Through Finland in Carts Part 24

During the first night of our stay at _Nyslott_ one of us lay and dreamed a semi-waking dream, in which the old rock--Nature's fortress--appeared in the lake bleak, bare, grim, and lonely until 1475, when the first stones of _Olavin Linna_ were laid. After that the scene suddenly shifted, and the b.l.o.o.d.y battles of 1743, when _Nyslott_ was taken by the Russians, were again fought for the benefit of a new spectator, only, as it seemed, for the Castle to be given back four years later to Finland! A very curious reminiscence to occur to any person's mind between "sleeping and waking." Later on, that over-tired traveller mused dreamily on the three periods of history, pictured scenes during the two hundred and sixty-eight years of Swedish sovereignty, the half century under Russian sway, and the more modern happenings under Finnish rule, its troubles practically ended in 1871, from which date they have been but a souvenir in the history of Europe.

_Olavin Linna_ was the spot around which three different races met and struggled; the Russians, the Finns, and the Swedes. The Russians with their superior numbers, their riches, and their sharpness, pushed the Finns towards the North and took their country, the now northern half of Russia in Europe. The Swedes came and conquered the Slavs; founded a dynasty and called their State Russia (_i.e._ Sweden, _Ruotsi_ being the Finnish name for Sweden to this day). The Swedes also conquered the remaining part of ancient Finland, and introduced Christianity, and the strong and freedom-loving Scandinavian law.

The struggle now remained between the Scandinavians and the Slavs--between a democratic and courageous race and an oligarchic and diplomatic one. Then our Castle--our own--for had we not conquered it?--was built on the frontier to resist the inroads of the Slavs. But again the Russians were triumphant. Sweden succ.u.mbed, while Russia took the remainder of ancient Finland. Since then Russia has become a great power.

Alexander I. granted to that part of Finland, imbued with Scandinavian law, the privilege of considering itself a nation, and continuing its former laws and government. Under this state of things the country grew prosperous. It arose and shook itself from its dormant existence of the previous six hundred years, collected its own traditions, and worked hard for education, so that it might continue a distinct race.

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

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

_Anno Domini 1475 leth iag Erik Axelsson Ridder i Lagno, bygia thette Slt, Gud till loff, Christum, helga Christna tro till styrkielse, och th var hustra min Elin Gotstaffsdotter i Lagmansoo._

Translation--

Anno Domini 1475 let Erik, son of Axel Knight of Lagno, build this Castle to the Glory of G.o.d, to strengthen the Holy Christian Faith in Christ: and then was my wife's name Elin, daughter of Gotstaff[D] in Lagmansoo.

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 d.i.c.k_ properly rebuilt.

And then all grew suddenly dark, and, in a deeper sleep, that dreamer groped along the gloomy subterranean pa.s.sage, 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 a.s.sociates with the opening of a door generally kept firmly closed--and m.u.f.fled 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 a.s.sa.s.sin, 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 m.u.f.fled patter pa.s.sed 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 ba.s.s than that which had previously called shouted again and again in m.u.f.fled 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 sh.o.r.e, 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 d.i.c.k_ 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 cas.e.m.e.nt 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 ma.s.sive beauty and vast strength of our castellated home.

_Nyslott_, as already said, is famous for its baths, which are a great inst.i.tution, 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 ma.s.saging, 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, b.u.t.ter, 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 b.u.t.ter 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 sc.r.a.ps 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 billyc.o.c.k 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_.