which we
encountered all through June, July, and August. No wonder people had
laughed at our fur coats on arrival. It is a fact that although in
Finland the winters are terribly long and severe, the summers are
extremely hot.

Just before reaching _Iisalmi_ we turned in at the gate of _Herr
Stoehman_, a large gentleman-farmer to whom we had an introduction, and
paid a most pleasant visit. He was a delightful man, hospitality
personified; and his wife at once invited us to stay with them, utter
strangers though we were.

He has a sort of agricultural college, in the dairy department of which
we were specially interested. Our host takes twenty peasants at a time,
who remain for a two years' course. In the summer they are taught
practical farming out of doors, in the winter theoretical, indoors.

It was a wonderful institution, splendidly organised, well kept, and
quite a model in its way. Indeed, it is amazing to see how advanced the
Finlanders are in all matters of technical education, and there is no
doubt but that the future of _Suomi_ will be the outcome of the present
teaching.

Adjoining was a _Mejeri_, where a dozen women Were being instructed in
butter and cheese-making. The butter all goes to England, while the
cheese is an excellent _copy_ of our own cheddar, which we have almost
forgotten how to make.

Poor old Albion!

Butter and cheese-making is quite a new trade, pursued with energy in
Finland.

Until about 1880 co-operative dairying was almost unknown in Denmark,
and now Denmark is a rich country which has established over two
thousand creameries, and sends to England alone some £7,000,000 worth of
butter annually, to say nothing of eggs and bacon.

Finland not having been slow to see the extent to which Denmark had
succeeded, _Mejeris_ were established here and there over the land for
the making of butter and cheese; indeed, there were in 1912 seven
hundred and fifty-four of them in existence.

Imagine our surprise when driving along a country road, right in the
wilds of Finland, to see a vast herd of cows being driven home to be
milked; yet this happened several times.

"Where are they going?" we asked on one occasion; "how can so few
families require so much milk?"

"They are going to the creamery," was the reply. "This neighbourhood
could not use the milk, which is all made into cheese, and the cream
into butter, to be exported to England."

Being much interested in the subject, having written a pamphlet _Danish_
versus _English Buttermaking_, we of course stopped to see the
creamery, and were amazed to find it conducted on the latest scientific
Danish principles, and, although established little over a year, in full
working order.

The proprietor only owned sixty cows, but he had the milk sent in from a
hundred more, and exactly as they return the skim milk in Denmark, so
they return it in Finland. By a careful process of autumn calving, the
Finnish dairymen manage to have most milk in the winter, when they make
butter, which they send seventy miles by sledge to the nearest railway
train, to be borne hence to _Hangö_, the only port in Finland that is
open during the winter months. There it meets a steamer which conveys it
to England.

In 1874, there were exported about 5,159,885 kilograms (about 2 lbs.).

In 1909, this quantity had doubled itself, the amount exported being
11,632,200 kilograms.

Of this, Great Britain took the larger share, her import of Finnish
butter being of the value of twenty-four million marks, while Russia's
only reached four million marks.

Formerly all the butter was sent to Russia; but Russia, like every other
country, except England, woke up and began making her own butter.
Finland, however, does not suffer, she merely ships to England direct,
or through Denmark to England instead, and the trade in ten years has
trebled itself.

Few of us in England realise what a large sum goes out of this country
every day for butter consumed by a people unable to make it for
themselves. England imports vast quantities of butter from Normandy,
Brittany, Australia, and the Argentine, and much comes from Denmark, to
which country Finland is a fair rival.

We stayed at the _Mejeri_ late into the night, for we were always making
mistakes as to time in that bewilderingly everlasting daylight. After
weeks of eternal light, one begins to long for the peace of darkness.

One of my sister's greatest joys, and one of my greatest discomforts,
was a kodak. Now, a large kodak is one of those hard uncomfortable
things that refuses to be packed anywhere; it takes up too much room in
a Gladstone bag, it is apt to get broken in the rug-strap, and,
therefore, the wretched square box invariably has to be carried at all
inconvenient times and seasons. However, as there were no photographs to
be procured of Northern Finland, and my sister declared there was no
time for me to make any sketches, we decided to struggle with the
kodak, and I tried to bear the annoyance of its presence in the
anticipation of the joy of future results. My sister kodaked here and
kodaked there; she jumped out of the little cart and made snap-shots of
old peasants and older houses, of remarkable-looking pigs and
famine-stricken chickens. In fact, she and the kodak were here, there,
and everywhere, and glorious reproductions were anticipated. Each day
she exclaimed, "What a mercy we have not to wait for you to sketch. Why,
I can do twenty or thirty pictures while you do one." I felt the reproof
and was silenced.

Then came a day when the roll of a hundred had to be changed. We all
know the everlasting cry, the endless excuse for bad photographs. "You
see, the light got in;" and generally the offender, we learn, is some
ruthless custom-house official, who cares nothing for travel and less
for art, and whose one joy is unearthing cigars and disturbing ladies'
hats. This time "the light got in" with a vengeance. For a couple of
days my wretched sister endeavoured to find a place to change that roll,
but in a land where there is continual day it is absolutely impossible
to find night!

We inquired for cellars, we even sought for a cave--all unsuccessfully;
and so the night we left the _Mejeri_ she decided that the roll _must_
be changed, and darkness secured somehow. There were two windows to our
bedroom; we had two travelling rugs; one was pinned up over each window,
but the light streamed in above and below and round the curtains. We
then pinned up our skirts, but even that was not sufficient; we added
bodices to the arrangement, the length of the sleeves filling up
inconvenient cracks, but the light still streamed under and above and
round the two doors. We laid pillows on the floor, and got rid of that
streak of illumination; we stuffed the sides and top with towels, but
even then there was a wretched grayness in our chamber which forbode
ill.

"I know," exclaimed my sister, "I shall get under the bed." But as the
bed was of wood and very low, she only succeeded in getting her own head
and the kodak beneath its wooden planks, while I carefully built her in
with blankets and eider-downs, and left her to stifle on a dreadfully
hot night with a nasty-smelling little lamp under the mattresses.

She groaned and she sighed, but at last she emerged triumphant, if very
hot, from the undertaking. Particularly happy in the result of our
midnight performances, she started another roll, and felt assured that
she had a hundred excellent photographs of the life of the people in the
interior of dear old Finland. Only after we returned to London did the
terrible truth reveal itself; the light had indeed got in, and one after
another of the films, as they were taken from their bath, disclosed
nothing but gray blackness!

The laugh (and the cry) was on my side now. Why, oh why, had I not
persevered with the sketches, instead of only doing one at our midnight
haven of rest in the _Uleåborg_ rapids?

FOOTNOTES:

[E] Described in _A Winter Jaunt to Norway_.




CHAPTER XVI

A "TORP" AND "TORPPARI" WEDDING


Like most Finnish towns, _Iisalmi_ proved somewhat disappointing. We
waited a day or two, to rest, to collect letters and answer them, to
bathe and mend our clothes, and then gladly jogged on again.

Our start from _Iisalmi_ for _Kajana_ was somewhat remarkable. Having
dined and enjoyed our coffee, we had ordered the _kärra_ for five
o'clock, when it was cooler, well knowing that, in consequence of the
Finns' slowness, it would take at least an hour to pack our luggage
away. The queer little two-wheeled vehicles drove into the courtyard.
They had no springs, and no hood to protect us from the rain or sun; but
were merely fragile little wooden carts, such as are used by the natives
themselves. The seat was placed across them dog-cart fashion, and behind
it and under it the luggage had to be stowed. Verily, we were starting
through Finland in carts!

On this occasion our party mustered six in all; therefore, as a _kärra_
holds but two, three of these primitive little vehicles were required
for our accommodation. We were very anxious to dispense with the
services of the coachmen, two of them at all events, as we had often
done before, for it seemed quite ridiculous, considering we always drove
ourselves, to take two men with us who were not wanted, and whose extra
weight told on a long country journey. But not a bit of it; no amount of
persuasion could induce them to stop behind. They were looking forward
to the trip with pleasurable excitement, and evidently considered
travelling with English ladies a special honour. The amount of talking
and discussing and arranging that went on over this simple matter is
appalling to think about even now. First of all they said there was too
much luggage, although they had already interviewed the luggage the day
before. Then they declared that if they took it they must be paid ten
marks extra for doing so; then they packed all the heavy articles into
one _kärra_, and all the light into another, and finally came to the
conclusion that this plan would not answer, and unpacked everything
again. It really became ridiculous at last, and we sat on the steps of
the little hostelry and roared with laughter to see them shaking their
fists first at each other, and then at our unoffending Finnish friends,
while measuring the Gladstones or thumping the rugs. All this fuss was
about three Gladstones, a small dress-basket, only the size of a suit
case, a bundle of rugs, and a basket full of provisions!

By half-past six, however, matters were amicably settled, and the
patient little ponies, which had stood perfectly still throughout the
squabble, feeling us mount into our places, started off at a full
gallop out of the town almost before we had caught the reins. Sheer
bravado on the part of the ponies, or one might perhaps better say
training, for it is the habit of the country to go out of towns with a
dash, and enter after the same fashion.

As a rule, the coachman sits on the floor at the feet of the off-side
occupant of the _kärra_, holding the reins immediately over the
splash-board, and dangling his feet somewhere above the step. If he does
not do this, he hangs on by his eyelashes behind, balanced on the top of
the luggage.

Our men, or rather lads, afforded us much amusement before we parted
with them two days later, for their interest in us was quite wonderful,
and, finding that we were surprised at many things to which they were
quite accustomed, they began showing off every trifle with the air of
princes. When they came to a friend's house on the route they invited us
to enter, consequently we drank milk with many queer folk, and patted
the heads of numerous native children.

After our gentlemen friends had finally paid these coachmen and given
them their tips at _Kajana_, some days later our sitting-room door burst
open, and in the three solemnly filed, cap in hand, looking somewhat
shy, and formally went through the process of handshaking with us all in
turn. If the warmth of their affections was meant to be conveyed by the
strength of their grip, they must have loved us very much indeed, for
our fingers tingled for an hour afterwards; but the funniest part of
all, perhaps, was the whisper of one in my ear. Finnish was his
language; I did not understand a word and shook my head; when, putting
his mouth still closer to my ear, he murmured the words again. Alas! I
could not understand, and he knew it; yet his anxiety was so great he
tried and tried again to make me comprehend. "Take me to England," at
last I understood was the translation of the words the nervous youth,
with many blushes and much twirling of his cap, kept repeating. But
firmly and decisively I declined the honour, and he left quite
crestfallen.

The tenant farmer, who often pays his rent in labour, is called a
_torppari_, and his house a _torp_. He can only be likened to the
crofters in the poorer parts of Scotland; but where the crofter builds
his house of stone, the _torppari_ erects his of wood; where the crofter
burns peat and blackens his homestead absolutely, the _torppari_ uses
wood, and therefore the peat reek is missing, and the ceilings and walls
merely browned; where the crofter sometimes has only earth for his
flooring, the _torp_ is floored neatly with wood, although that wood is
often very much out of repair, the walls shaky with age, extra lumps of
Iceland moss being poked in everywhere to keep out the snow and rain.

Before the door was a sort of half wigwam made of tree trunks, standing
outwards with the top end leaning against the house; this was to protect
the door from the winter snows, to make a sort of screen in fact, so
that it need not be dug out every day as is sometimes necessary. The
door itself was only about three feet high, and began a foot from the
ground,--another plan to keep back the encroaching snow. Yet these
_torps_ are very superior, and the inhabitants much richer than those
wretched folk who dwell in the _Savupirtti_, a house without a chimney.

There are many such queer abodes in Finland, more especially in the
_Savo_ or _Savolax_ districts there yet remain a large number of these
_Savupirtti_, the name given to a chimneyless house in the nominative
singular in Finnish, famous as we know for its sixteen cases, which so
alter the original that to a stranger the word becomes unrecognisable.

To a foreigner these _Savupirtti_ are particularly interesting, and as
we drove through the country we peeped into several of such curious
homesteads, all more or less alike, and all absolutely identical in
their poverty, homes which in 1912 only exist in the most remote
districts.

Seeing a queer tumbledown little hovel without a chimney by the wayside,
we called "_bur-r-r_" to the pony, which, like all good Scandinavian
horses, immediately drew up, and, throwing down the knotted blue cotton
reins, we hopped out, our student friend proceeding to take the top rail
off the gate to admit of our clambering over the remaining bars. These
strange loose fences are a speciality of Finland, and although they look
so shaky and tumbledown, they withstand the winter storms, which is no
slight matter. The same loose fences are to be found in the United
States or Canada, but there they are made zig-zag, and called
snake-fences. In Finland, the gates do not open; they are simply small
pine trunks laid from one fence to the other, or any chance projecting
bough, and when the peasant wants to open them, he pulls them out and
wrecks the whole fragile construction. It saves locks and hinges, even
nails, or, the native equivalent, tying with silver-birch twigs; but it
is a ramshackle sort of contrivance nevertheless.

In we went to see a chimneyless cot. See, did we say? Nay, we could not
see anything until our eyes became accustomed to the dim light. It was a
tiny room, the stove occupying almost half the available space; there
was no proper chimney; the hole at the top did not always accomplish the
purpose for which it was intended, consequently the place was black with
ancient smoke, and suffocating with modern fumes. The floor was carpeted
with whole birch boughs, the leaves of which were drying in the
atmosphere as winter fodder for the one treasured cow. For the cow is a
greater possession to the Finn than his pig to the Irishman. The other
quarter of the room contained a loom, and the space left was so limited
we were not surprised that the dame found her little outside kitchen of
much use. Two very small windows (not made to open) lighted the
apartment; so how those folk saw during the long dark winter days was a
mystery to us, for they made their own candles, they said, just as
English folks formerly made dips, and we all know the illumination from
dips is uncertain and not brilliant. Still smoke, want of ventilation,
and scarcity of light did not seem to have made them blind, although it
had certainly rendered them prematurely old.

Beyond was the bedroom, so low that a man could only stand upright in
the middle; the wooden bed was folded away for the day, and the rough
wooden table and bench denoted signs of an approaching meal, for a black
bread loaf lay upon the table, and a wooden bowl of _piimää_ was at
hand.

Standing on the little barley patch which surrounded the house, we saw a
sort of wigwam composed of loose fir-tree trunks. They leant against one
another, spread out because of their greater size at the bottom, and
narrowed to a kind of open chimney at the top. This was the housewife's
extra kitchen, and there on a heap of stones a wood fire was
smouldering, above which hung a cauldron for washing purposes. How like
the native wigwam of Southern climes was this Northern kitchen--in the
latter case only available during the warm weather, but then the family
washing for the year is done in summer, and sufficient _rågbröd_ also
baked for many months' consumption. Before we had finished inspecting
this simple culinary arrangement, the housewife arrived. She was no
blushing maid, no beautiful fresh peasant girl. Blushing, beautiful
maids don't exist in Finland, for which want the Mongolian blood or the
climate is to blame, as well as hard work. The girls work hard before
they enter their teens, and at seventeen are quite like old women. The
good body who welcomed us was much pleased to see visitors in her
little _Savupirtti_, and delighted to supply us with fresh milk, for, in
spite of their terrible poverty, these _torppari_ possessed a cow--who
does not in Finland?--wherein lies the source of their comparative
wealth. The Highland crofter, on the other hand, rarely owns even a pig!

Naturally the advent of three _kärra_ created considerable sensation,
and the old woman had immediately hurried to call her husband, so that
he also might enjoy a look at the strangers. Consequently, he stood in
the doorway awaiting our arrival.

Of course they neither of them wore any shoes or stockings. Even the
richer peasants, who possess shoes or fur-lined boots for winter use,
more often than not walk barefoot in the summer, while stockings are
unknown luxuries, a piece of rag occasionally acting as a substitute.

The old lady's short serge skirt was coarsely woven, her white shirt was
loose and clean, her apron was striped in many colours, after the native
style, and all were "woven by herself," she told us with great pride. On
her hair she wore a black cashmere kerchief. Her face might have
belonged to a woman of a hundred, or a witch of the olden days, it was
so wrinkled and tanned. Her hands were hard and horny, and yet, after
half an hour's conversation, we discovered she was only about
fifty-five, and her man seventy. But what a very, very old pair they
really seemed. Weather-beaten and worn, poorly fed during the greater
part of their lives, they were emaciated, and the stooping shoulders
and deformed hands denoted hard work and a gray life. They seemed very
jolly, nevertheless, this funny old pair. Perhaps it was our arrival, or
perhaps in the warm sunny days they have not time to look on the dark
side of things while gathering in the little tufts of grass that grow
among the rocky boulders, drying birch leaves for the cow for winter,
attending to the small patch of rye--their greatest earthly
possession--or mending up the _Savupirtti_ ere the first snows of
October are upon them, that made them so cheerful.

The old woman was much more romantically inclined than the man. The
Finnish character is slow and does not rush into speech; but a friendly
pat on one grandchild's head, and a five-penni piece to the other, made
our hostess quite chirpy. "May God's blessing accompany your journey,"
she said at parting; "may He protect the English ladies."

We got into cordial relations by degrees, and our friend the student,
seeing a piece of woven band hanging up, asked its use.

"Ah," she answered, "that was one of the pieces the bridegroom gave to
his groomsmen."

She was greatly delighted at our evident interest in her concerns, and
told us how her son, when about twenty, met with a girl of another
village, and took a fancy to her. (By law a girl must be fifteen, and a
boy eighteen, and able to prove they have something to live on before
they can marry.)

"He saw her many times, and decided to ask her to be his wife," she
continued. "He had met the girl when he was working at her father's
house, so he sent a _puhemies_, or spokesman, to ask for the girl's
hand."

This personage is generally chosen from among the intended bridegroom's
best friends, as in the days of _Kalevala_, and usually is possessed of
a ready tongue. The _puhemies_ still plays a very important rôle, for
not only does he ask for the girl's hand (while the suitor sits like a
mute), but he is obliged to help at the wedding ceremony and feast, and
also has to provide, from his own purse, brandy and coffee for all the
guests.

After the proposal was accepted, our old friend told us there was an
exchange of rings, her son got his bride such a splendid wide gold
band--much wider than hers--and it was arranged that they would marry
when the man had collected enough goods, and the girl had woven
sufficient linen and stuffs to stock the little home.

"Of course," exclaimed the voluble old lady, "my son gave the
_kihlarahat_."

"What is that?" we asked.

"Why, it is a sort of deposit given to the girl's father to show he
really means to marry the girl. A cow, or something of that sort,
denotes he is in earnest, and my son also gave money to the girl herself
to buy things for their future household."

"How long were they engaged?"

"Two years--for we are poor, and it took that time to collect enough to
get married. Ah, but the marriage was a grand thing, it was," and the
old hag chuckled to herself at the remembrance.

All these things and many more the proud mother told us, till at last
she became completely engrossed in the tale of her son's wedding. He was
her only boy, and she talked of him and of his doings with as much pride
as if he had been the greatest hero of this or any century. She informed
us how, a month before the wedding, the young couple had gone to the
pastor dressed in their best, the _puhemies_, of course, accompanying
them, and there arranged to have the banns read three Sundays in the
bride's district. We were struck by this strange resemblance to our own
customs, and learnt that the publication of banns is quite universal in
Finland.

"The wedding was here," she went on, warming to her narrative, "for,
naturally, the wedding always takes place at the bridegroom's house."

Looking round at the extremely small two-roomed hovel, we wondered how
it was possible to have _läksiäiset_ or _polterabend_, as our German
friends call the festival before the wedding, at this bridegroom's
house, for the one little sitting-room and the one little bedroom
combined did not cover a larger space of ground than an ordinary
billiard table.

"It is a very expensive thing to get married," she continued, "and my
son had to give many presents to the _Appi_ (father-in-law), _Anoppi_
(mother-in-law), _Morsianpiiat_ (bridesmaids), _Sulhasrengit_
(groomsmen), etc."

Knowing the poverty of the place and the distance from a town where
goods could be purchased, we enquired the sort of presents he gave.

"To all the bridesmaids," she said, "he gave _Sukat_ (stockings), that
being the fashion of the country, to the groomsmen he gave _paita_
(shirts), to his mother-in-law, the _Anoppi_, he gave _vaatteet_
(dress), and to the _Appi_ he gave a _vyö_ (belt). Then to various other
friends he distributed _huivit_ (head handkerchiefs)," and altogether
the wedding became a very serious drain on the family resources.

"But oh! it was a lovely time," she exclaimed rapturously. "A wedding is
a splendid thing. We had a feast all that day and the next day, and then
the priest came and they were married."

"Did many friends come to the wedding?" we ventured to ask.

"Oh yes, certainly, every one we knew came from miles round. Some
brought a can of milk, and some brought corn brandy, and others brought
_gröt_ (porridge), and _Järvinen_ had been to _Iisalmi_, so he brought
back with him some white bread. Ay, it was a grand feast," and she
rubbed her hands again and again, and positively smacked her lips at the
recollection of the festival. "We danced, and ate, and sang, and made
merry for two days, and then we all walked with my son and his bride to
that little _torp_ on the other side of the wood, and left them there,
where they have lived ever since."

"Do you generally stay long in the same house in Finland?"

"Of course," she replied, "I came here when I was a bride, and I shall
never leave it till I am a corpse."

This led to her telling us of the last funeral in the neighbourhood. A
man died, and, according to custom, he was laid out in an outhouse. The
coffin, made by a peasant friend, was brought on a sledge, and, it
being March with snow on the ground--"to the rumble of a snow sledge
swiftly bounding," as they say in _Kalevala_. The corpse on the fourth
day was laid in the coffin, and placed in front of the house door. All
the friends and relatives arrived for the final farewell. Each in turn
went up to the dead man; the relations kissed him (it will be remembered
the royal party kissed the corpse of the late Tzar before his funeral in
the Fortress Church at St. Petersburg), and his friends all shook him by
the hand. Then the coffin was screwed down, laid across a pony's back,
to which it was securely strapped, and away they all trudged to the
cemetery to bury their friend.

She went on to tell us of a curious old fashion in Finland, not
altogether extinct. During the time that a corpse is being laid out and
washed, professional women are engaged to come and sing "the corpse
song." This is a weird melancholy chant, joined in by the relations as
far as they are able, but chiefly undertaken by the paid singers. This
confirmed what two of the _Runo_ singers at _Sordavala_ had told us,
that they were often hired out to perform this lament, and, as we were
much interested in such a quaint old custom, we asked them at the time
if they would repeat it for us. They seemed delighted. The two women
stood up opposite one another, and each holding her handkerchief over
her eyes, rolled herself backwards and forwards, slowly singing the
melancholy dirge the while. They had a perfect fund of song these _Runo_
women, of whom our friend at the _Savupirtti_ constantly reminded us;
we told her that they had recited how _Wäinämöinen_ had made himself a
_Kantele_ out of the head of a pike, and how he had played upon it so
beautifully that the tears had welled to his own eyes until they began
to flow, and as his tears fell into the sea the drops turned into
beautiful pearls.

We asked the old dame if she could sing?

"Oh yes," and without more ado this _prima donna_ sang a song about a
girl sitting at a bridge waiting for her lover. It ran--_Annuka_, the
maid of _Åbo_, sat at the end of the bridge waiting for a man after her
own mind, a man with tender words. Out of the sea came a man, a watery
form out of the depths of the waves with a golden helmet, a golden cloak
upon his shoulders, golden gloves upon his hands, golden money in his
pockets, and bridal trinkets such as formerly were given to all Finnish
brides.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _Åbo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _Åbo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits
for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves
with a silver helmet, a silver cloak upon his shoulders, silver gloves
upon his hands, silver money in his pockets, and silver bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _Åbo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _Åbo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits
for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves
with a copper helmet, a copper cloak upon his shoulders, copper gloves
upon his hands, copper money in his pockets, and copper bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _Åbo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _Åbo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits
for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves
with an iron helmet, an iron cloak upon his shoulders, iron gloves upon
his hands, iron money in his pockets, and iron bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _Åbo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

And then came a poor man, whose only wealth was bread. It is not gold,
nor silver, nor copper, nor iron, but bread that is the staff of life.
This is emblematical, to show that money does not make happiness, and so
_Annuka_, the maid of _Åbo_, takes him, and sings--

"Now I am coming to you, my husband. _Annuka_, the maid of _Åbo_, will
be happy now, and happy evermore."

Many old Finnish songs repeat themselves like this, and most of them are
very sad.

Our dear old woman was moved to tears as she sang in her squeaky voice,
and rocked herself to and fro.

As she sang a butterfly flew past us, and was quickly joined by a
second, when a small fight ensued, the pretty creatures coming together
as though kissing one another in their frolicsome short-lived glee, and
then separating again, perhaps for ever.

"_Ukonkoira_" (butterflies), remarked the old woman, beaming with
pleasure. Then our student explained that the butterfly was looked upon
as sacred, and its flight considered a good omen.

We had been much impressed by our old dame; her innocence and childish
joy, her love of music, and her God-fearing goodness were most touching.

We cannot repeat too often that the Finn is musical and poetical to the
core, indeed, he has a strong and romantic love for tales and stories,
songs and melody, while riddles are to be met with at every turn, and
the funny thing is that these riddles or mental puzzles often most
mercilessly ridicule the Finns themselves.

No language, perhaps, is richer in sayings than the Finnish. When a Finn
sees any one trying to perform some feat beyond his power, and failing,
he immediately laughs and cries, "_Eihän lehmä puuhun pääse_" (the cow
cannot climb a tree). Or, when speaking of his own country as superior
to every other land, he invariably adds, "_Oma maa mansikka muu maa
mustikka_" (my own land is a strawberry, all other lands are
bilberries).

These proverbs and riddles, of which there are some thousands, are the
solace of the winter evenings, when the old folk sit opposite one
another in the dark--more often than not hand in hand--each trying who
will give in first and find his store of riddles soonest exhausted. In
fact, from childhood the Finn is taught to think and invent by means of
riddles; in his solitude he ponders over them, and any man who evolves a
good one is a hero in his village. They meet together for "riddle
evenings," and most amusing are the punishments given to those who
cannot answer three in succession. He is sent to _Hymylä_, which is
something like being sent to Coventry.

He is given three chances, and if he can answer none every one sings--

    _Hyys hyys Hymylään!
    Kun et sitäkään tiedä._

Meaning, "Well, well, off you go to Coventry as punishment for
ignorance."

Then the poor delinquent is made to play the fool. He is set on a chair
in the middle of the room, dressed up as fancy pleases the audience. His
face is often absurdly painted, and after enduring every indignity, to
the amusement of his friends, he is escorted from the room to ponder
over the answers to the riddles. How they chaff him. Does he enjoy
_Hymylä_? Are the dogs howling and the children running away? If he
wants to come back he had better harness a mouse to his carriage, find a
cat to act as coachman, and a saucepan for a sledge. He must wash
himself with tar and paint himself with feathers.

And so they chaff and laugh on during those long winter evenings, in
their badly-lighted homes, where books are still rare.

Every one in Finland can read to-day, but the first Finnish book was
published in 1542, by _Mikael Agricola_, the Bishop who made the first
translation of the New Testament; but they cannot read much in their
dimly-lighted houses during the long winters, and therefore it is that
they sing so constantly, and repeat mythical rhymes, or riddles and
proverbs, which our host and hostess declared they loved.

Their _Savupirtti_ and land did not belong to them, the latter told us.
The actual owner was a farmer who let it out in various _torps_. Our
particular friend, the _torppari_, paid him one-third of all he made off
his holding, and gave him besides eight days' work during the
year--being called upon for this manual contribution whenever the farmer
was himself most pressed.

This particular little chimneyless house lay eighteen kilometres from
_Iisalmi_, where the nearest shops were to be found. The poor old woman
told us that she had had nine children, out of which number she had lost
seven. When we considered the smallness of her home, the terrible want
of ventilation and sanitation, the poverty of the people, and the
hardness of their lives, we were not in the least surprised at her
statement, but we marvelled much at the mother having survived all she
must have gone through.

She made a wonderful picture as she sat on the wooden bedstead, her bare
feet playing a tattoo on the wooden floor, while her clean clothes
seemed absolutely to shine against the darkness of the wall behind her.

Although so far removed from civilisation, and from luxuries of any
kind, the old couple knew how to read, and they had one or two treasured
books. Poor as they were, they, like every other native peasant,
possessed a _Piplia_ (Bible), a _