Through Finland in Carts Part 32

There are many such queer abodes in Finland, more especially in the _Savo_ or _Savolax_ districts there yet remain a large number of these _Savupirtti_, the name given to a chimneyless house in the nominative singular in Finnish, famous as we know for its sixteen cases, which so alter the original that to a stranger the word becomes unrecognisable.

To a foreigner these _Savupirtti_ are particularly interesting, and as we drove through the country we peeped into several of such curious homesteads, all more or less alike, and all absolutely identical in their poverty, homes which in 1912 only exist in the most remote districts.

Seeing a queer tumbledown little hovel without a chimney by the wayside, we called "_bur-r-r_" to the pony, which, like all good Scandinavian horses, immediately drew up, and, throwing down the knotted blue cotton reins, we hopped out, our student friend proceeding to take the top rail off the gate to admit of our clambering over the remaining bars. These strange loose fences are a speciality of Finland, and although they look so shaky and tumbledown, they withstand the winter storms, which is no slight matter. The same loose fences are to be found in the United States or Canada, but there they are made zig-zag, and called snake-fences. In Finland, the gates do not open; they are simply small pine trunks laid from one fence to the other, or any chance projecting bough, and when the peasant wants to open them, he pulls them out and wrecks the whole fragile construction. It saves locks and hinges, even nails, or, the native equivalent, tying with silver-birch twigs; but it is a ramshackle sort of contrivance nevertheless.

In we went to see a chimneyless cot. See, did we say? Nay, we could not see anything until our eyes became accustomed to the dim light. It was a tiny room, the stove occupying almost half the available s.p.a.ce; there was no proper chimney; the hole at the top did not always accomplish the purpose for which it was intended, consequently the place was black with ancient smoke, and suffocating with modern fumes. The floor was carpeted with whole birch boughs, the leaves of which were drying in the atmosphere as winter fodder for the one treasured cow. For the cow is a greater possession to the Finn than his pig to the Irishman. The other quarter of the room contained a loom, and the s.p.a.ce left was so limited we were not surprised that the dame found her little outside kitchen of much use. Two very small windows (not made to open) lighted the apartment; so how those folk saw during the long dark winter days was a mystery to us, for they made their own candles, they said, just as English folks formerly made dips, and we all know the illumination from dips is uncertain and not brilliant. Still smoke, want of ventilation, and scarcity of light did not seem to have made them blind, although it had certainly rendered them prematurely old.

Beyond was the bedroom, so low that a man could only stand upright in the middle; the wooden bed was folded away for the day, and the rough wooden table and bench denoted signs of an approaching meal, for a black bread loaf lay upon the table, and a wooden bowl of _piimaa_ was at hand.

Standing on the little barley patch which surrounded the house, we saw a sort of wigwam composed of loose fir-tree trunks. They leant against one another, spread out because of their greater size at the bottom, and narrowed to a kind of open chimney at the top. This was the housewife's extra kitchen, and there on a heap of stones a wood fire was smouldering, above which hung a cauldron for was.h.i.+ng purposes. How like the native wigwam of Southern climes was this Northern kitchen--in the latter case only available during the warm weather, but then the family was.h.i.+ng for the year is done in summer, and sufficient _rgbrod_ also baked for many months' consumption. Before we had finished inspecting this simple culinary arrangement, the housewife arrived. She was no blus.h.i.+ng maid, no beautiful fresh peasant girl. Blus.h.i.+ng, beautiful maids don't exist in Finland, for which want the Mongolian blood or the climate is to blame, as well as hard work. The girls work hard before they enter their teens, and at seventeen are quite like old women. The good body who welcomed us was much pleased to see visitors in her little _Savupirtti_, and delighted to supply us with fresh milk, for, in spite of their terrible poverty, these _torppari_ possessed a cow--who does not in Finland?--wherein lies the source of their comparative wealth. The Highland crofter, on the other hand, rarely owns even a pig!

Naturally the advent of three _karra_ created considerable sensation, and the old woman had immediately hurried to call her husband, so that he also might enjoy a look at the strangers. Consequently, he stood in the doorway awaiting our arrival.

Of course they neither of them wore any shoes or stockings. Even the richer peasants, who possess shoes or fur-lined boots for winter use, more often than not walk barefoot in the summer, while stockings are unknown luxuries, a piece of rag occasionally acting as a subst.i.tute.

The old lady's short serge skirt was coa.r.s.ely woven, her white s.h.i.+rt was loose and clean, her ap.r.o.n was striped in many colours, after the native style, and all were "woven by herself," she told us with great pride. On her hair she wore a black cashmere kerchief. Her face might have belonged to a woman of a hundred, or a witch of the olden days, it was so wrinkled and tanned. Her hands were hard and h.o.r.n.y, and yet, after half an hour's conversation, we discovered she was only about fifty-five, and her man seventy. But what a very, very old pair they really seemed. Weather-beaten and worn, poorly fed during the greater part of their lives, they were emaciated, and the stooping shoulders and deformed hands denoted hard work and a gray life. They seemed very jolly, nevertheless, this funny old pair. Perhaps it was our arrival, or perhaps in the warm sunny days they have not time to look on the dark side of things while gathering in the little tufts of gra.s.s that grow among the rocky boulders, drying birch leaves for the cow for winter, attending to the small patch of rye--their greatest earthly possession--or mending up the _Savupirtti_ ere the first snows of October are upon them, that made them so cheerful.

The old woman was much more romantically inclined than the man. The Finnish character is slow and does not rush into speech; but a friendly pat on one grandchild's head, and a five-penni piece to the other, made our hostess quite chirpy. "May G.o.d's blessing accompany your journey,"

she said at parting; "may He protect the English ladies."

We got into cordial relations by degrees, and our friend the student, seeing a piece of woven band hanging up, asked its use.

"Ah," she answered, "that was one of the pieces the bridegroom gave to his groomsmen."

She was greatly delighted at our evident interest in her concerns, and told us how her son, when about twenty, met with a girl of another village, and took a fancy to her. (By law a girl must be fifteen, and a boy eighteen, and able to prove they have something to live on before they can marry.)

"He saw her many times, and decided to ask her to be his wife," she continued. "He had met the girl when he was working at her father's house, so he sent a _puhemies_, or spokesman, to ask for the girl's hand."

This personage is generally chosen from among the intended bridegroom's best friends, as in the days of _Kalevala_, and usually is possessed of a ready tongue. The _puhemies_ still plays a very important role, for not only does he ask for the girl's hand (while the suitor sits like a mute), but he is obliged to help at the wedding ceremony and feast, and also has to provide, from his own purse, brandy and coffee for all the guests.

After the proposal was accepted, our old friend told us there was an exchange of rings, her son got his bride such a splendid wide gold band--much wider than hers--and it was arranged that they would marry when the man had collected enough goods, and the girl had woven sufficient linen and stuffs to stock the little home.

"Of course," exclaimed the voluble old lady, "my son gave the _kihlarahat_."

"What is that?" we asked.

"Why, it is a sort of deposit given to the girl's father to show he really means to marry the girl. A cow, or something of that sort, denotes he is in earnest, and my son also gave money to the girl herself to buy things for their future household."

"How long were they engaged?"

"Two years--for we are poor, and it took that time to collect enough to get married. Ah, but the marriage was a grand thing, it was," and the old hag chuckled to herself at the remembrance.

All these things and many more the proud mother told us, till at last she became completely engrossed in the tale of her son's wedding. He was her only boy, and she talked of him and of his doings with as much pride as if he had been the greatest hero of this or any century. She informed us how, a month before the wedding, the young couple had gone to the pastor dressed in their best, the _puhemies_, of course, accompanying them, and there arranged to have the banns read three Sundays in the bride's district. We were struck by this strange resemblance to our own customs, and learnt that the publication of banns is quite universal in Finland.

"The wedding was here," she went on, warming to her narrative, "for, naturally, the wedding always takes place at the bridegroom's house."

Looking round at the extremely small two-roomed hovel, we wondered how it was possible to have _laksiaiset_ or _polterabend_, as our German friends call the festival before the wedding, at this bridegroom's house, for the one little sitting-room and the one little bedroom combined did not cover a larger s.p.a.ce of ground than an ordinary billiard table.

"It is a very expensive thing to get married," she continued, "and my son had to give many presents to the _Appi_ (father-in-law), _Anoppi_ (mother-in-law), _Morsianpiiat_ (bridesmaids), _Sulhasrengit_ (groomsmen), etc."

Knowing the poverty of the place and the distance from a town where goods could be purchased, we enquired the sort of presents he gave.

"To all the bridesmaids," she said, "he gave _Sukat_ (stockings), that being the fas.h.i.+on of the country, to the groomsmen he gave _paita_ (s.h.i.+rts), to his mother-in-law, the _Anoppi_, he gave _vaatteet_ (dress), and to the _Appi_ he gave a _vyo_ (belt). Then to various other friends he distributed _huivit_ (head handkerchiefs)," and altogether the wedding became a very serious drain on the family resources.

"But oh! it was a lovely time," she exclaimed rapturously. "A wedding is a splendid thing. We had a feast all that day and the next day, and then the priest came and they were married."

"Did many friends come to the wedding?" we ventured to ask.

"Oh yes, certainly, every one we knew came from miles round. Some brought a can of milk, and some brought corn brandy, and others brought _grot_ (porridge), and _Jarvinen_ had been to _Iisalmi_, so he brought back with him some white bread. Ay, it was a grand feast," and she rubbed her hands again and again, and positively smacked her lips at the recollection of the festival. "We danced, and ate, and sang, and made merry for two days, and then we all walked with my son and his bride to that little _torp_ on the other side of the wood, and left them there, where they have lived ever since."

"Do you generally stay long in the same house in Finland?"

"Of course," she replied, "I came here when I was a bride, and I shall never leave it till I am a corpse."

This led to her telling us of the last funeral in the neighbourhood. A man died, and, according to custom, he was laid out in an outhouse. The coffin, made by a peasant friend, was brought on a sledge, and, it being March with snow on the ground--"to the rumble of a snow sledge swiftly bounding," as they say in _Kalevala_. The corpse on the fourth day was laid in the coffin, and placed in front of the house door. All the friends and relatives arrived for the final farewell. Each in turn went up to the dead man; the relations kissed him (it will be remembered the royal party kissed the corpse of the late Tzar before his funeral in the Fortress Church at St. Petersburg), and his friends all shook him by the hand. Then the coffin was screwed down, laid across a pony's back, to which it was securely strapped, and away they all trudged to the cemetery to bury their friend.

She went on to tell us of a curious old fas.h.i.+on in Finland, not altogether extinct. During the time that a corpse is being laid out and washed, professional women are engaged to come and sing "the corpse song." This is a weird melancholy chant, joined in by the relations as far as they are able, but chiefly undertaken by the paid singers. This confirmed what two of the _Runo_ singers at _Sordavala_ had told us, that they were often hired out to perform this lament, and, as we were much interested in such a quaint old custom, we asked them at the time if they would repeat it for us. They seemed delighted. The two women stood up opposite one another, and each holding her handkerchief over her eyes, rolled herself backwards and forwards, slowly singing the melancholy dirge the while. They had a perfect fund of song these _Runo_ women, of whom our friend at the _Savupirtti_ constantly reminded us; we told her that they had recited how _Wainamoinen_ had made himself a _Kantele_ out of the head of a pike, and how he had played upon it so beautifully that the tears had welled to his own eyes until they began to flow, and as his tears fell into the sea the drops turned into beautiful pearls.

We asked the old dame if she could sing?

"Oh yes," and without more ado this _prima donna_ sang a song about a girl sitting at a bridge waiting for her lover. It ran--_Annuka_, the maid of _bo_, sat at the end of the bridge waiting for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words. Out of the sea came a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves with a golden helmet, a golden cloak upon his shoulders, golden gloves upon his hands, golden money in his pockets, and bridal trinkets such as formerly were given to all Finnish brides.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _bo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _bo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves with a silver helmet, a silver cloak upon his shoulders, silver gloves upon his hands, silver money in his pockets, and silver bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _bo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _bo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves with a copper helmet, a copper cloak upon his shoulders, copper gloves upon his hands, copper money in his pockets, and copper bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _bo_?"

"I do not want to, and I will not come," she answers.

_Annuka_, the maid of _bo_, sits at the end of the bridge, and waits for a man after her own mind, a man with tender words.

Out of the sea comes a man, a watery form out of the depths of the waves with an iron helmet, an iron cloak upon his shoulders, iron gloves upon his hands, iron money in his pockets, and iron bridal trinkets.

"Will you come with me, _Annuka_, fair maid of _bo_?"