Part 10 (2/2)

Modern singing at the Festival, in parts and glees, was very good, showing the great musical talent of the people, while especially delightful were the out-of-door concerts. Another charm of the Festival consisted in the exhibition of peasants' work.

As we entered the museum where we were to hear the _Kantele_ Concert, we stood transfixed. At a bare wooden table a quite, quite old man with long-flowing locks was sitting with his elbows on the boards, his hands stretched over his _Kantele_, which he was playing delightfully.

The small flat musical instrument reminded one of the zither of Tyrol, while the strange airs bore some similarity to the bagpipe music of Scotland, at least in time, which, like the piper, the old man beat with his foot. His blue eyes were fixed on the wall opposite, with a strange, weird, far-off look, and never for one moment did he relax his gaze. He seemed absolutely absorbed by his music, and as the queer old figure--a sort of Moses with his long beard--played his native instrument, amid the quaint trappings of the museum for background, we felt enthralled by the sombre surroundings and curious apparition, who might have been _Wainamoinen_ himself, the mythological G.o.d of music in Finland.

Others followed; they all played charmingly, and their usually sombre faces seemed quite changed by the sounds of music. Music has always played an important part in the history of Finland--for good be it owned, and not, as Tolstoi suggested, to arouse the vilest pa.s.sions.

Look at the faces of the people dowered with such legends. The _Runo_ Singers live in another world from ours. Theirs is the land of poetry and romance; theirs the careless, happy dream of life. The things of this world, the sordid littleness, the petty struggles, the very fight for bread, they wot not of, for they are content with little. Socialism and Syndicalism have not robbed them of life's joys.

They sit and sing, and dream. See the far-away look on yon man's features; see how intensely he gazes on some vision painted visibly for him on the blank wall. His very face and mind seem transported to other realms. As the song rises and falls his expression alters, and when he strikes those stirring chords on the _Kantele_ and speaks of bloodshed and war his whole being seems changed.

We noticed one peculiarity with the _Runo_ Singers, viz., that each vocalist repeated the whole line twice. For instance--

”The old man fished.” All the others took up the word ”fished,” and then every one present sang the whole of the line a second time in company with the original singer, again repeating the word _fished_ at the end alone. After that the original singer took up the next line by himself, his friends repeating the last word, ere joining him in the repet.i.tion of the line itself.

This seemed to be a speciality, for we noticed it again and again, and, as the performers all chanted well together, the effect was delightful; at the same time the practice unduly lengthens the progress of the songs, some of which go on for hours in a dull, monotonous recitative.

We always had to cross the river at _Sordavala_ whenever we went out to dinner, or attended any of the concerts, as our home was on one bank and the representations and restaurant on the other, and one old Russian boatman was particularly attentive in waiting about for us at the hours when he thought it likely we should require to be ferried over. His bark was decorated, like all the other craft at _Sordavala_, with silver birch, which, as we knew, is sacred in Finland, and great branches of its silver boughs were cut to ornament the _kuiru_ (native boats). It was wonderful what a pretty effect this gave, for they were not little boughs, but great branches stuck on the rowlocks in such a manner as to make the boat appear a veritable bower. When several craft were on the water together, they had the effect of a beautiful picture, with the red and pink s.h.i.+rts of the boatmen, and the white or black handkerchiefs over the women's heads.

Our old Russian was a wonderful-looking individual, with s.h.a.ggy grisly locks which fell in regular ringlets upon his shoulders--the sort of man one would love to paint. Every wrinkle upon his face was italicised by dirt, and his faded red s.h.i.+rt appeared a dream of colour for an artist's eye. He was much interested in us all, and at last he ventured to ask Frau von Lilly where the ladies came from.

”England,” she replied in Russian.

”Ah! I know about England,” he returned; ”it has many big towns, and they are strong towns. England is much afraid that our Tzar might take those big towns.”

”Do you think so?”

”Yes, _I know_; but the ladies do not look English, they are so dark. Is it the fierce sun of their country that has burned them so black?”

We laughed; we had heard of many things, but not often of ”the fierce sun of England.”

”_You_ are not English?” he went on, addressing our friend.

”No,” replied Frau von Lilly, ”I am a Finlander.”

”You? Why, you speak Russian, and you are dark, too; your face is not like a Finn's, it is not wide enough, and your hair is too black. He,”

pointing to Grandpapa, ”is a Finlander, and looks like one.”

Fancy such observations from an old Russian boatman. The same wonderful interest in our concerns and welfare was, however, evinced on all sides.

The whole town of _Sordavala_ had positively thrilled with excitement when the Committee of the Fete learned that some English people were coming to their Festival. Instantly that Committee wrote to say they would do everything they could for the visitors' ”komfort,” which they certainly did. They gave us the best rooms in the place, they opened their museums for us that we might view them, privately, they gave us _Runo_ singing entertainments with ourselves for sole audience, they found seats for us in the theatre when every seat was sold, and they treated us in all ways as though we had been princesses. But everything we said was noted, and everything we did cautiously watched; therefore for a short time we tasted something of the horrors of that publicity which must be the bane of existence to royalty.

Long after we had left _Sordavala_ we happened to refer to that town when conversing with some friends.

”Isn't it amusing?” one of them observed. ”I saw in the paper the other day that some English people who went to _Sordavala_ for the Festival, had written beforehand a letter to the Manager of the Committee to say ”they required a suite of apartments, not higher than the third floor, with a bathroom.”

We could not help smiling. It was the old story of ”The Three Black Crows” over again! We had been the only English people at the Festival, we had never written a line ourselves to any member of the Committee; a native friend had done so for us, however, saying ”that rooms would be required for three ladies, two English, and one Finnish.”

One of the features of the Festival which interested us the most was a representation, at a little improvised theatre, of a typical modern Finnish play, by Finnish actors.

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