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                             SEVEN BROTHERS




                                 SEVEN
                                BROTHERS

                                   BY
                              ALEXIS KIVI

                     TRANSLATED FROM THE FINNISH BY
                              ALEX MATSON


                                 LONDON
                         FABER & FABER LIMITED
                           24 RUSSELL SQUARE




                       FIRST PUBLISHED IN MCMXXIX
                       BY FABER AND FABER LIMITED
                     24 RUSSELL SQUARE LONDON W.C.I
                        PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
                      BY TREND AND COMPANY PLYMOUTH
                           ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




PREFACE


Alexis Kivi, or Stenvall, the greatest prose poet of Finland, was
born at Palojoki (Nurmjaervi) in Finland, on the 10th October, 1834,
in the poorest and humblest of circumstances.[1] His father was a
village tailor, his first home a low-roofed hut in a remote part of the
country, hemmed in by those virgin forests which Kivi has described so
unforgettably in his _Seven Brothers_.

His life was one long struggle against poverty and countless
difficulties. A great hunger for knowledge and education made him
leave his native village quite early, but there were so many forced
interruptions in his school days at Helsinki, the capital, that he
only entered the University at the age of 23. There, however, he
failed to complete his education, partly on account of want and
ill-health, partly also, perhaps, because of his inborn restlessness,
which induced him to take to the life of a literary freelance. Soon
he turned his back on Helsinki, which he was only to revisit at
intervals, and returned to the countryside for good and all. Here, in
peace and isolation, he began to write in earnest. Yet, in spite of an
apparently solitary life, he spent all these years in the best company
conceivable, in long intercourse with the rarest spirits that ever
communed with the minds of men. The Bible, Cervantes, Dante, Homer and
Shakespeare--these were his friends, his teachers, his models! A secret
kinship, a sure and unspoilt instinct, made this lonely ailing student
turn away from the literature of his own times and guided him to these
masters, the source of all poetry.

The influence of Shakespeare was especially powerful with him; as a
contemporary critic remarks: ‘Shakespeare loosened the tongue of his
Muse, though it would be too much to say that the English Titan taught
him speech’. There were many plays and poems of Shakespeare which he
learned by heart in Swedish translation (the Finnish version was not
published until later) and he never tired of reading and re-reading
them. Professor V. Tarkiainen, the well-known student of Kivi, observes
that from Shakespeare Kivi learned the art of constructing a play, of
grouping characters and situations, of contrasting light and shade.
Moreover, Shakespeare and Cervantes together helped him to develop and
express his great natural gifts of humour.

A kind-hearted, middle-aged motherly soul, by name Charlotta Lonngvist,
cook and sempstress in the same parish, gave Alexis Kivi the shelter
of her roof for many years, and such material help besides as her own
scanty means allowed. And there it was, in the Swedish-speaking parish
of Siuntio, that the greater number of Kivi’s masterpieces came into
being, _Seven Brothers_ among them.

Nevertheless, the narrow circumstances of his life continued to have a
depressing effect upon Kivi. When at leisure, he used to spend weeks
together in the forest, snaring birds. Occasionally too, when want of
money and companions and books became too oppressive, he escaped on
short visits to the capital, or found solace for the weariness and
restlessness of his soul in the glass.

No author living in Finland in those days could possibly hope to earn
a competence as a writer; the reading public was small, and authors’
fees there were little or none. Still less was this possible in the
case of Alexis Kivi, for he was a poet of such solitary and original
genius that few of his contemporaries were able to understand the
significance and range of his talents. He was like the bird that
migrates too early and settles among drifting ice--his genius was not
fated to light upon its hour, or awake response.

Outward circumstances combined with more intimate causes to hasten his
fate. Ill-health and nervousness had dogged him through life; insanity
at last declared itself. For a time the suffering poet was nursed in
Helsinki, but soon he was pronounced incurable and sent back to his
native village. There he was placed in the care of his brother, to
whom the village allotted as maintenance a yearly allowance of rye.
Kivi survived for one more year--passed, however, in almost complete
apathy--and on New Year’s Eve 1872, his life, which had been rich only
in the fairy gold of visions and dreams, was over. At his death he was
only thirty-seven years of age. His last words were ‘I live!’

These words, murmured on his sad deathbed, were prophetic. For Kivi
is still really alive, and more so perhaps than during his joyless
wanderings upon this earth. He is a living force in the mind of to-day,
in the literature and poetry of Finland.

Kivi’s writings embrace all the different branches of poetic
art--lyric, epic, dramatic. In each of these different spheres he has
experimented and attained to mastery; in epic and drama, he takes rank
as a pioneer.

He first attempted a gloomy tragedy in prose, choosing a subject from
the _Kalevala_, treating of Kullervo, one of the tragic heroes
of the national epic; condemned to slavery, he broods like Hamlet,
meditating vengeance upon his father’s brother. But this burning
tragedy of revenge was to remain a great fragment in the hands of the
author--an unfinished torso. In the choice of theme, however, and in
certain soaring lines, one already discerns the master-hand.

His one or two ventures upon lofty tragic themes in the Shakespearean
manner are scarcely likely to survive. But in his one-act play,
_Leah_, the achievement is complete and fully realized. This
lyrical play, with its biblical setting, has been described as a ‘sweet
flower, where the voluptuousness of the East is blended with Finnish
clarity.’

The action takes place during the life-time of Christ, in the house
of Zacchæus, the publican. Though Christ is not seen in person on the
stage, the radiance of His unseen presence seems to pervade the scene
and glimmer through the ecstasy of Leah, daughter to Zacchæus.

It is from the first performance of _Leah_ in 1869 that the
beginnings of the Finnish theatre are usually dated.

However, it was not until Kivi wrote that broad comedy of peasant
life called _The Heath Cobblers_ that his powers for creating
characters and situations became revealed in their full range and
richness and versatility. The subject is the unsuccessful courtship of
Esko, the heath cobbler’s son, who reaches the home of his would-be
bride just as she is celebrating her marriage with another suitor.
There is a world of varied and many-coloured types in this play; all of
them are depicted with the inexhaustible joy of creative energy, and
bathed in the golden light of genial humour.

Like some smaller piece cast in the same mould as _The Heath
Cobblers_, and of the same material, yet in miniature, is Kivi’s
one-act comedy, _The Betrothal_. Once again the subject is an
unsuccessful courtship, but this time the hero is a village tailor.
_The Betrothal_ appeared in an English version in the _Dublin
Review_, translated by Professor R. Pape Cowl, and was staged by the
Ashburton Players in 1922.

Professor Tarkiainen has made a happy comparison between Kivi’s poetry
and the wonder-bird of Finnish folklore--that bird ‘whose one wing
touches the water while the other sweeps the heavens’.

In his lyrical poems, so tender and delicate that they scarcely will
suffer any fetters of form, Kivi sometimes attains to a wonderful
unearthliness, as in the poem called _Dusk_, which begins:

    ‘What fainting light
    What shadows of night
        Surround my soul!’

Here already one feels the gathering menace of the oncoming clouds of
insanity.

In his prose, there is the same frail and dreamlike lyricism, combined
with a strong grasp of the realities--the soarings of the imagination
are linked with rich faculties of pithy observation, which spring
directly from the soil and often indeed bring us near to naked realism.

These two fundamental and apparently contradictory qualities are also
found together in Kivi’s masterpiece, _Seven Brothers_, now for
the first time given to the English public. _Seven Brothers_
was first published in 1870, only a short time before Kivi’s fateful
illness. Nine years went to the writing of this work, and more care and
pains were spent upon it than upon any other of his writings.

In this great epic novel, which has been compared with the greatest
literary creations of all times and countries, and where the influence
of Cervantes is unmistakable, Kivi has found the most original theme,
the largest scope for his creative fantasy. The story tells of the fate
of seven Finnish brothers who fly from civilization into the freedom of
primeval forests, and return at last of their own free-will to human
habitations and society.

There are passages where the story gleams with lyrical loveliness, as
in Aapo’s tale of the Pale Maiden, or in that scene set in Eero’s home
on a Sunday evening, when his young wife sings a lullaby to her child.
Again, the description creates for us powerful plastic pictures, full
of forest mystery, of the brothers’ hunting adventures, of their fight
on the top of a boulder with a frenzied herd of bulls. At times it
turns to the comic and burlesque, as in the spelling scene between the
brothers and the parish clerk; and now it is rich in bubbling dialogue,
and we listen to the living tones of each brother’s voice in turn, from
obstinate, bristle-haired Juhani, and prating, drunken Simeoni, down to
the youngest, sly and witty Eero.

In this spacious tale, unique among Kivi’s writings, and also in
Finnish literature, the virgin forest-lands of Finland live and have
their being, even as the wandering Kivi knew and loved them.

Kivi’s language, wonderful and original always, reaches full maturity
in _Seven Brothers_. At a time when Finnish was still undeveloped
as a literary language, he forges and creates an instrument entirely
his own which he can turn, now to sublime and tragic themes, now to
the comic and burlesque; he draws upon all sources and most of all
upon the Bible, the _Kalevala_ and the peasant talk of his fellow
parishioners, with its wealth of idioms and puns. The nearest parallel
which English readers could find would probably be the work of John M.
Synge, for he has drawn upon like sources, and the rhythm of his prose
most nearly recalls the language of Kivi.

The fate that befell _Seven Brothers_ was the fate common to all
masterpieces created in solitary grandeur, and independently of their
time. So far from gaining early recognition, Kivi’s epic found very
few readers able to divine its true significance. In various quarters
indeed, criticism was violently hostile: the language was held to be
coarse, the construction (here there was some justice for the comment)
not sufficiently compact, and the component parts--epic, dramatic and
lyric--wanting in harmony. The author’s unquestionable birthright of
genius remained an unguessed secret for most of his contemporaries.
It was only by slow degrees and with the passage of years that Kivi’s
genius came to be recognized. To-day, fresh editions of his works are
constantly appearing; Finland’s greatest artist, Akseli Gallen-Kallela,
has illustrated _Seven Brothers_; towns vie with each other in
erecting monuments to the author’s memory. Special students, known as
Kivi-scholars, have risen into prominence and devote much time to the
study of Kivi’s life and work, the most representative among them being
the forementioned V. Tarkiainen, Professor of Finnish Literature at the
University of Helsinki, and Dr. J. W. Lehtonen, lecturer at the same
University.

_Seven Brothers_ has already been translated into many languages,
notably French, German, Swedish, Estonian, and now also into English.

The words of the Bible concerning the stone which the builders rejected
have indeed come true of Alexis Kivi; for Kivi (The Stone) has become
the cornerstone of Finnish literature.

                                                            AINO KALLAS.




SEVEN BROTHERS




CHAPTER I


Jukola Farm, in the south of the province of Häme, stands on the
northern slope of a hill, near the village of Toukola. Around it the
ground is bestrewn with boulders, but below this stony patch begin the
fields, where, before the farm fell into decay, heavy-eared crops used
to wave. Below the fields is a meadow, rimmed with clover and cleft
by a winding ditch; and richly it had yielded hay before becoming a
pasturage for straying village cattle. In addition to these, the farm
owns vast forests, bogs and backwoods, most of which the founder of the
farm, with admirable foresight, succeeded in adding to it at the first
great settlement of boundaries in former days. On that occasion the
master of Jukola, with an eye more to the benefit of his descendants
than his own best, had accepted as his share a forest ravaged by fire
and by this means received seven times the area given his neighbours.
But all signs of this fire had long ago disappeared from his holding
and dense forests had replaced them. Such is the home of the seven
brothers whose fortunes I am about to relate.

Their names, in order of age, are: Juhani, Tuomas, Aapo, Simeoni,
Timo, Lauri and Eero. Tuomas and Aapo are twins, and so are Timo and
Lauri. Juhani, the eldest, is twenty-five, while Eero, the youngest, is
barely eighteen. In build they are sturdy and broad of shoulder: all
of middling height except Eero, who is still very short. The tallest
of them is Aapo, though perhaps not the strongest. The honours in this
respect are with Tuomas, who is indeed famous for the breadth of his
shoulders. A peculiarity that marks them all is the brownness of their
skin and the stiff, hemplike quality of their hair, the coarseness of
which is especially striking in Juhani.

Their father, a passionate hunter, met a sudden death in the prime
of his life while fighting an enraged bear. Both were found dead,
the shaggy king of the woods and the man, lying side by side on the
bloodstained ground. The man was terribly mangled, but the bear, too,
displayed the marks of a knife in its throat and side, while the keen
ball of a rifle had pierced its breast. Thus perished a sturdy fellow
who had killed in his time over fifty bears. But for the sake of these
hunting trips he neglected the care of his farm and, bereft of a
master’s guidance, it had gradually fallen into ruin. Nor were the boys
better inclined towards sowing and ploughing; from their father they
had inherited his keen longing for the chase. They laid traps, set gins
and snares, and dug grouse-pits, to the undoing of wildfowl and hares.
In such pursuits they spent the days of their boyhood, until they could
handle fire-arms and dared approach the bear in its wilds.

Their mother tried, indeed, with scoldings and the rod, to turn their
thoughts to work and diligence, but the brothers’ obstinacy proved
equal to all her efforts. She was in all a deserving woman, known
for her straightforward and upright, though perhaps a trifle harsh,
nature. A fine character too, was her brother, the boys’ beloved
uncle, a fearless sailor who in his youth had sailed the distant seas,
seeing many peoples and lands; until losing his eyesight and becoming
stone-blind, he came to live the dark days of his old age on Jukola
Farm. Here, as he carved by touch such things as dippers, spoons,
axe-shafts, clappers and other useful articles, he would often tell his
nephews tales, and describe to them wonderful happenings in his own and
other countries, and, in between, miracles and events from the Bible.
To these talks of his the brothers listened attentively, impressing
them deeply on their memories. With less pleasure they heard the
commands and scoldings of their mother, whose often-repeated whippings
failed to cure them of an affected hardness of hearing. It would also
often happen that, scenting the approach of a hiding, the whole crowd
would take to flight, causing their mother and others much anxiety and
only making their own case worse.

I will relate here one episode of their childhood. As the boys were
well aware, there was a hen’s nest under their barn belonging to an old
woman called ‘Mother Pinewood’, her little cabin standing in a clump of
pines near Jukola. The thought of baked eggs coming into their minds
one day, they decided to rob this nest and to set off into the forest
to enjoy their plunder. Acting on this idea, they emptied the nest and
fled with one accord to the woods, six of them, for Eero still crawled
at that time at his mother’s feet. And when they reached a certain
bubbling brook in a dark spruce-wood, they made a fire on its bank,
wrapped the eggs in rags, and, after dipping them in water, set them
to bake in the hissing ashes. Then when the eggs were ready they ate a
tasty meal and set off home again, satisfied. But on reaching the home
hill they were met by a hurricane, for in the meantime their roguery
had been discovered. Mother Pinewood scolded and raged, and with angry
looks their own mother came forward to meet them, a whistling rod in
her hand. But the boys felt loth to face this tempest and turning, fled
again to the forest for shelter, heedless of their mother’s cries.

A day now passed and then another, but nothing was heard of the
truants; and at last their absence began to cause their mother great
anxiety; her anger soon changed to sorrow and tears of pity. She set
out to look for them, scouring the forests in all directions, but
without finding them. Whereupon the matter began to assume a more
dreadful aspect, and at last called for help from the authorities.
Word was sent to the Sheriff’s man, whose duty it was to organize
search parties, and without delay the whole of Toukola village and its
neighbourhood was called up. And now a party of old and young, men
and women mingled, set out in a long line to comb the forests, with
the Sheriff’s man at their head. On the first day they searched the
vicinity, but without the hoped-for result; the next day they moved
farther afield, and now as they breasted a hill, they saw far away
on the edge of a bog a blue pillar of smoke that wound upward to the
sky. Carefully marking the direction in which the smoke was seen, they
pushed on towards it. And then, having drawn nearer, they heard a voice
which sang:

    ‘We fared as well in olden days
    Behind the river here.
    The driftwood kept our fire ablaze,
    The water was our beer.’

Whereat the mistress of Jukola, hearing this song, cheered up again,
for she recognized the voice as that of her son Juhani. And by certain
crashes which rang through the trees, the searchers knew they were
approaching the truants’ camp. The Sheriff’s man gave an order to
surround the boys and then to close in silently, keeping, however, some
distance away.

His orders were obeyed. And when the party, closing in on all sides,
had come within fifty paces of their quarry, they paused to look upon
this sight; at the foot of a rock a small shelter had been built
of pine branches, and against the door Juhani lay on a mossy bed,
looking up at the clouds and singing. Some distance from the shelter
a merry fire was blazing, and in its embers Simeoni was roasting a
grouse the brothers had caught in a snare. With sooty faces, Aapo and
Timo--blacked for some game--baked turnips in hot ashes. Lauri sat
in silence on the edge of a little claypit, modelling clay whistles,
bullocks and spirited foals; and a fine row he already had of them
drying on a moss-clad trunk. Tuomas wielded the fire-hammer: he spat
frothily on a stone embedded in the earth, then, placing a glowing
ember on the moisture, he brought down another stone on it with all his
might, whereupon a crash, often as loud as the report of a rifle, would
echo around, and a sooty smoke issue from between the stones.

JUHANI. ‘We fared as well in olden days Behind the river here
...’

But the Devil will get us yet out here. That’s as sure as anything, my
young beavers.

AAPO. I said that as soon as we took the hare’s road. What
fools we are! Robbers and gypsies can wallow like this under the naked
sky for me.

TIMO. God’s sky, anyhow.

AAPO. Living here with bears and wolves.

TUOMAS. And with God.

JUHANI. Right, Tuomas! With God and his angels. Ah! if we
could only see now with the eyes of a soul in heaven, we’d see plainly
enough a whole host of sheltering angels with wings camped around us,
and God himself looking like a grey old gaffer sitting in our midst
like the best of fathers.

SIMEONI. Ay, but what is poor mother thinking now?

TUOMAS. That she’d be glad to baste us to a turnip-stew as
soon as she lays her claws on us.

JUHANI. Ai, boy, that would be a basting!

TUOMAS. A tingling basting! Ay, we know that.

SIMEONI. There’s no doubt about that. Best go and take it now
and end this bullock’s holiday.

JUHANI. A bull doesn’t quite go of its own free will to the
slaughterer’s bench, little brother.

AAPO. What nonsense, boy! Winter’ll soon be here, and we
weren’t given a pelt to our backs at birth.

SIMEONI. So there’s nothing else to do but quick march home
and take our hiding. After all we’ve earned it.

JUHANI. Brothers, let our backs be spared a few more days. Who
knows what way out God may show us in the next two or three days. Ay,
let us still tumble about a bit out here: the days round yon tree-stump
fireplace of ours, the nights in our home of pine-branches, grunting in
a row like suckling-pigs in a stye.--What dost thou say, old Lauri, in
thy claypit? What? Shall we go nicely and be beaten?

LAURI. Let’s stay here still.

JUHANI. That’s what I think’s best too. Just so!--But that’s a
fine herd of cattle thou hast there.

TUOMAS. Cattle and poultry, that boy has.

JUHANI. A grand flock. There’s the making of a real
clay-whistle maker in thee.

TUOMAS. A real plasterer.

JUHANI. A first-class plasterer.--What Russian clay doll is
that just out of thy paws?

LAURI. This is only a kind of a little boy.

JUHANI. See the beggar!

TUOMAS. Makes boys like any man.

JUHANI. Boys as stout as tree-stumps; and looks after them
too like a man.--But brothers, hurry up with that dinner on the table;
my stomach’s starting to grumble. More ashes, red-hot ashes, on the
glowing side of that turnip. Whose turn is it to steal turnips?

SIMEONI. My turn to do the work of sin.

JUHANI. To keep the life in our bodies we are forced to pinch
a little from others. If this is a sin it is one of the tiniest done
in this worm-eaten world. And if I die with no other black marks in my
book than that, I’m sure those little crow’s marks won’t stop me from
coming to a somewhat better life. I’d soon be chased out of the real
bridal chamber, that I do know, but there’d always be some doorkeeper’s
job for a boy, and even that would be terrible fun.--Ay, let’s believe
that and cheerfully help ourselves to a belly-full at a time.

AAPO. I believe we’d do well to leave Kuokkala’s turnip-patch
in peace for a while and find ourselves another. A daily loss soon sets
a farmer watching his land night and day.

THE SHERIFF’S MAN. No need to worry over that, my boys, no
need at all. Well, well, why this flurry? Look: a host of guardian
angels has been camped around you right enough.

Thus spoke the Sheriff’s man to the brothers who, greatly scared,
sprang to their feet and rushed off in all directions, but to their
terror soon saw their way to freedom cut off everywhere. Then the
Sheriff’s man spoke again: ‘You are in the net now, rascals, safe in
a net from which there’ll be no escape until you have been scaled a
little as a reminder, a gentle reminder, of the footsoreness you have
caused us, you scoundrels. Now, mother, bring thy birch-rod here, and
give it them with a warm hand. And in case there’s any resistance,
there are plenty of help-women here.’ Followed a beating from mother’s
hand, man by man through the whole flock of brothers; and great was
the outcry in Kuokkala Wood. Hotly the woman plied her rod, yet the
Sheriff’s man held stoutly that their punishment had been too mild.

But when this final task was over, everybody returned home, amongst
them the mother with her sons. All the way she scolded and stormed at
the truants; nor did the tempest abate when they arrived at the house.
Even while setting out a meal for her sons on a stool the goodwife
still raged, threatening to give them a new beating. But seeing the
voracious hunger with which they dug their teeth into the bread and
salt fish, she turned her face away, secretly wiping a tear from her
brown, rugged cheek.

Thus ended the boys’ escapade. And this was the event from their
childhood for which I interrupted my tale.

Another favourite amusement of the brothers was a game called ‘hitting
the disc’, which even in the years of their manhood they still loved to
play. Divided into two parties, they fought fiercely to see which party
could drive the other backward, the point where the disc was laid low
deciding their positions. There was always a great running, shouting
and jostling, and the perspiration ran steaming from their faces. The
disc sped humming along the road, often rebounding from the bat on to a
man’s face, so that when they returned from their game, more than one
brow would be adorned with mighty horns, or a cheek would be swollen to
the likeness of a round loaf. So passed the days of their youth: the
summers in the forest or hitting the disc on the highway, the winters
on the top of the huge oven in perspiring heat.

But even the brothers could not fail to notice that the times
changed. Events occurred which compelled them in greater measure than
hitherto to think upon the morrow and to alter somewhat their former
ways.--Their mother had died and one of them had now to take over the
reins, to steer the farm clear of total ruin and to see to the payment
of the Government Tax, though considering the wide area of land and
forest belonging to Jukola, this was not large. But on a mismanaged
farm there are duties enough. And to crown all, it chanced that the new
Rector of the parish was a fearfully strict man in all that pertained
to his calling. He was, above all, merciless to backward readers, and
used every means in his power, not stopping short even of confinement
in the stocks, to stimulate their taste for learning. And soon his
sharp eye had fallen on the Jukola brothers. Already he had sent
them by a writ-server a sternly-worded command, bidding them hasten
with more than usual speed to the parish clerk to be taught how to
read.--With these events in their minds, sitting one evening in late
summer in the tupa, the large living-room in their home, the brothers
conversed amongst themselves in the following words:

AAPO. What I say is that this wild life isn’t right, and is
sure to end in ruin and destruction. Brothers! Other works and other
habits, if we wish for peace.

JUHANI. What thou sayest is true, it can’t be denied.

SIMEONI. God ha’ mercy! Wild and unbridled has our life been
unto this day.

TIMO. This life’s as good as another, and so’s this world.
It’s all right, even if it does tell on a man. Oho!

JUHANI. The wildness, or to use the right word, the
carelessness of our life cannot be denied. Let us remember though,
‘youth and folly, old age and wisdom’.

AAPO. It’s time now for us to grow wiser, time to put all
our lusts and passions under the yoke of our brains and do chiefly
that which brings profit, and not that which tastes best. Let us begin
without delay to work up our farm into respectable shape again.

JUHANI. Well spoken! We’ll start on the manure first like
dung-beetles, and to give us enough twigs to mix it with let the
chopping-block echo round Jukola’s walls from morning to eve; the
cattle, too, can do their best to raise the pile; and may the dunghills
in our yard rise high as the golden walls of a king’s castle. That’s
what we’ll do. Next Monday we begin, and down from the roots.

AAPO. Why not tomorrow?

JUHANI. Not before Monday. There’s no harm in letting the
matter ripen. That’s settled then: next Monday.

AAPO. There’s another point we ought to settle at once. It is
this: if we wish for order and a firm foundation to our work, one of us
must be leader and master. As we know, the right and duty of leadership
is Juhani’s both as his birthright and by our mother’s wish.

JUHANI. Ay, the right, the power and the might is mine.

AAPO. But see thou usest it fairly and for the common good.

JUHANI. I’m willing to try my best. If you would only obey me
without blows and the whip. Still, I’ll try my best.

AAPO. The whip?

JUHANI. Ay, if so be needed.

TUOMAS. Speak to thy dogs of the whip.

TIMO. Thou wilt never warm my withers, never; let the rod of
law and justice do that if ever my back itch for it.

JUHANI. Why will you seize on every loose word? There’s room
enough here for all of us to be happy in, as long as we can agree and
each draws in his horns.

EERO. Let’s make it plain, anyhow, how we stand to each other.

AAPO. And let us hear what each of us has to say.

JUHANI. What dost thou, Lauri, always a man of few words, say?

LAURI. I’d say something. Let us move into the forest and say
farewell to the racket of this world.

JUHANI. Ey?

AAPO. The man’s raving again.

JUHANI. Move into the forest? What foolishness!

AAPO. Never mind him. Listen, this is how I have thought out
the matter. Thou, Juhani, hast the first choice of being master, if it
is thy wish.

JUHANI. It is my wish.

AAPO. Then we others, as long as we stay in this dear home
of ours and are unmarried, will work here, eating the farm’s food and
getting our clothes from the farm. The first Monday in each month,
except at sowing and reaping times, is to be our holiday, though on
that day too the farm must feed us. Every year the farm is to give each
of us a half-barrel of oats for sowing, and every year we are to have
the right to cut a common clearing of at least three acres. Such is
my plan for as long as we stay here, and are single. But I know that
none of us would willingly leave the beloved soil of our dear Jukola,
and why should we? There’s plenty of room for seven brothers on these
lands. But should anyone in the course of time feel the wish to start
a home of his own and yet be unwilling to begin cutting up the farm as
he has the right to demand, with all the cost of surveyors, couldn’t
he agree to what I now say? Let him inherit a piece of land to build
his house and lay out fields on. Let him also be given a share of the
pasturage and the right to make a clearing in the forest big enough
for him to be able to keep a couple of horses and four or five head of
cattle. This land he can farm tax-free and enjoy its produce, both he
and his children, living peacefully on his own soil.--That’s how I have
thought out this matter. What do you say?

JUHANI. Fairly sensibly thought out. Let us take and weigh
over these paragraphs.

LAURI. Another and better plan is this. Let us move far into
the forest and sell wretched Jukola, or rent it to the tanner of
Rajaportti. He has told us of his wish for such a bargain; but he wants
the farm for his own for at least ten years. Let us do as I say and
move with horse, dogs and guns to the foot of Impivaara’s steep fell.
There we can build ourselves a merry cabin on a merry, sunny hillside,
and there, hunting game in the forests, live in peace far away from the
din of the world and its crabby people.--This is what I have dreamed of
night and day for many years.

JUHANI. Has the Devil turned thy brains, boy?

EERO. If not the Devil, a forest-nymph.

LAURI. That’s what I’m thinking of and that’s what I’ll
do some day. There we could live like gentlemen, hunting wildfowl,
squirrels, hares, foxes, wolves, badgers and bushy-coated bears.

JUHANI. Well! Go on with the whole Noah’s ark from mouse to
moose.

EERO. There’s an idea for you: say goodbye to salt and bread
and instead suck meat, gorge flesh like mosquitos or Lapland wizards.
Would we eat fox and wolf too, out there in Impivaara’s caves, like
hairy ogres?

LAURI. Foxes and wolves would give us skins, the skins money,
and with money we could buy salt and bread.

EERO. The skins will do for clothing, but let meat, bloody,
smoking meat, be our only food; salt and bread are no use to apes and
baboons in the forest.

LAURI. That is what I think of and what I shall yet do.

TIMO. Let us take and weigh over the matter from the roots
upwards. Why shouldn’t we be able to munch bread and salt in the
forest? Why? It’s Eero who is a mocker, always in our way, always
the cross stick in our pile. Who can prevent a man of the woods from
drawing near to a village now and again, once in a while, as his needs
drive him? Or wouldst thou hit me on the head with a stick if I did,
Eero?

EERO. No, brother, I would even ‘salt give to him who berries
doth bring’.--Move, boys, move, I won’t forbid you, but will even cart
you there, carry you off at a wolf’s trot.

JUHANI. They’d soon be driven back by the forest sprites, that
I’ll wager.

LAURI. For him who comes a second time the home threshold is
high. I know, so don’t think I’ll knock at thy door once I have left
it.--On May-day I move.

TIMO. Who knows I don’t come with thee.

LAURI. I’ll neither forbid nor invite thee; do as thy heart
says is best.--Next May-day I move to Impivaara clearing. At first,
until my own warm little cabin is ready, I’ll live in the moss-grown
hut grand-father used when burning charcoal. Then, when my day’s work
is over, I shall sleep in peace in my hut, hearing the bear whistle in
the forest and the grouse calling on Sompio Bog.

TIMO. I’ll come, Lauri; it’s said, Lauri.

TUOMAS. If the times don’t improve, I’ll come too.

JUHANI. Even Tuomas! Wouldst thou too move?

TUOMAS. If the times don’t improve.

LAURI. I’ll move next May-day, even if days of milk and honey
were to set in for Jukola.

TIMO. Thou and I, we two, we’ll move from here to Sompio Bog
like cranes in spring; and wind and weather whistle.

JUHANI. Well, well! But if I were to admit the truth, there’s
a secret spell in Lauri’s plan. The forest draws. Oh the devil! It’s as
though I could see the bonny plain of sky behind it.

AAPO. You madmen, what are you thinking of?--Move into the
forest! Why? Haven’t we a farm and a farmhouse; a precious roof over
our heads?

JUHANI. True, we have a farm to which we’ll stick tooth and
nails as long as it smells at all of bread. But look you, if hard luck
were to upset everything now, contrary to a man’s best plans, let
the forest be my other farm, to which I’ll be quick to scuttle when
the last grains rattle in the mill-funnel. Ay, but now we’ll pounce
with fearsome speed on the work of farming; and let us go back to the
paragraph which was the real question at point.--According to my dull
wits Aapo has thought out matters fairly wisely; and all will be well,
if each of us works on his own part for harmony and peace. But if it’s
trouble we’re looking for, we’ll always be finding something to set our
neck hairs bristling.

SIMEONI. Where can we not find it so long as the Old Adam
tickles and itches within us, here between our bones and skin.

TIMO. I have always thought of Old Adam as a solemn old gaffer
in a felt hat, long black coat, kneebreeches and a red waistcoat
reaching to the pit of his belly. As such a gaffer he strides in my
thoughts, driving a pair of oxen.

SIMEONI. By Old Adam we mean the root of sin, original sin.

TIMO. I know he is the mark and sign of original sin, the
horned devil of Hell, yet as such an old boy he marches before me,
driving a pair of oxen. I can’t help it.

JUHANI. This point of religion can wait, and we’ll stick to
the matter at hand.--Aapo, what are we to do with those two crofts of
ours, Vuchenkalma and Kekkuri?

AAPO. We have to remember that both their tenants once wrested
the land from raw, dismal forest, and therefore ought not to be evicted
from their holdings--which would indeed be wrong--so long as they have
the power to keep their fields in crop, and even then the law is that
they must be looked after in their old age. Such are the facts in that
matter.--But let us glance at another question, which I believe is a
ticklish one. For it is the most important step we are called upon to
take down here, a step that either makes our heads gray before their
time, or brings sunshine into our lives and rounds off our days with a
golden sunset. And it is thee, Juhani, the matter first touches. Note
therefore what I say: a wifeless mastership is lopsided and lame: a
house without a mistress on its storeroom path....

TIMO. Is like a wolf’s den without the wolf-bitch, or like a
top-boot without the other top-boot; truly, there is something lopsided
in it, as Aapo said.

AAPO. A home without a mistress on its storeroom path is like
a cloudy day, and dullness sits at its family table like a mournful
autumn eve. But a good mistress is the bright sun of a house, that
lights up and warms.--Lo! she is first to leave her bed in the morning,
mixes her dough, lays the breakfast for the men, puts up their food
for the day, and then hurries with milkpail in hand to the yard, to
milk her mottled cattle. Now she kneads bread, hustles and bustles;
now she stands at the table, now trips with a loaf on her palm to the
back bench, and now like a tempest she stirs the fire, which spews out
flame and smoke from its glowing bowels. Then, while the bread is
rising, she finds time at last, with a baby at her breast, to break her
own fast, a hunk of bread and a broiled sprat, with sour milk from the
bowl. Nor does she forget the dog, the farm’s faithful guardian on the
step, or the cat that peers sleepily down from the oven-top.--And now
again she hustles and bustles, trips and turns, mixes another dough
to rise in her trough, kneads it into loaves and bakes it, and the
sweat flows in streams from her brow. And see: when evening falls she
has hung the loaves under the ceiling, pole over pole, full-loaded,
from which new life breathes down. And when the men return from the
forest a steaming supper awaits them on the newly-scrubbed table.
But where is the mistress herself? There in the yard she milks her
crooked-horned cattle again, and the hissing, foaming crest of the milk
rises high in the pail.--So she hustles and bustles, trips and turns,
and only when the others already rumble in deepest sleep, does she
sink down in prayer beside her own bed. But even then her labours are
not over. Uncomplaining she rises from her couch during the night for
a moment, for an hour at a time, to hush the child which cried in its
cradle.--Such, brothers, is a good mistress.

JUHANI. Well spoken, Aapo, and I well understand thy meaning.
It is to turn my thoughts to marriage. Ay, I understand. A wife, thou
sayest, is a necessary piece in a household. True. But don’t worry. Thy
hope, I believe, will soon be fulfilled. Oh well: ay! I confess that my
mind has already pounced in earnest on a maiden, who I hope will be my
wife and a good wife, unless the old signs betray me.--Ay, brothers,
new times and new tricks draw near for us, and the mastership I must
take over is a great weight on my mind. A master has a heavy load to
bear down here, and has much to answer for on Judgment Day. I am now
responsible for the lot of you; remember that.

TUOMAS. Thou responsible? For what?

JUHANI. I am your master; from my finger-tips the blood will
once be drawn for your sakes.

TUOMAS. I answer for both my body and my soul.

TIMO. I answer for myself too. Ho!

AAPO. Brother Juhani, note that such remarks cause bad blood.

JUHANI. I meant bad blood no more than I meant bad flesh. But
like tar, like burrs on a hot summer day you seize wildly on an idle,
meaningless word, though you know my heart through and through. I’ll
lose my temper.

AAPO. Enough of this, and tell us, if thou wilt, who is the
maiden who has drawn thy heart to her.

JUHANI. That I will say without flinching. The wench whom I
love with a pitiless love is Mother Pinewood’s Venla.

AAPO. Hm.

JUHANI. What didst thou say?

AAPO. Hm, was all I said.

TUOMAS. A vexing matter.

SIMEONI. Venla. Well, well! But may everything be left to the
Heavenly Father.

AAPO. Hm, Venla indeed.

JUHANI. What are you muttering at? But ah! I suspect
something; and may the Son of the Lord protect us! What? Speak out!

AAPO. Listen: for years my thoughts have been busy around that
girl.

SIMEONI. If God has meant her for me, why should I sorrow?

EERO. Don’t then. She is meant for thee, while I take her.

TUOMAS. A vexing matter; the maiden pleases me greatly, that
I’ll admit.

JUHANI. Indeed, indeed. Good. And Timo?

TIMO. I make the same confession.

JUHANI. Son of the Lord! And Eero?

EERO. I make the same guileless confession, the same guileless
confession.

JUHANI. Good, very good! Ha-ha! Even Timo--Timo!

TIMO. The girl is greatly dear to me, I confess. True she beat
me once hard, leathered me like anything, poor little nipper that I
was, and I remember that hiding well, ho!

JUHANI. Shut up! The question is now: dost thou love her?

TIMO. Oh ay, that I do, and greatly, that is if she loves me
back.

JUHANI. Ah! Thou too steppest in my way then?

TIMO. Not at all, not at all, unless thou really canst not
keep thy temper in hand, thy temper and thy tongue. Still, I like the
wench a lot and will also do my best to win her.

JUHANI. Good, good! And what says Lauri?

LAURI. What have I to do with the girl?

JUHANI. Whose side art thou on?

LAURI. I won’t be mixed up in the matter on any side.

JUHANI. There’ll be a fine broth anyhow.

LAURI. I’ll keep my spoon out of it.

JUHANI. All of you then, except Lauri. Boys, boys, Jukola
brotherhood and kinsmen all! Now we’ll hit out, and earth and Heaven
shall shake. Now precious brothers, a knife, an axe or a billet, and
one against all and all against one like seven bulls! Right! A billet’s
my weapon; I seize this curly-wooded one, and may he blame himself
whose skull gets a splinter from it.--Grab your billets, boys, and step
forth, if you dare stand up against a man.

EERO. Here I stand armed, though a bit shorter than you others.

JUHANI. Thou, whipper-snapper! But look, I see that mocking,
that sly, that damnable grin on thy face again, and it seems thou
makest a joke of the whole thing. But I’ll teach thee.

EERO. Why worry, so long as my billet speaks truth?

JUHANI. I’ll soon teach thee. Take your clubs, boys, your
clubs, boys!

TIMO. Here I am and my billet, if so needed. I don’t want
anger and quarrelling, but if it’s needed.

JUHANI. Thy billet, Tuomas!

TUOMAS. Go to Hades with thy billet, owl!

JUHANI. Fire and lightning!

SIMEONI. Fearful, heathen and Turkish is all this din; but I
withdraw from the game and leave my marrying to God.

LAURI. I withdraw too.

JUHANI. Then stand aside, you, stand aside out of the
way!--Seize thy billet, Aapo, and let Jukola’s walls echo to the
cracking of skulls. Fire and horny devils!

AAPO. Oh wretched heart of man. I’m horrified, Juhani, when I
look upon thee now, seeing how thy eyes roll and thy hair stands on end
like a tuft of grass.

JUHANI. Let it stand, let it stand, it’s just the ordinary,
proper way of it.

EERO. I feel like dusting it a little.

JUHANI. Thou hop-o’-my-thumb! Best for thee to stop nicely in
a corner. Away! I feel sorry for thee.

EERO. Take that horrid jaw of thine into a corner in time. I
feel sorry for that. Even now it shakes and trembles like a crippled
beggar.

JUHANI. Look how this billet trembles, look!

AAPO. Juhani!

EERO. Strike! And it’ll rain back from here, I believe, real
hailstones perhaps, big as billets. Strike!

JUHANI. I will.

AAPO. Thou wilt not, Juhani.

JUHANI. Go to the dunghill thou, or take a billet and defend
thyself, if I’m not to soften thy head. Take a billet!

AAPO. Where are thy brains?

JUHANI. In this curly-wooden billet; look, now it’ll whisper a
word.

AAPO. Wait a bit, brother, wait, until I too have my
weapon.--Now then; here I stand with a round club in my hand. But
first a word or two, thou Christian brotherhood of Jukola, and then
we’ll fight like raging wolves.--Take note; a man in a rage is a
bloodthirsty beast of prey and no human being; he is stone-blind to
justice and fairness; least of all can he carry out works of love in a
rage. Notwithstanding, if we were now to try to look sensibly at this
matter that has brought brothers to the point of blows, I believe the
case would be this. The girl cannot love all of us, but only one, if
she is willing to take any of us as the one in whose company she feels
like wandering hand in hand over life’s thorny hill. I think it best,
therefore, that we all go together to her and gravely informing her of
our intentions, ask her with solemn heart and tongue if she will give
her heart to one of us. Then if the girl is willing, let the one on
whom the happy choice falls thank his lucky stars, and the others be
content with their fate. The one who is left forlorn must swallow his
anger, in the hope that he too will meet the one marked out for him.
If we do this we shall be acting like men and true brothers. And then
the glorified ghosts of our father and mother will step forth from the
glowing gate of Heaven and, standing on the edge of a shining cloud,
look down upon us, crying to us in a loud voice: ‘So, Juhani, so,
Tuomas and Aapo, so, Simeoni, Timo and Lauri, just so, my little Eero!
You are boys in whom we are well pleased!’

JUHANI. Man, thou speakest, Devil take me, like an angel from
Heaven, and were near to making me cry.

SIMEONI. We thank thee, Aapo.

JUHANI. Thank you. There goes my billet.

TIMO. There goes mine too. And this quarrel ends as I all
along wanted it to.

SIMEONI. Aapo holds up a mirror to us, and for that let us
thank him.

EERO. Let us thank him and sing a real ‘Simeon’s song of
thanksgiving’.

SIMEONI. Mockery, mockery, and scoffing again!

TIMO. Don’t mock, Eero, at the Word of God and Simeon’s song
of thanksgiving.

AAPO. Ah, so young and so hardened!

SIMEONI. So young and so hardened! Eero, Eero! Ay, I’ll say no
more now, only sigh on thy behalf.

JUHANI. I prophesy, Eero, that we shall have to lay on thee
once or twice with a father’s hand. For our mother brought thee up too
gently.

SIMEONI. We must punish him while his heart is still
youthfully pliant and yielding; but let us do it with loving hand and
not in rage. Punishment given in anger drives in devils and not out.

EERO. There’s for thee, and from a loving hand.

SIMEONI. The godless child, he hit me now!

EERO. Right on the mouth. Bile has overflowed for less.

JUHANI. Come here, my boy. Timo, fetch the stick from yon
corner.

SIMEONI. That’s it. Juhani, hold him across thy knee while I
let his trousers down.

EERO. Stop, in Hell.

JUHANI. Wriggling won’t help thee, weakling.

SIMEONI. Don’t let go of him.

JUHANI. See the wild-cat. But thou canst not escape, no.

EERO. Hit me, you accursed, and I’ll set the house on fire. I
swear I’ll raise fire and smoke for this!

JUHANI. What bile! Thou wouldst set the house on fire? Oh what
bile!

SIMEONI. The Lord preserve us, what bile!

JUHANI. Give the stick here, Timo!

TIMO. I can’t find it.

JUHANI. Blind, canst thou not see it in yon corner?

TIMO. What, this one? This birch one?

JUHANI. Just that; bring it here.

SIMEONI. Strike, but wisely and not with all thy strength.

JUHANI. I know how.

LAURI. Not a single swipe, say I!

TUOMAS. Leave the boy alone!

JUHANI. He needs a little something on his tail.

LAURI. Thou wilt not lay a finger on him.

TUOMAS. Let the boy go! This minute!

TIMO. May he be forgiven, Eero-boy, this once at least.

SIMEONI. Forgiven, forgiven, until the tares and thorns choke
the wheat.

LAURI. Don’t touch him.

AAPO. Let us forgive him: and in so doing we can try to heap
coals of fire on his head.

JUHANI. Go now and thank thy luck.

SIMEONI. And pray to God for a new heart, mind and tongue.

TIMO. I’m off to bed.

AAPO. Let us still weigh over one matter.

TIMO. I’m off to bed. Come along, Eero; let’s go to bed and
forget this miserable ant-heap of a world, a wretched heap that smokes
and steams in the rain. Come on, Eero!

JUHANI. What is the matter thou wouldst thresh out?

AAPO. God ha’ mercy! it is a fact that we don’t know our
‘a’ yet, the first letter of the alphabet, and that although the art
of reading is the first duty of every Christian citizen. But the law
can force us to learn, the law of the church. You all know what Crown
contraption awaits us, ready to seize us in its teeth if we don’t
dutifully teach ourselves to read. The stocks await us, brothers, the
black stocks, which, with all its holes agape, basks in the church
porch yonder like a black boar. With these same pincers of Hell the
Rector has already threatened us, and he can carry out this threat if
he doesn’t see us hard at work daily, that’s certain.

JUHANI. Impossible to learn to read!

AAPO. It’s a trick human beings have learned before.

TUOMAS. It would make any man sweat though.

JUHANI. And puff. I have such a hard head.

AAPO. A strong will carries its man even through grey granite.
Let’s get to work, send for a-b-c books from Hämeenlinna and go to the
parish clerk’s to school, as the Rector has commanded. Let us do this
before we are taken there by the Crown.

JUHANI. I’m afraid it’s what we shall have to do. I’m afraid
so. God have mercy upon us! But this matter can stand over till
tomorrow, and let us now get to bed.




CHAPTER II


It is a calm September morning. Dew glitters in the fields; fog rolls
along the bare spikes of the leafless trees, to fade at last into the
air. This morning the brothers rose in vicious mood and, in a sulky
silence, washed their faces, brushed their hair and dressed themselves
in their Sunday best. For they had decided that to-day they would go to
the parish clerk’s to school.

They now eat their breakfast at Jukola’s long pinewood table, and
the brown peas seem to taste well to them, though their air is far
from merry and dull care gleams from their brows; the thought of the
school-trip, on which they must soon depart, is the cause of this
gloom. Yet, having eaten, they did not hasten at once on their way,
but sat and rested a while. They sat in silence, some staring moodily
downward at the floor, others fixing their red-backed a-b-c books
as they turned the stout leaves. Beside the southern window of the
farmhouse Juhani sat, looking up along the stony hillside towards the
dense pinewood, where the old woman’s cabin glowed faintly with its
red-lintelled door.

JUHANI. Venla trips there along the path, and nimbly she skips.

AAPO. And only yesterday both mother and daughter were to go
to their kinsfolk at Tikkala to dig turnips and pick whortleberries,
and stay there until late autumn.

JUHANI. Until late autumn? It makes me uneasy. I suppose
they’ll go; but there’s a farm-hand at Tikkala this year, a bonny
lad and a bit of a scamp, and there’d be the end of all our hopes.
Best do the great deed this minute; put the question, the question of
questions. Let’s go now and ask the wench if she’s willing and if her
heart’s aflame.

TUOMAS. I believe that would be best, too.

TIMO. I too.

JUHANI. Ay, ay! Nothing else now but all a-marrying at the
same time like true lads. Ay! The Lord protect us! It can’t be helped,
so a-wooing, a-wooing! Here we are in our best clothes, washed and
brushed; our whole outer man that of a Christian being: clean, and, as
it were, born again. I feel very uneasy in my mind. But on to Venla!
Now is an acceptable time.

EERO. And may it be also a day of bliss.

JUHANI. Whose bliss, whose? Aha! What dost thou think, boy?

EERO. Why not all of ours?

JUHANI. Meaning that she should marry all of us?

EERO. Why not?

JUHANI. What!

SIMEONI. How in God’s name would that be possible?

EERO. Before God nothing is impossible. Let us all love with
one accord.

JUHANI. Shut up, Eero, for now we’re off a-wooing and the same
road to school, bags on our shoulders.

AAPO. If we are to carry out the thing properly, one of us
ought to act as a kind of spokesman in yon cabin.

JUHANI. An important point. But thou thyself art as though
cast for the job. Thou hast a goodly gift; thy speech will always
awaken fire and lightning in a man’s breast. Verily, thou wert born to
be a parson.

AAPO. What do I know? And why speak of gifts? Here in the
forest they fade in the mists of ignorance, die away like a tinkling
brook in sand.

JUHANI. Hard luck has kept thee from school.

AAPO. Where would our farm have got the means to send me
to school? Remember that more than one food-bag dances between home
and school before a lad is ready for the wooden tub. But to come to
business again, our wooing-business, may it be as you say. I’ll step
forward as the common spokesman and try to speak as a wise man.

JUHANI. Let’s get to work. Lord ha’ mercy! Nothing can help us
now, so let’s get to work in earnest. We can leave our bags outside the
old woman’s cabin, and Lauri, who has no cows in this well, can guard
them from the pigs. Come on now! And let’s enter the bridal chamber
with our a-b-c books in our hands; it lends us a kind of solemnity.

EERO. Still more if we turn the last page with the cock on
outside.

JUHANI. At it again? But the cock reminds me of a horrid dream
I had last night.

SIMEONI. Tell it us; it might be a warning to us.

JUHANI. I dreamed that on yon stove there was a hen’s nest
with seven eggs in it.

SIMEONI. Jukola’s seven sons!

JUHANI. But one of the eggs was ridiculously small.

SIMEONI. Eero!

JUHANI. The cock dies.

SIMEONI. Our father!

JUHANI. The hen died.

SIMEONI. Mother!

JUHANI. Then all at once the whole world’s mice, rats and
weasels attacked the nest.--What would these animals mean?

SIMEONI. Our sinful passions and the lusts of the world.

JUHANI. I suppose so.--Well, the weasels, rats and mice came
and turned and rolled the eggs, tapped and rattled them, so that they
broke, and from the little egg burst a very evil smell.

SIMEONI. Mark that, Eero.

JUHANI. The eggs were broken and an awful voice, as the
voice of many waters, shouted from the oventop into my ear: ‘all is
broken, and the breakage is great!’ So it shouted but at last we began,
however, to gathering the mess together and cook it, and in the end we
got what is called scrambled eggs; this we ate with great pleasure and
even gave some to our neighbours.

EERO. A good dream.

JUHANI. A bad one; thou stankest in it like Hell. It was a
very bad dream I had of thee, my boy.

EERO. But I had a real sweet dream of thee; I dreamed that the
cockerel in the a-b-c book laid thee, as a reward for thy diligence
and wisdom, a big heap of sweets and lumps of sugar. Thou wert greatly
pleased and smacked thy lips over them; they gavest me some too.

JUHANI. Did I give thee some? That was a good deed.

EERO. When is it ill to give?

JUHANI. Never; especially if I were to give thee a little
taste of the stick.

EERO. Why only a little?

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, bull-calf!

TUOMAS. Do that both of you, and let us start.

AAPO. Let each take his bag and his a-b-c book.

And they set forth to woo their neighbour’s daughter. In Indian file,
silent, they crossed the mound in which their potato-cellar lay,
marched up the stony hill and stood at last before Mother Pinewood’s
cabin.

JUHANI. Here we are and here we leave our bags; do thou,
Lauri, keep faithful watch until we return from the bridal chamber.

LAURI. Will you be there long?

JUHANI. As long as the shaping of our errand demands.--Has
anyone a ring?

EERO. It isn’t needed.

JUHANI. Has anyone a ring in his pocket?

TIMO. Not I, nor as far as I know have the others. There you
are now: a bachelor ought always to have a ring in his pocket when he
goes out.

JUHANI. The Devil! Here we stand now. And peddler Isak was
at our place yesterday, who could have sold me both the ring and the
shawl. But, I pig that I am, never thought of that.

AAPO. Such instruments we can buy ourselves later. Indeed it
is best to know first for certain whether any of us, and which, is to
make these joyful purchases.

JUHANI. Who opened the door? Was it Venla?

TIMO. It was the old woman, the long-chinned hag.

JUHANI. Venla’s spinning-wheel hums in there like a merry
dung-beetle on a summer evening, foretelling fine weather. Let’s go in
now. Where’s my a-b-c?

AAPO. In thy fist, brother. Why, God’s creation, thou art as
though a little mixed in thy head.

JUHANI. Nothing much to be afraid of, brother. I’m not smutty
in the face, am I?

EERO. Not in the least, thou art as clean and warm as a
new-laid egg.

JUHANI. Let’s go in now!

EERO. Wait! I am the youngest and will open the door for you
and come in last myself. Walk in.

They entered the old woman’s low-roofed cabin, Juhani first, with
staring eyes and hair upright like the spikes of a hedgehog, while with
great gravity the others followed at his heels. They entered, and Eero
quickly closed the door after them, but himself stayed outside and sat
down on the grass, a knowing grin on his lips.

The old woman in whose cabin five brothers now stand as wooers, is
a nimble and vigorous woman; she makes a living by keeping hens and
gathering berries. All the summer and autumn she bobs about the
stump-bestrewn clearings, the mounds where grow the alpine strawberries
and whortleberries, bobs and sweats with her daughter Venla. The maiden
is said to be beautiful. Her hair is the colour of rust, her glance
cunning and sharp, her mouth melting, though perhaps a little too wide.
She is short in stature, but broad-shouldered and plump; she is also
said to be strong. Such was the brothers’ love-bird in the pinewood’s
shelter.

But suddenly the cabin door squeaked and Juhani came excitedly out,
angrily exclaiming to the others who still lingered within: ‘come away,
boys!’ And soon they were all outside, with annoyance writ large in
their faces, and began walking onwards to the village. But when they
had come some fifty paces from the cabin, Juhani picked up a stone
about as big as a man’s fist and, snorting with rage, cast it at the
cabin door. The cabin shook, and inside, the old woman shrieked; then,
throwing open the door, she cursed and raged, shaking her fist at the
retreating brothers. With their a-b-c’s in their hands and bags on
their shoulders the brothers marched after each other along the road
to church, without exchanging a word. At a furious speed born of anger
they marched: the sand flew and the bags danced; nor did they notice
how quickly they fared.

EERO. How did the matter succeed?

JUHANI. Ah, indeed! How did it succeed? Didst thou come in
with us, thou magpie, thou young crow? But thou didst not dare, truly
thou durst not. What good is a young crow like thee! Venla could hide
thee in her skirts. But look you how much I have dreamed of thee. I
had, as I now remember, another dream of thee last night. Funny! There
in the pine-grove thou didst sit with Venla, billing and cooing, as I
drew near creeping stealthily. But oh, when you saw me, what did Venla
do? Hid thee, devil take me, in her skirts. ‘What has thou wrapped
up in thy skirts?’ asks I. ‘Only a young crow,’ answered the wench.
He-he-he! And this was no dream at all, no, dog take it, it wasn’t!
But ’twas made up all alone, out of his own head, by Juhani-boy. Ah,
indeed! He isn’t quite as stupid as folk think.

EERO. Funny how we have dreamed of each other. This is what
I dreamed of thee: among the pines over there thou and Venla stood,
lovingly hugging each other and looking solemnly up at the clouds. From
there, from the heights of the sky, you craved some sign, something
to show that your love had found favour. The heavens listened, the
forests, fields and even the little birds listened, and you yourselves
waited in deepest silence for what would befall. Came at last an old
crow, flying stiffly through the calm air, and when he reached the
place where you were standing he cast down one glance at you, but soon
turned his gaze elsewhere, and spreading out his legs dropped something
white that fell with a splash on the two young foreheads, splashed
right over your faces.--But don’t let this disturb thy calm; for I
dreamed all this and have not made up anything out of my own head.

JUHANI. Thou devil-possessed, I’ll....

And he charged furiously at Eero, who fled swiftly before his enraged
brother. With one spring he was off the road and scuttling like a hare
over the clearing, with Juhani shambling after him like a maddened
bear. Their bags danced, the dry ground rang beneath them; and from
afar the voices of the other brothers entreated them to goodwill and
forbearance. Then back to the road hastened Eero again, and the others
rushed forward to save him from the dread clutch of Juhani, who ran
already at the heels of his youngest brother.

TUOMAS. Stop now and be quiet, Juhani.

JUHANI. I’ll lay him out.

TUOMAS. Quietly, my boy.

JUHANI. Thunder and lightning!

AAPO. He only returned honour for honour.

JUHANI. Accursed be his tongue, accursed be this day! Weren’t
we, in God’s name, refused by Venla! Horny-headed Goblins and Hosts of
High Heaven! My eyes can scarce see a fathom before me, so black is the
earth and sky, black on my heart’s account. Thunder and lightning!

SIMEONI. Don’t curse, man.

JUHANI. I’ll curse till the world spins round, falls to pieces
like an old log-sleigh under a monster tree-trunk.

SIMEONI. What can we do?

JUHANI. Do? If this a-b-c were not the Word of God, God’s
own book, I’d dash it into bits at once! But see here: I will dash my
dinner-bag to bits against the hillside! Would you like to see?

SIMEONI. For the Lord’s sake not the gift of God! Think of the
Maid of Paimio.

JUHANI. In the torment of my heart!

SIMEONI. ‘Pain and torment on earth, manna in Heaven.’

JUHANI. I give a fig for manna in Heaven when I couldn’t get
Mother Pinewood’s Venla. Oh brothers and kinsmen! If you knew, you
would understand that my thoughts have circled daftly round that wench
for years. But now my hopes are gone, gone like ashes before the wind.

TIMO. We were refused in the early morning.

JUHANI. Every one of us!

TIMO. No mercy for anyone, not even the least among us. We all
got the same.

JUHANI. All, all! But even that was better than that one of
you should have won her for his better half. Devil take me! I’d thrash
the lad who’d had that luck, that I would.

TUOMAS. We were quite out of the question. That the girl’s
mocking grin showed when Aapo had mentioned our errand.

JUHANI. She deserves to be beaten, the slut. To make a mock of
us! Wait, thou jade.--Aapo did his best, that can’t be denied, but even
the tongue of a cherub wouldn’t have helped here.

TIMO. But if we had stepped before the girl in a black
broadcloth coat, and a watch like a big turnip had bulged out our
waistcoat pocket, the key clinked on a chain and a silver-bound pipe
smoked between our teeth, there’d have been, dog take it, both eggs and
chickens hatched out of our errand.

JUHANI. Women and magpies have the same fierce desire for
shining objects.--But Aapo’s as silent as a frozen lake.

AAPO. Our voice cannot carry in a storm. Or are the wild
whirlwinds of thy mind beginning to calm down in thy bosom?

JUHANI. The bloody pool of my heart still storms, and will
storm for long. But say a word, anyhow.

AAPO. Two, if needed. So listen. Take thy heart in thy hand,
and whisper this in its car with the voice of common-sense: Venla would
not have thee because she does not love thee, and that she does not
love thee is nothing to lose thy temper over; for the flame of love is
lit at Heaven’s and not at man’s command. A beggar-girl falls in love
with a king, a queen falls madly in love with a chimney-sweep’s boy. So
flies the spirit of love around down here, and thou knowest not whence
it comest.

TIMO. Love bloweth where it listeth, thou hearest the voice
thereof, but thou knowest not whence it cometh and whither it goeth. So
I often used to hear the old pensioned widow say. But it was the love
of God she meant, I’ll lay.

AAPO. Go on, Juhani, to thy heart thus: stop kicking! Venla
did right in refusing thee; for to enter into marriage without the spur
of love doesn’t seem to end well, but brings trouble and often leads to
works of eternal regret, as, more’s the pity, we so often see and hear
nowadays. Ay, brothers, may Venla take the one set apart for her, we’ll
do the same.

TIMO. The girl who was made out of my rib will be mine in the
end, though the Devil were to scream. I know another thing: a man’s
heart lies on his left, and a woman’s on the right of her breast.

JUHANI. My heart doesn’t lie anywhere, but jumps and rages
like a heathen.--Oh thou hussy, thou gypsy jade! Why didst thou refuse
me, a farmer, the eldest son of a real clay-soil farm?

AAPO. Nothing to wonder at in that. Our farm is in
crying need, and the girl hopes, though to my belief vainly, to
become mistress of a much better farm. I have heard that that
good-for-nothing Juhani Sorvali cuddles her.

JUHANI. Thou spiky-chinned Juhani! If I had thee in these
hands now, I’d wipe thee down a little. Tricking a wench to her
everlasting shame.

AAPO. Ay, ay, the world is mad and treacherous all at the same
time. Venla is not lacking in beauty, nor Jussi in cunning. Sorvari is
a wellknown farm and that entices, while Jukola, this nest of cripples,
is in a very sad state, and we ourselves, its seven heirs, in a still
sadder state, at least in the eyes of the world. Remembering the idle
and often wild life of our youth, people hardly expect anything good
to come of us. And I know that even ten years well-behaved and in
every way respectable life would scarcely be enough to raise us again
in the sight of our fellows. So hard is it to free ourselves from the
dirt of a bad name, once it has stuck to a man. Yet it’s better to
rise late than to sink for ever in the mudpool of our misery. So now,
improvement, improvement with all our might!

JUHANI. We’re on the road to improvement now. But this
unlucky wooing-trip has given my heart a blow that it will suffer from
dreadfully for days and weeks; it caused a wound.

AAPO. A wound, ay, that it did; but time, I know, will cover
the wound with the scab and skin of forgetfulness.--What racket is that
on the road?

TIMO. A merry crowd of lads from Toukola.

AAPO. They’re enjoying an idle Monday with a big spree, the
scamps.

TIMO. And greatly want us too to join them.

JUHANI. Temptation draws nigh.

TIMO. They’re having such a good time.

JUHANI. But we? What lies before us? A thousand horned heads!
A fiery wigging is what awaits us poor wretches.

EERO. What a difference: to jabber the a-b-c in the parish
clerk’s corner, or to enjoy an idle Monday, cheering and singing with
jolly comrades.

JUHANI. The difference is terribly big, as big as the depth
between a well and Heaven. Brothers, which shall we choose?

EERO. Let us choose Heaven.

AAPO. The well, the well! To guzzle ourselves full of the
water of life. Let us thrust into the jungle of learning, skill and
wisdom.

TUOMAS. To the parish clerk!

JUHANI. Well, let’s plod on then.

EERO. Hark at Kissala Aapeli’s clarinet.

JUHANI. Lovely!

TIMO. Rings out like a head-angel’s bassoon.

JUHANI. When the hosts of Heaven exercise and march till the
dust flies. Lovely!

TIMO. They are greatly keen on us joining them.

JUHANI. That’s well known. Temptation draws near us, truly it
does.

While the brothers thus conversed, a number of lads from Toukola
village approached them, though not in quite as polite and good-natured
a spirit as the brothers supposed. They were somewhat drunk, and being
minded to jest with the brothers, sang as they came along a song newly
made up, to which they had given the name ‘Seven Men Strong’. Thus, to
Kissala Aapeli’s words:

    ‘Set, my lads, your throats a-squealing,
    Here’s a song will set you reeling;
      Seven Men Strong is the ditty.

    Like the Great Bear up in Heaven,
    Jukola has brothers seven,
      Lubberly, hulking joskins.

    Juho roars, the cabin quivers,
    That’s a lad gives me the shivers:
      Jussi, a lad high and mighty.

    Tuomas stands, an oak unbending,
    Hearing Aapo’s gab unending,--
      Hearken to Solomon spouting.

    Simeon, his whiskers quaking,
    Mourns for man in accents shaking--
      “Prodigal, pigheaded, naughty.”

    Simeon works, the peas preparing,
    Timo adds the fat, and stirring,
      Spits in the pot to clear it.

    Lauri-lad the forest searches
    With an eye to twisted birches,
      Nosing the woods like a weasel.

    Last of all the brothers hearty,
    Little Eero, slippery party,
      Jukola’s snappy-tongued puppy.

    There’s a band to go to battle,
    Stout and hale as full-blood cattle,
      Here’s to the health of the seven!’

In silence, though grinding their teeth, the brothers listened to this
song. But when the mockery of their tormentors ceased not at this, and
endless gibes rained on them from every side, especially with regard
to the cockerel on the back of their a-b-c books and its fancied power
of laying eggs for the brothers, their gorge began to rise and their
eyes grow small, small and sharp as the eyes of a mink, as it looks
out from beneath its tree-stump in the wilds at the light of day.
And now a wag from the ranks of the Toukola men, in passing Juhani,
suddenly snatched the a-b-c book from his hand and made off with it
at top speed. Mad with rage, Juhani instantly thundered after him;
whereupon the other brothers charged with equal fury at their mockers,
and a general fight began. At first only slaps resounded on either
side, but soon they were at each other’s throats and began--blindly,
with whistling breath--tearing and gorging and laying about them with
flail-like fists. Fiercely the Toukola lads hit back, but with greater
ferocity the men of Jukola laid on; and heavily as sledge-hammers the
brothers’ fists fell on the heads of their enemies. In dust and dirt
they wrestled; the dust rose from the dry road in rolling clouds; the
sand and gravel rattled around them in the bushes. So for a space the
fight went noisily on, and the brothers, on the point of victory,
already cried in a loud voice: ‘Will you beg, Devil’s spawn, for
mercy?’ and an echo from the clouds answered ‘Mercy’. But for long
the men of Toukola resisted, till at last they sank nerveless to the
ground. There, with torn lapels to their coats and swollen faces, they
lay, greedily swallowing the cool air into their heated, gasping lungs.
And as victors the brothers stood, but their appearance too denoted
that they had had their fill of strife, and that a moment’s rest was
welcome. Especially with Eero had it gone hardly in the fight; the
shortness of his stature had been a great advantage to his opponents.
Often while the combat had raged, he had rolled like a little beagle
under the feet of the other heroes, and only swift assistance from the
brothers had saved him from a thorough beating. With ruffled hair he
now sat on the edge of the ditch and gathered new strength, meanwhile
puffing mightily.

But just as the others ceased fighting, Juhani approached with his
man, dragging him by the collar, and now and again squeezing him by
the throat. Fear-inspiring, terrible, was now the visage of the eldest
Jukola. Fury flashed like fire from his always smallish eyes, which,
bloodshot now with rage, rolled wildly in his head; the acrid sweat
poured down from his cheeks, and he puffed and snorted like a war-horse.

JUHANI. Fetch my a-b-c book, fetch it at once! Look, I’ll
squeeze thee till thy guts fly out if thou don’t. Bring, for God’s
sake, that red-backed a-b-c of mine, thou blackguard. See this is what
I’ll give thee, see this!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Don’t hit me!

JUHANI. The a-b-c book!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. I threw it over there in a bush.

JUHANI. Give it into this hand like a good child, with thy
best bow, ruffian. Dost thou think thou art dancing for thy pleasure,
blackguard? Wilt thou not, accursed, give that a-b-c book into my hand?

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Thou’rt crushing my throat, my throat!

JUHANI. The a-b-c book! The Lord preserve us! The a-b-c book!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Here, thou terrible man.

JUHANI. Give it a little kiss. Ay, kiss it nicely.

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. What? Kiss it?

JUHANI. Real nicely. And for God’s sake do it, brother,
if thy back itcheth and thy life is dear to thee. Do it, do it, or
this very minute thy blood shall cry aloud for vengeance on me, like
aforetime pious Abel’s blood. Thou seest that I am black in the face
as a bath-house brownie. So kiss my a-b-c. I beseech thee for both our
sakes!--That’s it.

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Art thou satisfied?

JUHANI. Very satisfied. Go now and thank thy Creator for
getting off so easily. And if thou shouldst feel, halfway between thy
shoulders and that hammer-head of thine, a few marks tomorrow, like
the marks of a toothed vice, and especially if thou shouldst feel a
mump-like stiffness there, be not over-much surprised. Ay, off with
thee now. But one word more, one word, little brother. Who made up the
song we were forced to listen to a while back with ears erect?

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. That I don’t know.

JUHANI. Out with it!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. I don’t know.

JUHANI. Well, well, that I can always find out. But greet
Kissala Aapeli from me and tell him that next time I meet him his
throat’ll sing shriller than his clarinet did just now. Go now, for my
presence is not the healthiest place for thee.--Leave off muttering
about revenge. Take care I don’t get it into my head to set off after
thee, to give thee a little into the bargain.

TUOMAS. Leave him in peace now, the miserable man.

JUHANI. He’s got his hiding, I’ll warrant that.--But let us
leave this dreadfully ploughed bit of road, all scratched over in every
direction. It isn’t wise to linger here, for a fight on the highway is
a desperate business in the eyes of the law, and can land its man in a
tight fix.

AAPO. Let us hurry on.--But that was a basting; I’d have been
well plucked if Simeoni hadn’t spread out the pile over me a little.

SIMEONI. Why did we touch them? But man is weak and cannot
control the strength of his anger and the power of sin. Ah! Seeing how
Tuomas’s fist felled men, I couldn’t help thinking: now murder is near.

TUOMAS. Perhaps I did hit out a bit unthinkingly, but men have
been hit for less.--Let’s walk a bit quicker, the day is getting on.

Swiftly they strode on, but resentment and indignation seemed loth to
fade from their faces, and stung painfully at their hearts, as they
remembered the insulting song of the Toukola lads. Silent, Juhani
marched on ahead, marched with the fierceness of an enraged man,
spitting and now and again shaking his head. At last, however, turning
towards the others, he opened his mouth.

JUHANI. What accursed imp made up that song?

EERO. Kissala Aapeli.

AAPO. That’s what I suspect too; for he is a spiteful mocker.
It was he who made up that cruel poem about our poor old curate,
who--the Lord ha’ mercy on him--happened to besmirch his noise a little
at Bible Class.

TIMO. If I had a span of spirits and were to whisper a couple
of words in Ananias Nikula’s ear, we’d soon hear a song a fathom long
if we liked, which’d show plainly what kind of a man Aapeli is. A
great scoundrel and a rogue he is; struts about the villages with his
clarinet in his hand, getting the serving-wenches with child and living
on his poor old mother. The man’s a scoundrel.

JUHANI. If the rubbishy song they call ‘Seven Men Strong’
hails from his skull, lo and behold, next time I meet him, even if it
is on the church rise, I’ll flay the scalp off him from his neck to his
eyebrows, may that be said.--But couldn’t we have the law on him?

AAPO. The law won’t sentence anyone without solemn witness.

JUHANI. Well, let him take oath on his innocence; I believe
he’d think twice before casting his soul into the valley of darkness.
But if he were to do this miserable trick, well--goodnight, neighbour,
sleep in peace for me.

AAPO. I don’t think the law lets an accused man swear himself
guiltless in a case like this.

JUHANI. Then he’ll get it from my own fist, and that, I
believe, will have the same sting for him that the salt of law and
justice would have had.

SIMEONI. Let’s leave both the song and that brute-like brawl
on the highway now.--There’s the resiny stump at whose foot I once had
a marvellous dream while tending the cattle, though hunger squealed in
my stomach. I was as though in Heaven, sitting on a soft and springy
sofa, with a heaped-up table steaming before me. Tasty, ah so tasty
were those dishes, and so fat. I ate and drank, and little cherub-boys
waited on me like on some great person. Everything was matchlessly
beautiful and solemn; nearby, in a golden hall, echoed the angel choir,
and I heard them sing the new and wondrous song. So I dreamed, and it
was there I got this spark in my bosom, which I hope will nevermore
leave it.

JUHANI. It was that Bible-reading old shepherd, that red-eyed,
waggle-bearded Tuomas Tervakoski, thy companion that time at the
herding, made thee slightly daft; and there’s thy spark.

SIMEONI. Eh, well, we’ll see on the last day.

TUOMAS. There’s the spruce where our father once brought down
a big glutton; and it was his last glutton.

TIMO. So it was, after that time he never came striding home
any more, but was dragged out of the forest, stiff.

JUHANI. A brave and bonny man, but hard and unbending as a
rock towards his sons. Yet it was seldom he walked the Jukola yard; he
lived in the woods, while the rats and mice thrived in our home.

AAPO. True he would forget his home for long stretches
on account of that craze of his for hunting, which was perhaps
bewitchment, but he was a good father anyhow and like a real man he
died. May he rest in peace!

TIMO. And doubly so our mother.

JUHANI. There was a good housewife and a pious woman for you,
even though she could not read.

SIMEONI. Yet she prayed on her knees every morning and evening.

JUHANI. That she did. A matchless mother and housewife! I
always remember how she strode after the plough, stout as a giantess.

EERO. She was a good mother, but why weren’t we obedient
children? why didn’t we toil then in the fields like seven bears?
Jukola would look different now. But what did I understand at that
time, a little brat in a shift?

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw now! I well remember thy wicked and
impudent way with our poor mother. But she always forgave thee, as
fathers and mothers usually do their youngest child; but the eldest’s
fur is for ever being dusted, as I know best from myself. Haven’t I, in
the Devil’s name, been beaten in my time like a cur? But I still hope
all was for the best, with God’s help.

SIMEONI. Punishment surely does good, especially if thou
blessest the rod and punishment in God’s name.

EERO. Especially if thou warmest the rod as well.

SIMEONI. I am deaf to thy miserable jokes, thou stone-blind,
thou sparingly-punished child.

TIMO. ‘A good child punishes itself’, but that’s a trick I’d
like to see.

SIMEONI. Here’s the cross-roads under Sonnimäki Hill. It was
here the ghost of a dead man followed that sinful glazier from Kiikkala
all the way from the churchyard for having uttered, the godless man, a
fearful oath while passing the church at night. Let this be a warning
to you to beware of the sin of swearing.

JUHANI. Now we’re on Sonnimäki’s summit; there’s the church,
and yonder the parish clerk’s red-painted house glows like a flaming
nest of devils. Hi! There’s the whole glory of Hell, dreadful wisdom
and awesome honour. Now all my limbs turn numb and my legs rise
mercilessly against me. Ah! what shall I do in this hangman’s hour,
what shall I do, I, your miserable eldest brother?

EERO. As thou art the eldest, lead on with good example and
turn back from the road to Hell. I’ll follow thee.

TUOMAS. Silence, Eero, not a step backward now.

JUHANI. O horny bulls! The parish clerk’s door is the gate of
death to me.

AAPO. There lie the beginnings of our self-respect and our
honour.

JUHANI. A hot honour, a hot honour! Woe us! There I see the
whole grandeur of the parish clerk’s, the fearful pomp of the rectory,
and my nature rises against me--God help us!--rises against me. What
dost thou say, Timo?

TIMO. Strongly it rises.

AAPO. I believe you, but we can’t always be dancing on flowers
and roses down here.

JUHANI. Flowers and roses? Have we danced on flowers and roses?

AAPO. We shall have many bitter pills to swallow yet, little
brother.

JUHANI. Bitter pills? Haven’t we swallowed enough bitter
pills? Oh poor Aapo! we’ve been boiled in many soups already, our hair
ruffled in many winds. And why? Where is our victory? This world is a
big dunghill, and nothing more. To Purgatory with parish clerks and
priests, Bible-classes and books and sheriffs with all their piles of
paper. The evil spirits of this world, all of them! I mentioned books,
but of course I didn’t mean the Bible, the hymn-book, the Catechism
and the a-b-c book, nor the ‘Voice in the Wilderness’--that terrible
book--I didn’t mean any of these. But why was I born at all?

SIMEONI. Do not curse thy days, the days of thy time of mercy.

JUHANI. Why was I born at all, why was I born?

TIMO. Into this world I was born a wretched wanderer. Why
didn’t I sooner open my eyes as a split-lipped young hare under that
spruce yonder?

JUHANI. Or I as that squirrel, who chatters on the fork of yon
pine with his tail bolt upright? His carefree bread is the pinecone,
and his blanket the beard of the spruce in his mossy cabin.

TIMO. And he needn’t learn to read.

JUHANI. He needn’t know how to read!

AAPO. Each was given his lot, and ‘a sword to match’. And
lamenting and sorrow won’t help, but work and action will. Onward now,
brother!

TUOMAS. Onward, to the parish clerk’s, though the way led over
the foaming straits of the sea.

JUHANI. What dost thou think, Eero-lad?

EERO. I’m thinking of going to the parish clerk’s to school.

JUHANI. Hm! Well, let’s be going, let’s march on. Ah, Son of
the Lord! Sing, brother Timo, sing!

TIMO. I’ll sing of the squirrel in his little mossy chamber.

JUHANI. Ay, do.

       *       *       *       *       *

TIMO. Cosily the little squirrel Cowers in his mossy chamber;

    There no hound, its white fangs baring
    Nor the cunning, guileful ranger
      Ever discovered the way.

    From his home on high he seeth
    All the earth in conflict riven,
    Strife and battles rage beneath him;
    O’er his head a branch, wind-driven,
      Flutters its pennant of peace.

    O the life of bliss untroubled
    In a swaying cradle-bower.
    In the spruce’s mother-bosom
    Rocked through every happy hour;
      Forest, thy lullaby sing!

    There with tail aloft he dozes
    At his tiny casement lying;
    Songs of birds beneath the heavens
    Waft him when the day lies dying.
      Into an Eden of dreams.




CHAPTER III


Two days have gone by. In the parish clerk’s day-room the brothers sit
round the table, chanting the alphabet as it is read out to them, now
by the parish clerk himself, now by his little eight-year old daughter.
So, a-b-c books in hand, they practise reading with perspiring brows.
But only five of the sons of Jukola are to be seen on the benches round
the table. Where can Juhani and Timo be? There, near the door, they
stand in the corner of shame, and their hair, which has newly been
coiled round the parish clerk’s muscular fist, still sticks up in a
high tangle.

Very slowly the brothers’ learning has proceeded, the fear-inspiring
strictness of their teacher tending rather to damp their zeal and their
spirits than to carry them onward. Juhani and Timo hardly knew more
than the letter A; the others’ knowledge has progressed a few letters
further. Only Eero had proved a great exception to the rest, and having
left the alphabet behind him, worked nimbly at spelling.

Evening drew nigh, but through the whole of that day the brothers
had not yet broken their fast. For the parish clerk, who had laid an
embargo on their provisions, was trying the effect of hunger on their
willingness to learn. And so, nipped by a raging hunger, Juhani stood
in his nook, shaking his round head, spitting and casting malevolent,
bull-like glances at his teacher. At his side Timo nodded, heedless
of the way of the world--At last, however, the parish clerk broke off
the lesson, saying: ‘Stop now and eat, you wooden horses, champ like
browsing goats in a garden. But remember, after this meal not a crumb
of food shall pass your lips until the alphabet is in your heads, you
hard-headed bulls. One hour I give you for your meal, but not a step
shall you take yet outside the door. I believe the healthiest thing
is to prolong your arrest until night, much the healthiest. Open your
mouths now, for your bags shall be in your hands this minute.’

Thus saying he departed and sent the brothers their provisions by a
serving maid, after which the door was firmly fastened.

TIMO. Where’s my bag?

LAURI. There’s thine and here’s mine. I could eat little
stones.

JUHANI. Now we shan’t eat a single morsel!

LAURI. What? Aren’t we to eat now?

JUHANI. Not a morsel!

LAURI. As well hold back the sea with thy palm.

JUHANI. Leave the bags sweetly in peace.

AAPO. What is thy idea?

JUHANI. To spite the parish clerk. We won’t eat now until
tomorrow has dawned. My blood boils, boys, and my head goes round like
Keitula’s windmill. But spite against spite.

AAPO. Such spite would make the old man laugh heartily.

JUHANI. Let him laugh! I’m not going to eat.--Eero syells
already, oh ay.--I’m not going to eat.

TUOMAS. Neither am I here, but on Sonnimäki Heath yonder.
There I’ll soon be sitting on a bolster of heather.

JUHANI. Right! There we’ll soon be tumbling.

EERO. I agree to your plan, boys.

AAPO. What madness now?

JUHANI. Away out of captivity!

AAPO. Brains ahoy!

JUHANI. Sonnimäki’s pines ahoy!

EERO. Just so! And our brains answer: ahoy!

JUHANI. Answer like a man.

AAPO. Simeoni, try thou thy best.

SIMEONI. Behave yourselves, brothers! But I must say we
weren’t meant for readers, and so farewell to all work in that field.
All the same, let our lives be blameless and decent; for we can live
like Christian people without being able to read, if we only believe.

AAPO. Thou tearest down, confound it, instead of building up.

JUHANI. Simeoni speaks the tongue of justice and fairness. Out
of this, boys; my nature can stand no more.

TUOMAS. It makes my heart ache to see Juhani being pounded.
Out of this, boys!

JUHANI. The matter’s settled. But don’t pity me, Tuomas; for
revenge is in my hand. Here I’ve been put through the mill, torn like
crab-bait, of a truth! And in my pocket I have a big handful of flax,
flax heckled by the parish clerk. But if this bunch doesn’t once stop
up the parish clerk’s gullet, it will be because I shall have made a
machine or some sort of works of it. The parish clerk has a throat, ay,
he has a throat; but I’ll say no more.

EERO. I know another, perhaps a better, way of using it.
We could twist the hair thou savest in thy pocket into a fine
fishing-line, to give to the parish clerk as a present for his good
teaching. But why do I incite thee to sin, when I know, as all of us
can agree with one mind, that punishment does a powerful lot of good?

JUHANI. Eero spells already. Look at the good boy, look.

EERO. Shame enough to be learning spelling at my age.

JUHANI. At thy age? What about our ages?

SIMEONI. He’s mocking us.

JUHANI. Ay, go on mocking, thou tare in Jukola’s wheatfield,
thou bitter leavening in Jukola’s Christian brother-dough, thou
hedgehog, thou prickly little swine, thou frog!

SIMEONI. Hush, for the parish clerk’s sake, hush!

JUHANI. Out of the dungeon, all with a single mind! The one
who tries to stop us now will get a whacking.

TUOMAS. Off away, all of us!

AAPO. Timo, thou stout-willed brother, what sayest thou?

TIMO. That ‘a coat can’t be made of birch-bark, or a parson
out of an old man’, so let us all go, all with a single mind. I can fix
the matter in another proverb: ‘An axe is ground on both sides’.

AAPO. Lauri, what art thou going to do?

LAURI. I’m off to Sonnimäki.

AAPO. Ah! Though the dead were to cry from their graves; ye
truants, ye madmen!

JUHANI. Even that wouldn’t help, but off and away, lad. Art
thou coming? Else--Lord Almighty!--there’ll be a flash and a crash from
here. Art thou coming?

AAPO. I’ll come, but first a word.

TUOMAS. A thousand words wouldn’t help now.

JUHANI. Not even if every word had a thousand swords.

EERO. And every sword a thousand blades.

JUHANI. A thousand fire-spitting blades. Just so; it wouldn’t
help a bit. Away from Marstrand, away from Siberia, away from the
dreadful jungle like seven balls out of the cannon’s mouth! Here’s
both a ball and a cannon, a loaded cannon that gets hotter and hotter,
that’s red-hot now and’ll soon go off. O beloved brothers and kinsmen
and offspring of the same mother! You saw how he twisted this forelock
round his fore-finger, then grabbed with all his fist like this, look,
like this, and then shook me until my teeth rang. Grrh!

TUOMAS. I saw it and my cheeks bulged with anger.

EERO. I heard Juhani’s teeth ring and saw Tuomas’s cheeks
bulge and was terrified, but then I thanked God on your behalf,
remembering all the good punishment can do.

JUHANI. Don’t, my dear brother, bring a fuse near the cannon’s
touch-pan, namely, into these two ears, don’t do it.

TUOMAS. Why wilt thou annoy him, Eero?

JUHANI. Eero is the parish clerk’s good boy. Well, that’s
good too, very good. But what harm have I done for the parish clerk to
torture me like this? Is it a crime that I have such a hard head? It
wouldn’t take much to make me cry.

TIMO. What have I done that my hair should be tugged so very
hard? Is it because I have the brains God in his wisdom once gave me?

LAURI. I too have had my hair pulled three times.

JUHANI. All of us have sweet memories of this place.--The door
open!

AAPO. Mark, we are behind closed doors.

TIMO. There’s a prop against the door, a strong prop.

JUHANI. It’ll break like a blade of grass; but on the other
hand, there’s the window. One swipe with my bag and you’ll hear a
musical tinkling and clinking.

AAPO. Is thy head altogether addled now?

JUHANI. With two days’ shaking, two days’ shaking, my boy!

SIMEONI. Don’t let us break the window, anyhow, but let us
speak nicely with the parish clerk.

JUHANI. Go to Hell and speak nicely with the Devil!--The
window to pieces and away out of prison. ‘Out the whole battalion!’
shouted the captain in his anger.

TUOMAS. Bolt the door, Eero.

EERO. Right; bolt the castle gate while the battalion marches
out of the fort’s back-door.--The door’s bolted.

AAPO. I warn you!

JUHANI. What’s done is done. See that!

AAPO. Thou awful man, openly godless!

SIMEONI. There now! It’s done! There went the window.

JUHANI. The window crashed and heaven flashed, at one swipe of
Juhani’s bag! That was a bang in Lazy-Jake’s style.

SIMEONI. Poor us!

JUHANI. The road’s open, wilt thou be off?

SIMEONI. I’ll come with you, brother dear.

JUHANI. Aapo, the road’s open, art thou coming?

AAPO. Why lift thy fist, madman. I’ll come, I’ll come. What
else can I do, with the Devil once in my sleigh?

JUHANI. Fire and lightning!

TUOMAS. Bags on back now and out of the window! The porch
shakes with footsteps.

JUHANI. Is it the parish clerk? I’ll smack him.

TUOMAS. Come!

JUHANI. It’s the parish clerk. I’ll smack him a little.

TUOMAS. Away! say I.

JUHANI. Don’t step in my way now. I love thee, brother Tuomas.

TUOMAS. I won’t let thee do deeds of terror. Hurry now
with me out of the window; there the others run already across the
potato-patch. Come!

JUHANI. Let go! Why dost thou fear deeds of terror? I’ll only
take him gently across my knee, lift up the long skirts of his coat
and smack him with my naked hand, and this hand will do the work well.
Let go, dear brother, or my heart’ll burst like Kork’s bagpipes. Let
go! thou seest how my head steams.

TUOMAS. We are eternal enemies if thou dost not obey me now.
Heed what I say.

JUHANI. Let’s go then. But I wouldn’t agree to this if I
didn’t love thee with all my heart.

They ceased talking, cast themselves out of the window on to the
hillside, and ran swiftly across the parish clerk’s potato-patch. The
pebbles rattled in the ditches, clumps of soil flew high into the
air, and soon one after the other they were lost to view in a dense
grove of alders. Then the parish clerk, the picture of awful rage,
burst in, waving a stout bamboo stave. In a high-pitched, screaming
voice he called the truants, but in vain. Out on the other side of the
alder-grove dashed the brothers; onward over a stony, rock-bestrewn
strip of ground they ran, onward through a thick belt of juniper,
onward through the rectory’s big, reed-edged meadow, over a wide,
echoing clearing, until they stood on the sandy road under Sonnimäki’s
sloping side. Up the cobbly slope they strode, and reaching the ridge,
decided to pitch their camp at the foot of some pines, on ground
covered with heather; and soon the smoke of their fire was wafted among
the tree-tops.

High was the site on which the brothers camped. Behind a hill they
could see the mansard roof of the rectory, and on the hill itself was
the parish clerk’s red building, the large village, and in a belt of
spruce the grey stone parish church, magnificent, solemn. They saw,
further, a lake dotted with rocks, now streaked by the northeast wind,
which blew gently and swooningly under the clear sky, fanning the lake,
the meadows and forests and the pines on Sonnimäki, at whose foot the
brothers now rested and baked turnips beside a blazing camp-fire.

JUHANI. Now for a real royal meal.

TIMO. A real gentleman’s meal.

JUHANI. Beef from our bags and stewed turnips from the ashes.
They will be ripe this minute.

    The wind it blows and the tree-tops sway,
    My love’s voice echoes far away ...

What ox-like daftness on our part to sit on the parish clerk’s bench,
a-b-c in hand, sit for two devilish days.

EERO. Ah, but to stand in the corner, that was something
different.

JUHANI. Good, my Eero, my wise Eero, my six-inch Eero, thou
hop-o’-my-thumb.--In the parish clerk’s corner! I’ll teach the little
imp.

AAPO. Keep quiet, you heathens!

TUOMAS. Sit in peace, Juhani, and take no notice of what he
says.

JUHANI. Take thy cap off while eating, thou dwarf.

TUOMAS. Cap off, say I too.

JUHANI. There then. Thou hadst to obey.

SIMEONI. Always nagging, nothing but nagging. God light up
your souls and hearts!

JUHANI. He’s always making trouble.

EERO. It’s I am always in your accursed teeth--‘that midge,
that hop-o’-my-thumb, that little button Eero’. But that’s why I’m
tough.

JUHANI. Thou art a snappy-tongued puppy, as it says in the
song ‘Seven Men Strong’.

EERO. I can bite back and hard.

JUHANI. Thou art full of bile.

AAPO. May I say a word? Eero said something that I believe
has a mite of truth in it. Sec, the bile he sometimes spreads around
him, we ourselves have helped a lot in cooking. But let us remember
that we are all creatures of the same Creator.

TIMO. Quite so. ‘If I have two snouts, one like a boot-tree,
the other like a loaf’, what has that to do with others? I myself have
to carry them. But let’s drop noses and posies, Creators and creations
now. Here, Juhani, here’s a turnip, soft as a toadstool. Seize on
that and never mind that scamp’s remarks. He is young and without
understanding.--Eat, brother mine.

JUHANI. I’ll eat all right.

TIMO. Now we’re like at a wedding on this high, echoing hill.

JUHANI. Like at Heaven’s wedding. But I must say we were
tortured real cruelly down there in Hell a little while ago.

TIMO. ‘Sometimes dashed down, sometimes uplifted’, so it is
with us in this world.

JUHANI. That’s it. What dost thou say, brother Aapo?

AAPO. I have tried my best, but all to no good. Now I too will
let myself go for once and leave the tiller of our lives in fate’s
hand. Here I sit.

JUHANI. Here we sit and there under our feet lies the whole
world. The parish clerk’s house glows there like a red cockerel, and
yonder the spire of God’s temple rises on high.

AAPO. At the foot of that temple we shall sit once in the
black stocks of shame, sit with bent heads, like seven young crows on a
fence, listening to people say, as they point to us: there sit the lazy
Jukola brothers.

JUHANI. The day will never dawn when the sons of Jukola, with
heads bent like young crows on a fence, sit in the black stocks of
shame, listening to people saying, as they point to us: there sit the
lazy Jukola brothers. That day will not dawn; I’d sooner hang myself,
or march to the very end of the world, to the battalion at Heinola to
swing a rifle. ‘What do I care, a scapegrace so young?’ Now, brothers,
now that we have eaten, let’s sing, let’s yell until the heath shakes.

SIMEONI. Let’s bless ourselves and go to sleep.

JUHANI. First a song: ‘What do I care’. Clear thy throat, Timo.

TIMO. I’m ready.

JUHANI. How about Eero-lad? Friends again?

EERO. Friends and brothers.

JUHANI. All’s well then. Screw up thy throat.

EERO. It’s already in tune.

JUHANI. Good! And listen you others to the pines quaking.--Now
boys!

    What do I care, a scapegrace so young,
    Broad in the shoulder and lusty of lung?
    Fra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la-lah!

    Away to the ranks of the soldiers so grand
    At Heinolatown I am off thro’ the land.
    Fra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la-lah!

    For bishops and priests I care not a fig,
    Soon I’ll be dressed in a hero’s gay rig.
    Fra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la-lah!

    Swifter my bay horse, for soon we shall crack
    An Emperor’s rations, the hardest of tack.
    Fra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la-lah!

    What do I care, a scapegrace so young,
    Broad in the shoulder and lusty of lung?
    Fra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la ra-la-lah!

JUHANI. That’s the way! This is the right place for us.

SIMEONI. Less noise, less noise! You’re bawling like a legion
of goblins.--Hush, hush! there are travellers coming.

JUHANI. Travellers! Look closer, and thou wilt see a pack of
gypsies, the ‘Rajamäki Regiment.’

The party which now approached was a certain nomad family whose only
home was a little hut on the clearing on Rajamäki Hill, for which
reason it was known to the world as the Rajamäki Regiment. Its leader
is the Mikko known to all, a short, but nimble man with a black
felt hat on his head. He hawks pitch on his journeys and uses the
gelder’s sharp knife nimbly. He professes also the art of fiddling,
drawing a squeaky music from his dark-red instrument at numerous
dances and bee-parties, where he wets his throat wherever hospitality
is proffered.--His wife Kaisa is a skilful cupper, a snuffy-faced,
irascible old woman. Few are the bath-houses she fails to awaken,
on passing, into a smoking activity, for the cupping of the women
of the neighbourhood. Then Kaisa’s cupping-axe dances, her tongue
works and her snuffy face sweats fearfully, but her bag also swells
visibly.--They have a number of children who follow them in their
wanderings from village to village and from farm to farm. Two of
them already foot it on their own, romp merrily around their parents
along the road, now ahead and now behind, but the three youngest form
the load in the little waggon propelled by the parents, Kaisa always
pulling at the shafts, while Mikko pushes from behind with his staff.
And where the Rajamäki Regiment wanders the din is loud. This was the
noisy party, about which a wag had composed a long mocking ballad,
giving to it the family’s name, that now came along the road below
Sonnimäki Heath, as the brothers, merry as goats, enjoyed their freedom
on the high ridge of the heath.

JUHANI. Hallo-o! Greeting, thou aforementioned regiment,
greeting!

TIMO. ‘Hustotaytill?’ says the Swede.

EERO. ‘Kappusiveye?’ says the Russian.

KAISA. What do you want, you up there?

EERO. The old girl to come and suck a whopping thorn from the
brown thigh of Juhani here.

JUHANI. The old woman to tap and suck while the old man plays,
now wouldn’t that go well together.

MIKKO. I give the devil to you, you Jukola bandits.

EERO. The old man doesn’t want to play. Well then it’s for us
to sing, and a real rousing march.

JUHANI. A rousing march as the Rajamäki Regiment marches past.
Now boys, Timo and Eero!

    Now we’re off a-wandering
    Round the land and back,
    Gelding and a-blood-letting
    Hawking pitch so black.

    At the shafts with snuffy face
    Kaisa you will find;
    Mikko, chewing, keeps the pace,
    Pushing hard behind.

JUHANI. Just so! This is a real jolly, rollicky bit of a song.

KAISA. I’ll let you know, you devil’s food up there, that we
always walk in honour, but you, you slink round other people’s forests
like robbers and beasts of prey. I cup people, I do, and bring health;
Mikko gelds and makes fat swine, fine bulls and bonny geldings for the
King of Kings to ride on; know that, you devils!

JUHANI. A couple of verse on top of that sermon, boys! Timo
and Eero, my stout lads! All together!

    Kaisa smacks her nether lip,
    Sets the blood a-running;
    Mother Jane in Kaisa’s grip
    Tells her tales of cunning.

    But yonder on the farmyard side
    Why this sudden shrieking?
    The boars and geldings try to hide,
    The piglets fall a-squeaking.

    Why this tumult ’mongst the boars?
    What makes the piglets scream?
    See: as Mikko farmward soars
    His knife is seen to gleam.

JUHANI. Truly a jolly rollicking song. Can that be denied,
Mikko?

MIKKO. Close thy bread-trap and quickly, and know that I am
Master Mikko himself, who nipped the Governor’s stallion over a clean
sheet without spilling a single drop of blood. And for that trick got a
stifficate that the Emperor of Rome couldn’t belittle. That’s the sort
of Mikko I am.

EERO. Oh thou double Boar-gelder Mikko with thy witch of a
wife!

KAISA. See that I don’t turn you all into a pack of wolves, as
my grandfather once did a proud wedding company.

JUHANI. Here I still stand, the same old Juhani Jukola, in my
own breeches, and so with God’s help I hope to stand from now onward
too. Thy witch’s tricks, poor woman, can do no more than they did two
years ago when thou foretoldest the end of the world and made many a
wife beg her husband’s pardon for past scoldings without the slightest
need.

KAISA. Hear what I prophesy now.

EERO. Thou prophesiest and wishest us a hot bath, with thou
thyself to cup us in the neck.

JUHANI. But that’s a vain prophecy and wish. True I do mean to
heat the bath-house when I come home and bathe right heartily, but I’m
in no mind to have the Adam’s pelt opened at my neck.

KAISA. Listen, listen! Fire shall eat up thy bath-house and
thy dwelling too, and in wretched state shalt thou wander forth through
forests, bogs and marshes, seeking shelter for thy perishing body. Ah!
bloodily wilt thou yet fight with men and the beasts of the forest,
after which, puffing like a dying hare, thou wilt lay down thy accursed
head in a bush. Hear me and remember.

JUHANI. To Hell....

TUOMAS. Shut up now, shut up!

SIMEONI. Thou godless man, bewitched!

JUHANI. Go to red-hot Hell! Go to the parish clerk and bewitch
his throat with the everlasting mumps.

EERO. So that he’ll sing like an old long-tusked boar in
Mikko’s hands.

JUHANI. Ay, and go to the Rector, to that hypocritical and
rich, fat and greasy Rector.... What shall we order him! Say, Eero.

EERO. May it happen to him at Bible meeting as it happened to
the publican at Oulu’s gate; may a big cat-pie appear in his sack.

JUHANI. Ay, a Paltamo pasty, with a cat, a hairy, furry cat
inside.

EERO. And let him make a sermon of it next Sunday so full of
wrath and fury that his fatty stomach bursts of a sudden with a loud
bang.

JUHANI. Ay, and then may the Old ’Un take him up on his back
and fly away with him as is the Devil’s way with parsons.

EERO. Let him carry off the rich and mighty Rector for company
to the rich man.

JUHANI. There’s the greeting we bid thee carry to the parish
clerk and the Rector. And if thou dost this, thou canst turn me into a
wolf, if thou likest, as thou hast threatened.

EERO. A wolf so fierce that it eats up the whole Rajamäki
Regiment at one gulp.

JUHANI. Ay! And the bag of horns into the bargain.

EERO. And the pitch-sack for savoury.

JUHANI. Just so, thou son of a hammer.

KAISA. Good! The rector and the parish clerk shall hear your
message, and you will find this soup in your bowls yet, you accursed!
Send ’em a parting greeting with a stone, Mikko; split open their
skulls.

MIKKO. Here’s a good pebble, as though made to order.--Take
that, you squinting goats!--Quick march, Kaisa! now we’re off.

JUHANI. The scoundrel! Threw a stone, and it was a near thing
I didn’t get it on the head.

EERO. Let’s send the ball back.

JUHANI. Make the old fellow’s hat rattle!

TUOMAS. Don’t throw, lad, if thou wouldst spare thy poll.

AAPO. Can’t you see, rascals, that there are children there?

JUHANI. Hold thy stone; they’re galloping off already until
the heath thunders.

SIMEONI. Oh you wicked wretches, you Calmucks and savages!
Even a peaceful traveller can’t pass you in peace. Oh you bandits!

JUHANI. What, I, who wouldn’t hurt a hair of their heads? But
look you, when a man feels real mad and mighty spasms run through his
bonny carcase, he--thou knowest what. Two days and two nights this lad
has been shut up in a tower. But I sent a grand greeting to the parish
clerk to ease my mind a little.

AAPO. And still more foolish ones to the Rector. We shall have
cause to rue these greetings yet.

JUHANI. ‘What do I care, a scapegrace so young’. Life, a young
man’s life, is just like this roaring, echoing heath. Yonder in the
northeast Impivaara’s steep fell shows, and yonder in the northwest the
lake by the village gleams, and I can even see other lakes, there on
the edge of the air as though in eternal distance. I can see the three
lakes of Kolistin there.

    It can’t be helped, it can’t be helped,
    I’ll jump into the lake;
    My sweetheart is so mad to-day
    And hisses like a snake.

On the surface of that lake our old parish clerk often sits with a
fishing rod in his hand. Ah! if he only squatted there now and I were
a fierce gust of wind, a raving squall from the southeast. I know well
where I’d charge with a roar, and the parish clerk’s punt would soon be
upset.

SIMEONI. What a sinful wish!

JUHANI. It’s what I’d do; I’d upset the punt so that the water
boiled around him like gruel.

TIMO. To the wolves for their dinner, a man like him!

JUHANI. I’d dash him into a wolf-pit and then walk blissfully
round it.

AAPO. Once the fox, bearing a grudge against the bear, tricked
poor Bruin into a pit. And then he laughed heartily and walked round
the pit, talking mockingly. After that he got on to a wild-cat’s back,
and the wild-cat took him up into a big spruce that grew close by. The
fox then began to sing for joy and to call together the winds from the
four quarters of the earth, commanding them to play the harp of the
spruce to his song. Came the east, west and south winds, and the spruce
roared and crackled loudly. Came the north wind, charging across the
mossy, gloomy forests, screaming and crashing. Then the spruce stormed,
quivered and bowed down deeply, until at last it broke and fell down
over the pit, throwing as it fell the fox into the bear’s arms down in
the pit.

TIMO. The devil! What then?

JUHANI. Thou canst easily guess what happened then. I bet the
bear took a firm hold of the fox by the scruff and shook him until his
teeth rattled, like the kind parish clerk did me.--But I understand
what Aapo means. He wants to remind me that he who digs a pit for
others can fall into it himself. That may be, but I’d like to see the
parish clerk fall into a pit all the same.

TIMO. My heart too wouldn’t be against seeing the parish clerk
stumble into a pit. But I wouldn’t keep the old beggar there too long.
Two hours, only two hours. And may this be enough. Let the parish clerk
live in peace without even falling into the pit of my angry heart. But
one thing surprises me. How can you believe such rubbish about a fox
and a bear? Why, brothers, a fox can’t even talk nonsense, let alone
call together all the four winds. You believe this, but I make it out
a downright lie.

JUHANI. We all know that Timo’s head is not one of the
sharpest in this world.

TIMO. Maybe not. But with this head I walk through the world
as honourably as thou or anyone else, man or woman.

AAPO. Timo doesn’t understand a fable.

JUHANI. Not a bit does the poor boy understand it. But if I
were to explain it to thee? This matter between the bear and the fox is
likely from those times when all the animals and even the trees could
speak, as it says in the Old Testament; and this I heard from our old
blind uncle.

AAPO. Even thou dost not understand a fable and its purpose.

TIMO. And yet ‘the kettle mocks the pot, black in the ribs the
two’.

JUHANI. Art thou trying to be clever, man? Believe me, I thank
God that I am not as stupid as thou, poor Timo.

TIMO. What if thou’rt not? I see no harm in it.

EERO. Do thou, Timo, as the publican once did; only smite thy
breast, and we’ll see which of you marches home the better man.

JUHANI. Ay! did it touch Little-Eero, publican thyself?

EERO. It touched the chief publican, that Little-Zacchaeus on
a sore spot.

JUHANI. I give a fig for thy jests, and lay me down to slumber
sweet. I’ll turn my back on all of you and sleep like an ant’s nest
under the snow.--But God help us! this is an awful place we have
settled in.

AAPO. How so?

JUHANI. Why, there lies that strange, terrifying rock that
always answers so mournfully to the noise of the church bells. And look
at those eyes in it which stare so unwinkingly at us. I’m scared!
Let’s leave this spot in the Lord’s name.

TUOMAS. Let us sit here in peace.

JUHANI. But the forest-spirit is stern and angry here.

AAPO. Only towards those who swear or do other godless deeds.
So take care of thyself. The tale of those images on the rock-side is a
story of far-off days.

LAURI. Wilt thou tell us this tale?

AAPO. Look carefully at the rock first. You’ll see there
something that looks like four shining golden spots. These are the
melting eyes of two lovers, a fair maiden and a gallant youth; you
will see their images graven in the rock. Look at them, with your eyes
half-shut. There they sit, entwined in the most loving embrace. Lower
down, at the young people’s feet, is an old warrior, bowed down and
pierced by a sword.

TIMO. It’s quite as thou sayest.

LAURI. I too believe I can see something of the sort there.
But go on with the tale.

And Aapo told them this tale:

A grand castle once stood somewhere here, and the lord of this castle
was a rich and mighty man. He had a stepdaughter, a motherless girl,
sweet and fair as the morn. A youth loved the maiden, but the castle’s
terrible master, in whose heart love had never found room, hated both
the youth and the maiden. The girl too loved the noble youth, and they
would often meet on this echoing heath. And it was just the foot of
this rock that was their trysting-place. But the father found out the
young people’s secret and once uttered a fearful vow in the maiden’s
ear. ‘Daughter’, he said, ‘see that I don’t catch you two embracing in
the forest’s night. Know that my sword will then be swift to wed you in
bloody death. This I promise and swear by all that is holy’. This he
said, and fear gripped the maiden as she heard the vow. Nevertheless,
she forgot not the friend of her heart, and the flame of her love only
burned the brighter.

It was a calm summer night. In the maiden’s breast a feeling awoke
that the youth was pacing on the heath, awaiting his own true love.
So at last, when she believed everyone in the castle was asleep, she
set forth, wrapped in a big, finely-woven shawl; set forth on her
love-adventure, and creeping out like a shadow, was soon lost to view
in the forest, and a blue shawl flickered once in a dewy thicket. But
everyone in the castle was not asleep; there against a window stood the
master of the castle himself, spying on the maiden, who like a ghost
of night faded from his view. Whereupon he girt on his sword, seized a
spear, and hastening after the maiden was also soon lost to sight among
the trees. A blood-thirsty beast hunting a mild-eyed lamb.

Up towards the heath hurried the panting maiden and there met her
friend, at the grey rock’s base. There they stood, lovingly embracing
each other and whispering the language of love in a blissful hour. They
stood no longer on the face of this earth; their spirits wandered in
Heaven’s flowery meadows.--So passed a few short moments; then all of a
sudden the terrible lord dashed forth and thrust his sharp spear in the
maiden’s left side with such force that its point came out of the young
man’s right, thus joining them together in death. They drooped towards
the rock, and their blood gushed forth in a single stream, dyeing the
cheeks of the heather-blossoms. There, united in bonds of steel, they
sat on their rocky throne, silent, yet all the time lovingly embracing
each other. And ravishingly, like four golden stars, their eyes shone
upon the castle’s mighty master, who looked in wonder upon this
strange calm picture in the very jaws of death. Suddenly a thunderstorm
arose, the heavens flashed and rumbled, but in the lightning’s bluish
glare the young people’s eyes still shone blissfully, as four candles
might burn in the holy air of Heaven. Upon all this the murderer
looked while the wrath on high raged around and above him. Powerfully
the beautifully fading eyes of the lovers spoke to his soul, equally
powerfully the foaming torrent of their blood and the crashing sky.
And for the first time his mind was touched, as with cold and black
regret in his heart he gazed upon the wondrous eyes of the dying, which
smiled without cease at him. His heart knew fear and he trembled as the
lightning flashed and eternity thundered, and spirits of dread gathered
all around him. A boundless fury seized his soul.

Once more he looked upon the youthful lovers: and still the same
shining eyes, though dimmer now, looked smiling back at him. Then,
folding his arms across his breast, he began, with frozen glance,
staring eastward; and thus he stood for long, dumb in the gloomy
night. But at last and suddenly he lifted his breast high and shouted
a long shout, long and terrifically loud, a shout that echoed roaring
through the neighbourhood. Then for a space he was silent again, while
he listened carefully, until the last echo of his cry had sunk into
the bosom of the farthest hill. And when this had come to pass, he
shouted terrifically again, still staring towards the east, and the
forest heard the echoes for long, while he closely followed their
passage from hill to hill. But at last the distant trembling voice died
down, the lightning rested, and the shining eyes were extinguished;
and only a heavy rain sighed in the forest. Then suddenly, as though
awakening from a dream, the castle’s master snatched the sword from
his scabbard, pierced his breast with it, and fell at the lovers’ feet.
And once more the heavens flashed, flashed and thundered; but silence
soon reigned everywhere again.

Morning came, and the dead were found on the heath at the foot of a
grey rock; they were borne away and room was made for them side by side
in the same grave. But afterwards their images were seen in the rock;
one saw a youth and a maiden, embracing each other, and under them, on
his knees, a grim, bearded warrior. And four marvellous studs, like
four golden stars, shone in the rock by night and by day, reminding
men of the rapture in the fainting eyes of the lovers. And it was a
thunderbolt, so runs the tale, that in its flight inscribed these
images in the rock. And like in this picture, the youth and maiden
sit in happiness on a throne on high; and like the warrior is seen
cowering there, so must he cower on a bed of punishment in parching
air. Whenever the church bells ring, he bends his ear carefully to
catch the sound, listening to the echo given out by the rock; but up to
now its sound has been mournful. Once, however, a wondrously gentle and
joyous sound will issue from the rock, and then the hour of the man’s
atonement and forgiveness will have come, but the day of all the world
will also then be nigh. And that’s why people always listen with such
unrest to the echo from this rock when the church-bells ring. Gladly
would they welcome the dawn of the man’s day of release, but remember
with terror that the end of the world will then have come.

This tale Aapo told to his brothers on Sonnimäki Heath.

TIMO. The old boy has to sweat. Right to the Day of Judgment!
Oho!

SIMEONI. Thou dolt, see that the trumpet of judgment doesn’t
bray this very minute.

EERO. No fear of the world ending so long as there are
heathens on the face of the earth. Why, God ha’ mercy! here are seven
benighted heathens right in the midst of Christendom. There’s nothing
so bad but that there’s something good in it. We are pillars of this
world, we are.

JUHANI. Thou a pillar of the world? Six-inch!

SIMEONI. Thou’lt tremble, Eero, tremble like the Devil, when
the day approaches which thou now mockest.

TIMO. That he won’t; I’ll stand for that. Oho! there’ll be a
din and commotion then. Two commotions have been already, the third is
still to come. And then the great sign of bliss will appear; then the
world’ll fall to dust and ashes like an old birch-bark slipper. Then
the cattle in the clearings will bellow and the pigs squeak fearfully
in the lanes, that is, if this ruin comes upon us in summer-time; but
if it comes in winter, then the cattle will go mad and bellow in the
sheds and the poor pigs squeal in their styes. There’ll be a row then,
boys. Oho! Two commotions have been, the third is still to come, or so
our blind uncle said.

SIMEONI. Ay, ay, let us remember that day.

JUHANI. Shut up, will you, brothers. God preserve us! You
quite turn a man’s heart inside-out with such talk. Let’s go to sleep,
let’s go to sleep.

So they conversed, but at last their conversation died down, and sleep
overcame them, one after the other. Last of all Simeoni sat awake,
leaning against the bulging root of a pine. He sat and pondered gravely
over those final moments of the world and the great day of judgment.
His eyes burned with a reddish, moist, mild fire, while the ruddy flush
of his coarse cheek shone afar. But at last he too slept. And so they
all lay sleeping beside their campfire, which blazed for a while, then
sank gradually and was extinguished.

The day declined and twilight deepened into night. The air was
muggy and hot; an occasional flash lit up the northeast as an angry
thunderstorm climbed up the sky. With the speed of an eagle it drew
near to the village, casting down fire from its womb, until it
suddenly set ablaze the rector’s barn, which, being full of dry straw,
soon burst into mighty flames. The bells began to clamour and the
village awoke into activity; people hurried everywhere to the fire,
a stream of men and women, but in vain. Luridly the barn blazed, and
blood-red shone the bowl of the sky. But the storm now hastened towards
Sonnimäki, where the brothers slept sweetly, the heath resounding with
their snores. A terrible crash is now to awaken them, in a terror
greater than any they have known in their lives. Their dream-delirious
minds will stand aghast when, with all nature raging around them in the
cheerless night, the gloomy tale and the accounts of the end of the
world recur to them. And all the light they will see in the night will
be the flashing of thunderclouds and the reflection of the fire in the
village.

The flash came, and on its heels followed a burst of thunder so loud
that it instantly woke up the sleeping brothers. Shouting loudly in
shrill voices, they sprang up from the ground as one man, and with the
hair standing upright on their heads like rustling reeds and eyes like
rings in their heads, they stared at each other for a moment or two.

SIMEONI. The Day of Judgment!

JUHANI. Where are we, where are we?

SIMEONI. Are we going already?

JUHANI. Save us, mercy!

AAPO. Terrible, terrible!

TUOMAS. Indeed terrible.

TIMO. The Lord preserve us poor lads!

SIMEONI. How the bells are ringing!

JUHANI. And the rock jangles and dances! Hii! Ha!

SIMEONI. ‘The bells of Heaven are ringing!’

JUHANI. ‘And strength forsakes my limbs!’

SIMEONI. Is this how we go?

JUHANI. Help us, Mild and Merciful!

AAPO. Oh terror!

JUHANI. Tuomas, Tuomas, grab hold of the tail of my coat. Hii!
Ha!

SIMEONI. Hii! Haa! Now we’re off, we’re off!

JUHANI. Tuomas, my brother in Christ!

TUOMAS. Here I am. What dost thou want?

JUHANI. Pray!

TUOMAS. Ay, try to pray now.

JUHANI. Pray, Timo, if thou canst!

TIMO. I’ll try.

JUHANI. Do it soon!

TIMO. O Lord, O sorrow great, O merciful throne of Bethlehem!

JUHANI. What does Lauri say?

LAURI. I don’t know what to say in this misery.

JUHANI. Ay, misery, bottomless misery! But I’m beginning to
think the end is not just yet.

SIMEONI. Oh if we were granted even a single day!

JUHANI. Or a week, a precious week! But what are we to make of
this ghastly light and the clatter of bells?

AAPO. There’s a fire in the village, good people.

JUHANI. Ay, Aapo, and that’s the warning bell ringing.

EERO. The rectory barn’s afire.

JUHANI. A thousand barns can burn down as long as this
wretched world still stands and we seven of its sinful children on it.
Lord help us! My whole body’s swimming in a stream of cold sweat.

TIMO. I won’t say my own trousers aren’t shaking.

JUHANI. A matchless moment!

SIMEONI. So God punishes us for our sins.

JUHANI. True! Why did we sing that nasty song about the
Rajamäki Regiment.

SIMEONI. You mocked shamelessly at Mikko and Kaisa.

JUHANI. Why say it! But God bless them! God bless us all,
every one, even the parish clerk.

SIMEONI. That prayer found favour in Heaven.

JUHANI. Let us leave this dreadful place. The fire shows
here like the fiery furnace of the damned, and there those eyes shine
so mournfully at us from the rock-side. Know that it was Aapo’s tale
of those cat’s-eyes that caused this shaking in our backbones. Let’s
be off, and don’t any of you forget your bags and a-b-c books. Away
brothers! Let’s march to Tammisto to see Kyösti; to Kyösti’s with God’s
help, and then home tomorrow, if we’re still alive.

LAURI. We’ll soon have the rain pouring down our necks and
will be wet as rats.

JUHANI. Let it rain, let it rain! We were still spared. Come
on now!

Marching quickly in a row, they hurried off and soon came to the sandy
road, where they turned off towards Tammisto Farm. To the flashing
of fire and the roll of thunder they marched on for a while, until a
streaming rain began to pour over them. At that they increased their
pace to a run until they arrived at the ‘Kulomäki spruce’, a tree
famous for its height and the denseness of its branches, which stood by
the roadside, a shelter for many a wanderer in the rain. At the foot
of this spruce the brothers sat until the rain abated, and the great
spruce roared above them. But when the weather lifted, they continued
their journey. And nature grew calm again, the wind died, the clouds
fled and the moon rose palely out of the tree-tops. Leisurely and
without a care the brothers then strode along the wet road.

TUOMAS. I’ve often wondered where the thunder comes from and
what it can be, those flashes and that noise.

AAPO. Our blind uncle told us this mutiny in the heavens comes
when dry sand gets borne by the wind between masses of cloud.

TUOMAS. Would it be that?

JUHANI. A child’s mind can fancy anything. How was it I, a
little brat in my shift, pictured the thunder? It was God driving
rattling along the streets of Heaven, and fire flashed from the stony
road and the iron rim of his wheels. Ha-ha! A child has a child’s mind.

TIMO. What about me! I too imagined something of the sort
when as a tiny imp I toddled along the lane while the thunder rumbled,
toddled there with a little bit of a shirt on me. God’s ploughing his
field, thinks I, and cracking his ox-tail whip and each swipe makes the
round flanks of his fat bay strike sparks, as we see the sparks fly
from a horse’s croup when we wipe it down. Ay, childish ideas.

SIMEONI. I thought as a child and still think: the heavens’
flash and thunder proclaim God’s wrath at the sinners on earth; for the
sins of men are great, countless as the sands of the sea.

JUHANI. Sins are committed down here, that can’t be denied,
but a sinner is well boiled down here too in salt and pepper. Think, my
boy, of our trip to school and what we had to bear there. The parish
clerk scratched and shook us like a hawk; I feel it yet and grind my
teeth, my boy.

The road ended and Tammisto Farm drew nigh, and the brothers gravely
entered and were given comfortable beds by Kyösti. This Kyösti, a man
sturdy as an oak, was the only son of the house, but had never cared
to take over the management of the farm, preferring to be alone, to
follow his own bent. At one time he had wandered as in a fever through
the villages, preaching and shouting; and it was said that much
thinking about religion had brought him to this pass. And when at last
he had awakened from his state, he was otherwise the same as before,
but he never smiled again. And one curious thing came to pass, that
ever afterwards he regarded the Jukola brothers as his best friends,
though he had hardly known them before. This was the man with whom the
brothers sought shelter for the night.




CHAPTER IV


The following day, the Jukolas regained their home, stepping out one
behind the other. But woebegone was their appearance: their garments
hung in shreads and their faces were mottled with bruises and wounds.
Juhani, who led the way, had had his left eye almost closed up, Aapo’s
lips were badly swollen, a mighty bump protruded from Timo’s forehead,
and Simeoni, limping, brought up the rear. Their heads had been
thoroughly pummelled and were now wrapped round with empty food-bags or
with strips of rag torn from a coat. In such condition they returned
from their trip to school. The dogs, Killi and Kiiski, rushed forth to
meet them, leaping with joy; but the brothers had little strength left
to respond to the caresses of their faithful house-guards.

Who then had used them so cruelly? Who had succeeded so well in
crushing the doughty Jukola brothers? Who else but the men of Toukola,
whose revenge it was. Having heard that the brothers were at Tammisto,
they had banded themselves together, twenty men strong, and hidden in
the bushes by the wayside to await their enemies. There, with stout
staves in their hands, they had dozed and bided their time. Then, as
the school-goers drew nigh, the villagers fell swiftly upon them,
charging from both sides of the road, and a terrific cudgelling began
in which the brothers were badly beaten. But neither did the Toukola
men escape whole-skinned from the affray, for many of them turned faint
on acquaintance with the brothers’ fists. And two were borne swooning
to their homes: Kuninkala’s Eenokki and Kissala’s Aapeli. And on this
occasion Aapeli’s skull shone bare from neck to brow, shone like the
bottom of a pewter mug. The hand of Juhani had done its fell work.

At last, however, the brothers sat in the large living-room of their
home, terribly tired.

JUHANI. Whose turn is it to heat the bath-house?

TIMO. It’ll be mine now.

JUHANI. Then heat it till the oven cracks.

TIMO. I’ll try my best.

JUHANI. Do it like a man, for truly, our wounds need a
steaming. And do thou, Eero, hasten and bring a can of spirits from
Roution, for which they can have the stoutest log in our forest. A can
of spirits!

SIMEONI. Isn’t that too much, a can?

JUHANI. Why, it’s hardly enough as grease for seven men. God
knows, we have as many wounds between us as there are stars in the sky.
But though this eye of mine aches and kicks right fiercely, the bile
and heart in my innards ache fiercer still. But all’s well! all’s well!
Jussi Jukola is not dead yet.

Evening fell, a melancholy September evening; Eero brought the spirits
from Roution and Timo word that the bath was ready; and the men’s
sullen temper revived a little. They set out to their bath, and Timo
threw water on the heated oven until the blackened stones heaped over
it cracked with a noise like rifle-fire and a cloud of hot steam was
wafted round the bath-house. Each plied now with all his strength the
feathery bunches of leafy birch-twigs, so grateful to the skin; they
bathed and washed their wounds, and the furious beating of the twigs
was heard afar without the building.

JUHANI. Our wounds are getting a real Turkish polka. Hot steam
in the bath-house, that’s the best physic for soul and body. But my eye
stings like Satan. Well, itch away and sting, all the hotter will I
make it for thee. How is thy muzzle, Aapo?

AAPO. It’s beginning to melt.

JUHANI. Swipe away at it and beat it as a Russian hammers his
nag, and it’ll soon be softer. But more steam, Timo, seeing it is thy
job tonight to wait on us. That’s it, my boy! Let it come. Oh, but it’s
hot there, it’s hot there! That’s the way, my broth of a brother!

LAURI. It fair bites at my finger-nails.

JUHANI. Let our nails get a basting, too.

AAPO. Stop throwing water now, boy; or we’ll soon have to
climb down from here, every man of us.

EERO. Go on praising him and we shall soon be roasted to
cinders.

JUHANI. That’s enough, Timo. Don’t throw any more. For Hell’s
sake stop throwing water on that oven! Art thou coming down, Simeoni?

SIMEONI. I’m coming, wretch that I am. And ah, if ye only knew
why!

JUHANI. Tell us.

SIMEONI. Man, remember the furnace of the lost and pray night
and day.

JUHANI. Stuff! Let the body have it if it wants; for the
hotter the steam-bath the greater its healing-power. That thou knowest.

SIMEONI. Whose hot water is this in the bucket near the oven?

JUHANI. It’s mine, as the smith said of his house. Don’t touch
it.

SIMEONI. I’m going to take a drop of it, anyway....

JUHANI. Don’t do it, brother mine, or there’ll be trouble. Why
didst thou not warm some for thyself?

TUOMAS. Why be so snappy without cause? Take a little from my
tub, Simeoni.

TIMO. Or from mine, under the platform steps there.

JUHANI. Have some of mine then, too, but see thou leavest me
at least half.

LAURI. Eero! Thou imp, take care I don’t throw thee off the
platform.

AAPO. What tricks are you two up to in the corner?

JUHANI. What’s the squabbling about? Eh?

LAURI. Blowing on another fellow’s back.

AAPO. Softly, Eero!

JUHANI. Hey, troublemonger.

SIMEONI. Eero, Eero, can’t even the stewing heat of the bath
remind thee of the fires of Hell? Remember Juho Hemmola, remember him!

JUHANI. He saw when he was stretched on a sick-bed the fiery
lake, from which he was saved that time, and all because, as it was
then said to him, he had always thought of Hell when he was on the
bath-house platform. But can that be daylight shining through yon
corner?

LAURI. Bright daylight.

JUHANI. Oh the beast! the bath-house sings its last note. So
let the first aim of my mastership be a new bathhouse.

AAPO. A new one’s needed, it’s true.

JUHANI. Ay, no gainsaying that. A farm without a bath-house
is no good either from the standpoint of baths or the babies a wife or
the farm-hands’ women might have. Ay, a smoking bath-house, a barking
hound, a crowing cock and a mewing pussy, these are the signs of a good
farm. Ay, there’s plenty to do for the one who takes over our home. A
little more steam, Timo!

TIMO. It shall be given thee.

SIMEONI. Don’t let us forget that it is Saturday night.

JUHANI. And let us take care our skins aren’t soon hanging
from the rafters, like the former serving-maid’s.

SIMEONI. That was the maid who never had time to take her bath
with the others, but dillied and dallied in the bath-house long after
all the others had gone to bed. Then one Saturday night she stayed
longer than usual. And what did they find when they went to look for
her? Only a skin hanging from the rafters. But it was a master-hand had
done the flaying, for the hair, eyes, ears and even the nails had been
left in the skin.

JUHANI. Let this be a warning.... Hi-hi, how skittishly
this back of mine takes its steam! As though thou hadst not tasted a
birch-twig since New Year’s Day.

LAURI. But who had skinned her?

TIMO. Who, thou askest. Who else but the ...

JUHANI. Old ’Un himself.

TIMO. Ay, he who goes around like a roaring lion. A horrible
story!

JUHANI. Timo-lad, stick that shirt of mine from the rafters
there into this fist.

TIMO. What, this one?

JUHANI. Ho! ’Tis Eero’s little rag he offers to a full-grown
man. Ah thee! That middle one there.

TIMO. What, this one?

JUHANI. That’s a man’s shirt. Ta, brother. A horrible story,
say I too to go back to what we were speaking of. Let it be a reminder
to us that ‘the eve is the height of a feast-day’. Now let’s wash
ourselves as clean as though we had just come from the midwife’s nimble
paws: and then shirt under arm to the house, so that our over-heated
bodies can get a skinful of cool air on the way. But I do believe this
beloved eye of mine is getting better.

SIMEONI. My leg isn’t better yet, but aches and burns as
though it were wrapped round with hot ashes. What’s to become of poor
me with it?

EERO. Go nicely to bed when we reach the house and pray for
leg-salve, and then thank thy Creator who has not suffered thee today
to ‘dash thy foot against a stone’, as it says in evening prayer.

SIMEONI. I do not hear thee, I do not hear.

EERO. Then pray for ear-salve as well. But start moving, or
thou’lt be left here a prey to Old Nick.

SIMEONI. My ears are closed to thee, closed in a spiritual
sense. Understand me, man!

EERO. Come on, or thy skin will soon be hanging from the
rafters, and that in a bodily sense.

Naked and hot, they went from the bath-house to the sitting-room, their
bodies glowing like the sunlit stem of a birch-tree. Arrived within,
they sat down to rest a while sweating plentifully. Then little by
little they dressed themselves. And now Juhani began concocting an
ointment for the whole wounded brotherhood. Into an old handleless
saucepan, which he placed on the fire, he poured the can of spirits,
stirring into it two spans of gunpowder, one of ground sulphur and a
like measure of salt. And when this had boiled for an hour, he set
the mixture to cool, and the ointment, which resembled a pitch-black
gruel was ready. With this salve they anointed their wounds, paying
particular attention to those in their heads, and then covered the
whole with fresh, golden tar. Whereafter their teeth met fiercely and
a dark flush overspread their faces; so burned the potent ointment in
their wounds. But Simeoni set forth supper; seven ring-shaped loaves,
the smoked haunch of a cow and a heaped-up platter of stewed turnips
soon lay on the table. Food, however, was little to their taste that
evening, and after a few moments they rose from table and, having
undressed, lay down on their beds.

The night was dark, peace and silence reigned everywhere. But suddenly
the air around Jukola was illumined: the bath-house had caught fire.
So hot had Timo heated the grey stone oven that after smouldering a
while the wall burst into flames. And in deepest peace the building
burned to ashes, unseen of a single eye. And when morning dawned, there
was left of the Jukola bath-house only a few glowing cinders and the
white-hot ruins of the oven. At last, at midday, the brothers awoke,
feeling a good deal fresher than on the previous day, and dressing
themselves, sat down to breakfast; and food now tasted well to them.
For long they ate without uttering a word, until at last a conversation
arose regarding the scene of violence on the road between Tammisto and
Toukola.

JUHANI. True, it was a fair beating for us; but then they
fell on us like robbers with staves and cudgels. Ah! if we too had had
weapons in our hands and a hint of the danger beforehand, they’d be
sawing coffin-boards at Toukola village today, and there’d be work for
the grave-digger. However, I gave Kissala’s Aapeli his due.

TUOMAS. A white, hairless path ran down from his forehead to
his nape like the Milky way in an autumn sky.

JUHANI. Thou sawest?

TUOMAS. I saw it.

JUHANI. He got his due, but the others, the others, oh Lord!

EERO. We’ll be revenged on them down to their marrows.

JUHANI. Let us lay our heads together; and it may be the means
of us finding an idea for a matchless revenge.

AAPO. Why should we work everlasting ruin? Let’s seek the law
and justice, and not revenge by our own hands.

JUHANI. The first Toukola man I lay hands on, I’ll eat alive,
skin and hair; there’s the law and justice.

SIMEONI. Wretched brother! Dost thou ever intend to be heir to
Heaven?

JUHANI. What do I care for Heaven, if I can’t see Tuhkala
Matti’s blood and entrails!

SIMEONI. Oh what a monster thou art, what a monster! I must
weep.

JUHANI. Weep thou for the cat’s death, but not for my sake.
Grrh! I’ll make sausages of them.

TUOMAS. I’ll be revenged for this beating, I stake my word and
oath on it. Only a wolf would treat a man so.

JUHANI. A raving wolf. I swear the same oath.

AAPO. That revenge would only rebound on to our own backs; but
the law would punish them and reward us.

JUHANI. The law won’t make their backs smart with these wounds
of ours.

AAPO. All the worse will their purse and good name smart.

SIMEONI. Let us put bloody revenge out of our minds; let us
appeal to the law. I’m ready for that, even though the noise and bustle
of a court-room is greatly scaring to me.

JUHANI. If it comes to that, here’s a lad who wouldn’t flinch
even there. True, a fellow’s heart beats a bit faster the first time he
stands before the table of high justice, but a real man soon bucks up.
I still remember that time when I was witness for poor Kaisa Koivula,
who applied for maintenance for her child. I remember how the Serjeant
shouted: ‘Juhani, son of Juhani Jukola, of the village of Toukola!’

TIMO. ‘And his younger brother Timotheus!’ I was there too;
and Kaisa got a father for her baby like winking. I was witness too,
Juhani.

JUHANI. Thou wert, thou wert. But there was a crowd for you,
porch, steps and yard full. I was just sitting in the porch, chatting
with Kyösti Tamisto about what and how a lad has to speak before the
judge. I was talking real gravely with him, twiddling his coat buttons,
so, like that, when the Serjeant, or wolf-bailiff, shouted in such a
loud voice that I’ll lay it made many of the folk there open their
eyes and ears widely: ‘Juhani, son of Juhani Jukola, of the village of
Toukola!’

TIMO. ‘And his younger brother Timotheus!’ And, dog take it,
Kaisa got a father for her child.

JUHANI. That she did.

TIMO. Even though we weren’t allowed to take oath.

JUHANI. We weren’t, that’s true. But our frank and honest
witness helped a lot.

TIMO. And our names have gone up in deeds and dockets right to
the Emperor himself, hey!

JUHANI. That’s well known. Ay, so the Serjeant shouted, and
there was a kind of jump in the cockles of this lad’s heart, but he
was soon at home and pouring out of his mouth the unwavering language
of truth like he’d been an apostle, without heeding the laughter and
giggling of all those in court.

TIMO. That’s how we’re treated in court, and all goes well.
However, there’s more than one noose cast there and many a foot put
slyly out for a man to trip over.

JUHANI. That’s so, but truth and justice snatch the victory in
the end after all their tricks.

TIMO. After all their tricks and wiles; ay, unless the very
devil is lawyer and makes out night to be day and day night and black
tar to be skim-milk. But one thing can be as good as two. Why didn’t
God place justice on a firmer, ay, a downright firm footing? Why
witnesses, long questionings and lawyers’ tricks? To my mind, the
quickest road to truth and justice, if a matter seems doubtful and
can’t be cleared up, would be this: all the court, with the judge
himself in the lead, would step out into the yard, where the Serjeant
or hunt-bailiff would blow a big birch-bark horn, that could be called
the court-horn; with this he’d blow a few toots, holding its mouth
towards God’s Heaven. And then Heaven would open and the angel of the
Lord appear to all the people, asking in a loud voice; ‘What does
the Serjeant want,’ and then the Serjeant would ask back in a high
crying voice: ‘Is the accused man guilty or innocent?’ Then the bright
angel would give an answer the truth of which no one could doubt, and
according to which the man would be let go, or get a thorough hiding.
In this way I believe everything would go well.

JUHANI. Why even that much shouting and fashing. See how I
have thought the matter out. As the Creator I’d have arranged it so:
the accused man would have to confirm his words by a vow, a sacred
oath, and if he swore truly, let him toddle off home a free man again,
but if he felt like loosing off a lie, let the solid earth open beneath
him and Hell swallow him. That’s the straightest road to truth.

AAPO. It might be done that way, but best perhaps as it was
once ordained by the Father of Wisdom himself.

JUHANI. Best! Here we sit, battered, scabby and one-eyed like
tom-cats in March. Is this right? Marry, this world is the daftest
thing under the sun!

SIMEONI. So He hath arranged it, for He wishes to try His
children’s firmness in belief.

JUHANI. Firmness in belief. He tries and weighs us, but,
through these trials of his, souls go down to that everlasting
bath-house like midges; thither, where I wouldn’t wish a snake,
although I’m only a sinful human being.

TUOMAS. A hard game, this life and this world. Little is the
hope for any of us of as small a chance as Joshua’s and Caleb’s amongst
six hundred thousand men.

JUHANI. You’re right! What is this life then? The porch of
Hell.

SIMEONI. Juhani, Juhani, keep watch over thy thoughts and
language!

JUHANI. Hell itself, say I, if I take on my worst temper.
I’m the suffering soul down here and the Toukola lads devils, with
pitchforks in their fists. All men are like evil spirits towards us.

AAPO. Now, now, let us enter into our own bosoms a little.
The wrath of mankind towards us has perhaps been lit and kept alive
in great part by our own works. Let us not forget how we have sported
in their turnip-fields and peastacks, how we have trampled their
water-meadows on our fishing-trips and often shot the bears they had
ringed, and done many other such tricks, heedless of the law’s warnings
or the voice of conscience.

SIMEONI. We have awakened the anger of Heaven and earth. Often
when I lay me down to sleep and think of the wicked deeds of our youth,
the fiery sword of conscience pricks real painfully at my wretched
bosom, and I seem to hear, like the sound of rain far away, a curious
murmuring, and another dismal voice seems to whisper in my ear: ‘The
sigh of God and Man for the seven sons of Jukola’. Ruin threatens us,
brothers, and the star of happiness will not shine for us until we are
on better terms with our fellowmen. Why shouldn’t we then go and beg
for forgiveness, promising to live differently hereafter?

EERO. I would weep if I could. Simeoni, Simeoni! ‘with but
little more persuasion thou wouldest fain’ ... yea, there wasn’t much
lacking. ‘But go thy way this time’.

SIMEONI. Ay, ay, we’ll see on the last day.

TIMO. Would I be brought round to ask for forgiveness? I won’t
believe it.

TUOMAS. Not while the raven is black.

EERO. We’ll see it done then when we come to Judgment. Then
the raven will be white as snow, as it says in the song of the merry
lad and the loving old mother. Gladly for me the last grains in the
hopper before we begin to pray.

JUHANI. Believe me, Simeoni, it’s no use always watching the
state of our souls, for ever thinking of the fiery pit, the devil
and all the little devils. Such ideas either addle a man’s brains
altogether or tie a halter round his neck. Those former mad pranks of
ours are to be looked upon rather as the foolishness of youth than as
sins in the strictest sense. And secondly, I have come to the belief
and conviction that we have sometimes to close our eyes down here, and
pretend not to see what we see, or to know what we know. A man’s got to
do that if he wants to escape whole-skinned from the mortar of life.
Don’t stare at me like owls, there’s no call for any staring. What I
mean are those smaller sins against God, not against my neighbour. My
neighbour and nearest has a skin to his nose and is as touchy as I
am, and wants his best as I do mine; but God is a man slow to anger
and plenteous in mercy, and always forgives us in the end, if we only
pray from an earnest heart. Ay, ay, I mean that it is no use in season
and out measuring to a hair our own works and, what shall I say,
little rascalities by God’s words and commandments, but best to stand
half-way. Big sins we must keep from by all means, say I, and pray for
eye-salve, but the smaller ones, namely, smaller ones against God, we
needn’t for ever be weighing on the hooks of conscience, but stand
half-way, half-way.

SIMEONI. Good God! That’s what Satan whispers in our ears.

TIMO. Just as Olli’s old woman feeds Mäkelä’s wife with lies
when she’s thirsting for a drink.

AAPO. Juhani uttered a few words that I heard with wonder and
dismay. Brother, is that what God’s commandments teach us? Is that
what our mother taught us? Never! One is with the Lord as a thousand
and a thousand as one. How canst thou then babble of smaller sins, of
standing half-way, defending the serving of two masters? Say, Juhani,
what is sin?

JUHANI. What is truth? thou Jukola’s Solomon, thou wise old
man from Savo? ‘What is sin?’ Ha! ‘What is sin?’ Oh what wisdom, what
marvellous wisdom. ‘There’s a head for you on our little boy’, verily
there is. Ay, what’s the good of speaking. ‘What is sin?’ Ha-ha! What
is truth, ask I.

TUOMAS. Why wriggle out of it, lad? Know that the doctrine
thou proclaimest is the Devil’s doctrine.

JUHANI. Let me give you a living example that strongly bears
out my belief. Recall to your minds the former tanner in the village.
The man got strange ideas about his soul, sin and worldly mammon, and
began altering his former ways greatly. Thus he suddenly stopped taking
in and giving out hides on Sunday, without looking to how important
one road and two errands are to the farmer. His friends warned him in
vain when they saw his business shrink from day to day, while that of
the other tanner next door grew and grew. The madman always replied:
‘God will surely bless the work of my hands though there be less of
it, but as for him who now thinks he is snatching the bread out of my
mouth, he will reap curses in the end in the sweat of his brow for
not having honoured the Lord’s Sabbath.’ So he would spout, walking
about staring on Sundays with a hymnbook in his fist, the eyes in his
head round as marbles and his hair sticking up like Bomb-Peter’s wig.
And what happened to the man in the end? We know what. It wasn’t long
before he had the heaviest piece of wood in his hand, a beggar’s staff,
and his path became the endless highway. Now he wanders from village
to village, emptying a glass wherever he can. I met him once at the
road-side over there on Kanamäki Ridge; there he sat on the cross-bar
of his sledge, and royally drunk was the miserable man. ‘How fare you,
tanner?’ asks I. ‘I fare as I fare’ answers he, with one stiff look at
me. But I asked him again: ‘How are matters with you, master?’ ‘They
are as they are’ he answers again, and went his way, bleating some
foolish kind of song. That was his end. But the other tanner? He became
rich as anything, and rich and happy he died.

AAPO. Narrow-minded belief and spiritual pride ruined the
tanner, and so it will be with all of his sort. However that may be,
thy doctrine is false doctrine and belief.

SIMEONI. False prophets and the last days of the world.

TIMO. He wants to tempt us over to the Turk’s religion.
But thou canst not shake me; for I am sure and steadfast, sure and
steadfast as the eye of an axe.

JUHANI. Hand me, Tuomas, that half loaf from the end of the
table there. ‘False prophets’. I tempt no man to sin and evildoing,
and I myself wouldn’t steal a bradawl from a cobbler or the eye of a
needle from a tailor. But my heart strikes sparks when my meaning is
always twisted to its worst, made out black as pitch, when a dark brown
would be enough.

AAPO. Thou spokest so plainly, weighed the matter so
from point to point and chapter to chapter, that we couldn’t have
misunderstood it.

TIMO. My head on it, he wanted to tempt us over to the Turks’
religion.

SIMEONI. God have mercy on him!

JUHANI. Shut your mouths, and quickly. Pray to God for me,
scold me like meek-eyed persons, I tell you it won’t do. I have just
enough wisdom, even if I’m not pure unmixed wisdom like, for example,
our Aapo there.

AAPO. God forbid! I’m not even as wise as I should be.

JUHANI. Pure wisdom, pure wisdom! And keep thy breadtrap
shut, or thou’lt get this paw against thy muzzle and a bit harder than
yesterday. This I say and my paunch being full, leave off eating.

TIMO. I’ll lay that every man of us is as tight as a gad-fly.

EERO. But why do I see no bath-house?

JUHANI. What would a midget like thee be seeing? But--our
bath-house has gone to blazes!

EERO. No, but to Heaven in a fiery chariot.

JUHANI. Can it have burned down?

EERO. How should I know, and what have I to do with it? It’s
the master of Jukola’s bath-house, not mine.

JUHANI. Eero’s body too, if I remember rightly, sweated
there yesterday. Ay, ay, everything on the master’s back, that I well
believe. But let’s go and look. Where’s my cap? Let’s go and look,
brothers. I know that our bath-house is in ashes.

They went out to see what had befallen their bath-house. But all that
there was left to see was a blackened fireplace and a smoking chaos.
The brothers gazed upon this scene of destruction for a while with
annoyance, and at last returned to the living-room. Last came Juhani,
in his fist two iron hinges which he cast angrily on the table.

JUHANI. Ay, the house of Jukola is now bathless.

EERO. ‘And a farm without a bath-house is no good’ said
Brother Juhani.

JUHANI. Timo made the dear old oven too hot, and dust and
ashes is all that’s left of the beloved sooty rafters and walls, in
whose shelter each of us entered into the light of the world. Timo
heated the oven mightily, say I.

TIMO. At thy bidding, at thy bidding; that thou knowest well.

JUHANI. I give the devil for ‘thy bidding’, but that we are
now bathless men, and that is an annoying thing. Building a new one
won’t add to our bread.

AAPO. An annoying matter; but still the bath-house was old and
its corners full of holes; and thou thyself didst decide yesterday to
build a new one right soon.

JUHANI. True it was old and its logs steamed through to their
marrows, but it would have done at a pinch for a year or two. The farm
has no strength yet to waste on building bath-houses; the fields, the
fields are what we must pounce on first.

TUOMAS. Thou’lt treat the fields as thou didst the big meadow
last year, whose fine hay we let wither without a single stroke of the
scythe. But it was thy wish. Whenever I reminded thee of the mowing,
thou wouldst answer: ‘we won’t go just yet, the hay is still growing so
fast that you can hear it.’

JUHANI. That is something past and thy jawing can’t help it.
The big meadow’ll grow all the better in the coming summer. But who’s
that man coming towards the house in the field yonder?

TUOMAS. Juryman Mäkelä. What can the man want?

JUHANI. Now the devil’s loose. He comes in the Crown’s name,
and it’s because of that accursed scrap with the Toukola lads.

AAPO. In the last fight the law is on our side, but in the
first one we must look to ourselves. Let me explain matters to him.

JUHANI. As the eldest brother, I too want the right to speak
when our common good is being talked over.

AAPO. Then see thou dost not talk all of us into a trap, if so
be we should have to wriggle a little.

JUHANI. I know how.

Entered Mäkelä, an excellent and well-meaning juryman. He came,
however, on a different errand from that which the brothers had guessed.

MÄKELÄ. Good-day!

THE BROTHERS. Good-day!

MÄKELÄ. What horrors do I see? Boys, how are matters here?
Torn, bruised, scabby, dressed in rags! Miserable men!

JUHANI. ‘Trust a dog to lick its wounds’, but let the wolves
look to themselves. Is this the reason thou now standest in our house?

MÄKELÄ. What did I know of this? But can brothers have harried
each other in this wise? Shame on you!

JUHANI. Thou art mistaken, Mäkelä, we brothers have treated
each other as angels. This is the work of neighbours.

MÄKELÄ. Who has done this?

JUHANI. Kind neighbours. But may I ask why thou hast come to
see us?

MÄKELÄ. For a grave reason. Boys, boys, the day of your ruin
is upon you.

JUHANI. What will that day be like?

MÄKELÄ. A day of shame.

JUHANI. When will it dawn?

MÄKELÄ. I have strict orders from the Rector to bring you to
church next Sunday.

JUHANI. What does he want of us at church?

MÄKELÄ. To put you in the stocks, to speak plainly.

JUHANI. Why?

MÄKELÄ. For many reasons. You wild and maddened men! You broke
the parish clerk’s window and then fled like wolves.

JUHANI. ’Twas the parish clerk who worried us like the wildest
wolf.

MÄKELÄ. But what has the Rector done to you?

JUHANI. Not the bite of a flea.

MÄKELÄ. And yet you have mocked and insulted him through
that foul-mouthed, brazen Cupper-Kaisa. You sent, by Rajamäki’s awful
regiment the most filthy, really scoundrelly greetings to a well-born
man, the shepherd of our parish; that was bare-faced insolence without
like.

JUHANI. ‘It’s true enough, but prove it,’ said Kakkinen’s
Jake, but so say not I.

MÄKELÄ. But now, know that the rector’s sternest revenge will
befall you. Now he is without pity for you.

AAPO. Sit down, Mäkelä, and let us talk over the matter a
little more broadly and deeply. What do you say to this point: can the
Rector screw us down in the stocks for Rajamäki Kaisa’s lies? Surely
not! Let what we have said and in what way hurt his honour be legally
proven.

JUHANI. ‘First a matter must be weighed, ere the rod on back
be laid’, that’s well known.

MÄKELÄ. But another thing, this matter of reading, gives him a
fair amount of power, anyhow, by the church laws, which he is now sure
to use against you in his anger.

JUHANI. In the matter of reading we have God’s own laws and
regulations on our side, which rise against any attempt. Look you,
already in our mother’s womb He gave us such hard heads that it is
impossible for us to learn to read. What are we to do, Mäkelä? The
gifts of learning fall very unevenly on our heads down here.

MÄKELÄ. The hardness of your heads is only an empty fancy.
Diligence and daily practice will overcome anything in the end. Your
father was one of the best readers.

AAPO. But our mother never knew a single letter, and yet she
was a true Christian.

JUHANI. And brought up and chastised her sons in the fear of
God. God bless the old woman.

MÄKELÄ. Did she try what the skill of others could do for you?

JUHANI. Indeed she did her best; she tried what Old Mother
Pinewood could do. But that hot-tempered beldame began at once
hammering our backs, and her cabin became worse in our eyes than a cave
of demons; and at last we never entered it, though they whipped us like
a dying fire.

MÄKELÄ. In those days you were a thoughtless lot, but now you
stand for yourselves as men; and a commonsense, healthy man can do what
he wills; show the Rector and the world, therefore, what manhood can
do. As for thee, Aapo, who hast such a sensible mind and lackest not
a mite or two of knowledge, and whose sharp memory preserves all thou
hearest or seest, at thee I must wonder that thou hast not already
altered thy ways.

AAPO. ’Tis but little I know; oh well, I know a thing or two.
Our blind uncle that was told us many things, things from the Bible,
of his travels at sea and the build of the world, and then we always
listened to him with pious hearts.

JUHANI. We listened with ears erect as a hare’s when the old
man talked to us of Moses, the children of Israel, happenings from the
Book of Kings and the miracles of Revelations. ‘And the sound of their
wings was as the sound of chariots as they rush to war’. Lord save us!
we know many miracles and things, and aren’t quite such black heathens
as people think.

MÄKELÄ. But to become true members of the Christian Church you
must begin from the a-b-c book.

AAPO. Mäkelä, on that board you see seven a-b-c’s, purchased
at Hämeenlinna, and may this sight prove to you our willingness to
learn. Let the Rector show a little more patience, and I think that
something can take root, grow and prosper out of this matter.

JUHANI. Let him be longsuffering towards us and I am willing
to pay him his tithes twice over, and the flesh of young game shall not
be lacking in his bowl, at lawful times.

MÄKELÄ. Prayers and fine promises won’t help here I’m afraid,
when I think of his great and righteous anger.

JUHANI. What does he want of us then, and what do you want?
Good! Come with seventy men, and blood shall squirt around us even then.

MÄKELÄ. Tell me, what steps do you mean to take to learn your
alphabet and the lesser catechism, which is the chief concern of our
Rector.

JUHANI. Try what the teaching of Mother Pinewood or her
daughter can do for us here at home. Good reading women, both of them.

MÄKELÄ. I will tell the Rector of your intention. But for the
sake of your own peace go and beg his forgiveness for your insolent
deed.

JUHANI. We will think over that point.

MÄKELÄ. Do as I say; and note that unless he observes in you
an honest and strenuous endeavour, you’ll be in the stocks, nicely in
the stocks one Sunday, under the church windows. This I say; and now
fare ye well!

JUHANI. Farewell, farewell!

TUOMAS. Didst thou really mean what thou said’st about Old
Mother Pinewood and her daughter? Was it in earnest thou half promised
to go and crawl before the Rector?

JUHANI. There wasn’t a mite of earnest in it, and of truth not
a whit. To win time was what this lad’s prattle was meant for. Mother
Pinewood or Venla to guide our reading-sticks! Why, even the Toukola
pigs would laugh! You heard, we were threatened with the certain
stocks, with the pillory of shame. A thousand flaming goblins! hasn’t
a man the right to live his own life and as he likes in peace, when he
stands in no one’s way, tramples on no one’s rights? Who’ll forbid it?
But I say once again: parsons and officials with their books and papers
are the evil spirits of mankind. O thou black sow! O cursed day on
earth! we’re so knocked head over heels by the blows of hard fate and
the cruelty of men, that I could dash my head against a wall. O thou
black bull! Venla refused us; they’ve made a nasty, stinging song about
us; the parish clerk tortured us like the Evil One himself; the Toukola
lads hammered us like senseless earth, we were trounced like Christmas
pigs and now strut here like real Christmas brownies, like one-eyed
gnomes with rags round our heads. What more? Isn’t our home now without
the poor man’s only treat, the roaring steam of the bath-house? There
the ruins of our bath-house smoke and smoulder. And there’s still the
worst of devils left. Hrrh! With all its ten holes the stocks grin at
us from the church porch. Bright lightning! If such a bunch of worries
doesn’t lift a razor to a man’s throat, what will? O thou horned bull!

EERO. Now thy memory is a little weak; there aren’t ten holes
in the stocks.

JUHANI. How many then?

EERO. How many stars in Charley’s Wain, how many sons at
Jukola?

JUHANI. We are seven. Seven holes therefore and seven sons.
Well, all the worse. Seven holes! Always worser and worser. See how
men and hard fate are joined together against us. Seven holes like
millstone-eyes! What mockery of hard fate! Well, let them shoot all the
arrows of their rage at us, we’ll clench our overgoaded hearts hard
as sparkling steel. Let them blow poison at us from every side like
snakes, and the heavens rain pure gall on us, we’ll still, with eyes
shut, grinding our teeth and roaring like mad bulls, charge at them.
And if we are dragged at last by all the Crown’s might to the stocks,
why, it’s with blissful joy I’ll sit in them, I.

AAPO. Why with joy?

JUHANI. Thou dost not understand, brother, the awful power of
anger. The thought of revenge would make this lad forget all shame;
and it’s shame is their purpose. A dream, that of bleeding our mister
Rector, it’s that would taste like honey-dew to my angry mind. And it
wouldn’t be a knife, or a gun I’d use, like the former man from Karja,
no, but with teeth and claws I’d fly at his throat like a she-wolf. I’d
tear the man to bits, to a thousand bits and taste my revenge to the
last drop. I’d do this even if I had ten lives and each life were to
be tortured ten years in a spiked barrel. It’d be nothing against the
lust of my revenge.

AAPO. Thou stirrest up all thy being. Lave, miserable brother,
the seething cauldron of thy heart with cool water from the rippling
brook of patience, which flows onward through the meadows, gently
meandering.

SIMEONI. Thy face is pitch-black, and thy eyes roll bloodshot,
sharp as gimlets. Have mercy on thyself.

TUOMAS. Truly, if we were made to sit in the stocks, we’d have
revenge, but may our hearts beat in peace until that happens. All hope
is not past yet.

JUHANI. On one croner of the earth a day of peace still gleams
for us. Ilvesjärvi Lake yonder, on the side of Impivaara, is the
harbour to which we can sail away from the storm. Now my mind is made
up.

LAURI. Mine was already made up last year.

EERO. I’ll follow you even into the deepest cave on Impivaara,
where it is said the Old Man of the Mountain boils pitch, with a helmet
made of a hundred sheep-skins on his head.

TUOMAS. We’ll all move there from here.

JUHANI. Thither we’ll move and build a new world.

AAPO. Cannot the hand of the law reach us there too?

JUHANI. The forest shields its pups. There we are indeed on
our own ground; deep as bleary-eyed moles we’ll dig ourselves in, right
to the bowels of the earth. And if they felt like meddling with us lads
there, they’d be made to see what it feels like to disturb seven bears
in their lair. Now to the tanner’s to draw up a lease in writing. For
ten years the farm can pass into other hands.

SIMEONI. I too long for an abode of peace. Brothers, let us
create ourselves a new home and a new heart in the depths of the forest.

JUHANI. All with a single mind!

AAPO. What dost thou decide, Timo?

TIMO. ‘Where all others, there I too’, says the proverb.

AAPO. You would move, and I be left here, a lone pine in
Jukola’s yard? Ah, for that every root and fibre of my being is too
firmly fast in your company. I’m agreed, then, and let’s hope for the
best from this trip. I’ll come with you.

JUHANI. Splendid! Now to the tanner’s the lot of us, to draw
up a proper lease. All with a single mind!

They set out in a body to draw up the lease, rented their farm to the
tanner for ten years; and the following paragraphs were set down in
writing. The tanner was to rule over and run the farm for ten years,
the first three years without any rent, whereafter he was to pay the
brothers seven barrels of rye each year and build a new bath-house
before the lease expired. Anywhere in the Jukola forests the brothers
were at liberty to hunt, and any kind of game the law allowed. In the
northern section of the farm’s holding, around Impivaara, the brothers
were free to do and live as they pleased, this applying both to the
clearings and the forests. The tanner was to take over the farm on
All Saints’ Day, but if they so wished, the brothers were to be given
shelter in the home of their birth over the coming winter. These were
the main conditions of the lease.

Came November, and the tanner stood with his loads in the Jukola yard
and took over the management of the farm for the term of the lease. But
to avoid the Rector and his men, the brothers spent the winter mostly
in the forest, ski-ing around and hunting; the charcoal-burner’s hut
on Impivaara did for camp. They did not, however, move altogether with
horse and other belongings from the farm. This they had settled was to
take place when spring had come. Nevertheless, they worked already at
their coming abode, felled trees to dry during the spring and rolled
stones for the foundations on to a stump-besprinkled clearing under the
steep fell-side.

Thus passed the winter, and during the whole of its course no command
or reminder reached the brothers from the Rector. Was he merely biding
his time, or had he left them to their fate?




CHAPTER V


Spring had come, the snowdrifts had melted; the winds blew mild; the
earth began to blossom and the birchwoods to put on leaves.

The brothers toil on their removal from Jukola to Impivaara. They tramp
along a stony, twisting forest path, guns on shoulders and birch-bark
knapsacks with powder and shot in them on their backs. Juhani leads the
way with Killi and Kiiski, the two large, fierce Jukola dogs. Behind
them, drawing a springless cart, ambles, driven by Timo, the brothers’
one-eyed horse, old Valko. The others, with their guns and knapsacks,
follow the cart, helping Valko over the hardest stretches of the road.
Last of all comes Eero, carrying in his arms Jukola’s doughty cock,
for the brothers were loth to part with it, and had decided to take
it along to the wilds of Impivaara as timepiece. On the cart were a
coffer, traps for wolf and fox, an iron cauldron and in this two oaken
bowls, a dipper, seven spoons and other instruments of the cook’s art.
A coarse sack filled with peas served as cover to the cauldron; and
highest of all, the old farm cat squirmed and mewed in a little bag.
Such was the brothers’ departure from their home; silent and dejected,
they trod the difficult, stony forest path. The sky was bright, the
weather calm, and downhill to the west spun already the wheel of the
sun.

JUHANI. Man is a seafarer on the stormy sea of life. So we
too now sail away from the dear haunts of our childhood, sail with
our wheeled ship across the many forests towards the steep island of
Impivaara. Ah!

TIMO. It wouldn’t take much for this poor frog, too, to be
dabbing tears from his cheeks.

JUHANI. That I scarce wonder at, having looked into my own
bosom in this grievous hour. But there’s no help for it in this world,
a man’s heart must always be hard as a flint. The child of man is born
a wanderer on the face of the earth; here he has no abiding-place.

TIMO. Here he wanders a little while, struts and prances,
until at last he wilts and perishes like a rat at the foot of a wall.

JUHANI. Rightly said, wisely uttered.

SIMEONI. And if that were but all; but then’s the point.

JUHANI. Then comes the question of our pound, thou wouldst
say. True.

TIMO. Then we shall have to say without shift or guile; here
am I and here, Lord, is thy pound.

SIMEONI. A man ought always to remember his end; but his heart
is hardened.

JUHANI. Hardened, hardened, that can’t be denied. But such,
God knows, are all under this heaven. Yet we can earnestly try to live
hereafter as befitteth true believers, once we have settled down and
built ourselves a warm abode of peace. Let us join, brothers, in a
strict league and cast away all works of sin, all anger, strife and
hate in our birds’-nest here. Away anger, hate and pride.

EERO. And pomp.

JUHANI. Ay!

EERO. Flaunting, sinful raiment.

JUHANI. Ay!

EERO. Spring-carts and all such church-going vanities.

JUHANI. Eh? What art thou saying?

SIMEONI. He’s joking again.

JUHANI. I see that. See that I don’t grab thee by the neck,
that is, if I minded the babbling of a rogue; but I wouldn’t be a man
if I did, that I wouldn’t. How, thou twice damned imp, art thou holding
that cock? Why is the poor brute squawking?

EERO. I only set its wing right; it hung down.

JUHANI. I’ll set thee right soon. See that I don’t collar hold
of thee. Know that that is the best cock in the whole of our province
at his job. The first time he crows at two, the second at four o’clock,
which is the best time for rising. We shall have much joy of that
cock out here in the wilds. And the cat then up there on the load! Ah
Matti-lad! There thou dancest and swayest and peerest out of thy sack,
mewing quite pitifully. Poor old fellow, there aren’t very many days
left for thee to stalk about in. Thy eyes are turning very dark and
thy mewing sounds hoarse. But perhaps thou wilt still pick up when
thou startest on the fat forest mice. I hope so. But ’tis you, Killi
and Kiiski, I love above everything. Like ourselves, you were born
and bred on Jukola Farm, grew up with us like true brothers. Ah, how
burningly you look into my eyes! Ay, Killi, ay, my Kiiski-lad, ay! And
wagging your tails so merrily! Well, well, you can’t know that we are
now leaving our beautiful home. Oh you poor wretches! I can’t help it,
I must weep.

TIMO. Look to thine own advice a moment ago. Keep a stout
heart, a stout heart.

JUHANI. I can’t, I can’t, leaving my golden home.

TUOMAS. Truly a day to weigh on a man’s heart; but up on
Impivaara we shall soon have another home, soon perhaps as dear.

JUHANI. What, brother? Not in heaven or on earth is there
a spot as dear to us as the place where we were born and bred and in
whose fields we played as little, milk-bearded brats.

AAPO. The hour of parting crushes our hearts, ’tis true, for
even to a hare the home-bush is dear.

JUHANI. What was it the mother-hare once said, when feeling
herself heavy again, she sent the little hare away, out of the way of a
coming brood?

TIMO. ‘Get thee on thy way, little son, little one, and
remember always what I say: where the bush is there the trap is, where
the leap is there the snare’.

JUHANI. So she said to her son and the lad went lolloping
away; he lolloped, gaping, along the clearing and the edge of the
heath, his split lip in a guileless grin, so he parted from his home,
and mournfully shone the eve.

EERO. That was Jussi the Hare.

JUHANI. If thou wilt. So he parted from his home, and so we
too part from ours. Farewell, home! I could kiss thy threshold, even
thy dunghill now.

AAPO. Ay, brother. But let us try to drive this gloom out of
our minds. Soon we shall have a mighty task before us, soon the logs
will thunder, the axes ring, and up on Impivaara clearing a huge cabin
rise towards the heavens, set in the grandest forest. See, we are now
already in the wilds, amongst the roaring spruce.

Thus they spoke among themselves as they journeyed across a dismal
backwood. But soon the land began to rise, and their path wound upward
to a tree-clad height, which was called Teerimäki. Here and there
were mossy crags, shaped like the burial mounds of giants, round
which the dwarfed, stout-rooted pines soughed and murmured. Severely
were the cart and Valko’s aged shoulder-blade shaken on the rocky
road, where the eye could sometimes barely discern the marks of the
trail. The path led over a hill, for bottomless quagmires stretched on
either side. But the brothers, too, did their utmost to lighten the
toil of their one-eyed comrade. And at last the summit was reached,
and granting Valko a short breathing-space, they looked down on the
spreading earth. Their eye caught distant villages, meadows, fields,
blue lakes, and on the edge of the forests in the west, the high
steeple of a church. But in the south, on the slope of a knoll, Jukola
glowed like a lost land of delight; and once again the brothers’
bosoms filled with languishing thoughts. At last, however, they tore
their glance away and looked north, and there saw lofty Impivaara,
its steeply sloping sides, its darkling caves and the moss-bearded,
storm-riven spruce that stood along the ribs of the fell. But below
the fell they saw a pleasant stump-besprinkled clearing, their future
dwelling-place, and below the clearing a copse to yield them sturdy
logs wherewith to build their home. All this they saw: Lake Ilvesjärvi
shine clear between the pines and a bright sun near to its setting beam
from the northwest spur of the fell; and once more a delicious flash of
hope sparkled in their eyes and caused their breasts to swell.

Onward they fared again and began with bolder speed to hasten to their
new abode. The hill was passed and they came to a cluster of pines on a
heath, where heather, mountain-cranberry and withered tufts of grass in
varied sequence hid the echoing ground. Across a sandy, man-built road,
which led from Viertola Manor to the church, they marched, keeping to
their forest rack along the spine of the heath.

AAPO. This is the heath on which, so the old folk say, the
court-room of the snakes used to be. The judge was their own king, that
white snake so rarely seen of man, which has a crown of untold worth
on its head. But once a gallant rider robbed them of the crown, as the
story tells us.

And Aapo related the following tale to them as they trudged down the
spine of the heath towards desolate Sompio Bog.

A rider came and on the heath saw the Snake King, which bore a
glittering crown on its head. Riding towards it, he snatched the crown
from the king’s head with the point of his sword, dug the spurs into
his horse and whirled away with his treasure as though borne on clouds
and wind. But neither were the snakes slow in setting out in furious
pursuit of the brazen robber. Curled into rings, they sped hissing
after him, and a thousand hoops whizzed on the rider’s track like the
discs cast by playing boys on the road. Soon they caught up the rider,
swarmed already thickly round the horse’s feet, bouncing up along its
flanks, and great was the man’s danger. And in his distress he threw
down his hat as a sop to them, which they at once tore into pieces and
swallowed in the fury of their rage. But not for long did this trick
help the man; soon the snakes sped on his track again and the sand
whirled high on the road. And ever fiercer the rider spurred on his
panting horse; blood ran in streams from the fiery stallion’s ribs, and
from its mouth a spumy lather spouted. The rider fled to the woods,
but the trees did not hinder the speed of his pursuers. They came to a
river, and with a mighty splash he rode headlong into its depths, and
swiftly the stallion bore him over. The snakes too came to the river
and with the thunder of many rapids dashed into the bosom of its waves,
swimming across with the swiftness of a storm; and the white foam rose
high in the sky. The man rode on, and still the maddened horde pursued
him. Then afar off, he saw a forest that burned fiercely, and now
towards this he spurred his steed, and wrapping himself in the cloak
that the river had wetted through, charged into the whirling flames;
but the snakes never tarried a whit in following him. So might the
mounted hero of Heaven cleave the golden clouds. Once more he struck
his spurs into the stallion’s sides, once more he was borne onward,
and then the groaning stallion fell, forgetting for ever the heated
racket of life. But the man stood there free, saved from the fire and
his awful enemy; for the fire had burned the numberless host of snakes.
There the hero stood with rejoicing glances, the marvellous trinket in
his hand.

AAPO. That is the tale of the white snake’s crown on this same
heath.

JUHANI. A grand tale and still grander the man who snatched
the crown from the snake’s head and won it at last for himself. A bonny
man!

TIMO. Few have ever seen this snake, but he who sees it
becomes matchlessly wise, old folk say.

JUHANI. It is also said: ‘Whosoever catches this judge-snake,
in the spring before the cuckoo sings, and boils and eats it, that man
will understand the speech of the ravens which tells him what is going
to happen to him’.

EERO. It is also said thus: ‘Whosoever dost as thou sayest
after the cuckoo sings, that man will understand the raven’s speech
which tells him what has happed to him.’

JUHANI. Oh little brother, how daftly thou speakest! Doesn’t
every man know that without swallowing a crumb of snake’s meat? Look
you, now Eero has shown us the man he really is in the matter of
brains, an addled sheep. ‘Tell him what has happed to him’. Can such a
thought hail from a man’s brain? Oh thou poor ninny!

AAPO. Not so fast, Juho. He spoke either in ignorance or else
it was one of his jests; however that may be, in either case he cast
down before us a thought worth marking. Let us try to weigh his words
and I believe we can fish out the wisdom in them. To know what has
happened, is, one way of looking, great wisdom. If thou weighest over
carefully what seed sown in byegone days gave profitable, what harmful
fruit, and mappest out thy life, deeds and works, thereafter, thou
art a wise man. If our own eyes had opened earlier, we shouldn’t be
tramping here now like emigrants, I believe.

JUHANI. Like wolves’ cubs under the naked sky. But what’s done
is done.

TUOMAS. What we lost in Jukola we can gain again on Impivaara
clearing. Ho, hither the whole crowd of brothers, and let each man dig
his claws into the load to help Valko until the bog is crossed. All of
you hither! The wheels are sunk a whole span into the muddy ground.

Speaking thus among themselves they had wandered down from the heath,
crossed Seunala Matti’s wide clearing, passed through a close-growing
spruce-wood and now stood on the brink of Sompio Bog. Cheerless spread
the bog, its surface showing in succession muddy, quaggy openings,
mossy hummocks, and whortleberry bushes, while here and there stood
a stunted dying birch, mournfully nodding its crown in the evening
breeze. In the middle the bog was narrowest and there the earth was
closer and firmer than elsewhere. Here stood short pines in mossy
attire, and on the hummocks grew strong-scented bog-bilberry bushes.
And over this stretch of land a wretched track reached over to the
bog’s farther shore, where the dark wilds began again. Along this road
the brothers ventured out on the bog. Some pulled at the shafts beside
Valko, the others pushed at the cart behind. And at last, after much
exertion, the brink was reached and they fared again on dry land along
a root-crossed forest track to the extent of some five hundred paces.
And at last the stump-besprinkled level of the clearing shone before
them and they had reached their goal, beneath the crannied fell.

Where they now stood, the brothers’ grandfather, a giant at toil, had
once sown his clearings, and the smoke of his enormous charcoal-pits
had risen like incense to the sky. Many were the forests around
this fell that he had cut down and burned to clear and fructify the
soil, many the black, sown fields he had harrowed with his clumsy,
wooden-toothed harrow, to bear ultimately to his barn the grain-crowned
sheaves. A tumbled ruin on the clearing’s edge still marked the site
of his barn, whence the precious grain had at once been carted home,
leaving for winter’s easier sledge-ways the straw and chaff. Some
distance from the ruins of the barn, where forest and clearing met,
the black cavity of a charcoal pit, immensely large, could still be
seen, where he had burned the logs from his clearings for tinkling
charcoal. In such tasks had the former sturdy master of Jukola toiled
and laboured here beneath many scorching suns, wiping many a gush of
pearly sweat from his brow. But his nights he rested in a turf-roofed
hut, watching his kilns; and this hut the brothers had chosen for their
temporary home.

Vast is the stump-filled clearing, yet beyond its edges thine eye
cannot pierce; for in the east, the south and the west, forests limit
the view and in the north the lofty fell. But ascend the fell, to
its ridge crowned by scattered spruce, and thy glance can range far
on every side. Southward thou seest first, right beneath thy feet,
the gently slanting clearing, a little beyond this a gloomy forest,
beyond this again Sompio Bog, and yonder far on the verge of the sky
rises Teerimäki, a fainting blue. On its northern side the fell sinks
gradually, its sloping side, burned of yore for tilling, now displaying
to the eye a close-knit weft of growing birch, on whose grassless paths
the heath-grouse strut and the ruff-grouse whistle mournfully. In the
east is a level heath where the pines grow tall; in the west a rocky
country of mossy crags, with low, yet massive and thick-crowned pines
set here and there on velvety ridges. Behind the pines, limpid and
teeming with fish, Lake Ilvesjärvi glitters, a thousand or so paces
from the clearing. More thou wilt hardly see, though thy glance roam
far indeed. The backwood’s darkling sea looms round on every side. Thou
canst catch, however, a dim gleam of Viertola Manor in the northeast,
and far away on the distant southwest edge of the earth a grey church
spire. Such with its surroundings was the spot the Jukola brothers had
chosen for their home.

But this evening the brothers halted close to the charcoal-burner’s
hut, and having freed the weary Valko from the shafts to seek, with a
bell tied round his neck, his own pastures, they gathered stumps and
faggots for a merry fire on the clearing. There Simeoni broiled sprats,
turnips and beef for supper, while the others bustled round the cart,
unpacking the load and bearing each tool and chattel to its appointed
place. And when this was done and the food ready, they sat down to eat
on the twilit clearing; and the sun had sunk behind the fell.

SIMEONI. This then is the first meal in our new home; may it
bring luck and God’s peace to all our other meals.

JUHANI. May luck, a bounteous luck, be our only comrade here
in all the works and deeds our hands can find to do.

AAPO. I have something important to say.

JUHANI. Loosen it from the cockles of thy heart.

AAPO. A headless body is no use, say I.

JUHANI. But bangs against walls like a beheaded hen.

TIMO. Never mind beheaded, when the fit comes on it, a
hen’ll dash about like that and that, hither and thither. Old Mother
Pinewood’s hens often do, and then the old woman says the sorcerers’
arrows are flying through the air.

JUHANI. Empty thy mouth, brother Aapo.

AAPO. This is the thought in my mind: if we wish to get
anything done here and done properly, one of us must be chief, leader
of our councils, settler of our quarrels. In a word, let there be one
among us whose voice shall always be foremost, for the sake of order.

JUHANI. I am the eldest here.

AAPO. Thou art first-born in the row of Jukolas, so may the
due right be thine.

JUHANI. I am head of the row, and know how to demand obedience
of you--if you would only obey me.

AAPO. That is fair and just. But still, let us hear everyone’s
voice in matters that concern us all.

JUHANI. To thy advice in particular I shall always lend a
willing ear. But I am chief.

AAPO. True. But what punishment shall we settle on for him who
is always obstinate, always against the rest?

JUHANI. I will thrust him into a cavern on yonder fell, and
carry a heavy pile of rocks to close up the cavern’s mouth. There he
can sit a day or two, as matters and circumstances demand. Ay, there he
can suck his nails and ponder over his solitude.

LAURI. I won’t agree to that for one.

TUOMAS. Nor I.

TIMO. Am I then a wrinkly-faced badger, whose home is a stuffy
mountain cave? Far from it.

JUHANI. You begin to mutiny?

TUOMAS. That paragraph about punishment won’t do. No.

TIMO. Won’t hold water, as the saying goes. I’m no badger, or
skunk either.

JUHANI. Then behave thyself nicely and well, to escape the
vengeful terror of my wrath.

TIMO. But I am not a badger, nor a wolf. Hey! I’m not even a
bear, nor a rat! Shame, for shame! Hey, hey!

AAPO. May I be allowed to say a word?

JUHANI. Willingly. What didst thou wish to say?

AAPO. That neither do I approve of that punishment paragraph
which thou wouldst lay down for us, but look upon it as too cruel, too
savage amongst brothers.

JUHANI. Oh, thou dost not approve? Thou dost not approve? Dost
thou really not approve? Then tell us a wiser paragraph, as I never
seem to know what is right, what wrong.

AAPO. That I won’t do.

JUHANI. Tell us the new, approved paragraph, thou Jukolas’
sage.

AAPO. Far from the honour of sage. But this ...

JUHANI. The paragraph! The paragraph!

AAPO. This is ...

JUHANI. The paragraph, the paragraph! Tell us the wise
paragraph!

AAPO. Art thou mad? Shouting there as though thy breeches
were ablaze. What art thou shrieking and wagging thy head for like a
garden-owl?

JUHANI. The paragraph! I cry madly. The brand new and old wise
paragraph! Say it and I’ll listen speechless as a roach to a frog’s
croaking.

AAPO. This is my idea in the matter. He who scorns advice and
warnings and always stirs up mischief, sowing the seed of discord among
us, let him be removed from our midst, let him be driven far away.

TUOMAS. Let this be the law.

LAURI. I agree to that.

TIMO. I too.

SIMEONI. We all agree to that together.

JUHANI. Hm. That’s settled then. And remember, the one who
feels like getting frisky after this, it’s a hare’s passport in his
fist, a kick in the buttocks and the open road for him. What work shall
we start on tomorrow, you blackamoors? Oh I’ll teach you yet.

AAPO. Still a little heated; but that needn’t dim our calm and
bright spirits in this evening hour.

JUHANI. What shall we begin on when the day dawns?

AAPO. The building of our cabin comes first of course.

JUHANI. That’s so. Early tomorrow let four men, each with an
axe-shaft in his paw, start at his corner, these men being I myself,
Tuomas, Simeoni and Aapo. The others can square the logs and roll them
up to us. And as soon as the cabin and a tiny store-house are ready,
all hands to gathering grub on hunting and fishing trips. Remember that!

They finished at last their meal and lay down to rest in the shelter
of the hut. Night came, a cloudy, yet calm May night. In the wilds the
owl screeched hoarsely, the wild duck croaked on the lake, and now and
again the sharp whistle of a bear was heard from afar. Else peace and
a deep silence in nature. But to the brothers in their turf-roofed hut
sleep seemed loth to come. Speechless, but tossing from side to side,
they pondered over the way of the world and the instability of life.

AAPO. I believe not a single eye has closed yet.

JUHANI. Timo’s already asleep, but we others wriggle and twist
here like sausages in a boiling cauldron. Why are we so wide-awake?

AAPO. The path of our lives has taken a sharp turn today.

JUHANI. That’s what makes me so uneasy, so very uneasy in my
mind.

SIMEONI. Dark is the state of my heart. What am I? A prodigal
son.

JUHANI. Hm. A lost sheep in the wilderness.

SIMEONI. Leaving our neighbours and Christian fellows like
this.

TUOMAS. Here we are and here we stay as long as the forest
yields fresh meat.

AAPO. All will turn out well if only we always set to with
common-sense.

SIMEONI. The owl is hooting in yonder wilds and its cry never
bodes any good. Doesn’t it foretell fire, bloody battle and murder, as
the old folks say?

TUOMAS. To hoot in the forest is its job and has no meaning.

EERO. Here we are in our village, on Impivaara’s turf-roofed
farm.

SIMEONI. Now the seer has changed his perch and hoots on the
ridge of the fell. There, once upon a time as the tale tells us, the
‘Pale Maiden’ used to pray forgiveness for her sins, all through the
night, summer and winter.

JUHANI. It was from her the fell got the name Impivaara.[2] I
once heard the story as a child, but most of it has already faded from
my memory. Brother Aapo, tell us this tale to wile away this dismal
night.

AAPO. Timo snores like a man; but let him sleep in peace; I’d
like to tell it to you others.

The following tale of the Pale Maiden was now told by Aapo to his
brothers.

In the caverns of this fell there once dwelt a horrible monster, the
terror and death of all humans. The two great lusts and passions of
his life were: to gaze on and finger his treasures in the deepest
corners of the caverns, and to drink human blood, for which he thirsted
greatly. But his power to use violence ended nine paces away from the
fell, and so he was forced to use trickery on his excursions. He could
change himself into anything he liked; and he was seen wandering around
now in the form of a beautiful youth, now in the form of a lovely
maiden, according to whether it was male or female blood he wanted.
Many were overcome by the hellish delight of his glance, many gave up
their lives in his fearsome caverns. In this way the monster tempted
victims into his power.

It was a mild summer night. A youth sat on the green sward, embracing
his beloved, who rested on his bosom like a glowing rose. This was
their farewell embrace, for the youth had to go on a journey and leave
the friend of his heart for a time. ‘Maiden,’ said the youth, ‘I leave
thee now, but scarce a hundred suns shall have risen and set before
again I meet thee.’ Said the maiden: ‘Nor the sun in its setting ever
casts so loving a farewell glance at its world as I to my lover when he
departs, nor the rising flame of day glow with a delight like to that
in my eyes when I hasten to meet thee again. And all that the bright
day can hold of my soul is my thought of thee, and in the dim world of
dreams I will walk with thee.’ Thus the maiden, but the youth said:
‘Sweetly thou speakest, but why does my soul scent evil? Maiden mine,
let us swear eternal faithfulness to each other here under the face of
Heaven.’ And they swore a sacred oath, swore before God and Heaven,
and the forests and fells listened breathless to their words. And when
the day broke they embraced for the last time and parted. Away hastened
the youth, but the maiden roamed for long alone in the forest’s
twilight, remembering her beautiful lover.

As she thus wanders in the dense forest, what marvellous being is this
that comes forth to meet her? She sees a young man, noble as a prince
and fair as that golden morning. Like a flame the tuft of feathers
in his hat gleams and glitters. From his shoulders hangs a cloak,
blue as the sky and like the sky, spattered with stars. His doublet
is white as snow; round his waist a purple belt is tied. He looks at
the maiden and from his glance streams a flaming love, and his voice
echoes blissfully as he says to her: ‘Fear me not, sweet maid, for I
am thy friend and will grant thee limitless joy if I may embrace thee
but once. I am a mighty man, treasure and jewels without end are mine,
and I could purchase the whole of this world. Be my bride and I will
take thee to a splendid palace and seat thee beside me on a shining
throne.’ This he said in an enticing tone and the maiden stood there
dazed. She remembered the oath newly sworn and turned to go, but bent
again towards the man, and a strange bewilderment possessed her mind.
She turned towards the man, hiding her face with her hand as one who
looks upon the sun; turned away, but looked once more upon the wondrous
being. A mighty love shone thence to meet her, and suddenly the maiden
sank in the prince’s arms. But away sped the prince with his prey, who
lay in his arms as in a swoon. Over steep hills, across deep valleys,
they fled without resting, and darker and darker grew the forest around
them. The maiden’s heart beat uneasily and an anguished sweat ran down
from her brow; for at last she noticed something beastlike, terrible,
in the bewitching blaze of the being’s eyes. She looked around her,
and swiftly the gloomy spruce hurtled past them as her bearer sped on;
she looked in the youth’s eyes and ghastly spasms shook her body, but a
strange delight still gripped her soul.

They fared ever onward through the forests and at last saw a lofty fell
fitted with dark caverns. And now, only a few paces from the mountain,
the horror occurred. The man in kingly attire suddenly became a hideous
monster. Horns broke out upon his forehead, stiff bristles rustled on
his neck, and the wretched maiden felt with pain his sharp claws at her
breast. And there the hapless maiden shrieked, fought and struggled in
her agony, but in vain. With an evil scream the monster dragged her
to his deepest cave and sucked her blood to the very last drop. But
now a miracle occurred; the life failed to leave the maiden’s limbs;
bloodless, white as snow, she went on living, like a mournful spectre
of death from the lands beyond. The monster saw this with amazement and
used both teeth and claws to the best of his power against his victim,
but to no avail. At last he decided to keep her for ever at his side
in the bowels of the fell. But what service could she do him? What
profit could he draw from her presence there? He put her to clean his
treasures and precious stones and to pile them unceasingly before him,
for he never tired of looking at them.

So for years the pallid bloodless maiden lived imprisoned in the fell.
But at night she was seen standing in silent prayer on its summit. Who
gave her this freedom? Was it the power of Heaven? Through the nights,
in storm, in rain, and biting frosts she stands on the brow of the
fell praying forgiveness for her sins. Bloodless, white as snow, like
an image, so silent, moveless she stands, hands on breast, head bent
down. Not once dares the wretched maiden lift her brow towards Heaven;
but towards the church tower on the forest’s distant edge her eyes are
ever fixed. For a secret voice still breathes hope in her ear, though
no bigger than a distant spark, a thousand leagues away, does this
hope gleam to her. Thus she spends her nights on the fell, and never
a plaint falls from her lips, nor does her bosom ever rise or fall in
sighs. So wears the bloomy night, but at dawn she is snatched into the
cavern by the pitiless monster.

Scarce had a hundred suns lit up the world before the maiden’s lover
returned merrily from his journey. But no sweet bride hastened to meet
him. He asked where the fair one tarried, but no one could give him
answer. He sought her everywhere by day and night, untiringly, but in
vain; the maid had fled like the morning dew, leaving no trace. And at
last hope left him; he forgot the joy of life, and walked yet a while
on earth, a dumb shadow. Until one flaming morning the light of his
eyes was dimmed in the night of death.

But the maiden lived through years of terrible length, the days in the
monster’s cavern, ceaselessly cleaning and piling up treasures under
her cruel warder’s eyes, the nights on the fell. Nor dare she raise
her forehead to the heavens, but to the church tower on the forest’s
distant rim her eyes are ever strained. She makes no plaint, nor does
her bosom ever rise or fall in sighs.

It is a light summer night. The maiden stands again on the fell,
thinking of the time she has passed in cruel imprisonment; and a
hundred years have gone by since she parted from her friend. Horror
seizes her, her mind swoons and cold beads of sweat drop from her brow
to the mossy ground as she pictures the length of those years. Then for
the first time she dared to look up at the sky, and presently she saw
a wondrous light approaching her like a star out of eternal distance.
And the nearer this light came the more it altered in shape. And it
was no shooting star, but the transfigured youth, a gleaming sword in
his hand. His face seemed deliciously familiar, and the maiden’s heart
beat quicker, for now she recognized her former bridegroom. But why the
sword? It filled the maid with dread, and in a faint voice she uttered:
‘Is this the sword that ends at last my pain? Here is my breast, young
hero, strike with thy gleaming sword and if thou canst, then grant me
death, for which I have thirsted so long.’ Thus she spoke on the fell;
but the youth brought her, not death, but the divine breath of life,
which moved already round her like a perfumed morning wind. With loving
glance he folded her in his arms, kissed her, and soon the bloodless
maiden felt a thin stream of blood rush like the fairest torrent
through her veins; her cheek glowed like a cloud at dawn and joy shone
from her white forehead. Casting her curly head on her bridegroom’s
arm she looked up into the sunlit heights, purging her breast of a
century’s pain in a sigh; and the youth’s fingers strayed in her curls,
which fluttered prettily in the wind. Blissful was the hour of rescue
and the morn of her day of deliverance. Birds warbled in the spruce
on the sides of the mighty fell, and in the northeast rose the sun’s
glowing edge. Like to that other morning when the friends had parted on
the green sward was this morn.

But now the fierce monster, his bristles wrathfully erect, clambered
up the fell to drag the maiden down to his pit. But hardly had he
stretched his claws towards her, when the youth’s sword, swift as
lightning, pierced his breast; and the black blood spouted on the
fell. The maiden turned away her head at the sight and pressed her
brow to the youth’s breast as the monster, with a fearful cry, gave
up his life and rolled off the fell. Thus was the world delivered from
a terrible scourge. But in the bright embrace of a silver cloud the
youth and maiden were wafted into the sky. On her bridegroom’s knees
the bride rested, and pressing her brow to his bosom, smiled happily.
Through space they flew, and deep in the giddy depths the forests,
fells and winding valleys were left behind. Until at last all faded
from their sight as in a cloud of blue smoke.

Such was the tale of the Pale Maiden told by Aapo to his brothers on
that sleepless night in the turf-roofed hut on Impivaara clearing.

JUHANI. Here’s Timo waking just as our tale ends.

TIMO. Why don’t you sleep in peace, boys?

JUHANI. Here’s been a mighty telling of tales. Ay, that was
the tale of the former maiden and the monster.

SIMEONI. But they say this awful monster still lives. Hunters
have seen him; he has only one eye that shines in the dark like a
glowing cinder.

JUHANI. What was it happened a few years ago to old man
Kuokkala, now sleeping in the Lord? One spring, while he was out at
the capercaillies’ matingtime and awaited the passing of midnight by
his camp-fire on this clearing, he saw over there at the foot of the
fell that same glow and heard a voice that kept on asking endlessly;
‘Shall--a--chuck--it, shall--a--chuck--it?’ It asked that many thousand
times over, until the old man, one of the old sort whose heart didn’t
start beating for any little thing, got mad at last and answered in a
fierce voice: ‘Chuck it then, thou Devil’s food!’

TIMO. But ah! no more was needed.

JUHANI. Ay, tell us, Timo, what happened.

TIMO. Well, in a minute a grinning skeleton comes crashing
on to the old man’s fire as though thrown by ten men and puts out the
blaze to the very last spark. But at that the old man snatched up his
rifle and toddled off out of sight of the whole fell, although, as
Juhani here said, he was one of the old sort whose heart didn’t start
beating for every little thing.

SIMEONI. We have come therefore to a town of trolls and devils.

AAPO. Here we have come and here we shall stay without fear.
Even if he were still alive, the monster is now very weak, that is
shown by his behaviour towards old man Kukkala. All he could do in his
spite was to put out the fire, even that only when the man gave him
leave. His power was broken for ever by the young man’s sword.

JUHANI. I can’t help feeling pity though for the maiden in the
bowels of the earth, a girl with that accursed bristle-neck.

SIMEONI. Why didn’t she stand firm against temptation?

JUHANI. Ay, my son, don’t say that! How would it be, for
instance, if in some flowery vale of peace a king’s daughter were to
meet thee, fair as a rose and flower, trip towards thee in silks,
ribbons and the smell of pomades, in glittering golden frippery like a
peacock, ay, a wench like that met thee and wanted to cuddle and kiss
thee, how would it be with thy miserable heart? I ask thee, Simeoni?

SIMEONI. I’d pray for strength in belief.

JUHANI. Hm.

TIMO. I wouldn’t let her come cuddling me and still less
lip-smacking. Keep away from me, I’d say, keep, thou jade, at a
distance, or I’ll fetch a stick from yonder thicket and lay on until
thy back is mottled tomorrow worse than a lady-bird’s wing. That’s what
I’d do without any mercy. I’d show her.

JUHANI. Oh little brother! I believe thou wouldst talk
differently if thou hadst looked around thee a little more in this
world, if thou hadst been, for instance, in Turku Town. Thats’ what
I’ve done when I drove the bulls there from Viertola Manor. I saw
more than one thing to wonder at there, saw how pomp and glitter can
turn the heads of sons of men. Ah thee, ah rowdy village, ah worldly
life indeed! There rattles a carriage, here another, and in them sit
the most fly-away fools with whiskery faces, and girls like porcelain
dolls, spreading far around them a thick scent of costly oils and
ointments. But look yonder! Help and save me! there, all in gilded
feathers, minces a real jewel of a madam or miss, whatever she be. See
her neck! White as curdled milk, cheeks red as the plague, and the eyes
in her head burn like to bonfires in daylight as a true rapscallion of
a lad sails up to her in a hat, shiny black tails, and peeps ... well,
may the Devil himself take thee!--peeps at her through a square bit of
glass that gleams in the rascal’s left eye. But now ... by the Seven
Smiths!--now they bob and bow on both sides, and see the woman purse up
her mouth to a real strawberry of a mouth and twitter like a swallow on
a sunlit roof, and the nob before her wag his hand and his tail, wave
his hat and scrape his foot till the paving strikes sparks, ah, that
was a game for you. Oh jays that ye are, thinks I to myself, a bit of
a boy, standing there at the street corner, a bunch of raw hides on my
shoulder and staring mouth agape at this billing.

TUOMAS. Gentlefolk are fools.

TIMO. And childish as milk-chinned brats. So they eat, too,
with rags over their chests and without--dog take me--knowing enough
to lick their spoons clean when they rise from table; that I have seen
with my own eyes to my great surprise.

SIMEONI. But at tricking and cheating a farmer they are man
enough.

JUHANI. True that among gentlefolk there is much that is
womanish and silly, that I saw on my trip to Turku. But look you, when
a simpering wench like that, in real scented oils and flying laces,
comes near, it’s not to say that the heart of a son of man doesn’t
begin to flutter. Ay, boys, the lusts of this world tempt strongly,
that I noticed on my trip to Turku. And I say once again, that my
heart bleeds for the maiden on yonder fell. It was time for her to
be saved from Hell and to sail with her friend to a haven of peace,
to which may God help us also in His time. In this hope let’s try to
sleep now. There’s still another marvellous tale about this fell,
but it can keep for the present and let’s all try to sleep. Go thou,
however, Simeoni, and cover the glowing cinders with ashes, so that I
needn’t sit tinkling my fire-irons and waving a bunch of hay tomorrow,
but can begin at once hammering at the end of a log like a red-crested
woodpecker. Go now.

Simeoni went out to do Juhani’s bidding, but came quickly back with
hair erect and eyes starting out of his head. Stutteringly he uttered
something about a strange burning eye out there near the cart. At
that the others too were startled, and with a blessing on their souls
and bodies went out of the hut in a body; and their hair resembled a
wind-gathered tangle in the crown of a birch. Moveless, dumb as statues
they stood, staring in the direction shown by Simeoni’s pointing
finger. Without blinking they stared and saw beyond mistake a mystic
gleam near the cart, which sometimes disappeared, but soon showed
itself again. They might have deemed it the lone eye of their horse
Valko, only no whiteness loomed around it, but rather something black,
and there was no sound of the bell. Pondering thus, the brothers stood
without moving; but at last Tuomas said in a fairly masterful voice:

TUOMAS. What is lacking?

JUHANI. For God’s sake don’t talk so high and mighty with him.
It’s him! What shall we do now, brothers? It’s him! What shall we say
to him?

AAPO. I surely don’t know.

TIMO. Now a verse of a hymn would do good.

JUHANI. Doesn’t one of us know a single prayer by heart?
Pray, dear brothers, out with something in God’s name, whatever comes
into your heads, without any bothering about suiting the text to the
occasion. Say the Home Baptism Service, brothers dear, if you know
nothing else.

TIMO. I’ve known one and another stretch of the hymnbook in my
time, but now it’s as though a fearful prop were holding up the door of
my brain.

SIMEONI. The spirit won’t allow thee to speak, any more than
he will me.

TIMO. Ay, he won’t allow me.

JUHANI. This is terrible!

AAPO. Terrible!

TIMO. Truly terrible!

JUHANI. What can we do?

TUOMAS. A firm behaviour towards him is best, I believe. Let
us ask him who he is and what he wants.

JUHANI. Let me ask him. Who art thou? Who art thou? Who art
thou and what dost want of us?--Not a word in answer.

LAURI. Lay hold of embers.

JUHANI. We’ll lay hold of embers from the fire and baste thee
to a turn unless thou sayest thy name, thy family and thy errand.

LAURI. No, I meant let’s grab the embers at once.

JUHANI. If we dared.

TUOMAS. One death we owe to the Lord.

JUHANI. Ay, we owe the Lord one death! Embers in fist, boys!

Soon they stood in a row, burning brands for weapons in their hands.
Foremost stood Juhani, his eyes round as an owl’s, staring at the eye
behind the cart, which with a fine glow stared back at him. So stood
the brothers with their fiery weapons on the nightly clearing; and a
lapwing cried from the mountain spruce, the dismal wilds below them
breathed heavily, and dark clouds covered the arch of the sky.

JUHANI. When I say ‘Now boys!’ let the brands rain from our
fists on to the devil’s neck.

SIMEONI. Let us try again if we can lay it first.

JUHANI. Well thought! Let’s try a little laying first. But
what shall I say to him? Whisper thou to me, Simeoni, for I myself am
oddly stupid just now. But whisper the words to me and I’ll cast them
in his face until the forest echoes.

SIMEONI. Note than what I say. Here we stand.

JUHANI. Here we stand!

SIMEONI. Like heroes of the Faith, with flaming swords in our
hands.

JUHANI. Like heroes of the Faith, with flaming swords in our
hands!

SIMEONI. Go thy way.

JUHANI. Go to thy Hell!

SIMEONI. We are baptized Christians, warriors of the Lord.

JUHANI. We are baptized Christians, warriors of the Lord,
Christ’s soldiers!

SIMEONI. Even though we cannot read.

JUHANI. Even though we cannot read.

SIMEONI. But believe notwithstanding.

JUHANI. But believe notwithstanding and trust firmly in it.

SIMEONI. Go now.

JUHANI. Go now!

SIMEONI. Soon the cock croweth.

JUHANI. Soon the cock croweth!

SIMEONI. Proclaiming the light of the Lord.

JUHANI. Proclaiming the light of the Lord Zebaoth!

SIMEONI. But he doesn’t seem to take any notice.

JUHANI. But he doesn’t seem to.... Ay, he doesn’t care though
I bawl at him with the tongue of angels. May the Lord bless us, boys,
for there’s nothing left but to--Now, boys!

At that each threw his burning brand at the apparition, which, with
the speed of lightning, began running away with a thunder of four
hoofs, and the glowing cinders on its back flashed for long as it cleft
the darkness. It fled thus from the fiery skirmish, and reaching the
clearing’s edge, dared at last to stop, blowing once or twice noisily.
And the brothers’ ghost, the awe-inspiring monster, proved after all to
be their one-eyed horse, which had lost for the time its whitish colour
in the black mudpools of the morass, into which it had probably strayed
and there splashed despairingly before regaining dry land. There, too,
in its struggles it had loosened the bell from its neck, a matter which
had greatly assisted to bewilder the brothers. This was the eye that
had gleamed in the darkness behind the cart, as many an animal’s eye
can glow in the dark. But only after a moment or two had passed, and
even then with caution, did the brothers dare to approach Valko and
finally establish their error. They returned with wrathful faces to
their hut, and at last as the night paled each lay in untroubled sleep.




CHAPTER VI


And now the brothers’ cabin was at last ready. Five fathoms was its
length and three its breadth; one gable looked eastward, the other
westward. Entering through the door at the cabin’s eastern end, thou
hadst on thy right a large bath-oven, on thy left a manger, built for
Valko’s use in the winter. From the threshold onward, almost to the
middle of the room, a carpet of spruce branches hid the naked earth,
but at the back of the room a stout floor had been built of broad
planks and above this a roomy gallery. For the new cabin was to serve
the brothers both as dwelling-place and bath-house. About twenty paces
from the house stood the store-room, joined together of small, round
spruce-logs.

The brothers had thus a fine shelter against rain, storm and the
frosts of winter, and an extra room for their provisions. And now they
could turn all their energies to hunting and all the divers forms of
trapping. And then for the capercaillies, heath-grouse and partridges,
hares, squirrels and stout-hearted badgers, and the wild-duck and
fish in Lake Ilvesjärvi, death was nigh. Then with the barking of the
aroused Killi and Kiiski and the crash of guns, the hills and endless
spruce-woods rang. The brothers’ guns felled too, now and again, a
bushy-pelted bear; but the proper time for hunting bears was not yet
come.

Came autumn with its frosty nights, and the grass-hoppers, frogs and
lizards died or fled to their deep hiding-places, and it was now time
to trap the fox with shining irons; this art the brothers had learned
from their father. Many a quick-footed Reynard then paid with his fine
fur for a dainty tit-bit or two. Hares are known to tread paths in the
soft snow of the forest, and across these paths the brothers spread
hundreds of brass-wire snares, to the doom of many a white-furred
denizen of the woods. They built as well a fine wolf-trap, with a fence
sloping inward around it, in a bush-covered ditch on the clearing’s
eastern edge. To catch wolves, they also dug a pit, enormously deep,
some distance from the cabin on a dry sandy patch. A joint tempted many
a hungry wolf into the strong fence; and then, when the brothers saw
their prey in chancery, a din and crashing would arise in the trap on
a dark autumn night. One of the brothers would stand on the slope of
the fence, seeking, gun in hand, to fell the coarse-haired brute with a
bullet; at his side another held a light, a blazing torch of resinous
wood. The others helped Killi and Kiiski to drive the sombre-visaged,
grinning beasts out of the bushes, flashing their resinous firebrands
now here, now there. Great was the tumult, what with the shouting
of the men, the raging of the hounds and the banging of guns, and
the forest and Impivaara’s pitted side rattled untiringly. Thus they
would struggle; the snow would become stained, reddened more and more,
fly round in a thousand directions, until the last wolf lay bleeding
on the ground. And then the flaying of their prey provided work for
the brothers; yet this labour was exceedingly pleasant to them. Into
the pit, too, on the clearing’s western edge, hastened more than one
slant-eyed wolf.

It befell once that early in the morning, while the others still
slept, Timo set out to examine the baited pit, whose half-fallen
covering awakened hopes in him already at a distance. And having
reached the pit, his joyful eye perceived indeed a grey object in the
depths, a mighty wolf, which, with its muzzle pressed to the earth,
lay moveless, peering up at the man. What did Timo now decide to do?
Why, to kill the wolf singlehanded, and then, to the amazement of
the others, enter the cabin with his hairy burden slung across his
shoulder. Putting the idea into action, he fetched the ladder from the
cabin wall, placed it cautiously in the pit, and with a heavy mallet in
his hand stepped down the rungs, meaning to smash the brute’s skull.
For long he smote around him with his club, his teeth bared, but always
at the empty air. The wolf’s head darted nimbly right or left each time
he brought down his clumsy weapon. At last he lost his club to the
wolf, and could then think of nothing better than to climb up again and
hurry to the cabin to report his find.

The brothers soon emerged, furnished with staves, ropes and nooses, to
seize their prey. But when they reached it the pit was empty. Along
the ladder, which Timo had left behind him in the pit, their wolf had
climbed neatly to safety and swiftly departed, thanking his lucky
stars. This the brothers at once perceived, and, cursing and grinding
their teeth, sought with enraged glance for Timo; but he was no longer
present. He ran already in full flight at the forest’s edge, where
the pines soon hid him from view. He felt that it was unwise to stay
and argue the matter. But the others howled after him, fists aloft,
promising to bray him to a jelly from brow to heels, if he still dared
to open the cabin door. So threatening, they left the pit ill-tempered
and wroth and went back to the cabin. Meanwhile Timo wandered, a
fugitive, in the forest, and soon the brothers began to regret their
behaviour towards him, perceiving that the mischance was due more
to his stupidity than to any evil intention. And so, already before
evening, Juhani climbed to Impivaara’s summit, and shouting in his
mighty voice to all points of the compass, called Timo, assuring him
on oath that he need not fear to return at once. He went on shouting,
and after a time Timo returned, glowering angrily and rolling his eyes.
Without a word he undressed, dropped down on his bed, and soon snored
in deepest slumber.

Came, later, the best time for catching bears. Then the brothers
took their spears, rammed huge bullets into their rifles and set out
to awaken the prince of the woods, where he already lay dreaming in
his dark chamber deep under the snow-covered spruce. And to their
rifles fell many a heavy-jowled bear, as it flung out, enraged, from
its peaceful couch. Then a sharp tussle would often arise, the snow
would whirl round and become stained by the flowing blood as wounds
were dealt on either side. So they would fight on until at last the
rough-visaged beast lay still. But the brothers, having cheerily
reached home with their burden, anointed their wounds with the salve
compounded of spirits, salt, powder and brimstone. They spread this
over their wounds, covering the whole with yellow-brown tar.

Thus they gathered a living from the wilds and the thickets on the
hills, filling their store-room with all kinds of game: wildfowl,
hares, badgers and the flesh of bears. They had attended, too, to the
winter provision of their old, faithful Valko. On the brink of the bog
one saw a great hayrick, mown with sickles and roofed smoothly over,
sufficient to tide over the winter. Nor had they forgotten to provide
for the heating of their cabin during the cold period. A mighty stack
of cordwood stood near the store-room and a high pile of resinous
roots, like a heap of fantastic elk-horns, rose to the cabin’s eaves.
Thus prepared they could look winter in its frosty beard unmoved.

It is Christmas Eve. A thaw has set in, grey clouds cover the sky and
the new-fallen snow hides the hills and valleys. A faint rustling is
heard from the forest; the heath-grouse sups in a catkin-covered birch,
a flock of wax-wing in a glowing rowan, and a magpie, the greedy maiden
of the woods, carries twigs for a foundation for her coming nest. In
hut and glittering manor joy and peace prevail, and so it was in the
brothers’ cabin on Impivaara clearing. Just outside the door is a
load of straw, drawn by Valko from Viertola Manor to deck the floor
in honour of Christmas. For even in the wilds the brothers would not
forego that rustle of Christmas straw which was their most delightful
memory from childhood’s days.

From the cabin the hiss of water on the oven’s heated stones is
heard, and the slapping of soft bunches of birch twigs. The brothers
are taking a stern Christmas bath. And when at last the scorching
steam-bath was over, they stepped down from the platform, dressed
themselves and rested on the beams which lined the walls in place of
benches. There they sat, exuding perspiration and puffing. A blazing
torch illumined the room; Valko champed oats at his manger, for his
Christmas too had not been forgotten; dozing and yawning the cock sat
on his rafter; Killi and Kiiski, chin on paw, slept near the oven, and
on Juhani’s knee the old, water-grey Jukola cat lay purring.

Timo and Simeoni began after a while to lay the supper; the others
lifted in the sheaves. They opened the bindings and spread out the
straw to the thickness of a span, but on the platform, where they
usually spent their nights, they spread it thicker. Supper was ready at
last: seven round loaves, two oaken trenchers of steaming bear’s-meat
and a pail of beer stood on the table. The beer they had brewed
themselves, carefully recollecting their mother’s methods of preparing
the beverage. They had brewed it stronger, however, than ordinary
peasant ale. Dark red it foamed in the pail; and wert thou to swallow
a can of it, thou wouldst not fail to feel a slight dizziness in thy
brain. But now they all sit at table, enjoying the meat and the foaming
ale.

AAPO. Eh, but there’s plenty of food piled up before us.

JUHANI. Let’s eat and drink, boys, for now it is Christmas,
Christmas for all, for men and for beasts. Brother Timo, pour a little
ale over Valko’s oats. That’s it, at least a whole can. No stinginess
this evening, but may each get his, the horse, the dogs and the cat,
as well as Jukola’s merry brothers. The cook can sleep in peace and
draw his rations tomorrow. Here’s for you, Killi and Kiiski, a huge bit
of bear’s thigh, and here’s thine, poor pussy. But first shake hands,
narrow-eyes! Look! And now both hands! Look at our cat’s tricks and
admit that I’m a bit of a schoolmaster myself. He shakes hands already
with both paws at once, and to do this he sits himself down like a
solemn old man and shoves, the scamp, both fore-paws into my fist. Like
that!

AAPO. Well, that is funny.

TUOMAS. The things a man has to learn yet even in his old age.

JUHANI. The learning took some time, I tell you. But I
wouldn’t leave the lad in peace until he could thank teacher with both
paws. Now he does it like a man, and schoolmaster’s paid. There’s a
cat for you! Here! Get thy teeth into this lump of bear. And Killi and
Kiiski there. Ay, ay! ‘Cast a stone at a man, but not at his dog’.
Right! But to this I would add: ‘Cast a stone at Juhani Jukola but not
at his cat’.

EERO. Help that beer-pail on over here, Juhani.

JUHANI. It shall be given thee. Drink, brother, God’s
creation, drink, for now it’s Christmas and there’s plenty in the
storeroom. What is lacking with us here? What should we care if all the
world were to burn to dust and ashes, except Impivaara and the lands
around. Here we live in clover, on our own soil, without having to
bother about ill-tempered neighbours. Here it is good for us to be. The
forest is our meadow, our field, our mill and our nest everlasting.

TIMO. And our meat-larder.

JUHANI. Just so! It is good to be here. Thanks, Lauri, for the
way thou foundest us to escape from the markets of the world. Here is
freedom and peace. I ask once more: what would we care if golden flames
were to burn down the whole of this world, if only the northern end of
Jukola’s lands and its seven sons were saved.

TIMO. If a forest fire once started to lick up the world, it’s
dust and ashes Jukola’s northern end would be too, and its seven sons
into the bargain.

JUHANI. That I well know. But sithee, a man can think what
he wants, think himself master of the whole world or a creeping
dung-beetle. Look you, he can think God, devils, angels, all mankind
and the beasts of the sea, air and land dead; think the world, Hell and
Heaven vanished like a bunch of tow in a fire, and a darkness fallen in
which no crowing cock ever greets God’s morn. So the thought of a man
can fly down here, and who can cast nets in its path?

TIMO. Who knoweth the plan of the world? Not the child of man,
who is daft and silly as a bleating goat. But it’s best to take the
day as it comes, let it go as it goes, whether it lead to weal or woe.
We’re here and that’s all.

JUHANI. What’s wrong with us being here. What is lacking?

TIMO. ‘Not the grace of God nor bird’s milk.’ The storeroom’s
full and the cabin warm. Here too we can sprawl on straw.

JUHANI. Here we sprawl like bull-calves on rustling straw. We
can bathe whenever we like, whenever the idea comes into our heads, and
eat when we’re hungry. But now we are sated. So there’s nothing else
for us to do but to bless our bellies and clear the table.

SIMEONI. Wait till I’ve said grace and sung a verse on top of
that.

JUHANI. Never mind this time. Why didst thou not do it before
the meal? Go thou, Eero-boy, as the youngest, and draw ale from the
cask.

SIMEONI. Wouldst thou forbid a verse of a hymn in honour of
Christmas Eve?

JUHANI. We’re no singers, brother mine. Let us sing and pray
in our hearts, which is after all the most pleasing offer to God. But
here comes the pail again, bubbling and frothing like Kyrö Rapids. Ta,
lad, ta! Here goes! Take a swig, brother Tuomas, a real man’s swig.

TUOMAS. I’ll soon do that.

JUHANI. That’s how a man drinks. Swigs like that will soon
turn our throats into true choristers’ throats.

    We lived as well in olden days
    Beyond the river here;
    The driftwood kept our fire ablaze
    And water was our beer.

Just so. But now our drink is the brown juice of the barley, our fuel
cordwood and resinous roots, and under us is a soft bolster of straw,
a prime wrestling-mat fit for kings and grand dukes. A word, brother
Tuomas. Brother Aapo once backed thy power and strength as mightily
greater than mine, but that I’d scarce like to believe. What if we were
to try a throw? Let’s try!

SIMEONI. Let us behave! and spare this shining straw until
tomorrow at least.

JUHANI. Now jollity is at its height, the ‘eve is the height
of the holiday’; and straw has got to turn to litter anyhow. Does the
idea please Tuomas?

TUOMAS. There’d be no harm in trying.

JUHANI. Cross-buttock wrestling!

TUOMAS. I’m ready.

JUHANI. Let’s set to, let’s set to!

AAPO. Easy, lad! Let Tuomas get a firm grip of the belt of thy
trousers.

JUHANI. He may, he may.

EERO. Juho, what art thou grinning and rolling thy eyes, for,
like a bull on a bench? Oh brother! See thou dost not bring shame on
thyself.

AAPO. All clear. Whose is the first throw?

JUHANI. Let Tuomas have it.

TUOMAS. Let the elder brother have it.

JUHANI. Stand firm then.

TUOMAS. I’ll try.

JUHANI. Dost thou stand, dost stand?

TUOMAS. I’ll try.

AAPO. Hallelujah, boys! That’s the way, like that! Ye fight
like heroes of the Faith. Juho wrestles and strains like Israel himself
and ‘Tuomas stands an oak unbending’.

EERO. ‘Hearing Aapo’s gab unending’. But look at Juhani’s
mouth, it’ll terrify thee. Ah! if I were to thrust even a bar of steel
between his teeth now--snap! it’d be in two like a shot. I’m terrified!
I’m terrified!

AAPO. Only a bout between men. The very beams rise and fall
beneath us.

EERO. Like the pedals of an organ; and Tuomas’s slippers
plough the floor like heavy wooden ploughs.

AAPO. It’s not with fingers of milk they’re stroking each
other. Lord! if this bout were on yonder fell, their heel-plates would
strike sparks from the rock.

EERO. Real golden sparks would fly into the forest and there’d
be a jolly forest-fire. But Tuomas still stands.

TUOMAS. Well, hast thou jerked to thy content?

JUHANI. Try a throw thyself.

TUOMAS. I’ll try. But now look out, for the floor’s going to
whirl.

EERO. Remember, remember, Juho!

AAPO. That was a throw.

EERO. That was a swipe from ‘Haman’s mallet’, a blow from
‘Heaven’s fiery hammer’.

TIMO. And there lies Juhani like a sack of malt.

EERO. Poor Jussi-boy!

TIMO. ’Tis what he called himself when a little boy.

AAPO. One ought to know however, how to throw a man. Remember,
Tuomas, a human body is not made of iron, but of flesh and blood.

TIMO. Ay, though it does wear trousers.

TUOMAS. Did I hurt thee?

JUHANI. Look to thyself.

TUOMAS. Get up.

JUHANI. I’ll get up and show thee a man’s strength at pulling
the bar. That’s the game for measuring strength.

TUOMAS. Eero, bring a stick from yon corner. Here Juhani.

JUHANI. Here I am. And now hind-paw against hind-paw and claws
around the bar.

AAPO. When I yell, then pull, but without the smallest jerk.
The bar over your toes, right above the toes, not at inch over on
either side. Now, boys!

TIMO. Juho flies up like a chip.

AAPO. Even pity wouldn’t help him there.

JUHANI. Go and draw ale, Timo.

TIMO. Thou’rt limping, brother.

JUHANI. Draw ale, thou accursed lout! Dost hear me, or shall I
clut thy ear?

TUOMAS. Did I hurt thy foot?

JUHANI. Why worry about that? Look to thy own foot. What does
it matter if the heel did chance to come off my boot in the wrestling
like a slice of turnip. But look to thyself, thou. It seems thou
winnest at wrestling and pulling the bar, but let’s fight.

AAPO. We have nothing to do with fighting now.

JUHANI. Yes we have, if we want.

TUOMAS. I don’t want.

JUHANI. Thou durst not.

AAPO. Know that wrestling is play.

SIMEONI. I know it for play that often gives rise to fighting
and murder.

JUHANI. May Tuomas win, but no other can overthrow Juhani.
That I swear and will show man by man through the whole company. A
little bout, Aapo! Will thy waistband hold, will it hold?

AAPO. Madcap without the slightest cause! Wait, wait, and
we’ll wrestle properly.

JUHANI. Bright lightning!

AAPO. Wait, say I. Now, try now.

EERO. Juho dances the polka like a true lad, even if he does
limp.

JUHANI. What dost thou say now, brother Aapo?

AAPO. That I’m down under thee.

JUHANI. Step up to thy number, Simeoni.

SIMEONI. Not for a thousand crowns would I break the holy
festival.

JUHANI. All honour to the Christmas festival! A bit of
innocent wrestling won’t harm it, if only our minds are joyful and our
hearts pure. One try, Simeoni!

SIMEONI. Why wilt thou tempt me?

JUHANI. One bout!

SIMEONI. Thou Satan!

AAPO. Peace be with him, Juhani, peace.

JUHANI. No harm in trying. Now then, one single tug at thy
waistband.

SIMEONI. Get thee to Hell, evil spirit. I admit thee the
winner.

TUOMAS. I’ll believe that when I see it. I don’t think
Simeoni’s sinews are of veal either.

JUHANI. Well, let him try. Then we’ll see whether they’re veal
or black, stringy bear’s-meat.

AAPO. Leave him in peace and let the next man, more willing
for a bout, step forward. Brother Timo, always a stout fellow!

JUHANI. Wilt thou?

AAPO. Into the wind, Timo! Thou hast never been a mammy’s boy.

TUOMAS. Never, but always hearty like a man in his own home.
I’ll never forget the fight he put up in that matchless tussle with the
Toukola men. Before he knew it he had got a grand bash on the head, but
caring little for that, he turned gravely round, snatched the staff
out of the man’s hand and hit him back on the skull--and snap went the
staff. Broke in two like a flash and down flopped the man like an
empty sack. That was Timo Jukola’s work. And I know he’s still game to
meet any man.

TIMO. Come on, lad.

JUHANI. Just what I want. But let me too get hold of thy
flounces. Now I’m ready.

AAPO. Let Timo have first heave.

JUHANI. All right. Then I’ll have time to get my breath back.

TIMO. How’s that?

JUHANI. Nay, my son.

TUOMAS. A fairly stiff heave, Timo, thou brave Timo! But canst
better it?

JUHANI. We don’t go as easily as that.

TUOMAS. Timo, canst better it?

TIMO. I ought to be able to. What does this say?

JUHANI. ‘We don’t go so easily, said the beggar at Hyvämäki’.

AAPO. Once more, Timo.

TUOMAS. Canst better it?

TIMO. I ought to be able to. How’s that?

JUHANI. ‘We don’t go so easily, said the beggar at Hyvämäki’.

TUOMAS. But it was a jerk that made itself felt.

EERO. Nothing to be afraid of; brother Juhani’s voice only
shook the least bit, but quite innocently.

JUHANI. Upright I stand.

TUOMAS. Once more, Timo.

TIMO. We’ll try, we’ll try.

JUHANI. Wait a bit! my trousers are falling!

TIMO. ‘But now, said Kaitaranta!’

JUHANI. My trousers are falling! Dost hear me?

TIMO. How’s that, brother!

AAPO. Is Juhani lying there again, kissing the floor?

EERO. And puffing like a bull. But it is well ‘he can get his
breath back again’.

TIMO. Under me the lad lies like a wet slipper.

TUOMAS. But his trousers played him a mean trick.

AAPO. That must be said in truth’s name. Juhani’s own trousers
rose against their master and joined themselves with Timo.

EERO. That’s true. So trousers off and a new start.

SIMEONI. Hold thy jaw now, jackdaw! Or I’ll hit thee on the
nose. Hast thou not had enough of this Hell’s game?

EERO. Well, let’s make it a heavenly game then. Trousers and
shirts off, and wrestle like two angels in the fields of Paradise.

TUOMAS. Why art thou sitting on his neck, Timo?

TIMO. If I had a faggot now I’d lay it along his buttocks till
the room echoed.

AAPO. Why so? This is wrestling, not a fight.

EERO. Is Timo angry?

TIMO. Not at all, not at all, all I say is, if I had a faggot
or a round stick, I’d lay it smacking along his buttocks.

TUOMAS. Let him get up.

TIMO. Get up, God’s creation.

JUHANI. I’ll get up, and know that when I have fastened my
trousers it’ll be thy turn to lie down and somewhat quicker than I did.
I, poor boy, stumbled down by accident, which thou didst hasten to turn
to thy profit, lout, boot-tree!

AAPO. No anger! I know that he hardly noticed thy
trouser-accident before the throw was over. He did it in the heat of
the scrimmage, the poor boy.

JUHANI. He knew quite well, the bull-badger. But you are all
like ravens at my neck. He didn’t know! Didn’t I roar in a loud voice:
wait a bit, my trousers are falling! But he never cared, but tore with
teeth and nails like a cat. Stand and burn! I’ll teach thee to use a
man’s flabby trousers to his undoing another time, oh I’ll teach thee!

TIMO. I, poor boy, did it in the heat of the scrimmage.

JUHANI. I’ll teach thee, when I’ve hoisted up my trousers and
pulled my belt tight as a wedged hoop.

TIMO. I give a fig for the whole wrestle; once I’ve won, I’ve
won, and there’s nothing more to grumble at. What have trousers to do
with it? In wrestling it’s the man who wrestles, not his trousers or
leggings or snow-socks.

JUHANI. Waistbands in fist and breast to breast again! Stand
and burn!

TIMO. Shall I join him in this childish job?

EERO. How can he ask? Go, God’s creation, while thou hast the
chance.

SIMEONI. Don’t go, say I.

EERO. Don’t go if thou fearest and tremblest.

JUHANI. Fear and trembling won’t help him now, but he’s got to
join in a new tussle and this very God’s moment.

EERO. Have mercy on him, Juhani, have mercy!

TIMO. Why, Eero, why? Let’s try another bout then, one or two.
Seize hold!

JUHANI. So, my boy.

TUOMAS. Have a care, Juhani!

AAPO. Carefully! That’s how two hungry hawks might fight.

SIMEONI. Fighting, pure fighting!

AAPO. Sensibly, Juhani!

SIMEONI. Oh you monsters, you monsters!

EERO. Don’t lame thy brother!

SIMEONI. Aha! Aha! now Eero turns pale. Here’s the fish thou
hast angled for.

TUOMAS. Juhani!

SIMEONI. The whole cabin’s breaking up, you wild beasts and
devils!

JUHANI. Vot, lad, says the Russian! Well, why art thou lying
there and peering up at the ceiling?

TIMO. Thou winnest me now, but wait till time has worked on us
a bit. Thou wilt grow older and smaller, while I fill out and become
stronger.

JUHANI. Even the world will wear out once and end, let alone
a sinful human being. Time wears us all down, brother mine. But get up
and gulp a swig of ale into thy face and admit there’s an ounce or two
less strength in thee than in me.

TIMO. That was seen. There I lay on all fours and thou atop o’
me like a raving bear.

JUHANI. Here’s to us all, my bonny boys! I am second therefore
in the hosts of Jukola in the matter of strength. True, Lauri and
Eero are still untried, but may they know that there’d be a buzzing
in their ears if it came to a trial; and Simeoni has admitted himself
the weaker. But not one of Jukola’s brothers is a little-finger man,
that I guarantee. Let even fifty Toukola men come at us, fist against
fist. Five barrels I can carry on my back, and Tuomas a bit more; five
barrels if some one piles them up on my back.

TUOMAS. I’d like to see Lauri and Eero wrestle in deadly
earnest.

AAPO. Truly it would be a sight. One solemn and calm as a thaw
in winter, the other small as a dwarf, but swift and keen as lightning.
Into the wind, boys, and we’ll see a scrap between a weasel and a
buck-hare. Mind, I’m not calling thee a hare for thy bravery, there’s
no call for that, nor for thy walk, for Lauri steps out like blacksmith
Könni’s hoer--whose feet and hoe were moved by a tricky clockwork in
its belly--but to me the tussle would just look like one between a big
jack-hare and a weasel.

JUHANI. One breasting, boys, one breasting or a buttock-throw.

LAURI. What use is a bout with Eero? You can’t even get a
proper grip of him, but there he wriggles between your legs like a cat,
scratching and squeezing your middle so that you can hardly draw a
breath. He did that when we wrestled in Aro Meadow last autumn, and who
won and who lay under, was beyond anyone to say. Why should I wrestle
him again?

EERO. I wasn’t a hair stronger than thee. Believe me if thou
canst.

LAURI. I believe thee, knowing thee to be weaker.

JUHANI. Let honest wrestling prove it.

LAURI. Why should I try a second time with him?

SIMEONI. Let’s go to bed now, you madmen.

JUHANI. Nights are many, but Christmas comes only once a year,
so let us rejoice now. Rejoice, thou Christmas chamber, rejoice the
whole land of Israel! This night, this very second a great miracle has
happened in Babylon Town. Let us rejoice! What game shall we play?
Blind Man’s Bluff? Slaughter the Pig or Prod the Cobbler?

SIMEONI. There now! Are we to start tumbling about like wilful
brats? Go away!

JUHANI. A young unmarried fellow’s life is a dance. Isn’t it,
Timo?

TIMO. He-he-he!

JUHANI. Isn’t it?

TIMO. It’s like that, surely.

EERO. Just so, Jussi-darling.

JUHANI. Said the fox to the hare. Right! This life’s all
right; it’s jolly sometimes and makes a man’s heels itch. Let’s dance
a Russian jig; I’m quite a master at that. Look!

AAPO. Would our ale have made thee drunk?

JUHANI. Empty three cans of it into thy mug and see if thou
dost not notice a blaze like in thy attic. But sing, Eero, while
Jussi-boy dances. Out with it.

EERO. What sort is wanted?

JUHANI. Any sort, so long as it rings and roars. Out with it,
yell till the bottom logs rise up! Sing, thou he-badger’s whelp, sing
while I dance, while I buck like a goat, buck right up to the ceiling.
Sing!

EERO. I’ll try my best:

    ‘Let us carol and rejoice,
    Christmastide is here;
    Now the vats are full of ale,
    Full the tankard and the pail;
    Full of ale, full of ale,
    Full the tankard and the pail.

    At the Anjanpelto Fair
    Gin we drank like water,
    With the money for the bull
    A wedding-ring we bought her.
    Bought her, bought her;
    With the money for the bull
    A wedding-ring we bought her.

    Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!’

AAPO. Shut up, Eero, and don’t aggravate him.

JUHANI. Go on singing, I won’t get mad; keep on singing, that
I needn’t dance without music.

EERO. ‘Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!

    Jussi, Jassi, floury-snout,
    Dusts the litter in the sty....’

TIMO. He-he-he! Oh what daft words thou singest.

JUHANI. Keep on singing, keep on. I won’t be angry.

EERO. ‘Jussi, Jassi, floury-snout’. I sing and snap my fingers
at thee.

    Dusts the litter in the sty,
    Sings the pigs a lullaby!
    Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!

    Ida walked along the strand,
    Wrote upon the wave-washed sand
    The name of her true-love,
    The name of her true-love.

    When I heard my sweetheart’s voice
    The first time I did meet her,
    I seemed in Heaven to rejoice,
    No seraph there was sweeter,
    I seemed in Heaven to rejoice,
    No seraph there was sweeter.

    Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!

    Dost thou remember
    The times we have rambled
    And merrily gambolled?

    Fra-la la-la laa!
    The times we have rambled
    And merrily gambolled?
    Fra-la la-la laa!

    Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!

    Never, poor Aato
    Blame little Jussi,
    For well thou knowest
    There’s strength in our Jussi.

    Jussi sits in jail,
    A goatskin for his tail,
    All of us brothers
    Can tell the same tale.
    Fra-la la-la laa!

    Woe me, poor madcap fellow,
    Why was I ever born?
    A farm have I at home--
    And sit in jail forlorn.
    A farm have I at home--
    And sit in jail forlorn.’

JUHANI. That’s the way! So! There’s no fetters on this fellow.
Go on singing!

EERO.

    ‘Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!
    Jussi, Jassi, floury-snout,
    Dusts the litter in the sty,
    Sings the pigs a lullaby.
    Jussi, Pussi, Jukola’s Jussi!’

Isn’t that enough?

JUHANI. More! This is Karja-Matti’s wedding. More! More!
Karja-Matti’s wedding!

SIMEONI. Even the cock crows wrathfully at this godless medley
and din.

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, cock, and stop that clucking.

TUOMAS. Enough of that, Juhani.

AAPO. That Turk’s dance will be the death of thee.

JUHANI. That is a Russian jig, isn’t it, Eero?

EERO. That is a Jussian jig.

JUHANI. All right then, we’ll have a score or so more hops of
this Jussian jig.

SIMEONI. Thou wild fellow!

TIMO. Look, look! He-he-he! Well, may the Old ’Un take me!

JUHANI. Out of the way! Or I’ll tread thee to paste like a
Cossack’s horse a drunken fair-goer. Hih!

AAPO. The loose end of his belt is in a fair lather there
behind. It’s bouncing, it is; bouncing up, bouncing down, walloping his
back and his buttocks in turns. Oh thou!

JUHANI. La-la laa laa! That was a dusting, he-he! That was
the second time I danced in my life. The first was at Karja-Matti’s
wedding where there were none of the female sex except three old hags,
but a rare crowd of men. But look you, after Matti had brewed us a
couple of mugs of juicy coffee-punch, nothing would do for us but to
start hammering the floor-beams, we men amongst ourselves; and didn’t
the sinful earth sigh under us! The poor old women were thankful to be
let off such a kneading; we’d have danced ’em to tatters. Deuce! what
a time! But now clothes off to our shirts, and up on to the gallery.
We’re not, in any case, going to close our eyes just yet, but round a
foaming pail of ale and in the light of a resinous torch will relate
merry tales and legends up there in the gallery’s warmth.

They undressed and filling their pail once again with ale, climbed
on to the gallery. There, all in their shirts, they sat amidst their
straw in the steaming heat. Busily the foaming pail went round from man
to man, and in a crack in the wall a pine torch burned with a golden
flame. Then a thought came suddenly into Juhani’s brain and words fell
from his lips which were to prove their undoing.

JUHANI. Here we can truly roast ourselves like sausages in a
straw-filled oven, and it is the hot stones of our fireplace that give
us our warmth. Eero, pour a can of ale on the oven and we’ll see what
barley-juice steam tastes like.

TUOMAS. What silly trick would that be?

JUHANI. A grand trick. Do as I say.

EERO. I wish to obey my master.

JUHANI. A couple of cans of ale on the oven!

TUOMAS. Not a drop! If I hear the tiniest hiss from there,
unhappy the man who caused it.

AAPO. Don’t let us waste a fine drink.

TIMO. We can’t afford to live in beer steam, not we.

JUHANI. It would be jolly to taste it.

TUOMAS. I forbid it firmly.

JUHANI. It’d be jolly to taste it. Winning just now in the
wrestling has lifted Tuomas’s crest-feathers a lot and he now thinks
he can rule this house as he wants. Remember though that the bitter
spleen, once it really swells, gives its lad the strength of seven men
in a fight. Be that as it may, my eyes are surely not inclined to wait
on thee.

SIMEONI. The fruits of wrestling, all fruits of wrestling.

JUHANI. Let’s hear it splash, Eero. I’ll answer for the deed
and defend its doer.

EERO. That is the master’s command, and I must obey; else
there’s a hare’s passport in my fist on Christmas Eve of all nights.

Then Eero, clenching his teeth and pursing his lips in a cunning grin,
hastened to obey Juhani’s will, and soon a splash was heard from the
oven, swiftly followed by a fierce hissing. Enraged, Tuomas now flew up
and dashed like an eagle at Eero, but Juhani too was quick to defend
his younger brother. Whereupon a general scrimmage arose, in the
confusion of which the burning torch was thrown down from the gallery
on to the floor. There, unnoticed by the brothers, it soon set the
straw in a lively blaze. Like a ring on the surface of a pool spreads
evenly and rapidly in all directions, so the bright circle of fire on
the floor grew. Ever higher it rose; it licked already the floor of
the gallery before the inhabitants of the room became aware of the
danger beneath them. But they perceived it too late to save more than
their own lives and those of the animals in the cabin. Flames already
billowed over a wide area and great was the distress and commotion.
There was a general dash to the door, on the opening of which men,
dogs, cat, and cock charged out almost simultaneously with a fearful
din. It looked as though the cabin had sped them from its smoking maw
on to the snow-clad ground, where they then stood coughing as for a
wager. Last to come out was Lauri, leading by a halter Valko, who would
otherwise probably have perished in the flames. For already a devouring
fire poured out of the narrow window-openings, and soon from both door
and roof. Enwrapped in flames, Impivaara’s stout cabin glowed. But
on the snow-covered ground stood its garrison, destitute; even the
charcoal-burner’s hut which had first given them shelter had been razed
to the ground, and the store-room was built loosely as a magpie’s nest.
There the brothers lingered, and their only protection against wind
and frost was a short shirt of tow. Not even a cap for their heads or
birch-bark slippers for their feet had they had time to snatch from the
flames. Of all the property in the cabin there remained only the guns
and birch-bark knapsacks, which had been taken into the store-room when
the brothers began their bath. In the snow the brothers stood, all with
their backs towards the roaring flames, lifting and warming in turns
their right and left feet; and caressed alternately by fire and snow,
their feet were red indeed, red as the webs of a goose.

They enjoyed the last gift their cabin still had to give them, enjoyed
the warmth of the fire; and this fire was immense. The flames rose
violently on high, a shimmering light spread everywhere, and the mossy
spruce on the crest of the fell smiled as sweetly as in the glow of
the rising sun. From the stack of resinous roots the smoke, thick and
pitch-black, rose to the clouds, rolling in dark balls under the vault
of the sky. But on the clearing and around it light dwelt; a ruddy
day reigned in the heart of the winter night, and astounded at this
phantom light birds gazed down with staring eyes from the branches of
the snow-clad trees as the stoutly-built cabin on Impivaara turned
into cinders and dust. Scratching their heads in rage and sorrow the
brothers stood around, all with their backs turned to the fire and
lifting the soles of their feet in turns towards its grateful warmth.
Gradually, however, their bonfire waned, collapsing at last in a
rain of embers, and the night air filled with thousands of crackling
sparks. Terror-striken, the brothers then became aware that the sky
was clearing and the wind veering from south to north. The weather was
changing from a thaw to a frost.

AAPO. We were saved from the fire, only to fall victims to
the frost. Look! The sky clears and already the north wind blows cold.
Brothers, our danger is terrible.

JUHANI. Death and curses! Who caused this?

TUOMAS. Who! Thou food for fire, thou askest who? Were I to do
right now, I’d dash thee to roast in yon fiery ash-heap.

JUHANI. Never could one Tuomas do such a feat, never. But
accursed be the man who brought this Hell’s night upon us!

TUOMAS. He curseth himself.

JUHANI. Accursed be that man, namely, Tuomas Jukola.

TUOMAS. Say that a second time.

JUHANI. Tuomas, son of Juhani Jukola, is the cause of all this.

AAPO. Tuomas!

SIMEONI. Juhani!

LAURI. Softly!

TIMO. Now you shall not fly at each other, you won’t be let,
my bantams. Ay, ay, let’s all keep quiet now and warm ourselves in
brotherly fashion.

SIMEONI. Ye godless wretches!

AAPO. No anger and quarrelling when a miserable death awaits
us.

TUOMAS. Who is to blame, who is to blame?

JUHANI. I am innocent.

TUOMAS. Innocent! Holy fire! I’ll eat thee alive!

AAPO. Softly, softly!

SIMEONI. For God’s sake, softly!

AAPO. Guilty or innocent, may that be left undecided now,
seeing that only haste can save us. Our cabin is in ashes and we
stand almost naked in the snow. For what am I to call this rag of a
tow-shirt? One good thing is that our guns and ammunition were in yon
store-room; for now we have need of weapons. Teerimäki echoes with the
howling cry of wolves.

TUOMAS. What shall we do then?

AAPO. All I can think of is to hasten to Jukola, hasten for
pale Death’s sake. Two can always ride on Valko and the others follow
running. Let us do that: run and ride turnabout on horseback. With the
aid of our horse we can thus avoid having to tread snow the whole way
and with God’s help we can still maybe be saved.

JUHANI. Our feet will be one single turnip-stew before we
stand in Jukola’s tupa, in the warmth of a cordwood blaze.

SIMEONI. Yet there lies our only hope. So let us hurry. The
wind grows keener and the roof of the sky is already clearing. Let’s
hurry!

EERO. Our death has come.

JUHANI. There go Jukola’s seven stout brothers!

SIMEONI. Our danger is awful, but strong is the Lord on high.
Let us hurry!

TUOMAS. Guns and knapsacks out of the store-room!

JUHANI. A night of terror. Here a ringing frost threatens us,
yonder the hungry howling wolves.

TIMO. We are in danger, both Valko and ourselves.

JUHANI. Ours is the greater danger. A naked man, I have heard,
is a very tasty joint for a wolf in the winter.

TIMO. And a man and a pig, I have heard, taste the same, and
it’s well-known that a pig is a wolf’s favourite dish in winter. We’ve
a hard knot before us; that no one can deny.

JUHANI. What are we to do?

AAPO. Rush off to Jukola like sorcerer’s arrows through the
night before the frost turns fiery and heats our blood to ice with its
burning coldness. Away to Jukola over shrieking Teerimäki! We are armed
against the wolves, but not against rime-bearded, old King Frost.

TUOMAS. Here’s the guns and bags. Gun on shoulder now and
knapsack on back every man of you, and two up on horseback, while
we others pound on behind as best we can. But hurry, hurry, for our
everlasting souls!

JUHANI. The north turns bright and the stars shine. Hii, haa!
But let’s hurry.

AAPO. Tomorrow we can fetch what goods and chattels the fire
has left us; we’ll come tomorrow and fetch the cock too and the cat.
This night they’ll be warm enough beside yon hot ash-heap. But Killi
and Kiiski can take the road with us like faithful comrades. Where are
they?

TUOMAS. I can’t see them. Hush! let us listen.

EERO. They’re off galloping far away by now. Yonder you can
hear them barking, behind the fell.

TUOMAS. They’re chasing a glutton that I suppose has passed
close to the cabin, giving a scent to the dogs. Well, let them hunt as
they like; we’ve got to forget them now and hasten off on our stern
journey.

JUHANI. Right! For Life and Death are now at each other’s
throats like two he-bears.

AAPO. Let’s put out all our strength now!

JUHANI. All the strength of our souls and bodies down to the
marrow.

TUOMAS. Remembering that the most miserable death awaits us.

JUHANI. Black death threatens us from two points. Hii, haa!
it’s a frozen snout now or guts on the ground if this lad isn’t soon on
slippery straw before a fire. One of these three will have to happen
before the hour is out. But dawdling here won’t help, not in the least,
so clenching my teeth I’d go now even through icebergs, miles thick.

SIMEONI. Let us try in God’s name, with His help.

JUHANI. With His help. What can man that is born of woman do
down here with his own strength alone? Let us be of good cheer.

EERO. Let us start off without any more delay.

JUHANI. And without any fear. Let’s go now!

TUOMAS. All ready then. Get up on horseback, Eero and Simeoni,
and start riding towards Jukola, but so that we who trot on foot after
you through the snow are always at the old nag’s heels.

So they set out on their journey: naked, clad only in tow-shirts and
each with his knapsack on his back and a gun on his shoulder or in his
hand. In such fashion they set out on the wintry night road, fleeing
from the frost which attacked them from the waste lands of the north.
It came not, however, wearing its most frightful aspect; the weather
on this occasion was not yet at its severest. True, the brow of Heaven
cleared at times, but the sailing clouds soon hid it again, and the
north wind blew tempered. The brothers, too, were friends of old with
the cold, with skins hardened in many a shrieking frost; and earlier,
as wilful children, they had often trampled the snowdrifts for hours in
their bare feet. Notwithstanding, this journey from Impivaara to Jukola
was terrible, exceedingly terrible to them. Hotly they dashed onward,
with terror in their hearts. Foremost, on Valko’s back, rode Eero and
Simeoni, and the others followed them running, treading the backwoods’
snow, which whirled around their feet. But on Impivaara clearing, near
the glowing oven, sat the cat and the cock, gloomily staring at the
waning embers.

Towards the village the brothers hastened; Sompio Bog already lay
behind them, and they approached Teerimäki Hill, whence the ghastly
howling of wolves could still be heard. In a thicket of young spruce,
between the bog and Seunala Jaakko’s clearing, the riders were changed:
Eero and Simeoni climbed down and two others hastened to replace them.
Then without delay they continued their journey: they dashed along the
crest of the heath, across the Viertola road and onward through a wide,
humming pinewood. And at last rocky Teerimäki drew nigh, and suddenly
the multiple chorus of the wolves was stilled. Soon they stood on the
summit of the hill and gave their steed a breather; the riders again
dismounted and were quickly replaced by others. A while yet they
stood on the snow-covered rock; the north wind blew, the dome of the
sky cleared again for a moment, and the head of the Great Bear showed
midnight to have passed.

But having rested, they hurried down the smooth hill track, and when
this ended entered a dark spruce-wood and a cheerless scene spread
around them. The moon looked palely down, owls shrieked, and here and
there in the forest’s sombre depths weird phantoms stood, resembling
in shape gigantic bears; these were the upward-pointing mossy roots of
fallen spruce-trees. Immovable, like frozen ghosts, these bear-shaped
images stared at the strange procession which sped swiftly by.
Immovable they stared, but between and around them a frightening
liveliness soon made itself apparent in the forbidding forest. Hungry
wolves circled around the brothers, approaching closer and closer.
Now ahead and now behind, now flickering across the path, now on both
sides of the road, their loping run could be seen. Furious, thirsting
for blood, they followed the nightly refugees from Impivaara; and
with a sound of crackling the dry branches broke snapping from the
spruce-roots. Quivering and snorting the affrighted Valko ran; and
the man who rode in front could scarce restrain him from breaking
into a wild gallop. And ever bolder waxed the wolves. Panting in a
bloodthirsty manner they flashed by close to the men; and now to the
right, now to the left, the gun of one of the brothers would bang in an
attempt to scare them. This, however, did not seem able to drive them
far away.

They came to Kiljava’s open, fire-ravaged heath, where the trunks of
withered pines stood dotted here and there, homes for hawks and owls.
And now the fierceness of the wolves became alarming, and the men’s
danger grew. Tuomas and Timo happened just then to be on horseback,
but those who ran on foot behind suddenly halted and fired almost
simultaneously an angry volley at their foe, who, frightened by this,
now retreated a moment. The men dashed onward again; but soon the
pursuing pack of wolves rustled once more around them, and the danger
was greater than ever. Then Tuomas reined in his steed, saying in a
loud voice: ‘may the man whose gun is empty load it at once, and may he
hurry like fire and lightning!’ So shouting, he dismounted and ordered
Timo to hold Valko firmly. The brothers now stood and loaded, and they
felt not the cold, neither in their feet nor in any part of their
bodies. The wolves too halted, about fifty paces away, and tossing
their tails lustily, stared at the men with avid eyes. And naked of
clouds shone the heavens, whence a bright moon now looked down on the
heath.

TUOMAS. Are the guns loaded?

AAPO. It has been done. What is thy purpose?

JUHANI. All together again!

TUOMAS. Not if our lives are dear to you. Someone’s gun must
always be loaded; remember that. Lauri, thou hast the steadiest hand
and the keenest eye, come up abreast of me.

LAURI. Here I stand. What wouldst thou?

TUOMAS. A hungry wolf will eat even his bleeding brother. If
we could only bring about this, it would be the saving of us. Let us
try. Lauri, we’ll both aim at the one farthest on the left, and both
fire at the same time, but you others must spare your bullets. Now,
Lauri, aim as carefully as an eagle and blaze away when I say now.

LAURI. I’m ready.

TUOMAS. Now.

Both fired at the same second, and the wolves fled at a gallop. One
lingered, however, on the scene, attempting to follow the others by
crawling, but without success. And onward with all their strength the
brothers hastened once more: six men running on foot, Timo riding on
ahead alone. And thus passed a few moments. Soon the wolves halted
in their flight, and returning, again flitted swiftly towards the
nocturnal wayfarers. The snow foamed around them and Kiljava’s naked
heath drummed as they came on in a body. At fiery speed they drew level
with their comrade who squirmed in his blood; they charged already past
him, but turned quickly round as the tempting smell of blood was borne
to their nostrils. Round they spun: tails wagged, the snow boiled and
fire flashed in the night from eyes of lust and greed. Then, grinning
fearfully, the whole pack sprang at their wounded brother; and on the
heath arose a grim struggle and a din such that one might have believed
the pillars of the earth would collapse in one crash. The ground quaked
and the snow was turned to a grisly pulp as former comrades tore the
son of the woods into pieces, the wolf whose blood Tuomas’s and Lauri’s
well-aimed bullets had set flowing. Then silence reigned again on the
night-clad heath. Only a soft panting and the snapping of bones was
heard, as with bloody faces and flashing eyes the brutes rent and
devoured their victim.

But the brothers already fared far from their terrible foe; and
delightfully had the murderous din of the wolves on Kiljava echoed
in their ears; for them it was the sweet and ravishing message of
salvation. Soon they had reached Kuttila’s big meadow, round which the
road made a detour over hilly ground. But to gain time they decided
to cut straight across the meadow. Under their combined weight the
fence gave and fell, and Valko, again with two of the brothers on his
back, stepped over it, and urged on by the men’s switches, set off at a
trot over the meadow’s smooth surface. And without delay, those of the
brothers whose turn it was to tread the snow, hurried after. Along the
meadow a winter track led to the village, and just at that movement a
number of travellers, in three sleighs, were moving over it. But great
was the alarm of both men and horses when they perceived the brothers
making towards them from the north. In the light of the moon they saw
seven men in their shirts, with guns on their shoulders and accompanied
by a horse, hastening in their direction; and they believed a host of
wicked demons from Impivaara’s caves was attacking them. The tumult and
din in the meadow was immense. Mad with fright, the travellers’ horses
gallopped hither and thither, while the men shouted or prayed, cursed
or raved in ringing voices. But the brothers cast hardly a glance at
this confusion, only ran madly across the meadow towards Jukola, and
the snow was cleft in smoke before them. They reached the fence on the
other side, and under their united pressure this too gave with a crash,
and soon they were all out on the hilly road again.

This night was to them of a truth a fearful and terrible night. Stoutly
they ran, with twinkling feet and panting wildly, while doubt glared
from their wooden-stiff glance, which was ever directed towards their
former home. So without a word they dashed onward, and swiftly the
snow-covered ground retreated beneath them. Until at last, having
reached the crest of a hilly field, they saw in the pale moonlight
Jukola standing on its hillside, and almost with one voice the cry:
‘Jukola, Jukola!’ broke from their lips. They ran on down the hill,
jumped the ditch like bewinged demons, and staggering uphill again,
stood on the threshold of the closed door of the farmhouse. Time to
knock and wait for admittance there was none, so putting forth all
their strength they flung forward, and with a crash and a clatter the
stout porch-door flew open. With a great banging and stamping they
rushed from the porch into the tupa, and on like a whirlwind towards
the embers in the fireplace, from which a luxurious warmth still
breathed. But great was the alarm of the tanner’s sleep-drunken family
at this intrusion, for they believed themselves overtaken by robbers.

THE TANNER. What monster enters the room of an honourable man
in this fashion on Christmas night? Answer; my gun is aimed!

TUOMAS. Leave the gun in peace, man.

AAPO. Don’t shoot the farm’s own people.

JUHANI. We are, God help us, from Impivaara.

TIMO. The seven sons of the former Jukola.

SIMEONI. The Lord ha’ mercy upon us! Seven souls are passing
to eternity this selfsame terrible moment. The Lord ha’ mercy upon us!

JUHANI. Fire burned down our good cabin in the forest and all
our belongings with it. Here we had to gallop like hares with no more
covering to our poor bodies than a rag of a shirt, a short shirt. And
that was a narrow escape.

THE TANNER’S WIFE. The Lord Jesus preserve us!

THE TANNER. Oh you poor lads!

JUHANI. Ay, is this a right state of things! Here we sit like
magpies, beseeching God’s mercy. Ah! I must cry.

THE WIFE. Poor, miserable children! Hurry, husband, and light
a fire.

EERO. Oh unhappy night, oh unhappy us!

AAPO. Oh night of terror, oh!

SIMEONI. Ah! oh!

JUHANI. Don’t cry, Eero, don’t cry, Simeoni, there’s no cause
at all to blubber, Aapo! Don’t cry, don’t cry, brother Eero; we’re
under shelter now. But it was a Turk’s march.

THE WIFE. Oh child of man on earth, alas!

JUHANI. Dear mistress, your tears and pity awaken my own tears
again. Ah! But don’t cry, mistress, don’t cry. Haven’t we escaped from
the clutches of wild beasts and the cold to the warmth of Christian
neighbours? And for that, thanks be to God.

TUOMAS. Wretched, wretched indeed is our state. But build up a
blazing fire for us, bring a couple of sheaves of straw for our beds on
the floor, and put Valko in the stable and hay before him.

AAPO. Forgive us, if we beg so hard in the name of the law and
for our lives’ sake for help and shelter. For our lives’ sake, for our
lives’ sake!

JUHANI. O angels of the Covenant of Mercy! the life left in me
is all at the tip of my nose, ready to fly off, to fly off. If there be
meat and ale in the house, bring it forth. Look you, this was a game, a
dusting we shall never forget. Bring meat and mulled ale for the sake
of our dear lives and souls.

THE TANNER. As fast as we can and all we can, good friends, as
soon as I have lit a light. You hapless fellows! in your shirts!

JUHANI. Not a rag on our heads or an old boot on our feet.
Look at these goose-legs, look!

THE TANNER. It fair makes my hair bristle. Come and look, wife.

TIMO. Look at my legs too!

JUHANI. What are yours to mine! There! Look, lad, at two roast
turnips.

TIMO. What about these!

JUHANI. What are thy trotters here.

TIMO. Eigh? Mine? Never mind. Just look at them. Is this human
flesh?

THE TANNER. Hurry, wife, and look.

THE WIFE. Well, good people and powers of Heaven!

JUHANI. Ay, is this a right state of things? Even Tuomas’s
eyes are wet. Don’t cry, Tuomas. What did I say? Is this a right state
of things?

TIMO. That’s how we human calves are chased down here.

THE WIFE. How they flush and glow, flush and glow! Good people!

TIMO. Like iron in the furnace, especially cast-iron. He-he!

THE WIFE. So red, so red! Lord Jesus save us!

JUHANI. They’re just ‘like unto molten brass’, as it says in
the Bible. The Lord help us poor wretches!

THE WIFE. Oh, poor children!

LAURI. Do as we begged you and as you promised.

AAPO. We beseech you, hurry! We’ll kindle the fire ourselves,
seeing that there is cordwood in yon corner, fine bark-clad faggots.

JUHANI. Here we are again in old Jukola, under its well-known
sooty rafters, and here we stop right until May-day. May the old tupa
be our lodging for one more winter.

TUOMAS. But wait till summer comes.

JUHANI. Wait till summer comes, and a cabin, grander than
ever, will stand on Impivaara clearing.

TUOMAS. As soon as the snow has gone, the forests and hills
will soon be echoing again with the ring of axes, and the Jukola
brothers will no longer need to beg for shelter of anyone.

JUHANI. Rightly said, Tuomas. Let’s forget the accursed luck
that caused our cabin to be burned down, and picture in our minds the
new cabin we shall soon have set together again.

TUOMAS. Know that all grudge vanished from my mind as soon as
we set out on our dreadful journey, and know that when thou blewest on
my neck like a swimming stallion as thou camest on behind, it cut me to
the heart.

JUHANI. Let us rejoice then that the journey is ended and that
we are once more in a warm room. Here comes food and drink, and there
two mighty sheaves of shining straw. Let us thank God, beloved brothers.

Merrily blazed the birchwood fire, and in its grateful warmth the
brothers wallowed and warmed themselves. And having stood there for
a while, seven men in a row, they moved to the table to enjoy the
meat, bread, sausage and mulled ale, all of which the tanner’s wife,
a pitying woman, set before them. The master himself took charge of
Valko, led him to the stable and filled the manger before him with hay.
And at last, following the men’s tracks, the dogs too came from their
dismal journey, came panting and fawning, with joy blazing in their
eyes. And with joy the brothers received them; they petted them, fed
them and fondled them.

But when the brothers had finished their meal, they sank down on their
bed of straw, and soon, wrapped in the soft blanket of sleep, forgot
the battle of life. Soundly they slept, and for long they were warmed
by the flickering fire, until it had dwindled into a heap of glowing
cinders. Then the mistress closed the dampers and a delicious warmth
streamed into the room from the fireplace; and having done so she lay
down on her own bed, and silence reigned in the room. But outside the
frost skipped crackling along the fences, the north wind blew roaring
under a star-glittering sky, whence a pallid moon looked smiling down.




CHAPTER VII


Early in the spring, already before the coming of the cranes, the
brothers forsook Jukola, and fleeing again to Impivaara clearing,
began at once with all speed to build themselves a new home. Soon on
the corner stones the stout logs rested and tier was added to tier.
Then for many days from the break of dawn on to evening twilight the
axes crashed and the heavy mallet thundered. Juhani, Aapo, Tuomas and
Simeoni sat each at his corner, while the others shaped and rolled the
logs up to the framework along sloping spars. Sweating, but always in
merry mood they toiled and steadily the house rose and around them the
resin spread its fresh perfume. But then days would go by when the
brothers moved not an axe, but snoring in heavy slumber spent the day
from eve to eve, sometimes until the morning of the third day.

Nevertheless, before the autumn sowings had yellowed in the village,
the house stood completed on Impivaara clearing; on the same spot, in
the same form and condition as the first; even grander than it stood
before. And now that their stout-walled cabin was ready, the brothers
were able to devote themselves once more with all their might to their
hunting trips. Both for the hunt and for the fishing on Lake Ilvesjärvi
they equipped themselves, set out with guns and traps on their
adventure, and the dogs too followed them with flaming eyes. Tirelessly
they roamed the wooded heights, bogs and backwoods, and cleft the
bright surface of the lake, wresting a livelihood both for the moment
and the coming, savage winter. And in those days many dwellers in the
woods and waters gave up their lives.

But I would now like to relate of old Tinder-Matti, the brothers’ sole
friend in these wilds. There was an old man, by name Tinder-Matti,
who lived on a hill close-covered with curlywooded birch, lived alone
in his tiny hut a few thousand paces from Impivaara Fell. He prepared
the softest tinder in all Häme, and strong and lasting birch-bark
shoes; and this work of his never failed to provide him with his daily
bread. In his younger days he had travelled in North Finland, whither
as trusted coachman he had followed the former vicar of the parish,
who had moved right to the boundaries of Lapland. There Tinder-Matti
had remained until the following summer, hunting bears, gluttons, and
cranes in the limitless boglands of the north. Of these excursions
he had much to relate; and his memory was matchlessly sharp; he
never forgot what once he heard or saw. Sharp were also his gifts
of observation and his eye; through bewildering forests he wandered
without ever losing his bearings. No place existed, however distant,
the direction of which he did not believe himself to know, without the
error of a hair’s breadth, after a single visit. He pointed towards
it immediately with his thumb; and it was vain to argue with him, so
firmly he trusted in his own knowledge. If for instance you asked him;
‘where is Vuokatti Fell?’ he would answer at once, butting his thumb at
the horizon: ‘there; look along my thumb; over there, couldst shoot it.
Kuusamo church is where that little dip is; but a tiny cock’s stride to
the right runs the line to Vuokatti Fell’. Similarly, if you asked him:
‘where is Porrassalmi battlefield?’ he would again answer straightway,
butting his thumb at the horizon: ‘there, look along my thumb; over
there, couldst shoot it.’ So exact was the old man, and indeed he knew
accurately the forests for many scores of miles around his hut. He
had tramped them in all directions, seeking now for fungoids, now for
birch-bark for shoes, now visiting his traps. It happened sometimes
that in his wanderings he would step over to the brothers’ cabin on
Impivaara. And then the brothers would enjoy a pleasant time: gaping
they listened to the old man’s tales, mouths open, ears erect as a
bat’s. Once on an evening in August he sat again with the brothers,
conversing of his hunting experiences in the lands of the north.

JUHANI. Ah, indeed, but what happened then?

TINDER-MATTI. Ay, what happened then? We went on to a great
big open space, a squelching bog, and slid on our skis over that
bubbling pit. We found many warm cranes’ nests, shot many shrieking
cranes, stuffed our bags with eggs and feathers, and of the cranes
each man threw a fine bunch over his shoulder. And then we had a dram.
We jogged off again, the cranes and dogs across our necks, over the
quaking and squelching, bubbling and hissing quagmire; and often a man
was near to sinking for good into the everlasting depths, a whining
hound on his neck. But we came however to an echoing hill, to firmer
ground, though drenched like drowned rats. There we camped for the
night, made a leaping fire and took off our sodden coats. And nothing
helped but we had to peel off trousers and shirts too, peel them off
like eels. Soon our clothes were steaming on the branches, cranes’
eggs hissing in the ashes, and we ourselves turning and wallowing in
the rare warmth of the fire, naked as midnight goblins. And then we
had a dram. But how think you the time passed? How went that May night
with us? There the dogs kept on for ever twitching their damp nostrils
and glowering up at the tree-tops. So at last we too started peeking
upwards, and what did we see?

JUHANI. Tell us a half-blind little bear-pup, I’ll lay.

TIMO. Or Old Horny or Bogey himself, I guess.

TINDER-MATTI. Neither one nor t’other, but there sat a great
dark-brown lump of a glutton in the fork of a dried-up, whiskery pine.
Heiskanen fired and missed; Little-Jussi fired and missed; I too let
fly in the end, but with almost the same blessing. The glutton only
swayed once and growled real fiercely, but still sat nicely on its
branch. Then Heiskanen shouted: ‘sorcerers’ tricks, sorcerers’ tricks!’
took a dead man’s tooth from his pocket, bit it a few times and spat
on the bullet that he rammed into his gun. Then he wagged his hand a
while in the air, and, fearfully rolling his eyes, uttered, the limb
of Satan, a couple of strange, awful words, fired, and down thumped
the glutton from the pine. But the imp was far from dead yet, and a
new game began. We ourselves, stark naked as we were, couldn’t well
go near the raging devil; nor did the dogs seem to like it, but there
they hopped and skipped a fathom or so away, while the glutton spat,
spat growling at them from the bushes. Black magic, you see, was still
at work. But Heiskanen began gabbling his awful words again, wagging
his hand and rolling his eyes fearfully. And now when one of the dogs
charged right at the red-mawed monster, flew at it like a crackling
rocket, a real shindy arose. Well, son of a lord, that dog shook the
poor glutton like that, and that, and that! Deuce take me! you never
saw such a worrying and dusting in all your days, and that’s truth.

JUHANI. Ten thousand flaming devils!

TIMO. That would have been fine to see!

TINDER-MATTI. It was a merry game and jolly, surely.

TIMO. And then you stuffed the glutton into your bags?

TINDER-MATTI. ’Twas a fine old rogue for any bag; a fat
rascal. Ay, and then we had a dram. We put on our coats again, dry as
powder, and laid ourselves peacefully to sleep in the warmth of the
dancing fire. But ’twas little the sleep we got, what with sorcerers’
arrows flying all the time like fiery serpents criss-cross through the
air over our reeling heads. Often enough, Heiskanen bounced up, crying
in a loud voice: ‘out, sorcerers’ arrow, out, sorcerers’ arrow!’ and
with a roar many of them fell, some in the forest, some in the grey
bog, but still more went skimming along their smooth track without
heeding his shout. And once we heard, sweeping from north to south, a
deucedly angry and swift puffing that was followed for long by little
squeakings. ‘What kind of a goblin was that scurried past?’ I asked
Heiskanen, who answered after a while in a growl: ‘that was the Old
’Un himself passing by’. An hour went by again and another, and fire
kept flashing in the mild, muggy air. Then, from the edge of the bog to
the east, there came a sudden noise like the roar of mossy firs, and a
moment later from the bog’s western side, another noise answered, but
softer, like the rustle of a young birch-wood. ‘What roar was that over
there, and what rustle this over here?’ I asked again, and Heiskanen
growled at last: ‘th’ old Spirit of the Firs spoke to his daughters.’
The night passed, anyhow, and in time morning dawned, and we set off
again. But that very minute we saw, right at the edge of the forest, a
grey wolf, the damnedest big one for size, that flew off like a stack
of peas in a whirlwind. All we saw of it at last was its left hind leg,
and lifting my gun I shot it right through the paw, snapped it in two
like a piece of crackling, though he saved his skin after all. Broke
the poor beggar’s paw in two.

TIMO. The deuce! Paw broken off like an icicle, and lying
there before you on the ground like a pig’s trotter at Shrovetide?

TINDER-MATTI. Well, not quite like that.

TUOMAS. How did you know it was broken then?

TINDER-MATTI. We chased it a mighty long way and saw several
times that where the son of a wolf had trodden, his dragging, waggling
paw had made like number tens in the sand.

TIMO. Well, may the Old ’Un take me! Number tens in the sand?
Hi-hi-hi!

TINDER-MATTI. Plain number tens.

JUHANI. That wolf had a hot time.

TINDER-MATTI. The wolf had a hot time, if the men had too. But
the dogs, rot them, wouldn’t budge a yard from our feet, but jogged
along sad-like, tails drooping, the old dogs that had always been so
brave.

AAPO. What had taken the spirit out of them?

TINDER-MATTI. Black magic, the bewitched spell-bound vapours
of which the air was full as a battlefield with smoke. Heiskanen sure
did his best, shouted charms and cursed, wagging his hand, but it was
all no use. And Little-Jussi, the scamp, scurried along like a ball,
pounding the earth and sweating hard. For the lad had no more leg than
three spans of your hand at the very most; but he’d a real badger’s
back, long and tough. Tough he was altogether, devilish tough, and
hard as any badger. Right long he dusted after that wolf, which ran on
limping ahead; but it was no use, he had to leave old wagtail to the
forest. Ay; and then we had a dram. And when this was done we set off
home again, carrying our rich bag. There we marched, bags under our
arms, the bags full of eggs and feathers and this and that, little game
from the forests; our skis and the cranes on our backs, guns in fists;
and the hairy glutton dangled on each of our shoulders in turn: so we
fared. But on the edge of the clouds flew a little chattering snipe;
I shot that and put it in my bag. Then after walking a while I saw a
flying squirrel, flat, with great eyes, in the crown of a pine; I shot
that too and put it in my bag.

We came at last to high open clearings, and once in the south we saw
Turkkila Farm, where we had begun our stiff journey. We came to a
bloodstained spot which the master of Turkkila had pointed out to us
on our way to the hunt as the place where a bear had killed a fine
stallion only two days ago. We gazed awhile at Bruin’s bloody table
and I noticed at once he had since been, likely at sunset the evening
before, to enjoy the remains of his joint. I now reasoned that he would
come again when this day faded, and so decided to stop and wait for
him; but on to Turkkila went the others to prepare a mighty supper.
There I stood then and pondered, thought hard, holding my head, how
best to await my visitor on the open clearing, where there wasn’t a
single tree to climb. But ‘better be smart than be quick’. I hit on a
trick at last, a downright good plan. Quite near I saw a tarry stump,
black, and enormously big, its roots lifted into the air by the spring
thaws, at least a yard high. I chopped off the middle root that stuck
out downward to the right, pulled it clean out and opened up the hole
a bit more. Into this I crawled, and thrusting out the muzzle of my
gun towards the bloody field, began thus sheltered to wait for Bruin’s
coming, a stout castle over me. He came, waddling along from the
plain, drove his teeth into the torn thigh of the dead stallion, and
I decided as carefully as I could to give him a dose of lead in the
forehead. But the deuce, anyhow! just then the little brass strip on
the stock of my gun made the weeniest clink against the tin button of
my coat, and the bear’s sharp ear caught the tinkle at once. In a rage,
he charged at me, but was met with a bang. Taking no notice he came on,
shrieking on a fearful note. Then there was a crashing over my head:
the roots crackled and the earth shook as the many-pronged stump rose
up over me. And I, poor lad, thought my end had come, and only waited,
gun in hand, when the monster’s open maw would yawn before me. But the
racket ended suddenly and all was quiet, still as the grave, and there
was no tussle between me and the bear as I had expected. I waited a
moment yet, but at last I peeped through the skyward-pointing roots to
see what was on the other side, and there lay the bear stone dead, the
uprooted stump in its arms and blood flowing from its mighty chest into
the earth. But hallelujah! thinks I, standing a free man again under
the free sky. For the stump had been lifted real neatly from around me.

JUHANI. ‘Hell’, said Heskuun-Jaakko!

TIMO. The Seven Smiths take me!

JUHANI. The funniest scrap on the face of the earth!

TUOMAS. A brave scrap, a manly scrap, both on Bruin’s side and
yours!

JUHANI. O thou big black bull!

TIMO. The deuce! That’s all I can say. But what then?

TINDER-MATTI. Well, thou canst guess what happened then, canst
guess that the bang carried to Turkkila like from the bottom of a
barrel and soon brought men on to the clearing like midges. And then a
din and shouting arose as Bruin was carried to the house on a bending,
dancing pole. There was a giant for you: Hanging from a rafter he
darkened the big tupa at Turkkila as a thick thundercloud does the sky.
Such were that day’s doings, that day’s and that trip’s. And then we
had a dram.

JUHANI. And celebrated a merry wake.

TINDER-MATTI. The wake began at Turkkila and ended at the
vicar’s, ended with greasy faces and filmy eyes. So it was, and
these days have been and gone. But gladly the old man remembers the
adventures of the days of his best manhood and gladly he speaks of them.

AAPO. And right glad are we to hear them.

JUHANI. Keep on telling them till dawn, and we’ll forget
there’s sleep in the world.

TINDER-MATTI. Well, it’s time to start crawling off to my lair
again; ay, it’s time. God watch over you, brothers!

JUHANI. The Lord preserve you, honoured Matti.

AAPO. The best of health, and welcome to our hut always.

Matti departed, axe on shoulder, to his little hut on the birch-clad
luxuriant hill, far away from the village. But the brothers prepared
for their nightly repose, for darkness already triumphed, and the
failing light of evening shone sadly through the narrow window-holes
of their cabin. But for long the thoughts swarmed feverishly in
their brains, driving away refreshing sleep. They pondered over
Tinder-Matti’s tales of the deserts of the north, of the bewitched air
of those places and the sorcerer’s arrows speeding hissing from every
quarter of the dark night. And like to the sparkle of the arrows and
the flaming of the guns, so flamed in their breasts a strange desire
and eagerness. Above all was their lust whetted by the thought of the
crane, that bird of wise and arrogant eye, whose austere cry echoes
through the northern boglands; and to meet their thoughts came a
breath of the pleasant warmth of feathered nests, a vision of gleaming
eggs in nests hidden away in the bog-bilberry bushes. To hunt this
long-necked prey and despoil its nests, for this the brothers now
lusted. Powerfully the awe-inspiring gloom of the northern bogs fired
their imaginations.

Longer than any other, Juhani lay awake in his bed. He pondered over
the best way to arrange a hunting-trip in his own district that would
compare with the one newly related from the lands of darkness. He
thought of Kourusuo Bog, where, although cranes there were none, there
were plenty of speckly-feathered wild ducks. And with the interlarded
drinks of the northern hunters haunting his mind with a strange
fascination, he bethought him that spirits were to be had at Viertola
Manor. And so he finally built up in his mind a copy of the brave hunt
of the north, and having decided to carry it into effect the very
next day, fell asleep at last; but in his sleep he battled long on
Tinder-Matti’s mighty adventure. Once he started up dreaming from his
couch, crying in a fearful voice: ‘The glutton, the glutton! Seize
the crane-necked devil!’ To this shout the others, but half-awakened,
answered with angry grunts from their berths; soon, however, they were
asleep again. But Juhani stared around him for long before he realized
that he stood not on the vapoury plains of Lapland, between the bogs,
on a grey neck of land, but on the peaceful gallery of his own home.
Then his mind gradually cleared, he dropped down on his bed again and
slept undisturbed. But on the morrow, awakening, he remembered his
decision of the night and began at once to introduce the matter to the
others.

JUHANI. Brothers, listen to what I say and to what I would
impress on you. I have remembered a place that teems with game and
marvel greatly that to this day we should have forgotten Kourusuo,
where water-fowl swarm in the reeds and clear pools without count or
number. Let us go and hunt there and we shall bring back wild duck by
the sackful.

TUOMAS. I’m with thee.

TIMO. And willingly.

EERO. I too; and as we plod over the bog I shall fancy myself
Little-Jussi on the Lapland marshes. I’m with thee!

AAPO. I too will not oppose a plan that can bring us food for
many days.

JUHANI. We decide on the trip then. But it’s a fearful way to
Kourusuo, a wolf’s league, and we shall be gone at least one night.
Therefore, I believe a drink would do us no harm, camping under the
naked sky.

TUOMAS. There’s spirits at Viertola.

JUHANI. Good spirits too.

TUOMAS. Seven spans, boys!

JUHANI. Right! a span each.

AAPO. Maybe we’ll leave out the spirits, to which luckily for
us we are unused.

JUHANI. Thou hast taken a dram now and then, both thou and I.

EERO. Grasp, Aapo, the childish hint of the man. Permit us
to be able to say in our time: ‘and then we had a dram,’ when as
grey-haired gaffers we relate the adventures of our youth to gaping
children. Allow us to imagine that we are giving young gluttons a hot
time in the north.

JUHANI. More nonsense! Isn’t it only right and just that a man
should feed his carcase? On this trip we shall often enough be treading
bogs and squelching quagmires, and spending our nights wet through on
beds of bear-moss. At such times a little gulp from a pocket-flask can
do good, think I. We deem it best therefore that we shall not lack a
drop of medicine in our bags when we set out. And now let Lauri-lad go
to Viertola, our best fox-skin in his pouch; and spirits will soon be
forthcoming.

Lauri set off to bring spirits from Viertola, for a cordial on the
wild-duck hunt on Kourusuo Bog. About five thousand paces from
Impivaara, on land belonging to Viertola, lies this bog, wide,
surrounded by sombre forests. Its surface, a favourite resort of wild
duck, shows in succession clear-watered pools, high clusters of reeds
and hummocky islets with dying pines. Hither the brothers had decided
to march to harry the creaking wild duck, hoping for a rich booty.

Lauri came from Viertola bringing sparkling spirits in a tin bottle,
their father’s former hunting flask. But as well as spirits he brought
important news from the forest which stirred the brothers’ minds to a
still keener enthusiasm. He related that a bear had felled one of the
best bulls in the Viertola herds, and even knew the site of the kill,
which was north of Impivaara on Viertola ground, but near the Jukola
forest boundary. Past this spot the brothers now laid their route,
deciding not to set off until the day inclined to evening. In this way
they might perhaps meet the bear, whose habit it is to return at sunset
to enjoy the remains of his prey. So at least they hoped. And when a
hearty dinner had been eaten and the afternoon declined, they departed
on their hunt, heavily equipped: birch-bark knapsacks on their backs
and stiff charges in their guns. Last came Lauri, leading the dogs on
a leash and carrying in his pack the seven spans of spirits. He had
been ordered to halt with the dogs about three hundred paces from the
site of the kill, and was to release Killi and Kiiski on hearing shouts
or the sound of firing. He acted accordingly, and stopped in time at
the foot of a fir to await the outcome. The others approached nearer
the spot where the bull had been felled and found the half-devoured
carcase on bloodstained ground in a dark clump of spruce. Hiding
themselves in a low but dense thicket of young firs within reasonable
firing-distance, they prepared to wait.

A fairly long spell passed. But at last a stealthy shuffling and the
creak of twigs was heard from the plain, and it became clear that their
guest approached his feast. And so it turned out to be. Between the
trees, softly and with caution, an unusually large bear drew near. But
it seemed he scented danger; for grunting and turning his muzzle from
side to side, he halted a long way from his victim. Long he hesitated,
and it looked at last as though he was inclined to turn back, without
approaching within gunshot of the men. In deepest silence the brothers
waited in their thicket, until finally Timo, heedless of the others’
forbidding gestures, began, creeping in a wide curve, to approach the
ferocious beast. And then, thinking himself sufficiently close to the
bear, he fired; but only the powder flashed in his pan and the charge
in his barrel failed to ignite. Enraged, like a huge moss-covered
stone, Bruin now charged at the man, who without delay threw himself
down on his face, and remained there motionless. The brute sniffed at
him, nosed and tugged, grunting and blowing angrily. In all likelihood
Timo’s doom had been sealed, if Juhani had not sped to his assistance,
firing at the bear’s backbone. Lower he dared not aim, remembering his
brother, who lay beneath the monster. But the bullet missed a vital
spot at least, for in greater rage than ever the sprucewood’s king now
rushed at Juhani, leaving Timo to sniff the soil. Then Juhani, his
life at stake, turned the stock of his gun towards the brute’s open
jaws, and an awful struggle seemed imminent. But now Tuomas fired,
sending a fiery bullet into the animal’s thigh. Afraid, he too, for his
brother, he was unable to aim at the head or breast, where a wound is
more likely to prove mortal. Still, the brute now tasted lead in its
system, and the blood streamed down its sturdy, rounded limb. Furious,
screaming terribly, it flew at Tuomas, but met with so deadly a blow on
its forehead from the stock of the man’s gun that, shaking its head,
it was brought up in its charge. And so the combatants stood awhile,
defiantly regarding each other.

Then the dogs rushed forward, approaching as swiftly and silently as
two streaks of lightning, until, having reached the ruffled bear, a
virulent din arose. Killi raged at the bear to its face, keeping,
however, a few paces distant. Kiiski stormed in the rear, even daring,
now and again, a hurried tweak at its woolly hindquarters, but leapt,
however, swiftly aside whenever the bear, like a grey-black enormous
haycock, turned round. Finally, after a few fruitless lunges at its
tormentors, the bear fled, with the yelping hounds at its heels.

All this occurred with extreme rapidity and before the other brothers
had arrived on the scene of the conflict. Meanwhile Juhani and Tuomas
quickly reloaded, hoping to catch up with the bear once more. Timo,
too, gradually rose from the ground and stared around him a moment
as though unaware where the north was, whence the wind then blew.
Heatedly the others now scolded him for the foolish temerity that might
easily have cost human lives and had perhaps spoiled the chase for
good. Without answering a word, Timo sat on a hummock, opening up the
touch-hole of his gun and chipping its flint sharper with the back of
his knife. And soon they all stood ready to continue the hunt.

Farther and farther the barking of the dogs receded, until it was
almost inaudible, and the brothers began wondering whether they would
ever meet with their prey again. But after a while the voices of Killi
and Kiiski echoed plainer, steadily approaching, and it became clear
that the bear was completing its customary circle, and so would return
to the spot whence it had started. The brothers arranged themselves
in comfortable positions, gun in hand, to await the approaching hunt.
In a little grassy clearing stood Simeoni, and a short distance away
Lauri, both stock-still, silent as two statues. At full speed, so that
the earth thundered, the bear drew nigh, showing its dark open mouth.
Straight towards Simeoni the panting monster sped. The man fired, and
down tumbled the bear to the grass, only to rise again and charge at
the shooter. Then came the flash of Lauri’s gun, a sharp report echoed
around, and the bear collapsed silently at Simeoni’s feet. There it
rested, not a limb moving, and the blood flowed from its head and chest.

All the brothers gathered quickly round the fallen bear; it was a
huge, aged male. They saw now that its skull had been pierced close
to the root of its ear, and that its side likewise had been pierced.
The former wound all knew had been caused by Lauri’s bullet; for an
animal whose brain has been pierced falls immediately, never to rise.
Satisfied, the hunters sat round the thick-pelted hero of the woods,
preparing to drink to the kill. Content also, with noble gaze, the dogs
sat beside their fallen enemy. The evening was fair, the wind had died
down, and the sun sank into the lap of the dark woods. Pleasant it was
to rest in so delicious an evening hour, after the wild and heated
encounter.

JUHANI. The first drink is Lauri’s. He shot like a man, hit
the beggar in a real golden spot, and down on his palms flashed the
bear like grass before the scythe. A good gulp, my lad!

LAURI. What if I too were to let a drink slide down my throat
for once?

JUHANI. Thou beginner on the path of alcohol, strange to its
very taste, innocent yet as a lamb.

LAURI. I know its taste, but how the world feels when a merry
lad dances in his cups, that I truly don’t know.

AAPO. Think a while, Lauri, and I would sooner say thee nay
than yea.

LAURI. Here’s to it!

AAPO. And let us hope that this is not the beginning of a
harmful habit.

LAURI. What art thou jawing about? Take a drop of this, now
that we have reason to be a little merry.

JUHANI. There our bogey lies like a great heap of hay, and the
lives of many bulls and horses are saved.

TIMO. I know that next time we meet, the master of Viertola
will stuff a bottle into our bosoms for nothing, a bottle or two.

JUHANI. I wouldn’t call that much, seeing that we have saved
his herd of bulls from the monster there.

AAPO. But there’s a herd for you; forty head of horns. All the
summer they live in the forests, night and day, but when winter comes
they draw all the manor dung into the fields. But that free life of
theirs in the woods all the summer makes them nearly wild.

JUHANI. God keep us from meeting them with the dogs; they’d
soon make mincemeat of both a man and his dogs. Let us remember the
danger Nikkilä got into amongst the Honkamäki bulls; his danger was
great although the number of beasts was not as terrifying as in this
glowering Viertola herd. Through his dogs, which in a scrimmage of
this kind always take shelter with their master, death would have
overtaken him in the end, if he hadn’t come to a strong pasturage fence
that stopped the mad charge of the bulls like a protecting castle wall.

AAPO. Let us be careful. A little while ago I heard something
that sounded like a hoarse bellow from yon hill. To my belief they are
not far away. But what is Eero up to with that boulder?

EERO. There’s a badger here, in this hole under the stone.

JUHANI. Would that be possible?

EERO. Surely. Tracks lead into the hole but none out, as I can
see in this sand.

AAPO. Show the tracks to the dogs, and the wagging of their
tails will soon show whether there are lodgers there.

JUHANI. Hither, Killi and Kiiski!

TUOMAS. They are off on their own again, and, I’m thinking, on
the track of a hare.

EERO. Together we could easily lever up this stone.

TUOMAS. Jobs more foolish have been tried. Give me thy axe,
Juhani, and I’ll cut a stout bar for each of us, and then we can all
lift up the stone when the dogs come.

So they spoke; and with Juhani’s axe Tuomas cut a thick staff for each
of the men, four of birch and three of mountain ash. But suddenly, from
the forest, they heard a furious crashing and roaring, which seemed to
approach them at great speed. In amaze the brothers listened, staves
in hand, listened and waited for what the forest would reveal. A
loud, confused bellowing carried thence; at intervals the dogs yelped
pitiably; and soon a dreadful vision broke on their sight. In mad
career, ten furious bulls galloped towards the men, sweeping before
them the dogs, which, fleeing for their lives, hurried to their
masters’ side. But at this the men’s air bristled, and cold shivers
ran down their bodies. And without pausing the bulls charged at them,
bellowing deafeningly; their onslaught was stoutly met, and a terrible
battle ensued. With their strong staves the brothers laid about them,
splitting horned heads, and already two of the bulls lay on the field,
brandishing their hooves in the air. But death seemed nigh for the
brothers, too. Timo fell, and a bull bent down ready to pierce his
breast; but then Tuomas’s ashen stave fell heavily, and falling, broke
the bull’s back. With a groan the beast sank lifeless to the ground,
and Timo was saved. A similar doom threatened Aapo, but he was saved by
Juhani and Eero. Mightily Juhani laid about the bull, hitting it with
his cudgel between the horns, Eero tearing meanwhile at its tail to
alter its position, until this beast too lay on the ground, brandishing
its hooves. In the heat of the conflict Timo lost his staff of birch,
but soon perceived Juhani’s axe on the grass; snatching up this, he
began laying about him with fiery energy. Right and left he smote:
dreadfully the bulls’ stomachs opened, and bubbling, the water, blood
and offal poured on to the earth. So, pale of visage, fought the men,
in the jaws of death; and the dogs too did their best, plying their
teeth like iron pincers at the brutes’ throats. Loud in this confusion
was the din and turmoil; up and down danced the staves, high in the air
flew the loosened horns of the bulls, and the shouts of the brothers,
the snarling of the dogs and the bellowing of the beasts mingled in one
terrific noise.

But at last the combat ended. Seven bulls lay lifeless on the field,
and three fled, one with a single horn, one with none, one with a
sorely battered carcase. Pale and wild of eye, the brothers stood on
the bloodstained battlefield. Gory all over stood Timo, a bloody,
bedraggled axe in his hand, like a woodcutter amidst fallen trees.
Hardly could they visualize what had befallen. When they reflected upon
the conflict, which like a whirlwind had come upon them, raged a moment
in their midst and with equal suddenness ceased, it all seemed like a
dreadful dream. Horrorstricken, they viewed the number of animals on
the bloodstained ground before them: the sprucewood bear, terrifically
large, and seven fat bulls. They too had experienced hard knocks in
the fight, especially Aapo, Juhani and Timo; nevertheless, all of them
still stood on their feet. And there they now stood, staves in hand,
panting, perspiring and silently regarding each other.

But hardly had they had time to breathe before a new danger approached,
greater by far than the first. It was as though a hurricane had
followed a squall. It seemed indeed that the end of the world was now
come. The earth shook as in an earthquake, the forest crashed and
a mighty roaring filled the still evening air as three and thirty
maddened bulls approached them at a gallop. The brothers listened
to the tumult, eyes round in their heads, listened a moment without
stirring, dumb as a harried herd of swine stands dumb in the bushes
beside a fence, listening ears acock for the renewed approach of their
pursuer. Thus the brothers too listened until the horde of bulls broke
from the forest. At that they threw away their staves, snatched their
guns, and with the dogs fled at full speed; and snorting, the bulls
followed them. Towards the boundary-fence between the Viertola forests
and their own the brothers hastened. A shallow pool, decked with the
semblance of green turf, opened in their path; but there was no time
for detours, and so without hesitating they ran through it. The water
roared as they disappeared in a shower of foam and spray, but almost
at the same moment they came into sight again. Their flight reminded
one of the moon’s passage through the blue meadows of the sky. Not
for her to move aside for the cloud which attempts to bar her path;
but unheedingly she sails through it and brighter than before appears
again on its farther side. And her pilgrimage is grave and solemn.
But the Jukola brothers ran like hares and wild goats; for death ran
at their heels. A fence, new and strong, barred their path, and like
fire the brothers flew over it, pausing a score of paces away on the
smooth clearing on its other side to see whether the fence would save
them. The raving, trumpeting herd of bulls drew near; a loud crash was
heard; and down fell the spruce fence, and the bulls were nearer to
the brothers than before. Ever onward sped the chase across the hollow
clearing: the men and the dogs ahead, the bulls behind, snorting and
kicking up clods and clouds of sand, as the winter winds drive the
smoking snow high into the air. At furious speed the brothers ran, the
terror of death in their hearts, for they believed that it was already
the last lap of the road of their lives they were treading.

Then a cry was heard from Aapo’s lips: ‘bags off your backs, but
keep the guns!’ And immediately six birch-bark knapsacks rolled to
the ground; the seventh still danced on Lauri’s back, for he was not
yet inclined to part with his. Little, however, did this avail them;
for closer and closer the terrible drumming and roaring approached.
And again a despairing, shrieking cry broke from Aapo’s lips: ‘to
the Devil’s Rock, to the Devil’s Rock!’ by which he meant a certain
rock, enormously large, which stood in a sombre forest. Towards this
the brothers now hastened and soon stood at its foot, and then like
lightning the men and dogs scrambled up to its crown. The moss flew far
around as their hands clutched at the corners of the rock; firmer,
sharper and more sure by far than ever the crooked claws of a glutton,
their fingers seized on the rock. Thus they were saved from an awful
death, but close had the abyss been to them. Hardly had they reached
the rock before the horde of bulls stormed around them, rumbling and
pawing the earth. This rock, the brothers’ shelter, was almost square
in shape, a fragment of rock a fathom high which stood in the forest
about three hundred paces from the edge of the clearing. On this the
brothers now sat, perspiring and panting fearfully after their run from
angry death. Silent, uttering not a word, they sat for long. But at
last Juhani opened his lips.

JUHANI. Here we are, brothers, and let us thank our luck for
that. For this was a march we shall remember as long as there are bulls
in the world.

AAPO. Here we are, but how are we to get away? Bulls are
obstinate brutes, and these here are in a furious rage over the death
of their comrades, which they would now like to avenge on our dogs with
interest.

JUHANI. And we’d be served from the same ladle.

AAPO. But for the lucky height of this rock.

JUHANI. It was surely a welcome find for us. In truth! Like
squirrels, we climbed swiftly up it.

EERO. ‘And then we had a dram’.

JUHANI. Just so! Thanks be to God that we still have the
spirits, if it turns out that we lads have to learn to fast up here.

LAURI. I didn’t drop my knapsack, I.

JUHANI. Thanks to thee too, brother mine. But bring forth thy
tin flask, take a good gulp at it and then set it going round. Our
hearts need a little strengthening now.

AAPO. Such stuff has to be enjoyed with caution in a dangerous
situation like this.

JUHANI. A wholesome reminder. But take a moderate pull at that.

AAPO. Moderation’s always best. Let us remember that this is
our bed too, and may be for more than one night.

JUHANI. God preserve us from that! I hope hunger will soon
drive away that forest of horns around us. Ay, here we sit like seven
owls in the woods, on this mossy Devil’s Rock. How did it get that name?

AAPO. From a certain strange tale.

JUHANI. Tell us it now to pass our time. For this is just the
place for tales, tales and stories.

And this tale of the rock was now told them by Aapo.

There lived once in his castle on the Lapland fells a mighty prince
of the Underworld, the most powerful sorcerer in the north. He had an
elk, beautiful and nobly formed, matchlessly swift at running. This
lovely animal set out one day in early spring to frisk on the frozen
snowdrifts, and ended by starting to run round the whole of Finland.
Then many an archer, seeing the golden-pelted sweet-dyed deer, hastened
to the chase with his arrows of tempered steel. But none could follow
it, for right quickly it left a skiing huntsman behind. It came at
last to Häme, where lived a mighty skier and great marksman. This
man now scented the magnificent elk of the Underworld and set off
swiftly to ensnare it, gliding on his smooth skis, a powerful bow on
his shoulder. At a shrieking pace the deer galloped over the frozen
snow, but at still swifter pace the archer followed. So they ran for
long over plains and steep hills, up and down. But at last weariness
began to overcome the deer; already he panted greatly as he ran; his
speed weakened and the man approached closer and closer. Then a wonder
occurred that has been seen before to hold back a marksman’s arrow.
Suddenly the elk turned and approached its pursuer with beseeching
glance and shedding quick tears. But without the slightest hesitation
the pitiless man shot his bolt, piercing the beautiful animal’s brow;
and thus the deer from the Underworld fell, dyeing the snow with its
blood.

Then the Prince of the Underworld, pacing the dismal valleys of the
uttermost north, felt a sudden spasm at his heart and knew at once that
his golden elk walked in danger. He hurried to the fell on which his
castle stood and with his magic spy-glass began looking towards the
south. And far away in a sombre spruce-wood he saw his deer, which,
bathed in blood, writhed in its death agony; and he saw the murderer
standing by his victim with rejoicing glance. Then a terrible rage
possessed him; he snatched a huge, square block of stone from the wall
of his castle and flung it high in the air, flying towards the archer
in Häme’s forest. The mighty rock sped onward with a great roaring
sound, cleaving the windy world of cloud in a wide arc. It rose to the
crest of the sky, sank down again, sank southward, and exactly on the
marksman’s brow this unspeakable weight fell, burying the man beneath
it.

JUHANI. And the man’s death was our luck. Where should we be
now without this stone? There in the forest, carrion and crow’s-meat,
we’d be lying.

TUOMAS. We shall get our fill of this stone yet. I’ll stand
for that.

JUHANI. May God help us in time!

TIMO. We lads will have to snore in layers here, packed on
each others’ backs like young swallows in a nest.

AAPO. That won’t do. A sleep-fuddled man would soon roll off,
a prey to the bulls. So let two of us, one on each side, always keep
watch over our sleeping brothers.

JUHANI. Wise advice, and let us keep to it closely; this is
to be our lodging for this night at least. That we can see already
from the movements of the bulls. There three of the scoundrels lie,
basking on their accursed bellies, puffing and chewing. The devils! But
go to sleep, lads; Aapo and I will keep watch up to somewhere about
midnight. Go to bed, go to bed. The Lord bless us!

AAPO. Oh we miserable wretches!

SIMEONI. To what pitch have we unlucky lads come!

JUHANI. To misery, great misery. But go to sleep; bless your
souls and bodies and sleep in the Lord’s name.

So they spent their night: two always awake, while the others
slept on the moss-covered rock; and long was the night. Day broke,
however, at last; the sun rose and climbed up the sky, but their fate
remained unchanged; always the same horns, on every side, danced
round the Devil’s Rock, and hunger already assailed them fiercely.
Notwithstanding, they still hoped that the same pitiless guest would
work his will in the stomachs of the bulls, forcing them in the end to
seek other pastures. Thus hoping, they awaited the withdrawal of their
foes. But to their horror they soon observed that there was sufficient
food for the brutes in the moist backwoods’ sedge around the rock. This
the bulls now began solemnly tugging, moving on no farther but that the
mossy rock was constantly in sight.

JUHANI. They’re not even thinking of shifting. They’re taking
up, the devil seize them, their quarters here until the winter.

EERO. The devil’s in their skins.

TIMO. What’s lacking for them here? The forest gives them both
food and drink; but dry moss is our bread and meat.

SIMEONI. The matter is this, that we sit here for our dogs’
sakes. I fear our only road to salvation is to throw down Killi and
Kiiski as a sacrifice to the bulls.

JUHANI. Cruel advice.

AAPO. That we shall not lightly follow.

JUHANI. Not as long as Jukola’s Juho stands upright.

TUOMAS. Should we to save our skins cast away those who have
saved our lives many times over from the murderous claws of wild
beasts? And would it even help us? I doubt it.

JUHANI. I too. The bulls there, having made rags of our dogs,
would just start waiting for something else to spear with their horns.
That’s sure.

SIMEONI. Ay, ay, but what way out shall we find when hunger
begins to squeal in earnest in our bellies?

JUHANI. It’ll squeal at first in our stomachs, but from there
it soon shoots up to the beating heart of a man, like a cat on a fat
mouse, and ’tis then a strong man crumples up. Hard, hard days for a
man. What way out can we find? ask I too.

AAPO. Let’s all shout loudly with one mouth; perhaps the sound
might be heard by some one in the forest, or carry right to Viertola
and set the people there guessing.

JUHANI. That’s a trick worth trying.

TIMO. Let’s shout hard.

JUHANI. Like mad. Let us all break out together into one
world’s marvel of a shout. All together, and its effect will be more
than grand. There now, let’s get up and be ready. When I clap my hands
the third time, we yell, and yell like seven men. One, two three!

They shouted together with all their might and all at the same time, so
that the rock and the earth beneath it rang, and even the bulls rushed
startled a few paces from the stone. Fearsome was the sudden scream
of the seven men, which was followed by a long-drawn quivering cry,
in which the plaintive howling of the dogs was further mingled. They
shouted five long shouts, and the forest roared and the echoes rolled
afar. But when the fifth and hardest shout was over, they sat down to
breathe a while. Having rested, they repeated the work, shouting seven
times, and then began to await what the effect would be. With blackened
faces and bloodshot eyes they sat on the mossy rock, and the bellows of
their chests worked fiercely.

JUHANI. Let’s wait and see what this does, let’s wait. Folk
are crazy if they can’t understand that a crowd of men don’t scream
like this except in the greatest danger. Let’s wait.

EERO. But if no help comes after all this noise, we are surely
dead men. The second sun sinks already in the west and our hunger grows
fierce.

SIMEONI. God ha’ mercy on us! one night and a day and a half
have gone since our last meal.

TIMO. That’s so. Listen to the rumbling in my stomach,
rumblings and growlings and even little pipings. This is hard.

JUHANI. Hard, hard; I know it and believe it, having peeped
into my own belly.

SIMEONI. Long is the day of a hungry man!

TIMO. Ay, it’s long.

JUHANI. Long and dark! Are even Aapo’s brains emptied? Canst
thou not remember even the caw of a crow or the chatter of a barnyard
owl to tell us, sitting here on Hunger’s terrible isle.

AAPO. I remember one tale that hunger brings to my mind;
though it won’t make us forget the need for refreshing our bodies, but
only remind us of food and drink.

JUHANI. Thou meanest the man in the mountain. I have heard it.

TIMO. But to me it is new; tell it, brother Aapo.

SIMEONI. Tell it, tell it!

AAPO. It is the tale of a man, a noble hero of the Faith, who
sat for a time imprisoned in Impivaara’s caves, like aforetime the Pale
Maiden, although for other reasons.

And Aapo told them this tale:

Once upon a time, when the Christian Faith and paganism still fought
together in Häme, there was amongst those converted a good man, pious
and eager to spread the new religion, which he practised with passion
in the shelter of Sweden’s arms. But those armoured heroes had to
return suddenly to their own fatherland and the baptized inhabitants of
Häme fell under the terriblest persecution of their heathen brothers.
Many were killed in awful ways, while others sought to save themselves
by flight into the tortuous backwoods, the caves on the fells, in
short, anywhere. This pious man fled to Impivaara’s caverns; but his
persecutors, following on his tracks in their thirst for revenge, soon
found out where he had hidden himself. ‘Shut the wolf up in his own
lair!’ they shouted with wicked joy, built up the opening to the cavern
securely, and left the man to perish of hunger and darkness.

A miserable end would have befallen him now, if Heaven had not worked
a new miracle. Scarce had the last gleam of daylight fled from its
mouth, when the spacious cave was lit by the most wondrous, silvery
light; and thus in the heart of the chilly rock the man had his own
mild heavenly daylight. And yet other miracles occurred. Behold, from
the floor of the cavern burst a tinkling spring, the waters of which
were not lessened by use; and thus the man always had refreshing drink
in his rocky chamber. And yet from the brink of the spring rose up a
beautiful, blossoming tree, bearing the sweetest fruits, that were
never lessened by taking from them; and of these the man had his
delicious food. Here he spent his days, praising the Lord, here his
nights were spent, dreaming of the lands of the blessed. And his days
were as summer days, warm and filled with light, and his nights a fairy
twilight. So passed a year, and Christian blood flowed in streams in
Häme. But when a ghastly year of persecution had run its course and a
delightful September morning shone without, the clink of hammers and
iron bars was borne to the hero’s ears from the cavern’s walled-in
mouth. Through the piled-up rocks day gleamed at last, and in a flash
the marvellous light vanished from the cave, likewise the spring and
from its brink the fruitful tree.

But what had caused this commotion and clatter out there beyond the
cavern’s opening? There stood a great host of heathens and in their
midst a few Christians bound in ropes and sentenced to die of hunger in
the dark depths of the fell. Nor could they guess that any other fate
had befallen the man imprisoned a year earlier in the same dungeon.
But great was their astonishment when, on the opening of the cave, the
hero walked out with transfigured, shining brow. And a voice whose
holy clarity cleaved to the marrow sounded from his mouth: ‘Greeting,
friends and brothers, greeting, golden sun and soughing forest,
greeting!’ At that the host fell on their knees before him, praising
the god in whom he believed and who had saved him from an awful death.
But in a loud voice the man told them of the miracles that had befallen
him in the dark womb of the fell; and with one voice the people cried
to him: ‘baptize us, baptize us also to belief in the same god!’ Thus
to the man’s exceeding joy they shouted, and at once released the
prisoners sentenced to death from their bonds. Then the pious hero
stepped to the brink of a stream and the crowd followed him, and
renouncing their paganism, allowed themselves to be baptized in the
Christian Faith. But on the bank stood the erstwhile victims, singing a
hymn of praise to Him who from a death of agony had saved both them and
their saintly father and led the children of heathens out of darkness
into light. So, looking up into the high heavens, they sang.

AAPO. Such is the tale of the devout man.

JUHANI. And the heathens’ baptism took place just where our
wolf-trap now stands in the brook.

SIMEONI. Belief can work miracles. I am quite sure that the
man had neither a spring nor a fruitful tree in the cavern and that no
light seen of human eye lighted up his chamber, but that a firm, and
unwavering belief satisfied all his bodily needs. The strength of his
spirit was to him a cool spring, sweet fruit and a shining light. What
was it my former comrade at the herding, Tuomas Tervakoski, said? ‘If
thou hast the shield of belief and the sword of the spirit, thou canst
go and dance a polka with devils’. That was what the pious old man said.

JUHANI. But a full-grown man’s stomach can’t live long on
belief and empty air; no, rot it, it can’t. And I swear he shoved
tastier victuals than fruit and water into his cheek. A man’s body
demands it, that has grown and thriven with the help of meat and
rye-bread. Ay, ay, they tell the tale another way too. They say that
five black bulls’ horns suddenly appeared to the man in the cavern’s
wall. And then when he opened the first horn, the best factory spirits,
clear as water, squirted hissing out of it for an appetizer, one that
would have drawn any man’s mouth together. From the second horn he
dragged out by the yard puckered fat and hot pork sausage. And from
the third the best new-crop porridge spluttered out in a stiff curve,
and from the fourth sour milk to wet it with, sour milk thick as tar.
And then when he had stuffed his belly as full as a tick he opened the
fifth horn in a hurry and pulled out twist, best Danish roll, that
swelled in the lad’s cheek like a sucking leech. Could a man with no
work at all want better grub?

TIMO. He was in Heaven, he was. But we?

TUOMAS. This makes a man’s head go hot.

TIMO. Makes a lad’s head dizzy.

JUHANI. A thousand crowns for a meal like that now! A thousand
thousand crowns!

SIMEONI. ‘Puckered, fat and hot pork sausage!’ Ay, we sit in
Hell’s midst and hear how they rejoice and eat in Heaven. Ah! What are
we to do, brothers, what are we to do?

EERO. Believe, believe!

SIMEONI. Dost thou still talk with mocking tongue, thou
monster!

EERO. The last gasp, brother mine, the last gasp; believe me.
Soon I shall crumple up sighing like an emptying bladder, a bull’s
bladder. Ah, if I had here a new-baked loaf and butter on it!

TIMO. And on the butter world-terrifying sausage!

JUHANI. If we had here seven new-baked loaves, seven pounds
of butter and seven sausages baked in the warmth of a cordwood fire;
there’d be a feast.

EERO. Bright fire and lightning!

TIMO. A man ought to be wise and always carry a paper of salt
in his pocket. Salt binds our innards and can keep us alive for weeks
without a scrap of food as big as a midge in our guts.

JUHANI. Ay, boy! salt wouldn’t keep us alive for long.

TIMO. But Iisakki Koivisto, that matchlessly lazy man, lies
sprawling for many God’s days at a stretch on the boards in Karkula’s
bath-house, without a crumb to break his fast. And how does he keep the
wretched life still simmering in him? Why the rogue keeps sucking a
lump of salt like an infant its mother’s breast.

JUHANI. He also sits like a corn-crake in the village
corn-fields, rubbing the grain from the stalks into his face. Look you
now, it’s late evening already, and no sound of help from the world
of men, and here’s thirty and three puffing devils for ever walking
and walking round us. But there’s two of the rascals butting. Strike
together, strike together and pierce each others foreheads, burst ’em
so the brains spurt out of your skulls on to the field, and there’ll be
two tormentors less for us. That’s the way! Here’s a little fun to pass
the time. Just so! and may the game last long and eight bony ploughs
tear up the ground!

TUOMAS. Stoutly they’re fighting, the white-backed and the
white-headed one.

JUHANI. Bet white-head wins.

TUOMAS. White-back wins.

JUHANI. Here’s my paw, a wager on it.

TUOMAS. Agreed. Timo, judge thou.

JUHANI. Done!

TUOMAS. A span of spirits!

JUHANI. It’s said. Let’s watch now, let’s watch the lads
fight. But now they’re like resting a bit, forehead to forehead.

TIMO. And jerking slightly, as if they didn’t care.

JUHANI. But now! Now they’re improving full strength. Now,
Whitehead, my Whitehead, dig thy hooves well into the ground!

TUOMAS. Dig deeper thou, my brave Whiteback. That’s the way!

JUHANI. Whitehead, Whitehead!

TUOMAS. My brawny Whiteback with the steely forehead! So, lad!
But leave off that solemn shoving and push thy man to Hades.

JUHANI. Whitehead! The devil cut off thy horns! Dost thou run
away, damn thee?

TUOMAS. Flight’s good enough for him.

TIMO. And the other tears after him like a good ’un. He-he-he!

TUOMAS. Ay, Juhani.

JUHANI. A span of spirits gone. Thou shalt have it when we
get out of this fix. But when will that day dawn? Ah! After many years
it’ll happen that under the eyes of the hunt-bailiff there’ll be a fine
load of faggots darted from here to the village and from the village to
the graveyard, a cartload of clinking, clattering skeletons of seven
men.

SIMEONI. And so ended our sinful lives.

JUHANI. So ended our lives.

TIMO. So they ended.

JUHANI. Ended miserably. But open thy knapsack, Lauri, and let
a drink go round.

AAPO. Let it go for this once, but the rest of the spirits
will have to be saved for a greater danger.

JUHANI. As thou sayest. But now we’ll take a drink that makes
itself felt and then shout like clarions.

And when each had drunk, they lifted up their voices again, shouting
all together. The echo carried to the ear of the Viertola bailiff,
as he walked on the barn rise, but instead of understanding the
significance of the cry, he only uttered to himself with awe: ‘the
boundary-spirit cries there’. But the brothers, straining their jaws
towards the heavens and all agape, with mouths wide open like those of
dragons or of young birds in their nest when they hear the flapping of
their approaching mother’s wings, still shouted madly, shouted ten
times. Whereafter they sat down again on their mossy resting-place, a
dying hope in their hearts.




CHAPTER VIII


The fourth day has come of the brothers’ sojourn on the rock, and still
the bulls surround them. Ever and again the beasts would wander afield,
but one or two always paced within view, quickly passing the news
to their fellows whenever the brothers attempted to flee from their
prison. All around them they tug on the backwood grass, hooking their
tongues round the stalks, or chew the cud and, breathing heavily, lie
on their distended bellies. There two contend, midway between sport and
earnest, and the rattle of their horns echoes around. And there again,
right at the foot of the Devil’s Rock, one paws the earth wrathfully,
casting the soil and sods on high, and roaring wickedly. Thus to the
agony, the livid fury of the brothers, they linger on; for already the
stout sons of Jukola await but the moment when they must die. A moment
ago Lauri had poured a stiff gulp of spirits down his throat, now he
did the same again, which caused the others to wonder greatly and to
begin seriously scolding him.

JUHANI. Has the Devil bewitched thee?

AAPO. Whatever art thou thinking of? Remember that we are all
in the same hole.

TUOMAS. Remember that our dwelling is no wider than a man’s
palm, where it behoves us to move warily.

LAURI. A man mad with anger!

AAPO. But that won’t do here.

LAURI. Let it do for the pit of Hell then. Let the old castle
spin like a millstone and cast down seven unhappy lads to the brutes
there. Spin, rock, from east to west, and the forest around us from
west to east; spin! Heleiyah!

JUHANI. Art thou drunk already, boy?

Lauri. Is that a question to ask? What is life and the world worth? Not
a mouldy farthing. Well then, let everything go in dust and ashes the
way of the wind. Clunk! A drop of this, my heart’s brothers.

AAPO. He’s drunk. Take the can away from him!

LAURI. It won’t come in play. The can’s mine; I didn’t leave
it to be trodden by bulls on the clearing. But you others? Ah! you all
placed your knapsacks nicely on the ground like wretched gypsies when
the bailiff’s gun goes bang.

JUHANI. The can here!

LAURI. The can’s mine.

JUHANI. But I want it in my care.

LAURI. Thou wantest it? If thou wantest it thou’lt get it in
the forehead.

JUHANI. Wouldst thou show fight?

LAURI. If thou wilt, even that shall not be lacking. But
loving brothers never fight. So let’s take a drop of this.

TIMO. Don’t drink, Lauri.

JUHANI. Give the can here at once!

LAURI. A hiding’s what thou’lt get from me. What dost thou
fancy thou art?

JUHANI. A sinful being, true; but still thy eldest brother.

LAURI. Eldest? Well, all the more time hast thou had to sin
in, and all the more thou deservest a hiding. But here’s to thee!

TUOMAS. Thou shalt not taste a drop.

LAURI. I like Tuomas very much, Tuomas and Little-Eero. But
those others there? What am I to say of them?

TUOMAS. Hold thy jaw and give the can here! There, Juhani,
take the knapsack on thy back and the spirits in thy keeping.

LAURI. Thou alone canst turn the will of Lauri. I love thee,
thee and Little-Eero.

TUOMAS. Silence!

LAURI. Men like they! What is Jussi Jukola? a chuckle-headed
cock; a hammerheaded bull.

JUHANI. Shut thy mouth at once that my ears needn’t hear such
words a second time.

LAURI. ‘He that hath an ear, let him hear’, preaches Aapo,
Jukola’s holy Paul.

SIMEONI. Ah thee! Art thou the former grave, solemn and silent
Lauri? Can this be Lauri? This babbling child of sin?

LAURI. Thou too art Simeoni, the mealy-mouthed ‘Hail-Rabbi’.

SIMEONI. That I forgive thee, ever heaping coals of fire on
thy head.

LAURI. Go to Hell, there are coals of fire!

SIMEONI. Godless!

TIMO. Even the hairs on my back bristle.

LAURI. What is Timo, Jukola’s watery-eyed he-goat, bleating?

TIMO. Never thou mind. Goat’s milk is good.

LAURI. Hey?

TIMO. Goat’s milk is good. But I thank thee for the honour:
thankye kindly! Ay, that was our share; thankye kindly! But here’s
another kind of truck before thee too. Look at thy honey-boys there,
Tuomas and Eero, yonder.

LAURI. Hey?

TIMO. Look thy honey-boys, Tuomas and Eero, yonder.

LAURI. Hey?

TIMO. A priest speaks thrice, but he’s paid for it.

LAURI. ‘Another kind of truck’, thou didst bleat. I know
well what kind of truck to compare them with. Tuomas-lad is a noble
axe, grave, manly and strong, but little Eero-nipper is a tiny, sharp
and biting whittling-hatchet. Ay, that lad can whittle, whittle right
smartly, throwing little jests like chips around him, the scamp.

JUHANI. Good. But didst thou call me a chuckle-headed cock?

TIMO. He called me too a he-goat. Thankye kindly!

LAURI. Eero whittles jokes, but he has the heart of a man.

JUHANI. Good, good! But didst thou call me a chuckle-headed
cock?

LAURI. I called thee a hammerheaded bull too.

JUHANI. Good, brother, good!

TIMO. Keep quiet, Juho. Me too he called a he-goat, and I
thank him for the title; for the goat is no useless animal at all. The
red-cheeked young mistress at Viertola, Mistress Lydia, drinks only the
milk of white goats, and nothing else. There you are.

SIMEONI. Should we be men if we hooked on to the words of a
drunken man?

LAURI. Thou a man? Thou? Oh little brother! bitterly wouldst
thou weep if a maid were to accost thee--something that would hardly
happen to a milksop like thee.

JUHANI. Simeoni, Simeoni, I’d sooner be stabbed with a knife
than with such words.

SIMEONI. Ay, ay, it’ll be seen on the last day whom they have
stabbed.

TIMO. Us thou hast painted as anything between a cock and an
axe, but what art thou thyself, if I ask thee sternly and take on my
worst temper.

LAURI. I am Lauri.

TIMO. See, see! Simply gentle Lauri?

LAURI. Good-fellow Lauri, and nothing more, though you have
been pleased to make me out and call me many things: badger, Könni’s
hoer, mopy, and a thousand suchlike. Hm! I’ve heard something of the
kind from the lips of each of you. And in deepest silence I have put by
every word. Now I feel like spreading out the pile a little, I feel,
devil take it! like giving you real hard knocks, and down every man of
you to the bulls like a sack of chaff!

AAPO. Is this truly Lauri, well-behaved, silent Lauri? Who’d
believe it?

JUHANI. Ah! brother Aapo, ah! there’s many weeds in that
wheatfield. I’ve suspected it long, but now I know the man’s heart.

LAURI. Hold thy jaw, thou Jukola’s bull.

JUHANI. For the Lord’s sake don’t annoy me any longer, for my
blood’s getting hotter and hotter! Thou accursed puppy, I’ll throw thee
down into the mortar of those bulls, and then may the day of terror
come, the last day of the almanack!

SIMEONI. Misery, misery!

AAPO. Silence, silence! No fighting.

TUOMAS. Be sensible, thou.

JUHANI. He has shamelessly insulted me. A cock, chuckle-headed!

AAPO. What about Apostle Paul. Keep calm.

TIMO. What about he-goat. What sayst to that? Many thousand
thanks, twin-brother!

AAPO. Let us remember how near we are to the jaws of death.
Brothers, there is a thought in my brain, an idea on the tip of my
tongue that I believe is important to us just now. Note: this rock
is a ship in a storm, the storm being that muttering, angry drove
of bulls around our rock. Or shall I choose another picture? Ay, let
this rock of ours be a castle, which the enemy, an enemy cruelly armed
with spears, besieges. Now if the besieged castle has no chieftain,
no leader in discipline and defence, mutiny and disorder will spread
amongst the men, and soon both castle and garrison are lost. And
that is what will happen with us, unless we arrange and provide for
ourselves differently, unless we set up lawful order in our midst.
Therefore, let there be one whose words of wisdom all shall listen to,
and behave accordingly. Juhani, do thou now control thyself and the
whole band of brothers. Know that most of us are on thy side and uphold
thy authority in this besieged castle.

JUHANI. What punishment shall we settle on for the one who
disobeys my word, and through his evil temper causes a general disorder
and danger?

TUOMAS. Let him be cast down to the bulls.

JUHANI. Right, Tuomas.

AAPO. A stern punishment, but one our situation demands. I
agree to the rule.

SIMEONI. ‘Cast before the bulls’ like the martyrs aforetime;
but tenderness won’t help here.

TIMO. May he be cast before the bulls; let this be the law and
commandment.

JUHANI. Let it be the law and commandment. Impress this
terrible paragraph on your hearts and live thereafter. Now my first
command is that Lauri is silent and lays himself nicely down to sleep;
secondly, I command that each of us except Lauri takes a little sup
from the tin flask to comfort our hearts. Ay, here’s to us!

LAURI. And I’m to be without? I?

JUHANI. Thou art to go to sleep.

LAURI. Time enough for that in Hell.

JUHANI. God knows, Lauri-dear, where we shall yet sleep.

LAURI.

    ‘God knows, Jussi-dear,
    Where our skins will dry this year.’

I sing like a man, hoot like a hunter’s horn.

    ‘I’m a loving little child,
      Mother’s little Jussi.
    I’m a loving little child,
      Mothers little Jussi.’

JUHANI. Spare thy song for the present.

EERO. Spare the little boy’s song for me.

LAURI. Spare it for Jukola’s Jussi and let’s begin a new one,
a real big song. Let’s sing and dance, heleiyah!

JUHANI. See that I do not sentence thee to be cast down to the
bulls.

TUOMAS. Lauri, I warn thee now for the last time.

LAURI. For the last time? Well, it is best thou ceasest.

JUHANI. That we can brawl like this at the very gates of
Death, we full-fledged heathens!

SIMEONI. God has cause to punish us thus. O punish us, smite
us on this rock of torture.

LAURI. A rock of joy, this is, Väinämöinen’s rock of joy,
which same old gaffer is said to have been the god of Savo. I once
heard a right smart song of him from an imp of a chimneysweep’s boy.
I remember too a real jolly sermon by that same boy, which he spouted
glibly between his red lips and grinning teeth as he stood in a smoking
chimney at Kuninkala. And this is what he preached...

JUHANI. Quiet now, thou raving brute!

LAURI. And now, having sung to our fill, sung together with
one voice as is the custom in church, let us preach; I am the parson,
this rock is the pulpit, you are the choir, and the bulls around us the
congregation, solemn and pious. But first a marching hymn to accompany
parson to the pulpit. Ye heard. Parson’s waiting.

JUHANI. Wait, wait, thou’lt soon be marched and hymned.

LAURI. Thou art the choir-leader, the old parish clerk
himself, these others thy ’prentices, the half-woollen gentry, thou
knowest, that fill the choir bench on Sundays and holy days, sweating
and red as turkeycocks. Here they sit again like owls, with swelling
lapels, hair smoothed with butter and lard, fading grey beard quaking
somewhat. Sit in peace, however, and sing Parson-Matt into the pulpit.
True, he trotted from Keijula tavern to church, but he laved his head
and brushed his hair, and now, greatly moved, climbs prayerfully
into his tub and sets the old women weeping like a true lad. Now,
choir-leader, I roll my eyes at thee, so let her ring. ‘Make haste
Jim’, as the former parson shouted to his choir-leader.

JUHANI. Close thy mouth right quickly, thou vagabond!

LAURI. Not so, but ‘Open Thou each shepherd’s mouth’ is
what thou hast to sing. But let this be enough, be still, hearken,
and purse thy mouth to a smug church-mouth when I preach. Now,
chimney-sweep’s boy, lend me thy mind and thy unfettered tongue. A
sermon I will preach today, a thing to reach your souls, of Peter’s
tattered travelling-cloak and its ten button-holes. However, glancing
o’er my flock, my heart receives a sorry shock, for mine eye sees only
stinking nanny-goats and the devil’s own billy-goats. O virgin-maids,
sluts and jades of Kärkölä! ye strut in silks and satins, gilded o’er
like peacocks; but spit me right i’ the face if on the last day ye do
not shout loudly for Parson-Matt to speak for you. But that’s a vain
hope, yea! Good morrow, old man Sorrow, I would have a word with you:
take after old man Kettula. But thou damned Paavali Peltola, how didst
thou behave at building-bee last winter? Thou drainedest many glasses
and huggedst the serving-lasses. But I say unto thee, young feller:
take after Jumppila Jalli; or be judged in the end by Parson-Matt, the
heathens, Greeks and breeks; and then a sack over thy head and down to
Hell. Open therefore in time the flaps of thy ears and hear my speech
and what I proclaim and preach; for I’ve been boiled in many a broth,
and the heart in this breast is like an old sealskin pouch. This lad
has been in much and various. In Helsinki I’ve been bound to a trade,
bound in jail, bound in the stocks and behind other locks. But best to
my belief is that I am no thief, never besmirched my neighbour’s well,
or hugged his wife and then farewell.

I had a little sweetheart once, a little cat, a down-right minx, but
she escaped and ran away. Forth I went to look for her: sought through
Finland’s lands and lakes, round the Baltic and Germany, but couldn’t
find my golden nugget. Back I came to Finland’s fells and firs and
found her on a sandy ridge beyond the town of Tampere. There’s my
little Tettu! I cried, nigh off my head, but Tettu was touchy and said:
What art thou? And skipped into the nearest shanty. But I, always
a jolly lad, was neither hurt nor sad, but stuffing a quid into my
cavern, went to the town’s best tavern, where Mick was fighting and old
women frighting.

A mug of ale and two spans of spirits as a chaser is a fair amount of
measure for a tired man’s throat and head. And now the can danced and
my beard wagged, the boys all burst out singing and the old woman’s
daughters giggling. But I forsook the joyous scene and set off down the
street. My song rang out, the windows fell bang out, and this set all
the Tampere townsmen afoot. But I, always a jolly lad, I ran like a
rabbit along the strand, kicking up in their faces stones and sand. I
came along to Pori, they put me in a basket there and dragged me round
the market square; to Uusikaupunki I roamed, they called me names from
every home; Turku’s worst of all the pack, they stuck a knife into my
back. However, I came to Aningaisten Street and there five merry jades
did meet. The first she kicked me on the thigh, the second said ‘let
the lad go by, for he is no meddler and no broken-down peddler’. But
the third inquired ‘what aileth the lad?’ and the fourth said ‘let’s
help him before it gets bad’. Well, let’s go along then arm in arm,
said I, but the fifth poked me furiously with her fist and howled: ‘Go
to Helsinki!’ To Helsinki I then did plod, they gave me gruel in the
quod, and then they cross-examined me, and mercilessly punished me: ‘Go
now, go thy way, thou son of a hammer!’ I took the road again and went,
I, always a merry lad, I, whose heart is like an old seal-skin pouch. I
wandered singing along the road: and so I came to Häme, popped into the
Kuninkala pulpit; and then ’tis amen!

I will now announce the banns. The parish clerk and the parish cupper
are firmly bent on marrying; their wedding’s tomorrow, tomorrow after
supper. May they join together and stick to each other like pitch and
tar! The following farms are ordained a day’s work at the vicarage:
Yllilä, Allila, Yli-Seppälä, Pimppala and Alavesi. A dozen boards, a
box of nails, a man from each and two from the best to patch up the
smaller vicarage pig-trough. From Kiiala meadow a horse has escaped,
old but well-shaped, bearing a bell, ironed well, smallish, shortish,
dock-tailed, white-maned. And now dear brothers, one word more, the
sheep on violence sets no store, he doth not kick, he doth not gore,
but alas when a savage bull is loose, he worries trees, paws up the
soil and casts confounded filth and dirt over his shepherd’s Sunday
shirt. And then again amen once more, each to his shanty as before, I’m
off to a real brick house. That was the sermon.

SIMEONI. Such godless doggerel thou knowest, but canst thou
read, evildoer?

LAURI. There’s a question for you: can a parson read? ‘Here’s
a man can read and rant, and never falters in his chant: a hymn as tall
as the cowshed wall’. But a parson sings the Mass and no hymn. I’ll say
the Mass and Little Eero can do the responses.

EERO. I’ll answer if hunger’ll let me.

JUHANI. Wouldst thou begin larking with a madman? Thou limb!
Always ready to play the puppy. Ay, that I can believe. And thou,
Lauri, lay thyself quietly to sleep; finish, brother, this dancing and
raving, or I’ll utter the dreadful sentence, and in a trice ten arms
will cast thee down to the bulls. Stop this play.

LAURI. This is only the opening dance, brother, the opening
dance. Ay, let’s dance, let’s wrestle, let’s dance a Jussian-jig till
the moss flies. Look so!

TIMO. Thou confounded youngster! I was near to tumbling off
the rock. Quieter, quieter!

JUHANI. Lauri, must I now say the dread word that turns thee
in a twinkling to hash? And that merciless word is this: let him be
thrown to the bulls. Shall I say it?

LAURI. Say nothing, but sing while I dance a Jussian-jig. Hih!

JUHANI. Let him be thrown to the bulls, and may God be with
him! Amen. Now it’s said. Let him go.

LAURI. Let’s all go together, hand in hand out of this vale of
starvation--Life!

TUOMAS. Let the law be fulfilled, and go to thy death.

JUHANI. What the Hell, Tuomas!

TUOMAS. Down from the rock, lad!

JUHANI. Stop, for Heaven’s sake!

AAPO. Tuomas turns pale! God help us! Tuomas turns pale.

JUHANI. Wouldst thou do deeds of horror? Brother, brother!

AAPO. He turns pale like a dying man, and deeds of terror are
upon us! Calm thyself, Tuomas, Oh calm thyself! I beseech thee. Up all
of you and help Lauri, help him!

TUOMAS. Out of the way!

JUHANI. No, Tuomas, no!

TUOMAS. Out of my way! Thou wert the judge, I am the hangman,
and may our law be fulfilled. Down from the rock without mercy, man!

LAURI. Like a log down the chute at Nukari. Heleiyah!

SIMEONI. Mercy, Tuomas, mercy, mercy!

TUOMAS. Not a grain of mercy!

JUHANI. God keep us from killing our brother!

TIMO. Ay, Cain from killing Abel.

AAPO. Calm thy mind!

TUOMAS. He dies.

JUHANI. May the powers of Heaven shelter us! No, Tuomas, this
cannot be.

TIMO. Never, never. Lauri is the brother of each of us. Stand!

JUHANI. Murder is nigh. Save Lauri, save our wretched brother!

A fierce struggle now arose on the rock. And while some held the
enraged Tuomas by the collar, others by his belt, some clung to Lauri’s
legs, others wherever they could lay hold of him, to prevent him from
rolling off the rock. Like a terrible, many-headed, many-legged
monster seemed the group of brothers as, entwined in one single body,
they struggled noisily. Tearing at itself, growling, grunting and
sighing this monster moved, whirled round, tumbled from one side of the
rock to the other and back again. With drooping tails the dogs dodged
hither and thither in their fear, often on the point of rolling down to
destruction, intent on preserving their lives. In greater numbers than
ever the bulls too gathered round the rock, looking round-eyed at the
furious struggle. But a general weariness brought peace at last on to
the rock, and panting, the brothers rested on the moss, now ground to a
fine powder. Then Simeoni lifted up his voice and preached, rolling his
eyes fearfully upward towards the heavens.

SIMEONI. Wild beasts and devils are Christian folk become. So
punish us, O Lord! Strike hither with thy lightning, pound to mash and
offal the seven sons of sinful Zion!

AAPO. Ay, Tuomas, there’s always five against one here; that
thou knowest. But may there be peace now; and keep Lauri still until he
falls asleep, poor wight.

TUOMAS. Curse! I’ll cast every man of you down if I want,
and I shall want if the flame of my anger grows hotter. But quietly,
boys, bow, quietly and nicely! For my blood boils and at such moments
the slightest thing looks to me like death and the horrors of death.
So--nicely, nicely now!

JUHANI. Tuomas is a dangerous man. Be thou my comrade man, who
flyest out at me every day and hour, rather than thou, man, who art
enraged seldom but powerfully, putting at such times my miserable life
in danger. Ah! this was a wicked game.

SIMEONI. Whip us, punish us, Power on high!

TIMO. Shut up, Simeoni, I beseech thee.

SIMEONI. If I am silent, this stone shall speak and cry out.
Whip us, beat us!

JUHANI. Stop calling down worse things upon us. This is plague
enough.

TUOMAS. There he preaches like a madman, his hands crossed,
the eyes in his head like those of a death-owl. Hold thy jaw at once!

TIMO. Shut up, Simeoni, I beseech thee; and let us all live in
peace. Look at Lauri-lad; he droops already and falls asleep, the poor
lad; he sleeps. Ay, for God’s sake let us live in peace and patience
till we can march home from here.

JUHANI. Home! We shan’t even reach our eternal home, an
honourable graveyard; but here we shall sleep at last to be picked
clean by ravens and eagles. I shall die this minute, on this very spot;
ay, well, I die then. Was this life? What was it worth?

TIMO. Ay, was this life? What was it worth? A question.

JUHANI. Thou knewest not dear mother, into what misery thou
once broughtest forth seven little nippers.

TIMO. Thou knewest not.

JUHANI. Oh, what if we were to take one more drink, drain the
last drop from the bottle. There, Tuomas, take a sup and let her go
round.

TUOMAS. I don’t want your spirits!

JUHANI. Ha-ha! Now Lauri’s forgotten Jumppila Jalli and
Kuninkala’s pulpit and all that. Well, well, thou didst indeed rage,
rage and foam on the very verge of life and death. Terrible, when I
think of thee gone before thy Maker, drunk, with eyes aslit.

TIMO. Thou scarest me! Before God drunk!

JUHANI. Before God drunk, with eyes aslit. That’s a bold
thought.

SIMEONI. Thou canst well say it.

JUHANI. It was perilous near it didn’t happen. But there he
lies now pale. Ah! my eyes brim over, for my soul mourns over him, and
I would hide that wretched, poor and suffering brother of mine in the
deepest chamber of my heart.

AAPO. In his sleep he can forget this hunger of ours, this
murderous worm.

SIMEONI. The fourth day! Ah, let us sink down in death.

EERO. For die we must, though meat, living meat walks before
us.

SIMEONI. It is this same meat that kills us!

JUHANI. This very day, this hour and minute! Ay, this hour.

TIMO. Let us kill the meat, shoot every horned brute, and have
fresh meat in stacks. Five rifles are loaded and there’s plenty of
ammunition in Lauri’s knapsack.

JUHANI. There’s an idea!

AAPO. That will save us!

EERO. In truth, ’twill save us!

JUHANI. Ah! how shall we reward Timo?

SIMEONI. Thou angel of God!

TIMO. Meat, fresh meat! And nothing else. He-he! There’s
dozens of newly-cast bullets in Lauri’s knapsack, and even more charges
of powder.

JUHANI. Just as thou sayest, thou peerless boy! Here’s bullets
and powder, more than enough. The bulls number thirty and three. Hm. We
dolts and idiots! Why didn’t we think of this idea before?

AAPO. In truth I did think of the same trick once, but the
stuff in Lauri’s knapsack never came into my mind, which is why I
never spake my thought to you, for five bullets, five bulls.

JUHANI. Something of the sort crossed my mind too, but
without getting further. Three and thirty bulls. Good! Listen, you
good-for-nothing sons of Kaura-Matti! if we shoot now like men, we can
pierce the heart or brain of a bull with every shot, and the road to
freedom lies open, open. Ah thee, Timo-lad!

TIMO. Hey, didn’t I say it. And there’s nothing else to do.
And well thou knowest it. Are we to perish here like rats? Bonny lads
have no time for that. Hey, hey! I said it.

JUHANI. Now a flash and thunder and the road to freedom is
burst open!

AAPO. Ay, Juhani! True, this road goes over bleeding corpses,
but it can’t be helped.

JUHANI. It can’t be helped, so let the red-black blood flow
round the Devil’s Rock. We lucky badgers! soon we shall be gorging meat
like wolves!

AAPO. But how shall we pay for forty bulls?

JUHANI. It is a matter of life and death, in which case the
law is on our side. We’ll make meat, and the pot-bellied master of
Viertola can cart away his meat, if he likes. It doesn’t concern us.

AAPO. What’ll happen afterwards we’ll see when the fated work
is done. But when the great murder is over there is another task to
be done at once. Note this, as soon as the last beast is stretched on
the ground, we must start flaying them; and one of us must bear the
mournful tidings to Viertola manor.

JUHANI. Important advice. Flay them, skin them, before the
hide sticks to the flesh. Let it be so, and then he who will can take
the flesh and skin, the guts and all else within. The ox on the bench
and the skin off him! Each of us has a knife at his belt that can cut;
here’s my sheath-knife, sharp as a serpent’s tongue. Ay; let’s start
the bloody work. Let the man whose firelock is empty, load it again
with a reliable charge; and then the bloody, bloody work can begin.

AAPO. But brothers! we can wrestle with hunger an hour or two
yet, especially as our salvation is now sure. Let us try once more the
power of six men’s throats and then wait an hour, the last hour of our
captivity.

JUHANI. True, hunger pinches us, but let us do as thou sayest.
Let’s shout, and maybe we can get out of the trap without shedding a
drop of blood. A vain hope, however. Well, well, we can wait a bit
longer; for the terrible key to our freedom is in our fists. So let’s
yell with all our might again. I beseech you all, do it, for it is my
command. Tuomas, silent as this rock, set thy trumpet roaring too. Do
it, I beseech thee, for it is my command.

TUOMAS. Don’t babble. I’ll do as our common law demands.

JUHANI. Be ready then. One, two, three.

They lifted up their voices, shouting seven times, and their cry and
the howling of the dogs was borne afar. Whereafter they sank down
to wait again, although hunger assailed them fiercely, for now the
certainty of salvation infused new strength into them. Of their number,
one, however, brother Lauri, felt neither the pangs of hunger nor the
joy of hope. Snoring and pale, he lay at the others’ feet. The brothers
waited one hour, waited a second, and the sun of the fourth day already
approached its setting. Then Juhani, hearing the faint rumble of
thunder in the southwest, shouted in a high, deathlike voice: ‘Now,
boys! The Lord help us and Amen!’ And soon the fiery, blood-letting
game had begun.

The grey Devil’s Rock disappeared in clouds of smoke: but from the
clouds came flashes, death thundered everywhere into the hosts of
bulls. Now here, now there, as the bullets found their mark, a bull
leapt up with a sudden groan and collapsed, blowing the powerful
life out of his chest as he fell. The brute whose brain was pierced
collapsed quickly, scarcely kicking once, only straining out his legs
like four stiff bars; thus he gave up his life, and darkly-red the
blood spouted from his wound high into the air and from the air in a
curve to the ground. But he whose wound was in the breast, with heart
still untouched, raged for long, galloping bleeding hither and thither
amongst those whom the bullets had as yet spared, until at last he too
tumbled headlong on the field, and, groaning, flung his hooves about
one final moment. Panic haste and a horrific liveliness now seized the
others, as, scenting the smell of the steaming blood of their comrades,
they charged with mighty trumpetings into one tumultuous mass. With
hanging tongues, rolling their eyes and filling the forest with a
fearful bellowing, they kicked the dead twigs, sods and soil high over
their backs.

On the rock, enwrapped in smoke, the brothers stood like pale phantoms,
shooting, loading, and shooting without cease, and ever new bulls
fell on the field. The guns flashed and banged, but sterner yet was
the crashing and flame up in the heavens, where the thunder rode over
mountains of cloud. The smoke and the sombre clouds in the sky cast a
lurid gloaming over the Devil’s Rock. In this half-darkness the shrieks
and groans of the bulls, the howling of the dogs, the crash of the
rifles and the long-drawn tearing rumble of thunder echoed again, and
in the treetops the tempest boomed. Direful was the hour; the air
seemed hot as blood. Even Lauri awoke to semi-consciousness and opened
his eyes, but saw only a ghastly dimness, and in the dimness a few dark
shadows standing around him. He heard a matchless din, heard it beside
him, heard it rise from the ground and sink down from the skies; and
in the unrest of his blood it seemed to him as though everything were
falling downward at terrific speed. A joyless thought entered his mind
and he said to himself: ‘thus we go down to the bottomless pit; we’re
going; well, we can go; what help is there for it?’ So muttering, he
turned on his side, and closing his eyes sank again into deepest sleep.

Like to an arrogant castle the Devil’s Rock wrapped itself in a garment
of smoke, aping the tongue of the thunder. Around it blood streamed
and hooves waved in the air in hundreds. Thunder rolled in the clouds,
which now began to rain heavily, drenching the rustling forest with
water. But the murderous work was done; not a single horn was to be
seen erect. On the ground lay the three and thirty bulls from the
Viertola Manor, some stone-dead, others still kicking; and here and
there the rattling breath of a bull in its death-agony was heard. With
their dogs, the brothers climbed down from the rock and hastened to
shelter at the foot of a dense spruce; for the thunder-cloud still
rained heavily and the bearded forest soughed. There they stood,
regarding the abundant harvest of death before them; and in many
gurgling torrents the blood-bemingled water flowed in every direction
from the Devil’s Rock. But when the rain ceased, they emerged from
their cover, and walked silently with distorted faces among their
victims, looking about them with dreadful glance and at intervals
shaking their heads.

JUHANI. There’s meat here.

TIMO. And blood.

JUHANI. And blood too, in truth. Round this rock even pepper’d
grow for ten years at a stretch; so well has the soil been fertilized.
But let us strike a light and make a fire, in which we can roast
fresh meat for ourselves. Ah, a beefsteak will taste good to us lads
now. Bring, brothers, wood and resiny chips, I’ll strike a light; and
Timo can run to the clearing and fetch my axe and the knapsacks that
we flung down in the face of danger. And then, when we have eaten,
every man of us to work ‘undressing the skins’, as redheaded old man
Krööm used to say. He’s buried now, and best for him to be there. Here
the poor old beggar went hungry as a stray cur; without a friend, a
relation, or a roof to shelter him; even the good name of him had
been struck off his papers. There he crumpled up behind Kolistin’s
threshing-barn, and all lies forgotten now under the sod. That’s it,
Eero, resiny chips; there’s Simeoni with dry faggots; soon we’ll have a
merry fire a-blazing. Cut a few big slices ready Tuomas, from the thigh
of that mottled one. Ahah! I could pounce like a cat this very instant
on the raw, bloody joint.

TUOMAS. A little patience yet, and our joint will taste still
better.

JUHANI. Quite so. But let us be thankful that we belong to
a family used to fighting hunger, a family and a race. We shouldn’t
otherwise be bustling about like this. That I wager.

Soon seven enormous slices of meat were roasting in the flames.
Thus Lauri was not forgotten, although no one wished to disturb his
slumbers on the rock, where he still slept, not awakening even when
the rain poured over him. Timo had set out on his errand; he found
the knapsacks, found the axe on the bloodstained ground, where lay
the bear and seven bulls. And he returned from his errand with the
knapsacks on his back and the axe under his arm, and then six round
loaves were shared out and the meat taken from the fire; and the dry
bread and roast beef, dipped in salt, was ground small between the
men’s teeth. Killi and Kiiski, too, having fasted four days with their
masters, now made a gluttonous meal. But when they had refreshed
themselves, men and dogs, a leaden lethargy suddenly spread through
their limbs. A powerful, unconquerable slumber oppressed them, and with
closed eyes they sank, one after the other, down to the ground. Up on
the rock Lauri slept snoring, down at its base the others lay around
the fire as the sun went out and the September day darkened into night.
So amid their victims, the lifeless herd of bulls, they slept; and
savage Killi and Kiiski kept watch over their camp.

But at last, when the night was already far advanced, they awoke from
their slumber and felt the former strength return to their limbs. They
stood up and began carrying black, juicy, resinous stumps to the fire;
that they might see to flay their monstrous prey in its ruddy glow,
while Eero was immediately despatched with the tidings of these events
to the Viertola bailiff. Up danced the red-black flames, lighting up
the ground and the rugged forest. And off to the manor hastened Eero,
while the others commenced flaying with all their might the prey that
had fallen to them.

Then Lauri too awoke from his deep, long sleep and looked blinking
around him; he looked for a space without comprehending what he saw.
Yonder a burning fire of stumps illumined the calm, dark night; on
every hand cattle weltering in their blood, with tongues outstretched
and stomachs distended in the air. Two of them had already been
transformed into meat, a third was just undergoing the same change. And
of the brothers, some were busy flaying, others held the carcases by
the legs; one smashed the powerful bones with an axe, another heaped
up the meat in a gigantic pile at the foot of a spruce. All this Lauri
saw with confused eyes; until at last he grasped what had happened.
He looked down and saw near the fire a loaf and on the loaf a hunk
of roasted meat. At that a fierce spasm ran through his stomach, he
climbed down from the rock, seated himself in the warmth of the fire
and snatched up the bread and the meat. First, however, he uncovered
his head, crossed his hands, and rapidly nodding his tousled head,
blessed the food, before beginning his tasty supper. There, with
glowering eyes under a wrathful brow, he sat and ate in silence. There
he sat, drying his clothes in the glow of the resiny fire while the
others, a few paces distant, toiled and laboured nimbly; for they had
to cut up a huge bear and forty bulls.

Eero carried word to the Viertola bailiff, the bailiff as hastily to
his master, and then an outcry and a fiery bustle arose, and Eero
started off home at more than usual speed. But, screaming and flashing
with anger, the master of Viertola called together all his available
men. Whereafter he set out wildly for the Devil’s Rock, ten brawny men
with him, and near to his master marched the manor’s lusty bailiff,
a fear-inspiring, tarry knout in his fist. They fared sternly onward
and at last approached their goal, whence a ruddy light flowed forth
to meet them. In the light they perceived seven men, like seven
nerve-shaking ghosts of night, and in bloody work the seven ghosts
laboured, with bloodstained knives in bloodstained fists. Some were
busily flaying, others held the carcases by the legs, some smote
asunder the mighty bones of the flayed beasts and some spread the
hides to dry on the pliant branches of spruce-trees. Quickly Killi and
Kiiski observed the approach of strangers and charged straight at them
with angry barks, but the brothers hastened with stern commands to
control the hounds. The wrathful master of Viertola stepped forward;
perspiring, pot-bellied and goggle-eyed, he stepped forward, backed by
ten strong men.

AAPO. Good evening, master!

JUHANI. God help us! here’s been a terrible game.

VIERTOLA. Has Hell broken loose? Forty bulls killed! Death and
torment!

AAPO. It happened for the sake of seven men’s lives.

VIERTOLA. I’ll teach you, you Jukola’s robbers and bandits!
At them, men, and beat them until they lie in their blood like my fine
cattle there. At them, men!

AAPO. Softly, master!

TUOMAS. Softly, softly!

JUHANI. Halt, master, with thy men, halt! and remember what
becomes thy peace.

AAPO. Let us talk sensibly of a case of hard fortune.

JUHANI. There is one common law for all of us, before which
we stand as equals. From the womb of a woman thou camest as I came,
and as naked, just as naked, a lad not an inch better than I. And thy
noble birth? Our old filmy-eyed cock can do a little trick on that. The
common law! in this case it stands strongly on Jukola’s side.

VIERTOLA. On your side! Have you the right, accursed, to kill
my oxen on my own ground?

JUHANI. Have you the right to let loose bulls that might cost
a man his life?

VIERTOLA. They were on my own land and in a fenced pasturage.

JUHANI. Then we’ll set this in the scales. The piece of
boundary-fence that the bulls, to our great worry, broke down, belongs
rightly to Viertola’s section. But now I’m minded to ask: why does a
wealthy manor set up so wretched a fence that a beast can break it down
at one rush?

THE BAILIFF. A fence as dense as the face of a brush, thou
scoundrel!

JUHANI. A fence that a bull pushed out of its way like a blade
of grass.

VIERTOLA. What were you doing in my pasturage, my pasturage,
you rogues! What?

JUHANI. We chased a bear, a dangerous brute that would soon
squash both thee and thy bulls. We killed the preying bear, and thus
did our country a great, a public service. Isn’t this a public service!
to weed wild beasts, bogies and devils out of the world? Look you to
that. The law is strongly on our side, though I were to rot.

THE BAILIFF. Keep thy mouth shut, thou rogue, and don’t talk
nonsense!

VIERTOLA. They’re minded to make a mock of us now, the
scoundrels. Beat them! At them!

AAPO. Softly, gentlemen, bailiffs and grooms, and remember how
we have been tortured on the rock, and that every one of us will soon
be mad with fury.

JUHANI. Truly said. Mad with fury, mad with fury! Ah! the
thoughts of a man in that state turn swiftly round, he clenches his
heart hard as a rock and then a single flash, and earth and heaven
squeak. Ah! here we’ve been tortured three days and three nights
betwixt life and death.

TUOMAS. But now we have eaten bloody meat, breathed murder’s
bloody vapour, and here we stand, bloodstained knives in our
blood-drenched hands, bloody up to the elbows. May the Lord move you
to take heed of our words in time, else we’ll make this night a hell of
horror. Take heed, take heed of our words!

EERO. And a warning from the bulls there.

JUHANI. O God, grant them this moment eye-salve, and strength
to their hearts to keep them from teasing us longer! Give wisdom to
their brains and make them take warning from the unhappy bulls there,
for we are still in a state to make mincemeat! Give to them wisdom,
Lord, else shall we become priests over them and with these bloody
knives wed them to one flesh and one blood with the unhappy bulls,
and make a shrieking hell of this dark forest. O Lord, protect that
big-bellied master of Viertola there and his arrogant men! Have mercy
on them, Almighty Son of God!

TUOMAS. Here we stand, come forth if ye are minded.

JUHANI. Here we stand, come forth if ye are minded.

VIERTOLA. Good--good! Brag and boast now, but the time will
come, I believe, when the law will decree otherwise, and then the tail
of your pride will droop, and even your miserable home will go, down
to its rotting foundations. Away, men! I leave you forty bulls as your
prey now, but every one will yet be torn from you to the very last
hoof. Let us go!

JUHANI. Take away your meat and offal before they spoil.
They’re nothing to do with us; we only hastened to flay them before the
hide stuck to the flesh.

VIERTOLA. All’s well! Home, men, as I command.

And with his men the master of Viertola departed, still fiercely
threatening and cursing; but the brothers set themselves to their
butchering again. And the following day the forty bulls had been
flayed, and the brothers returned to their home, carrying the enormous
grey-black bear on a pole. The flesh, hides and offal of the oxen they
left in the forest, with two of the brothers, however, to guard them.
And thus ended the hunting-trip that was born of Tinder-Matti’s tales
of the lands of the north, and planned, in the beginning, as a hunt for
wild duck on Kourusuo Bog.




CHAPTER IX


It is a morning in September, a few days after the brothers’
adventurous journey had ended. They now sit on the clearing round a
boiling cauldron of meat. For two days they had watched at a distance
over the meat in the forest, but as no one came to remove it, it began
to look as though it was to be left to form a mighty carrion-heap.
Whereupon they decided to make use of the great stacks of meat in
the forest and to live nobly for a while round reeking flesh-pots.
They bore the carcases to their store-room, which became filled with
meat, while the rafters disappeared beneath hanging hides. And now,
spluttering and foaming, a gigantic cauldron of meat boiled on the
stump-covered clearing near the house, boiled almost without cease from
morning to night, and, glutted, the brothers’ stomachs laboured. Around
it they spent care-free, merry days; now eating, now relating tales and
legends, now sweetly sleeping again, heads pillowed on hummocks, while
the soughing forest re-echoed with their snoring.

The morning was fine, and limpid and blue stretched the sky, while from
the surrounding forests the booming of the fresh northeast wind could
be heard. Round their flesh-pot the brothers sprawled; some sitting on
stumps, some on the dry surface of the clearing, enjoying a prolonged
breakfast. There the dogs, too, lying on their stomachs, gorged
themselves on the fibrous, powerful flesh of the bulls. Cheeriness and
a deep-rooted calm shone on every face.

TIMO. Thanks to the master of Viertola for this meal too.

JUHANI. All thanks and honour to him!

AAPO. We shall count this feast dear yet. Viertola will
certainly not leave matters as they are.

JUHANI. The law is on our side; this the master is bound to
see and to leave the law alone. Let’s eat meat, brothers, and may it
lie lightly on our stomachs, for our backs are free. But more exercise,
boys, more exercise and marching is what we want; beef is strong food.

EERO. Let’s join hands and dance a brotherly ring-dance; let’s
buck and jump, and I’ll lay our tummies shrink.

JUHANI. We’re not going to skip here like hawks in summer,
but we can join in some other game. Ah! where are the madcap days of
my boyhood now? Brothers, let us hit the whirling disc once more as
we used to on Toukola’s dusty highways. Here’s a smooth clearing for
us; such stumps as are in our way we can tear up by the roots, and on
yon side we can take the smooth surface of the heath to lengthen our
playground with. Let’s form two sides, and each of those on the losing
side must swallow ten pounds of ox-flesh this evening.

TUOMAS. Agreed.

JUHANI. Ten pounds, brothers?

EERO. Just so! Ten pounds as punishment for those whom the
tough disc sweeps before it.

JUHANI. Three a-side would be fairest, but there are seven of
us.

LAURI. I’m out of it. I’d sooner hunt for useful timber in the
forest than run and sweat like a hair-brained nipper. Play your game,
I’m off into the forest with an axe under my arm.

Thus speaking, they ended their meal at last and set out to prepare
their playground. They shaped it to run across the clearing and for
some distance farther along the heath on the clearing’s eastern edge.
And a few hours later they stood ready for the game, sturdy birchwood
staves in their hands; and they stood divided into two sides: Juhani,
Simeoni and Timo on one side, and Tuomas, Aapo and Eero on the other.
The disc began to fly between them, and the forest echoed far around
as the staves smote against the hard wooden wheel that sped humming
backwards and forwards.

But deep in the backwoods Lauri walked, an axe under his arm. Slowly
he marched, looking carefully around him, and ever and anon his
progress was halted as his eye caught nodes, forked stems, twisted
trunks and tousled wind-tangles high in the crowns of dense birches
and pine-trees. He came to the tall stump of a storm-felled spruce;
he regarded it thoughtfully for a while, then began to chip a hole
in its side with his axe. This accomplished, he thought to himself:
happen next summer a redstart or a little mottled woodpecker’ll build
its nest in that hole. With this idea, he marked the spot carefully
and continued his journey again. But having wandered a while, he saw
a hanging birch, from the trunk of which an enormous node protruded,
rotund, big as a Christmas cake. He chopped it off and took it with
him, deciding that it would make a capacious scoop. He set off
wandering onward again, but soon his sharp eye had descried on the
edge of a tongue of rock a marvellously twisted juniper. Now what
would that make? he pondered, and striking once, twice, with his keen
axe, he felled the juniper. He lopped off the branches, regarded it
smiling for a moment, and resumed his journey, taking the juniper with
him. He heard the cow-bells from the villages and emitted a fearful
yell to scare away wolves from the neighbourhood. He yelled, and
the echoes flowed around in friendly answer. So he marched on until
he finally reached the heather-clad ridge of a hill, where he saw a
large wind-tangle dancing in a pine-tree’s crown, rocked by the cool
northeaster. He felled the pine, chopped off the tousled crown and sat
down to contemplate his find.

For long he sat there, thinking and examining the wind-tangle and
the node and the richly twisted juniper. ‘How had Nature formed
these things? What had bent the juniper into all those twists and
bends?’ And sinking down to the ground, he leaned his head against a
deserted, grass-grown ant-heap. Thence he stared at the tree-tops, at
the slow-sailing clouds, pondering over the build of the earth and
heaven; and from afar, from Impivaara clearing, the faint clash of the
disc-players’ staves was borne to his ears. Feeling at last a desire
to dispel all thought from his brain he decided to go to sleep; but
sleep seemed loth to approach him. Now what did Lauri usually do when
it chanced that the Goddess of Sleep proved coy? He would either fancy
himself a little mole that digs deep down in its peaceful underground
manor, to sleep at last on a bed of finest sand, or he would imagine
himself a thick-pelted bear, resting in his rough mossy cabin beneath
the spruce-roots, over which the blizzards of winter go roaring.
Thinking thus, he would almost always find sleep soon closing his eyes.
And so it was now, as he fancied himself a little mole, burrowing deep
in the womb of mother nature.

He slept, but sleep continued the fancies of his waking mind. His whole
body, so it seemed to him, shrank swiftly to that of a fine-haired
mole; his eyes became exceedingly small, and his palms swelled to
enormous gloves, until he was a mole, that burrowed beneath the
pine-roots, deep under the heath. There he burrowed and dug, digging
himself finally upward along the rotted pith of a tall pine until, when
he reached the topmost stem of its crown, he found himself sitting
in the middle of a wind-tangle in a soft, mossy pen. ‘This is a good
place to be in, here I will live for ever,’ he thought, peering with
little mole’s eyes out of his tiny chamber window. And he saw beneath
him a sombre world wrapped in the cheerless grey of the autumn eve.
He saw Impivaara’s beetling fell, and in measureless distance that
tore at the heart, he saw amidst the twilit forests the melancholy
cabin, and he saw his brothers, hitting the disc with the rector on
the misty, echoing heath. And a desire to weep bitterly assailed him,
but the tears seemed loth to come and only rolled restlessly at their
source. Towards Impivaara he looked: and over the clearing and for some
distance along the heath oxhides had been spread, blood-bespattered,
fresh, in a lengthy row, along which the disc danced humming. With
staves of birch, bent near the handles, the brothers bravely smote, but
the rector, with his sword of the spirit, smote still more bravely.
And this sword of the spirit was beaten of toughest iron, of old
horse-shoes; so boasted the rector himself, as he proudly waved his
weapon in the air, waved it and beat it against the oaken shield of
faith that dangled on his left breast.

With sweating brows they battled; backward and forward flew the disc
between them, and a great din and crashing was heard afar. But at last
the rector noticed that the disc was no ordinary disc at all, but a
red-backed a-b-c book, which the brothers were using as a disc. And
at that the rector became incensed; he cursed and swore, shouting a
thousand maledictions on the brothers’ heads. With his sword of the
spirit he pointed east, west, south and north, and shouted in a loud
voice ‘iiyah, iiyah!’ And from every quarter black clouds approached
in whirling tempests, approached mournful Impivaara at terrific speed.
Came whirlwinds in their thousands, and around the brothers they all
crashed together, sucking up the brothers into their embrace. And soon
six brothers spun high in the air on the wings of the winds, head over
heels in a confused jumble. So wrapped in dust and vapoury clouds,
they whirled giddily round, spun as a warping-mill spins when sped
by the spinner’s nimble hand. Terrified, Lauri in his mole’s attire
looked on from his wind-tangle, up in the crown of the bowing pine. He
saw emerge from the revolving mass, now a man’s hand, now a chin like
to Juhani’s mighty chin, and then again a coarse shock of hair would
flash by his glance. Then the rector suddenly smote his oaken shield of
faith with his sword, and at once the pillar of cloud moved; it began
speeding towards the pine-wood where Lauri rocked in his high cradle,
and at this his mole’s eyes opened wide. The raging whirlwind flew by
him, however, and suddenly sounding, and as suddenly dying away, the
brothers’ pitiable moans and yells were borne to his ears. Past him
it flew, with fear-awakening speed: the forest roared like a thousand
rapids, roared and crashed, and the pine in whose top Lauri sat in his
wind-tangle fell crackling; at which the man, horribly scared, awoke
from his dream. Shrieking loudly, he bounded up from his hummock,
shouting in a voice nigh to weeping: ‘Help, O God, the child of Man!’
For long he stared around him without immediately recollecting where
he was. But at last his thoughts settled down in their former channels
again, especially when he saw beside him his belongings: the twisted
juniper, the globular node and the wind-tangle, frilled like the
Turkish Sultan’s turban.

He began at last, axe under arm and the collected spoil on his
shoulder, to walk towards Impivaara, resolving nevermore to picture
himself an animal, God having once created him a thinking human being.
Thus meditating, he fared onward, and noted yet beside the stony path a
little birch that pleased his eye. ‘Now what would that make,--a good
fastening-pin,’ he decided, and striking once with his axe, he now had
the makings of a good fastening-pin on his back. With this addition
to his load he resumed his journey; and a while later he stood on the
heath, watching, morose and silent, the brothers’ merry pastime, the
fiery speeding of the disc. Hard they smote and ran, and the winners
were Tuomas, Aapo and Eero, who had already driven their opponents to
the eastern end of the ground. Then when the play-ground cleared for
the game had been won, the parties changed ends, and brothers Juhani,
Simeoni and Timo began retreating homeward, although resisting with all
their might. Difficult was it to meet Tuomas’s stroke as the disc flew
shrieking and dancing forward; difficult for the disc as it returned to
spin past Eero without being met by a stroke of his staff. And so they
battled and perspired, yelling at the top of their voices, and silent,
Lauri watched the struggle, with his booty from the forest on his back;
Killi and Kiiski watched too, ever sitting near Juhani and now and
again opening their jaws in a gaping yawn. The autumn sky stretched
bright above them, the fresh northeaster hummed in the pines, and in
the forest, perched on the side of a withered spruce, a red-crested,
yellow-eyed woodpecker hammered, sounding ever and anon its beautiful
high-pitched call.

JUHANI. Let the wheel come and he’ll feel my stick on his
forehead, just to let him know where he comes from.

TUOMAS. See that: there’s a stroke that’ll sweep you down to
Lake Ilvesjärvi.

JUHANI. That I’m not inclined to believe. Ay, here it lies,
little brother, nicely. But God’s lightning! look to thy shins, lad,
now. There!

TUOMAS. Hit back, smite it, Aapo!

AAPO. Flew like a swallow humming past me. But Eero’s staff
will ring again, that I know. Just as I said! Well hit, Eero. Good!

TUOMAS. Honour to Eero, high honour!

JUHANI. If it wasn’t for that cursed infant there at your
tail-end, you’d be deep in the forest by now, poor fellows!

TUOMAS. Step out to the disc, man, and don’t stand babbling
there like a child.

EERO. Heleiyah! Past him again.

AAPO. Not a single staff could touch it, not one.

TUOMAS. No more than they’d hit a shooting-star in the sky.
Brothers, what do you say?

EERO. They’ve little time even to whisper a word, running as
they are with drooping tails after their lost sheep.

JUHANI. What is Aapo thinking of over there? See to it, lad,
that thou hast not slaughtered my disc, so strong and hard.

TUOMAS. It bounced from the road into the heather yonder and
stopped, to my mind, near that little fir. Good morrow, Lauri! Why art
thou standing there so ill-tempered and silent?

EERO. What news from the forest, Lauri?

JUHANI. Ask him. There he stands like the former Heikki
Pajula, that man from Myllymäki, with a bunch of old boots on his back.
But Aapo, Aapo, thou dratted loon, what art fumbling at there?

TIMO. Hurry up, hurry up, brother Aapo.

JUHANI. Peering and seeking there like a cat after its
kitten.... ‘The wind it blows and the tree-tops sway....’ Move a little
out of my way, Kiiski-boy, or thy paws’ll be in danger. Dost thou hear
me? Get out of my way.

    ‘The wind it blows and the tree-tops sway,
    My love’s voice echoes from far away.’

Ay, ay, poor Kiiski, pity won’t help here. And well thou knowest it.
Yonder thou canst sit and yawn as seems best to thee. Hay, my pet,
hey-hey-hey! There thou canst sit in peace and watch the disc fly. But
the devil’s loose if that disc isn’t found! Every man looking for it!

EERO. Here the thing is.

TUOMAS. Place it there in the vice of my finger and thumb.

AAPO. And let them have it from a man’s hand.

JUHANI. Just so! And here’s a man’s staff to meet it.

TUOMAS. Out of the way, or I’ll give thee a horn on thy
forehead.

AAPO. It flies past him.

EERO. Oh, my poor Juhani-brother! why dost thou whip the empty
air like that?

JUHANI. Strike at it, Simeoni, knock it down so that the earth
rings! Oh thou butter-fingered dolt! Now Timoson, see that thy staff
clashes! The devil in thy skin! Thou deservest five brace of stripes,
old slowcoach!

TUOMAS. Keep on marching! There’s no help for it.

So the strenuous game ended at last, and the sun sank westward into the
bosom of the mossy pines. Perspiring, the brothers now marched home,
both the victors, Tuomas, Aapo and Eero, and the vanquished; and last
of all came Lauri, a mighty burden on his shoulder. Arrived in the
home yard a cauldron full of meat was set on a fire and there allowed
to cook. Then they began their meal together; but Juhani, Simeoni and
Timo had to swallow a fearful quantity of beef, ten pounds, according
to the common decision when the game was begun. Without any mercy they
had to fulfil their task, Tuomas standing threateningly over them.
Nobly they chewed and swallowed, though often their stomachs rose in
revolt and their eyes became shot with blood. At last Simeoni and Timo
completed their measure and then, puffing and with hideously contorted
visages, made for the cabin without delay and dropped down on their
rushy couches to sleep. But for some time yet Juhani lingered over his
enormous meal, though he chewed and munched diligently. Silent, staring
stiffly downward at the forest, he sat on a stump and ate, filled with
wrath, particularly as Eero’s uncontrollable giggling was wafted to
his ears. Finally he too swallowed for the last time, and his features
swelled and darkened terribly, but down slid the piece at last from
his throat, only half-masticated. And then hastily, puffing, grinning
piteously and holding his stomach, he staggered to the cabin and fell
down to sleep on his bed of rushes, and the others followed him to
their nightly repose.

When at last they awoke in the morning from their deep sleep, the
juryman Mäkelä, accompanied by a witness, stood in the room. Sent
by the master of Viertola, he came to command their presence at the
Assizes to answer for the killing of the bulls. Without a word,
staring, the brothers heard the juryman’s command, then finally they
got up and dressed themselves, the confusion of sleep gradually leaving
them. Wrathfully Juhani scratched his poll and uttered in a growling
tone:

JUHANI. This is a hard case, for there were seven lives at
stake. And what are a thousand cattle compared to one man?

MÄKELÄ. The bulls wandered peaceably on Viertola land, in a
fenced enclosure.

JUHANI. But a bear, which is the enemy of cattle and man,
the foe of all authority, does not wander as peaceably when it comes
on Viertola soil, but will eat up both master and myself, and Mäkelä
added; and we are all, I hope, dearly-bought souls. Look you to that
point. Ay, ay, Mäkelä! there’s many a point, pitfall and paragraph
stored away back of my teeth, and with these I’ll stop up Viertola’s
mouth nicely yet. I’m in no mind to blab all of them now, but before
the judge I can let out one thing and another, as matters demand, aye,
matters and circumstances.

TIMO. We’re not exactly children in matters of law. Didn’t
we, Lord ha’ mercy, come forward like real gentlemen in that mighty
lawsuit that Kaisa Koivula started to get support for her child? I
still remember how they shouted: ‘Juhani, son of Juhani Jukola and his
younger brother Timotheus!’

JUHANI. Timo, shut up, shut up this minute like a young mole.
Yes, Mäkelä, the matter is as I just said.

MÄKELÄ. You will not even try then to repay Viertola the
damage voluntarily?

JUHANI. Not a penny, not a penny, not a single Crown’s penny!
We have justice on our side, and the victory’ll be ours at last, though
I were to rot.

MÄKELÄ. Yet I’ve heard that meat is eaten here every day as
though ’twas always All Saints’ Day. What is the meat you gorge so
unstintingly?

JUHANI. Beef, beef, the juicy meat of Viertola’s bulls. And it
isn’t exactly our habit to gorge, but to eat ordinary-like, as much as
a hungry Christian belly will hold.

MÄKELÄ. So you touched the meat anyhow, with which, as you
yourself said, you have nothing to do.

JUHANI. The meat would otherwise have spoiled and spread the
itch and scab, plagues and sores round the whole of Finland. We saved
the country from this ruin. And again shouldst thou ask us why we did
not, for the surer freedom of our skins, bury the meat in the depths of
the earth,--which would be a truly daft question--but if thou so askest
us, why we would answer thus: We did not want to commit so great a sin
as to rob our Fatherland and those set in authority over us of such
strong, juicy fare as beef, especially if we remember that this year
too so many lads have been forced to chew pinebark like goats.

MÄKELÄ. Well, to speak truth, you did right in taking what
Viertola proudly refused. That is the answer to that question; but to
come to the kernel of the case, the payment of damages, I’m afraid
it’ll be taken from you in the end.

JUHANI. Not in play, not in play. Sooner both house and lands
can go, down to the last corner-stone.

MÄKELÄ. I have done my duty and given you my opinion of the
case. Farewell!

JUHANI. Give us thy opinion of another matter. What is the
rector thinking of us these days?

MÄKELÄ. In that matter the world chatters fearfully, but
there’s little worth trusting to in the whisper of rumour. But one
thing I can with certainty assure you, namely, that the rector is in
lively correspondence with the Bishop regarding you and that soon fifty
Cossacks will be sent to the parish on the Bishop’s behalf.

JUHANI. Good!

MÄKELÄ. Ay, fifty horse and men.

JUHANI. Good! Finnish lads have broken Cossack pikes before
now.

MÄKELÄ. A sorry matter all the same. Still it’s not as bad as
rumour would have it. Could this be true now? ‘A company of Cossacks,
a dusting company of lanced Cossacks, with knouts and all’. Ay, why
should any one believe such foolish rumours. There’ll be fifty of them,
no more.

JUHANI. Let ’em come.

MÄKELÄ. Dost thou say so? Rascal! And here I’d give five
crowns to escape them, to escape the shame of it. What nonsense! The
military to our parish for the sake of seven men? Nonsense, nonsense!
But such is our Bishop’s plan.

JUHANI. All’s well!

MÄKELÄ. Ill, ill, devilishly ill. But fare ye well now!

JUHANI. God protect thee, Mäkelä! and thou, Taavetti Karila,
go in God’s name and peace.

TUOMAS. Would there be any truth in it?

JUHANI. Think, lads! Forty bulls and a company of Cossacks!
Take me to thy bosom, Ilvesjärvi!

AAPO. I doubt greatly....

JUHANI. Forty bulls and a battalion of Cossacks, knouts and
all, goggle-eyed knouts! Take me to thy shining bosom, lake!

AAPO. Calm thyself, man, and stop raving.

JUHANI. Thou heardest what he said?

LAURI. He lied. I saw that from his eyes, although the old
chap tried to look grave. He lied; that I’ll swear to.

AAPO. A great rogue, that Mäkelä. Let Cossacks be set afoot
for Karja’s robbers and Nurmijärvi bandits, and not for honourable men,
without a single black mark, in their papers yet. But Mäkelä’s a great
rogue.

TUOMAS. And yet always a man of honour.

AAPO. A man of honour, honesty itself, but he can jest
whenever he is so inclined, and so finely, finely, that you’d never
notice what he was at before you’re kicking in his net. Ah! if there
were a cold heart and an evil mind in that breast, he’d beat the devil
himself in plots of darkness. But now he desires and does only good,
though he does play pranks now and then right madly. Ah thee! how well
thou didst arrange thy words and sentences in this tale too. It was
hardly that I wasn’t taken in a little myself.

JUHANI. I, poor lad, was scared almost to death at the prattle
of that great rogue; but now I see that it was all pure lies. Cossacks
to this place? What next? He-he!

AAPO. But it was a big enough shock on a fasting stomach.
Hasten now, Lauri, and make a fire under that oven-stone; for my belly
says that meal-time draws nigh.

Lauri went out on to the clearing, kindled a blazing fire, and after
a time the others came out of the cabin, placing themselves round the
stone; and once more a cauldron of meat was cooked for breakfast. They
began their meal, but for Juhani, Simeoni, and Timo beef had lost its
flavour that day.

EERO. Eat meat, boys. Juhani, have some beef.

JUHANI. Eat it thyself.

TIMO. The fatness of these bulls doesn’t please me, however
much I try.

SIMEONI. I feel a shudder go through my sinful frame whenever
I turn my eyes towards the pot yonder.

TIMO. Shall I ever eat fresh meat again? Perish the thought!

JUHANI. To swallow ten pounds of beef into one’s stomach! Ten
pounds! Why, it’s wolfish. But now I’ve had enough, and the path of my
life is closed, now that my appetite for meat is gone. And yet it is
meat, meat, that we have to depend on down here. But the cauldron there
is as though full of black toads to me now. Ah! a little more and I’d
cry!

TIMO. What’s the use of crying? Believe me, I haven’t wiped my
eyes since at mother’s grave-side; when the old girl was hidden in a
hole in the earth, then I blubbered a bit, sure. At other times, when
hard luck seems to threaten a poor lad, what I always think is: nothing
fiercer than death can come of it, anyhow. Why be cast down? Time will
bring new advice.

JUHANI. Right! That’s something I’ll show you just now. I
will, deuce take me! In this skull of mine a spark of an idea lit up
just now. Eigh, eigh! Even a thick head, even the thickest head isn’t
quite the stupidest thing. Eigh, eigh! The spark of my idea is alight.

TIMO. What kind of spark?

JUHANI. Eigh, eigh!

TIMO. What kind of spark?

JUHANI. Maybe every screw is in its place here. Eigh, eigh!

TIMO. Hast thou found a way out?

JUHANI. Here, Lord love us, we have tarry stumps around us in
thousands like black goblins.

TIMO. Ay, that we have. But what blessing is a tarry stump to
us?

JUHANI. Oh poor soul of little faith. From the stumps we can
boil hissing tar, from the tar pitch, shiny black lumps, for which
we can get money. It’s a trick I know as well as Rajamäki’s Mikko.
But thanks to Eero, who sang of him yesterday, and thus brought this
stump-idea into my head; for there’s no other way for us to make money.
Even the game in our forests grows less and less, and turned into money
wouldn’t bring in enough even for bread and other grub, now that I
have, as it seems, said an eternal farewell to meat. But now tar and
pitch will repay everything. Let us take after Mikko, take after Mikko.

TIMO. Let’s do so. But then we ought to add Mikko’s other job
to it, if our new life is to keep us in bread. I myself know that a cat
is put into a leather sleeve and a dog into a sprat-barrel, to get a
proper hold of them, but there’s lots of other wisdom needed too. And
the job is looked on as in some way shameful. Let us remember that too.

JUHANI. Go to Hell with thy gelder’s knife! I’ll burn tar, I
will, and boil pitch; and thou’lt see yet how money can be made from
chunks of pitch. Aapo, what dost thou think of my idea?

AAPO. I’ve turned it over in my head, and it’s not without
sense, but it isn’t going to bring in enough bread. Still less can we
go to law with rich men on the strength of our lumps of pitch. And woe
to us if we lose in this matter in the end!

JUHANI. Ay, ay, but what are we to do? Every man seeks his
right down here.

AAPO. Let’s come to some agreement and leave the law aside.

JUHANI. Boy! how are we to appease the fiery master of
Viertola and pay for his bulls?

AAPO. Pitch won’t be enough for that, nor tar, nor game, which
grows less at an alarming rate. But look now, how one thought springs
from another and one word from another. When thou spokest of tarry
stumps, there came into my mind the boundless backwoods of Jukola, its
dense birch-woods, pine-woods, and spruce-woods. In a few days seven
men could fell many acres of forest for sowing. We could burn the
undergrowth and branches and sow the ground, and later reap and take
the harvest to Viertola as the price of his bulls, leaving, however,
a part in the store-room for our own needs. And that means bread for
those whom meat and blood terrify. And to some back to Viertola, if the
first crop is not enough to pay for the bulls, why a second will do it,
and in any case a third. But until the grain waves in our new clearing,
we can squeeze mother nature with all our might; and for you three,
meat will yet taste well. We can go on thus for two years; but when a
heavy-eared harvest stands in our clearing, then we can build frames
for our ricks and hammer together a threshing-barn, and well, that’ll
be like working on a real farm. But if we decide to begin such a task,
one or two of us must go quickly to talk over the matter with Viertola,
and I do believe he’ll be appeased and agree to await the harvest from
our clearing; for they say he is a somewhat worthy fellow.

TUOMAS. That’s advice worth thinking over.

JUHANI. Sure, ’tis worth it. It’s advice from a man’s skull
and not from the little nob of a daft woman.

AAPO. Let us think this over, and tomorrow what’s decided is
decided.

The day passed, night came and another day dawned and the brothers
decided to follow brother Aapo’s advice. Two of them, Juhani and
Aapo, set out to speak the language of peace with the hasty master of
Viertola. And soon the dreaded master was all mildness and was pleased
to await compensation for his loss from a mighty clearing. And why
should he not have agreed to a plan by which many and various profits
were offered him from the stately Jukola forests? Highly satisfied, the
brothers returned from the manor, to bring home the glad tidings.

Two days went by again and a third, and the brothers set out for the
forest in a body, with gleaming axes on their shoulders, while,
burdened with a brush-hook, and old broken sickle, Eero brought up the
rear. A wide hill-side of dense pines, sloping southward and topped by
a grove of tall trees, was fixed on for the clearing. Whereafter they
began the felling of the forest; axes clashed, the forest rang, and
with a great crashing pine fell on pine. Always in the van hastened
Eero, cutting down the tough pliant shoots with his hook. So fell many
an acre of luxuriant forest, and all around spread the fresh scent of
new shavings and of green, coniferous branches. And soon on the sunny
slope, Impivaara clearing lay ready, enormously large, so that its like
had hardly been seen before. And the work had been accomplished within
five September days. Whereafter they reposed sweetly in their cabin
again, snoring for three nights and three days. But when their bodies
were sufficiently rested, they fared forth to hunt in the yellowing
forests. Over echoing hills they wandered; they strode through dismal
backwoods, thinning with well-aimed bullets the herds of Tapiola for
provision during the coming winter. Greatly, however, had the game
begun to diminish in the lands around Impivaara; and it was high time
for the brothers to seek new fields for the supply of their daily bread.

Winter came, snow hid the ground, keen winds circled round the
clearing, sweeping up drifts against the cabin’s walls. But within the
cabin, the brothers wallowed in the stifling heat of the platform,
resting from the many labours and dangers of the preceding summer.
Diligently they bathed, whipping their limbs in the grateful heat
with soft bunches of twigs. Roaring the steam rose from the hot
stones, spreading in rolling clouds around the room, to escape at last
through the cracks and disappear in the cold, shrinking air, under
the melancholy, pallid sky. So, stretched on their rush couches, the
drowsy men lived through their days and nights. There on many a winter
night they looked through their tiny window on the flashing, livid
northern lights. At such times an arc of light, visible afar, shone on
the mountain’s rim, beyond the bearded spruce. There, fluttering and
silent, the play of light was lit and extinguished and lit again; fire
pursued fire, stretching from the pale gateway of the north up to the
dome of the heavens, and at times a faint light quivered over all the
sky. From the platform of their cabin the brothers watched the play of
light, marvelling and speculating hither and thither over the origin
and cause of this solemn spectacle. But they conjectured and pondered
in vain.

Now and again, however, they went out when the brief day dawned into
the playground of the winds, fared forth on well-greased skis across
the rime-clad forests. And as luck stood them by, they bagged now a
lively heath-grouse, now a grey-clad squirrel, now some other denizen
of the woods. In the back-woods they chanced on the round tracks of
a glutton that ran in a pretty line along the crust of snow, and at
once the ardour of the dogs rose to boiling-point, showing that the
animal could not be far away. Soon the whining bark of Killi and
Kiiski was heard and the sound of the chase moving swiftly onward;
and swiftly the brothers hastened on behind. Across the forest they
swept, out of the forest up a stony hill; and from the crags the
snow and moss were whipped high up into the air. Ahead fled the
glutton, its eyes brightly flashing, bright as two mirrors held up
to the sun. The screaming fury of the dogs pursued it, and with the
swishing of skis the seven men. Now along Kamaja’s lofty ridge they
galloped wildly, headed towards the southwest, whence the dying star
of day glowed through the spruce to meet them; and on the right the
low-lying northward lands rang with the chase, and on the left the
low-lying southward lands echoed the sound, as Killi and Kiiski gave
mouth to their fire-breathing eagerness. But suddenly the medley of
sound was still, as the crook-clawed glutton, just when the danger
was greatest, climbed swiftly into the top of a tree. The spruce took
it lovingly to her bosom, helpless, however, to ward off the pursuing
death. The dogs raged, looking with burning eyes lustfully upward,
whence a low growling was heard; and the spruce wrathfully shook its
mane, threatening the pursuers. Then with a violent crash and din the
brothers burst into view on their skis, with cheeks glowing like fire
and heaving bosoms. And Tuomas said: ‘Keep back the dogs now, brothers,
from starting a dangerous fight, in which their bellies would soon be
ripped open.’ He said this, and the others quickly seized the dogs by
their furry coats, while Tuomas aimed his gun and fired. Down from its
shelter tumbled the glutton, bleeding, and immediately the screaming
dogs began struggling wildly to be at their prey, though without
succeeding. The glutton lay on the snow-covered ground, kicking and
squirming, his sharp claws raging madly everywhere around him, until a
second ball, piercing his brain, cut short his agony, and he lay still.
Threateningly the spruce shook its locks once more, scattering downward
from its crown a shower of glittering snow to hide its dying son, as
in the hot stream of his blood the keen life fled from his heart, to
dissolve in a vapour into the air. And thus ended a mighty chase on
Kamaja’s spruce-clad hill, whither Impivaara Fell showed faintly in the
northwest, with the stump-covered clearing palely gleaming at its base.
Thither the brothers now merrily bent their steps with their spoil.

So in the rime-clad forests they ski’d up hill and down, ski’d over
level plains; and the men’s open and bronzed breasts shone afar. And so
they passed their time; for the most, however, in the cabin’s warmth,
while the rayless, drowsy sun lingered in the sweltering lands of the
south. Far indeed had it travelled, the burning source of life; one day
it hardly lifted even its brow from the blue bosom of the forests. But
with that it turned again and began once more its journey northward.

Summer came, the cutting was prepared for firing; the logs were rolled
away and in the calm, hot days a mighty sea of branches died, and the
time for burning drew nigh. Without sending word to their neighbours,
without informing a soul, the brothers set out to burn over their
clearing. Fire was set to the brushwood and a great flame rose roaring
towards the heavens, and soon the brown smoke rolled right to the edge
of the clouds. Onward spread the fire, and in the bright light of the
sun the litter burned to ashes. But the mere branches and litter of the
clearing failed to satisfy it, and with a thunderous noise it charged
at last into the pillared halls of the pines. Then the brothers,
terror-stricken, hastened to fight the unfettered element with all
their might: they swept and smote at the heathery ground, and their
brooms of spruce whizzed and whined through the air, as they fell
heavily on the ground, till all the sandy hill-side boomed. Yet the
raging flames seemed little dismayed at this, they sped, still hurrying
swiftly, onward. Cried Juhani at last in a loud voice: ‘trousers in
hand, every man; wet them in the spring and beat the fire with ’em’!
Hastily tearing off their trousers, they dipped them in a brimming,
cold spring and began beating, whipping the burning surface of the
heath. High into the air flew the hot ashes and the soot, the earth
thundered as though a host of riders had galloped at full speed over
it; and at length confusion seized the angry flames. Black as niggers
and bathed in perspiration, the men collapsed weakly on to the ground,
puffing, sobbing after their heated game.

But the clearing had burned cleanly and was sown and ploughed, harrowed
with a primitive wooden harrow with the combined strength of seven men,
and finally a stout fence was built up round it, and before the coming
of winter an excellent young crop had sprouted there. And in the fence
suitable openings were left, in which heavy snares were set, to the
death of numerous hares.




CHAPTER X


Again the days flew by; harvest-time came round, and in the clearing
danced a crop, bounteous and magnificent, the like of which had
scarcely been seen before. In the heat of a blazing sun the brothers
reaped their field; and soon the gleaming stalks had been gathered
into sheaves. And soon the sheaves too disappeared as they were
removed into the cabin. There in the heat of the platform the grain
was dried, threshed against the wall below and winnowed. And in the
end the clearing lay quite naked, despoiled of its grain, of which
the greater part was at once taken to Viertola, twenty barrels being
retained by the brothers for their own use. With this grain about half
of the brothers’ debt was paid; but the master of Viertola promised to
wipe off the whole of it if the brothers would allow him to use their
clearing for one crop of oats, give him the logs for a big new barn
from the Jukola forests and return the forty oxhides. And the brothers
agreed to the bargain.

They were now released from an awkward situation, which had helped,
however, to store their granary with more grain than they needed for
the coming winter. But it had other and graver consequences for them.
This same grain, fine first-crop grain, suggested to Juhani the idea of
distilling spirits, an idea that was soon approved by Timo. The others
were against the enterprise in the beginning, but finally the will of
Juhani and Timo prevailed. Juhani preached how even spirits, enjoyed
with skill and in moderation, brings joy and happiness, especially to
them, young ravens in the dismal forests. And they set to work and
fashioned a small distillery in the ditch by the wolf-trap and to it
brought the old Jukola still; for the tanner lacked means to distil
spirits for himself. And now smoke began to rise towards the heavens
from Impivaara ditch; and richly the still yielded clear spirits.

And now the brothers began to enjoy themselves, tippling from morning
to eve, and their time went by like the flow of a river. And already
after the lapse of two or three days a ceaseless, humming music, like
the sound of a distant bassoon, echoed in their ears, and the world
span merrily round before their eyes. Attired only in their shirts,
they lolled in the cabin, whence a fearful din and singing was now
constantly heard, broken now and again by the dull thuds of a wrestling
bout or the clamour and banging of a fight. Often, at such times, the
stout door of the cabin would suddenly fly open and a man gallop out as
fast as he could with another hard at his heels. Round and round the
cabin they would scud, short, homespun shirts waving and brown limbs
twinkling. So they would run until a collision occurred or the rest of
the brothers stepped between to restore peace and harmony. Then they
would enter the cabin in a body, friendship would be drunk again and a
merry song sung together.

Lauri alone kept apart from such sprees. Remembering his wild spree on
the Devil’s Rock, he had taken a noble and sacred decision never to let
intoxicating liquor pass his lips again, and this vow he kept. Now he
strode the forests in silence, studying the twists in three-trunks and
seeking useful timber for household purposes. He also worked steadily
with his traps in the clearing and would often return from his outings
carrying a young hare in his distended bag. Once, having gone out to
examine his traps, he chanced to see a brown animal in a snare. Highly
satisfied, he said to himself: ‘Thanks be to God that I have caught a
fox!’ but soon a rough, snarling cry was heard from him: ‘Viertola’s
tabby cat and the Devil!’ With this shout he cast the cat angrily
into the forest, set the snare again and went on to his other traps
and gins. Thus he spent his days in the cool woods, while the others
gambolled with shrunken eyes in the scorching cabin.

Michaelmas drew nigh, and the brothers felt like enjoying this holiday
in high fashion. A rich load was haled together to be taken to town,
and with the proceeds titbits were to be bought for the coming feast:
rum, bottled beer, eels, salt herrings and wheaten bread. Great was the
bustle around the cart one fresh autumn morning. Sacks were lifted and
stored, ropes bound and strong slip-knots tied. Everything was done
lightly, done at fiery speed; for each of them, with the exception of
Lauri, had poured a mighty morning drink down his throat. Soon the load
stood ready in the yard, and Simeoni and Eero began their journey to
Hämeenlinna, with a barrel of rye and ten cans of spirits on the cart
and old Valko between the shafts.

But in the cabin the merrily roaring life continued; spirits were drunk
out of a tankard, and day followed day. A week went by and part of the
next, but there was no sign of the travellers from town, and finally
the brothers began to speculate hither and thither as to the cause of
this delay. And while they still speculated the tenth day dawned, and
still on unknown paths Simeoni and Eero lingered.

The sun rose and in the cabin merriment was at its height; mighty words
were used as each boasted of his powers. Lauri alone sat silent in his
corner, whittling a gun-stock of curly birch-wood. Big phrases filled
the air. ‘A lad like the corner of a house!’ ‘Feet skyward when a
real man hit out!’ ‘Do you remember, brothers, how sweetly Kolistin’s
Antti got it from this hand, there under his jaw? It was a man’s blow,
and the ground shook and Heaven echoed when the big fellow fell’. So
they competed in boasting, ever and anon pouring the pearly liquid
in the tankard down their throats. But suddenly a violent quarrel
arose between Juhani and Timo, and the eldest brother was soon highly
embittered. For this time Timo did not seem in the least inclined to
give way, but supported his argument firmly with proverbs, quotations
from the Bible and badly-limping metaphors. And at this Juhani’s gorge
rose, his eyes flashed fire, and at last, suddenly refraining from
speech, he dashed like a baited bear at his pig-headed brother. But
Timo fled; out on to the clearing he ran in his shirt, and after him
Juhani, similarly clad. A few paces from the threshold, however, Juhani
came to a halt; but Timo, in the belief that his enraged brother was
at his heels, ran dodging along the stump-filled clearing. And then,
feeling his pursuer’s fingers at his neck, he opened his mouth and
emitted a hoarse squawk, looking stiffly behind him. But his eyes grew
round when he saw Juhani standing far away from him, near the cabin
step, scratching his neck and staring at two wretched travellers,
who with lagging footsteps approached the house from the edge of the
forest. The other brothers came rushing out, flushed as though they had
come from the bath-house steam, hastening to patch up matters between
the quarrellers. But soon their eyes too were fixed upon Simeoni and
Eero, who returned at last from their journey in miserable condition.

Valko, now only skin and bone, walked unspeakably slowly; his head
hung down almost between his fore-legs, his mournfully drooping lower
lip brushed the ground. The men too were a sorry sight. With filthy
faces and garments they sat on the cart like two crows in the rain.
Simeoni had had his cap stolen, Eero his stockings and top-boots;
all that was left of the money was six kopeks, which had remained
unnoticed in Eero’s vest pocket, and with this money was a crumbled
biscuit. Where and how had they wasted the price of the load? It had
been spent in Hämeenlinna on gin and wheat-cakes; and thus with empty
hands and aching heads they drew near to their home. Dumb, struck with
astonishment, the others viewed the sight which had burst upon them,
and in that gaze Simeoni and Eero read their awful doom. And Simeoni
deemed it best to make off while there was still time. He sprang down
from the cart, leaving both his brother and the horse to their fate,
and disappeared into the forest. Eero thought of imitating him, but he
hoped to be able to absolve himself from all blame and prove his own
innocence. And with this idea he decided to keep on to the end.

Reaching at last the home-yard, he took on a deeply rejected air and
without a greeting, without saying a word, began to unharness Valko.
But now came a furious questioning about how the journey had succeeded
and the fate of the money received. Eero confessed everything,
reminding them that Simeoni had had the care of the money; that Simeoni
had commanded and he as the youngest had had to obey; that Simeoni
was older than he and therefore more experienced and wiser than he, a
young thoughtless lad. Thus he defended himself, but the others knew
well that he too was not guiltless, his debauched appearance bearing
witness to his guilt. They deemed it right, therefore, to punish him,
and that without delay. Tuomas now seized him by the collar, set him,
lightly as a doll, outstretched on the ground, while Juhani took a
pine-branch from the dung-heap and laid on with it across Eero’s
thighs; heavily the blows fell, and the lad under him squealed shrilly.
When this was done, Juhani cast the rod angrily away, saying: ‘God
grant that this be the last time I need punish thee, and may this
thrashing awaken a new heart in thee! That’s what I hope, but I’m
afraid my hopes are vain, for a good child chastiseth itself, but a
bad one even punishment can’t help.’ So saying, he walked moodily into
the cabin and made for his bed of straw. But as he passed the oven
he noticed the cat, which sat sleepily on the oven-top, and taking a
piece of bread, he chewed it to a pulp and gave it to old Matti, who,
purring and with half-closed eyes, enjoyed the gift. Then, still with
bitterness in his glance, he climbed on to the platform, rubbed his
stomach once, laid himself down on the straw and covered himself with a
warm rug.

Eero’s thrashing had been watched by Simeoni from the darkness of the
forest with dread; he well knew that his own lot would have been worse
at the hands of his enraged brothers. So thanking his stars for the
protection afforded him by the spruce, he withdrew farther away from
the light of the clearing and disappeared in the forest’s sheltering
bosom. But dark and desolate as the gloomy woods around him was his
heart. For long he walked the mossy backwoods, until he came at last
to a rocky, bilberry-covered neighbourhood, and mournfully the yellow
birches sighed in the dismal wind. Whither was he to wander in the
bewildering halls of the forest? Whither could a man betake himself
when life was cheerless and dark, and dark the night of death?

But in the yard, near the cabin door, the brothers laboured, feeding
the weary Valko with bread-crumb, and rubbing down and grooming him.
Furious, even in his misery, Eero sat on the step, grinding his teeth,
and up on the platform Juhani lay under his rug. But when Valko had
been fed and let out to pasture and the cart pushed aside against the
wall, the brothers entered the cabin, thinking with aching hearts of
the vainly-awaited titbits. Eero too, came in at last, silent and
with glowering eyes. Whereat Juhani, lifting his head from the rug
and peeping over the edge of the platform, delivered himself of the
following speech: ‘Dost thou still glower, thou bullock? Wast not
beaten according to thy deserts, he-goat? Devil! if we had given thee
what thou deservest, thou wouldst scarcely crawl into the cabin on
thy own paws. Believe that; and thank thy luck that thou gottest off
so lightly. It will be different with Simeoni. Ah! may he anoint his
back with bear-grease before he dares to open our door. He deserves
it, truly he does! Sell the spirits, and then when the tavern-keeper
has had good time to brew rotten punch of it buy it back many times
dearer; and then to soak all the rye down to the last grain, in a word,
all he could pry loose from the cart, in this same chicory-water and
such very dear syrups, squander it on brandy, syrups and wheat-cakes
and biscuits. Who would have believed it of Simeoni? Was this his
piousness? Was this the end of all his devout prayers? Yet we needn’t
be over much surprised at all this. Godly men, more’s the pity, usually
have the same strong longing for liquor, especially for dram-drinking
behind the cupboard door. This in all my stupidity I have noticed.
Think, for instance, of the master of Härkämäki, who is looked upon as
a religious man; yet this same nabob walks his days drunk as a king,
flushed like a glowing coal from morning to eve. See him as he goes
out of his room, from his book of homilies and hymnbook. First he’ll
steer his way to the cupboard, where a little trick takes place, a
movement of the arm. And now we step out, toddle towards the stable,
and the groom, poor lad, knows he is in for a sermon, long enough and
good enough. But even the worst parson’s sermon ends at last; the
door creaks, and sideways like a crab, the old boy now marches to
the cowshed. And there the poor rag of a maid is on hot coals, while
the master scolds, scolds, clucks and cackles. Ah thee old fellow!
Ay, but even a famine year has an end, so on we go to the house.
But here’s where a row arises, a sermon hotter than the hottest for
the mistress and daughter, one that lasts an hour or two. Even the
mistress sometimes snaps back, snaps and scolds, but the poor girl is
dumb and a tear drops from the poor body. Oh thou crosspatch! At last,
however, the preacher’s throat seems to get dry and hoarse, so off we
go to wet it at the cupboard; and then hymnbook in hand we sing till
the door-posts shake. So passes the man’s day, ay, his week, until on
Sunday he jogs off with his daughter to church, jogs along in that
trap of his, a skull-cap on his head and his coat-collar sticking
out behind. There he now sits in the Lord’s temple, with pursed-up
lips and eyebrows half way up his forehead; he sits there, clearing
his throat like the most godly, as solemn, grave and unwinking as a
newly-gelded ox. He squats there like a boundary-stone in the forest;
but when he comes home from church and reaches his own yard, he rushes
like a tempest, a fire-spitting tempest, straight to the cupboard in
his room; and now the old man drinks until the bottom of the bottle
shows. So hard can a man drink who is known as a pillar of the world;
in such lust does a converted man walk down here. And that’s what I
believe will happen to Simeoni too, if luck should at any time set
him in Härkämäki’s shoes. True, a better spirit has worked without
cease on Simeoni for years, that can’t be denied, even if he has often
fluttered the wings of his soul a bit too much. Ay, ay, but in many
things he is still altogether a child of this world, as big a sack of
sin as I or many another, and plays tricks for which a good hiding is
the only remedy. And now he’s played us a real fiendish trick. Obeying
the whispering of Satan, he drank up our fine load and left us without
a crumb of relish for our feast. Hrrh! it makes me grind my teeth.
Well, his back will warm for this, until the cabin rattles.’ Thus
spoke Juhani, peeping over the platform’s edge; then he sank down on
his couch and slept. The others too lay down to rest, and they slept
soundly until the morning.

But of Simeoni there was no sign, not even after several days and
nights had passed. And this caused the others some anxiety, anxiety
mixed with grief, especially after Eero had at last told them of his
real condition. For when Eero’s sulkiness had abated a little, after
the elapse of two or three days, he grumblingly told them of the state
Simeoni had been in on their return from town. He had frequently spoken
of certain little, inch-high beings, who, as he had said, swarmed
around him in thousands. This Eero now told them in a low and grumbling
voice, and his tale altered the brothers’ feelings towards Simeoni.
Filled with gloom, Juhani set out to seek his lost brother, wandering
far afield and calling him by name. Under a hill he met Tinder-Matti,
who sought, axe in hand, for fungoids, with which he had already
filled the bosom of his shirt. Matti recalled how on the previous
evening he had heard mournful sounds and wailings from the forests,
and the voice had reminded him of Simeoni’s. This pricked painfully at
Juhani’s heart: he hastened home, weeping tears over the unhappy fate
of his brother. A search-party was now organized. Each of the brothers
was to set out alone and in a different direction; the one who found
the fugitive was to take him home, and then, mounting to the top of
Impivaara, inform the others of the find by blasts on a birch-bark
horn. Eero brought out his horn from its hiding-place in a dense
thicket, a mighty horn of birch-bark, two yards long and audible afar,
and sank it for the night in the purling brook in the wolf-trap. Having
been made in the spring when the sap was at its richest, the hooter was
now badly shrunken and dry.

Early the next morning they set out on their search. The cabin formed
the centre from which six men set out in different directions like the
spokes of a wheel. And now a din arose in which shout was merged in
shout and echo pursued echo in the measureless depths of the forest.
Farther and farther the din receded as the circle grew apace. And this
circle thou couldst have drawn if, standing on the summit of Impivaara
and listening to the shouts around thee, thou hadst drawn a line from
shout to shout. They fared on in every direction, each along his own
radius; and the weather was clear and calm, the September sun shone
mildly. Shouting loudly, Juhani marched crashing up hill and down. But
his ear caught no answer from the lost one; and midday drew nigh. At
last, however, his throat tiring not, but roaring incessantly like a
brazen trumpet, he heard a strangely weak and hoarse answer. And this
voice seemed to come from a gap between two mossy crags, shadowed by a
tall spruce. To this spot Juhani hastened and there found the missing
man; found him in pitiable condition. Like a ghastly phantom, with arms
crossed and eyes wide open like an owl’s, his hair sticking up, he sat
under the thick spruce. There he sat, swaying his body, while from
his lips issued the soft and trembling notes of a hymn-tune. Juhani
began to question him about his condition, but receiving only muddled
and fantastical answers, he hurried his precious find home as fast he
could. And when he had got his brother safely into the cabin and had
fastened the door, he quickly climbed the fell, the mighty horn in his
hand. Calm, blue in the distance, the wooded earth spread around him,
and on the edge of the west the sun bathed the old shaggy spruce on the
fellside in its gold. Juhani lifted the great trumpet to his lips, but
no blast issued forth; from the yawning maw only a few hoarse croaks
came. He blew once again, yet the clear notes still clung to their
prison. Then swelling out his chest once more, he blew a third time,
his cheeks bulging terrifically, and now the birch horn shrieked and
brayed with solemn voice. Far out in all directions the echoes rolled,
and soon merry answers began to be heard from the east, west, north
and south, faint and dying in the eternally distant blue haze. And now
an hour went by, a second, and a third, and then the brothers began to
appear in the yard, entering the house one by one. And at last they all
stood round Simeoni, eyeing him with pitying glances as he sat on his
stool like an owl on the roof of a barn, staring stolidly back at them.

JUHANI. Simeoni, brother!

TUOMAS. How art thou?

TIMO. Dost know me?--not a created word! Dost thou know me?

SIMEONI. Ay, I know thee.

TIMO. Who am I then?

SIMEONI. Ha! Jukola’s Timo. Ay, shouldn’t I know him?

TIMO. Right! I am Timo, thy own brother. The danger’s not as
big as it could be, boys.

SIMEONI. Great and awful is the day that approacheth, and its
name is the terror of destruction.

AAPO. Why dost thou prophesy so?

SIMEONI. He said so.

JUHANI. Who?

SIMEONI. He, he, my comrade on the journey.

EERO. What, I?

SIMEONI. Not thou, but the horror who hath led me. Oh
brothers! I could tell you things that would raise your hair on end
like the bristles of an angry boar. But give me a little drink first to
strengthen my heart; and let this be the last drink I ever swallow down
my throat.

JUHANI. Take a drop. God’s creation; here, darling brother.

SIMEONI. Thank ye kindly! Now I will try to tell you what I
have seen and heard, as a warning to us all. Listen: I have seen him.

JUHANI. Whom in wonder hast thou seen?

SIMEONI. The Master himself, Lucifer himself.

AAPO. That was only in a dream or a fever of the mind brought
upon thee by overmuch strong drink.

SIMEONI. Truly I have seen him.

TIMO. What shape was he?

SIMEONI. The image of foolishness, but, look you, a fox’s tail
wagged behind him.

TIMO. Was he big?

SIMEONI. About my height, though he could change himself at
will. When he first appeared, he entered the thicket in which I sat as
a gust of wind. ‘Who’s that?’ I shrieked; ‘friend!’ he answered, and
taking me by the arm, told me to follow him. Not daring to kick against
him, I followed, believing it best to do as he said. And then we went
on together a long time over a thorny, stony path; and he changed into
all kinds of things on the way. Now he would run before me in the
shape of a little kitten, mewing and looking back at me so stupidly.
At times he grew into a fearfully tall man, his head reaching right
into the clouds. From there he shouted to me: ‘Canst see my head?’ and
I, speaking the whole time to please him, greatly admired his length
saying that I could hardly make out his middle. Whereupon he twisted
his mouth into a triumphant grin and looked searchingly at me. He
played many other tricks and finally led me up a high mountain; there
he bowed down before me and said ‘Get up on my back.’ I was terrified,
but dared not refuse, and climbed obediently on to his back. I asked
him, anyhow: ‘Where are we going?’ and he answered: ‘We’re going up.’
Then he began puffing mightily, sweating and wriggling his body, while
I danced hither and thither on his back, up and down, like the monkey
I saw dancing a few days ago on a dog’s back in Hämeenlinna Market. At
last two speckled wings burst from his shoulders and when he had waved
these a few times we began shooting up into the sky, towards the moon
which shone over us like the bottom of a copper cauldron. Towards this
we shot, and the poor earth was left behind in swooning depths. At last
we reached the moon, which, as our blind uncle told us, is a great,
round and shining rock island in the air, and there I saw wonders and
marvels, wonders and marvels! Ah! a sinful tongue cannot relate them.

TUOMAS. Do the best thou canst.

JUHANI. The best thou canst, brother, even if not as well as
the great importance of the matter calls for.

SIMEONI. I will try. Ay, we came to the moon, and Satan took
me to its farthest edge, to a high hill with a still higher tower
standing on it, built of leather, boot-leather. Up into this tower
we marched, he ahead and I behind, and we climbed those twisting
stairs for a good long time. At last we stood at the very top of the
boot-leather tower, and then I saw many countries and seas, great
cities and marvellous buildings in the depths below. I made bold
to nudge Satan in the ribs and ask him: ‘What is that down there?’
Snapping and looking fiercely at me he answered: ‘Sacramento, lad!
what have I to do with thee? That’s the world from which we set out.
Look and search.’ That’s what he said, and with a sigh I began to look
and search carefully; and I saw the whole circle of the earth, the
Kingdom of England, Turkey, the town of Paris and the land of America.
Then I saw the Grand Turk rise and work terrible havoc; and in his
tracks walked the great horned Mammon, driving the race of man from
end to end of the earth like a wolf does a flock of sheep. He went on
driving and sweeping them before him until at last he had choked the
whole world and the land of America. Seeing this I asked again, nudging
Satan in the ribs: ‘Is the world destroyed now, where I come from?’ He
answered fiercely: ‘Sacramento, lad! what have I to do with thee? This
a prophecy of what is to come. Look and search.’ And sighing deeply I
looked and searched. But once more I made bold to ask: ‘When is this to
happen?’ And with a horrible roar he answered again: ‘It will happen
just as soon as these two leather trumpets appear to us through the
wall, right in front of us.’ And then he whistled long and hard. Ah! if
I could only tell you.

JUHANI. Do it, if thou but canst. Oh what marvels and wonders
thou hast seen! This means something, and I suppose our doom. God’s
wrath, if not the end of the world, is upon us. Is this in reason: walk
with the Devil in the moon?

SIMEONI. And in a leather tower!

JUHANI. A boot-leather tower. What a thing!

TIMO. A boot-leather tower!

JUHANI. Ay, a tower of boot-leather. Ah! But tell us
everything; for even if I do feel a shuddering in my spine, this
shaking must surely do my sinful heart good, that is so hardened, so
tough, that nothing less than the wooden mallet of Hell or the fiery
bolt of Heaven could move it. Let it thunder and rain, brother, let it
rain even scorpions: for that’s what we need. Ay, what happened then?

SIMEONI. Listen, listen! Satan whistled shrilly, and as he had
said, two leather trumpets appeared, two fearful horns came bursting
through the wall. They began to bray horribly and shriek like maddened
lions, began to pour out smoke, the smell of pitch and sulphur gas. And
soon we both fell to coughing, Satan as well as I, coughing, retching
and holding our ears, while the two trumpets blared on. And still the
noise grew, the tower shook, the great boot-leather shook and at last
fell to pieces with a great crash, and we followed in its fall, lost
in a cloud of strips of leather. Where Satan got to, I don’t know, but
I fell head over heels downward, down from the rock, down at last from
the last ledge of the moon, and then began falling towards the earth on
a piece of leather about two yards wide. But the leather, which was of
the moon, drew moonward, while I, being of the earth, drew earthward;
so it was said; and as the weight of my body was bigger than the pull
of the leather, I floated downward, though slowly, as though sailing
on an old crow’s back. All to my good; for without this leather boat
of mine, my airship, I’d have fallen like a bag of offal to the earth,
now that I no longer had Satan’s wings under me. Slowly, slowly, I now
sailed down towards my dear earthly home, and at last came down at the
foot of a spruce near to the place whence I had set off with Satan.
I still held the piece of leather in my hands, and now noticed these
words on it, written in red letters: ‘To the Jukola brothers, with a
fistful of greetings! And when a fiery sign, or like the glowing tail
of an eagle is seen on high on the edge of a cloud, lo! the end is nigh
unto the day on which this shall happen. Given in Boot-leather Tower
on nearly the last day of what is almost surely the last year.’ So it
stood on the leather table, which I now loosened from my hand, when it
started shooting up towards the moon again. This way my journey, awful
and of a truth true.

JUHANI. Marvellous, strange and terrible all at the same time.

TIMO. Thou hast learned to read on these strayings of thine,
anyway.

SIMEONI. Don’t think it. I am just as stupid as ever.

TIMO. Perhaps thou hast caught the trick of it. Try, here’s my
a-b-c book.

SIMEONI. Ay, what else. It’s as though I were looking on
Russian or Hebrew. Then I knew much owing to the power of the spirit
that is now dark to me again, and I am once more the same poor human,
the same sinner, a great sinner. And my head goes round, for the day
has come! My head goes round, for my eyes have beheld Lucifer himself.
Ah, how hairy he was!

JUHANI. Oh we poor lads, oh!

SIMEONI. A thousand times oh! My head spins, spins! I have
seen Lucifer. It spins!

JUHANI. Pray to God, brother, pray to God!

SIMEONI. Let’s all pray together. I have seen the hairy might
of Lucifer! Let us all pray!

TIMO. Why not, if it’s needed? Why shouldn’t we pray?

JUHANI. Pitiful this is, ah! oh!

TIMO. Don’t cry, Juhani.

JUHANI. I would weep blood if I could; here we have lived like
Kalmucks, drunk spirits like Mahomets and Turks. But now may a new
chapter follow that verse, a different life, or soon the awful anger of
Heaven will fall on us like a mountain and press us down to Hell. Ay,
we lads have been warned by signs and miracles, and it’s the worst of
devils for us if we don’t heed these signs in time.

LAURI. It’s the very worst we have to expect; for I too have
something to relate. Listen: once while you were hitting the disc on
the clearing, I walked in the forest, looking for useful bits of wood
for tools, and while I slept on yonder heath I had a marvellous dream.
I watched as though from the top of a tall pine you playing fast and
furiously with the disc on the clearing here along fresh oxhides. And
guess with whom? Brothers, it was with our own hot-tempered rector you
hammered away. But what happened? The rector noticed at last that it
was no ordinary disc, but a red-backed a-b-c book you were hitting.
This made him fearfully angry, and waving his sword he shouted in a
loud voice: ‘Iiyah, iiyah!’ and at once a terrible hurricane arose
which sucked you up like chaff into the power of the winds. This I
dreamed and this dream must mean something too.

JUHANI. Surely it means something, foretells some Hell’s polka
for us; that we needn’t doubt. We have been warned from two quarters,
and now if we give no heed, fire, pitch and little stones will soon
rain down on us as they once did on the towns of Sodom and Gomorrah.

AAPO. Don’t let us be too terrified, all the same.

TUOMAS. I won’t say for certain, but what Simeoni has seen is
perhaps all sprung from a drink-ridden brain.

JUHANI. What art thou saying, man? Wouldst thou bring Heaven’s
great works to nought?

TIMO. Don’t speak against God’s works and miracles.

SIMEONI. Ah! I have been in the moon and seen Lucifer, of
which my soul is now in great dread. Woe is me and woe is us all!

TUOMAS. Woe, indeed! But take another drink and then go to bed.

SIMEONI. Ay, do you think it would help?

TIMO. There’s no spirit left.

TUOMAS. That alters things.

SIMEONI. Thanks be to God that it has all gone, that horrible
poison. And now may never another drop of that drink pass my lips, this
I promise and swear.

JUHANI. A curse on this Hell’s ale!

TIMO. It was perhaps a bad thing that we began to distil the
stuff.

AAPO. Whose wish was it that we should do so? Answer me,
Juhani and Timo.

JUHANI. The spirits tasted well enough to thee too, brother,
that they did. And secondly, what’s done is done, and moaning and
lamenting won’t bring it back. Ay, what’s gone is in the wolf’s mouth;
but let there be a new law from now onward. Now to the brook! with the
back of my axe I’ll knock that devil’s copper bull, that accursed vat
into a thousand dents, and scatter the still like a rook’s nest.

SIMEONI. Do that, brother, and Heaven will rejoice.

JUHANI. I’ll do it.

AAPO. Why should we smash property that we might honourably
sell?

JUHANI. But see this point: the man to whom I sold my still,
what would he make with it, what kind of water of health, eh? The same
sort, the same sort, the same Hell’s lawyer that has dashed us to the
very brink of ruin; with this still of mine I could bring the same
misery on many others. But from this sin let me be far, when I come at
last to the judgment of the Lord. Let’s squash the vat and upset the
still.

AAPO. Let’s sell it to the Crown for them to mint money of.

JUHANI. It’ll do for coin just as well if it is knocked
flat. Here’s my axe; take thy axe too, Timo, and come with me to the
wolf-trap. And tomorrow being Sunday, we’ll all go to church. To church
we’ll go, to pray on our bended knees for the deathless, miserable and
only soul of us; it is necessary enough. To church, the lot of us, else
the devil’ll baste us. To the wolf-trap, Timo!

Juhani and Timo now marched down to the brook, and soon they had
battered the vat to a shapeless mass and destroyed the still. And that
night they rested in deepest sleep and, awakening early on the morrow,
began to prepare themselves for church. They set out: Aapo with their
father’s old hymn-book under his arm, Simeoni carrying ‘The Voice in
the Wilderness’, Juhani and Timo with their a-b-c books in their hands.
And as they walked they conversed as follows:

SIMEONI. Ah! the nearer I come to the Lord’s temple, the more
does the storm in my mind calm down and my heart seem refreshed. A wise
man walketh in the counsel of the righteous, but fools and the blind
wallow in the filth of sin. Oh, when I look backward, like a terrible
Hell, ringed by the blue flames of alcohol, does that unhappy trip to
town seem to me.

TIMO. Therefore, brother, never do it again. I beseech thee.
Is this a right thing to do? Pour dear tavern gin into thy face night
and day, night and day, and on top of that soak hot syrups like fine
gentlemen. Well, well, let this be no blame, only a brotherly warning.

SIMEONI. I did wrong, and we all did wrong in starting to brew
spirits and drink them. But now, let us all decide never to touch such
drink that can change a man into a beast.

JUHANI. Into a real pig; it brings its man even lower in the
end than a grunting pig. On this very spot we shake the hand of liquor
in firm farewell and beg him to depart from us for ever and a day in
the name of our Lord. Ay, Aapo, tell us the tale of the pig that we
once heard from our blind uncle; tell it as we walk along.

AAPO. I’ll do that willingly. Oh! may it awaken in us a still
fiercer disgust for that confounded brawl-water.

And Aapo spun them this tale:

It was Sunday morning; in a mud-pool a pig wallowed in the rays
of the summer sun, watching the folk go past him to church. With
envious, aching heart it looked upon the noble, beautiful form of
Man, remembering its own bristly body. And what more, a light so
stern shone from the brow of some passers-by, that the pig’s glance
recoiled from them in astonishment; and great was its anger against
God for not having created it a man. And when at last it had grumbled
and complained to its fill, it stretched out its trotters, closed its
little viper’s eyes and slept. When it awoke, a companion lay by its
side, a drunkard who had rolled in his cups into the puddle and was on
the point of choking in the mud. The pig saw his danger, and taking
mercy upon him, dug its sharp teeth into the man’s collar and dragged
him on to firm ground. But having done this work of mercy, it stared at
the man, grinned horribly to itself and said: ‘Thou miserable man, thy
appearance is so disgusting that I cannot bear to look upon thee.’ So
saying, the pig went away grunting and began rooting in the earth.

JUHANI. That’s a fine tale. Over yonder lies Jukola Farm,
and well for us that our road leads so far aside of it, or else the
sight of our former home might crush our hearts. A good thing too that
Toukola village and our enemies there are far behind. Otherwise, I’m
afraid that if we were to meet them and they grinned the tiniest bit,
I’d be at their throats at once like a cat. I haven’t forgotten the
beating they gave me, or my vow of a terrible revenge.

TUOMAS. Two things have not left my memory either.

SIMEONI. We must forgive and forget.

JUHANI. All right; if they are humble and come to pray for
forgiveness from me, bearing witness that they have done wrong, why,
I’ll forget everything willingly. I’ll even shake paws with them, with
tears in my eyes. But as long as they are unminded to give way in this,
and still nag, then I too will clench my teeth, clench them till the
sparks fly.

Thus speaking, they approached Tammisto Farm. A crowd stood in the
yard, both men and women, and a voice was heard afar that counted:
‘For the first, second and third time’, and went on: ‘Does no one else
want to bid?’ It was an auction held by the Sheriff himself. He sat
beside a little table near the porch, entering in his book the names
and addresses of purchasers and the prices obtained: and just at that
moment the farm cattle were under the hammer. The brothers were highly
astonished and wondered why this work was being done on Sunday. But,
in the giddy toils of intoxication, which make a man’s time fly, they
had lost count of the days of the week. It was actually a Monday, an
ordinary week-day, on which the brothers, believing it to be Sunday,
had gone marching to church.

They looked around then for Kyösti, their faithful friend. But he was
not there; he walked far away in the fields, staring gravely at the
soil in silent meditation. At last Juhani asked the man nearest to
them, why a public auction was being held on Sunday, the Lord’s holy
Sabbath. At that, laughter and giggling spread like a forest fire
through the whole crowd, and now the brothers guessed how matters
stood. Bewildered, silent and blushing, they stood for long, listening
to the taunts and mockery of the crowd. A group of Toukola lads then
approached them, asking them about the new religion of Impivaara, about
its calendar and what this eighth day of the week was called there. The
brothers listened to all this, but suddenly their anger flared up and
the storm was loose. Like unleashed hounds they sprang yelling upon the
Toukola men, and a terrible struggle broke out in Tammisto yard.

Simeoni was loth to join in the game, and so the books were left in his
care; holding firmly to these he watched with agonized countenance and
pitiably restless glance the varying phases of the battle. But seeing
Aapo sorely pressed by three lusty foes, noting with aching heart his
wretched brother turn pale and his glance rove vacuously amongst the
tree-tops, while blows, stinging blows rained on him from every side,
Simeoni laid down the books on a near-by rock, hastened to Aapo’s
assistance, and was soon lost to sight in the billowing waves of the
fight.

The auctioneer tried at first to stem the onrush of this angry flood,
but realizing his powerlessness, he stepped aside in time and watched
in amazement the unbounded strength shown by the brothers. Strength
so herculean, such whirlwind-like speed in its application, had never
before been shown by the brothers. A secret and long-nourished lust
for revenge felt the breath of a sudden wind and was fanned by it to a
raging, terrific holocaust; and an unheard-of din and thundering was
the result. Women fled, pale and trembling, from the field, carrying
or leading by the hand their little panic-stricken children. Mad with
fright the farm cattle, the big bull and the solemn cows, rushed hither
and thither, while all around echoed shouts, bellows and lamentations,
as the Jukola brothers smote, and the men of Toukola smote back, the
men of Toukola and their many friends. Clenching his teeth, ashen-grey
of face, Juhani struck out right and left, hammered lustily at the
host of his foes, his jaw quaking in an ecstasy of fury. But like a
rock sturdy Tuomas charged, and wherever his mighty fist fell, a man
was sure to collapse, even two at one blow. It was seen that when he
struck out, the man hit fell with such force that in falling he knocked
down the man beside him. Timo hewed away like a brawny wood-cutter;
and his coarse, brown cheeks, blazing with rage, shone afar. Nor was
Eero an easy task for a man in this fight. True, he rolled with some
frequency under the others’ feet, but was ever quick to struggle up
from the heaps of the fallen, had blows rained from him like stars from
a revolving fireworks. Maddest of them all was Lauri; pale as an angel
of death he lashed out, and before him all fled or were broken.

People watched this fight with terror. Everywhere ghastly, livid faces
were to be seen, faces with fearfully working nostrils, here bleeding,
there bespattered with earth. Behold the sombre glow of anger in their
eyes, the passion which rushes heedless upon its prey, undismayed
though the heavens rained fire and brimstone. All this they saw, and
heard a howling and clamour as terrible as when a pack of wolves fight
murderously in the dark woods on an autumn night.

So they fought in Tammisto yard, and ever hotter grew the struggle.
Already a man lay here, another there, shedding his blood on the sandy
ground. The brothers’ dark-red blood flowed too, for the men of Toukola
were striking now with their knives; but the brothers had no knives
at their belts, for this was to have been their trip to church, to
God’s holy temple. Now, feeling their hot blood flow, they seized the
poles on the hillside for weapons, or broke off rails from the nearest
fence, and with these charged madly at their foes; soon, however, they
were met by similar weapons on the enemy’s side; and now staves and
cudgels began to fly crashing round the men’s heads. And even now it
was uncertain who would win, who would have to give way, vanquished.
Although they battled nobly, the brothers had an overwhelming foe to
meet, and furiously their blows were returned.

But then a man drew nigh who at once turned the scales in the brothers’
favour. From the fields, running, scrambling and bellowing as he came,
stout Kyösti Tammisto drew nigh. With a mighty staff in his hand, he
dashed into view like a grey phantom of terror, his hair sticking up
in a goblin-like crest; like a thunder-bolt he fell on the Toukola
men in the rear, throwing their ranks into confusion, and causing the
brothers’ ardour to rise. Bellowing and rolling his eyes he struck out
wickedly, struck like a witless fellow; the brothers laid on from the
other side with redoubled strength, and at last their enemies fled
wildly, those whom the staves had not already stretched out on the
ground.

The brothers, too, then hastened away, beginning to run towards their
home and shouting to Kyösti to follow them. But he recked nothing of
their cries, only raged ceaselessly in his yard, raged and yelled;
and dreadful was his appearance. The brothers sped already along the
dry, smoking surface of a lane; and when they reached a little bridge
between the fields, they heard Kyösti’s voice behind them. Halting
and looking back, they saw a wild figure with a staff on its shoulder
approach them at a run, bellowing and waving its hand at them; and
soon Kyösti, terrible to behold, stood beside them. He sweated and
panted, and what with defiance and fury his eyes squinted in his head.
In vain they tried to make out his muddled speech, in which a loud
and long-drawn cry of ‘Alamulloo, ai alamulloo!’ frequently recurred.
They entreated him to come on with them to Impivaara and not to return
into the wolves’ jaws, but he stood moveless, muttering to himself
and staring. Suddenly, however, he looked sharply at the brothers and
said: ‘Go home now!’ after which he turned away from them. The brothers
turned round too, and began to make off in the opposite direction. But
a moment later they heard Kyösti’s thickened voice again, and looking
round, saw him stand in the lane, shaking his hand and his head. Once
more he shouted in a high-pitched voice: ‘Go home now!’ Whereafter
he hurried off the way he had come, and the brothers hurried in turn
to their cabin in the woods, many of them with great bumps on their
foreheads and blood-dripping wounds in their arms. Looking straight
before them, they stepped furiously out, in their minds the freezing
gloom of death. So ended the fight in Tammisto yards, from which many
were carried swooning away, and many received wounds that were to
disfigure them for ever afterwards.




CHAPTER XI


Evening has come of the day on which the fight had raged so fiercely at
Tammisto. The brothers sit in their cabin; they have anointed and bound
up their wounds as well as they could. Night, black and everlasting,
reigns in their thoughts, and their angry glance is directed downward
at the floor. They think of what they have done and know the punishment
that threatens them; they ponder over their unhappy, hopeless
situation, and the silence in the room is awful. Finally Simeoni
started the following conversation.

SIMEONI. Brothers, brothers! say a word. What are we to do to
escape the clutches of the law?

AAPO. Ah! there is not a single road of escape left to us out
of this fix, not one.

JUHANI. We’re trapped now, trapped! All is lost, all hope and
happiness!

TUOMAS. The Devill’ll get us without any mercy; so let us take
what we have earned with eyes shut. We disturbed a Crown Servant in
the midst of his hurry, and that’s a serious thing; we made men into
cripples perhaps, and that’s a worse thing. Ha! maybe we even knocked
the dear life out of someone, and then all’s well; we’ll be shut up and
can eat the Crown’s carefree bread.

SIMEONI. Oh we poor boys!

TIMO. Poor sons of Jukola. And seven of them! What shall we do
now?

LAURI. I know what I’ll do.

JUHANI. I do too. Knife to throat, every man of us!

TIMO. For God’s sake!

JUHANI. My knife, my shining knife! I’ll let blood in waves!

AAPO. Juhani!

JUHANI. Let the blood of seven men flow into one single pool
and let us drown together in this Red Sea, like every man-jack in the
Old Testament once did. Where’s my birch-handled knife that shall atone
for all?

AAPO. Calm thyself!

JUHANI. Away out of my way, thou, and away out of this
accursed life! My knife!

SIMEONI. Hold him!

AAPO. To me, brothers!

JUHANI. Out of the way!

TUOMAS. Steady, my lad!

JUHANI. Let go, brother Tuomas!

TUOMAS. Sittest thou down quietly.

JUHANI. What good will quietness do us when all is lost? Art
thou minded to take forty brace of fresh birch-rods quietly?

TUOMAS. I’m not.

JUHANI. What wilt thou do?

TUOMAS. I’ll hang myself, but not before.

JUHANI. Let’s do now what we shall have to do in the end.

TUOMAS. Let’s think it over first.

JUHANI. Ha-ha! It’s all no use.

TUOMAS. We don’t know yet exactly.

JUHANI. The law’s waiting to lay its gloves on us.

SIMEONI. Let’s leave Finland and go as herds to Ingermanland!

TIMO. Or as doorkeepers to St. Petersburg town.

AAPO. These are childish ideas.

EERO. Away off to sea to cleave the waves like our grand old
uncle used to! Once we get away from the Finnish coast we are free from
the hand of the law, and can then try to reach the Englishman; a man’s
worth something in the masts of his ships.

AAPO. There’s advice worth thinking over.

TUOMAS. It might perhaps be that, but remember: before
we could reach the coast, we’d most likely have the Crown’s
engagement-rings on our wrists.

TIMO. Aah! Even if we get away from Finland with whole skins,
when should we be in England? It’s millions and thousands of millions
of miles there. Ah!

AAPO. Listen to a word: let’s join the wolves ourselves, and
it’s little we need fear their teeth. Let’s march to the army and
enlist for a few years. Ah! it’s a hard way out, but still perhaps the
best in this mess. Ay, let us set out for that famous and great big
battalion at Heinola, that marches and drills all summer on Parola
Plain. This is an idea worth weighing, seeing that the Crown looks
after its own.

JUHANI. I’m afraid, brother, thou hast found the only way.
The barracks have saved many a wild lad from prison before this. Think
of Karila’s farm-hand, that great rogue, who once got it into his head
to thrash his master a little; it would have gone ill with him, if the
rascal hadn’t suddenly had a grey coat on his back which saved him. Let
that be settled! And now off to barracks! Why, our father’s uncle died
in the wars, the Kyrö War, where they say a five-fathom log floated
in blood. Our own uncle too died in the wars, fell on the coast in
North Finland; and so it has gone with many another, both kinsfolk and
neighbours. We too know how to fall, to fall like devout heroes. Better
death, better to be in Heaven than here amongst such wild beasts of
men. I can’t help crying. Ay, much better there than here. Ay, ay, much
better.

TUOMAS. Brother, in this way thou canst set us all wiping our
eyes.

SIMEONI. O Lord, look down upon us and let the sun of Thy
mercy shine!

And their conversation ended in tears, in a general, choking fit of
weeping; not a single eye remained dry. But the evening drew on, night
came, and from weeping they all sank at last into a deep sleep. The
next day they took up the matter again and sought, sweating, some plan
that might save them, and meanwhile their eyes kept close watch on
their surroundings, in order that any approach of the forces of the
Crown might be observed in time. Thus they kept watch and pondered;
and the barracks, though dreadful enough, began to seem the likeliest
sanctuary. They decided therefore to set off together to Heinola and to
enlist for six years. And when the next day dawned, they embarked on
their long journey with downcast minds and troubled hearts. They strode
on forgetting that, for their purpose, passports and parish reports
were necessary; strode on, first towards Jukola, meaning to beg the
tanner to take charge of their animal friends and to keep an eye on the
cabin.

Reaching the Viertola road, they met the Sheriff, who, with his man
seated behind him, drove rumbling towards them. The brothers were taken
aback, believing his errand to concern them. They were on the point of
running away, but then stepped forward, sure in the belief that no two
men would ever be able to arrest them. They were mistaken, however,
regarding his errand; other matters had set the Sheriff driving round
the parish. Moreover, he was a fine fellow, brave, high-minded and
always merry. He had ever listened with joy to all that was told about
the Jukola brothers and their life in the forest; and he was their
well-wisher, a friend and not an enemy. And now, having come up with
the brothers, he began in a pleasant voice:

THE SHERIFF. Good-day, good-day! Whither away with such long
faces? Answer me, and don’t look at me like that, like backwoods
wolves. Whither away, with those knapsacks?

JUHANI. We have a long journey before us.

THE SHERIFF. Is it to Hell ye’re off then? Hey?

JUHANI. Do you want anything of us?

THE SHERIFF. What would you have to give me? A man can ask
without wanting to buy. Well, well, your eyes are glowering and glaring
at me; if I wasn’t used to looking the Devil himself in the face, my
heart might even start beating. Ha-ha-ha! What the blazes is the matter
with you?

JUHANI. One thing I ask you: will it be a Crown job?

THE SHERIFF. Will what?

JUHANI. Hm. That, that.

THE SHERIFF. What, thou tousled-headed loon? What?

JUHANI. That shindy at Tammisto Farm.

THE SHERIFF. Ahaa! That game the other day. Ay, there’s
something I want to say to you about that now.

JUHANI. Was anyone killed?

THE SHERIFF. Thank thy luck that there wasn’t. But, thunder
and lightning! you drove away a Crown Servant from his work and even
upset his desk, think what that means.

JUHANI. God ha’ mercy! It’s just what we have thought about a
lot, and have come to realize what it means for us. Ay, the Devil’ll
get us, and so we have chosen the Devil’s part. Know that it is to
Parola’s big battalion that our road now leads uphill and down so that
the sand rings. There’s the last pass to which we can flee in our
danger and distress, what with people, those raving devils, worrying
us on every side as though we were young wolves in a trap. We’re off
to Parola! and woe betide the man who tries to stop us; for the Crown
needs men, war is brewing, so we have heard. Soon we shall wear the
Crown’s armour, and touch us then, if you dare, you Satans. Hii, haa! I
could bite the world in two, bite it in two like an eel; a bit more and
I’d weep for very rage and sorrow; weep and shake my fist. We’re off to
Parola! There’s men like young ravens there at Parola.

THE SHERIFF. You owls and boobies! would you leave your own
cabin on your own soil and go off to the whizzing rods at the barracks?

JUHANI. Better there anyhow than quarrying rock in prison; and
as for that, the brown skin of a Häme man is an inch thick, as they
will see.

THE SHERIFF. Quarrying rock in prison! Why?

JUHANI. You yourself, sir, are minded to drag us there in
clanking chains. And why? Because of that unlucky tussle in Tammisto
yard, because we dusted the backs of those Toukola lads a little, a
dusting which, God help us, we were thoroughly egged on to give. And
now the idea is to make a Crown job of it, make a bull of a fly, as the
proverb says.

THE SHERIFF. Now thou liest! Go to Hades, man! I have other
and more serious work than that.

JUHANI. Even if you were to grant us the freedom to go to
Hades, which we do not believe, the Toukola men are still at our
throats with the law behind them. We unlucky lads struck the first
blow, and that makes our case bad; but they won’t either escape without
‘pay up, please’. There are wounds enough on our side too, on which
the scab has scarce had time to form, and they prove something, these
wounds do. Hrrh! But even if we hold our own against the Toukola men,
there’s still a day of judgment awaiting us every year: Bible-reading
Day. The Devil! I say like Paavo Jaakkola, that fine lad: ‘This life
would suit me if it had one day a year less, if it wasn’t for that
accursed Bible-reading Day.’ And he also said: ‘It isn’t the pain, but
the shame,’ as he did once after one of those hair-pulling feasts, in
which his own crop had been badly milled again. And what happened to
him the next year at the same feast? Ay, the parson made him sit under
the table like an owl in full view of his young and pretty sweetheart,
who stood in the porch; she fainted when she saw it, the poor body,
tumbled head over heels on the floor like a young duck. It was a sad
case; after that Paavo took to drink, was refused by his sweetheart and
drank all the harder, and ended his days as a miserable knacker. That
was bonny Paavo’s end, a man by no means thick-headed, indeed not, for
he was one of the wisest and deftest of men; only his stepmother had
surlily thrust the book upon him in the beginning, and so reading-day
became a day of terror for him. And is this either a right state of
things? Mikko Kukkoinen, a man big and stout as a chopping-block, broad
in the cheek like old mother Tuhkala’s cat, but not what you would call
a good reader, shied like a lamb when he heard in his tool-shed the
sound of the parson’s sleigh-bells on reading-day. So awful is this
day, this feast of sweating and hair-pulling. And once we too will be
taken there by force at the rector’s command, and from there to the
scaffold of shame, the stocks; but from all this the grey coat of the
Crown can save us, to all this we now say an eternal farewell.

THE SHERIFF. You brainless goats, what fool’s plans are you
hatching? Well, go, go, march on as far as the Crown’s sandy field
will take you. What in fury have I to do with it! Our reckoning is
discharged as regards Tammisto, that I say and will swear to, you
loons! Discharged! and even the mouths of the Toukola men are stopped.
Ho! I did that the same day the fight took place, as soon as I was
satisfied that no lives had been lost. The rogues threatened to have
the law of you, though they had boiled the soup themselves. But then
I put my own weight in the scales, and the Toukola men shut up like
moles; I have a good many hooks of my own fast in them with which I
could drag them into a tight fix. And now they are silent and hold good
with what they have got. And as for your matter with the rector, I only
ask you: has he troubled you lately in any way?

AAPO. That he has not done, to our great wonder.

THE SHERIFF. And never will any more; remember who says it.
For who brought this about? Who other than that old Sheriff of ours?
And you, you ungrateful imps, you now say that he has evil designs on
you. Somehow, I’ve been foolish enough to be tickled by the life you
young cubs lead. Ha-ha-ha! Well, well, always room for a joke, a clean
joke. But let this be clear: peace be with you on my part and on the
rector’s part as well; he has begun to understand that a coat can’t be
made out of birch-bark. Well then, there’s no danger at all, boys, none
at all, although you do deserve a good thrashing, you confounded mules.
But go home now! At once! say I. Ay, ay, left turn there, left turn
and quick march home, Impivaara Company! Home, you rascals, and God be
with you. Gee-up, White-mane!

So saying, he jerked at the reins, and the Sheriff’s white-maned
gelding, famous all over the parish, broke into a trot. Rattling they
sped away; the hat of the Sheriff’s Man on the back seat shook, and the
dust rose in clouds behind them. And like seven images of salt, the
brothers stood by the roadside, watching this departure. Silent and
wondering what to think of it all, they stood and stared after the cart
until it was lost to view in a turn of the road.

TIMO. How the Sheriff’s Man has aged since we last saw him in
Kuokkala woods with our mother and all the village folk!

JUHANI. What dost thou, Aapo, think of this fine speech of the
Sheriff’s?

AAPO. I should think him an honest man and that he spoke from
an honest heart, but let us be on our guard, for there’s no trusting
gentle-folk.

JUHANI. We’ll keep ready to gallop off to the wolves’ home.
The Devil’s in him, he’s trying to entice us into a trap.

TUOMAS. He wants to fool us into going back home, ready for
him when he comes back from Viertola with a crowd of men, for everyone
knows it isn’t wise to pounce on Jukola’s troop without enough men.
He’ll come back and collar us nicely if we go home and wait for him.

JUHANI. Ha! that’s what I think too. He’s out hunting, out on
a mighty chase, and we are the game he is after. Very likely terrible
things have happened, things from which even the barracks couldn’t save
us. And now there’s nothing left for us but to become outlaws and make
off into the woods at once! Off the highway, lads!

AAPO. Ah! what are we to do?

JUHANI. Everything’s done already; here are seven bandits. But
let us try to be as kind, as merciful robbers as we can, and always ask
politely beforehand for something to still our hunger with; ay, and
then if kind words won’t help, we can try force, though even then we
can stop short of bloodshed and murder. Let’s go now.

SIMEONI. Juhani, Juhani, what art thou saying?

AAPO. Ah! where are we wretched brothers to find shelter?

JUHANI. Where bandits do! Let’s move on.

TUOMAS. Hold thy jaw, thou raving madman! I’d sooner march to
the eternal colds of Siberia than eat a robber’s bread. Thou maniac,
wert thou in earnest, or was it only a senseless joke? What am I to
think of thee?

JUHANI. Oh brother! this meeting has addled my brains, and I
hardly know what I say or do. The Sheriff was here and vanished again
in wind and cloud; but that seems long ago to me. It was long ago, long
ago! Yonder he vanished, where my thumb points, like Tinder-Matti’s
thumb. Vanished in smoke, and in the midst of the smoke the white mane
of a war-horse flickered. But that was long ago, long ago!

TUOMAS. There now!

AAPO. What now, what now?

TUOMAS. You see, brothers, that even Juhani isn’t always to be
shot from the branch on which he seems to be sitting.

LAURI. What art thou rolling thy eyes and twitching thy head
and breathing through thy nostrils for like that? Ay, I will say. Be
thankful that thy brains are sound.

TUOMAS. Ay, let him hide his foolishness as best he can. But
what the Hell are we to do? Say, Aapo.

AAPO. I don’t know.

EERO. Listen, brothers. We don’t know yet for certain whether
the Sheriff had a fox up his sleeve or not.

LAURI. I believe he had not; for I looked him carefully in the
eye and there was no treachery there. And think it over. Why should he
have come all this way without assistants, when there were villages
and farms enough on his path? Why should he go past Impivaara right
to Viertola Manor, where he has less help to expect than in the big
villages he has left behind him? Strange! Then from Viertola he would
come all this long way back with a crowd of men to our cabin. Nonsense!
This doesn’t fit together with the wise and cunning ideas our Sheriff
has always had.

AAPO. It doesn’t seem to, that I too can see, but still we
mustn’t trust him too much. Thou believest that thou hast thought out a
matter real cleverly, yet it often happens, it’s often the case, that
the truth is just the opposite to what the best and wisest brain had
made out. And we have cause to be afraid. Our crime is great in the
eyes of the law, very great; and remember how very, how exceedingly
friendly the Sheriff was towards us.

TUOMAS. It wasn’t the language of truth, but gall boiled under
its honey. But what are we to do now?

EERO. Let us do this: go home, but not stay a minute in the
cabin, only leave the door ajar, so that it would look as though the
family were quietly at home; meanwhile we can hide ourselves in the
caves and gullies of Impivaara; sprawl there for two or three days,
keeping a close watch on the cabin. And now if we see the Sheriff come
near the house during that time with his men, we’ll always be ready to
escape to the hills and forests. But if nothing happens in these three
days and nights, all danger will be far from us.

TUOMAS. That’s advice and good advice.

AAPO. We’ll follow it.

TUOMAS. Let’s turn back then; come, Juhani, and put away that
sulky look.

They set out once more towards Impivaara and soon reached their own
yard. Acting on Eero’s advice, they opened the latch of their door
and then climbed the fell, where they hid themselves carefully in
comfortable crannies between the rocks or under the dense spruce that
covered the fell-side terraces. Lounging there, they kept a searching
eye on the cabin, the edges of the stump-covered clearing and the
sombre line of forest. During the three days and nights they rested
there, they kept watch in turns, eating from the birch-bark knapsacks
and slaking their thirst at a clear spring, which welled up on the
summit of the fell and flowed down in waves along a rocky road.
Joyously the little brook gurgled while the long day held, gurgled all
the moon-lit night, ever sounding in the watchful ears of the brothers.

But when the sun of the third day hastened to its setting, the brothers
strode down from the fell and with rejoicing hearts took possession
of their cabin, for now it seemed to them that their fears had been
groundless. Even yet, however, they were not quite satisfied, but kept
casting cautious glances out of the window. And the next day a spy
was sent out; Aapo went out to bring confirmation of their safety.
He lingered in the villages and farms a day and a night, and when he
returned the message of peace could be read on his brow. And now all
seated themselves round the big pine table, while Aapo, at its end,
began to relate all that he had heard.

AAPO. Brothers! He is a peerless fellow, that Sheriff of ours;
he has done as he said, and our case is as he said it was. The Toukola
men, in spite of their spavined legs, the big bumps on their foreheads
or the holes in their bodies, say nothing of going to law or of revenge
by their own hands; and all this the Sheriff has done with his terrible
threats. And what do you think is the rector’s idea of us? Ay, the old
man has made peace with us, eternal peace; for he is now firm in a
belief, which the Sheriff has argued into him, that hardness towards us
would only bring about our everlasting doom. And another thing: when
old Härkämäki, a rare old fellow after all, happened to mention us one
day to the rector, saying in a growl: ‘Who knows but that those lads
turn out real students one day?’ the rector replied that his joy in
the Lord would be exceeding great if one day the Jukola brothers were
to come before him, reading passably well by sight and knowing the ten
commandments and the confession of faith by heart. These were indeed
melting words. All this and much beside I heard from the mouths of many
men, the most trustworthy being Kyösti Tammisto, who never smiles and
never tells a lie.

JUHANI. Sheriff, thou bonny man, I would charge into blazing
fire for thy sake! May the black bellowing bull take me! I can hardly
believe it.

AAPO. Everything is as I said. We must now admit that
gentlemen are not altogether such rogues as people think. Think of
Viertola too, who came round so quickly and agreed to our offer on
every point. While our rector, if we regard him without spite, straight
from an honest heart and mind, rises in our eyes to noble heights,
that I know. He is a fiery but true worker in the Lord’s vineyard, and
has already done a mighty lot of good in the parish. He has closed
many a wicked tavern; forced many a man and his former mistress to wed
properly; and many neighbours who were always after each other’s blood
he has enticed into sweetest friendship. And what has been his aim in
all his work on our behalf? To make respectable Christians of us. Now
he has taken his hand from us, but utters at the same time so beautiful
a hope that the memory of it nips at my heart.

TUOMAS. And now to reading, an a-b-c book in hand, and the
alphabet in our heads even if it has to be hammered there with a mallet.

AAPO. Now thou hast said something which, if we carry it out,
will bring us new happiness. Ah! what if we were to start this great
work together, without resting until it is done!

JUHANI. I understand. We are to pounce tooth and nail on the
alphabet, without flagging until we are under the cock’s tail. Right!
Soon we shall perhaps decide something, and once we decide, we’ll carry
it out too, though we sweated blood. I have a hard head, hard enough,
but there’s one and another thing in it, some real nimble works too.
Shouldn’t I with daily practice be able to keep step with a five-year
old chit of a girl? Why not? Hard work helps even with the worst of
luck.

AAPO. Oh Juhani! my heart is uplifted by thy words, so full of
manhood and sense.

JUHANI. Hard work conquers even the worst of luck. Ay, if we
once start on the job, we’ll stick to it with clenched teeth. But the
matter needs thinking over, wisely and from the roots upward.

AAPO. We’re going to try, for it is a mighty matter. Note: If
we cannot read, even a lawful wife is forbidden fruit for us.

TIMO. What! Is that so too? Well rot me! Then it’s worth
trying if this trick is perhaps going to help me to get a good wife,
if I should ever be so mad as to want one. But who knows what’ll come
into a lad’s head. Only God knows that.

JUHANI. Let us think the matter over wisely; we have such hard
heads.

A few days were suffered to go by, and then one evening the matter was
taken up anew, and they now decided to begin studying the alphabet in
earnest.

JUHANI. In two years from now may the whole a-b-c be in my
head; that’s said. But I’m sorry for Timo; his head’s harder than mine,
twice as hard.

TIMO. Never mind, even if it is twice as hard. Thou’lt learn
in two years, and that’ll be four for me. Ay, only patience is needed
for that.

JUHANI. Hear him; that joke wiped a good many days off the
reckoning, a whole year. But, lad! we’re in the fiend’s sleigh. There’s
going to be more than one sigh squeezed out of us, and the a-b-c book
will be pulp before it’s in our heads from back to back. God help us!

TIMO. I’m going to learn my a-b-c.

JUHANI. I’m going to do it too, even if it felt and tasted
like chewing little pebbles and raw potatoes. I’m going to do it
because our rector is so kind and merciful towards us that I’m quite
sorry for him. But where can we get a good and gentle teacher?

AAPO. I’ve thought that out too. I look to thee, Eero. Ay, ay,
thou hast a sharp head, that can’t be denied. But thank God for this
gift and go out for a few weeks into the world, with food on thy back
and thy a-b-c book in thy bosom. Go to the Sheriff’s Man: that fine
wolf-catcher will teach thee. He is a clever fellow, and I know he will
not deny thee his teaching, especially if we promise him a fine patch
of forest for sowing and a jack capercaillie or two for a roast. Then
when thou hast learned the chief points of ordinary reading, thou canst
return and teach us.

JUHANI. What? Is Eero to teach us? Hm! Eero! Well, see that it
doesn’t make thee proud, Eero; that I say.

EERO. Never! A teacher must always set a good example to his
pupils, remembering the day of stern reckoning when he will have to
say: ‘Here, Lord, am I and those Thou gavest me.’

JUHANI. Hark, hark, did it prick thee? But this is what is
going to happen: thou wilt teach me when I want and keep silent as a
roach when I want, and I learn from thee only when I want. That’s that.
We’ll keep thee in order all right, that thou knowest. But maybe this
plan will do.

TUOMAS. The best plan Aapo has ever invented.

JUHANI. A thousand crowns for this plan!

AAPO. Eero, what is thy own idea of the matter?

EERO. I’m willing to think it over.

AAPO. It’ll work, work beyond any doubt. But now I am going
to row forth with a bigger idea, an idea that stands for itself. Brave
boys and brothers! Let’s help to make Impivaara a fine new pioneer
farm, make a farm in the forests with the strength of seven men. Ay,
your eyes grow round and you stare at me in wonder. I’m not surprised.
But just think it over: our living grows harder to get day by day; only
seldom now we hear the bear whistle and rarely does a capercaillie
start up crashing before us. Let us note another matter too, note that
‘it is not good for man to be alone’. That is what we shall think one
day; but the savage in the forests has to keep far from the bridal
bed, the man who can hardly fill his own rumbling stomach, let alone
those of a wife and children. But if we clear these vast backwoods into
meadows, hoe this sloping sunlit clearing into fields, and around this
house, round its echoing yard, gradually build stables, a cowhouse, a
barn, a store-room and other buildings as they are needed, that will be
a different matter. Then we shall have a big farm, Impivaara Farm, a
farm in better condition than our birth-place, Jukola. And before that
day comes when old Jukola will be ours again, the meadows here will be
green, the rich fields wave with corn and each evening a herd of lowing
cattle draw near us from the forest.

JUHANI. Thou speakest finely. But think, brother, we have one
farm already, though rented now to a stranger. In a few years time we
shall have it back.

AAPO. But before those years have gone we shall be idlers
without our like, hardly bothering to lift our feet from the ground,
while our farm will be about as wasted as it used to be. I have heard
that the tanner is a shiftless fellow, a poor booby, and that no change
has taken place yet in Jukola, either in the fields or the meadows. And
even if that were not the case, it is always better to have two farms
than one: Jukola and Impivaara. Our reputation would also rise greatly
in the sight of men, and for wife there’d be many a bonny daughter of
Häme to chose from. To work, brothers! To work with all our strength;
for such a life would be worth the labour, and we have seen that
mankind is not such a rogue as we have thought; nay, I would say that
the world is towards us as we are towards the world, and that the one
who ‘always suffers wrongs’ had better look into his own breast. We
have often been scurvily treated; granted! but in reality only by those
Toukola rascals, and I think that even they have had some cause for
it. However that may be, peace and harmony are best; and we can always
have peace if we only want it. Listen, we shall work here for a time
like all honest people do, and when at last we go back to Toukola, our
former enemies will look upon us with a bit more respect than before,
and if we then give them friendly looks on our part, a bright day of
general forgiveness will soon dawn. I admit that it will have cost us
much, much work and teeth-clenching hardship, but without them there’s
no harvest to be had down here. And one thing more: set plainly before
the eyes of your souls what will be our final victory: we shall be men,
friends with everybody, owning two farms, our future a ‘Cape of Good
Hope’; and our graves on the misty coming shore of life will not seem a
home of terror to us, but a place of delightful rest, a shadowy porch
to the halls of the blest.

TUOMAS. Thou speakest prettily and rightly, and I’m with thee
for one. Brothers, let us listen to him, for this is a mighty matter;
it gives us a new birth, raises a new dawn over the edge of the forest.
I’m with thee!

TIMO. And I too.

SIMEONI. God has heard us and our lives grow lighter. I’m
agreed to Aapo’s blissful plan.

EERO. I agree too, for it is a manly step we shall be taking.

JUHANI. Should I not do the same, I, your wretched eldest
brother? I agree, and shall always call this day a day of joy. Weren’t
fetters or the Crown’s grey coat and the roll of drums almost upon
us? Whereas now we are far from things like that, here amidst our own
forests. So at midnight our sky was suddenly lighted, and this light,
let us hope, will at once drive away all clouds and ‘God’s candles
shine’, as the shepherds sweetly sing. Ah! God and the Sheriff have
done their best by us; we will now try to do our best by them.

The next day they sent brother Eero off to his studies, well equipped.
With a birch-bark knapsack on his back, a bag over his shoulder and
an a-b-c book in his pocket, he set off on foot to the Sheriff’s Man’s
home. The others equipped themselves with hoes and spades and began to
hoe a field of the clearing around their cabin. Day by day, the area
of ground broken up into clods increased; and an eternal grave was
dug for the whortleberry bushes and cudweeds. But when they had hoed
an enormous patch of the clearing, enough tillage to keep seven men
alive, they left the clearing for the forest below, and began clearing
a meadow amid the century-old spruce which dozed there, wrapped in
cloaks of moss. Then the axes echoed again and with a crash the
spruce fell on the moist ground. They peeled the trunks, gathered the
branches in heaps, ready to be hauled to the yard in the winter, and
carried the logs up to the old clearing to be used for their coming
barn and cowhouse. While carrying them the men stepped stolidly one
after the other, each log resting on six stout shoulders. And when
they reached a certain mound, at a word of command from Juhani they
would simultaneously cast down their load, and the log would fall
thunderously to the ground, and the earth would boom and the forest
answer. So from day to day their meadow grew in extent, stretching ever
farther southward from the forest’s rim, while the materials for their
new buildings grew in proportion.

Eero too worked hard to learn the art of reading and his skill
increased with great rapidity. Every Saturday evening he would return
home with empty bag; and on the following Monday he would set forth
again, a bulging knapsack on his back and a bursting bag over his
shoulder, set off for school with his a-b-c book in his bosom. Thus the
autumn went by, winter approached, and the brothers left both fields
and meadows to rest until the following spring and hastened to gather
food for their cattle and for themselves. In the dark autumn woods they
trudged in all directions with their dogs, reaping a bloody harvest;
and down on the edge of the bog a high hay-rick grew again for Valko’s
use.

Winter came; on Christmas Eve Eero returned home, sufficiently learned
in the opinion of the Sheriff’s Man to be capable of teaching his
brothers. Remarkably easily he had learned. He read fluently by sight
and knew the a-b-c book by heart from back to back, and the Lesser
Catechism as well. And then when Christmas was over, lessons began.
Eero sat as teacher and his brothers as pupils, all shouting as with
one mouth the names of the letters as the youngest brother called them
out. They would all shout together, and the spacious cabin would echo.
Hard and agonizing was this work to them, full of agony especially
in the beginning; sorely they all sighed and sweated. Hardest of all
worked Juhani; for very zeal his jaw would shake, and dozing Timo who
sat beside him received many an angry poke of his fist whenever his
poor head drooped. An added trial was that Eero did not always take his
high calling with due gravity, but frequently allowed stinging little
remarks to pass his lips. For this he had received many warnings from
the brothers, but the game was dear to him.

Once on a winter day, when a biting frost prevailed outside and an
almost rayless sun shone over the southern rim of the world, the
brothers sat hard at work in their cabin, a-b-c books in their hands.
The devoted, but monotonous sound of their reading might have been
heard afar; it was the second time they were going through the alphabet.

EERO. A.

THE OTHERS. A.

EERO. B.

THE OTHERS. B.

EERO. Ay, A is the first letter of the alphabet and Z the
last. ‘A and Z, the beginning and the end, the first and the last’, as
it says somewhere in the Bible. But have you ever happened to see the
last as the first, Z as A? It certainly looks a bit funny to see that
little thing, the one that always used to be at the tail end, suddenly
cock of the dunghill and all the others looking up to him with honour
and respect, as at something fatherly, even though they do it with
somewhat bulging eyes. But why do I turn to matters with which we have
nothing to do just now. Ay, go on reading.

JUHANI. Do I catch thy meaning? I’m afraid I do. But teach us
nicely now, or the Devil’ll get you.

EERO. Go on nicely with your lesson now. C.

THE OTHERS. C.

EERO. D.

THE OTHERS. D, E, F, G.

JUHANI. Wait a bit; I, poor boy, have lost my place. Let’s
start again at the beginning.

EERO. A.

THE OTHERS. A.

EERO. A, B, C, ‘the cow ran up the tree’. What does this
sentence tell us, Juhani? Canst thou explain it?

JUHANI. I will try to discover its meaning. Come out with me a
little, you others; there is something important we must talk over.

So saying, he went out into the yard, and the others followed him;
and with beating heart Eero began guessing what this withdrawal might
portend. But in the yard the brothers discussed the best way of keeping
down Eero’s cruel bent for joking, which caused him to jest with the
a-b-c book in his hand and thus mock not only them, but also God and
His word. And they concluded that he had earned a good whipping. They
entered the cabin again, and the fresh birch-rod in Juhani’s hand
struck the soul of Eero with dread. Tuomas and Simeoni seized the lad
firmly; and then Juhani’s rod did its best. Eero yelled, kicked and
raved, and when at last he was free, looked around him with terrible,
murderous glance.

JUHANI. Now then, take the book in thy hand again and teach us
properly, thou rascal, and remember this hiding whenever thy blackguard
tongue feels like talking mockingly. Ah indeed! Did it hurt? Ay, ay,
thou hast got what I prophesied thee years ago. For ‘evil is the
mocker’s reward in the end’, that thou now knowest. Take the book, say
I, and teach us in a sensible and proper way, thou rascal.

TUOMAS. Don’t grind thy teeth, but sit nicely down at the end
of the table there and do as we bid thee. And do it without grumbling,
or the stick’ll dance in my hand, and that’d mean a storm many times
hotter than a minute ago.

They began reading again; but it was in a very surly and biting tone,
accompanied by baleful glances, that Eero read out the letters to
his brothers. And thus a stormy atmosphere reigned for long over the
school-table at Impivaara, until time, after a few days had passed,
again softened down Eero’s wrathful mind and countenance. Thus the
brothers laboured to attain skill in reading, and their work prospered,
although extremely slowly in the beginning, especially for Timo and
Juhani.




CHAPTER XII


Spring came and work in the fields began. The brothers ploughed and
harrowed their field, cleared meadowland in the backwoods and worked
at their new cowhouse on the echoing clearing. All this labour seemed
irksome enough to them in the beginning; but, compelling themselves
to keep to it, they were able in the end to work all through the week
from morning to eve. And thus their cowhouse was completed, their
field transformed into a plain of finely-sifted mould, and ever bigger
grew the new meadow in the forest. Full of tree-stumps and hummocks,
but productive of much hay, the fine new meadow spread before them.
Then sowing-time came round; the brothers sold a new patch of their
forest and bought rye with the money. And Tuomas sowed the new field
on Impivaara, strewing three barrels of rye into its dusty plots. And
soon a promising crop had sprouted and flourished mightily in the fresh
September winds.

But the birches yellowed, the aspen stood in its purple garment, and
the dank fogs of evening hid the new meadow in their gleaming embrace.
Autumn had come again, and the brothers were alive to the winter’s
needs; and they had now three heifers and one young hornless bull in
their cowhouse. Work in the open was over, for everything lay under
the drifted snow; and as in the cabin other tasks began, the struggle
with the alphabet was resumed. Diligently the brothers worked again
at their reading, and their skill increased, though slowly. They could
read fairly well by now, and were trying to learn the paragraphs in
the a-b-c book by heart; jabbering and mumbling to themselves in every
corner of the room, they strove to reach the cockerel at the end of the
book. And one after the other they arrived at their goal: first Lauri,
then Aapo and Simeoni and finally Tuomas, while Juhani and Timo toiled
far in the rear. At last, even Timo was in haven, but still Juhani
sweated, sighed and puffed angrily over his confession of faith. It cut
him to the heart that he was the last, but the others’ pity could not
aid him, but only his own diligence and application. He read perhaps
a little better and with greater speed than Timo, but at learning by
heart Timo beat him.

Those who already had the a-b-c book tucked away in their memories,
now decided to keep holiday for a few days and enjoy a backward glance
at all the toil and trouble endured. Gun in hand they ski’d around
the forests, and their bullets felled white-furred hares under the
snow-clad trees, felled a male capercaillie as, with ruffled feathers
and heavy with the cold, it sat on the branch of a bearded spruce just
where a sombre forest and an echoing heath met. Meanwhile Juhani sat in
the cabin, stripped to his shirt and oozing sweat at the table’s end,
a-b-c book in hand. Greatly enraged and tearing his hair, he fingered
his stout-leaved book. It often happened that, grinding his teeth with
rage and almost shedding tears, he would bound up from his stool,
snatch the chopping-block from its corner, lift it on high and dash it
fiercely to the ground; and at such moments the cabin shook and the
man’s skimpy shirt fluttered. Thus he would pounce at intervals on the
chopping-block; for only with much toil did the alphabet take root in
the man’s head. But he would always sit down again at the table corner
and go through a stiff paragraph anew. And at last, as spring came
round, he too knew his book from cover to cover; and with pride in his
glance could close it.

The snowdrifts melted, flowing down in water to the meadow and from the
meadow to Sompio Bog; and now the brothers set to work to build their
barn; they laid its foundations some distance from the cabin on the
smoothest part of the clearing; and again the clash of axes and the
thud of mallets echoed far around. And when the sun rolled over the sky
at its highest, when the forests and meadows were green and the ear
was on the rye, the barn stood ready on Impivaara. Nature wore then
its fairest summer raiment, the scented field bloomed, and the hopes
of the men of Impivaara were at their highest. But the wind suddenly
veered round to the north and blew thence strongly a whole long summer
day, making the air cool and chilly. Tirelessly it blew, until at last
with the fall of evening it was still and sank down to rest. Like a
grave, so cold and silent was the night, and on the bosom of the field
a grey frost lay like a choking nightmare on the blooming breasts of a
young maid. And the next day the sun looked down with mournful eye on
the deeds of night, on the rime-covered, frozen, sprouting corn. The
brothers too emerged early from their cabin; they saw with horror the
ruin worked by the frost, and their minds grew dark. Two or three days
later they saw the flourishing crops white and withered.

JUHANI. There went our hopes, our golden harvest. The stalks
are left, but the ears hang dry, without sap or life. Ay, boys, next
year’s food has been snatched from us.

TUOMAS. A hard blow, especially if we think how scarce game
has already become. Didn’t we course the forests like lynxes last
autumn, and hardly got our winter grub?

JUHANI. What is to be done then? We cannot leave our field
altogether, the field which we dug with so much toil and sweat from the
hard surface of the clearing.

TUOMAS. That we will not do, but will sow the field again next
autumn, knowing as we do that frosty and frostless years come in turns
here and that on the whole there are more frostless years than of those
damned rime-whiskered ones.

AAPO. I believe we shall perhaps have a visit from the frost
every spring, so long as Sompio Bog down yonder is a home for frogs and
whortleberries. Ay, I fear so. Therefore, if we wish to save our field
from frost from now on, we shall have to drain the bog, lead the water
and moisture under it away, by clearing it and digging drains. There
too we shall be hitting two birds with one stone: at one stroke we
shall be protecting our field from the frost and making new meadow-land
for ourselves.

TUOMAS. That, I should say, we are all agreed is best. That’s
what we shall have to do, if we mean to build up a farm for ourselves
out here in the wilds.

With spades and axes on their shoulders they set out one day for the
bog. They dug the main ditch first, straight and deep, and then led
smaller drains into it; and soon high ridges of moss, mud and clay rose
along the sides of these ditches. Here grew stunted, dwarfed birches;
these were felled and gathered into heaps for burning the next summer;
and new meadow-land was added to Impivaara Farm. Thus they laboured
for many heavy days from early morning to late eve. And at length the
greatest part of dismal Sompio Bog lay ditched, and day by day its
surface now began to dry. But sowing-time had come, and again Tuomas
sowed the field, and soon the grain had sprouted. The brothers spent
the winter as they had done the last, practising reading; and finally
the Lesser Catechism had been memorized. And Eero, Lauri and Aapo
stopped not even here, but continued their studies ever further afield
towards the last page of the Catechism. With hungry stomachs they sat
by their books for days at a time; for game had been scarce that autumn
and they had had less time than before for hunting. They scoured the
forests even now on their skis, but little was the gain from their
labour.

Came at last the verdant spring, and the rye grew thick on Impivaara
field. But once again the wind veered suddenly to the north, whence it
blew fiercely all through the summer day, until at even fall it was
stilled and sank to rest. Like the grave, so silent and cold was the
night, and on the bosom of the field a grey frost lay, breathing a
chilly death. And early the next morning the brothers came out of their
cabin and looked terror-stricken upon the havoc wrought in their field.
And soon the crops, newly so flourishing, gleamed white and withered.
The men now pondered what to do and what step to take next, and deemed
it best to drain Sompio Bog thoroughly, whence they knew the frost
rose on to their fields. This they decided to do, and on the misty
bog they grubbed and dug while the hot summer passed, often prey to a
depressing hunger. At such times the day of labour was heavy; wearily
they returned to their home only when the sun was setting, and black
lines of pain and fatigue ringed the lips of the pallid men.

But by the approach of autumn the bog was ditched from end to end and
its surface had been transformed into a dry carpet of grass; and now
the brothers had a fine new meadow, flat Sompio Meadow. Once more the
field was sown; new plots were hoed for spring-sowing the next year.
The supply of game, however, had been greatly affected by the coldness
of the spring, and smaller than ever was the stock of winter provision
the brothers were able to collect. Bitterly were they therefore
assailed by hunger this winter, when the snowdrifts hid the ground a
fathom deep and the frosts were severe. Walls, crackled stones and
rocks split into two, and little birds fell down like stone-flakes,
fell dead from the sky. A wayfarer would often see the saliva freeze
into a ball of ice as it fell from his mouth, and when it reached the
ground, roll tinkling along the smooth sleigh-tracks. On one such day,
with the north wind shrieking under a pale, bright sky that sparkled
with cold, the brothers sat in their cabin in perspiring heat, talking
over their situation and the means by which a moaning stomach might be
satisfied.

JUHANI. This won’t do. Over a day has gone by since I last
ate. And what tit-bit was it I ate then, and how big a chunk? A
thousand blazing imps! it was the two dry, resiny legs of a squirrel. A
full-grown man’s belly hardly notices a meal like that. What dost thou
say, Tuomas?

TUOMAS. Tighten thy belt.

JUHANI. Look! I’m as small in the middle as the most gracious
lady, small as a brown ant; but this trick won’t help us for ever. It
won’t help long, so whatever it is we have to do, let’s do it and soon.
My heart chokes, brothers, my heart chokes and dismal melancholy makes
my mind sink.

SIMEONI. Is there any other way out for us but the highway,
the beggar’s long and stony road?

JUHANI. Let that be our last road to salvation. Oh, my breath
seems to come from an empty barrel. Isn’t there a single trick or
wheeze left that Aapo’s brains could find out?

AAPO. What can we build up out of nothing?

JUHANI. The whole of this world was created out of nothing. So
why couldn’t even a little bit of chaff-bread be made out of it?

AAPO. Ay, if we were almighty beings.

JUHANI. Ah! if we were only their errand-boys, we’d be jumping
about in those golden halls, and manna, boys, pure manna would be our
grub, and we’d be drinking honey like water from a river. That’s the
kind of time we’d be having, and we’d listen spitting to some poor
beggar from the earth tell us of seven wretched brothers down there
beside muddy Sompio Bog, dawdling in a smoky cabin on each others’
necks like bats in a hollow pine and hungry as wolves.

EERO. Why fancy such things? Let’s go to Kuokkala’s backwoods
and search the part we left so easily last autumn a bit more carefully.

JUHANI. The bears have gone to Hell from there, that’s almost
sure.

EERO. Almost! What foolishness to sit here hungry with crossed
arms, when we might be getting ourselves a fine joint. There’s not much
hope, but let us try, let’s look up those woods, and even if we don’t
find a bear, we might find some other game. And even if that fails,
there’s Kuokkala Farm nearby, where we can at least borrow a loaf each
and perhaps a bushel or two of peas. We’ve got to turn to others for
help in the end, if all our own attempts fail. But we’ll only borrow
and pay when we can.

Thus spoke Eero, and at last the others deemed it best to follow his
advice. With their guns under their arms they set out with their dogs
to ski to Kuokkala backwoods. Smoothly the skis ran over the hard
snow, but panting and much slower than before the brothers made their
way; the former strength of their knees seemed to have vanished.
Finally they reached the intended woods and began skiing hither and
thither in all directions, seeking, though vainly, for a bear. Evening
drew nigh and the brothers lost hope, but at Eero’s exhortation they
decided to search once more the surroundings of a certain wooded rock.
When they came to this spot, a violent barking was soon heard and out
of a dense grove of spruce a bear dashed forth and hastened away, the
snow eddying in his tracks. He ran twisting among the trees, and the
brothers followed by tortuous ways on their shining skis, and the
fierce frost air rang hoarsely with the angry yelping of the dogs.
At last a shot was heard from Tuomas’s gun and, bleeding, the bear
crawled on the snow. At it charged the dogs; a man drew nigh with his
bear-spear, and there with hardly a struggle the bear met his death at
the man’s spear and the dogs’ teeth. Down he fell on his palms and blew
out his life into the bloody snow. But hardly had this happened and
the brothers gathered round their kill, when a new furious barking and
yelping was heard from the forest. Two year-old bears, fleeing from the
dogs, shambled out of their lairs, a few hundred paces from the winter
lair where the first bear had been found. And now a fierce struggle
arose between the shaggy cubs and bold Killi and Kiiski, which endured,
hot and bloody, until the brothers had come to the dogs’ help with
their spears. Soon they had felled the furiously struggling bear-cubs
and made an end of a fight in which the fur flew fast.

But now evening had fallen; the rich prey was borne to the foot of a
spruce-covered, mossy rock and a fire made. And on the windward side of
the fire beds were made of moss-covered branches and a screen of twigs
lifted on to poles to prevent the wind from fanning the blaze and to
allow the flames to burn steadily. Then the brothers began preparing
a tasty supper; they scored and flayed the big bear’s magnificent
thigh, and cutting tender slices from this, roasted them in the fire
and joyfully filled their hungry stomachs; nor did they forget Killi
and Kiiski. And soon they slept on their mossy beds, after their weary
bodies had been nourished and the dread of starvation driven away for
many days to come. Sweetly the dogs too rested, after running long and
hard; muzzle on paw they rested, now and again opening their eyes,
which with a noble calmness were directed towards the blood-stained
carcases on the snow. There they all rested while the camp-fire blazed
and the stars twinkled; but around the frost crackled in the dry spruce
and cold, sighing winds sang in the austere forest. And when morning
dawned the brothers set off to ski home with their burden; and their
burden was heavy, but pleasant.

The following spring came early and fine. The brothers fished
diligently on bright Lake Ilvesjärvi; and in their nets or on their
hooks many a bull-necked roach and golden-ribbed rudd was caught.
On the bank, in the shelter of a scented bird-cherry, they sat out
the dawn of many a pale summer morning, pulling out with their hooks
the shining denizens of the lake. Wild duck flew croaking over the
oily surface of the water, and the brothers’ bullets dropped many of
these in their flight. Beautiful was the spring both on the banks of
Ilvesjärvi and in the meadows and fields around Impivaara cabin, where
a splendid crop flourished, growing in the gleaming sunshine of day and
the gentle coolness of night. This year too the fierce north wind often
raged, bringing a chilly and windless night; but deep at the bottom of
Sompio Bog lay the frost, cocking its ears, but powerless to lift its
head above the grassy carpet. So grew the grain in the fields and the
hay in the meadows that sunshiny summer, and sometimes a gentle rain
refreshed the perfumed ground. The meadows were mown and the fields
reaped in blazing sunshine; and in high towers the ricks on the meadows
and the stacks by the cabin rose heavenward. The richest harvest was
yielded that summer, which the brothers ever afterwards remembered as
‘the golden summer’.

But when the grain had been reaped and the autumn sowings were
over, the brothers set forth one Saturday morning on a long-planned
excursion, intending to go to the rectory to be examined by the rector.
In fatherly, gentle fashion they were received by the rector, who
to his exceeding joy soon found them to be irreproachable readers,
some of them even highly commendable readers; Lauri he declared to be
the best reader in the big village of Toukola. He also found their
conception of dogma to be fairly clear and honest. And so, when they
returned home a week later from Communion Service, each carried in his
hand a leather-bound New Testament, a gift from the rector for their
diligence. Satisfied, though with solemn air, they entered their cabin,
which Kyösti Tammisto, their cattle-tender for the past week, had swept
and garnished with leaves. And when they had eaten and Kyösti had gone,
they sat down apart to pore over their Bibles; and a deep silence
reigned in the room.

So passed the pleasant summer, autumn came fresh and cool, came winter
and a new happy summer. And the years which now followed brought
happiness and prosperity to the farm. Industry is the spring of
happiness, and the brothers toiled industriously, with the result that
the fields grew apace, grain gathered in their bins, horses in their
stable and cows under the beams of their cowhouse.

Old wall-eyed Valko still stood in the stable, but on each side of him
a sturdy foal stood in its box, one bought from Tammisto, the other
from old man Kuokkala. Neatly the foals munched the clean meadow-hay,
and with childishly carefree glances would tease now and again the old
veteran between them, trying to pass the time of day with him over the
low partition. But crusty-tempered and with hanging ears Valko stood
there, his hanging underlip among the hay, as his old worn teeth ground
bluntly at his provender. Ten head of cattle stood in the cowhouse.
Wert thou to open its door, eight guileless and solemn cows’ faces
would stare at thee, and two bulls like two mighty tree-stumps. The
elder of the two has already been sentenced to lose his liberty next
spring, and to submit to the fate of a draught-ox, but the younger
there is still to hoof it in the pastures at his own will. So stood
matters in the cowhouse, where Simeoni’s blameless hand worked the
hardest.

Gradually all the buildings needed on a farm grew up in Impivaara
yard. Thus a fine bath-house was built where yard and field met, and
after that the platform vanished from the cabin, together with the
stone-covered fireplace near the door, and in its stead a chimneyed
stove was built of the kind usual in farms. A stout floor was built
of split logs, which reached the whole length of the room, instead of
stopping half-way as before. Three large windows replaced the former
apertures in the walls. And now looking southward from the room, thou
sawest the farm fields and a big meadow below these, with another
bigger meadow farther down, formerly Sompio Bog. Across the fields and
meadows the farm track led towards the church and their former home;
it led from the meadow into a dense spruce-wood, then along the heath
to the top of Teerimäki, which rose majestically in the south to the
rim of the clouds. Looking westward, thou sawest behind the fields
mossy tongues of rock, with here and there a low, but thick pine, in
whose swaying crown the sun often shone on summer evenings. The cabin’s
northern window looked boldly at Impivaara’s steep fell. So would the
world have shown itself to him who looked at it from the windows of the
spacious cabin. But if he had opened the cabin’s heavy door and looked
eastward and northeast, he would have seen the stony, stump-covered
clearing, and at its edge a heath and an echoing pine-wood from whose
bosom the sun rose into the sky in summer. Such was the face of nature
around Impivaara, which was now fast becoming a prosperous farm.

Rumours of the change which was taking place in the brothers and
through them in the fields and yard of Impivaara, soon spread around
the parish. At first they were discredited, but the rumours proving
true, they awakened wonder; and gradually the brothers began to gain in
honour and respect. They, however, seldom left their own lands; they
were unwilling to see their birthplace until the time came when Jukola
would be their own again. They had made such a promise, and therefore
they avoided seeing the beloved fields of their home even at a distance.

Came the last summer of the ten years for which Jukola had been given
to a stranger to till; and the brothers were entitled next autumn to
take over their old home again. In June came a clear and warm Sunday.
Through the open door of the cabin the bright sunlight flowed in,
drawing golden patterns on the leaf-strewn floor. At the table Tuomas
and Simeoni sat in silence, each reading his New Testament; Juhani,
Timo and Eero walked in the fields viewing with delight the flourishing
beauty of the summer; Lauri wandered silently in the woods and Aapo
had gone to visit Kyösti Tammisto. Blue stretched the sky, a faint
west wind breathed in the air, the birch gleamed on the hill in its
new cloak of green and a white-foaming rowan spread its perfume far
around. In the fields wave gently pursued wave, and the rye flashed
in the rays of a fiery sun, which already hastened up to its midday
height. But soon the brothers came home again: the walkers from the
fields, Aapo from Tammisto and Lauri from the bosom of the heath. With
a hidden smile on their lips they drew near to their noble dwelling,
which smiled peacefully in turn at the comers, and on its sunlit roof
danced the silvery heat of that day. With contented hearts and open
countenances they entered the leaf-strewn, spacious room.

And when they had eaten, they sat down again, each where he listed and
thinking his own thoughts, or looking at the open book before him.
Beside the back window, which opened westward, Aapo sat, fussing with
his pipe, and one saw that his thoughts were busy with some important
matter. At last he opened his mouth and a conversation ensued.

AAPO. I met the tanner at Tammisto and spoke with him about
our common business. He has got a job as miller and would already be
willing to leave Jukola in the beginning of next September, of which I
gave him good hopes.

TUOMAS. Best for him to get out of our way quicker than usual;
for his hand has not improved Jukola, but pulled it down all the
deeper; and of his rent he has not paid us a single grain.

AAPO. All of which the law might sentence him to pay, but how
is he to do it?

TUOMAS. He’ll always lack the power to do that, unless he
pawns his miserable soul.

AAPO. The law might make him work off his debt, but the rag
has a sickly wife and a lot of mewling children.

JUHANI. Let the poor lout go in God’s name. Ay, his score with
us can be wiped off. He has had hard luck too during these ten years;
that we can’t deny. But even if the best of luck had hugged him, he
was never born to build up a farm; a bonnier boy’s needed for that,
but there’s as little sign of that in him as in an old glove. Let him
go therefore and clatter away at his mill, and we’ll show people that
Jukola can be made into the grandest farm in the parish.

AAPO. It’s always nobler, anyway, to see before us a farm,
whose ploughed fields and cleared meadows we know to be the work of
our own hands. Three of us can stay to look after this new farm, while
the others dig and plough on Jukola’s soil; but in all bigger, urgent
tasks we will set to work together with the strength of seven men, both
here and in our former home. And soon we shall have two fine farms and
two crofts, all of the best, and there’ll be property, land and room
for each of us separately when the final division is made, and all of
our futures settled. And let us hope that everything will be for the
best in the end. Ay, all will be well at last, if only commonsense and
justice are always our guiding stars down here while we tread the path
of life.

TIMO. A lot depends on the wife and her work under the
rafters, whether the good man’s labours outside, in sun and rain, are
to bring riches or poverty in the end.

AAPO. Listen to Timo! He speaks like a man of experience.
It’s just as thou sayest. The wife either raises a household to power
and glory, or tears it down right to the foundation-logs. I’m not
speaking, mind you, of a farm whose master is quite crazy, who can
waste the fruits of years in one moment; such farms I do not mean,
for even the wealth of a manor wouldn’t help there, or the toil of a
wife, even though she were as nimble as a weasel and as close as an
old Jew woman. But take an ordinary farm and an ordinary spendthrift
master, and look you, if the mistress of that farm is tight-fisted and
saving, the farm’ll stand in spite of everything. On the other hand,
a farm where the mistress is wasteful is soon lost beyond mercy, lost
even though the master were to fight against it like ten men. True, a
master may get royally drunk and fight in the village, for which the
law salts his back according to his deserts; yet we can regard such
shipwrecks as little sores, as bleeding wounds in a human body, to
which I now compare a farm. But a wife who is wasteful is the daily
worm in a farm’s body, its canker that wastes all its juices and at
last undermines and ruins the whole building. I remember a story I once
heard from our grandfather, that ever wise, cautious and far-seeing
man. And this is what he told me: There were once two brothers, both
sober and hardworking, each with a farm equal in every respect to
the other’s and each with a wife and children. One remained always
prosperous, but the other became poorer day by day, and many were
the guesses made at the cause of this difference in the brothers’
households, without anyone finding the real reason. Then one Saturday
evening our grandfather had some errand to both of these farms. He came
first to the rich brother’s house, where the wife, having finished
churning, was sharing out bread and butter to the children; from there
he went on to the poor brother’s house, where the wife was also giving
the children of her churning; but look you, the woman put at least
twice as much butter on the bread as her neighbour did, and now the old
man had found the reason for the riches of the one and the poverty of
the other. For just as the poor man’s wife used twice as much butter,
so, though almost in unseen ways, twice as much of everything else
slipped through her fingers. And thus she would have needed two such
farms to keep level with her neighbour’s one farm. So said an old man
famous for his wisdom.

JUHANI. He judged the matter rightly. A bad and wasteful wife
is the devouring rat of a household and as ugly to behold as an old
boot in a puddle.

AAPO. Let marriage therefore be, as it ought to be, the most
serious step in our lives. For a bad wife is a man’s ruin, while a
good and loving wife is his greatest joy, his best friend, his honour,
who makes his home a haven of joy and peace. And let him keep such
a wife as the apple of his eye, as his soul’s dearest treasure. And
I also believe there’d be many fewer, bad wives, if husbands were
always to correct the mistakes of their young better halves with kind
words and loving glances, taking great care never to harp in a nagging
spirit on the example of ‘my neighbour’s good wife’ and to let that
‘good mistress, my dear dead mother’ rest in peace in her grave. Ay,
brothers, perhaps all of us will soon have wives beside us and little
nippers around us, and that is why I am not speaking so much because of
a passing whim, but of set purpose, meaning to sow these words in the
bottom of your hearts.

JUHANI. Thou hast done everything well, and hast given us much
valuable advice. Truly, thou hast led us in the night of these forests
with a father’s mind and tongue. Brothers, let us thank Aapo, he has
done a great work.

AAPO. Go away! Why talk nonsense? Oh--well! Ay! We’re here
anyhow now and together we have fought: struggled, strained and
wrestled to escape from the tangled backwoods of hard fortune to a free
and open clearing. Look! the weather is bright and calm, the sun sinks
to its setting and the carp will be spawning now in swarms amongst the
reeds of Ilvesjärvi. Let’s go and lay our osier-nets and we shall have
a tasty breakfast tomorrow.

They went down to Lake Ilvesjärvi to lay nets for the gold-ribbed
carp, which spawned merrily just then, so that the lake’s reedy
margin flashed. Simeoni and Timo stayed at home to look after the
cattle--lowing and with a clatter of bells the crooky-horned cows
returned from their pasture along the heather-clad heath. And on the
stump-bestrewn, dry clearing they milked the champing cows and drove
them into the pen, where they sank down one after the other on their
couches of spruce-twigs. But yonder on Ilvesjärvi’s calm surface the
others rowed their blunt-nosed log punt, sinking the osier-nets into
the bright depths of the lake along the many-tongued edge of the reeds;
and in the crowns of the pines in the north-west a fiery-red sunset
glowed.




CHAPTER XIII


It is a pallid day in September, the day on which the brothers are
going to take possession again of their former home, which they have
not seen during the course of nine years. On the road that leads
towards the village across the fields and the two meadows, seven
men now journey, leaving ever farther behind them the new farm on
Impivaara, where Tammisto’s Kyösti is to tend the cattle for a day or
two. In the van Juhani, Aapo and Tuomas marched side by side; willingly
they stepped out and on their faces dwelt a calm joy. Following them
came a loaded waggon, drawn by two young mares and driven by Lauri
from his seat on the ribs of a small ale-barrel. This barrel was
full of ale, specially brewed for a home-coming festival at Jukola.
Then came Simeoni and Timo, each leading a lowing cow as a beginning
for the coming herds in Jukola’s cowhouse. Last of all came brother
Eero, leading by a rope a young hammer-headed bull, to whom had been
entrusted the aggrandizement of the farm stock. Gladly the young steer
followed the cows, stepping out behind them with a quite arrogant
bellowing. Merrily pranced Killi and Kiiski too, now ahead, now behind,
now bounding along on each side of the party, merry, though already
grey of coat. They were the only animals of those born at Jukola to
return to their former home. Valko was dead and slept sweetly in the
deep grave behind Luhta-meadow’s fence; dead, too, and buried was the
old hoarsely-mewing cat, Juhani’s beloved Matti; and at last even the
proud-necked cock had died and was buried. Another cock now crowed
lustily on Impivaara’s rafters, from the stove another cat peered down,
and two young, handsome horses now drew the brothers’ load at a hearty
speed towards Jukola.

Onward they journeyed; they emerged from broad Sompio and entered the
depths of the forest. The weather was clear and still; the sun shone
mildly from a pale-blue, smiling sky. They came to Seunala Matti’s
clearing, then to the road that led from Viertola to church, across
which they kept on uphill, along the sandy heath and through the pines.
And at last they stood on Teerimäki’s crest, whence their road ran
in a smooth track down the rock. But on the ridge of the hill, from
which one could see far in every direction, the brothers halted for
a moment to rest their horses. They looked to the southwest, and in
the distance the Jukola of their childhood gleamed. But soon a tear
dimmed their eyes and a curious languor filled their bosoms as the
bubbling water fills the lungs of a drowning man. They looked again to
the southwest, and on the sloping surface of a hill Jukola loomed like
a darkling past. From it they looked at last back to the north, and
amid flourishing fields of sprouting grain the new farm at Impivaara
seemed to smile merrily, and above it towered the steep fell. So they
stared, now to the north and now to the south, now all around, with
eyes deliciously moist. But Juhani drew ale and the foaming tankard was
passed from man to man.

JUHANI. We shed tears, but these tears are pearls of bliss and
joy; so let us drink and be merry.

AAPO. Thanks to the Creator that we now stand here as children
of joy! Lucky we, who in one happy hour found out what became us and
brought forth good fruit before our dreadful sentence was written on
the wall. This, and God’s guiding hand, has led the path of our life
upward to these noble and joyful heights on which we now stand as
conquerors. Ten golden years have passed since with hate and fury in
our hearts we fled into the darkness of the forests. We did that. But
I believe if we had gone on idling in the south yonder, in the bitter
air of persecution and wrath, it is as sons of sorrow we should now
be walking! Lucky for us therefore that we left the village and our
neighbours; for now a great change has come over us. Here we stand,
casting the mild eye of peace over Toukola village yonder, and there
behind us we have a noble support to our backs.

Ay, yonder’s the former, beloved Jukola, yonder Toukola village,
yonder the church-tower and yonder again mighty Impivaara. Clearly the
different scenes of our life-journey rise before me from the bosom
of the past ten years. Look how that road has run. At first, though
greatly unworthy, we tried to approach our Christian fellows, making
our unhappy journey towards the solemn tower yonder on the edge of the
sky. It was a cruel, accursed journey, but it was, too, the powerful
spur that forced us into the depths of the forest. Yonder to the slopes
of that steep grey fell we moved and built ourselves a sturdy home. But
envious fire burned down our house to dust, and we lads had to gallop
back to Jukola like young wolves; and that was a hard game. But even of
that we recked little, but went back into the woods and built ourselves
another cabin, stouter than the first.

There we could freely devote ourselves again to our favourite work;
and the dogs raged, the firelocks banged and the quick blood of the
backwoods children flowed in streams. But there a hard fate suddenly
lifted us on to that terrible Devil’s Rock, to a trial grim and
ghastly. Somewhere over there lies that rock of hunger, agony and
blessed fortune, yonder where the misty edge of the forest dips down
and that sparse-branched spruce lifts its crown high above all others.
There lies the rock that brought us sorrow and agony, but which we
might also call our rock of joy. For note: from that rock, ever onward,
we can follow the birth of this hour of joy and peace, on Teerimäki’s
summit here. The rock in the dreadful backwoods gave rise to the first
great clearing, which in its turn gave us a rich store of grain. But
out of this--sadly, sadly enough--was born that drunken festival of
mournful memory. But never mind. This riot of drunkenness stirred up
hell and all its devils as a terrible warning to us to strike out in
some new path. From two directions we were warned: by Simeoni’s weird
vision of the spirit and Lauri’s remarkable dream. And well for us
that we heeded these grave hints from a hidden world! Like men we then
decided to forsake for ever intoxicating, accursed liquor, in which
decision I hope we shall nobly stand.

But we had still one downright ugly blow to meet. And this was caused
as much by heavy drinking as by that wicked and obstinate temper
of ours that had even then not been sufficiently broken, but deep
down went on fanning its lust for revenge. We met that day of angry
screaming, of wolfish tearing, of crackling staves and bloodshed on
Tammisto Farm. Thus were we punished for our indulgence in drink. But
it was then, on the very day of punishment, that our luck began to
turn. Behold, when we stood already on the brink of black despair, our
merciful God lit up the world for us; and this he did through that
splendid Sheriff of ours. But we ourselves, what did we do? Like men we
took the road of self-denial, of toil and labour. True we had yet many
troubles and hardships to meet, but we bent all their necks, forced our
way onward by main force, and here we now stand. Thanks be to God Who
has led us, thanks also to ourselves who were willing to seek wisdom in
time, thanks to our mother who reminded us in the days of our childhood
of God’s Will and Law! One and another of her sayings sank into the
depths of our hearts, whence a warning voice ceaselessly whispered in
our ears, whispered even during the wildest storms, and the ship of our
lives sank not in shipwreck.

JUHANI. Ah! if mother were alive now and walked yonder in
Jukola’s yard, seeing her sons approaching, she’d hurry to meet us
right to the rise in Ojameadow. But the old dame sits in the halls of
heaven now, waiting for her children. We’re coming, mother, with God’s
help we’ll be there yet. Well, let’s set off again, brothers, on our
way, set off down the rocky road.

They trudged down and came to a dark forbidding forest, whence they
emerged at last on to Kiljava’s fire-ravaged, lofty heath, where hawks
sailed shrieking through the air under a limpid sky. And already they
fared on the rolling road that led past Kuttila’s spacious meadow.

JUHANI. Boys, boys, I can feel the smells of our old home,
sweeter than the scent of Virgin Mary’s bedgrass, in my nostrils. Boys
and brothers, breed of the same old dame, listen to one great word: let
us invite every blessed man and woman, buck and bitch, we meet on the
road before we are home, to a mighty home-coming festival.

AAPO. We’ll do it.

TUOMAS. It’s said.

TIMO. We’ll invite the lot, from the Governor down to Beggar
Mary; that is, if we meet them.

JUHANI. Right from the Governor down to Toukola’s youngest
infant; and a merry feast it’ll be, truth it will. And then we’ll
pound a jig with the daughters of Toukola, jig until Jukola’s planking
thunders and the bark peels off the roof! True, matters are so that
only Aapo can dance the quadrille, and we others only the polka, but
that we dance like men. So let it be polka. But where can we get a
real, rattling player and a willing wench to brew coffee?

AAPO. There’ll be a way out of that fix too.

JUHANI. Ay, somewhere in the world. Sure there’s a way to
settle that somewhere. We haven’t lacked ways and means even in the
hardest cases, but everything has had to bend or break, or twist or
turn as we have wanted. Everything has had to give way, and ten years
have gone in a flash. Trala, ra, ra, trala, ra! I haven’t tasted coffee
since at Karja-Matti’s wedding, but we’ll have some today in honour of
the festival, and drink a true brotherly health, all seven of us, seven
fine lads. And first of the lot, always first we three here march: I,
Aapo and Tuomas, Impivaara’s Life Guards battalion. Stout fellows,
though, all of us. Even Eero is no longer amongst the smallest in
Finland, not by any means. But slowly he grew from his perch, devilish
slow. However, he’s made a passable man both in soul and body. And it
was the power of the years in the forest that did it, with our help;
only a couple of little hidings from the hands of us others and the
fellow was as though oiled. Hey? What dost thou say thyself there
behind?

EERO. All true as far as my body goes, but in my wretched
soul, I’m afraid, there’s plenty of that accursed Old Adam’s gall left
even for you, the gall that so often gets loose and turns the whole
world topsy-turvy. Even now it works in my eyes, as I look upon you in
the first row from behind. How like a goggle-eyed stable-goat beside a
solemn gelding Juhani pounds along there beside Aapo!

JUHANI. Ay, Eero, my son. But to-day spirits of joy and
merriment swarm in the air. So what do I care? I only sing.

    Frala, la, trala, la!
    How can I be so merry?
    How so content today?
    Frala, lala, lala, lala,
    Frala, lala, la!

Who is the man who stamps towards us on yonder clearing?

AAPO. The old man himself, I do believe.

TUOMAS. Of a truth! Well, good day to him!

JUHANI. The parish clerk! The same parish clerk!

TUOMAS. The same, the same. Good day to him, eh!

JUHANI. Son of the Lord! The same old rogue, knotty stick in
hand and the former rector’s long-peaked cap on his head. Well, may the
big black bull take yourself! The same old rogue, the same old rogue.

TIMO. Our schoolmaster.

JUHANI. But how was it he schooled us? Ay, ay, now’s the time
to ask him.

SIMEONI. Let him go by us with honour.

TUOMAS. He has to be asked to the home-coming, as we agreed.

JUHANI. The devil! We have to do it. But I feel like reminding
him a little of olden days, for there’s still a little sting against
him in my heart. I’ll remind him of one thing and then he can join us
if he is still so inclined. He has taught me. Good! Maybe I can teach
him a thing or two in my turn now, maybe I could put a cunning little
question to him out of my Testament.

TIMO. I’ll ask him something too. There’s a catchy riddle
here, under the roots of my double teeth, and we’ll see how he explains
it. I’m not angry with him at all; for isn’t my hair as thick as ever
it was; but we’ll see how he opens the knot I’ll give him to open.

AAPO. Shut up, brothers! and let us treat him with respect,
show him that we come back to the village different men from what we
were when we left it. Let us always behave wisely.

JUHANI. As far as wisdom goes, it’s just what I want to do
my best at this very minute, by casting him offhandlike a few little
questions from the depths of the Bible. I’ve read my Testament from
cover to cover and understand it too, I hope. But tell me, Eero, what
shall I ask him, thou knowest, simple-like?

EERO. Ask him how five men and two fishes could be fed with
five thousand loaves.

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, thou Loppi’s devil, thou gabbling goblin
from Kylmän-oja! I’ll teach thee. Am I likely to ask and explain a
matter the archbishop himself doesn’t understand. But I know what to
ask him; and here the old man is.

TUOMAS. I warn thee: treat him properly.

JUHANI. I know how.

THE PARISH CLERK. Good day, good day, boys!

THE BROTHERS. Good day!

THE PARISH CLERK. Changing quarters, I believe.

TUOMAS. Something a little in that style.

THE PARISH CLERK. Is that so? Is that so? Hm. Well, well.
It’s sure beginning to blow. Do you think it might rain now?

JUHANI. It might perhaps do that too.

THE PARISH CLERK. It’s blowing quite heavily.

TUOMAS. Heavily, ay, heavily.

THE PARISH CLERK. So it is, ay. Hm, hm. And so this is how the
lads are moving.

JUHANI. Ay, slowly does it. But has the parish clerk a scholar
or two at his table-corner these days?

THE PARISH CLERK. Not now.

JUHANI. Not one tousle-headed brat in the corner?

THE PARISH CLERK. He-he! No, my son, no. Hm. Well, well. So
this is how ye’re moving now. Eh, well, welcome to your old home again!

JUHANI. A thousand thanks, Mister Parish Clerk. We come from
the backwoods, as you can see, and our foals there have a thumping load
to pull, its weight bigger by seven New Testaments, seven gifts from
England. And I do believe it’s the deepest, the hardest parts in this
book that tell in the load the most. What if we were to try to lighten
the load a little, ease out a few knots, kinks and twists? Can you....

TUOMAS. Juhani!

JUHANI. Can the parish clerk answer me one question, a
question that has set the brains of many pondering. Tell me: what were
the names of the sons of Zebedee?

TIMO. ‘I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how
many of us are there?’ a man from Loimaa asked me once, and the same I
now ask the parish clerk.

JUHANI. Let Timo keep his bread-trap shut. Ay, Mister Parish
Clerk, what were the names of the sons of Zebedee? That’s my question;
listen hard, boys!

TIMO. I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how
many of us are there? That’s my riddle; listen hard, boys! How many, my
master?

PARISH CLERK. Two, my boy, certainly not four; ay, little son,
two, only two. He-he!

TIMO. Ah! there’s where we are caught. That’s what I said to
the man from Loimaa. But not it! In that crowd there’s four of us,
Mister Highly-learned Parish Clerk.

JUHANI. Canst thou not keep thy damn jaws shut until thy
eldest brother has done his bit? Ten thousand flaming imps!

TIMO. For the love ... for the love of the Lord don’t poke
me in the face a second or third time. Thou bully! Am I a calf before
thee, a calf or a bullock? Not I, not I, I’m a right hot-tempered man
if I once really lose my temper.

JUHANI. Keep thy mouth shut now and listen. What were the
names of the sons of Zebedee?

PARISH CLERK. A guileless question. But our old rector once
asked of me: ‘What was the name of the father of the sons of Zebedee!’
and guess, brother Juhani, what I answered in giving him the right
answer? Ay, permit me to ask: what was the name of the father of the
sons of Zebedee?

JUHANI. Ah.... Ah.... Eh, indeed. Is that name too in the
Testament?

PARISH CLERK. Truly ’tis there, it’s in the question itself.

JUHANI. So-o ... ay, to be sure ... hm ... so it’s in the
Testament? But--that’s just what I meant to ask you, but in my flurry
asked it a little the wrong way. I’ve heard that riddle, but never
bothered to seek out the answer to it in my Testament. You see, I’m no
great book-learner or schoolmaster, I don’t belong to the clergy like
for instance a parish clerk. He belongs to it, but to the tail end of
the order, that same tail that was once in a tight place with Old Man
Viksari, the bottle imp.

TIMO. It was the verger, or waker-up, who called himself the
tail of the clergy and dusted Viksari a little.

EERO. It was the parish clerk.

JUHANI. Parish clerk or verger, verger or parish clerk: all I
wanted to say was I haven’t the honour, I haven’t the right to crow in
church like a cock in the morning on a rafter or to twist the scruffy
polls of little boys. And if you’ve a mind to hear the whole truth from
my lips.... D’y’know what Old Man Kork from Estonia said to the Sheriff
of Hämeenlinna?

PARISH CLERK. Why, what did he say?

JUHANI. ‘Go to ’ell, thou tamn man!’ Hmmh! Whose fist think
you would dance highest here? Hey? Look here, gaffer! and take note how
the face of the world changes during ten years.

AAPO. Juho, Juho!

TUOMAS. Now, brother, I too will have my say; and for thine
own peace’ sake keep quiet. May the parish clerk forgive them; they do
not understand. Take no notice and be so good as to come with us to a
little home-coming at Jukola; for this day is to us the day of days.

PARISH CLERK. I thank ye, but my time will hardly allow me to
accept of your kind invitation now.

SIMEONI. Come and build up peace between us and the men of
Toukola; do it for God’s sake.

AAPO. We pray you, come and build up peace. Is not such work a
duty to you, seeing how your calling is of the Church? So beware lest
not only God is angered with you, but likewise our excellent rector
on hearing that you were unminded to act as peacemaker in such an
important matter as this. Consider this point.

PARISH CLERK. Be it as you will. I’ll follow and try my best
to shake up the Toukola men’s hearts, and with the power of the Lord
and my own speech bend them to brotherly harmony. But let us first
speak out our minds. I see in your eyes a glowering, though perhaps a
little faded, hate for me, and know the cause of it. Ay, I was a strict
teacher to you, strict and stern, that I’ll admit, and bitterly have I
already repented it. But I myself was once taught in the same strict
way, in the same hardhanded way, more’s the pity! But what did I mean
with my strictness towards you? Your own good, your own good; know
that. And you can be sure too, that at this very minute, even though my
mind was somewhat startled when you came marching towards me, my soul
rejoices as I look on you as men and know all your deeds and struggles
while ten of our dear Lord’s years have rolled by.

AAPO. For this praise we thank you.

TUOMAS. We know you for an honourable man and know that Juhani
and Timo will beg your forgiveness for their unfriendly words.

TIMO. I’ll admit he’s an honourable old man, even if a hard
schoolmaster.

JUHANI. The parish clerk admitted to not having done quite
rightly by us, I make the same confession on my own part, and our
relations are square, especially as I agree that we were woodenheaded
scholars, against whose hard heads the breastplate of his patience
was broken. And who’ll guarantee, who’ll guarantee, I ask, that this
hair-pulling and curl-dusting didn’t do us some good? There’s no saying
at all.

AAPO. Except that all is forgotten. So let’s all march on
together. Be so kind, Mister Clerk.

They set off on their journey again, plodded along the hilly road,
which to the brothers, however, was beautiful and dear; for crowding
to meet them came the clearings, rocks and stumps of their childhood;
and against their bosoms breathed the fresh west wind. But suddenly
they heard a fearful racket, and the Rajamäki Regiment came marching
into view. They saw Kaisa’s snuffy visage and blazing eyes under an old
black night-cap; between the shafts the old woman tramped, scolding
and cursing. But Heikki had now outgrown his hobby-horse, Mörökölli
his bottle-cart, and beside their mother they marched, each helping at
his shaft to pull the waggon. Mikko himself, a black felt hat on his
head and a mighty quid in his cheek, pushed as was his habit with his
stick behind. He was followed by the twins, riding their hobby-horses,
and last came Mikko’s youngest, dragging a bottle-cart behind him in
the dust of the village road. And on the waggon was a sack of pitch,
the horn-bag and a calf-skin pouch in which were the knives of Mikko,
Heikki and Mörökölli, and there was also a violin, wrapped in Kaisa’s
old red shawl.

Thus the two strange processions moved to an encounter, and then a
turmoil and tumult arose. Unwillingly and snorting, the young horses
from Impivaara approached the regiment. Killi and Kiiski, the bristles
on their neck standing high, raged and barked loudly; and the twins and
the youngest ran roaring to the waggon for shelter. Kaisa cursed and
scolded her offspring furiously; but Mikko brandished his staff at the
hounds, lunging and gibbering frantically. The parties came to a halt,
and for a long while each regarded the other stiffly; the Rajamäki
family staring with astonishment, the brothers greatly taken aback, as
they remembered their recent decision on the road. At last, however,
brother Aapo stepped forward.

AAPO. Peace to you!

MIKKO. The same to you, but call off your dogs a little.

AAPO. Killi and Kiiski, be still!

JUHANI. Greeting, thou Rajamäki’s Mikko! How art thou and what
news from the world?

MIKKO. Mixed, both good and bad mixed, but always, dog take
it, the good has outmeasured the bad, and this rackety life has suited
me, that it has. Ay, boys, there’s always a bit of a job and work in
the farms and villages. Ay, ay, there’s no danger for Mikko at all so
long as there’s jobs to do in the world, even if he has to tramp and
babble at every farm, tramp from village to village looking for work
and bread. No worries at all for Mikko.

AAPO. That we well believe; and may your trade succeed ever
better and better. But now, Mikko, an idea came into our heads, and
we’ve a mind to keep you company for more than one minute. Ay, listen
to one word.

MIKKO. Aha! I can guess your idea, when I remember that fish
we cooked once under Sonnimäki Heath, the fish that still sets you
belching. It’s a good thing for us that we are on a public road and
that we have a good witness here in the parish clerk. So move a bit to
one side, kind friends and neighbours, a bit to one side.

AAPO. Listen a moment!

KAISA. Out of the way, you devil’s prey! We want to be pushing
on. Out of the way, or the hangman’ll have you!

PARISH CLERK. A mistake, thou respected Rajamäki family, a
big mistake! Hear what I say and sacredly affirm. Ah! the life of the
Jukola brothers has changed, both in soul and body. Changed, so God
help me! Know that they have plucked the sweet fruit of repentance and
conversion and now return to the home of their birth as sons of joy and
glory, burning to gather the whole world to their bosoms. Wherefore
they invite you also to a merry home-coming, to a feast of reparation
in old Jukola. Such is their heart’s striving towards you in this their
hour of jubilation. Believe the word of your parish clerk.

JUHANI. It’s just as parish clerk says!

AAPO. Mikko and Kaisa! we wish to show ourselves men and to do
men’s works, forgetting the past. But what said Mikko of our kettle of
fish on Sonnimäki? Why, kind friend, we boiled that ourselves and we
ourselves had to swallow it. Just so, and I remember another thing from
that Sonnimäki evening. Didn’t thy wife foretell us dark days of ruin?
That she did, and rightly she foretold. The storms came and whipped us
sorely, sorely, but the storms and clouds have passed again and a fair
day dawns. Well, come and prophesy for us once again, and we hope your
eyes will see brighter visions. I have heard you read fortunes best in
coffee, and there’ll be no lack of coffee this evening at Jukola.

JUHANI. Coffee and ale!

AAPO. Coffee and ale! So come and foretell happy days for us.

MIKKO. Kaisa can tell fortunes in coffee and I’ll play the
fiddle to heighten the feast; that suits very well.

AAPO. Quite well.

JUHANI. Thou stout Mikko.

MIKKO. I’ll play you a merry march as we come to Jukola.

JUHANI. Thou matchless Mikko! Play, play till the world rings,
play, God’s creation.

AAPO. Everything suits excellently.

JUHANI. Fits like a key in a lock.

MIKKO. Round with the waggon, Heikka and Matti boys! and thou
Kaisa, cast that scowling temper from thy face to Hell and make a
nimble right-about towards Jukola.

KAISA. Ay, faith, I’ll right-about thee in a minute. Even if I
were to be mad enough as to start tramping back again on my old legs,
would I let myself be trampled by their skittish asses on the road
there? Let them swagger ahead, we’ll crawl behind.

MIKKO. Right, Kaisa! Let them go to the fore, brothers, let
’em gallop on with the speed of a comet, we’ll whizz after you like a
smoking tail. That wife of ours is a rather hot-tempered woman.

JUHANI. But there’s a wife for you all the same.

AAPO. A grand wife.

MIKKO. The devil that’s so; I dare to say it. She’s my wife.

JUHANI. A wife like spades are trumps.

MIKKO. That she is. A hot-tempered dame, a hot-tempered dame;
but once the old man really lifts his fur, then even mother herself has
to purse her mouth into a pretty little pout, has to, no help for that.
But I’m a gentle old cove just the same, I am, and let Kaisa do the
ordering. And why should I worry about that so long as everything pans
out? Heleiyah! boys! Here we come along behind like the cobbler after
the tailor to Heaven. ‘After him though the devil squeals’, said the
cobbler, pulling at his wax-thread, with his teeth again. Ay, ay, march
on and let her bang!

They set off again altogether, and the wind grew into a storm,
the birches hummed and bent, and the sun now shone cheerily, now
disappeared from view into the bosom of the delightful tatters of cloud
which, driven by a north wind high up in the sky, scurried swiftly
towards the distant curving rim of the sky. They wandered uphill
and down, and both the wandering and the storm were pleasant to the
brothers as they drew nigh to their home hill in the southwest.

They met on their way an old man: black-haired, crusty old Kolistin.
The grey, bushy eyebrows, like two owl’s wings, almost hid his surly
eyes. In his time he had been a famous shot and had felled many bears
and wolves. But then a severe illness had affected his hearing, and
he could now hear only shouted speech, screamed loudly into his ear.
This unlucky event closed the path of bear-hunter to him for ever,
whereafter he had taken to trapping. Every autumn and winter he laid
his numerous traps in the forests, to the death of wild-fowl, hares and
squirrels. He was a solemn, obstinate, sharp-tongued old man; looking
at life from his own standpoint only, he lost his temper easily. This
was the man who trudged towards the brothers along the hilly road in
this evening hour on a September Sunday.

JUHANI. Greeting, thou old one!

TIMO. Greeting, granfer, greeting!

JUHANI. Halt, hale honoured sir!

OLD MAN KOLISTIN. Eh?

JUHANI. Greeting from the forest-world.

OLD MAN. What dost thou want?

TUOMAS. Shout in his ear, and loud.

JUHANI. Here we are you see!

OLD MAN. So, devil take you, you are, and may the old man of
Heaven help us in the villages from now on again.

JUHANI. What?

AAPO. Now the old boy is not in a good humour.

JUHANI. What dost thou mean?

OLD MAN. Thou canst guess. Ay, ay, yes, yes, yes, there’s
different times coming for us now. That’s clear.

JUHANI. Brothers, this cuts at our honour.

AAPO. Never mind that, but ask him to come with us to Jukola.

JUHANI. However and in any case, old man, thou being such a
grand old man, we now ask you to come to Jukola to partake in a real
rowdy home-coming with us.

OLD MAN. Why hast thou come, dolt? Why didst not stay yonder
in the caverns of thy mountain right to thy miserable death? Why didst
come?

JUHANI. Eh, what? Is this the thanks for my invitation?

OLD MAN. I get hot with rage and fury when I think of my
traps. Curse! there’s more than one fat capercaillie will leave my
snare for another’s bag from now on. You blackguards! there was enough
sneaked from them without you coming.

JUHANI. Didst thou call us thieves?

OLD MAN. Did I, did I? Thou canst understand a hint,
understand it well, e’en though thou art a stupid cuckoo, a staring
young capercaillie.

JUHANI. Dost thou call us thieves when we invite thee to a
feast?

OLD MAN. What dost thou say? Speak louder, speak up like a man
and don’t screech and squeal there. What didst thou say, boy?

JUHANI. ’Twas to a feast I asked thee; for all of us are in a
way thy godchildren.

OLD MAN. Thou my godchild?

JUHANI. I and these six brothers of mine here. So come to our
feast, godfather.

OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue! I am not thy godfather.

JUHANI. That thou art for sure.

OLD MAN. I am not thy godfather, no!

JUHANI. Truly thou art.

OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue, say I.

JUHANI. Truly thou art, unless Mother Pinewood lied.

OLD MAN. Who?

JUHANI. Mother Pinewood, the common midwife of this village.

OLD MAN. I give a fig for Mother Pinewood, and I am not thine
nor those others’ godfather. I thy godfather? Ha!

JUHANI. Ha! Eh? Is that it? I tell thee I was not borne before
the parson a full-toothed, blind-eyed puppy, no! But however that may
be: I ask thee to the feast.

OLD MAN. But I won’t come, no, but forbid thee to ask me.

JUHANI. I ask thee notwithstanding.

OLD MAN. But I won’t come, thou devil-possessed! Hold thy jaw!

JUHANI. I ask thee still.

PARISH CLERK. Boys, boys, let the old man in peace.

MIKKO. Let him go in peace for us. A simple and surly old man;
looks into your eyes like a poodle; let him go. Quick march, old man!

JUHANI. But it seems to me, however, as though from the bottom
of those simple, grey, glowering eyes something a little foxy-like doth
peep; and he has made my gall swell somewhat. I ask thee to a feast, to
a roaring riot. It’s to pour ale down thy face I ask thee. Thou art a
good old soul, anyhow.

OLD MAN. What dost say? Shout louder.

JUHANI. A good old soul, though somewhat curious: but that sin
has always been the besetting sin of the deaf.

OLD MAN. Eh?

JUHANI. Curious, inquisitive, old rag; otherwise a good old
sort.

OLD MAN. Blockhead, shameless blockhead! But can, can, can
there be brains in a young capercaillie’s skull? Not an inch. Ho!
here’s a whole swarm of them starting up at my foot, a swarm of
capercaillies....

JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies, for example.

OLD MAN. What didst say?

JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies.

OLD MAN. I don’t care how many of them there are; there they
stare down at me from a birch-branch. There one of them glowers at me
like a bull at a new gate, and he won’t take heed until the gun bangs,
but then he’s fast. In the same way seven loons now glare at Old Man
Kolistin for all the world like seven owl-eyed young capercaillies.
Louts! What, what do you want of me?

JUHANI. I want to tell you with solemn mind and tongue that I
am no thief nor young capercaillie nor lout, and I say at the same time
that a certain old crust, a confounded old fellow, who is standing not
so very far from me, not many versts of this sandy road away, that this
man, this shameless old crosspatch is a great scoundrel and blackguard;
and I say it with all respect.

OLD MAN. Who, who, thou daft young cuckoo on the top of a
withered pine? A ... a ... a ... am I a blackguard before thee? Say!
Who, thou young cuckoo?

JUHANI. What the hell shall I blow down his accursed ear?

AAPO. Don’t blow anything else, but let’s be off.

JUHANI. Not just yet; for he’s a rascally old chap. But what
devil’s mush shall I blow down his ear?

EERO. Let me try. Hold this young bullock for me.

JUHANI. Yes, blow a hot word or two down there.

OLD MAN. Who? Hey?

EERO. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’ said the little cuckoo on the top of a
withered pine. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’

OLD MAN. There’s a cuckoo for thee!

EERO. Thou devil-possessed!

JUHANI. See the devil! What a bang!

EERO. A big bang that set my ear singing.

AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s ogre, well done!

EERO. To Hades with the fellow! I saw sparks.

JUHANI. Old man, old man! Note what thou hast done: banged a
respectable man with thy fist on the cheek right in the midst of the
highway and on the holy Sabbath. Ay, ay, old man!

AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s barn-gnome, well done!

OLD MAN. What are thou jabbering at there?

EERO. Well said, thou Kolistin’s old mule, well said!

OLD MAN. Hold thy jaw, thou too, weasel. I’ll, I’ll teach boys
to jump on my nose. Kolistin’s old man isn’t the fellow to think long
before he lets fly.

JUHANI. I’ll let fly at that ragged collar of his and drag the
old crony with us to an ale-feast without mercy. Heigho! old man! Now
we’re off!

OLD MAN. Go to hell thou!

JUHANI. Come and drink ale till thy belly splits!

OLD MAN. Let go my collar, or I’ll bash thee in the face. Let
go, thou devil’s Jew, let go!

JUHANI. A bucket of ale!

TUOMAS. What fool’s trick, Juho, is this again?

AAPO. Leave the old man to himself.

JUHANI. God preserve us! he has rated us like dogs. What
shall we do with him? An old sinner like him. But let him come to the
celebration at Jukola and drink ale in his anger. Ay, old fellow, my
heart won’t allow me to give way, no!

OLD MAN. Loosen thy claws!

TUOMAS. Art thou minded to release him? See now, how nicely
thou unloosest him. Go, old man!

JUHANI. Ah! I would have carried him to a merry feast, carried
him like a little baby; for my hairy bosom flashes sparks. Son of the
Lord! from whose snare have I snatched a bird or a hare?

TUOMAS. Hold thy tongue!

JUHANI. Am I a thief, I?

PARISH CLERK. That he never said, my boy.

JUHANI. That was what he hinted at, anyway. Ah, if only the
snows of twenty or thirty years had been off his crown, ah son of the
Lord!

TUOMAS. Go, old man!

OLD MAN. Blockheads! A ... a ... a ... am I a hobbyhorse in
your sight, you drab-haired wolf-cubs that someone ought to bash on the
skull? But I’ll, I’ll I’ll teach you yet, I’ll, I’ll teach you yet,
louts!

The crusty old fellow from Kolistin left them at last; but for long
he muttered in his anger, spat and muttered to himself as he tramped
along the hilly road. The brothers also set off on their way with
their company, the parish clerk and the Rajamäki Regiment, which
brought up the rear. But when they had journeyed thus a while, they
met two women: Mother Pinewood and her nimble, plump daughter Venla,
marching swiftly onward, on whortleberries bent, with white baskets
of birch-bark in their hands. This encounter greatly embarrassed the
brothers, and they regarded the approaching women in deep silence,
coming to a halt, however, before them; and now on each side a
protracted staring followed, both parties gazing round-eyed at the
other. Until at last Aapo stepped forward, informed them of the firm
resolve taken on Teerimäki, and begged them to come as guests to the
home-coming celebration. Doubtful what to do, the mother and daughter
stood there, grinning in secret at each other and primly pursing up
their lips. But after the parish clerk too had begged them to give ear
to the brothers’ invitation and to take over the post of coffee-maker
at the feast, they decided at last to join the merry company. And thus
the Jukola brothers already had a mighty mediator and peace-maker for
any encounter with the men of Toukola in the parish clerk, willing
coffee-makers in the old woman and her daughter, and in Rajamäki’s
Mikko they had the right man to play a merry home-coming march and
to fiddle for them in the coming dance with the maids of Toukola.
Meditating over all these advantages, they marched with increasing,
prouder speed towards their goal, and stood at last on the sandy crest
of Jukola’s north field. Before them they saw Brook Meadow, behind that
the home fields and, rising above them all, Jukola farmhouse itself,
ravishingly mournful. Silent and with moist eyes the brothers stood on
the green, reverberating mound, looking at their home; and the sun sank
westward. But ever fiercer blew the north wind that roared in the pines
on the stony hill to the south of the farm.

TUOMAS. Yonder is therefore Jukola.

JUHANI. Art thou Jukola?

AAPO. Thy bearing has somewhat slackened and moss has stuck to
thy brow, dear home.

JUHANI. Moss has stuck fast to thy golden brow, honoured
mother Jukola.

TIMO. Welcome, Jukola, thou who sittest, squattest before us,
beautiful like once Jerusalem.

JUHANI. Art thou Jukola? Thou? Ah! I can’t help a big tear
rolling down my rough face, so fiercely my heart foams and boils. Oh!
everywhere, wherever I let my eye rest, the kind smile of a friend
looks back. See how lovingly even the black window-hole of the cowhouse
smiles at me. Greeting, thou star of hope, greeting!

EERO. Greeting, greeting, thou black star of hope!

JUHANI. Greeting, thou sweet dunghill under it, fairer than
hills of happiness! Ah!

TIMO. It surely is beautiful, but why hasn’t that dung-heap
been drawn into the fields many a good day ago? Ay, ay, that pile
there proves, announces and betokens deep-rooted, altogether hopeless
laziness on the part of the tanner. Is this a right state of things: a
dung-heap squatting in the yard in September? I’m greatly vexed with
this tanner. Well, well, thou’rt forgiven, especially to-day, which is
Jukola’s great jubilation.

JUHANI. Greeting, drab dung-heap, greeting! say I in spite of
all, without minding what it witnesses and portends. Greeting, Jukola,
with thy heaps, fields, meadows, fair as Heaven!

TIMO. Heaven is fairer, anyhow.

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw! This is the fairest paradise.

SIMEONI. Don’t talk sin.

JUHANI. My tongue utters what my heart whispers.

LAURI. I would say something too, but this wonderful hour has
crushed altogether the former nimbleness of my tongue.

JUHANI. Unloose thy tongue, with heart and lung, yell out the
bliss that is in thy bosom! The mountains rattle, the forests roar,
silence seizes Heaven for half an hour, a half-hour brief and holy.
There’s poetry for you, made up by Juhani Jukola in his joy.

AAPO. But may this be enough here, and let us hurry on.

JUHANI. Ay, let us push on to the very end like a spawning
shoal of roach into the farthest corner of the seine. Let’s go now
before our honoured guests tire of our mighty spasm of joy. Jukola
yonder is not their home, and for that matter they have seen it later
than we have. You, parish clerk, you, Mother Pinewood with your
daughter and you, honoured Rajamäki family, do not be offended at this.

PARISH CLERK. No need to beg that of us. We can well
understand what this moment means to ye; it is a high and solemn hour,
full of intoxicating joy.

JUHANI. Beautifully said! Let’s go now!

TUOMAS. Let the guns bang and Mikko strike up!

JUHANI. Ay, what if we were to have a little music now. One
volley, brothers, one mighty volley. All together!

Mikko’s fiddle emitted a shriek and almost at the same time the guns of
Juhani, Tuomas and Aapo fired. The spirited steeds before the waggon
leapt high, the cattle galloped panic-stricken in all directions,
tails in the air, one here, one there. But not one of their tenders
loosened his hold of the halters in the game, neither Simeoni nor
Timo and least of all Eero. Clenching their teeth they followed,
half-dragged along, each after his own beast, and the dry sand rose in
great clouds. And the cattle had to come to a halt and turn with their
man on to their right road again. So fared the procession downward,
disappeared for a moment in the hollow of Brook Meadow, emerged into
view again, climbed the long steep hill and entered through the gate
of the home field. Grandly Mikko played his fiddle, madly Killi and
Kiiski raved with joy and defiance, their barking answered by the
yelping of the tanner’s lean, poky-chinned mongrel that limped around
the house-corner, a trembling weakling. The din brought out all the
folk from Jukola into the sloping, stony yard. But seeing the Rajamäki
Regiment approach the house, the children fled swiftly back again into
the living-room, and loudly whimpering, hid themselves, some in the bed
under the counterpane, some on the oven-top among the rattling timber
set there to dry, all with terror in their hearts. With the same fear
the mongrel too was suddenly quiet, and hooking its tail between its
legs, crawled into hiding under a bench in the corner. But there was
now enough noise and bustle in the yard. The shouts of the men, the
clamour of the hounds, the lowing of the cows, the bellowing of the
sturdy little bull and the shrieking note of the fiddle all echoed in
one warring discord as the wandering company drew nigh to the house;
and with a mighty roaring the north wind rattled the close-set pines on
Kivimäki Hill. The brothers, their only feeling a languishing kindness,
went forward to greet the farm-folk in the dearly-beloved yard of their
birthplace. And when hands had been grasped and the cattle and the load
stowed away, they stepped at last in a body into the airy living-room
of the farm.

But off to Toukola marched the parish clerk and Aapo, to invite the men
there to a feast of reconciliation and a merry home-coming, the men who
had lived so long in hate and persecution with the Jukola brothers.
And when the invitation which the parish clerk announced in fitting
words had spread round the village both to men and women, they hurried
back to assist the others in arranging the feast. The floor of the
pleasant living-room at Jukola was cleared, foaming ale in capacious
tankards was borne to the tables, and round the fireplace the willing
Venla hustled with her mother. The smoke from the coffee-fire rolled
in clouds under the sooty rafters, the roasted beans broke crackling
into fragments between the teeth of the coffee-mill and on the fire
steamed the tanner’s wife’s coffee-pot. And now the yard was swept,
cordwood was borne from the pile into the room, fir-twigs were hacked
to decorate the floor, and a multitude of other tasks were done. And
beside the window, on a broad bench, merry Mikko sat, letting his
fiddle squeak every now and then.

But what can Mother Pinewood be whispering so eagerly with Juhani
yonder in the porch, and why does Juhani stand so dumfounded, with
eyes wide-open, solemn as on trial? The old dame is informing him in
roundabout fashion that on their side there is no longer any hindrance
between the hearts of Venla and himself. And at this the lad is struck
with wonder; he puffs, sighs, sweats and tears lustily at his whiskers,
and at last begs the old woman to grant him a moment to think it over.
The old woman leaves him with shining face, but out into the yard
staggers Juhani, steps aimlessly like a homeless brownie, without
knowing whither to betake him. There behind Jukola’s walls he wanders
backward and forward, sweats, sighs, glows and steams and again tears
at his whiskers. But at last he hurries back to the porch, opens the
creaking door and utters in a sobbing, almost tearful voice: ‘Would
the parish clerk mind coming out here a little behind this corner,
and thou too, Aapo, dearest brother!’ They comply with his wish, and
soon all three stand under Jukola’s wall, meditating over the matter
which Juhani has told them. There they ponder, discuss the matter and
finally decide that Juhani is to take Venla, who is after all a good
girl. Then, impetuously and with firm step, Juhani enters the house and
seizing Venla’s hand, says: ‘Be it said’. Whereupon Venla is stricken
with shyness, hides her face and smiles, but allows, however, her hand
to rest in Juhani’s bunchy fist. This fills the mother’s heart with
delight and she gives them her maternal blessing; the parish clerk
wishes them happiness and prosperity and in a short speech reminds them
of the most important duties of the wedded state.

Juhani was thus engaged, the old love re-lit in his bosom. But greatly
the bridegroom puffed and sweated, looking ever and anon in secret on
his bride. And suddenly he hastened out to look at the horses on Brook
Meadow, and there looked upon the two young mares from Impivaara, but
seeing them he saw them not. Even two cranes on the distant edge of the
meadow would have been as two horses to him. So whirled his thoughts
round his bride, whom he could not as yet bring himself to believe he
owned. For him the day was a day of marvels. Soon he was rushing back
again, lusting to look on the features of his Venla. Swiftly he strode,
and already in the field he heard a fiery Polish march from Mikko’s
fiddle. At that his mouth twisted suddenly, a tear moistened his eye,
which he dried with his powerful fist, and it seemed to him as though
he were amongst the joys of Heaven. Reaching the yard, he saw not
before him the Rajamäki twins, who, sitting astride their hobby-horses,
galloped madly across the yard; his eye saw not Mikko’s youngest on
the steps with his little bottle-cart. With firm footsteps he entered
the room, and in his glance was a secret, glowing triumph, an eternal
solemnity.

But little by little the lads of Toukola gathered on Jukola hill.
Between the woodshed and the stables a cluster of them already
stood, pipes in teeth, examining sleighs and carts and the tanner’s
spring-trap, bought at Hämeenlinna market. They stood there, examining
and criticizing for a fairly long time, to saunter finally across the
yard towards the farmhouse, first one, then another. Here they lined
up standing against the walls on either side of the stoop, but a few
penetrated into the porch and listened to the bustle and clatter
within. But at last the door opened and Aapo came out, inviting the
guests to enter.

Into the room came the Toukola men and gathered on the left, between
the door and a side-window. There they stood solemnly, each with his
cap held to his lips. Amongst them Kissala’s Aapeli was seen, looking
aslant behind him towards the door, and Kuninkala’s Eero, boring his
eyes into the floor. Near them beside the window sat Mikko with his
fiddle, rolling the quid in his cheek and spitting. Leaning against
his knee stood his youngest, the apple of his father’s eye. But before
the table, a knobby stick in his hand, stood the parish clerk, ready
to begin a sermon that would cause the kidneys of all present to
quake; and his countenance was stern. Clearing his throat and rubbing
his forefinger and thumb under his chin, he glanced round him, glared
sternly to his right where stood the Toukola men, glared to his left,
where between the table and the northern side-window the brothers
stood, silent, staring downward at the floor. Beside the fireplace were
the tanner’s family, Mother Pinewood with her daughter and Rajamäki’s
Kaisa, who, snuff-box in hand and with snuffy face, sat on a stool,
swaying her body. In the corner between the fireplace and the door,
hard by the chopping-block and the water-barrel stood the Rajamäki
boys; there Heikka, Mörökölli and the twins stared in amaze at the
hushed congregation in Jukola’s tupa. But beside the table the parish
clerk still stands. With great gravity, in completest silence, he holds
his chin; then at last he opens his mouth, only to intercept his words
once more and again clear his throat. Again he casts a terrible glance
to his right, another to his left, with a grimace as though he were
chewing dogwood. And at last the following speech issues from his lips:

‘The Devil, who goeth around like a roaring lion, blowing poison into
the world, hath lighted a flame of hate and fury in the hearts of
these neighbours. It flickered at first faintly in the undergrowth,
but spread and grew at last into a terrible forest fire. At first it
was like a little fly, but it grew and swelled like a bull that is
fattened and soon with its sombre smoke hid the light of the heavens.
Thus the dark fiend was given power over them and with whirling fists
they attacked each other, to part at last after fearful fighting with
mottled bruises, gaping wounds and lumpy foreheads. Oh what misery!
The heavens sighed, the hills and valleys lamented and the brainless
beasts of the field groaned, but hell and darkness triumphed. Many
men thought, shaking their heads: here we shall yet hear fetters
clank, the rods of justice whistle and see our lads go marching away
from the beloved land of their birth to the cold plains of Siberia.
So many prophesied, but wrongly they prophesied, and for this let us
render thanks and glory to Zebaoth. Let us gaze on a wonderful scene:
the brothers left the homes of men, their neighbours and fellow men,
and with furious speed flitted into the forest’s night, and again the
minds of many men did think: thus are robbers born, seven bloodthirsty,
fire-eating bandits in the forests of Finland. But to Zebaoth be the
thanks and glory that they showed these prophets a nose a fathom long.

‘Whether ’twas the Devil who led them into the woods, as he once led
the Tuusula parson, or whether a higher power drove them thither like
John the Baptist into the wilds, that I will not dwell on now. But
there the Devil tried his utmost against them, to bring them into the
road which leads to destruction. With poisonous waters, yea, even with
hot syrups he tried them; he, as they themselves have told, led them
upwards to giddy heights, to a marvellous building, to the so-called
Boot-leather Tower, and there showed them the sphere of this world,
showed them the whole in fearful disorder, hoping to scare the wits
from their brains. Such was his intention, but his own plan turned to
hit him in the face with shame, and hastened the footsteps of these
boys into the right path while there was yet time. They began an
embittered battle, came forward to struggle stoutly with their own
hearts, with deep-rooted laziness, with the hard unfeeling earth, cold
bogs and quagmires, and conquered these by the steadfastness of their
wills, with the help of the Lord Zebaoth. Yay! Here they are back with
their fellowmen again, not as robbers, but as worthy men. With a loud,
solemn rumbling they came swiftly with their rolling chariots, drawn by
two young and spirited mares, and were followed by lowing, seal-ribbed
cows and a bellowing bull-calf, of the hornless breed. Thus they came,
not from the caves of bandits, but from a pioneer farm built by their
own hands, on delightful Impivaara. Yay! Through them has Zebaoth been
brought to glory, but the hornheaded Satan from Hell to shame.

‘Here they now stand as men deserving of praise, and hold out to
their former enemies the hand of friendship. And you, good men of
Toukola, need no longer deem it shame to call the Jukola brothers your
friends: for now they spread around them the light of glory and not the
besmirching filth of shame. Accept therefore the overflowing bowl of
peace and beware lest ye cause them to hold out their hands to you in
vain, if you would escape the wrath to come. Lo! the sun is sinking,
looking back with eyes fainting with love at the rainbow which glows
in the east. Behold: this is the sign of the Covenant of Mercy of the
Lord, now a mighty token to former enemies to build up peace, to join
in loving brotherhood and to deal the Devil and his angels a harder
blow than ever right in the face. This is the will of God, and it is
likewise my will and he who now declineth to open his heart and ear to
our word, may he be anathema maranatha, and Devils roast him in the end
in Hell. Hear me, Zebaoth, hear me, Lord on high, Hosanna!’

Thus spoke the parish clerk, and greatly were the women’s hearts
moved. The tanner’s wife, Mother Pinewood, nimble Venla and Rajamäki’s
snuff-faced Kaisa snuffled in uncontrollable weeping, snuffled with a
sound like to the sound of new, four-woven sheets being squeezed in
the soda-tub by the washer’s hand. And facing each other stood the
men of Toukola and the Jukola brothers, and in sign of forgiveness
wrung each others’ hands firmly. Heartfelt, guileless and solemn was
this reconciliation, though hands were sometimes given stiffly, though
glances shot with a dying enmity were still exchanged. But from the
table end the parish clerk looked on with a blissful smile, as he sat
there with a tankard of ale and steaming coffee-punch before him. And
in the room the ale was handed round in white tankards, handed round
from man to man and soon from woman to woman. For already a crowd
of Toukola maids had gathered in Jukola’s tupa. To these, as they
whispered amongst themselves by the chopping-block and the fireplace,
Mother Pinewood’s nimble Venla served coffee. Nor were they too
forward to accept the refreshment offered, but only when the bearer
had obstinately renewed her invitation two and even three times, did
manners allow them to partake. Nor was Mikko forgotten this evening;
ale in abundance and even spirits were borne to wet the musician’s
whistle. Whereat he began spitting mightily into the screws of his
fiddle and tuning that often-mended treasure. And from it flowed at
last a perfectly enchanting Swedish quadrille. He fiddled away at this
for a while, but as none came forward on to the floor, he stayed the
strains of the quadrille and loosened a merry and sturdy polka. This
he ground out devoutly and long, and still not a single pair whirled
polka-ing on the floor. And at this the old fellow was finally greatly
hurt, and letting his bow rest altogether, he twisted his quid and,
spitting, began to twang the strings of his fiddle.

The folk sat in silence. Near the back-window sat Aapo, looking now
and again closely at a certain round-faced, brown-skinned, but grave
and blue-eyed maid who talked in whispers with Venla, a meek simper of
innocence and shyness on her lips. With great curiosity Aapo regarded
her, searching hither and thither in his mind, but the name of the
maiden eluded him. At last he asked the parish clerk, nudging him in
the ribs, and swiftly the parish clerk answered: ‘It is that Konkkala’s
Hinrikka.’ Whereupon Aapo’s forehead cleared and after a while he
uttered to Mikko: ‘Give us a quadrille.’ Mikko began again, and Aapo
now approached the coy daughter of Konkkala, begging her for his
partner. The maiden followed him and placed herself at his side, but
shyly, smiling and blushing furiously. Couples gathered on the floor
from other directions also, and at last, to the squeak of the Rajamäki
fiddle, a Swedish quadrille was danced in the spacious room. Merrily
the fire blazed, a torch flickered in its holder and the broad-beamed
floor shook thunderously as with grave and solemn faces the measure was
danced in an awful silence.

But behind the table sat the parish clerk, and he had with great
satisfaction emptied two hot coffee-punches and three drams of spirits
cold. He sat, watching with a smile the young people dancing on the
floor, and a becoming flush had appeared on his cheeks. But when the
interminable quadrille was at last over, the parish clerk stood up and
proclaimed his intention of going. And having partaken of a farewell
dram and delivered a valedictory speech, he departed gratified from
the house of Jukola. He refused the cart which was offered him with
great firmness, and set out on foot, his knobby stick in his hand. He
was accompanied over the yard by Juhani, who hastened to open Jukola’s
weather-worn, tottering gate for him. And there for a while the mighty
conciliator stood, looking upward towards the star-filled sky and
holding converse with Juhani of winds and weather. Finally he took his
leave, and deeply Juhani bowed, scraping his foot so that the sand and
little pebbles rattled on the cowshed wall. Then Juhani returned to the
merry room, muttering to himself: ‘he has done a great work’. But on
towards the village, a knobby stick in his hand and a black peaked cap
on his head, the parish clerk trudged smiling, and on his cheeks two
delicate roses glowed.

Hour by hour the sounds of rejoicing and the dance in the Jukola
tupa rose higher, reaching at last an uproarious revelry. Feet were
flung about, now in a quadrille, now in a giddy polka, dance after
dance without pause almost, and under the young men’s heels the floor
thundered, and even the stout planks trembled. Ever the fire burned
merrily, ever Mikko’s fiddle squeaked gaily, squeaked until the rafters
rang and the sooty ceiling quivered. From man to man the foaming ale
was passed, from woman to woman the steaming coffee, and in the coffee
grounds Rajamäki’s Kaisa foretold happy days for the brothers right to
their graves.

Thus they made merry at the brothers’ home-coming; thus the toast of
peace was drunk from dripping tankards, and not until dawn had come was
the feasting ended.




CHAPTER XIV


Almost ten years had thus elapsed since the brothers removed to the
wilds of Impivaara, now transformed into a prosperous farm. But soon
old Jukola too, uplifted by seven sturdy men, had risen to equal rank
with it, if not to higher. And the day came when the dear home of their
birth was divided into two farms. The original Jukola, their home and
mother everlasting, was left in Juhani’s care, while Aapo took over the
other half, which stood, in itself an excellent farm, near to their
former home. Impivaara too was divided into two holdings, the masters
of which, by common consent, became Tuomas and Lauri. Timo was given
the croft known as Kekkuri, and Eero the one called Vuohenkalma, to be
ruled and enjoyed by them and their heirs without tithes or tax until
the day of their death. All married, with the exception of Simeoni,
who, desiring neither wife nor farm, settled down as bachelor uncle on
Juhani Jukola’s farm. One might add of them that they lived and toiled,
each in his own sphere, like good men and true; and the homeless beggar
praised both the farms of Jukola and Impivaara and the crofts Kekkuri
and Vuohenkalma for their hospitality. And except for Simeoni and
Timo, it might also be said that they had forsworn for ever the use of
treacherous liquor. Simeoni, that decent fellow, sometimes strayed into
the tempting paths of drunkenness, and the same happened now and again
to Timo, though much more seldom, perhaps once or twice a year.

When the juryman Mäkelä died, who stepped into his shoes? Jukola’s
Aapo, always a man of peace and justice. Who, when the old Sheriff’s
Man left this earth, was promoted to this honour? Eero Juhani-son
Vuohenkalma, a keen-witted man, skilled in reading and writing; even a
newspaper came to him once a week from Turku.

Juhani took to wife Mother Pinewood’s Venla and with her enjoyed
pleasant days, though faint murmurs of discord might indeed have been
heard now and again from the house. For Venla, although she was a
passable housewife, was a chattering and quarrelsome woman. Often she
would nag and scold at her husband for hours at a stretch, at that
lout, that owl, as she was wont to call him. But Juhani too could lose
his temper, and then he raged furiously, telling ‘the old hag, to whom
God had given a weaker brain than a man’s’, to shut up at once. Thus
he would carry on, banging his fist on the table and booming like a
thunderstorm. Until at last Venla would pretend to be mildly alarmed
and suddenly cease answering him, grinning meanwhile in secret at her
hussy of a maid. They would laugh slyly by the fireside while Juhani
preached from his seat on the bench beside the table and, often with
tears in his eyes, murmured against Him who had ‘given and assigned to
him for ever’ such an impudent and disobedient wife. Nevertheless, a
great commotion was once brought about by that Aapeli Karkkula. While
Juhani again squabbled with his wife, he began, the madman, sitting
somewhat drunk on the side-bench in the farmhouse, to meddle between
man and wife, and held forth strongly on Juhani’s side. Juhani preached
lustily, calling his Venla ‘the Devil’s own shrew’, whereupon Aapeli,
the stupid fellow, believing he was acting real wisely, also began
calling her a harridan, a she-tramp and beggar’s brat. But before long
Juhani’s eyes narrowed and rushing up like a baited bear, he sprang
upon the astonished Aapeli, who skipped out like a hare, with Juhani
pounding at his heels. The door crashed, the porch thundered, and
on the steps the dogs, panic-stricken and dismally howling, rushed
aside with hanging tails and looked back in amazement as the men ran
madly across the stony yard. Ahead galloped Aapeli Karkkula, grunting
with terror, behind him Juhani tore on at a trot; but in the spacious
living-room Venla and the maid laughed until the room echoed with the
merrily tinkling sound. Failing to overtake Aapeli, Juhani turned
back from the gate, grumbling to himself and promising to teach that
impudent Karkkula puppy in the future. Entering the room, he struck his
fist on the table, saying: ‘scold me but not my wife! She is a wife the
like of which there is only one in the whole kingdom of Sweden.’ Thus
he prattled, boasting; and indeed one could not well have belittled the
woman for her house-wifery. True, she drank coffee all too copiously,
of which Juhani was frequently heard to complain; but the wife cared
little for this and allowed her plump-breasted coffee-pot to bubble as
before. And gladly her husband too accepted a steaming cup from the
plump hand of his helpmeet. Also, when away in town, he would always
remember to buy his Venla a bag of coffee and a big chunk of sugar.

Venla presented her husband with sound and sturdy heirs. But in the
beginning these matters did not altogether turn out as Juhani would
have wished. The first fruit of his love was a sly-eyed girl-child,
at which the father was much put out, and vexed because no lusty
male-child had been given him. But he hoped that next time at least he
would have better luck. A year went by and part of a second, and Venla
gave birth to a child again. This infant, wrapped in a white cloth, the
mother-in-law now bore to the grimly waiting father, smiling a honeyed
smile. Believing his hope to have been fulfilled, Juhani was delighted
and asked: ‘boy or wench?’ ‘Look for thyself, little son,’ the old dame
answered him. He looked, only to shout: ‘take your brats to Hell!’
Being left alone, however, he muttered after a while: ‘God bless my
infant, anyhow.’ Another year passed and another, and Venla gave birth
to a son, the very spit of his father, a big, hulking boy. Then there
was much rejoicing in the house of Jukola, and even Venla seemed dearer
to Juhani than before. And now all the women fell to choosing names for
the lad. One wanted him to be Frans, another Florentine, a third Erik
Translatus, while Venla was for Immanuel. Then Juhani stepped forward
and at Venla’s bedside uttered, pointing with his hand: ‘no, my Venla,
no; Johannes is his name.’ And so the little fellow was christened
after his father. Greatly did his father love him, calling him now his
‘tit’, now his ‘little crow’.

Juhani’s family life was thus for the most warm sunshine, with little
interludes of wind and storm. And even when clouds did appear, they
soon vanished and gave way to fine weather. But with the villagers and
his neighbours his relations were not as good. Quarrels would often
arise, fierce little disputes over such things as boundary-fences,
straying horses, untended swine and other matters. And Juhani was ever
quick to settle these quarrels with his fist, so that the face and hair
of his opponent were in constant danger. Often heated lawsuits seemed
imminent, but then brother Aapo would hasten between and try, in his
capacity of juryman, to coax the would-be litigants to reason with his
conciliatory tongue. Nor was Juhani slow to come round, especially when
he perceived that he was in the wrong. In everything connected with his
farm he was a good worker. His farm-folk could not have found fault
with him, neither in the fields, the meadows nor in the forest, in a
tussle with an unruly log.

Once at haymaking time in Vehkala meadow--a meadow ringed round with
sombre spruce--Juhani showed himself a real terror before both God and
Man. The wide meadow had been raked and the haymakers already crowded
round the barn to enjoy their dinners. But the master viewed with dread
the sweltering, flame-tinted clouds that voyaged threateningly over
the sky. Behind the barn was the stump of a birch, and at the foot of
this, unseen of all, Juhani fell on his knees and prayed God to spare
the juicy, sweet-scented hay of his meadow. Thus in secret he prayed;
but hardly was the meal over than a roaring cloud dashed forward
from behind the crowns of the spruce and, enwrapped in lightning and
thunder, began pouring down a devastating flood. In a twinkling the
hay was wet through, before a single haycock could be raked together.
Rakes in hand, the haymakers fled swiftly from the field to the shelter
of the barn, but soot-black in the face with rage, Juhani remained
standing in the space before the barn, cursing horribly. There, while
the heavens crashed, he stood and swore, beating his right fist against
the palm of his left hand. He swore furiously, bending down the depth
of a span each time the word ‘Devil!’ burst from his grinding teeth.
Looking up, he cried again and again in a squealing voice: ‘what have
Heaven’s dung-carts to do with my hayfield?’ His wife called to him in
reproach from the barn: ‘what horrors art thou uttering, thou sack of
sin?’ But the man cared nothing, only shouted in a still more terrible
voice at the dark gloomy clouds: ‘I ask again firmly, is this the time
for Heaven to cart its dung when I am already making my hay?’ And at
this the wives and maidens in the barn, hearing the wild language of
the man, prayed earnestly to God on his behalf, with hands tightly
crossed. They prayed; and each time the lightning flashed a prayer,
sighing and heavy, issued from their lips, and their knees bent lower.
The children, gentle and meek of eye, hid their faces and wept in their
mother’s bosom or in the folds of her dress, wept and sighed. Many a
little one, seeing the earth and heavens bathed in fire, in flashing,
flaming fire, and hearing the dreadful thunder echo around, believed
the Day of Judgment had come as the rain fell heavily and the forest
soughed mournfully around them. But Juhani, seeing what the women were
at, went on increasing the enormity of his curses; and ever louder the
women raised their voices in prayer.

In the barn there chanced to be Seunala’s young and slender daughter,
Anna of the shy glance, whose eyes shone like two stars under her
pallid, gleaming brow. Often, so it was said, had this maiden seen
marvellous visions, during which her spirit walked in the light-filled
homes of the blest and the gloomy valley of the damned, and of these
she had many wonders to relate. Often too she had foretold great
desolations for the children of mankind: wars, famine, plagues, to be
followed by the end of the world. She it was, a maiden always grave,
silent and gentle, who suddenly, while Juhani cursed in the sodden hay,
sprang out of the barn, fell on her knees on the ground, and heedless
of the pouring rain and the cross-fire of lightning, prayed in a
crying, almost shrill and screaming voice. She prayed to God to spare
the unhappy, blinded man and to keep the flaming hammer of His wrath
from striking him. So, looking up into the heights, she prayed, and a
wondrous light burned in her eyes, and on her brow shone a heavenly
fire. And behold: Juhani was silent, though his eyes still glared
angrily sideways at the maid. Until at last, when it seemed to him that
the maiden’s mission dragged on too long, he seized her by the arm and
led her back to the barn, saying: ‘go in, rag, go in now, and don’t get
thyself wet there without cause, for I need no one to pray for me.’
The maiden entered the barn, but immediately fell down on the hay and
prayed without cease in a crying voice; and hot tears welled from the
women beside her. But outside, leaning against the wall, stood Juhani,
and something akin to repentance could be read in his face, though the
anger still surged in his bosom.

Soon the rain and lightning moved on; and the next day the hay was
gathered in Vehkala meadow, gathered in blazing sunshine. But the
master of the house was no more to be seen there. Where was he now?
The voice of Seunala’s daughter echoed in his ears and gave his soul
no rest. And so, early in the morning, he set off for the rectory
in sombre mood, and repenting, confessed his sin to the rector, his
curse against God and Heaven. The rector admonished him at first in
grave tones, but soon began to speak words of consolation, and Juhani
returned home with his mind at peace. But after this scene in gloomy
Vehkala meadow a certain change became apparent in Juhani’s character
and deeds. On his head appeared a round hat like a pot, the collar of
his coat rose upright, while its skirts vanished, leaving behind only
the short snibs worn by Pietists in various parts of Finland. Thus
clad he walked about, and to church he walked oftener than before.
Awe-inspiring in his solemnity, he sat in the place kept for him beside
the solemn master of Härkämäki, now and again clearing his throat
in imitation of his companion. And after this the storms in Jukola
farmhouse and in the fields grew rarer and at last the current of
Juhani’s life flowed in an almost undisturbed stream towards its calm
evening.

Simeoni lived, a bachelor, on Juhani’s farm, receiving his food and
drink from the farm and toiling untiringly in its service from morning
to late evening. His nature was frugal even to parsimony, and his
frugality grew from year to year. With the close attention of a miser
he watched over the fortunes of the farm and the work of the men and
women on it. His lips first formed a saying that still lives and
provokes laughter amongst the dwellers around Jukola and Toukola. One
day, as he sat by the chopping-block whittling a bread-platter for
Venla while the farm-folk were all at table with a heaped-up bowl of
pork-stew before them, he saw fit to remind them that ‘a tiny bit of
pork-stew makes heaps of bread go down’. This he said, whereat both men
and women burst out laughing and even Juhani, after first laughing a
little, found cause to rebuke his brother for over-great stinginess.
But to this Simeoni only replied: ‘I exhorted you to temperance, warned
you against making gods of your bellies, which is a sin, a mortal
sin. And who is unnaturally stingy here? Not I, but that Kuninkala’s
Kalle might be who brewed the spirits for his own funeral when he felt
his end was nigh from a consumption. The lad knew himself to be the
distiller in Toukola, the one who always got the most clear spirits
with very little grain. And so it was now. In the cold bath-house porch
the miserable wretch sat beside his still, coughing and sniffing, his
nose sharp as a gimlet and the eyes in him like two glass balls. There
he sat while the spirits were carried into the house in kettlefuls. At
last he too crawled up, crawled up the steps into the porch, from the
porch into the house, fell down neatly on his bed and a few hours later
lay stiff and cold. That, good people, was miserliness, a miserliness
that never left its man even on the edge of the grave, and that I
call unnatural miserliness.’ Thus he would defend himself, and never
admitted to being a miser.

Nevertheless, he retained the goodwill of both master and mistress; for
he was a faithful and trustworthy guardian to have on the farm. Without
anxiety they could stay away from home, if only they knew that Simeoni
was in charge.

Once, on an evening in the Christmas holidays, Juhani departed with his
wife and his two youngest children on a round of visits to Impivaara
and to Tuomas and Lauri, and Simeoni was again left in charge of the
farm. The road was good and the journey progressed pleasantly through
the forests, under a cloudless sky. Little ‘tom-tit’ sat, solemn and
chubby, on Juhani’s knee, while the youngest child of all, a girl fresh
and gentle-mannered, rested in its wrapping of a white fleecy shawl
on Venla’s breast, enjoying its warm nourishment as the sleigh slid
tinkling over the snow-covered clearings, hastening from Jukola towards
the fields of Impivaara. Evening fell, and the men and maid-servants at
Jukola went off to the games at Toukola, leaving Simeoni to manage the
household alone. Two were left in his power, the two oldest girls of
the family, one nine, the other seven years old. These two had not been
taken along with their mother and father, and their uncle would not
permit them to go to the village with the others, at which both were
mightily aggrieved. Simeoni, however, cared little for their opinion,
and decided instead to make use of his power to enforce on them his
own ideas of what was fitting.

It became pitch-dark, and still no fire blazed in the fireplace as
usual in the evening. At this the children fretted and began clamouring
fiercely for light and a fire. But their uncle paid no attention to
these demands, and lay peacefully as was his habit on the top of the
fireplace, his long coarse hair hanging down from its edge. He lay
there speaking words of wisdom to the girls. ‘A fine thing, indeed,
to be always baking these bricks. Ho, ho! we’re not, I’m thinking, in
Vantta ironworks. Know, you hussies, that wood is dear; and tell me
what we shall burn when the forests have all been cut. Heather, eh?
Ay, that’s what’ll happen if we don’t look before us in time. Less
is enough for this sinful wretched body, enough, I should say, for
two idle scamps like you. Get under the rugs, there’s warmth for you.
Ho indeed! A fine thing that would be.’ So spoke Simeoni; but the
children, saucy minxes unused to giving way to their uncle, nagged
back at him, argued quite fiercely with him, snapped and at intervals
bared the white rows of their teeth at him, mocking and jibing in
their anger. And when this failed to help them they at length dared to
lay their claws on the old fellow’s scraggy hair, which hung over the
stove-top. These locks they now seized and managed to tug fairly well
before the poor man had time to climb down. But at last he was on his
feet, and seizing a sooty stick from the corner, he hammered with it on
the floor, threatening to sweep the legs from under them. Whereupon the
scamps skipped out of the room, and Jukola’s tough-grained door sang as
the little rascals ran.

But a moment later they had the boldness to enter again, and in fierce
tones demand their supper. Simeoni let them rage and scold for long,
but at last he rose and taking a splinter from the rafters split it and
lit one half. In the light of this wretched torch he ladled out gruel
from the pot for the girls, but not much, only two or three ladlefuls.
He set the bowl on a stool and bade the children eat; meanwhile he
covered the pot with the lid of the baking-trough and for further
safety put the heavy chopping-block from the corner on the lid. The
children, however, were dissatisfied with these rations and demanded
more; they wanted at least a piece of bread; and little Venla, a sharp
little puss, wept musically. Simeoni bit off a piece of bread hardly
as big as a man’s thumb and handed it to the girl. But seeing its
smallness, she would have none of it, and angrily thrusting out her
hand, knocked the bread out of Simeoni’s hand into the corner. And now
the man too lost his temper; pursing his lips tightly together, he
twitched her by the hair with two fingers, saying: ‘thou baggage, dost
thou mock at the dear gift of God? Ho indeed! A fine thing.’

At that the girl began to weep harder, but Simeoni at least cared
little for that, but merely began at last to make a fire. With a few
paltry embers he built up a wretched blaze, saying in a scolding tone:
‘hold thy tongue now, or I’ll take a stick from yon corner and thrash
thee properly. The little imp, to throw God’s gift out of my hand into
the corner. Oh well! Be without bread now and lap up thy gruel nicely
like thy older sister is doing. And it’s quite enough for a child’s
supper. We haven’t the means to feast and live like rich men do. Shut
up, thou wretch. Ay, a fine thing that’d be.’ Thus he spoke, sitting
on the hearth and coaxing his unwilling fire of embers; the old fellow
never saw how the little minx, spoon in hand, made angry faces at him
and wagged her little jaw in time to his words.

However, neither the girls’ tears nor angry words helped, and they had
to be content with their uncle’s rations. And at last an overpowering
sleep laid the children in bed, and soon they were sleeping soundly
under the soft, sheepskin rugs. Meanwhile Simeoni’s fire let the
cold into the house instead of warming it; neither would he wait for
the fire to burn out. Thinking to himself: the dear wood will do for
tomorrow, he began to extinguish his feeble, dispiriting evening blaze
and closed the dampers tightly, despite the acrid smoke that streamed
into the room from the air-hole. Relighting his skimpy torch, he ate
his supper: a small piece of mouldy bread and seven dried-up sprats’
heads from an oaken bowl. Eagerly the burning eyes of the dogs watched
his meal, the movements of his hand from bowl to mouth and mouth to
bowl, but not a crumb was left over for them. And having eaten, he
crossed his hands, fell on his knees on the hearth-stone, and weeping
burning tears thanked David’s Son for having in His boundless mercy
always fed him, a sack of sin. And then, rising, he opened the door
and began shooing out the dogs for the night, ‘to guard the house from
thieves’. He said this, although as far back as anyone could remember
thieves had been unknown in Jukola. A fierce wintry wind had risen
outside and the dogs were little minded to exchange the rustling straw
of the room for the cold out-of-doors; and thus a tumult ensued in
which the dogs, however, got the worst. Squealing, with drooping tails,
they fled at length before Simeoni’s weapon, the sooty stick.

This accomplished, he carefully closed the heavy doors of the porch, a
burning splinter between his grinning teeth. Coming back into the room,
he held his torch to the left and looked at the girls, who dreamed
sweetly in their bed under the warm rugs, cheek against cheek, glowing
like two newly-blown roses on a summer night. The man gazed upon
them, gazed smiling and tucked the woollen edge of the rug closer to
little Venla’s throat; and as he moved away to the hearth, he uttered
in a fond, mincing tone: ‘what’s to stop you from sleeping, with your
bellies full of gruel.’ And having said this, he prepared for his own
nightly rest. Once again he fell on his knees and clasping his hands
firmly together and shedding hot tears, thanked the Lord, David’s Son,
for all the good they had enjoyed, praying for His sheltering hand to
be held over the farm also during the coming night. He prayed on his
own behalf, on behalf of the little ones in the bed and for all on the
face of this earth. Then he lay down on his beloved stove-top, and with
the embers gratefully warming the soles of his feet, fell asleep.

Cold was the room, cold and cheerless, when the men and maid-servants
came back from the games at Toukola to sleep somewhere about midnight,
and the next day they glowered angrily at Simeoni. And when the
master and mistress returned from their visits, all began fiercely
complaining, both the children and the grown-ups. But Simeoni cared
nothing at all, and only whittled beside his chopping-block, remarking
in an idle tone: ‘we haven’t the means to live like gents, that you all
know. To live like gents on this farm.’

Such was Simeoni’s life in his old home, on old Jukola: toiling
diligently and always on the watch inside and outside the house. Yet
days would come when nothing on earth moved him. It happened at times
that he came from the village altogether drunk, came back a merry
fellow, who blustered loudly and pranced backward and forward on the
floor, to the amusement and laughter of all on the farm. But the next
day he would be very ill in soul and body. Sighing and with hands
crossed, he would lie on the sooty oven-top, and a great repentance
would gnaw at his heart. Then came an event which caused these drunken
hours and long days of atonement to grow much rarer. Juhani once
brought him an expensive gift from town: a big, stiff-backed Bible
weighing almost a stone. Simeoni’s joy and delight were great; and for
this kind deed he never wearied of thanking and praising his brother.
And after that he forgot the tempting glass almost entirely.

Each Sunday and week-day evening he was now seen sitting beside his
Bible, studying the Word; and thus he seldom fell in with strong drink.
Nevertheless, this was still to happen one All Saints’ Eve. In merry
mood the man blustered, strutted and danced around, only to fall asleep
at last on his stone; and the next day again knew black repentance in
his bosom. And what did he do then? Standing at the head of the table
with the Bible open before him, he called together the farm-folk from
the eldest down to the youngest. And placing two fingers on the Book
and rolling his eyes heavenward, he swore a sacred oath never more to
taste strong drink, not another drop as long as he lived.

A year went by and a second and even a third, and still Simeoni held
firmly by his oath. Once again, however, he was to fall into this
besetting sin of his, and this fall caused a great commotion on the
farm. As a perjured, soul-less worm the poor man now regarded himself,
having broken a vow made with two fingers on the Book. Therefore he
decided to shorten his miserable days. Swiftly, but with firm footsteps
and ice-cold mind, he left the house, climbed to the stable-loft and
tying the old speckled mare’s blanket-strap round his neck, fastened
the other end to the highest rafter under the roof. And there he
calmly set himself hanging, sleeping the sleep of death; and stiffly
the man’s eyes stared before him, his cheeks swelled out with terrible
speed and his hands clenched into iron fists. But the measure of his
days was not yet filled.

Juhani’s mother-in-law went out to look at her hens’ nests in the loft,
and seeing a man at the end of a rope she at once raised the alarm with
her shouts and squeals. Juhani hastened without delay to the place of
danger and saved his brother from the very jaws of death. With one
jerk he snapped the strap and groaning and uttering cries of surprise,
carried his brother into the house, and around them swarmed the women
and children, weeping, crying out and striking their palms together.
Into the chamber, onto Venla’s yielding rug, Juhani bore his brother,
and soon Simeoni had come to and sat gloomily, sighing and peering
at the floor, on the edge of the bed. With a smoking cob between his
teeth, Juhani then hastened to Aapo, walking rapidly and groaning, to
tell his brother of the awful event and to ask his advice regarding
Simeoni. He himself thought a little thrashing, given secretly and in
all moderation and silence by his brothers, to be followed by a few
stern godly words, would be best for the man. But Aapo dismissed the
hiding as unnecessary and harmful, and decided to use only the power of
the word on him. And when he too had lit his pipe, the two brothers set
off from Aapo-Jukola over the fields to Juhani-Jukola, to talk wisdom
with Simeoni, that child of sorrow.

Aapo shook the hand of Simeoni warmly in greeting, and reloading his
pipe, began with solemn mien and voice to pronounce judgment, followed
soon by words of consolation. Simeoni listened for long without saying
a word, only peering dismally down at the floor. But Aapo, ceaselessly
relighting his cob, waving his hand and looking out of the window
towards the distant horizon with eager eyes, went on increasing the
power of his speech. And the words fell from his mouth like a glowing
golden rain. And suddenly, bitter-sweet lines appeared round Simeoni’s
mouth and the man’s throat burst into a mighty sobbing. Juhani’s jaw
trembled too and hung aslant, and soon he too was weeping, and even in
Aapo’s eyes a moist gleam could have been seen.

Thus was Simeoni’s heart turned once more towards life and hope. And
it was with a face beaming with gratitude that he squeezed Aapo’s
hand in farewell. He thanked God too for the new mercy shown him; and
little by little he relapsed into his former ways on the farm. And thus
pious Simeoni, never draining another glass, lived out his peaceful
days, now whittling beside the chopping-block, now, pipe in mouth,
hacking pine-twigs in the fresh-scented yard, now sitting by his Bible,
studying the Word.

Aapo ruled over the other half of Jukola, over the farm now known as
Aapo-Jukola; his farmhouse stood only a few hundred paces from his
former home. He had married Hindrikka Konkkala; a mild and gentle
woman in every way; a busy housewife and good-tempered helpmate. Aapo
was content with her, though he deemed it best to give her now and
then strict instructions and advice in the care of a household. To
these she would listen in silence or laughing, her eyes twinkling,
her simple merry laugh. Aapo would also instruct the maids and little
servant-girls, when it chanced that their work offended his eye. The
oldest maid once received a stern lesson from him while she swept the
floor. For Aapo, being of the mind that she swept too stormily and left
dust in the corners, suddenly lost his temper and snatching the broom
from her, began anew with nimble movements to sweep the room from the
rear end to the door. But halfway across the floor, he thrust the broom
at her again, saying: ‘that’s how a good girl should sweep.’ Then the
mistress, who had looked on from the fireplace at Aapo fussing broom
in hand with the maid, laughed her guileless, melting laugh, laughed,
screwing up her eyes and holding her hands on her knees. Whereas Aapo,
as soon as he had left the maid to her work, cast a sternly reproving
glance at her. Yet he was always fair and honest with his men and
maids; this they would all admit with one mouth.

He practised the art of healing, too, as he had learned it from an old
medical book which he was always studying. Very often his remedies
proved successful, though many of them were of his own invention,
concocted of herbs. He was especially famous at curing erysipelas,
fainting-fits, mumps and the itch. At massage he was unexcelled;
many were the men whom his hand had treated and who had found in it
alleviation. Stomach-aches and the gripes he would often cure merely by
massage. And as danger knows no laws or rules, it happened more than
once that women too had to submit to treatment by Aapo’s palm, when
colic pains and retchings tore ceaselessly at their stomachs.

There was one woman, the wife of the rag-gatherer, old Matti
Tervakoski, who suffered from an obstinate nightmare. It rode her in
the most exhausting fashion for weeks at a stretch. Sometimes when it
failed to afflict her, she had hopes that she had been saved from this
nightly tormentor. But then it would return and the old woman would
writhe again in the grip of her persecutor. She sought help from wise
women and from doctors, but always in vain. Then at last a rumour of
Aapo’s great skill and power of curing diseases reached her ears, and
once more she fared forth to seek relief. Bundle on arm and knitting
in hand, she walked the long weary way to Jukola, but once there, she
was freed for ever from her trouble.

As a juryman too, Aapo was the right man. Grave, often with his hand
behind his ear, he sat on the court-room bench, carefully following
the course of a law-suit. There, holding his head manfully erect, he
would sit, a faint smile of self-satisfaction playing occasionally over
his lips. His judgments were always wise, impartial and just. Of this
the Judge was aware, and therefore he always listened patiently to his
somewhat long-drawn speeches, as, spreading out his hands, he held
forth on the case in point.

Thus he lived in his peaceful home, a good master, and the good father
of sturdy children.

Impivaara, the part first cleared, was ruled over by Tuomas, a man
broad-shouldered and strong. No brave dared preen himself in the
presence of the master of Upper-Impivaara. Great was his strength, and
his whole being bespoke power and security. In working his farm he
never had recourse to shouting and bluster; yet he kept good order and
upheld the fear of God both in his home and out in the fields. He was
the most generous of all the brothers, and always treated the suffering
children of hard fortune mercifully and with kindness. Not for him to
question, or to probe the origin of the misery of those seeking his
help. He would not upbraid the man whose own folly had brought him to
the beggar’s staff. He gave to all, gave without discernment, thinking:
at least thou art unhappy. Tenderest was he to little beggar-girls,
who, with shy glance, walked the path of mendicancy in fear and
trembling. Two such wanderers he had taken into his care, and these
were brought up and cared for as lovingly as his own children, bouncing
boys every one of them.

His wife was Härkämäki’s only daughter, a grave and noble woman, worthy
to be the spouse of the mighty hero of Impivaara. Robust, at once
quick, grave and calm, was she in countenance and character. Her bosom
swelled proudly; her plait, thick and flaxen-yellow, danced pleasantly
on her strong shoulders under her neckerchief, red-checkered on a white
ground. Peace dwelt ever on her brow and in her heart the fear of God,
strict and whole-souled. This was the mistress of Impivaara, the noble
mother of the children of the farm, their own and those adopted. Often
her eyes, fine and charitable, would dwell dreaming on a delicate
girl-child, saved once from orphanage and destitution.

Thus the days of Tuomas’s life passed calmly by, towards the calm haven
of death. The life of man is often compared to a stream. But Tuomas’s
life, from the time when he took over Impivaara to the moment of his
death, I would compare to a mighty river which fares majestically,
calmly onward towards the boundless eternal ocean.

Two or three gunshots east of Tuomas’s farm, Lauri’s farm stood on a
heath; it formed the other half of Impivaara and was called Laurila.
Here dwelt a silent man, who tilled his land with energy, toiled busily
in his fields, but keener still in the backwoods and bogs.

He had taken his wife from Kukkala Farm. Of the Kuokkala twins,
Lauri had espoused one and the other had fallen to Timo’s lot, to be
mistress of Kekkuri Croft. There was a woman for thee, Lauri’s wife: a
broad-bosomed wench; short she was too. Her shrill voice carried far,
like the piercing note of a clarionet, especially when, brimming over
with wrath, she stormed at her husband; and at such moments her brown
eyes emitted sparks.

Silent, whittling a piece of wood, Lauri would sit, heedless though
his wife raged and blustered like a tempest. And this tried the woman’s
patience so that her gall would rise still higher. Yet it could happen
at times that the man’s patience gave out, and then it was not good to
look him in the face. Even the wife would be suddenly silent and slip
out best she might, to hide in some corner of the cowhouse, in some
sheltered nook or cranny. There she would linger a while in hiding,
peeping cautiously out at intervals to find out how the storm she
had awakened was progressing. So she would stay away until the man’s
wrathful mind was appeased. Yet it was seldom that quiet Lauri was thus
aroused. Often, when his wife raged and fumed again, he would go out
into the forests, a pipe between his teeth and an axe under his arm,
and look for useful bits of timber, birch-bark for shoes, and fungoids.
Gladly he lingered on these trips, searching, looking around and
meditating. And not until long after sunset, when all others rested,
would he trudge home in the mild half-dark of the summer nights, with a
burden of roots, twisted tree-trunks and a mighty ball of birch-bark on
his shoulder.

It often happened at such times that on his homeward way he would meet
his sturdy bull, Hälli of the broad back, bound in passionate thoughts
for the village; come face to face with him in the mists of even on
the sandy road; see him approach with baleful eyes. But then steel
met steel; for Lauri, roaring in his hoarse voice and brandishing his
axe, would always force the obstinate brute to turn in the end. And
then they would march back to Laurila, Hälli ahead and Lauri behind.
Hälli tried to turn to the right, but immediately Lauri would be there,
waving his axe; once more Hälli would try to the left, but again from
the left Lauri’s axe threatens him. And so the bull would deem it best
to march off home, even though it did shake its head angrily and blow
out the mighty passion of its heart through its nostrils.

They would pass the home of Tuomas, where the maid would hear in her
bed the thud of footsteps, swishings and tappings, from the sandy road.
‘Who is out so late?’ she would think, and rising up sleep-befuddled in
her shift, she would go to the window, peep out and see her neighbour’s
bull go marching gravely and solemnly by with its master. In front the
bull, unwilling, behind it the master, every now and again brandishing
his axe and carrying on his shoulder a bundle of wood and a ball of
birch-bark. So they would vanish at last from the maid’s sight. Then
the bull would open its throat and sing in its wrath a fearsome,
screaming song, and the heath would quake and heaven and earth echo.
But then Lauri would say: ‘ay, I’ll give it to thee. Art thou angry?
Aha! rascal, march nicely home now; even Kaura-Matti’s tricks wouldn’t
help thee here. As thou knowest.’ So he would say as he strode on, with
the bull marching before him and blowing a proud triumphant march,
which echoed in the silent night to far distant villages.

Lauri would shut up Hälli firmly in the yard to keep the farm’s own
cows company, and then enter the house, where a supper grown cold
awaited him. In the house all slept already; only the mistress lay
fretfully awake in her bed in the chamber, waiting for her husband.
When he had eaten Lauri would at last enter the chamber, and at once
a sharp gale would blow to meet him. His wife screamed and babbled
passionately at him from her bed, crackling with fury like fire in a
dry juniper bush at her husband, at ‘that lout’s accursed idling in the
depths of the forest’. Silently the man would sit, undressing himself,
and then, lighting his cob, lie down at last beside his wife, who
still scolded and flared up at him. But when the pipe had been smoked
to the end, Lauri would place it carefully on the floor, twitch the
coverlet a little higher and then utter in a firm tone: ‘Be quiet now,
bless thyself and sleep in God’s name while the weather’s good: mind
that, while the weather’s good.’ And at that the nagging wife would
be still, though her heart still heaved in her bosom; until, having
angrily jerked the coverlet more to her own side, she would fall asleep
like the man beside her.

Thus until the dark nights came Lauri lingered in the forests on these
pleasant outings. And of all that he saw there worth noting, marvelling
at or thinking over, he seldom said a word to anyone during the week.
Only on Sundays and generally at the breakfast table would he relate a
thing or two to his farm-hands.

Once when he returned from the forest, his mind worked harder than
ever, thinking, meditating; but what it was he pondered over so deeply
no one knew. Silent and increasingly morose from day to day he moved in
his yard, snapping viciously at both men and women, which had seldom
been his habit earlier. A cloud of deep or vexing thoughts hid his brow
without cease and cast dark shadows in the hollows of his eyes. Such
was his appearance a whole long week. Came Sunday at last, and Lauri
sat at table with his men, but in complete silence. At last however he
opened his lips and said to the others: ‘Men, I have one thing to ask
you; explain it if you can. Five days ago when I walked over the smooth
rise in Koivisto meadow, in the new snow that hid the ground thinly
with its woolly garment as it does now, I saw tracks that my brain
cannot make out. Curse! for days and nights already my thoughts have
coursed hither and thither, in all directions, seeking an explanation
to this matter. But listen: in the meadow I saw tracks, the tracks of
a full-grown man, which I followed, idly walking. But suddenly these
tracks broke off, and from this point, continuing over the rise and
down into the thicket, the tracks of a fox began, clear fox-tracks,
of which there had been none on the ground up to now, not one. Where
had the man got to? He had not turned back, either to the right or the
left, no, but he must have gone up to Heaven and a fox come down from
there to continue his tracks in the snow. Or can the man have carried a
fox on his back, and then at the spot where his own tracks ended have
climbed on to Reynard’s back and ridden him through the thicket on to
the church road? Impossible; yet I can see no other way of explaining
this matter. What do you say, men? Are there still magicians in our
village? Had the man changed himself with the Devil’s help into a fox?’
Thus he spoke, and the farm-folk listened in astonishment, nor could
any of them explain the riddle; one and all ended in believing that a
wizard must have walked in Koivisto meadow.

But in Lauri’s heart there was no peace; having eaten, he set off
tramping again towards Koivisto meadow. Reaching the rounded rise he
noticed the same phenomenon again: human tracks changing into those of
a fox in the newly-fallen snow. Beside himself, he shouted in an angry
voice: ‘Is the very Devil at his tricks here?’ And shouting, thus with
twisted lips, he kicked at a dung-hill that showed faintly through
the snow, whereupon the gleam of bright steel flashed from it. In one
instant fine dung and chaff flew into the air, while at the same time
the shining arcs of a wicked fox-trap closed on his legs, squeezing
them mercilessly. And at this Lauri’s eyes opened wide; he bent down
hurriedly to release his aching, swelling calves from the obstinate
irons, and with a shrieked curse cast them from him to the ground.
Now he knew what kind of traps had been set in his meadow, but of the
puzzling change in the tracks he could still make nothing. He began
wrathfully walking homeward, limping badly and clenching his teeth
each time he put his foot to the ground. And soon he felt the need of
some prop to help him on his way and began seeking a likely staff in
the thicket by the church road. In a bush he saw two birchwood poles,
and when he had dragged these from their hiding-place he found them to
be two stilts, both of which had exceedingly natural fox-paws carved
at their lower ends. And now his face brightened and all was clear to
him. He understood now that some trapper, wishing to avoid anything
that might breed suspicion in a fox, had used these stilts each time
he had been to examine his traps. By this means he left behind him not
human tracks, which the cunning Michael of the hills would naturally
avoid, but those of a fox. The matter was now clear to Lauri; and with
a lighter heart, albeit with aching calf, he limped away, using one of
the wooden legs as a crutch.

And now it chanced that Kolistin, the crusty old fogey, visiting
the squirrel-snares which he had set between the hay-poles in the
meadow and in the fences of the fields, saw Lauri’s tracks in the
open meadow and began to ponder deeply. ‘Here’s a man and a dog gone
by, but--what am I to think of such wonders?--a one-legged dog. The
Devil and a marvel! A one-legged dog has hopped beside its master
across this stump-besprinkled, God’s own meadow. What in damnation am
I to make of such a marvel? Are wizards and Lapps about? Eh?’ Thus he
pondered as he stood on the clearing, tearing his rough black looks,
rolling a quid between his front teeth and knitting his grey eyebrows
in a terrible frown. Soon, however, he walked on, but still without
comprehending the miracle on the clearing: a one-legged dog that hopped
beside its master. He brooded over the matter long and deeply without
a word to anybody until on his deathbed, when he asked his gentle
daughter-in-law what she thought of this marvel, which gave him no
peace even in the jaws of death. But the woman, with tears in her eyes,
only shouted in his ear an entreaty to dismiss all such thoughts from
his mind and to think only of his everlasting soul. To this the old man
made no answer, but continued to stare before him; and thus he took the
strange mystery of the heath with him to the grave unanswered.

Lauri’s leg soon healed of its bite and he toiled on his farm as
before, now in the forests, now in his roomy farmhouse. Such was the
life he led with his sturdy wife and children. And as long as they
remained in their mother’s care, his children never lacked a shirt or
stockings, their daily bread or the whip.

Timo ruled over Kekkuri Croft, and his wife was the second of the
Kuokkala twins. Both in character and outward appearance she was the
spit of her sister: a plump-bosomed, tilt-nosed, brown-skinned woman.
She was said, however, to possess a somewhat softer heart than her
sister, the wife of brother Lauri. Greatly did Timo love her, even
though his hair sometimes flew in the lusty grip of his hot-tempered
mate; for it was not good to oppose her in anything. Timo always tried,
too, to do his wife’s will in every way, and life went on well on the
farm. One matter only would now and then disturb the peace of their
household. Timo had the habit, a deeply-rooted habit, of drinking
himself into a rowdy state of intoxication once a year, about the
Feast of Hallowe’en, on which occasions he would linger in the village
for a day or two in the company of his boon friends. But then a rare
commotion would arise when at last he saw fit to return home.

One Sunday on the confines of October and November the man had again
strayed from the straight path and joined in a merry carouse with
Kyösti Tammisto and Karkkula’s Aapeli. In the cool attic at Tammisto
they drank from a black, shining bottle, talking with great gravity,
singing and embracing each other lovingly. Thus they spent two days and
two nights, cheering and singing and staring carelessly with bemused
eyes out of the windy windows of their eyrie. They stared over the
dung-covered yard, over the straw-littered cowhouse, over a stony hill,
over fields and meadows right to the distant bog called Lemmilä, over
which, high under the clouds, the wild swans flashed, wheeling hither
and thither on their migration to the lands of the south. Unheedingly
they stared, gazed with watery goat’s eyes, prattled foolishly and
wagged their heads, in which a delicious heat and giddiness made
themselves felt: far away were the cares and sorrows of ordinary
wretched mortals.

But at last the third day dawned, and the friends awoke with aching
heads from their chilly couches. Finished were both money and drink,
and no way was left of inducing housewives to tap their casks. Silent
and with disordered countenance, Timo finally started to trudge
homeward; with lagging footsteps he passed along the lane, walked
mournfully up the hill, his thoughts dwelling on the hot-tempered
mistress of Kekkuri. His homespun trousers had a miserable droop
to them, and between his trousers and the red-striped waistcoat he
affected his shirt stuck vacantly out; his eyes bulged, little and
bloodshot, as, with his hair in a thousand tangles, he marched on
towards Kekkuri; and the open breast of the man, gleaming and red as
the scoured side of a copper kettle, glowed afar. In gloomy humour
he walked, and the forests, hills and valleys glared angrily at him.
Yonder the yellowed birch bore stern witness to his sin; the dark-hued
spruce loudly proclaimed it, and like a black, vicious imp, a tarry
stump, stood by the roadside; Nature, formerly so loving, now turned
a strict step-motherly countenance upon him. Yet on trees, rocks
and stumps, he looked but little, but kept his gaze directed ahead,
remembering the hot-tempered mistress of Kekkuri. On those who chanced
to meet him on the road, young or old, man or woman, he hardly deigned
to cast a glance, and indeed he would have been hard put to do more
now, even if the Grand Duke of Finland himself had walked past him.
Silent, brooding with a faint smile over his home, his wife, the
farm-folk and his children, he marched on, and every now and again a
sudden but soundless sigh would burst forth from his breast.

Finally he reached his yard, and here he halted to consider whether
he dared enter the house, and whether there were any means left under
the sun by which he could appease even slightly his infuriated mate.
There he now held his head, held it a long time, looking hither and
thither, until at last an idea flashed into his brain and he said to
himself: ‘I have found a way.’ And at once he began piling up an armful
of cordwood from the pile. And then, with a mighty load of wood in his
embrace, he staggered towards the house, hoping by this trick to please
his firm-willed wife. With a great scraping he mounted the steps and
entered the porch and from there shouted in an innocent tone: ‘open
the door ... open the door, you children there, the boy or the girl.’
And presently his son, little milk-bearded Jooseppi, came and opened
the door, and in stepped Timo with his load, looking straight and
unwaveringly before him. And when he had dropped his load with a great
clatter in the corner, he said: ‘the cordwood pile seems to be going
down a lot; but what of it; there’s plenty of forest on Jukola.’ And
having said this, he made bold to cast a swift glance at his wife; but
there a thunderstorm, threatening and heavy with wrath to come, met his
gaze.

It was a dreadful moment. Hardly had the wife shrieked out the
question: ‘where hast thou been, thou devil-possessed?’ before a slap
fell on Timo’s cheeks, a fiery slap right and left. But soon the sound
of slaps ceased and an awful silence followed, during which Timo’s hair
was in a fiery mill, so that the world span round before his eyes. At
last he lost his temper, and seizing his wife’s arms in his brawny
fists, he thrust her down on a stool and there held her quietly for a
while. And with his hair terribly tousled, red as a turkey-cock in the
face, Timo then spoke to the furious woman: ‘what now, if I were to
give it thee from a real man’s fist, thou slut, thou she-ass’s colt.
Dost think thou canst dare to treat me like that? Oho! that’s where
thou art mistaken. There aren’t many fellows I’d let touch my hair,
let alone any old woman. For, devil take me, I’m a proper hot-blooded
fellow, as, more’s the pity, is not so often seen and heard nowadays.
Ay, ay, take care I do not wallop thee a little even now.’ Thus he
threatened, without however fulfilling his threat. Perhaps he had
not the heart for it. For he still loved his wife greatly. But in a
black rage his wife screamed: ‘let go, thou accursed man, let go this
minute!’ At this interruption Timo was taken aback and pondered for
a moment whether to let go his hold, or to restrain his mate a little
longer. Once again the woman shrieked and louder; and Timo loosened his
grasp; but at once the man’s hair was in a mill again. Whereupon he
lost his temper again and completely this time, and deciding to leave
his wife to the Devil, began marching proudly out. Slow, however, and
difficult was his progress from the room; for the woman flapped at his
neck like a little brown hawk on the back of a ruddy male capercaillie,
with the feathers flying all around. But without heeding this, he tore
his way out of the room, tore himself out by force, but not until the
porch steps were reached did his wife release her hold, promising
to give her husband a good lesson yet: and down the steps Timo came
gravely, saying as he went: ‘that’s how I teach ’em, women!’ He strode
away from the house and disappeared behind the hops, but once there, he
grinned cunningly to himself and returned quickly to the stables, where
he climbed into the loft. He thrust down a couple of armfuls of hay
to the horses in their stalls, dropped down on his yielding, rustling
couch, and having pondered a while over his wife’s ‘violent heart’,
fell into a heavy sleep.

Night came, a cold and frosty night, but of Timo nothing more was
heard. Greatly anxious, the mistress lay down on her bed, thinking
gloomily of her husband’s fate. ‘He had gone, maybe, the wild fellow,
and hung himself; or perhaps thrown himself in a temper into the
bottomless well in Nummenniittu meadow; or had fallen asleep in the
forest, and was sure to freeze the nose, nails and limbs of him,
the poor lad.’ Fancying these things, she soon burst into a fit of
passionate weeping as she lay there on her bed without her beloved
husband. She sighed and sobbed for an agonized hour or two, her
restless ear ever alert for sounds in the gateway or porch. But the
night wore on and on, and there was no sound of approaching footsteps.
Finally she rose, dressed herself, and lit a richly-decorated tin
lantern with the intention of going out to seek the lost one. She dared
not, however, face the night alone; she had always been much afraid
of gnomes, ghosts and all kinds of spooks. Their own bath-house had a
special terror for her, for had not recently the old pensioned soldier,
foam-bearded Iisakki Honkamäki, died there? She aroused, therefore, her
maid Taava for company on her search. Taava rose and dressed herself,
but it was in peevish and irritable mood that she followed her mistress
into the cold, dismal night. They searched first the bath-house, then
the barn, but without result. They came back into the yard, and there
on the edge of the field the wife fell to weeping and calling loudly
on her husband by name. She shouted lustily, and the forest and the
barn on the open clearing echoed. At length they heard from the loft a
kind of rough, hoarse growling in answer, and to this spot the women
now hastened. Up into the loft, lantern in hand, the wife climbed
and there found Timo; raising himself sleep-drunken on his rustling
couch, he stared bewildered at her, as an old goat bewitched out of its
sense by wolves might stare. He stops not, the crazy animal, to seek
shelter with the man who has saved him from the wolves, but suddenly,
unexpectedly, sets off at a run after the wolves, stopping now and
then, stamping his feet and looking quite ferociously around him. So
Timo too now stared at his own wife without recognizing her; some
influence of the after-effects of drink still worked perhaps in his
brain.

WIFE. Why dost thou sit here? Come in; God’s creation, thou
hast no need to scorch thyself here in the grip of the frost; that I
will say. Come in, Timo.

TIMO. Who art thou then?

WIFE. Good Lord preserve us! Art thou so far gone as not to
know me? Ho-hoo! There now, that’s how sin and the Devil lead poor
souls astray. Ho-hoo, ay!

TIMO. What art blubbering for there? Who are you anyway?

WIFE. Ah indeed, ah, oh! Timo, Timo!

TIMO. Eh?

WIFE. Dost thou not know me? I am thy wife Ulla.

TIMO. Ah! Ay, so you are.

WIFE. Come in and don’t hang about here in the cold stable
loft. Oh, thou miserable man!

TIMO. Ay, a fine fuss because the master sleeps in his loft.
Shut up and don’t talk so childishly there. What’s harming a man here?

MAID. They won’t, drat them, let a poor maid rest her nights
in peace, but here she has to be nosing round corners looking for a
drunken swine.

WIFE. Hurry now. Give me thy hand and come down nicely.

MAID. Give me thy hand! I’d drag him down by the leg like a
sack of chaff.

TIMO. What’s Taava snapping at down there? Shut up, wench,
there’s nothing the matter with any of us.

MAID. I’d matter him.

WIFE. Hold thy jaw thou, and take this lantern. Canst thou not
get down from there?

TIMO. I’ll be down in my own time; go on ahead to the house,
you two.

They entered the house, the mistress ahead and the maid behind, and
last of all came Timo. Muttering wrathfully to herself the maid
hastened to her bed, while the mistress began nimbly preparing supper
for her man. On the table she set out butter, round loaves, beef-stew
and big potatoes in their skins; and with pleasure Timo tackled his
meal. But sore of heart, his wife tearfully watched him from the other
end of the table.

WIFE. I will say; why canst thou not stop properly at home,
strange fellow, when thou knowest what a hot-tempered Gypsy-Kaisa I am?
Now I’ve been at thy hair again. What came over my claws, what came
over an old woman’s claws? I’ve been tearing at thee again.

TIMO. Ay, to be sure, a fine to-do for pulling the master’s
hair. What art thou blubbering for so childishly when there’s nothing
the matter with anybody? But it was a hot tussle, all the same, and
thou gavest it me with a man’s hand. He-he! The Devil anyhow! Go and
pour out some beer.

WIFE. What cause hast thou to hang about the villages and
village taverns night and day, night and day? Is this a right state of
things?

TIMO. Well, I won’t say that it mightn’t have happened about
once a year; ay, it has, it can’t be denied.

WIFE. Where hast thou frolicked now, and with whom? Say? Who
were the rascals?

TIMO. Ay, I had my companions, that I had.

WIFE. Where hast thou wallowed and with whom? Tell me at once.

TIMO. Why, with Tammisto’s Kyösti and Karkkula’s Aapeli in
Tammisto attic yonder.

WIFE. What did you drink?

TIMO. Only spirits, nothing dearer. Ay, where would the likes
of us get rum, rum and liquors?

WIFE. Godless man! If death were to strike thee now, thou’dst
sink down to the lowest hell without help or mercy.

TIMO. It isn’t often, God knows, that anyone is ready. But
what’s to kill us here, in our best years. Shut up about dying and draw
me some beer.

The wife drew brown, foaming beer for her husband from the cask, and
having eaten a meal suited to a full-grown man, Timo emptied almost the
whole tankard. Whereafter both withdrew to their beds.

But another side of the mistress’s nature should also be shown. Each
Sunday or holiday morning, before setting off to Communion Service with
her husband, she always wept stinging tears and begged each member of
the family for forgiveness, beginning with her husband and passing
down to the shepherd boy. And with his mouth in a contented simper,
Timo would go out to hurry on the harnessing of the horse, walk there
happily, his shirt collar high up his neck, raised there by the nimble
hand of his own wife. And with his farmhand, who harnessed the horse
in the yard, he would speak thus: ‘Eh, but that wife of ours is a good
wife, that she truly is, no one could deny it. Where should I be, poor
beggar, with all my brats without her, the wife of wives? Dog take it,
three hundred roubles wouldn’t pay all I’d lose if this woman were to
die; even four hundred wouldn’t do it. Believe me, Kaapolad.’ Thus he
spoke, and with all that he said the wily Kaapo was quick to agree,
although each time he was on the other side of the brown gelding, a
roguish grin spread over his countenance. But at last the mistress
would come out in her new rustling skirt and gleaming linen, her eyes
swollen by weeping; she would approach the cart, climb gravely into
it and sit down sighing in her seat. And behind her on her right,
reins in hand, Timo would seat himself, glowing like the full moon in
late summer, glowing, smiling and happy, full of blood, health and
vitality. He would jerk slightly at the reins, smack his lips once,
and immediately the swift gelding would be trotting along the church
road. Soon they would be lost in the shadowy opening of the birch-wood,
and for a brief while a sandy smoke would glitter over the sunlit road.

Eero, youngest of the brothers, lived and toiled on Vuohenkalma Croft,
on a stony hill beside the church road. He was the wise and active
Sheriff’s Man of the parish, who caused many a wolf, glutton and bear
to lose its life in a well-baited trap. He was much in demand by the
Sheriff as an assistant, for all the matters entrusted to his care were
wont to turn out exceeding well. His skill in writing and reckoning
also brought him much work, and likewise income. Yet these never
tempted him to neglect the tilling of his land, and his farm was ruled
with discipline and a fiery energy; no one was allowed to dawdle in
his yards. Ever his eye swept searchingly around him, like the sharp
eye of a hook-beaked hawk that spies out the land from the branch of a
withered birch in a clearing in the bright summer sunshine.

On Sundays or holidays he either studied his newspaper, or wrote the
news or described parochial happenings from his own parish for the
same newspaper. And gladly the editor accepted these writings of
his, whose contents were always to the point, their style pithy and
clear, often showing genius. And with these interests his outlook on
life and the world broadened. The country of his birth was to him no
longer a vague part of a vague world, of which he knew neither the
site nor the character. He knew well where lay the country, that dear
corner of the earth, where the Finns dwelt in toil and struggle, and
in whose bosom the bones of his fathers rested. He knew its frontiers,
its seas, its secretly-smiling lakes and the pine-clad ridges that
run like stake-fences throughout its breadth. The whole picture of
the land of his birth, its friendly mother-face, had sunk for ever
into the depths of his heart. And from it was born in him a desire to
help the happiness and prosperity of his country. Through his sturdy
and unresting endeavours a kind of elementary school was built in the
parish, one of the first in Finland. And other useful institutions,
too, he brought into the district. And in all his work in the house his
eye dwelt constantly on his eldest son, whom he had decided to educate
into a man of knowledge and skill.

His wife was Sunala’s slender daughter, the flaxen-haired, shy-eyed
Anna, she who had seen the wonderous visions and in delirium prophesied
many miracles. She was now mistress of Vuohenkalma, a free and
prosperous croft; yet her dominion was not over wide. Much more than
on her did the care and guidance of the household rest on the master’s
shoulders. In his pocket clinked the keys of the flour-bin; he it
was who settled and measured out the rations for man and beast and
paid both serving-maids and men. Often the little mistress would walk
dejectedly, stand near the fireplace beside her cauldron, silently
meditating. But when she bent down to the baby in its cot, her eyes
beamed with a wondrous light. She rejoiced when the infant tumbled and
gambolled sturdily in her lap. And to nourish him with the milk of her
breasts, to nurse him, clothe him, and, as she would say to herself,
‘make of him an heir to the city of peace of the blest’, was all she
needed for her modest glance to glow.

Once in the summer, on a Sunday evening, when the sun drooped to the
northwest and air and forest were still, she sat alone with her child,
sat on a bench at the end of the table. Eero paced his fields and
meadows, and all the servants had gone to the village. A rapturous
peace reigned without and within the croft’s Sunday-swept room, and
decked with leaves the floor smiled up at her. Peace and silence
prevailed; only the distant tinkle of cattle-bells was heard now and
again from the birch-clad hill. On a bench sat the young mistress and
talked to the child who like a radiant morn looked up at her from her
lap. ‘Tell me; my little one,’ she said, humming between speech and
song, ‘tell me, my little one, how didst thou know thy way home?--I
came along the Turku road, tripped o’er the ox-paths of Häme.--But how
didst thou know thy home, little one?--By the grey dog beside the gate;
I knew the house by its precious well, and were there not the rector’s
horses in the shed and a barrel of ale in the barn?--How didst thou
know thy darling mother, how thy father?--Mother poured out wort by
the blazing fire, she poured and sang in a ringing voice, a shawl at
her throat, a shawl like snow and the bow of Heaven. How did I know
my father? He carved away at the shaft of an axe, whittled beside the
golden window.--So thou foundest thy way, so thou knewest thy home,
knewest thy father and mother. But where is thy father now, say where,
and whether he thinks of us?--Surely he thinks of us, and should he
forget thee, I will never forget thee, not in the tides of time, not in
death, thee, the bright sunshine of my soul and its languishing eve, my
joy and sorrow tender. But why my sorrow? Ah! this world is false and
stormy, and many a sailor has sunk for good in the eternal depths of
its seas. Tell me, my child, my summer-bright, tell me: wouldst thou
not sail away from here to a haven of everlasting peace, while the
white pennant of childhood still flies clean? On the shore of a misty,
tideless lake stands the dark manor of Tuoni; there in the heart of a
shadowy grove, in the bosom of a dewy thicket a cradle is prepared for
thee with snowy linen and wrappings. Hear therefore my song; it wafts
thee to the land of the Prince of Tuoni. O hear the song of my heart!

    ‘Grove of Tuoni, grove of night!
    There thy bed of sand is light.
    Thither my baby I lead.

    Mirth and joy each long hour yields
    In the Prince of Tuoni’s fields
    Tending the Tuoncla cattle.

    Mirth and joy my babe will know,
    Lulled to sleep at evening glow
    By the pale Tuoncla maiden.

    Surely joy the hours will hold,
    Lying in thy cot of gold,
    Hearing the nightjar singing.

    Grove of Tuoni, grove of peace!
    There all strife and passion cease.
    Distant the treacherous world.’

So she sang to her child; and the harp rings not as sweet as her voice
rang then in the Sunday-swept room. But when she had ceased singing
she gazed for long in silence at the heavens; up into the holy, giddy
heights she looked; and pure and clear was the sky, not a single wisp
of cloud chowed under Heaven’s curving dome; only a summer swallow,
scarce visible to the eye, glittered there, flying hither and thither,
light and happy as the thoughts of a Sunday-child. So she sat, and her
cheek, tanned by the sun, drooped to the drowsy infant’s temple; but
the blue eyes still stared upward into the blue heights, and peace
shone on her brow.

Her husband returned from the woods and in the yard heard his wife’s
song, and never before had it echoed so divinely in his ears. He
entered, and striding across the room, sat down beside his wife; it was
a mark of friendship he seldom showed her. Swiftly the woman turned to
him, laid the child in his lap and, pressing her forehead against his
breast, burst into passionate weeping. But at that the man threw his
arm round her and stroked a lock of her flaxen-yellow hair that had
fallen behind her ear. There in the calm Sunday evening they sat on the
white bench at the white table.

So lived and laboured Eero, youngest of the brothers, on his croft; and
I have now related a fragment of the life of each brother, from the
eldest down to the youngest. And I have yet to relate of a Christmas
gathering at the house of Juhani Jukola. For the brothers had decided
to fore-gather once again on the Christmas straw in their former home.

All arrived with their wives and children; and there was a great hubbub
in Jukola’s spacious living-room as the numerous host of children
tumbled and rolled in the rustling straw. There, round the fireplace,
sat the group of wives in cheery conversation, and Kekkuri’s buxom
mistress, the doughty wife of Timo, stood meekly stirring Venla’s
gruel-cauldron, which for very fullness boiled over in white foam.
There also, at the foot of the blaze, hymn-book on knee, Simeoni was
to be seen, ready to begin the common Christmas hymn. But at the
back of the room, round the table sat the other brothers, talking of
by-gone times, of days in the night of the forests and on Impivaara’s
stump-besprinkled clearing, under the crannied, roaring fell. And
memories of past dangers, battles and toil, merged pleasantly together
in their minds, as the forests, valleys, mountains and high heaths all
merge together in the misty blue of distance. All was blended in a
dark, delicious dream that awakened a faint repining in their bosoms.
Thus they gazed back on days that had fled. So, on an autumn evening,
when Nature has lain down to rest and the friendly grove stands yellow,
may a cow-herd look from afar at the cherished clearing where he had
laboured through the summer, grumbling, bathed in sweat. The day was
hot and sultry, thunder rolled in the distance, and gnats and gadflies
befogged the air, driving the cattle to a galloping frenzy. But before
night had fallen he had gathered together his herds and marched merrily
home with them to the tinkle of bells. Such days he now remembers
and smiles. So also a mariner growing grey on shores recalls to mind
ancient storms at sea. Clouds wrapped the vessel in darkness, the
foaming waves threatened death; but before night the wind had died and
the wave was stilled and slept, and from the brightening west the sun
shone out again, pointing the road to heaven. This storm the sailor now
remembers with silent joy. Thus the brothers too remembered departed
days, sitting round Jukola’s table on a pleasant Christmas Eve and
speaking amongst themselves.

But the cauldron was lifted from the fire, a cheery blaze built up of
cordwood, and now in its flaming light a solemn chanting began. And at
once a hush fell over the babbling children; the brothers too round
the table ceased talking as Simeoni struck up a beautiful hymn and the
women, hymnbooks in lap, joined their voices to his. Sweetly the song
echoed in the roaring of the fire, and sweeter than any other, the pure
and gentle voice of the modest Anna could ever be heard amongst the
rest. And when at last they ceased singing, they gathered round the
supper-table, and presently sank down amidst the straw on the floor to
their nightly repose. Early the following morning they awoke, awoke to
set out to the transfigured church, which with its thousands of burning
candles glittered like the starry heavens. Then when the day had fully
dawned, they came back racing amongst themselves and spent a merry
Christmas in Old Jukola.

But here my story ends. And I have now told of seven brothers in the
backwoods of Finland; and what more could I relate of the day of their
life and its fortunes here on earth? It rose steadily to its noontide
height and sank steadily downward to evening rest amidst the passing of
many thousands of golden suns.

                                 THE END


FOOTNOTES:

[1] The period which coincides with the life of Alexis Kivi, was for
Finland a time of powerful national awakening. Having formed a part of
Sweden for 600 years, Finland, after the war of 1809, was united to
Russia, but nevertheless retained a unique position. She enjoyed her
own form of constitutional government, which the Tsar of Russia, at the
same time Grand Duke of Finland, confirmed by special oath on accession
to the throne. During the liberal rule of Alexander II, these special
rights were steadily enlarged and increased. In 1863, representatives
of the four Estates of Finland--clergy, nobility, middle classes and
peasants--were summoned to sit in the Diet, which thenceforth assembled
regularly. Finland was granted her own financial administration, her
own customs and postal services; in addition she possessed her own
army, solely detailed for the protection of her frontiers.

Shortly after separation from Sweden, Finland awoke to consciousness of
her individuality as a nation. The cry of these times was: ‘Swedes we
are not, Russians we do not wish to become, Finns therefore let us be!’
Out of this national consciousness gradually arose a powerful national
movement, the aim of which was to elevate the language of the great
majority of the people to its rightful status. Hitherto all higher
education had been given in Swedish, although the speakers of Swedish
represented only eight per cent. of the entire population. A great
factor in the awakening of this national feeling was the publication of
the _Kalevala_, which Professor Elias Lönnrot had woven together
out of a collection of the national folk-songs and combined into one
great epic. The work thus created was a noble monument, testifying to
the creative and poetic genius of the Finnish Nation as a whole.

An important section of Finland’s intelligentsia, whose mother tongue
was Swedish, now voluntarily adopted Finnish as their language. They
were joined by an ever-increasing tide of young enthusiasts, drawn from
the lower classes, who had received higher education.

After long and stubborn efforts the Finnish language was finally
accorded equal status with Swedish in the official, social and
intellectual life of the country.

[2] Maiden’s Height




                          Transcriber’s Notes

 Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.

 Inconsistent punctuation has been retained as it appears in the
 original publication.

 Perceived typographical errors have been silently corrected.

 Footnotes have been moved to the end of the text.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 79566 ***