It is a pallid day in September, the day on which the brothers are
going to take possession again of their former home, which they have
not seen during the course of nine years. On the road that leads
towards the village across the fields and the two meadows, seven
men now journey, leaving ever farther behind them the new farm on
Impivaara, where Tammisto’s Kyösti is to tend the cattle for a day or
two. In the van Juhani, Aapo and Tuomas marched side by side; willingly
they stepped out and on their faces dwelt a calm joy. Following them
came a loaded waggon, drawn by two young mares and driven by Lauri
from his seat on the ribs of a small ale-barrel. This barrel was
full of ale, specially brewed for a home-coming festival at Jukola.
Then came Simeoni and Timo, each leading a lowing cow as a beginning
for the coming herds in Jukola’s cowhouse. Last of all came brother
Eero, leading by a rope a young hammer-headed bull, to whom had been
entrusted the aggrandizement of the farm stock. Gladly the young steer
followed the cows, stepping out behind them with a quite arrogant
bellowing. Merrily pranced Killi and Kiiski too, now ahead, now behind,
now bounding along on each side of the party, merry, though already
grey of coat. They were the only animals of those born at Jukola to
return to their former home. Valko was dead and slept sweetly in the
deep grave behind Luhta-meadow’s fence; dead, too, and buried was the
old hoarsely-mewing cat, Juhani’s beloved Matti; and at last even the
proud-necked cock had died and was buried. Another cock now crowed
lustily on Impivaara’s rafters, from the stove another cat peered down,
and two young, handsome horses now drew the brothers’ load at a hearty
speed towards Jukola.
Onward they journeyed; they emerged from broad Sompio and entered the
depths of the forest. The weather was clear and still; the sun shone
mildly from a pale-blue, smiling sky. They came to Seunala Matti’s
clearing, then to the road that led from Viertola to church, across
which they kept on uphill, along the sandy heath and through the pines.
And at last they stood on Teerimäki’s crest, whence their road ran
in a smooth track down the rock. But on the ridge of the hill, from
which one could see far in every direction, the brothers halted for
a moment to rest their horses. They looked to the southwest, and in
the distance the Jukola of their childhood gleamed. But soon a tear
dimmed their eyes and a curious languor filled their bosoms as the
bubbling water fills the lungs of a drowning man. They looked again to
the southwest, and on the sloping surface of a hill Jukola loomed like
a darkling past. From it they looked at last back to the north, and
amid flourishing fields of sprouting grain the new farm at Impivaara
seemed to smile merrily, and above it towered the steep fell. So they
stared, now to the north and now to the south, now all around, with
eyes deliciously moist. But Juhani drew ale and the foaming tankard was
passed from man to man.
JUHANI. We shed tears, but these tears are pearls of bliss and
joy; so let us drink and be merry.
AAPO. Thanks to the Creator that we now stand here as children
of joy! Lucky we, who in one happy hour found out what became us and
brought forth good fruit before our dreadful sentence was written on
the wall. This, and God’s guiding hand, has led the path of our life
upward to these noble and joyful heights on which we now stand as
conquerors. Ten golden years have passed since with hate and fury in
our hearts we fled into the darkness of the forests. We did that. But
I believe if we had gone on idling in the south yonder, in the bitter
air of persecution and wrath, it is as sons of sorrow we should now
be walking! Lucky for us therefore that we left the village and our
neighbours; for now a great change has come over us. Here we stand,
casting the mild eye of peace over Toukola village yonder, and there
behind us we have a noble support to our backs.
Ay, yonder’s the former, beloved Jukola, yonder Toukola village,
yonder the church-tower and yonder again mighty Impivaara. Clearly the
different scenes of our life-journey rise before me from the bosom
of the past ten years. Look how that road has run. At first, though
greatly unworthy, we tried to approach our Christian fellows, making
our unhappy journey towards the solemn tower yonder on the edge of the
sky. It was a cruel, accursed journey, but it was, too, the powerful
spur that forced us into the depths of the forest. Yonder to the slopes
of that steep grey fell we moved and built ourselves a sturdy home. But
envious fire burned down our house to dust, and we lads had to gallop
back to Jukola like young wolves; and that was a hard game. But even of
that we recked little, but went back into the woods and built ourselves
another cabin, stouter than the first.
There we could freely devote ourselves again to our favourite work;
and the dogs raged, the firelocks banged and the quick blood of the
backwoods children flowed in streams. But there a hard fate suddenly
lifted us on to that terrible Devil’s Rock, to a trial grim and
ghastly. Somewhere over there lies that rock of hunger, agony and
blessed fortune, yonder where the misty edge of the forest dips down
and that sparse-branched spruce lifts its crown high above all others.
There lies the rock that brought us sorrow and agony, but which we
might also call our rock of joy. For note: from that rock, ever onward,
we can follow the birth of this hour of joy and peace, on Teerimäki’s
summit here. The rock in the dreadful backwoods gave rise to the first
great clearing, which in its turn gave us a rich store of grain. But
out of this--sadly, sadly enough--was born that drunken festival of
mournful memory. But never mind. This riot of drunkenness stirred up
hell and all its devils as a terrible warning to us to strike out in
some new path. From two directions we were warned: by Simeoni’s weird
vision of the spirit and Lauri’s remarkable dream. And well for us
that we heeded these grave hints from a hidden world! Like men we then
decided to forsake for ever intoxicating, accursed liquor, in which
decision I hope we shall nobly stand.
But we had still one downright ugly blow to meet. And this was caused
as much by heavy drinking as by that wicked and obstinate temper
of ours that had even then not been sufficiently broken, but deep
down went on fanning its lust for revenge. We met that day of angry
screaming, of wolfish tearing, of crackling staves and bloodshed on
Tammisto Farm. Thus were we punished for our indulgence in drink. But
it was then, on the very day of punishment, that our luck began to
turn. Behold, when we stood already on the brink of black despair, our
merciful God lit up the world for us; and this he did through that
splendid Sheriff of ours. But we ourselves, what did we do? Like men we
took the road of self-denial, of toil and labour. True we had yet many
troubles and hardships to meet, but we bent all their necks, forced our
way onward by main force, and here we now stand. Thanks be to God Who
has led us, thanks also to ourselves who were willing to seek wisdom in
time, thanks to our mother who reminded us in the days of our childhood
of God’s Will and Law! One and another of her sayings sank into the
depths of our hearts, whence a warning voice ceaselessly whispered in
our ears, whispered even during the wildest storms, and the ship of our
lives sank not in shipwreck.
JUHANI. Ah! if mother were alive now and walked yonder in
Jukola’s yard, seeing her sons approaching, she’d hurry to meet us
right to the rise in Ojameadow. But the old dame sits in the halls of
heaven now, waiting for her children. We’re coming, mother, with God’s
help we’ll be there yet. Well, let’s set off again, brothers, on our
way, set off down the rocky road.
They trudged down and came to a dark forbidding forest, whence they
emerged at last on to Kiljava’s fire-ravaged, lofty heath, where hawks
sailed shrieking through the air under a limpid sky. And already they
fared on the rolling road that led past Kuttila’s spacious meadow.
JUHANI. Boys, boys, I can feel the smells of our old home,
sweeter than the scent of Virgin Mary’s bedgrass, in my nostrils. Boys
and brothers, breed of the same old dame, listen to one great word: let
us invite every blessed man and woman, buck and bitch, we meet on the
road before we are home, to a mighty home-coming festival.
AAPO. We’ll do it.
TUOMAS. It’s said.
TIMO. We’ll invite the lot, from the Governor down to Beggar
Mary; that is, if we meet them.
JUHANI. Right from the Governor down to Toukola’s youngest
infant; and a merry feast it’ll be, truth it will. And then we’ll
pound a jig with the daughters of Toukola, jig until Jukola’s planking
thunders and the bark peels off the roof! True, matters are so that
only Aapo can dance the quadrille, and we others only the polka, but
that we dance like men. So let it be polka. But where can we get a
real, rattling player and a willing wench to brew coffee?
AAPO. There’ll be a way out of that fix too.
JUHANI. Ay, somewhere in the world. Sure there’s a way to
settle that somewhere. We haven’t lacked ways and means even in the
hardest cases, but everything has had to bend or break, or twist or
turn as we have wanted. Everything has had to give way, and ten years
have gone in a flash. Trala, ra, ra, trala, ra! I haven’t tasted coffee
since at Karja-Matti’s wedding, but we’ll have some today in honour of
the festival, and drink a true brotherly health, all seven of us, seven
fine lads. And first of the lot, always first we three here march: I,
Aapo and Tuomas, Impivaara’s Life Guards battalion. Stout fellows,
though, all of us. Even Eero is no longer amongst the smallest in
Finland, not by any means. But slowly he grew from his perch, devilish
slow. However, he’s made a passable man both in soul and body. And it
was the power of the years in the forest that did it, with our help;
only a couple of little hidings from the hands of us others and the
fellow was as though oiled. Hey? What dost thou say thyself there
behind?
EERO. All true as far as my body goes, but in my wretched
soul, I’m afraid, there’s plenty of that accursed Old Adam’s gall left
even for you, the gall that so often gets loose and turns the whole
world topsy-turvy. Even now it works in my eyes, as I look upon you in
the first row from behind. How like a goggle-eyed stable-goat beside a
solemn gelding Juhani pounds along there beside Aapo!
JUHANI. Ay, Eero, my son. But to-day spirits of joy and
merriment swarm in the air. So what do I care? I only sing.
Frala, la, trala, la!
How can I be so merry?
How so content today?
Frala, lala, lala, lala,
Frala, lala, la!
Who is the man who stamps towards us on yonder clearing?
AAPO. The old man himself, I do believe.
TUOMAS. Of a truth! Well, good day to him!
JUHANI. The parish clerk! The same parish clerk!
TUOMAS. The same, the same. Good day to him, eh!
JUHANI. Son of the Lord! The same old rogue, knotty stick in
hand and the former rector’s long-peaked cap on his head. Well, may the
big black bull take yourself! The same old rogue, the same old rogue.
TIMO. Our schoolmaster.
JUHANI. But how was it he schooled us? Ay, ay, now’s the time
to ask him.
SIMEONI. Let him go by us with honour.
TUOMAS. He has to be asked to the home-coming, as we agreed.
JUHANI. The devil! We have to do it. But I feel like reminding
him a little of olden days, for there’s still a little sting against
him in my heart. I’ll remind him of one thing and then he can join us
if he is still so inclined. He has taught me. Good! Maybe I can teach
him a thing or two in my turn now, maybe I could put a cunning little
question to him out of my Testament.
TIMO. I’ll ask him something too. There’s a catchy riddle
here, under the roots of my double teeth, and we’ll see how he explains
it. I’m not angry with him at all; for isn’t my hair as thick as ever
it was; but we’ll see how he opens the knot I’ll give him to open.
AAPO. Shut up, brothers! and let us treat him with respect,
show him that we come back to the village different men from what we
were when we left it. Let us always behave wisely.
JUHANI. As far as wisdom goes, it’s just what I want to do
my best at this very minute, by casting him offhandlike a few little
questions from the depths of the Bible. I’ve read my Testament from
cover to cover and understand it too, I hope. But tell me, Eero, what
shall I ask him, thou knowest, simple-like?
EERO. Ask him how five men and two fishes could be fed with
five thousand loaves.
JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, thou Loppi’s devil, thou gabbling goblin
from Kylmän-oja! I’ll teach thee. Am I likely to ask and explain a
matter the archbishop himself doesn’t understand. But I know what to
ask him; and here the old man is.
TUOMAS. I warn thee: treat him properly.
JUHANI. I know how.
THE PARISH CLERK. Good day, good day, boys!
THE BROTHERS. Good day!
THE PARISH CLERK. Changing quarters, I believe.
TUOMAS. Something a little in that style.
THE PARISH CLERK. Is that so? Is that so? Hm. Well, well.
It’s sure beginning to blow. Do you think it might rain now?
JUHANI. It might perhaps do that too.
THE PARISH CLERK. It’s blowing quite heavily.
TUOMAS. Heavily, ay, heavily.
THE PARISH CLERK. So it is, ay. Hm, hm. And so this is how the
lads are moving.
JUHANI. Ay, slowly does it. But has the parish clerk a scholar
or two at his table-corner these days?
THE PARISH CLERK. Not now.
JUHANI. Not one tousle-headed brat in the corner?
THE PARISH CLERK. He-he! No, my son, no. Hm. Well, well. So
this is how ye’re moving now. Eh, well, welcome to your old home again!
JUHANI. A thousand thanks, Mister Parish Clerk. We come from
the backwoods, as you can see, and our foals there have a thumping load
to pull, its weight bigger by seven New Testaments, seven gifts from
England. And I do believe it’s the deepest, the hardest parts in this
book that tell in the load the most. What if we were to try to lighten
the load a little, ease out a few knots, kinks and twists? Can you....
TUOMAS. Juhani!
JUHANI. Can the parish clerk answer me one question, a
question that has set the brains of many pondering. Tell me: what were
the names of the sons of Zebedee?
TIMO. ‘I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how
many of us are there?’ a man from Loimaa asked me once, and the same I
now ask the parish clerk.
JUHANI. Let Timo keep his bread-trap shut. Ay, Mister Parish
Clerk, what were the names of the sons of Zebedee? That’s my question;
listen hard, boys!
TIMO. I and thou one, Post-house Antti and Jussi two; how
many of us are there? That’s my riddle; listen hard, boys! How many, my
master?
PARISH CLERK. Two, my boy, certainly not four; ay, little son,
two, only two. He-he!
TIMO. Ah! there’s where we are caught. That’s what I said to
the man from Loimaa. But not it! In that crowd there’s four of us,
Mister Highly-learned Parish Clerk.
JUHANI. Canst thou not keep thy damn jaws shut until thy
eldest brother has done his bit? Ten thousand flaming imps!
TIMO. For the love ... for the love of the Lord don’t poke
me in the face a second or third time. Thou bully! Am I a calf before
thee, a calf or a bullock? Not I, not I, I’m a right hot-tempered man
if I once really lose my temper.
JUHANI. Keep thy mouth shut now and listen. What were the
names of the sons of Zebedee?
PARISH CLERK. A guileless question. But our old rector once
asked of me: ‘What was the name of the father of the sons of Zebedee!’
and guess, brother Juhani, what I answered in giving him the right
answer? Ay, permit me to ask: what was the name of the father of the
sons of Zebedee?
JUHANI. Ah.... Ah.... Eh, indeed. Is that name too in the
Testament?
PARISH CLERK. Truly ’tis there, it’s in the question itself.
JUHANI. So-o ... ay, to be sure ... hm ... so it’s in the
Testament? But--that’s just what I meant to ask you, but in my flurry
asked it a little the wrong way. I’ve heard that riddle, but never
bothered to seek out the answer to it in my Testament. You see, I’m no
great book-learner or schoolmaster, I don’t belong to the clergy like
for instance a parish clerk. He belongs to it, but to the tail end of
the order, that same tail that was once in a tight place with Old Man
Viksari, the bottle imp.
TIMO. It was the verger, or waker-up, who called himself the
tail of the clergy and dusted Viksari a little.
EERO. It was the parish clerk.
JUHANI. Parish clerk or verger, verger or parish clerk: all I
wanted to say was I haven’t the honour, I haven’t the right to crow in
church like a cock in the morning on a rafter or to twist the scruffy
polls of little boys. And if you’ve a mind to hear the whole truth from
my lips.... D’y’know what Old Man Kork from Estonia said to the Sheriff
of Hämeenlinna?
PARISH CLERK. Why, what did he say?
JUHANI. ‘Go to ’ell, thou tamn man!’ Hmmh! Whose fist think
you would dance highest here? Hey? Look here, gaffer! and take note how
the face of the world changes during ten years.
AAPO. Juho, Juho!
TUOMAS. Now, brother, I too will have my say; and for thine
own peace’ sake keep quiet. May the parish clerk forgive them; they do
not understand. Take no notice and be so good as to come with us to a
little home-coming at Jukola; for this day is to us the day of days.
PARISH CLERK. I thank ye, but my time will hardly allow me to
accept of your kind invitation now.
SIMEONI. Come and build up peace between us and the men of
Toukola; do it for God’s sake.
AAPO. We pray you, come and build up peace. Is not such work a
duty to you, seeing how your calling is of the Church? So beware lest
not only God is angered with you, but likewise our excellent rector
on hearing that you were unminded to act as peacemaker in such an
important matter as this. Consider this point.
PARISH CLERK. Be it as you will. I’ll follow and try my best
to shake up the Toukola men’s hearts, and with the power of the Lord
and my own speech bend them to brotherly harmony. But let us first
speak out our minds. I see in your eyes a glowering, though perhaps a
little faded, hate for me, and know the cause of it. Ay, I was a strict
teacher to you, strict and stern, that I’ll admit, and bitterly have I
already repented it. But I myself was once taught in the same strict
way, in the same hardhanded way, more’s the pity! But what did I mean
with my strictness towards you? Your own good, your own good; know
that. And you can be sure too, that at this very minute, even though my
mind was somewhat startled when you came marching towards me, my soul
rejoices as I look on you as men and know all your deeds and struggles
while ten of our dear Lord’s years have rolled by.
AAPO. For this praise we thank you.
TUOMAS. We know you for an honourable man and know that Juhani
and Timo will beg your forgiveness for their unfriendly words.
TIMO. I’ll admit he’s an honourable old man, even if a hard
schoolmaster.
JUHANI. The parish clerk admitted to not having done quite
rightly by us, I make the same confession on my own part, and our
relations are square, especially as I agree that we were woodenheaded
scholars, against whose hard heads the breastplate of his patience
was broken. And who’ll guarantee, who’ll guarantee, I ask, that this
hair-pulling and curl-dusting didn’t do us some good? There’s no saying
at all.
AAPO. Except that all is forgotten. So let’s all march on
together. Be so kind, Mister Clerk.
They set off on their journey again, plodded along the hilly road,
which to the brothers, however, was beautiful and dear; for crowding
to meet them came the clearings, rocks and stumps of their childhood;
and against their bosoms breathed the fresh west wind. But suddenly
they heard a fearful racket, and the Rajamäki Regiment came marching
into view. They saw Kaisa’s snuffy visage and blazing eyes under an old
black night-cap; between the shafts the old woman tramped, scolding
and cursing. But Heikki had now outgrown his hobby-horse, Mörökölli
his bottle-cart, and beside their mother they marched, each helping at
his shaft to pull the waggon. Mikko himself, a black felt hat on his
head and a mighty quid in his cheek, pushed as was his habit with his
stick behind. He was followed by the twins, riding their hobby-horses,
and last came Mikko’s youngest, dragging a bottle-cart behind him in
the dust of the village road. And on the waggon was a sack of pitch,
the horn-bag and a calf-skin pouch in which were the knives of Mikko,
Heikki and Mörökölli, and there was also a violin, wrapped in Kaisa’s
old red shawl.
Thus the two strange processions moved to an encounter, and then a
turmoil and tumult arose. Unwillingly and snorting, the young horses
from Impivaara approached the regiment. Killi and Kiiski, the bristles
on their neck standing high, raged and barked loudly; and the twins and
the youngest ran roaring to the waggon for shelter. Kaisa cursed and
scolded her offspring furiously; but Mikko brandished his staff at the
hounds, lunging and gibbering frantically. The parties came to a halt,
and for a long while each regarded the other stiffly; the Rajamäki
family staring with astonishment, the brothers greatly taken aback, as
they remembered their recent decision on the road. At last, however,
brother Aapo stepped forward.
AAPO. Peace to you!
MIKKO. The same to you, but call off your dogs a little.
AAPO. Killi and Kiiski, be still!
JUHANI. Greeting, thou Rajamäki’s Mikko! How art thou and what
news from the world?
MIKKO. Mixed, both good and bad mixed, but always, dog take
it, the good has outmeasured the bad, and this rackety life has suited
me, that it has. Ay, boys, there’s always a bit of a job and work in
the farms and villages. Ay, ay, there’s no danger for Mikko at all so
long as there’s jobs to do in the world, even if he has to tramp and
babble at every farm, tramp from village to village looking for work
and bread. No worries at all for Mikko.
AAPO. That we well believe; and may your trade succeed ever
better and better. But now, Mikko, an idea came into our heads, and
we’ve a mind to keep you company for more than one minute. Ay, listen
to one word.
MIKKO. Aha! I can guess your idea, when I remember that fish
we cooked once under Sonnimäki Heath, the fish that still sets you
belching. It’s a good thing for us that we are on a public road and
that we have a good witness here in the parish clerk. So move a bit to
one side, kind friends and neighbours, a bit to one side.
AAPO. Listen a moment!
KAISA. Out of the way, you devil’s prey! We want to be pushing
on. Out of the way, or the hangman’ll have you!
PARISH CLERK. A mistake, thou respected Rajamäki family, a
big mistake! Hear what I say and sacredly affirm. Ah! the life of the
Jukola brothers has changed, both in soul and body. Changed, so God
help me! Know that they have plucked the sweet fruit of repentance and
conversion and now return to the home of their birth as sons of joy and
glory, burning to gather the whole world to their bosoms. Wherefore
they invite you also to a merry home-coming, to a feast of reparation
in old Jukola. Such is their heart’s striving towards you in this their
hour of jubilation. Believe the word of your parish clerk.
JUHANI. It’s just as parish clerk says!
AAPO. Mikko and Kaisa! we wish to show ourselves men and to do
men’s works, forgetting the past. But what said Mikko of our kettle of
fish on Sonnimäki? Why, kind friend, we boiled that ourselves and we
ourselves had to swallow it. Just so, and I remember another thing from
that Sonnimäki evening. Didn’t thy wife foretell us dark days of ruin?
That she did, and rightly she foretold. The storms came and whipped us
sorely, sorely, but the storms and clouds have passed again and a fair
day dawns. Well, come and prophesy for us once again, and we hope your
eyes will see brighter visions. I have heard you read fortunes best in
coffee, and there’ll be no lack of coffee this evening at Jukola.
JUHANI. Coffee and ale!
AAPO. Coffee and ale! So come and foretell happy days for us.
MIKKO. Kaisa can tell fortunes in coffee and I’ll play the
fiddle to heighten the feast; that suits very well.
AAPO. Quite well.
JUHANI. Thou stout Mikko.
MIKKO. I’ll play you a merry march as we come to Jukola.
JUHANI. Thou matchless Mikko! Play, play till the world rings,
play, God’s creation.
AAPO. Everything suits excellently.
JUHANI. Fits like a key in a lock.
MIKKO. Round with the waggon, Heikka and Matti boys! and thou
Kaisa, cast that scowling temper from thy face to Hell and make a
nimble right-about towards Jukola.
KAISA. Ay, faith, I’ll right-about thee in a minute. Even if I
were to be mad enough as to start tramping back again on my old legs,
would I let myself be trampled by their skittish asses on the road
there? Let them swagger ahead, we’ll crawl behind.
MIKKO. Right, Kaisa! Let them go to the fore, brothers, let
’em gallop on with the speed of a comet, we’ll whizz after you like a
smoking tail. That wife of ours is a rather hot-tempered woman.
JUHANI. But there’s a wife for you all the same.
AAPO. A grand wife.
MIKKO. The devil that’s so; I dare to say it. She’s my wife.
JUHANI. A wife like spades are trumps.
MIKKO. That she is. A hot-tempered dame, a hot-tempered dame;
but once the old man really lifts his fur, then even mother herself has
to purse her mouth into a pretty little pout, has to, no help for that.
But I’m a gentle old cove just the same, I am, and let Kaisa do the
ordering. And why should I worry about that so long as everything pans
out? Heleiyah! boys! Here we come along behind like the cobbler after
the tailor to Heaven. ‘After him though the devil squeals’, said the
cobbler, pulling at his wax-thread, with his teeth again. Ay, ay, march
on and let her bang!
They set off again altogether, and the wind grew into a storm,
the birches hummed and bent, and the sun now shone cheerily, now
disappeared from view into the bosom of the delightful tatters of cloud
which, driven by a north wind high up in the sky, scurried swiftly
towards the distant curving rim of the sky. They wandered uphill
and down, and both the wandering and the storm were pleasant to the
brothers as they drew nigh to their home hill in the southwest.
They met on their way an old man: black-haired, crusty old Kolistin.
The grey, bushy eyebrows, like two owl’s wings, almost hid his surly
eyes. In his time he had been a famous shot and had felled many bears
and wolves. But then a severe illness had affected his hearing, and
he could now hear only shouted speech, screamed loudly into his ear.
This unlucky event closed the path of bear-hunter to him for ever,
whereafter he had taken to trapping. Every autumn and winter he laid
his numerous traps in the forests, to the death of wild-fowl, hares and
squirrels. He was a solemn, obstinate, sharp-tongued old man; looking
at life from his own standpoint only, he lost his temper easily. This
was the man who trudged towards the brothers along the hilly road in
this evening hour on a September Sunday.
JUHANI. Greeting, thou old one!
TIMO. Greeting, granfer, greeting!
JUHANI. Halt, hale honoured sir!
OLD MAN KOLISTIN. Eh?
JUHANI. Greeting from the forest-world.
OLD MAN. What dost thou want?
TUOMAS. Shout in his ear, and loud.
JUHANI. Here we are you see!
OLD MAN. So, devil take you, you are, and may the old man of
Heaven help us in the villages from now on again.
JUHANI. What?
AAPO. Now the old boy is not in a good humour.
JUHANI. What dost thou mean?
OLD MAN. Thou canst guess. Ay, ay, yes, yes, yes, there’s
different times coming for us now. That’s clear.
JUHANI. Brothers, this cuts at our honour.
AAPO. Never mind that, but ask him to come with us to Jukola.
JUHANI. However and in any case, old man, thou being such a
grand old man, we now ask you to come to Jukola to partake in a real
rowdy home-coming with us.
OLD MAN. Why hast thou come, dolt? Why didst not stay yonder
in the caverns of thy mountain right to thy miserable death? Why didst
come?
JUHANI. Eh, what? Is this the thanks for my invitation?
OLD MAN. I get hot with rage and fury when I think of my
traps. Curse! there’s more than one fat capercaillie will leave my
snare for another’s bag from now on. You blackguards! there was enough
sneaked from them without you coming.
JUHANI. Didst thou call us thieves?
OLD MAN. Did I, did I? Thou canst understand a hint,
understand it well, e’en though thou art a stupid cuckoo, a staring
young capercaillie.
JUHANI. Dost thou call us thieves when we invite thee to a
feast?
OLD MAN. What dost thou say? Speak louder, speak up like a man
and don’t screech and squeal there. What didst thou say, boy?
JUHANI. ’Twas to a feast I asked thee; for all of us are in a
way thy godchildren.
OLD MAN. Thou my godchild?
JUHANI. I and these six brothers of mine here. So come to our
feast, godfather.
OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue! I am not thy godfather.
JUHANI. That thou art for sure.
OLD MAN. I am not thy godfather, no!
JUHANI. Truly thou art.
OLD MAN. Hold thy tongue, say I.
JUHANI. Truly thou art, unless Mother Pinewood lied.
OLD MAN. Who?
JUHANI. Mother Pinewood, the common midwife of this village.
OLD MAN. I give a fig for Mother Pinewood, and I am not thine
nor those others’ godfather. I thy godfather? Ha!
JUHANI. Ha! Eh? Is that it? I tell thee I was not borne before
the parson a full-toothed, blind-eyed puppy, no! But however that may
be: I ask thee to the feast.
OLD MAN. But I won’t come, no, but forbid thee to ask me.
JUHANI. I ask thee notwithstanding.
OLD MAN. But I won’t come, thou devil-possessed! Hold thy jaw!
JUHANI. I ask thee still.
PARISH CLERK. Boys, boys, let the old man in peace.
MIKKO. Let him go in peace for us. A simple and surly old man;
looks into your eyes like a poodle; let him go. Quick march, old man!
JUHANI. But it seems to me, however, as though from the bottom
of those simple, grey, glowering eyes something a little foxy-like doth
peep; and he has made my gall swell somewhat. I ask thee to a feast, to
a roaring riot. It’s to pour ale down thy face I ask thee. Thou art a
good old soul, anyhow.
OLD MAN. What dost say? Shout louder.
JUHANI. A good old soul, though somewhat curious: but that sin
has always been the besetting sin of the deaf.
OLD MAN. Eh?
JUHANI. Curious, inquisitive, old rag; otherwise a good old
sort.
OLD MAN. Blockhead, shameless blockhead! But can, can, can
there be brains in a young capercaillie’s skull? Not an inch. Ho!
here’s a whole swarm of them starting up at my foot, a swarm of
capercaillies....
JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies, for example.
OLD MAN. What didst say?
JUHANI. Seven young capercaillies.
OLD MAN. I don’t care how many of them there are; there they
stare down at me from a birch-branch. There one of them glowers at me
like a bull at a new gate, and he won’t take heed until the gun bangs,
but then he’s fast. In the same way seven loons now glare at Old Man
Kolistin for all the world like seven owl-eyed young capercaillies.
Louts! What, what do you want of me?
JUHANI. I want to tell you with solemn mind and tongue that I
am no thief nor young capercaillie nor lout, and I say at the same time
that a certain old crust, a confounded old fellow, who is standing not
so very far from me, not many versts of this sandy road away, that this
man, this shameless old crosspatch is a great scoundrel and blackguard;
and I say it with all respect.
OLD MAN. Who, who, thou daft young cuckoo on the top of a
withered pine? A ... a ... a ... am I a blackguard before thee? Say!
Who, thou young cuckoo?
JUHANI. What the hell shall I blow down his accursed ear?
AAPO. Don’t blow anything else, but let’s be off.
JUHANI. Not just yet; for he’s a rascally old chap. But what
devil’s mush shall I blow down his ear?
EERO. Let me try. Hold this young bullock for me.
JUHANI. Yes, blow a hot word or two down there.
OLD MAN. Who? Hey?
EERO. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’ said the little cuckoo on the top of a
withered pine. ‘Cuckuck-whoo!’
OLD MAN. There’s a cuckoo for thee!
EERO. Thou devil-possessed!
JUHANI. See the devil! What a bang!
EERO. A big bang that set my ear singing.
AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s ogre, well done!
EERO. To Hades with the fellow! I saw sparks.
JUHANI. Old man, old man! Note what thou hast done: banged a
respectable man with thy fist on the cheek right in the midst of the
highway and on the holy Sabbath. Ay, ay, old man!
AAPO. Well done, thou Kolistin’s barn-gnome, well done!
OLD MAN. What are thou jabbering at there?
EERO. Well said, thou Kolistin’s old mule, well said!
OLD MAN. Hold thy jaw, thou too, weasel. I’ll, I’ll teach boys
to jump on my nose. Kolistin’s old man isn’t the fellow to think long
before he lets fly.
JUHANI. I’ll let fly at that ragged collar of his and drag the
old crony with us to an ale-feast without mercy. Heigho! old man! Now
we’re off!
OLD MAN. Go to hell thou!
JUHANI. Come and drink ale till thy belly splits!
OLD MAN. Let go my collar, or I’ll bash thee in the face. Let
go, thou devil’s Jew, let go!
JUHANI. A bucket of ale!
TUOMAS. What fool’s trick, Juho, is this again?
AAPO. Leave the old man to himself.
JUHANI. God preserve us! he has rated us like dogs. What
shall we do with him? An old sinner like him. But let him come to the
celebration at Jukola and drink ale in his anger. Ay, old fellow, my
heart won’t allow me to give way, no!
OLD MAN. Loosen thy claws!
TUOMAS. Art thou minded to release him? See now, how nicely
thou unloosest him. Go, old man!
JUHANI. Ah! I would have carried him to a merry feast, carried
him like a little baby; for my hairy bosom flashes sparks. Son of the
Lord! from whose snare have I snatched a bird or a hare?
TUOMAS. Hold thy tongue!
JUHANI. Am I a thief, I?
PARISH CLERK. That he never said, my boy.
JUHANI. That was what he hinted at, anyway. Ah, if only the
snows of twenty or thirty years had been off his crown, ah son of the
Lord!
TUOMAS. Go, old man!
OLD MAN. Blockheads! A ... a ... a ... am I a hobbyhorse in
your sight, you drab-haired wolf-cubs that someone ought to bash on the
skull? But I’ll, I’ll I’ll teach you yet, I’ll, I’ll teach you yet,
louts!
The crusty old fellow from Kolistin left them at last; but for long
he muttered in his anger, spat and muttered to himself as he tramped
along the hilly road. The brothers also set off on their way with
their company, the parish clerk and the Rajamäki Regiment, which
brought up the rear. But when they had journeyed thus a while, they
met two women: Mother Pinewood and her nimble, plump daughter Venla,
marching swiftly onward, on whortleberries bent, with white baskets
of birch-bark in their hands. This encounter greatly embarrassed the
brothers, and they regarded the approaching women in deep silence,
coming to a halt, however, before them; and now on each side a
protracted staring followed, both parties gazing round-eyed at the
other. Until at last Aapo stepped forward, informed them of the firm
resolve taken on Teerimäki, and begged them to come as guests to the
home-coming celebration. Doubtful what to do, the mother and daughter
stood there, grinning in secret at each other and primly pursing up
their lips. But after the parish clerk too had begged them to give ear
to the brothers’ invitation and to take over the post of coffee-maker
at the feast, they decided at last to join the merry company. And thus
the Jukola brothers already had a mighty mediator and peace-maker for
any encounter with the men of Toukola in the parish clerk, willing
coffee-makers in the old woman and her daughter, and in Rajamäki’s
Mikko they had the right man to play a merry home-coming march and
to fiddle for them in the coming dance with the maids of Toukola.
Meditating over all these advantages, they marched with increasing,
prouder speed towards their goal, and stood at last on the sandy crest
of Jukola’s north field. Before them they saw Brook Meadow, behind that
the home fields and, rising above them all, Jukola farmhouse itself,
ravishingly mournful. Silent and with moist eyes the brothers stood on
the green, reverberating mound, looking at their home; and the sun sank
westward. But ever fiercer blew the north wind that roared in the pines
on the stony hill to the south of the farm.
TUOMAS. Yonder is therefore Jukola.
JUHANI. Art thou Jukola?
AAPO. Thy bearing has somewhat slackened and moss has stuck to
thy brow, dear home.
JUHANI. Moss has stuck fast to thy golden brow, honoured
mother Jukola.
TIMO. Welcome, Jukola, thou who sittest, squattest before us,
beautiful like once Jerusalem.
JUHANI. Art thou Jukola? Thou? Ah! I can’t help a big tear
rolling down my rough face, so fiercely my heart foams and boils. Oh!
everywhere, wherever I let my eye rest, the kind smile of a friend
looks back. See how lovingly even the black window-hole of the cowhouse
smiles at me. Greeting, thou star of hope, greeting!
EERO. Greeting, greeting, thou black star of hope!
JUHANI. Greeting, thou sweet dunghill under it, fairer than
hills of happiness! Ah!
TIMO. It surely is beautiful, but why hasn’t that dung-heap
been drawn into the fields many a good day ago? Ay, ay, that pile
there proves, announces and betokens deep-rooted, altogether hopeless
laziness on the part of the tanner. Is this a right state of things: a
dung-heap squatting in the yard in September? I’m greatly vexed with
this tanner. Well, well, thou’rt forgiven, especially to-day, which is
Jukola’s great jubilation.
JUHANI. Greeting, drab dung-heap, greeting! say I in spite of
all, without minding what it witnesses and portends. Greeting, Jukola,
with thy heaps, fields, meadows, fair as Heaven!
TIMO. Heaven is fairer, anyhow.
JUHANI. Hold thy jaw! This is the fairest paradise.
SIMEONI. Don’t talk sin.
JUHANI. My tongue utters what my heart whispers.
LAURI. I would say something too, but this wonderful hour has
crushed altogether the former nimbleness of my tongue.
JUHANI. Unloose thy tongue, with heart and lung, yell out the
bliss that is in thy bosom! The mountains rattle, the forests roar,
silence seizes Heaven for half an hour, a half-hour brief and holy.
There’s poetry for you, made up by Juhani Jukola in his joy.
AAPO. But may this be enough here, and let us hurry on.
JUHANI. Ay, let us push on to the very end like a spawning
shoal of roach into the farthest corner of the seine. Let’s go now
before our honoured guests tire of our mighty spasm of joy. Jukola
yonder is not their home, and for that matter they have seen it later
than we have. You, parish clerk, you, Mother Pinewood with your
daughter and you, honoured Rajamäki family, do not be offended at this.
PARISH CLERK. No need to beg that of us. We can well
understand what this moment means to ye; it is a high and solemn hour,
full of intoxicating joy.
JUHANI. Beautifully said! Let’s go now!
TUOMAS. Let the guns bang and Mikko strike up!
JUHANI. Ay, what if we were to have a little music now. One
volley, brothers, one mighty volley. All together!
Mikko’s fiddle emitted a shriek and almost at the same time the guns of
Juhani, Tuomas and Aapo fired. The spirited steeds before the waggon
leapt high, the cattle galloped panic-stricken in all directions,
tails in the air, one here, one there. But not one of their tenders
loosened his hold of the halters in the game, neither Simeoni nor
Timo and least of all Eero. Clenching their teeth they followed,
half-dragged along, each after his own beast, and the dry sand rose in
great clouds. And the cattle had to come to a halt and turn with their
man on to their right road again. So fared the procession downward,
disappeared for a moment in the hollow of Brook Meadow, emerged into
view again, climbed the long steep hill and entered through the gate
of the home field. Grandly Mikko played his fiddle, madly Killi and
Kiiski raved with joy and defiance, their barking answered by the
yelping of the tanner’s lean, poky-chinned mongrel that limped around
the house-corner, a trembling weakling. The din brought out all the
folk from Jukola into the sloping, stony yard. But seeing the Rajamäki
Regiment approach the house, the children fled swiftly back again into
the living-room, and loudly whimpering, hid themselves, some in the bed
under the counterpane, some on the oven-top among the rattling timber
set there to dry, all with terror in their hearts. With the same fear
the mongrel too was suddenly quiet, and hooking its tail between its
legs, crawled into hiding under a bench in the corner. But there was
now enough noise and bustle in the yard. The shouts of the men, the
clamour of the hounds, the lowing of the cows, the bellowing of the
sturdy little bull and the shrieking note of the fiddle all echoed in
one warring discord as the wandering company drew nigh to the house;
and with a mighty roaring the north wind rattled the close-set pines on
Kivimäki Hill. The brothers, their only feeling a languishing kindness,
went forward to greet the farm-folk in the dearly-beloved yard of their
birthplace. And when hands had been grasped and the cattle and the load
stowed away, they stepped at last in a body into the airy living-room
of the farm.
But off to Toukola marched the parish clerk and Aapo, to invite the men
there to a feast of reconciliation and a merry home-coming, the men who
had lived so long in hate and persecution with the Jukola brothers.
And when the invitation which the parish clerk announced in fitting
words had spread round the village both to men and women, they hurried
back to assist the others in arranging the feast. The floor of the
pleasant living-room at Jukola was cleared, foaming ale in capacious
tankards was borne to the tables, and round the fireplace the willing
Venla hustled with her mother. The smoke from the coffee-fire rolled
in clouds under the sooty rafters, the roasted beans broke crackling
into fragments between the teeth of the coffee-mill and on the fire
steamed the tanner’s wife’s coffee-pot. And now the yard was swept,
cordwood was borne from the pile into the room, fir-twigs were hacked
to decorate the floor, and a multitude of other tasks were done. And
beside the window, on a broad bench, merry Mikko sat, letting his
fiddle squeak every now and then.
But what can Mother Pinewood be whispering so eagerly with Juhani
yonder in the porch, and why does Juhani stand so dumfounded, with
eyes wide-open, solemn as on trial? The old dame is informing him in
roundabout fashion that on their side there is no longer any hindrance
between the hearts of Venla and himself. And at this the lad is struck
with wonder; he puffs, sighs, sweats and tears lustily at his whiskers,
and at last begs the old woman to grant him a moment to think it over.
The old woman leaves him with shining face, but out into the yard
staggers Juhani, steps aimlessly like a homeless brownie, without
knowing whither to betake him. There behind Jukola’s walls he wanders
backward and forward, sweats, sighs, glows and steams and again tears
at his whiskers. But at last he hurries back to the porch, opens the
creaking door and utters in a sobbing, almost tearful voice: ‘Would
the parish clerk mind coming out here a little behind this corner,
and thou too, Aapo, dearest brother!’ They comply with his wish, and
soon all three stand under Jukola’s wall, meditating over the matter
which Juhani has told them. There they ponder, discuss the matter and
finally decide that Juhani is to take Venla, who is after all a good
girl. Then, impetuously and with firm step, Juhani enters the house and
seizing Venla’s hand, says: ‘Be it said’. Whereupon Venla is stricken
with shyness, hides her face and smiles, but allows, however, her hand
to rest in Juhani’s bunchy fist. This fills the mother’s heart with
delight and she gives them her maternal blessing; the parish clerk
wishes them happiness and prosperity and in a short speech reminds them
of the most important duties of the wedded state.
Juhani was thus engaged, the old love re-lit in his bosom. But greatly
the bridegroom puffed and sweated, looking ever and anon in secret on
his bride. And suddenly he hastened out to look at the horses on Brook
Meadow, and there looked upon the two young mares from Impivaara, but
seeing them he saw them not. Even two cranes on the distant edge of the
meadow would have been as two horses to him. So whirled his thoughts
round his bride, whom he could not as yet bring himself to believe he
owned. For him the day was a day of marvels. Soon he was rushing back
again, lusting to look on the features of his Venla. Swiftly he strode,
and already in the field he heard a fiery Polish march from Mikko’s
fiddle. At that his mouth twisted suddenly, a tear moistened his eye,
which he dried with his powerful fist, and it seemed to him as though
he were amongst the joys of Heaven. Reaching the yard, he saw not
before him the Rajamäki twins, who, sitting astride their hobby-horses,
galloped madly across the yard; his eye saw not Mikko’s youngest on
the steps with his little bottle-cart. With firm footsteps he entered
the room, and in his glance was a secret, glowing triumph, an eternal
solemnity.
But little by little the lads of Toukola gathered on Jukola hill.
Between the woodshed and the stables a cluster of them already
stood, pipes in teeth, examining sleighs and carts and the tanner’s
spring-trap, bought at Hämeenlinna market. They stood there, examining
and criticizing for a fairly long time, to saunter finally across the
yard towards the farmhouse, first one, then another. Here they lined
up standing against the walls on either side of the stoop, but a few
penetrated into the porch and listened to the bustle and clatter
within. But at last the door opened and Aapo came out, inviting the
guests to enter.
Into the room came the Toukola men and gathered on the left, between
the door and a side-window. There they stood solemnly, each with his
cap held to his lips. Amongst them Kissala’s Aapeli was seen, looking
aslant behind him towards the door, and Kuninkala’s Eero, boring his
eyes into the floor. Near them beside the window sat Mikko with his
fiddle, rolling the quid in his cheek and spitting. Leaning against
his knee stood his youngest, the apple of his father’s eye. But before
the table, a knobby stick in his hand, stood the parish clerk, ready
to begin a sermon that would cause the kidneys of all present to
quake; and his countenance was stern. Clearing his throat and rubbing
his forefinger and thumb under his chin, he glanced round him, glared
sternly to his right where stood the Toukola men, glared to his left,
where between the table and the northern side-window the brothers
stood, silent, staring downward at the floor. Beside the fireplace were
the tanner’s family, Mother Pinewood with her daughter and Rajamäki’s
Kaisa, who, snuff-box in hand and with snuffy face, sat on a stool,
swaying her body. In the corner between the fireplace and the door,
hard by the chopping-block and the water-barrel stood the Rajamäki
boys; there Heikka, Mörökölli and the twins stared in amaze at the
hushed congregation in Jukola’s tupa. But beside the table the parish
clerk still stands. With great gravity, in completest silence, he holds
his chin; then at last he opens his mouth, only to intercept his words
once more and again clear his throat. Again he casts a terrible glance
to his right, another to his left, with a grimace as though he were
chewing dogwood. And at last the following speech issues from his lips:
‘The Devil, who goeth around like a roaring lion, blowing poison into
the world, hath lighted a flame of hate and fury in the hearts of
these neighbours. It flickered at first faintly in the undergrowth,
but spread and grew at last into a terrible forest fire. At first it
was like a little fly, but it grew and swelled like a bull that is
fattened and soon with its sombre smoke hid the light of the heavens.
Thus the dark fiend was given power over them and with whirling fists
they attacked each other, to part at last after fearful fighting with
mottled bruises, gaping wounds and lumpy foreheads. Oh what misery!
The heavens sighed, the hills and valleys lamented and the brainless
beasts of the field groaned, but hell and darkness triumphed. Many
men thought, shaking their heads: here we shall yet hear fetters
clank, the rods of justice whistle and see our lads go marching away
from the beloved land of their birth to the cold plains of Siberia.
So many prophesied, but wrongly they prophesied, and for this let us
render thanks and glory to Zebaoth. Let us gaze on a wonderful scene:
the brothers left the homes of men, their neighbours and fellow men,
and with furious speed flitted into the forest’s night, and again the
minds of many men did think: thus are robbers born, seven bloodthirsty,
fire-eating bandits in the forests of Finland. But to Zebaoth be the
thanks and glory that they showed these prophets a nose a fathom long.
‘Whether ’twas the Devil who led them into the woods, as he once led
the Tuusula parson, or whether a higher power drove them thither like
John the Baptist into the wilds, that I will not dwell on now. But
there the Devil tried his utmost against them, to bring them into the
road which leads to destruction. With poisonous waters, yea, even with
hot syrups he tried them; he, as they themselves have told, led them
upwards to giddy heights, to a marvellous building, to the so-called
Boot-leather Tower, and there showed them the sphere of this world,
showed them the whole in fearful disorder, hoping to scare the wits
from their brains. Such was his intention, but his own plan turned to
hit him in the face with shame, and hastened the footsteps of these
boys into the right path while there was yet time. They began an
embittered battle, came forward to struggle stoutly with their own
hearts, with deep-rooted laziness, with the hard unfeeling earth, cold
bogs and quagmires, and conquered these by the steadfastness of their
wills, with the help of the Lord Zebaoth. Yay! Here they are back with
their fellowmen again, not as robbers, but as worthy men. With a loud,
solemn rumbling they came swiftly with their rolling chariots, drawn by
two young and spirited mares, and were followed by lowing, seal-ribbed
cows and a bellowing bull-calf, of the hornless breed. Thus they came,
not from the caves of bandits, but from a pioneer farm built by their
own hands, on delightful Impivaara. Yay! Through them has Zebaoth been
brought to glory, but the hornheaded Satan from Hell to shame.
‘Here they now stand as men deserving of praise, and hold out to
their former enemies the hand of friendship. And you, good men of
Toukola, need no longer deem it shame to call the Jukola brothers your
friends: for now they spread around them the light of glory and not the
besmirching filth of shame. Accept therefore the overflowing bowl of
peace and beware lest ye cause them to hold out their hands to you in
vain, if you would escape the wrath to come. Lo! the sun is sinking,
looking back with eyes fainting with love at the rainbow which glows
in the east. Behold: this is the sign of the Covenant of Mercy of the
Lord, now a mighty token to former enemies to build up peace, to join
in loving brotherhood and to deal the Devil and his angels a harder
blow than ever right in the face. This is the will of God, and it is
likewise my will and he who now declineth to open his heart and ear to
our word, may he be anathema maranatha, and Devils roast him in the end
in Hell. Hear me, Zebaoth, hear me, Lord on high, Hosanna!’
Thus spoke the parish clerk, and greatly were the women’s hearts
moved. The tanner’s wife, Mother Pinewood, nimble Venla and Rajamäki’s
snuff-faced Kaisa snuffled in uncontrollable weeping, snuffled with a
sound like to the sound of new, four-woven sheets being squeezed in
the soda-tub by the washer’s hand. And facing each other stood the
men of Toukola and the Jukola brothers, and in sign of forgiveness
wrung each others’ hands firmly. Heartfelt, guileless and solemn was
this reconciliation, though hands were sometimes given stiffly, though
glances shot with a dying enmity were still exchanged. But from the
table end the parish clerk looked on with a blissful smile, as he sat
there with a tankard of ale and steaming coffee-punch before him. And
in the room the ale was handed round in white tankards, handed round
from man to man and soon from woman to woman. For already a crowd
of Toukola maids had gathered in Jukola’s tupa. To these, as they
whispered amongst themselves by the chopping-block and the fireplace,
Mother Pinewood’s nimble Venla served coffee. Nor were they too
forward to accept the refreshment offered, but only when the bearer
had obstinately renewed her invitation two and even three times, did
manners allow them to partake. Nor was Mikko forgotten this evening;
ale in abundance and even spirits were borne to wet the musician’s
whistle. Whereat he began spitting mightily into the screws of his
fiddle and tuning that often-mended treasure. And from it flowed at
last a perfectly enchanting Swedish quadrille. He fiddled away at this
for a while, but as none came forward on to the floor, he stayed the
strains of the quadrille and loosened a merry and sturdy polka. This
he ground out devoutly and long, and still not a single pair whirled
polka-ing on the floor. And at this the old fellow was finally greatly
hurt, and letting his bow rest altogether, he twisted his quid and,
spitting, began to twang the strings of his fiddle.
The folk sat in silence. Near the back-window sat Aapo, looking now
and again closely at a certain round-faced, brown-skinned, but grave
and blue-eyed maid who talked in whispers with Venla, a meek simper of
innocence and shyness on her lips. With great curiosity Aapo regarded
her, searching hither and thither in his mind, but the name of the
maiden eluded him. At last he asked the parish clerk, nudging him in
the ribs, and swiftly the parish clerk answered: ‘It is that Konkkala’s
Hinrikka.’ Whereupon Aapo’s forehead cleared and after a while he
uttered to Mikko: ‘Give us a quadrille.’ Mikko began again, and Aapo
now approached the coy daughter of Konkkala, begging her for his
partner. The maiden followed him and placed herself at his side, but
shyly, smiling and blushing furiously. Couples gathered on the floor
from other directions also, and at last, to the squeak of the Rajamäki
fiddle, a Swedish quadrille was danced in the spacious room. Merrily
the fire blazed, a torch flickered in its holder and the broad-beamed
floor shook thunderously as with grave and solemn faces the measure was
danced in an awful silence.
But behind the table sat the parish clerk, and he had with great
satisfaction emptied two hot coffee-punches and three drams of spirits
cold. He sat, watching with a smile the young people dancing on the
floor, and a becoming flush had appeared on his cheeks. But when the
interminable quadrille was at last over, the parish clerk stood up and
proclaimed his intention of going. And having partaken of a farewell
dram and delivered a valedictory speech, he departed gratified from
the house of Jukola. He refused the cart which was offered him with
great firmness, and set out on foot, his knobby stick in his hand. He
was accompanied over the yard by Juhani, who hastened to open Jukola’s
weather-worn, tottering gate for him. And there for a while the mighty
conciliator stood, looking upward towards the star-filled sky and
holding converse with Juhani of winds and weather. Finally he took his
leave, and deeply Juhani bowed, scraping his foot so that the sand and
little pebbles rattled on the cowshed wall. Then Juhani returned to the
merry room, muttering to himself: ‘he has done a great work’. But on
towards the village, a knobby stick in his hand and a black peaked cap
on his head, the parish clerk trudged smiling, and on his cheeks two
delicate roses glowed.
Hour by hour the sounds of rejoicing and the dance in the Jukola
tupa rose higher, reaching at last an uproarious revelry. Feet were
flung about, now in a quadrille, now in a giddy polka, dance after
dance without pause almost, and under the young men’s heels the floor
thundered, and even the stout planks trembled. Ever the fire burned
merrily, ever Mikko’s fiddle squeaked gaily, squeaked until the rafters
rang and the sooty ceiling quivered. From man to man the foaming ale
was passed, from woman to woman the steaming coffee, and in the coffee
grounds Rajamäki’s Kaisa foretold happy days for the brothers right to
their graves.
Thus they made merry at the brothers’ home-coming; thus the toast of
peace was drunk from dripping tankards, and not until dawn had come was
the feasting ended.