Through Finland in Carts

Although this does not sound high remuneration, it must be remembered that salaries and expenses are proportionately low in Suomi.

Every woman entering the University must obtain permission from the Chancellor. He always grants it now, though formerly he often refused. There are, in 1912, 730 women out of a total of 3030 students – that is, 24 per cent.

There is no general annual fee at the University; at matriculation every student pays thirty-six shillings, and there is a small extra charge for the use of the laboratories; and, of course, students needing special instruction in any particular subject pay their professor a separate fee, about a pound per annum. In addition there are small fees for the examinations.

Men and women pay exactly the same, and enter for the same examinations, working side by side. The first woman to take a degree at the University (bacca laureate) was Fröken Emma Irene Aström in 1873, when she was appointed professor (lector) at one of the seminaries for the education of folk-school teachers.

In 1884 the Finnish Women's Association was formed, having obtained permission from the State for their name. Their object is to work for the elevation of their sex, intellectually and morally, and to better women's social and economical position.

Thirty years have seen the formation of many such societies; perhaps the greatest of them is an association called "Martha," similar to our English Mothers' Union. Its purpose is to approach the different classes and to heighten the standard of life among the poor by developing the women's ability in housekeeping and educating their children. It is spread all over the country, and has more than a hundred and fifty affiliated associations.

As we have already noticed, women follow many occupations which in the British islands are regarded as entirely men's employments – bricklaying, carpentry, paper-hanging, slaughtering, ship-loading, were all to be found in the returns, when I was in the country, under women's work. In public offices they were constantly employed long before women in Britain were recognised as capable of doing clerical work on a large scale; and even now, while our banks are staffed entirely by men, women in Finland are largely employed as clerks in banks as well as in insurance offices. They monopolise the telephone, and are in great request as compositors.

But turning to the more domestic duties of women; the Finns are as thorough in these as in other branches of education. It was at one time rather a fashion for the young ladies of Finland to go over to Sweden and enter what is called a Hushållskola, the literal translation of which is a "household school." They are taught cooking, laundry-work, weaving, dressmaking, house-maid's work, everything, in fact, that a woman could possibly want to know if she were left without any servants, or even on a desert island. They are practically instructed how to garden, they are sent marketing, they are taught to fish, and, having landed their prey, how to clean and cook it. In fact, they are fitted to be maids-of-all-work, skilled labourers and sportsmen, at one and the same time.

The full course occupies about eighteen months, and met with such success in Sweden that Finlanders have now organised several Hushållskola in Finland itself.

In 1799 one Wibeleins started a sort of technical education scheme. He printed books to further the weaving trade, gave prizes for spun thread, etc., to encourage the old trade then dying away – for women in the time of Kalevala wove, embroidered, spun, and worked in silver and bronze, at least so say the bards. Indeed, in 1529, Åbo linen was so famous that it was always used by the King of Sweden, therefore it is not surprising that weaving is still quite a pastime among Finnish ladies, and every cottager knows how to ply her shuttle. Where it has fallen into disuse women go about the country to teach and revive the decaying industry.

It is very sad when old trades disappear in rural districts, for nothing can take their place. No modern factories are started near at hand to employ the folk, and the result is they give up their old occupations and too often do not take to new instead. For instance, the once famous lace of Raumo, formerly sent in large quantities to Sweden and Russia (the thread came from England), was almost a forgotten art; but as with us, care has been taken to restore these old local industries, and Raumo lace-making is now in a most flourishing state.

The many employments open to women do not make the more fortunate forget those in trouble. Nursing the sick is a favourite profession in Finland, the emolument varying from two to six hundred marks per annum, in addition to board, etc.

Massage is a very old institution, so ancient that every village since the olden times has had at least one rubbing woman, as they call her. In the country they are generally given food in payment, but in towns from twenty-five penni to a mark for the time occupied. So many women do massage that really every one seems to know something about it, and one almost feels that massage must have originated in Suomi. It is certainly a great feature of Finnish life; and in addition to these massage women, who work for next to nothing, and who are merely peasant women, there are now everywhere in Finland highly trained masseuses, or, as they prefer to be called, "sick-gymnasts."

The University maintains courses, lasting for three years, for the training of such "sick-gymnasts," and the pupils are very often ladies from the best families. A qualified "sick-gymnast" often gets a remunerative practice, and may make an annual income of 10,000 marks or more.

The physical development of women is given a high place in the school curriculum in Finland, as was instanced in the Olympic games at Stockholm in 1912, when a group of Finnish girls proved by their suppleness of body and gymnastic proficiency that the traditions of Southern Greece are ably maintained to-day in Finland in the North.

One must not leave the subject of women in Suomi without touching upon their achievements in literature and the sister arts.

The earliest woman writer was Sarah Wacklin (1790-1846), who has left a valuable record of Finnish life in the first years of the nineteenth century. Her successors took up the question of the rights of women, and their emancipation; and the works of Mrs. Fredrika Runeberg (1807-1879) and Miss Adelaide Ehrnroth both set forth the arguments of the cause most strongly, not only in articles and pamphlets, but in novels of a high standard.

Since then many women have entered their names on the roll of the country's literature, and, strangely enough, the two girls I chaperoned through Finland – for, of course, being married I could act as a chaperone – were so inspired by the work of writing and its manifold interests, that both of them took to the pen later, and one is known to-day as Paul Waineman, and the other as Baroness Léonie Aminoff.

When we went to Kuopio we hoped to meet Minna Canth, one of the first Finnish writers in the country, whose powers as a dramatist we had learnt at Sordavala. We inquired where she lived, and found that she had a drapery store.

Every one in Finland works in some way, and, all work being considered honourable, the shopkeeper is equal to the noble.

Minna Canth's husband died some years ago, and being left with a family, she started this store, and certainly, when one realised that she was a woman with children to look after, that she wrote much – which we know takes time – it is perfectly wonderful how she could find energy and leisure to look after her shop. Yet it was so, and the business was in a most flourishing condition.

Finnish lady artists for the first time received international prizes and medals at the great World's Exhibition in Paris in the year 1889.

Of the achievements of Finland's women artists during the last twenty years I must not write in detail, for Finland has forged ahead in art as in other matters. At the time of my first visit, few Finnish women had devoted themselves to sculpture, and only one —Miss Sigrid af Forselles– had accomplished really good work. But to-day she no longer stands alone.

Already we see the first generation that benefited by the recognition of the power of women enjoying the prime of early manhood and womanhood; and it is certain that in the enormous upheaval in the old order of things that is going on all over the world, Suomi will hold her own in the forefront of education, for the learning of the mother must prove a valuable asset in moulding the characters of the citizens of the future.

CHAPTER XI

A HAUNTED CASTLE

The bells rang! It was four A.M. when the ship Concordia, which had been our home for thirty-six hours, arrived at Nyslott, one of the small towns which are sparsely scattered over Finland.

Nyslott is famous for two things: its very modern "bath cure" accompanied by a "kasino" – of which French watering-places need have no jealousy – and, by way of extreme from such modernity, its other attraction is an old ruined castle, built originally in 1475. The castle is the most perfect left in Finland, and its position is certainly the most picturesque, for it stands quite alone on an island of rock, round which the current forms endless whirlpools. It is built with sharp buttresses, and once had five towers, of which, alas, only three remain, but those three are very perfect.

What stories that castle could tell of wars and sieges, of Russian and Swedish possessors, of Catholic and Lutheran sway, and of cruelty too horrible to dwell upon, although one cannot help realising its possibilities after entering the little dark cell in which two men were built up to live together in darkness and in hunger till death ended their sufferings.

The Roman Catholic Chapel still remains; windowless, save for a small hole over the stone altar, which certainly suggests artificial light having been thrown from behind on some sacred relic or picture – a theatrical effect not unknown to that faith. Its uneven stone floor, and its niches for the sacramental cup, all remain in weird darkness to remind one of ages long gone by. In turn the Castle has been Catholic, Lutheran, and Greek – so three persuasions have had their sway, and each has left its mark.

Our thoughtful friend, Grandpapa, whom we had left a fortnight before at Rättijärvi, was waiting for us at Nyslott, or rather, a moment after the ship stopped at the quayside in the early dawn of morning, he arrived, accompanied by a man in a boat, one of those regular Finnish boats pointed at each end known as a kuiru.

"Where are we to live?" we called, over the side.

"In the Castle, as you wished," was the reply; and overjoyed at the prospect of anything so romantic, we quickly transferred ourselves and our baggage into the boat below.

"I'm very anxious about this arrangement," said our youthful old friend. "When I arrived a fortnight ago, and found there was not a room to be had in the town, I was in despair; after wandering from house to house, again I beseeched the little hotel to take me in; but even their sofas were occupied. However, determining not to leave Nyslott till I had seen the famous castle, I got a boat and rowed across. Veni, vidi, vici– for I persuaded the watchman to put me up for the night, and there I am still. When, yesterday, I could find no habitation for you, I reluctantly telegraphed that the town was full and I was only put up by the Vahtimestari of the Castle. Imagine my horror when I got your reply – 'Arrive 4 A.M., arrange stay Castle.'"

"Were you so very much horrified?" we laughed. "We thought it would be such fun, and so delightfully romantic."

"It was no fun to me. I felt utterly taken aback, and went off to consult an artist friend, who was painting the queer old place.

"'Nonsense, my dear fellow,' he said, 'you can't lodge ladies in this barrack. It's all very well for two watchmen, or for you, if you like, to rough it – but for women – nonsense, it is impossible.'

"'But,' I remarked, 'they are very enterprising, and one of them, who is writing a book, loves queer corners, odd experiences, and native life.'

"'I daresay,' replied he, 'but this Castle, I repeat, is impossible, especially for Englishwomen, who are all accustomed to much luxury.'

"Back into the town I went again to try for rooms, but without success. What was to be done? You were on the way, time was growing short, and I had arranged nothing. So once more to my watchman I returned and told him my awful dilemma, and the depths of my despair. He so thoroughly entered into the spirit of the thing, that he promised to do the best he could, and in an hour's time he had arranged for extra towels and a few necessaries to be sent over from the town."

"Delightful!" we exclaimed; "what a dear man! It is like a romance in a story book."

"But my story is not finished," Grandpapa replied, with a rueful face; "we had set to work to sweep, and brush, and clean with a will, in order to make the room more worthy of its occupants, when the Vahtimestari suddenly said —

"'I'm afraid, after all, you will have to go and get permission from the Mayor, or I may get into trouble for allowing ladies to sleep in this ruined Castle.'"

Here was an adventure. Our hearts quailed a little as we waited breathlessly for the finish of the story.

"I got into the boat," went on our friend, "pulled on shore, and set off to the Mayor, in order to obtain permission for you to sleep there. At first he sternly refused.

"'Ridiculous!' he said, 'bats and owls, goblins and ghosts! that is not a fit home for ladies – ridiculous, and quite impossible.'

"I explained and argued, told him how enterprising you were, and how well versed in travel, and at last he gave in, saying, 'Well, the old Castle has withstood many sieges, and it is hard it must give in without powder or shot to two Englishwomen.'

"Thus his reluctant permission was granted, and away I came triumphant. You are to have the watchmen's room, they the kitchen, and I am to sleep in the Lutheran Church, which chances to have a roof."

We were delighted, and at once started for our haunted Castle. We rowed away to our island home, and, when we appreciated the difficulty of steering through the fast-running whirlpool, to the only gate with its fine portcullis, we realised we were indeed on adventure bent.

It was barely dawn, and as we swept over the seething waters, and stood under the ancient archway, we felt like Mary Queen of Scots before the gates of Fotheringay.

We were indeed triumphantly triumphant. Far from the whistle of a train, right in the interior of Finland, standing beneath the portals of a famous castle virtually ruined and uninhabited – we felt at home.

The streaks of early morning sunlight lent enchantment to the romantic surroundings, as we wandered along queer passages, where the walls varied from five to fifteen feet thick, peeped into cellars and dungeons, and bending our heads under Norman arches, at last entered the first courtyard. We saw mysterious winding staircases, generally spiral, leading up and down into deep dark mystery. Certainly so far the ruins did not look as though they would protect any one from wind and rain, and we passed on, through walls that seemed impregnable, to ruined chambers, utterly roofless, in and out of which pigeons were flying happily at their sweet will.

The second courtyard was gravelled; but round its sides tangled beds of syringa in full flower, red and black currants nearly ripe, pretty wild roses and lilac almost looked homely, while white and yellow marguerites shadowed dear little wild strawberries, and a general air of naturalness prevailed. We had reached the very centre of our enchanted castle! How often had this courtyard been the scene of revelry, of tournaments and joustings, at which lovely woman had smiled and distributed her favours from the surrounding battlements.

"There is your room," exclaimed Grandpapa at last, pointing to a modern little bit of building erected for the custodian's use, in which, sure enough, was a real glass window.

Up the modern steps we mounted, to find a nice big room, poorly furnished, 'tis true, with one bed and a garden seat, two wooden chairs and a long wooden school bench, a table on which stood a brown earthenware bowl, and a large glass water carafe, that glass bottle which had haunted us since we set foot in Finland. The bench was to do duty for washstand and the impedimenta thereto. The wooden floor was delightfully scrubbed, and what mattered the simplicity when all was so delightfully clean!

Lo and behold, a bouquet of flowers stood in a tumbler on the table, the votive offering of the Finnish custodian himself; a charming welcome to his English visitors.

Out of this large bare chamber led a dear little kitchen, and farther along a passage and up some stairs we came to the old church – capable of seating a couple of hundred persons, although it did not really possess a single seat – which was to serve as Grandpapa's bedroom. Churches invariably do service for sleepers even to-day in Iceland, where hotels are practically non-existent, except in two or three instances, and even habitations are few and far between.3

So this was to be for a brief space our home; a real, wild, weird, romantic home, seated on its rocky island away from the world, away from every sign of life save pigeons or bats; full of grim spirits – if tradition were to be believed – and nightly walked by strange women and blood-stained men – for stories there are in plenty concerning the great Castle of Olavin Linna as the Finns call it, at Savonlinna, the Finnish name for Nyslott.

We wandered everywhere: we peered into all the mysteries. Verily a ruin. Mounting to an upper floor by the solid stone steps outside, we found ourselves in another chamber, the roof of which was supported by rafters, through the thick walls of which a long dark passage led us round two sides of the courtyard, passing a small tower by the way from which we could see yet another court, whose wide grass-grown ramparts overhung the rapidly-flowing current of the lake.

Here was the hall of the knights, a long and dark chamber – so dark, in fact, that we wondered how any one had ever been able to see clearly in it. On all sides were rooms and pitch-black dungeons, for at the time the Castle was built (1475) the powers-that-were thought nothing of shutting people up in dark little holes, where they left them to die, and the Olavin Linna seems to have been particularly rich in such choice chambers. From where we stood, a few steps up a winding staircase led us to a big tower containing a large round room, called the ladies' drawing-room. The dames of that period certainly had a glorious view all round for miles and miles, although they were far removed from the life going on below. From this point of vantage we saw how the Castle literally covered the whole of the rock, and occupied a most commanding position where three lakes met. As we wandered down again, we chanced into a queer sort of chamber, wherein half a dozen weird straggling trees struggled to exist. It was almost dark; the storms of winter could rustle through those blank windows, and the trees were white, and gray, and sickly – more like phantoms than real trees – so queer and withered and pale and anæmic were their leaves, and yet they stood eight or ten feet high, showing they had boldly struggled for life.

After having thus gained a general idea, snatched a sort of bird's-eye view of this strange Castle, we returned to our room and investigated its capabilities.

There was one small bed, already honourably mentioned, and a garden seat – one of those well-known benches made of thin wooden laths, with a rounded uncomfortable seat and back.

"Could we manage with such meagre accommodation?" Grandpapa asked timorously, "or must another bed be hired; that is to say, if another bed can be hired, or bought, in a town already overcrowded."

We looked at our friend's troubled face, and, feeling we had already caused him a sad amount of inconvenience, valiantly replied, "We will manage." And manage we did.

To the "elderly scribe" was allotted the bed, a very finely carved wooden erection; but let me at once own that, although I had slept on hay in a tent in other lands, passed a night on a dining-room table, several on the floor, and in deck-chairs, I never slept in anything quite so "knobby" as that extraordinary bed. A lump here, and a lump there, always seemed to select the most inconvenient part of one's frame to stick in, and sometimes getting on a nerve quite numbed the spot. After the first night I asked the Vahtimestari to turn and knead the mattress, which he cheerfully promised to do, and no doubt did. But all his turning and pounding was perfectly useless, so after a second restless night, which left me beautifully black and blue from head to foot, I determined to investigate the mysteries of that bed for myself.

When I removed the under-sheet a bewildering problem was solved. On the top of the mattress lay an enormous coat, lined throughout with black sheepskin. Its double-rolled collar had made a huge ridge down the middle of my back, across which a thick waist-belt had not unsuccessfully tried to form a bridge – the sleeves could only be accounted mountains, while innumerable buttons had left their impress on every inch of my body! I felt very sorry for my flesh that morning!

Four nights passed on a hard garden seat does not sound entrancing; nevertheless, on such a non-captivating couch, my sister, helped by rugs and a pillow, slept the sleep of the just, and of youth.

Her "plank bed" may have been – nay, certainly must have been – hard, and the Castle certainly was primitive, but everything, bedding included, was spotlessly clean, and, after all, cleanliness and a quiet conscience compensate for much – anyhow she slept; that is a fact for which I can vouch.

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 bloody 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 succumbed, 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.