Through Finland in Carts

Then was built the large modern red brick schoolhouse at Savonlinna– a fortress of learning to take the place of the old Castle, and to teach the people that "the pen is indeed mightier than the sword."

One of us twain dreamed again! Saw the Castle built by Erik Tott, a member of one of the greatest Finnish-Swedish families, and read the inscription —

Anno Domini 1475 leth iag Erik Axelsson Ridder i Lagnö, bygia thette Slåt, Gud till loff, Christum, helga Christna tro till styrkielse, och thå var hustra min Elin Götstaffsdotter i Lagmansöö.

Translation —

Anno Domini 1475 let Erik, son of Axel Knight of Lagnö, build this Castle to the Glory of God, to strengthen the Holy Christian Faith in Christ: and then was my wife's name Elin, daughter of Götstaff4 in Lagmansöö.

That weary traveller saw the indignation at its erection at Nyslott, just within the Russian limits of the frontier, saw the five splendid towers finished, of which three now remain, and the Bastion Dick properly rebuilt.

And then all grew suddenly dark, and, in a deeper sleep, that dreamer groped along the gloomy subterranean passage, said to run from the clock tower to the town, seemed to hear the rushing water, a hundred and twenty feet deep at this point, tearing like a cataract overhead, peered into those many strange dark chambers, and hearkened, appalled, to the piercing shrieks of those two wretched men bricked up together in yonder small chamber, in darkness till death brought relief.

What a life, and what a death! Four stone walls round a room about six feet by ten – with an earthen floor and a low ceiling – no window for light, no stove for warmth in that bitterly cold land.

Half waking from troubled slumber the weary traveller shivered to think of the horror that had been enacted so close to her elaborately carved bedstead and its lumpy mattress.

How hot it still was! The day had been almost tropical, but it is a merciful provision of Providence that all days, even one beginning at four A.M., must end at last, and as I, the nineteenth century traveller, the "elderly scribe," aroused myself sufficiently to shake off those terrible visions of a cruel past, I realised it was getting on for midnight. I heard our friend going to rest in his chapel-chamber, and, turning over, tried to go to sleep. How quiet everything was! Except for the gnawing of the rats or mice under the floor – no unusual sound in an old castle, of course – and so unconsciousness came – I slept – yes, I slept – till —

Ah! what was that! Was it? yes, it was – some one calling; and yet it could not be.

The custodians had both retired to their kitchen to rest I knew – for had I not heard them trudging upstairs to seek their improvised couches long before? – and yet, most certainly, a loud strange call had broken the silence of night. Was it, really uttered by a human being, or could it be – no, no, of course not. A spirit? Ridiculous! The very idea was preposterous, and, lying down again, I argued how absurd were such fears, how I had been simply dreaming; over-fatigued after a long day's travel – how, in fact, my mind was disorganised, and the best thing to do was to fall asleep at once. At that moment a tremendous peal of thunder broke overhead, while, simultaneously, the whole room was flooded with light. It played over the walls, it danced over the floor, and then a clap more tremendous than the first seemed to shake the very building. Yet through the roll of heaven's artillery I heard that hideous weird cry distinctly audible.

Starting up again in response, I began to think sleeping in a haunted castle was not such fun after all; that there must be something very uncanny about Nyslott, more especially when a strange door creaked on its hinges, that sort of rasping squeak one associates with the opening of a door generally kept firmly closed – and muffled feet pattered over the stairs.

Nearer came the sound, nearer, yet nearer. My heart jumped into my mouth, it ceased almost to beat as the strange footsteps stopped on the very threshold of our room. "Oh!" I gasped, thinking that in another moment spirit fingers would turn the handle, and a ghostly figure enter the room. What form would it take? Would the phantom be man or woman – tall or short – an assassin, murderer, or victim? Yes, the steps had ceased at our very door, and the next moment they would be upon us.

But after that brief pause the muffled patter passed on, it became more and more indistinct, and again all was still.

What a relief! it was perhaps nothing after all – imagination, hallucination probably, but nothing real – nothing any way to fear.

Stay though! The voice, a voice, another voice unheard before, spoke in murmured accents, and then a deeper bass than that which had previously called shouted again and again in muffled reply.

This was too horrible!

It must be a ghost; nay, not even a single ghost but two, and what chance had one poor living woman and a sleeping girl against such odds from the spirit land?

The whole thing, even at Nyslott, seemed too terribly impossible; so I pinched myself to make sure I was awake, only to hear the awful footsteps – duplicated —coming back! By this time my sister was awake, and lazily asking "What is the matter?"

"H-st-st," I answered under my breath.

Thud, thud – the mysterious footsteps drew nearer and nearer —

They were almost again at our door, when absolutely petrified by fear, and clammy by reason of the awful Nyslott stories we had been told, we twain sat up straight feeling creepy and cold all over.

The footsteps came on apace, and we held our breath, thinking our time had come; but was it? could it be? Yes, yes, thank heaven it was! We recognised the voice of our own custodian talking softly to his comrade.

It was no ghost after all! only the under Vahtimestari who, having spent the evening on shore, shouted as usual to be admitted. It was his strange voice echoing through those empty corridors and vaulted chambers that had waked us from our first sleep. His cries not being heard by reason of thunder roaring and rolling, he had called and called again with increasing energy till admitted.

What an unromantic ending to a most weird story, with every surrounding at hand, every element ready except the actual ghost himself! A happy ending. Stay, now it is over, I almost wish the ending had been less happy and more romantic.

Woman is seldom satisfied, and man never! One woman, however, I am not ashamed to say, was never in all her previous life so frightened as during that midnight hour at Nyslott.

Happy days followed after this terrifying episode. We explored dark chambers with a candle and matches, we cooked coffee on the stove for breakfast, and boiled eggs in an enormous tea-kettle, aided in our pleasant toil by two smiling much-interested watchmen, and afterwards ate our meal among tangled shrubs in a courtyard shaded from the sun's heat by a linden tree.

We idled generally; wrote letters, scribbled up our diaries, chatted or made sketches in the Bastion Dick with its eight windows, each of which are at the narrow end of a wall measuring fifteen feet thick, thus forming the deep recesses of a large octagonal chamber with long benches stretching down the side of each of the fifteen feet walls. A wondrous and remarkable hall, always cool even on a hot day with its windowless look-outs over that beautiful lake.

Up the centre of this huge hall was a column of solid masonry coming from the chamber below, and rising some thirty feet to support the arched roof.

We enjoyed it all; but, be it owned, the life was very primitive, and to many people would have seemed ghastly.

For dinner (which is always between two and four in Finland), we were obliged to cross to the Kasino or Societetzhuset (Hotel), our commissariat and chef de cuisine not rising to the requirements of such a meal.

We learnt how ugly ordinary small Finnish towns are, with their one-storey wooden houses, ill-paved roads, totally devoid of side paths – how very like cheap wooden Noah's arks, such as children have; all straight and plain with glaring windows painted round with white paint, no gardens of any kind, while every casement is blocked with a big indiarubber plant. Generally they possess a huge stone or brick school-house, large enough to contain all the thousand inhabitants in the district, instead of the town's two hundred children, but then it is built ready for contingencies.

All this hideous inartistic modernity contrasted sadly with the massive beauty and vast strength of our castellated home.

Nyslott, as already said, is famous for its baths, which are a great institution, and charmingly arranged – douche baths, steam, mud, swimming, etc., and about forty or fifty little private rooms, some containing sofas – and at least a dozen women to attend to the comfort of visitors. They are regular Finnish bathing-women, wearing the ordinary uniform of their calling, viz. a thick blue serge skirt, red flannel outside stays, opening at the lacing in front and showing the white cotton chemise that is de rigueur, cut low at the neck and with quite short sleeves, a very pretty simple dress that allows great freedom to the arms when massaging, one of the important items of every Finnish bath.

We always returned to our castellated home for our evening meal, and, armed with a basket containing sardines, bread, butter, cold tongue, or ham, delicious cakes or fruit for dessert, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Our table in the courtyard was gray with age, and notched with the initials of young Philistines of former generations. We had no cloth, why should we; our forefathers ate without cloths and were happy nevertheless. We had a large brown earthenware pot, such as is used as a bread pan in England, at the head of the table filled with milk, which we served by dipping a cup into its depths. A mat of birch bark was our bread trencher, a cabbage leaf our butter dish, for although we had plates and knives and forks, cups and tumblers, there were not enough to accommodate the many articles displayed upon our liberal board.

The pigeons generally joined us at our meal, and seemed to know when we sallied forth in solemn procession, each with a black tin tray, what coming event was casting its shadow before, for they began to arrive whenever they heard the first rattle of cups and saucers. Our feathered friends guessed intuitively that scraps would immediately follow the pleasant music, more delectable than any the Castle had hitherto furnished. If our bedroom was quaint, our youthful Grandpapa's was quainter.

Never was there a more strange sleeping-chamber than the old church where Grandpapa reposed on a mattress on the floor. It was a long narrow room with windows on both sides, the only place which boasted real windows except our own room, and the wee kitchen in that rambling old Olavin Linna.

Although this church had been Catholic, Lutheran, and Greek, and then Lutheran again, all that remained of decoration were the remnants of an altar, at the far end, above which hung a large picture of the Crucifixion, and below a representation of the Lord's Supper; both badly painted, if one might judge from the scant colour remaining on the canvas. On one side stood a pulpit with a top like an extinguisher, much the worse for wear; formerly it had been painted all over with bright colours, the panels of the saints being surrounded by garish festoons and queer designs. In the opposite corner of the room was a very remarkable representation of Our Lord, with the five foolish virgins on one side, and the five wise ones on the other. It was a truly wonderful picture, for all the arms were out of drawing and all the heads too big for the bodies, and every one of the faces hideous. But even more wonderful than all the rest was the dado painted on a wooden panelling which ran round the church. The background was pale green, and the persons represented were prophets, apostles, and saints in the most rude form of art. Finnish art about a hundred and fifty years ago closely resembled the very earliest examples known of the Italian, only it was yet a hundredfold more primitive. But then, we presume, the village artist had never really seen a good picture in his life, and had nothing to go by.

On the panels were the following: —

P. Isak (P. standing for Pylia = saint), dressed in a blue kilt, with black top boots, a red cape, and a black billycock hat!

P. Jacob, who was next to him, wore brown knickerbockers and long stockings, a red and blue plaid, and a red felt hat.

P. Samuel had a hat like a Jewish Rabbi and a long black cloak.

Judas Iskariot a most wonderful red head and beard, and carried in his hand a Finnish peasant's tobacco pouch.

But the most wonderful was Noak or Noah in blue and white tartan knickerbockers with a short kilt above them, carrying a red cloak and black slouch hat over his arm.

At the end of the room, opposite the altar, was a sort of wide wooden stair, on which prisoners used to sit during service at the commencement of the nineteenth century.

We bathed in that hot weather from the rock on which Nyslott is built, and enjoyed the cool water amazingly. To find a safe spot, however, from which to make our plunge proved a difficulty, and one we had to solve for ourselves.

Leaving the main and only entrance of the Castle, and descending some wide steps leading to the water edge, bathing dresses and towels in hand, we found a little ledge of stone-work barely twelve inches broad, just above the level of the lake. Literally only a foothold. Any nervous person inclined to turn giddy would hardly have dared to venture along such a path at all. But it led to the only spot where we could stand on solid earth outside the Castle walls, so completely did the edifice cover the rock on which it was built. A gust of wind at the turn of the tower almost blew us over, it was so sudden and unexpected.

After climbing on in this way for a short while we came to a little cove between two towers, with enough land for three or four trees to find soil to grow on, and beneath them a perfect bed of wild strawberries. It was a very small and very primitive bath chamber, but trees afforded shade from the sun's powerful rays, and two massive walls shut us in from curious eyes.

Near the Castle gate the water was smooth, but the current round other parts of the battlements was great, and almost baffled the wonderful swimming powers of Grandpapa and his friend, the delightful student who joined us at Nyslott, fresh from his newly-won honours at the University. They swam round it – but they had a struggle to accomplish their feat.

Our student was a great acquisition to the party, though many scenes we lived together were not altogether devoid of embarrassment. We spoke English, French, and German, but he knew no language that we knew. For his University work he had learned book-German, and could read it well, but he had never heard it spoken, and his tongue had never framed the words. Still, with this solid foundation, we soon taught him, and at the end of the three weeks that he spent with us, we flatter ourselves his German was excellent! Many a laugh we had over his deliciously amusing struggles, and, in spite of being a Finlander, he laughed too.

We also had many quaint linguistic adventures with our "hotel keeper."

That custodian was a poet – a real live poet. He used to disappear for hours; and we wondered where he was, until one fine day, as we rowed home to our enchanted Castle, we saw a man on the top of the watch tower waving his arms and gesticulating with dramatic gestures into space. This was our Vahtimestari. From his exalted position, with one of the most beautiful panoramas eye could wish lying at his feet – resting on a famous battlement, that had withstood the ravages of love and war – he evolved his magic verse. Truly no scene could be more inspiring, no motive more sublime, for even we humble humdrum matter-of-fact Englishwomen felt almost inspired to tempt the poet's muse. But happily no – our friends are spared – the passion was but fleeting.

One day our Vahtimestari met us all smiles. We could not quite understand what he meant, but Grandpapa and our student told us some strange news as soon as the Vahtimestari had imparted it to them.

It seemed that a party of people had rung the bell on the shore for the Castle boat to go to fetch them, so, accordingly, our nocturnal host had gone across to earn his penny per head for ferrying them over. A papa, mamma, son, and daughters, with a couple of acquaintances, comprised the party. They calmly owned they had not come to see the Castle – they had seen it before. They had come to see the English ladies. Was it really true that two Englishwomen were staying there as the papers stated? Had they actually come from London? What were they like? What did they do? And why on earth did they sleep among the ghosts and hobgoblins?

Then, in a hushed voice and with subdued breath they asked —

"Are they mad?"

"No," the man answered, "he didn't think they were, they seemed much like other folk."

"Could they talk."

"Not Finnish; but they understand a little Swedish, and talk French and German with their friends."

"Did they do anything very remarkable or strange?"

"No. They cook their breakfast, and afterwards eat it; write, work, sketch, and bathe; in fact, they are ordinary people and seem quite sane."

"Could they see the strange ladies?"

"He was afraid not, as they were on shore."

"Might they see where they slept?"

"Certainly," replied the Vahtimestari.

And on reaching the room they exclaimed —

"Why, this is an ordinary room with windows, how very disappointing," whereupon, much distressed and disillusioned, they turned and departed.

At this very time we were walking on the promenade in front of the bath-houses, where a nice fat comfortable-looking old gentleman stood before me, and cap in hand asked in English —

"Excuse me, do you like Finland?"

"Very much," I replied, smiling at the question; "but why do you ask?"

"I am a Finn – we all are Finns, and we are very proud of our country, about which most of Europe knows nothing, or at least next to nothing, and I am desirous to hear what you think of it all?"

"I am delighted with it. But again I must ask why you inquire?"

"Because we all know about you from the newspapers (not one word of which we could read ourselves), and we are very anxious you should like us and our land, and tell the people in England we are not barbarians as they suppose. Please excuse my speaking to you, but I am the spokesman of many, who will be delighted to hear you are satisfied, and wish you a pleasant journey. If a stranger may be so bold – I thank you for coming."

"Finland certainly deserves to be better known," I replied.

"You think so? oh, I am glad;" and after a few minutes more conversation he said, "I hope you will enjoy Punkaharju."

"How do you know I am going to Punkaharju?"

"I heard so, and that you are actually living in our Castle, and that you are going through the country to Uleåborg."

I almost collapsed; but he was so nice and so smiling I dared not be angry at his somewhat inquisitive interest in my movements.

On another occasion it was an elderly general who calmly sat down and addressed me in German, in order to inquire what I was going to write, how I was going to write it, and when it would appear.

These are only three instances of several, all showing the keen interest of the people that the land may be known and the Finlander a little better understood than he is by half the world to-day, who seem to imagine him to be a cross between a Laplander and an Esquimo – instead of what he really is, a very cultured gentleman.

My sister eased the troubles of life for me by kindly doing the packing; but once, so she says, virtue seized me in a rigid grip – and I packed.

It was at Olavin Linna– at our Castle. We were leaving next day, and one Gladstone had to be filled with things we did not want for a short time, and the other to be packed with everything we required immediately.

I worked hard. Sorted everything; filled the Gladstone with clean linen, guide books, foods, papers, etc., strapped it, and then, feeling the incarnation of industry and pride, threw myself on that precious deck-chair to rest and read.

Presently my sister danced into the room. I told her of my virtue, received her congratulations and thanks, beamed with delight at my success, and answered her question as to the whereabouts of her bathing cap that "I had never seen it."

"Strange," she said, "I feel sure I left it on the window-sill to dry last night as usual, and it has gone, and I want a swim."

We both looked. We went down into the courtyard and scrambled among the lilac bushes immediately below the window. Finally, we decided it had been left on the tree at the bathing ground the night before. So off she went round that dangerous edge to find the cap. It was not there.

We called Grandpapa – Grandpapa called the Vahtimestari– the Vahtimestari called his under man; every one explained to every one else what was missing. At last the custodian remarked —

"Oh, now I understand what you mean; that sponge bag which lies beside the bathing dresses to dry; I didn't know what you meant by 'cap to bathe.'"

"Yes, yes, that is it," replied Grandpapa; "where is it?"

"I don't know."

"But it must be found. This lady dives and swims under water, and her long hair would get wet without it."

And so we looked, and looked, and all looked again.

"Let us go and buy another," remarked my sister in desperation.

"Impossible," replied our student, who had now joined in the search, "you might get one in Helsingfors, but nowhere else."

We were in despair. Before evening the whole town had heard of the English ladies' strange loss, and the bathing cap was as much commented upon as though it had been a dynamite bomb.

Confession, they say, is good for the soul. Then let me own my sin. The next day that bathing cap was found —I had packed it up!

Wherefore my sister on all inconvenient occasions says —

"Yes, she packed once; she put away everything we wanted, and left out everything we had no use for."

How cruelly frank one's relations are!

Alas! my haunted Castle is restored, and the revels of the ghosts and the goblins are now disturbed by the shrieks and snorts of the modern locomotive.