It was only a small impromptu theatre, packed to suffocation by a most wonderfully sympathetic audience, but as the play was very representative, we give a slight sketch of the subject.
The curtain rose on a little peasant log-hut with its huge chimney, where over a small native stove heated by wood, pots were boiling.
Fixed to a chair was a spinning machine, made of wood and shaped like an umbrella, which twistedround and round, while the bride-elect, with her fair hair hanging down in a plait, sat upon the stage.
Her fiancé says how happy they will be in three weeks when they are married; butAnna Liisa, although desperately in love with her betrothed, hangs back, and refuses to sit upon his knee. At lastJohannescoaxes her to his side, and expresses huge delight at the prospect of their future. He tells her how he loves her with a never-fading love, is certain of her goodness, and that she has never loved any one else; he warmly praises her virtue; but, nevertheless, as he speaks, she shudders. Immediately an old woman comes in (Husso), the mother ofMikko, a man with whomAnna Liisahad formerly had some relations; her words are of evil import, for she tells the girl if she marriesJohannes, who has just left the room, she will do her harm.
Annapretending not to care, the old woman becomes furious and threatens her.
"I shall tell of your intrigue with my son. I have but to whisper of a——"
"Mother, no, no."
"But I can, and I will, and more than that, may speak of——"
The girl implores, tells of her real, honest love forJohannes, beseechesMikko'smother to hold her peace, but the woman is obdurate.
Annasuffers tortures when left alone with her little sister, because the girl will talk of the delights of the coming wedding, and how nice it would be ifAnna Liisahad a child for her to dress like a doll.The bride's father and mother, who know nothing of their daughter's intrigue, come and drink coffee, and like true peasants they pour the coffee into a saucer, and putting a bit of sugar into their mouths imbibe the beverage through it, supporting the saucer on five fingers. Thus happily they all sit together—a real representation of life in a peasant home. In the midst of it all the former lover,Mikko, who was once a servant on the farm, comes in and is very insulting to the bridegroom-elect, and very insinuating toAnna Liisa. At lastJohannesgets angry; threats ensue.Mikkosays "that he was once engaged to a girl and intends to have her" (looking pointedly atAnna Liisa). It seems as if the whole story would be revealed, but at that moment the little sister rushes in to sayMikko'shorse has run away, and he goes off, leaving the bride and bridegroom alone, when the former imploresJohannesto trust her always and in everything, which he promises to do, greatly wondering the while at her request.
When the second act opens the father and mother are discussing beforeAnna Liisaher own virtues. They say what a good wife their child will make, they lay stress upon her honesty, integrity, and truthfulness, and while the words sink into the guilty girl's heart like gall and wormwood, she sits and knits with apparent calmness. At last, however, the parents leave the room, and while she is thinking of following them, in comesMikko. Finding herself alone withMikkothe poor girl entreats him to leave her, to leave her in peace and happiness tomarry the man she loves, and if possible to forget her guilty past.
"If you marry me you will get peace," he says.
"No. Nor shall I ever know peace again," she replies; "but I may have some happiness."
At this moment her fiancé enters the room.Mikkoseizes the opportunity to tell him there is a secret between them that will disturb the happiness of all his future life. The girl appeals toMikkoby looks and gesticulations, but each time he manages to evade her gaze, and utters such strange insinuations that at lastJohannesexclaims—
"This is too much!" and a desperate quarrel ensues.
Anna Liisawishes to speak alone withMikko. To thisJohannesobjects, thinking thatAnna Liisaought not to have any secret withMikkounknown to him.
Then the whole family bundles home, having been to the store to buy things for the approaching festival.
"The matter is so," saysMikko, "thatAnna Liisawas my bride four years ago. And now I come to take her, but that fellow has in the meantime——"
The Father."Your bride! That's a lie."
The Mother."Good gracious! You want me to believe all kinds of things—Anna Liisa—who then was only fifteen years old. Don't listen to such things,Johannes. They're only senseless chat. I'll warrant that they have no foundation whatever. Besides, others would certainly have noticed had any such relations existed between them."
Mikko."It was not noticed. We succeeded in concealing it so well that nobody had the slightest idea."
The Father."Shut up,Mikko, ere I get furious. That my daughter should have secret intrigues with a groom. Fie, for shame! How dare you spread such vile slander. Had it concerned any other!—ButAnna Liisa, whom everybody knows to be the most steady and honourable girl in the whole neighbourhood. That you can be so impudent. For shame, I say once more."
Mikko."AskAnna Liisaherself if I have spoken truth or falsehood."
The Father."Can't you open your mouth, girl? Clear yourself from such disgusting insults."
The Mother."Defend yourself,Anna Liisa."
Johannes."Say that he lies, and I will believe you."
Matters have gone too far. The disclosure cannot be put off.
Broken-hearted she only exclaims—
"Oh, good God!"
Mikkoin his mad rage fetches his old mother, who corroborates all he has said, and tells the story ofAnna Liisa'sguilt, adding—
"And she could have been put in prison."
"Why?" they all cry in chorus.
"Because she murdered her child."
Anna Liisasays nothing for a time, but finally she falls on her knees before her father and implores his pardon. Then she confesses that everything the woman has said is true, even the accusation that she murdered her own child.
Her father snatches up a hatchet and tries to kill her, in which attempt he would have succeeded had notMikkointerfered and dragged her away.
When the third act opens the father, mother, and fiancé are found discussing the situation, and finally deciding to let their friends come to the congratulatory festival on first reading of the banns, and pretend that nothing unusual had happened. Afterwards they could rearrange the relationship.
The mother, who had been watchingAnna Liisa, is afraid of her curious apathetic behaviour, and looks out of the window, when she sees her setting off in a boat, apparently with the purpose of self-destruction. She and the fiancé rush off to save her and bring her home. The girl explains in wild despair how she thought she saw her child under the water, and intended to jump in and rescue him. She raves somewhat like Ophelia inHamlet, but her former loverMikkocomes back to her, and whispers in her ear. She rejects him violently.
"Let me get away from here," she murmurs to her mother, "let me get away," and a very sad and touching scene ensues.
The little sister bounds in straight from church, and says how lovely it was to hear the banns read, and to think the wedding was so near. She decorates the room with wreaths of pine branches, and festoons of the birch-tree, such festoons as we make into trails with holly and ivy for Christmas decorations. She jumps for joy as the guests begin to arrive, and in this strange play the father actually thinks it right for his daughter to marryMikko, herseducer, whom he welcomes, and they arrange affairs comfortably between them.
This is very remarkable. In most countries it would be considered right for the father to expel his daughter's lover from his house; but in this play ofMinna Canth'sshe draws a very Finnish characteristic.
"Se oli niin sallittu" ("It is so ordained") is a sort of motto amongst this Northern people. Whether it is that they are phlegmatic, wanting in energy, fatalists, or what, one cannot say, but certain it is that they sit down and accept the inevitable as calmly as the Mohammedan does when he remarks: "It is the will of Allah."
The festivities proceed. An old fiddler and more peasants appear. The men sit down on one side of the room, the women on the other, and the former lover,Mikko, thinking himself the bridegroom-elect, cheerfully invites every one to dance. The old fiddler strikes up a merry air, and they dance thejenka, a sort of schottische, joyously. Gaiety prevails, the girl's father being apparently as happy as his guests, when the door opens and the rector of the parish and other distinguished guests enter.
"Where is the bride?" it is asked.
No one knew exactly how to answer;Johannesno longer wishes to marry her, and she refuses to marry her former lover,Mikko.
Again the priest asks: "Where is the bride?"
After waiting some time the door opens slowly.Anna Liisaenters and is greeted—as is usual on such occasions—by cries ofEläköön, eläköön(let herlive!) in chorus. Answering with the unusual words: "Let God's Holy Spirit live in us!" the girl advanced into the room and stood before them, robed in the black gown which it is the fashion for peasant brides in Finland to wear. The clergyman addressed her as a bride.
"I am not a bride," she replies, as she stands sadly alone in her black robe.
"What do you mean? the banns have just been read," he asks.
"All is broken off betweenJohannesand me," she tragically replies, and then, turning to the clergyman, she says: "My conscience won't keep it any longer; for four years long I have——"
Mikkoand his mother try all they can to prevent her speaking.
But the clergyman, seeing the girl wishes to say something, thrusts them aside and exhorts her to proceed.
"I am a great sinner," says the girl tremulously. A breathless silence seizes every one present asAnnacontinues, "Four years ago I had a child, in the forest yonder, and, I, poor creature, I killed it."
At this juncture a bailiff, who chanced to be of the company, rises and inquires if her parents knew this at the time.
"No," she answers in her clear and dulcet tones, "they knew nothing."
Turning to her heartbroken parents with great earnestness, she says:
"Father and mother, do not grieve for me! Do not sorrow! I am not in trouble any more. Yousee how glad I am. Never in my life have I felt so happy."
Johannes(touched). "Anna Liisa——!"
The Father."Don't you then consider the disgrace you have brought over our gray hair?"
Anna Liisa."I repent. Forgive me! Oh, that I could once make good what I have done wrong!"
The Mistress of Ristola and other guests express their sympathy with the parents.
Mikko(aside toHusso). "There's nothing more to be done. Things must have their course. Let us be off!"
[Exeunt.
The Father."Oh, that I could get into my grave! That's my only hope."
Rector."Not so, dear friends, not so! You have no reason for sorrow at this moment, but gladness and joy. The Spirit of God has been working in your daughter and has gained the victory. Do not look upon this matter as the world does, but from a higher standpoint. Until to-dayAnna Liisahas erred. Now she has found the right way. Let us thank and praise the Lord of Heaven!"
Mistress of Ristola."Yes, it is truly so. It is a chastisement for the flesh, but not to the spirit."
The Father."We are shortsighted, we human beings. We do not always comprehend the purposes of the Almighty."
The Mother."And the earthly mind always seeks to govern."
Rector."Let us strive the more to progress in the life of the Spirit, and by God's help we can win likeAnna Liisa(graspingAnna Liisa'shand). Yes, go in peace, my child. Go where your conscience compels you to go, and the Heavenly Father strengthen you that you may hold out to the end. We did congratulate you on a less important change in external life, but a thousand times more warmly do we congratulate you on the change in your inner life."
Doctor."I agree with the Rector. Good-bye!"
Anna Liisa(embracing first her father and then her mother). "Good-bye, father! good-bye, mother! good-bye! Good-bye all!"
Chorus."Good-bye, we wish you happiness."
Johannes."Anna Liisa, won't you bid me farewell?"
Anna Liisa."Certainly! Good-bye,Johannes."
Johannes."The Lord keep you,Anna Liisa. But one word more—you are as pure and good in heart as I thought you from the first."
Anna Liisa."Thank you for your kindness.... I have found everlasting life and happiness. Now, Mr. Bailiff, I am ready, give me the severest punishment you can. I am ready to meet it all."
Rector."She is following the everlasting road. Blessed is she."
Curtain.
The idea of this very strange play has been undoubtedly taken from one of Tolstoi's well-known books, butMinna Canthherself is a great writer. She seizes the subtleties of life, draws character with a strong hand, and appreciates the value of dramatic situations. No wonder the Finlanders admire awoman who writes in their own tongue, and feel proud of her as one of themselves.
Never have I seen an audience weep so much as the audience wept that night at theSuomalainen Teaatteri(Finnish Theatre): they positively sobbed. Was it that they seldom saw a play, or was it that the generally phlegmatic Finn once roused is really intensely emotional?
Possibly if the fact were known, the minds of those spectators were not so actively engaged in criticism, that they could not appreciate healthy enjoyment. But as much cannot be said for a fashionable blasé audience, which is too bored to care to be entertained.
Many strange customs still linger in East Finland, probably because the inhabitants, far removed from civilisation, cling tenaciously to the traditions and usages of their forefathers. As a fitting ending therefore to theSordavalaFestival, an accurate representation of a native wedding of a hundred years ago was given, perhaps for the reason that the performers were thus naturally enabled to introduce many of the bridal songs contained in their great epic poem,Kalevala, and their collection of lyric poems calledKanteletar.
The open-air stage was cleverly arranged, and the performance proved really a dramatic representation of music we had heard the delightfulRunosingers chanting for days. They were oldRunobards, however, and as it was feared their voices would not reach the eight or ten thousand people assembled in the open-air arena, younger and stronger folk had been taught the different roles by them.
The wedding festivities were unlike anything to which we are accustomed. They began with a formal betrothal. In a log hut sat the bride's family, the mother spinning at one of the wooden erections so closely resembling an oar. The fatherand his friends were meantime gathered round a table drinking small beer (Kalja) from large wooden pots, or rather buckets, calledhaarikka. Each man helped himself out of thehaarikkaby dipping into that vessel the usual wooden spoon and sipping its contents, after which performance he replaced the spoon in the bucket.
Thus happily occupied sat the family till the bridegroom and his friends arrived.
It is not considered proper for an intending bridegroom ever to propose in person, consequently a spokesman has always to be employed, who expatiates on the many excellent qualities possessed by the modest lover.
Even the spokesman, however, deems it strict etiquette at first to prevaricate concerning the real nature of his errand, and consequently the actor told a cock-and-bull story about the purchase of a horse; rather a transparent bit of make-believe considering the matter had been quietly arranged previously.
At last, after some ridiculous talk about that imaginary horse, a formal request was made for the daughter's hand, and finally the bride herself appeared, solemnly led in as if a prisoner.
Silent and alone, with head bent sadly down, she stood in the middle of the room till asked if she were willing "To marry this man?" when, without looking up, she answered "Yes."
Then the "weeping woman" who is hired for such occasions—just as in days, happily gone by, English families used to hire mutes for funerals—put her armround the bride's waist, and, with bowed head, swinging her body to and fro the while, began in a most melancholy voice to sing "The Bride's Lament to her Home." The paid professional chants the words of theKalevala, which are supposed to embody every bride's sentiments, implores her parents not to hurry her away. She begs her brother to keep her, not to let the breach between them be so large as theLadogalake; might she remain even so long in her father's house as it will take to catch the fish and cook them.
After that she was placed in a chair, and her mother, with pomp and gravity, undid her "maiden plait," her loosened hair denoting that she could no longer be regarded as a maiden. All her relations came and pulled at her hair, which fell over her shoulders, to assure themselves the plait was really undone. Then theweeping woman, swaying to and fro as before, sang another dirge over her—a most melancholy form of betrothal, we thought—and finally put a white linen cap on the bride's head, trimmed with lace, which completely concealed her face. Thus covered, the bride and the weeping woman sat side by side on chairs, when, still swaying their bodies as if in unutterable grief, they recited more bridal songs, all of the same dreary character. Finally, the bride had a verse sung for her by the weeping woman addressed to her parents, to each of whom she clung in turn. Her father, mother, brothers, sisters, etc., were singly poetically addressed after the following doleful but remarkable fashion:—
O the anguish of the parting,O the pain of separation,From these walls renowned and ancient,From this village of the Northland,From these scenes of peace and plenty,Where my faithful mother taught me,Where my father gave instructionTo me in my happy childhood,When my years were few and tender!As a child I did not fancy,Never thought of separationFrom the confines of this cottage,From these dear old hills and mountains;But, alas! I now must journey,Since I now cannot escape it;Empty is the bowl of parting,All the fare-well beer is taken,And my husband's sledge is waiting,With the break-board looking southward,Looking from my father's dwelling.How shall I give compensation,How repay, on my departure,All the kindness of my mother,All the counsel of my father,All the friendship of my brother,All my sister's warm affection?Gratitude to thee, dear father,For my father life and blessings,For the comforts of thy table,For the pleasures of my childhood!Gratitude to thee, dear mother,For thy tender care and guidance,For my birth and for my culture,Nurtured by thy purest life-blood!Gratitude to thee, dear brother,Gratitude to thee, sweet sister,To the servants of my childhood,To my many friends and playmates!Never, never, aged father,Never, thou, beloved mother,Never, ye, my kindred spirits,Never harbour care nor sorrow,Never fall to bitter weeping,Since thy child has gone to strangers,To the meadows ofWäinölä,From her father's fields and firesides.Shines the Sun of the Creator,Shines the golden Moon ofUkko,Glitter all the stars of heaven,In the firmament of ether,Full as bright on other homesteads;Not upon my father's uplands,Not upon my home in childhood,Shines the Star of Joyance only.Now the time has come for partingFrom my father's golden firesides,From my brother's welcome hearth-stone,From the chambers of my sister,From my mother's happy dwelling;Now I leave the swamps and lowlands,Leave the grassy vales and mountains,Leave the crystal lakes and rivers,Leave the shores and sandy shallows,Leave the white-capped surging billows,Where the maidens swim and linger,Where the mermaids sing and frolic;Leave the swamps to those that wander,Leave the cornfields to the plowman,Leave the forests to the weary,Leave the heather to the rover,Leave the copses to the stranger,Leave the alleys to the beggar,Leave the courtyards to the rambler,Leave the portals to the servant,Leave the matting to the sweeper,Leave the highways to the roebuck,Leave the woodland-glens to lynxes,Leave the lowlands to the wild-geese,And the birch-tree to the cuckoo.Now I leave these friends of childhood,Journey southward with my husband,To the arms of Night and Winter,O'er the ice-grown seas of Northland.
O the anguish of the parting,O the pain of separation,From these walls renowned and ancient,From this village of the Northland,From these scenes of peace and plenty,Where my faithful mother taught me,Where my father gave instructionTo me in my happy childhood,When my years were few and tender!As a child I did not fancy,Never thought of separationFrom the confines of this cottage,From these dear old hills and mountains;But, alas! I now must journey,Since I now cannot escape it;Empty is the bowl of parting,All the fare-well beer is taken,And my husband's sledge is waiting,With the break-board looking southward,Looking from my father's dwelling.
How shall I give compensation,How repay, on my departure,All the kindness of my mother,All the counsel of my father,All the friendship of my brother,All my sister's warm affection?Gratitude to thee, dear father,For my father life and blessings,For the comforts of thy table,For the pleasures of my childhood!Gratitude to thee, dear mother,For thy tender care and guidance,For my birth and for my culture,Nurtured by thy purest life-blood!Gratitude to thee, dear brother,Gratitude to thee, sweet sister,To the servants of my childhood,To my many friends and playmates!
Never, never, aged father,Never, thou, beloved mother,Never, ye, my kindred spirits,Never harbour care nor sorrow,Never fall to bitter weeping,Since thy child has gone to strangers,To the meadows ofWäinölä,From her father's fields and firesides.Shines the Sun of the Creator,Shines the golden Moon ofUkko,Glitter all the stars of heaven,In the firmament of ether,Full as bright on other homesteads;Not upon my father's uplands,Not upon my home in childhood,Shines the Star of Joyance only.
Now the time has come for partingFrom my father's golden firesides,From my brother's welcome hearth-stone,From the chambers of my sister,From my mother's happy dwelling;Now I leave the swamps and lowlands,Leave the grassy vales and mountains,Leave the crystal lakes and rivers,Leave the shores and sandy shallows,Leave the white-capped surging billows,Where the maidens swim and linger,Where the mermaids sing and frolic;Leave the swamps to those that wander,Leave the cornfields to the plowman,Leave the forests to the weary,Leave the heather to the rover,Leave the copses to the stranger,Leave the alleys to the beggar,Leave the courtyards to the rambler,Leave the portals to the servant,Leave the matting to the sweeper,Leave the highways to the roebuck,Leave the woodland-glens to lynxes,Leave the lowlands to the wild-geese,And the birch-tree to the cuckoo.Now I leave these friends of childhood,Journey southward with my husband,To the arms of Night and Winter,O'er the ice-grown seas of Northland.
All this must have seemed very sad to the bridegroom, who sat dumb in a corner, a perfect nonentity.
Moral for all young men—Never get married in Finland.
The second scene represented the wedding. It was the bridegroom's house. They had been to the church, and he was bringing her home. The guests were assembled to receive her, some were baking cakes in great haste, others arranging the pots ofKalja, all excited and joyful.
At last some one rushed in to say "They are coming, they are coming," and immediately appeared a procession of peasants with the bride and bridegroomhand in hand. She wore a dark-red cashmere gown with a handsomely embroidered white apron, and large round silver brooch, such as the Highlanders of Scotland use to fasten their kilt; but she was still covered by the linen cap with its lace adornments, which hung over her face. She was solemnly escorted to a seat by the table, and only raised this veil when the meal began. After "the breakfast" was over, four young men and four girls danced a sort of lancers, with grand variations, and executed gymnastic feats—frog dancing and a sort of Highland-reel step—very pretty and very quaint. The bride and bridegroom did not join in the measure—both sat solemn as judges; indeed, aKarjalanwedding is a monstrously sad affair for the bridegroom, at all events, for he plays a rôle of no importance, while it must be a melancholy business for the bride.
The men's dresses were of ordinary cloth with bright-coloured linen shirts, and leather boots turned up at the toe, the soft leather legs reaching nearly to the knees, the last two or three inches being lacedbehind, so as to enable the wearer to pull them on. The sisters of the bride wore crowns composed of plain bands of various-coloured ribbons—nearly a quarter of a yard high in front, but diminishing towards the back, where the ends of the ribbons hung below the waist.
The words of the bride's lament are so strange, that we give some of them fromKalevala, thinking every man who reads the lines will sympathise with the wretched bridegroom, and every woman wish to have as devoted a husband as the young man is exhorted to make.
But alas! there comes a day of reckoning, when he may "instruct her with a willow," and even "use the birch-rod from the mountains."
THE BRIDE'S FAREWELLBridegroom, thou beloved hero,Brave descendant of thy fathers,When thou goest on a journey,When thou drivest on the highway,Driving with the Rainbow-daughter,Fairest bride ofSariola,Do not lead her as a titmouse,As a cuckoo of the forest,Into unfrequented places,Into copses of the borders,Into brier-fields and brambles,Into unproductive marshes;Let her wander not, nor stumbleOn opposing rocks and rubbish.Never in her father's dwelling,Never in her mother's courtyard,Has she fallen into ditches,Stumbled hard against the fences,Run through brier-fields, nor brambles,Fallen over rocks, nor rubbish.Magic bridegroom ofWäinölä,Wise descendant of the heroes,Never let thy young wife suffer,Never let her be neglected,Never let her sit in darkness,Never leave her unattended.Never in her father's mansion,In the chambers of her mother,Has she sat alone in darkness,Has she suffered for attention;Sat she by the crystal window,Sat and rocked, in peace and plenty,Evenings for her father's pleasure,Mornings for her mother's sunshine.Never mayest thou, O bridegroom,Lead the Maiden of the RainbowTo the mortar filled with sea-grass,There to grind the bark for cooking,There to bake her bread from stubble,There to knead her dough from tan-bark.Never in her father's dwelling,Never in her mother's mansion,Was she taken to the mortar,There to bake her bread from sea-grass.Thou should'st lead the Bride of BeautyTo the garner's rich abundance,There to draw the till of barley,Grind the flower and knead for baking,There to brew the beer for drinking,Wheaten flour for honey-biscuits.Hero-bridegroom ofWäinölä,Never cause thy Bride of BeautyTo regret her day of marriage;Never make her shed a tear-drop,Never fill her cup with sorrow.Should there ever come an eveningWhen thy wife shall feel unhappy,Put the harness on thy racer,Hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,Take her to her father's dwelling,To the household of her mother;Never in thy hero-lifetime,Never while the moonbeams glimmer,Give thy fair spouse evil treatment,Never treat her as thy servant;Do not bar her from the cellar,Do not lock thy best provisions.Never in her father's mansion,Never by her faithful motherWas she treated as a hireling.Honoured bridegroom of the Northland,Proud descendant of the fathers,If thou treatest well thy young wife,Worthily wilt thou be treated;When thou goest to her homestead,When thou visitest her father,Thou shalt meet a cordial welcome.Censure not the Bride of Beauty,Never grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,Never say in tones reproachful,She was born in lowly station,That her father was unworthy;Honoured are thy bride's relations,From an old-time tribe her kindred;When of corn they sowed a measure,Each one's portion was a kernel;When they sowed a cask of flax-seed,Each received a thread of linen.Never, never, magic husband,Treat thy beauty-bride unkindly,Teach her not with lash of servants,Strike her not with thongs of leather;Never has she wept in anguish,From the birch-whip of her mother.Stand before her like a rampart,Be to her a strong protection,Do not let thy mother chide her,Let thy father not upbraid her,Never let thy guests offend her;Should thy servants bring annoyance,They may need the master's censure;Do not harm the Bride of Beauty,Never injure her thou lovest;Three long years hast thou been wooing,Hoping every month to win her.Counsel with the bride of heaven,To thy young wife give instruction,Kindly teach thy bride in secret,In the long and dreary evenings,When thou sittest at the fireside;Teach one year, in words of kindness,Teach with eyes of love a second,In the third year teach with firmness.If she should not heed thy teaching,Should not hear thy kindly counsel,After three long years of effort,Cut a reed upon the lowlands,Cut a nettle from the border,Teach thy wife with harder measures.In the fourth year, if she heed not,Threaten her with sterner treatment,With the stalks of rougher edges,Use not yet the thongs of leather,Do not touch her with the birch-whip.If she should not heed this warning,Should she pay thee no attention,Cut a rod upon the mountains,Or a willow in the valleys,Hide it underneath thy mantle,That the stranger may not see it,Show it to thy wife in secret,Shame her thus to do her duty,Strike not yet, though disobeying.Should she disregard this warning,Still refuse to heed thy wishes,Then instruct her with the willow,Use the birch-rod from the mountains,In the closet of thy dwelling,In the attic of thy mansion;Strike her not upon the common,Do not conquer her in public,Lest the villagers should see thee,Lest the neighbours hear her weeping,And the forests learn thy troubles.Touch thy wife upon the shoulders,Let her stiffened back be softened;Do not touch her on the forehead,Nor upon the ears, nor visage;If a ridge be on her forehead,Or a blue mark on her eyelids,Then her mother would perceive it,And her father would take notice,All the village-workmen see it,And the village-women ask her:"Hast thou been in heat of battle,Hast thou struggled in a conflict,Or perchance the wolves have torn thee,Or the forest bears embraced thee,Or the black-wolf be thy husband,And the bear be thy protector?".....By the fireplace lay a gray-beard,On the hearth-stone lay a beggar,And the old man spake as follows:—"Never, never, hero-husband,Follow thou thy young wife's wishes,Follow not her inclinations,As, alas! I did, regretful;Bought my bride the bread of barley,Veal, and beer, and best of butter,Fish and fowl of all descriptions,Beer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling,Wheat from all the distant nations,All the dainties of the Northland;But this all was unavailing,Gave my wife no satisfaction,Often came she to my chamber,Tore my sable locks in frenzy,With a visage fierce and frightful,With her eyeballs flashing anger,Scolding on and scolding ever,Ever speaking words of evil,Using epithets the vilest,Thought me but a block for chopping.Then I sought for other measures,Used on her my last resources,Cut a birch-whip in the forest,And she spake in terms endearing;Cut a juniper or willow,And she called me 'hero-darling';When with lash my wife I threatened,Hung she on my neck with kisses."Thus the bridegroom was instructed,Thus the last advices given......Then the Maiden of the Rainbow,Beauteous bride ofIlmarinen,Sighing heavily and moaning,Fell to weeping, heavy-hearted,Spake these words from depths of sorrow:"Near, indeed, the separation,Near, alas! the time for parting,Near the time of my departure;Fare thee well, my dear old homestead,Fare ye well, my native bowers;It would give me joy unceasingCould I linger here for ever.Now farewell, ye halls and portalsLeading to my father's mansion;It would give me joy unceasingCould I linger here for ever."
Bridegroom, thou beloved hero,Brave descendant of thy fathers,When thou goest on a journey,When thou drivest on the highway,Driving with the Rainbow-daughter,Fairest bride ofSariola,Do not lead her as a titmouse,As a cuckoo of the forest,Into unfrequented places,Into copses of the borders,Into brier-fields and brambles,Into unproductive marshes;Let her wander not, nor stumbleOn opposing rocks and rubbish.Never in her father's dwelling,Never in her mother's courtyard,Has she fallen into ditches,Stumbled hard against the fences,Run through brier-fields, nor brambles,Fallen over rocks, nor rubbish.
Magic bridegroom ofWäinölä,Wise descendant of the heroes,Never let thy young wife suffer,Never let her be neglected,Never let her sit in darkness,Never leave her unattended.Never in her father's mansion,In the chambers of her mother,Has she sat alone in darkness,Has she suffered for attention;Sat she by the crystal window,Sat and rocked, in peace and plenty,Evenings for her father's pleasure,Mornings for her mother's sunshine.Never mayest thou, O bridegroom,Lead the Maiden of the RainbowTo the mortar filled with sea-grass,There to grind the bark for cooking,There to bake her bread from stubble,There to knead her dough from tan-bark.Never in her father's dwelling,Never in her mother's mansion,Was she taken to the mortar,There to bake her bread from sea-grass.Thou should'st lead the Bride of BeautyTo the garner's rich abundance,There to draw the till of barley,Grind the flower and knead for baking,There to brew the beer for drinking,Wheaten flour for honey-biscuits.
Hero-bridegroom ofWäinölä,Never cause thy Bride of BeautyTo regret her day of marriage;Never make her shed a tear-drop,Never fill her cup with sorrow.Should there ever come an eveningWhen thy wife shall feel unhappy,Put the harness on thy racer,Hitch the fleet-foot to the snow-sledge,Take her to her father's dwelling,To the household of her mother;Never in thy hero-lifetime,Never while the moonbeams glimmer,Give thy fair spouse evil treatment,Never treat her as thy servant;Do not bar her from the cellar,Do not lock thy best provisions.Never in her father's mansion,Never by her faithful motherWas she treated as a hireling.
Honoured bridegroom of the Northland,Proud descendant of the fathers,If thou treatest well thy young wife,Worthily wilt thou be treated;When thou goest to her homestead,When thou visitest her father,Thou shalt meet a cordial welcome.
Censure not the Bride of Beauty,Never grieve thy Rainbow-maiden,Never say in tones reproachful,She was born in lowly station,That her father was unworthy;Honoured are thy bride's relations,From an old-time tribe her kindred;When of corn they sowed a measure,Each one's portion was a kernel;When they sowed a cask of flax-seed,Each received a thread of linen.Never, never, magic husband,Treat thy beauty-bride unkindly,Teach her not with lash of servants,Strike her not with thongs of leather;Never has she wept in anguish,From the birch-whip of her mother.Stand before her like a rampart,Be to her a strong protection,Do not let thy mother chide her,Let thy father not upbraid her,Never let thy guests offend her;Should thy servants bring annoyance,They may need the master's censure;Do not harm the Bride of Beauty,Never injure her thou lovest;Three long years hast thou been wooing,Hoping every month to win her.
Counsel with the bride of heaven,To thy young wife give instruction,Kindly teach thy bride in secret,In the long and dreary evenings,When thou sittest at the fireside;Teach one year, in words of kindness,Teach with eyes of love a second,In the third year teach with firmness.If she should not heed thy teaching,Should not hear thy kindly counsel,After three long years of effort,Cut a reed upon the lowlands,Cut a nettle from the border,Teach thy wife with harder measures.In the fourth year, if she heed not,Threaten her with sterner treatment,With the stalks of rougher edges,Use not yet the thongs of leather,Do not touch her with the birch-whip.If she should not heed this warning,Should she pay thee no attention,Cut a rod upon the mountains,Or a willow in the valleys,Hide it underneath thy mantle,That the stranger may not see it,Show it to thy wife in secret,Shame her thus to do her duty,Strike not yet, though disobeying.Should she disregard this warning,Still refuse to heed thy wishes,Then instruct her with the willow,Use the birch-rod from the mountains,In the closet of thy dwelling,In the attic of thy mansion;Strike her not upon the common,Do not conquer her in public,Lest the villagers should see thee,Lest the neighbours hear her weeping,And the forests learn thy troubles.Touch thy wife upon the shoulders,Let her stiffened back be softened;Do not touch her on the forehead,Nor upon the ears, nor visage;If a ridge be on her forehead,Or a blue mark on her eyelids,Then her mother would perceive it,And her father would take notice,All the village-workmen see it,And the village-women ask her:"Hast thou been in heat of battle,Hast thou struggled in a conflict,Or perchance the wolves have torn thee,Or the forest bears embraced thee,Or the black-wolf be thy husband,And the bear be thy protector?".....By the fireplace lay a gray-beard,On the hearth-stone lay a beggar,And the old man spake as follows:—"Never, never, hero-husband,Follow thou thy young wife's wishes,Follow not her inclinations,As, alas! I did, regretful;Bought my bride the bread of barley,Veal, and beer, and best of butter,Fish and fowl of all descriptions,Beer I bought, home-brewed and sparkling,Wheat from all the distant nations,All the dainties of the Northland;But this all was unavailing,Gave my wife no satisfaction,Often came she to my chamber,Tore my sable locks in frenzy,With a visage fierce and frightful,With her eyeballs flashing anger,Scolding on and scolding ever,Ever speaking words of evil,Using epithets the vilest,Thought me but a block for chopping.Then I sought for other measures,Used on her my last resources,Cut a birch-whip in the forest,And she spake in terms endearing;Cut a juniper or willow,And she called me 'hero-darling';When with lash my wife I threatened,Hung she on my neck with kisses."Thus the bridegroom was instructed,Thus the last advices given......Then the Maiden of the Rainbow,Beauteous bride ofIlmarinen,Sighing heavily and moaning,Fell to weeping, heavy-hearted,Spake these words from depths of sorrow:"Near, indeed, the separation,Near, alas! the time for parting,Near the time of my departure;Fare thee well, my dear old homestead,Fare ye well, my native bowers;It would give me joy unceasingCould I linger here for ever.Now farewell, ye halls and portalsLeading to my father's mansion;It would give me joy unceasingCould I linger here for ever."
Group of Runo Bards.
Group of Runo Bards.
What a delightful representation! A beautiful scene of peasant life a hundred years ago. The charm of the singing in the open air, the people dressed in the old costumes, the scene really correct, old spinning wheels, etc., having been borrowed from the museum for the purpose.
It was a charming picture, one well worth retaining on the retina of memory.
It was the last day; theKarjalanwedding was over, and all the choirs, numbering altogether nearlya thousand voices, sang chants and hymns most beautifully, their combined voices being heard far through the woods and across the lakes.
It was really a grand spectacle, those thousand men and women on the platform, comprising peasants, farmers, students, professors, all brought together merely to sing, while below and on the opposite hill three thousand seats were filled by a mixed audience, behind whom again, among the pine-trees, sat several thousand more. As a final effort the conductor called upon every one to join in the National Anthem. Up rose ten thousand or twelve thousand persons, and, as one man, they sang their patriotic verses beneath the blue canopy of heaven. It was wonderful; to a stranger the harmony of the whole was amazing; indeed, so successful did it prove, that national song after national song was sung by that musical audience. We looked on and marvelled. Music attracts in Finland, for from end to end of the land the people are imbued with its spirit and feel its power.
The sun blazed, the pine cones scented the air, the birds sang, and we felt transported back to old Druidical days when people met in the open for song and prayer. It was all very simple, but very delightful, and the people seemed to most thoroughly enjoy hearing their national airs; the whole scene again reminded us of Ober Ammergau, or of a Highland out-of-door Communion Service.
Alas! the Finnish national dress has almostdisappeared, but at theSordavalaFestival a great attempt was made to revive it at the enormous open-air concerts in the public park, where some of the girls, lying or sitting under the pine-trees on the hill opposite listening to the choir singing, wore the dress ofSuomi.
The national colours are red and yellow, or white and bright blue, and much dispute arises as to which is really right, for while the heraldry book says red and yellow, the country folk maintain blue and white. White loose blouses of fine Finnish flannel seemed most in favour, with a short full underskirt of the same material; geometrical embroidery about two inches wide in all colours and patterns being put round the hem of the short dress as well as brace fashion over the bodice; in some cases a very vivid shade of green, a sort of pinafore bodice with a large apron of the same colour falling in front, was noticeable; the embroidery in claret and dark green running round all the border lines; at the neck this embroidery was put on more thickly, and also at the waist belt. Round the apron hung a deep and handsome fringe; altogether the dress with its striking colours and tin or silver hangings was very pleasing. Unfortunately the girls seemed to think that even when they wore their national dress they ought to wear also a hat and gloves; although even the simplest hat spoils the effect.
At the back of the wood, where we wandered for a little shade and quiet rest, we found our dear friends the "Runosingers." The name originated from the ancient songs having been written downon sticks, theRunowriting being cut or burnt in, this was the bards' only form of music. Now these strange musical memoranda can only be found in museums. OurRunosingers, delighted with the success of the marriage-play they had coached, welcomed us warmly, and at once rose to shake hands as we paused to listen to theirkanteleplaying and quaint chanting.
It may be well to mention that the Finnish language is very remarkable. Like Gaelic, it is musical, soft and dulcet, expressive and poetical, comes from a very old root, and is, in fact, one of the most interesting languages we possess. But some of the Finnish words are extremely long, in which respect they excel even the German. As a specimen of what a Finnish word can be, we may giveOppimattomuudessansakin, meaning, "Even in his ignorance."
The language is intensely difficult to learn, for it has sixteen cases, a fact sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. However, there is one good thing about Finnish, namely, that it is spoken absolutely phonetically, emphasis being invariably laid on the first syllable. For instance, the above word is pronounced (the "i" being spoken as "e") Oppi-ma-tto-muu-des-san-sa-kin.
Finnish possesses ayouand athou, which fact, though it cannot lighten the difficulties, does away with the terrible third person invariably in use in Swedish, where people say calmly:
"Has the Herr Professor enjoyed his breakfast?"
"Yes, thanks, and I hope the Mrs. Authoress has done the same."
By the Swedish-speaking Finns it is considered the worst of ill-breeding for a younger person to address an elder as "you," or for strangers to speak to one another except in the manner above indicated.
Finnish is one of the softest of tongues, and of all European languages most closely resembles theMagyaror Hungarian. Both of these come from the Ugrian stock ofAgglutinativelanguages, and therefore they always stick to the roots of the word and make grammatical changes by suffixes. Vowels are employed so incessantly that the words are round and soft, and lend themselves easily to song. There are only twenty-two letters in the Finnish alphabet, and asFis very seldom employed, even that number is decreased. The use of vowels is endless; the dotted ö, equivalent to the Frencheu, being often followed by an e or i, and thereby rendered doubly soft.
Finns freely employthouandthee, and add to these forms of endearment numerous suffixes. Human names, all animals, plants, metals, stones, trees—anything, in fact—can be used in the diminutive form.
Finnish is almost as difficult to learn as Chinese. Every noun has sixteen cases, and the suffixes alter so much, one hardly recognises the more complicated as the outcome of the original nominative. It takes, therefore, almost a lifetime to learn Finnish thoroughly, although the structureof their sentences is simple, and, being a nation little given to gush, adverbs and adjectives are seldom used.
As an example of Finnish, we give the following table made out at our request, so that we might learn a few sentences likely to prove useful when travelling in the less-frequented parts of the country—every letter is pronounced as written.
The foregoing are all in the objective case; in the nominative they would be:—
Liha, Maito, Leipä, Voi, Kahvi, Sokeri, Kala, Muna, Olut.
The numeration table is as follows:—
To show the difficulties of the declensions, we take, as an example, the ordinary word land.
Declensions of the word Maa=Land.
Is such a declension not enough to strike terror to the stoutest heart?
But now to return to theKalevalaitself, which is said to be one of the grandest epic poems in existence. The wordKalevalameans "Land of heroes," and it is undoubtedly a poem of nature-worship. It points to a contest between Light and Darkness, Good and Evil, and in this case the Light and Good are represented by the Finns, the Darkness and Evil by the Laps. Although it is a poem of nature-worship, full of most wonderful descriptions—some of the lines in praise of the moon and sun, the sea and water-ways, the rivers and hills, and the wondrous pine forests of Finland, are full of marvellous charm—it also tells the story of love, and many touching scenes are represented in its verses.
"It is unlike other epics," says Edward Clodd, "in the absence of any apotheosis of clique or clan or dynasty, and in the theatre of action being in no ideal world where the gods sit lonely on Olympus, apart from men. Its songs have a common author, the whole Finnish people; the light of common day, more than that of the supernatural, illumines them."
Before going further, it may be well to mention how theKalevalacame into existence. Finlandis thinly peopled, but every Finn is at heart musical and poetical; therefore, far removed from the civilised world, they made songs among themselves—fantastic descriptions of their own country. By word of mouth these poems were handed on from generation to generation, and generally sung to the accompaniment of thekantelein a weird sort of chant. By such means the wonderfulSagasof Iceland were preserved to us until the year 1270, when they first began to be written down on sheepskins, in Runic writing, for Iceland at that date shone as a glorious literary light when all was gloom around. By means of tales, and poems, and chanted songs, the Arabian Nights stories, so dearly loved by the Arabs, which as yet have not been collected as they should have been, are related even to-day by the professional story-tellers we have seen in the market-places of Morocco.
ProfessorElias Lönnrot, as mentioned in the last chapter, realising the value to scholars and antiquaries of the wonderful poems of Finland, so descriptive of the manners and customs of the Finns, set to work in the middle of the nineteenth century to collect and bring them out in book form before they were totally forgotten. This was a tremendous undertaking; he travelled through the wildest parts of Finland; disguised as a peasant, he walked from village to village, from homestead to homestead, living the life of the people, and collecting, bit by bit, the poems of his country. As in all mythological or gipsy tales, he found many versions of the same subject, for naturally verses handedon orally change a little in different districts from generation to generation. But he was not to be beaten by this extra amount of work, and finally wove into a connected whole the substance of the wondrous tales he had heard from the peasantry. This whole he calledKalevala, the name of the district where the heroes of the poem once existed. Gramophones will in future collect such treasures for posterity.
In 1835 the first edition appeared. It contained thirty-two runos or cantos of about twelve thousand lines, and the second, which was published in 1849, contained fifty runos or about twenty-two thousand eight hundred lines (seven thousand more than theIliad).
There is no doubt about it, experts declare, that the poems or verses were written at different times, but it is nearly all of pre-Christian origin, for, with the exception of a few prayers in the last pages, there are few signs of Christian influence.
No one knows exactly how these poems originated. Indeed, theKalevalais unique among epics, although distinct traces of foreign influence may occasionally be found, the Christian influence being only noticeable in the last runos when the Virgin's Son, the Child Christ, appears, after which adventWäinämöinendisappears for unknown lands. With this exception the entire poem is of much earlier date.
The last runo is truly remarkable.
"Mariatta, child of beauty," becomes wedded to a berry—