SCHOOL
SCHOOL opened later that year than usual, to last until June. There was
to be a vacation of three weeks at Christmas with an occasional week in
between, as well as on special days.
Two languages were studied by all the children, Finnish and Swedish
instead of Finnish and Russian as might have been expected from
Finland's connection with Russia. The teacher told the children that
there had been a time when all schooling was Swedish, the Finnish tongue
being considered too uncouth for culture. "Happily," he would always
add, "that time is past. It was unjust, for eighty-six per cent of the
inhabitants are Finns. We are now fully awake." All the children had
manual training, the girls being taught cooking, sewing and darning,
the boys woodwork and carpentry. The schoolhouse was surrounded by
trees, and once a week, at least, the teacher talked of the necessity of
conserving them.
The teacher lived near the school in a furnished house provided by the
country people. Around it was enough grazing land for a cow. The people
saw, too, that he always had a sufficient supply of firewood.
When Maja and Juhani reached the schoolhouse on the first day they found
all the names by which Finland is sometimes known beautifully written on
the blackboard. There were "Strawberry Land," "The Land of a Thousand
Lakes," "The Land of a Thousand Heroes," "The Land of a Thousand Isles,"
"Marsh Land," and "Last Born Daughter of the Sea." "This last name our
country has earned," the master explained, "because it is in fact still
rising out of the sea. As for 'Land of a Thousand Lakes' that should
rather be the 'Land of Many Thousand Lakes.' Let all these names merely
serve to remind you," he concluded, "of our duty to our country and our
determination not to give up that freedom to which we feel ourselves
entitled."
The singing of the Finnish National Hymn followed:
"Our Land, our Finnish Fatherland!
Ring out dear name and sound!
No hill nor dale, nor sea-worn strand,
Nor lofty mountain whitely grand,
There is more precious to be found
That this--our fathers' ground."[1]
What Juhani liked best at school that year perhaps, was his connection
with the School Paper. Every Saturday night the higher grades, beginning
with the one in which he now was, met at the schoolhouse to consider
original contributions to it. Both poetry and prose were submitted, and
also charades and plays. Juhani won some praise for an article entitled
"What We Owe to the Trees." In this he spoke of the vast number of trees
in Finland, but particularly of the uses to which they were put. "The
birch is one of our best friends. I may not wear birch shoes but many
peasants do. From its twigs we make brooms and bath whisks; from its
bark, baskets and cups. Its blocks are fed to our locomotives and
steamboats, and its leaves provide food for our cattle. In time of need,
when crops fail, we even make bread from its bark."
Once a month came Guest Day and the children worked hard to do
themselves and the teacher credit, for then the fathers, mothers and
friends invited had the right to ask the pupils questions. An
entertainment was always provided; sometimes there were tableaux,
sometimes a play. These were always followed by refreshments.
This year, at the first of these nights, Juhani was honored by having an
introductory recitation from the Finnish poet Topelius. A part of it
is:
"On the world's farthest peopled strand
Fate gave to us a Fatherland,
The last where man his foot has set,
Daring the North Pole's threat;
The last and wildest stretch of earth
Where Europe's genius built a hearth;
The last and farthest flung outpost
'Gainst night and death and frost."
A boy, somewhat younger, followed this with a stirring recitation about
a thick-headed peasant hero who, with a small troop, was placed to
defend a bridge. All but five of this troop were killed and the order
was given to return. The dull peasant leader did not understand and
remained at his post alone until help came, when he died with a bullet
in his heart.
Then came the most effective part of the program. A girl, a pupil in one
of the higher grades, appeared dressed in the traditional dress of a
certain portion of Finland, consisting of a white loose blouse and
short full embroidered skirt. There was also a bodice and a colored
fringed apron. She carried a _kantele_, a stringed instrument whose
music is of a monotonous and rather melancholy tone. This served as the
accompaniment to two or three folk songs, which she half sang, half
recited in a way that brought forth special applause. Coffee and cakes,
carefully prepared by the members of the Cooking Classes, were then
served, after which games were played and riddles given. Among the
latter was Maja's favorite: "What can't speak yet tells the truth?"
Answer.--Scales.
The next Guest Night was devoted entirely to the "Kalevala," that
wonderful national epic made up of the folk songs gathered by Elias
Lönnrot. It began with a tableau in which was seen _Wäinämöinen_, the
ancient bard of the poem, "renowned for singing and magic"; _Ilmarinen_,
the children's favorite hero, a wonderful smith; _Kullervo_, the wicked
shepherd, whose hand was against every man's; the jolly, reckless
_Lemminkainen_, and _Louhi_, the mistress of Pohjola (the North) and her
beautiful, much sought after daughter, the Rainbow Maiden. This was
followed by the reading of a passage describing _Wäinämöinen's_ playing,
"All the birds that fly in mid-air
Fell like snow flakes from the heavens,
Flew to hear the minstrel's playing
Hear the harp of _Wäinämöinen_."
Then came the description of how the eagle, the swans, the tiny finches
and the fish, and all within hearing, were affected by the magic harp
music.
The curtain dropped and rolled up again to show the meeting of
_Wäinämöinen_ and his envious rival _Youkahainen_, who wishes to fight.
The tableau changed before the audience into an act in which
_Wäinämöinen's_ magic singing causes his rival to sink helplessly into
quicksand, and in which he refuses every ransom _Youkahainen_ offers,
until it comes to _Youkahainen's_ beauteous sister.
One of the pupils now read the parts from the "Kalevala" describing the
various tasks that the heroes were called on to perform: the forging of
the magic _sampo_, a coin, corn, and salt mill which could grind out
good fortune for whoever had it; the capturing of the elk of Hiisi; the
bridling of the fire-breathing horse, and others.
Last the teacher himself took the platform to call the attention of the
audience to the beautiful expressions of mother love scattered
throughout. He showed how even the wise _Wäinämöinen_ thought first of
his mother when in distress:
"If my mother were now breathing
She would surely truly tell me
How I might best bear this trouble,"
and how the mother love of the hot-headed _Lemminkainen_ rescues him
from death.
It was not always easy for Juhani and Maja to get to school, yet it was
rarely that they or any of the other pupils were absent. Often the only
light they had going and coming was that thrown up by the snow.
Sometimes, however, the remarkable Northern Lights (the Aurora Borealis)
helped the sun in its labors. They grew all the sturdier, too, for
having to face wild weather.
All the pupils came to school on skis, made of long narrow pieces of
wood with a leather strip in the center through which one merely slipped
the foot, so that in falling the foot was released. The front end was
pointed and curved upward. It does not take long to go a good distance
on skis. Juhani could go seven miles an hour on his. There were always
rows of skis at the school door, some large, some small, for the proper
length depends on the height of the individual. To find it one stands
with arms extended above one's head. The skis must reach from the ground
to the raised fingertips.
At home one of the older children's duties was to teach a young brother
or sister how to use skis. It was not unusual to see even three-year old
babes on them. At five years most of them could be trusted alone. The
first lesson was one of balance. One foot was placed in advance, the
knees bent with the body forward. This was followed by making the first
step.
Sometimes, during vacation days, there were ski races, but these were
forgotten when in the latter part of November announcement was made of a
ski jumping contest to be held in the nearest village. The age limit
kept the smaller boys from all hope of taking part, but they at once
organized a ski jumping contest of their own. Juhani was the youngest
admitted even here. "No, I've never tried jumping," he confessed when
asked, "but I know that I can do it." At the first meeting of the
schoolboys he had an opportunity to show what he could do. He advanced
with something like a swagger, made a good jump but landed in a heap
instead of on his feet. His companions, who knew that there was
something to learn, all shouted, "The cow cannot climb a hill! The cow
cannot climb a hill!" which is an old proverb, and means that one cannot
perform a feat beyond his ability.
Juhani picked himself up, shut his lips tightly together, and tried
again and again until he could outdistance many of the boys.
When the day of the great contest came everybody who could went to see
the sport. A strong little platform had been built on the side of a hill
near the town. From this the contestants were to spring.
There were six competitors. One especially seemed to have won favor
beforehand, not because he was better looking than the others, for he
was not, but probably because of the merry good humor in his eyes.
[Illustration: "WAVING HIS ARMS TO KEEP HIS BALANCE, JUMPED FAR
FORWARD"]
The signal came to start. First came a stalwart, serious-faced youth who
jumped over sixty feet, landed on his feet, and raced down the hill.
After him followed three others, all of whom jumped between sixty-five
and seventy-five feet. The fifth rushed after them, jumping seventy-nine
feet, but failing to land on his feet. Last came the popular youth. He
glanced around until he met the gaze of a little old lady in the crowd.
Then he smiled and waved his hat to her, ran up on the platform, doubled
up his legs, which he kept close together, and then waving his arms to
keep his balance, jumped far forward. A shout of applause burst forth as
he landed on his feet and raced down the hill. This increased still more
when it was learned that he had out-distanced all the others, his
jump being over eighty feet.
The last day of the term at school the children had a big Christmas
tree. It was decorated with Russian and Finnish flags and candles and
with sweets for all hanging from its branches. There were many visitors,
for on this day prizes were to be awarded to the most deserving pupils.
No one knew for certain to whom the chief prizes were to go, but there
were often clever guesses. In Juhani's Grade, however, a murmur of
surprise was heard when the name of the winner was announced. An
unusually shy youth stepped forward awkwardly. Juhani remembered him as
a poor boy who had entered that term. He remembered also how hard at
first he had found the studies, then how he improved by degrees until he
ranked with the best.
The teacher, in making the presentation, dwelt on the virtue of such
perseverance and then invited the visitors to ask him any questions in
his late studies that they desired.
Several were eager to do this, much to the lad's embarrassment. But no
sooner did he begin to answer than the embarrassment vanished, and he
surprised all present by the clearness of his replies.
At the conclusion the teacher said: "This year we have for good reasons
departed from our usual custom of presenting some book to be treasured
by the winner. Instead we present to this deserving pupil a certain
amount of money with only one stipulation, that he spend it in things
that will most help him in his future studies."
"What will most help me in my future studies," the pupil responded,
after some words of thanks, "will be the thought that my mother is more
comfortable. So I accept this gladly if you have no objection to my
giving it all at once to her."
The applause of all present showed their consent, and after an enquiring
look at his teacher he walked up to a poorly-dressed woman who sat at
the very rear of the room and whose eyes filled with tears as she took
the money from his hands.
The younger children were not the only ones provided with schooling. In
the nearest village to Juhani's home an adult school had been recently
established by a big association called the Society for Popular
Education. One half of the time each day was devoted to hand work, one
half to easy conversational lessons in history, literature, science or
any other study that appealed to the particular group gathered together.
All social classes were represented in this school. There were sons of
peasants, servants, shop-keepers. Some of the teachers were paid; others
volunteered their services to help make life more pleasant and useful
for their fellowmen. Among the latter was a rich neighbor who had just
finished a course in one of the big Agriculture Schools of the country
and was looking forward to having a farm of her own. Another teacher was
plainly a university student, for she wore the regulation student cap,
on which a golden lyre was embroidered. Much of the social life of this
community centered about this school. The people came not only to study
and learn but also to enjoy as a relief from hard daily work the
companionship of others.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] By the Finnish poet, J. L. Runeberg, from the translation by Anna
Krook.