A FINNISH COUNTRY-HOUSE
A seventeen hours' trip in the _Kaiser Wilhelm_ along the coast brought
us from _Helsingfors_ to _Wiborg_. The passage lay between innumerable
islands, and every landing-place was thickly strewn with wood ready for
export.
Finland is a primitive country, and we could not help smiling at the
spectacle of a family removal. When changing residences it is evidently
not considered necessary to pack up anything, consequently the entire
contents of a house were put on board and removed from the ship without
any wrappings whatsoever. The mattresses and the blankets were not even
tied together. Pictures were all left loose, looking-glasses stood
uncovered, yet, thanks to the gentleness and honesty of the Finnish
sailors, nothing appeared to get broken, and when we left the quay we
saw the owner of these chattels standing complacently in the midst of
his household gods, from which, judging by the serenity of his smile,
nothing had been stolen or lost.
As we neared _Wiborg_ we were all excitement as to what a visit to a
country-house would be like, especially as we were going among
strangers, having been most hospitably invited to stay with the
relations of our Finnish friend on their summer island-home of
_Ilkeäsaari_.
As the _Kaiser Wilhelm_ hove-to alongside the quay, we were warmly
welcomed by the English and American Consuls and Baron Theodore von
B----. There were many passengers, but not much luggage, and
consequently, by the time we had exchanged a few words of greeting, we
discovered that every one of our boxes and bags had been placed singly
in state on the seat of separate _droschkies_. The row of five
Russian-dressed cabbies were much disappointed when they found that the
many fares they had anticipated were not in store for them, and that all
the luggage was to go upon one cart sent for the purpose, while the
solitary landau and pair in waiting was our host's private carriage,
intended to bear us some three hours' drive to his quaintly situated
residence.
Passing the old castle of _Wiborg_ with its modern red roof and many
centuries of Swedish history, then the palace of the Governor, to say
nothing of numbers of villa residences further on, where the folk of St.
Petersburg--only two hours distant by train--settle down for the summer
to enjoy sea-bathing, we plunged into a charming pine-wood, through
which the roadway was so narrow that the trees literally swished the
carriage as it passed. Drawing up suddenly we discovered that a stretch
of water divided us from our island home, and as we were in a carriage,
and there was no bridge, it seemed for a moment as if further progress
were impossible.
Nothing of the kind, however, the carriage was calmly driven on to a
kind of wide barge made for the purpose, the horses' noses being
reflected in the water into which they peered. So clear were the
reflections that evening, that the butterflies fluttering overhead were
so distinctly visible in the water that it seemed almost impossible to
believe them other than denizens of the lake along with the fishes.
The picturesque-looking man, wearing a pink cotton shirt and slouch hat,
who had been waiting for our arrival, came on to the floating bridge
beside us, and by means of pulleys and ropes, to work which he turned a
handle, ferried us across to the opposite bank. This was a private
arrangement and very ingenious, and away we trotted merrily through the
pines, the earth, moss-grown and fern-strewn, intersected here and there
by massive boulders of rock.
So rocky indeed was the road in parts that the carriage was driven over
huge blocks of granite, while distinct marks of past glacial movement
were everywhere visible.
Ah! there was the house, much larger than a villa, entirely made of
wood, except for the stone foundations containing the cellars. The solid
trees of which it was built were painted white, so that it looked very
sunny and cheerful. A flight of wooden steps led to the front door, and
to the numerous balconies by which, Finnish fashion, the house was
nearly surrounded.
The warmest welcome awaited us; we were received as though we had been
old and dear friends, instead of total strangers from a foreign land.
Our host, the Captain and his Fru, were, luckily for us, excellent
German scholars; indeed all the family spoke that language fluently,
while some of the members could also speak English.
Our hostess's first exclamation when we arrived at her beautiful country
home was an inquiry as to the contents of the large hold-all.
"Rugs," we replied, "and fur coats."
"Rugs and fur coats," she exclaimed in amusement. "What for?"
"To wear, of course," we answered.
"Did you think Finland was cold, then?" she asked.
"Certainly," we returned, "so we have each brought a rug and a fur-lined
coat."
She laughed and said, "Far better to have brought cotton frocks."
It was our turn now to be amazed, and we asked her what she meant by
cotton frocks.
"Why, do you not know that our summer is much hotter than it is in
England--it is shorter, but much warmer."
We were surprised. But she was right, as subsequent events proved, and
our bundle of rugs was an everlasting joke during the whole of our
journey through _Suomi_, for having brought them we would not part with
them, although during the whole of June, July, and August, we never
undid them once nor opened an umbrella, except one night while
descending the famous _Uleå_ rapids, when, if we had owned all the furs
in Britain, we could not have kept ourselves warm, so impregnated with
cold damp was the atmosphere.
The island _Ilkeäsaari_ is the scene of a huge family gathering each
summer, after a truly Finnish fashion, for besides the big house, which
is a sort of rendezvous for every one, the married sons and daughters
have also their own summer residences within a stone's throw; the
parents' house is a general dining-hall on Sundays and sometimes on
other days also.
Could any more delightful household be imagined? Clever and interesting
in every way, with advanced ideas and wide interests, their home almost
cosmopolitan in its English, French, and German literature, the elder
folk ready and willing to chat on any theme in several tongues, the
children talking Finnish to the servants, French to their governess, or
Swedish to their parents, it was altogether an ideal family life in
every sense, and more than charming to the strangers to whom
_Ilkeäsaari_ opened its doors and gave such a kindly welcome.
It is only in the homes of the people, rich and poor, one can learn
anything of their characteristics. One may live in the large hotels of
London, Paris, St. Petersburg, or Rome, and yet know almost nothing of
the nations in whose midst we find ourselves. Food is much the same all
over Europe, waiters wear regulation black coats and white ties,
drawing-rooms and reading-rooms contain _The Times_, the _Kölnische
Zeitung_, or the _Novóe Vremya_; and when, guide-book in hand, we walk
through the streets to visit the museums, we imagine we are learning the
innermost lives of the people, of whom we generally know mighty little.
One week in the smallest private house teaches us more than a month in
the largest hotel in the world. "All very well," says the reader; "but
how are we to get into the private houses?"
Ah, there is the rub. We must open our own doors first; we must learn
some languages, that golden key to travel, and when foreigners come into
our midst with introductions, we must show them our homes and our lives
if we want them to do the same for us. As it is, that humiliating cry is
always sounding in our ears--
"English people never speak anything but English, and they are
inhospitable to strangers; they are a proud nation and cold."
It is a libel, a hideous libel; but one which is, unfortunately,
believed all over the Continent by foreigners not thoroughly acquainted
with English folk in their own homes.
English, being the language of commerce, is fast becoming the language
of the world, in spite of its imperfections; but to enjoy a country one
must be able to converse in its own tongue.
The Finnish summer is not long, but it is both light and warm, the
average temperature being as much higher than our own as it is lower in
winter, and the people certainly enjoy both seasons to the full. Every
country-house is surrounded by balconies, and on them all meals are
served in the summer. We were fortunate enough to dine in many family
circles, and to see much of the life of the rich, as well as the life of
the poor.
One of the greatest features of a high-class Finnish meal is the
_Smörgåsbord_. On a side-table in every dining-room rows of little
appetising dishes are arranged, and in the middle stands a large silver
urn, _brännvin_, containing at least a couple of liqueurs or schnapps,
each of which comes out of a different tap. Every man takes a small
glass of brandy, which is made in Finland from corn, and is very strong.
No brandy is allowed to be imported from Russia or _vice versâ_, a rule
very strictly adhered to in both countries. Having had their drink and
probably _Skålat_ ("I drink your health") to their respective friends,
each takes a small plate, knife, and fork from the pile placed close at
hand, and helps himself to such odds and ends as he fancies before
returning to the dining-table to enjoy them. Generally four or five
things are heaped on each plate, but as they are only small delicacies
they do not materially interfere with the appetite. Usually in summer
the _Smörgåsbord_ contains--
_Salt_, _graf lax_, raw or smoked salmon.
_Rädiser_, radishes.
_Ost_, cheese of various kinds, shaved very thin and eaten with black
bread and butter, _Bondost_ and _Baueruk_ being two favourite kinds
among the peasantry.
_Kaviar_, which is quite excellent and unlike anything we have in
England, being the whole eggs of the sturgeon instead of a messy black
compound.
_Renstek_, smoked reindeer, which is not nearly so nice as it is when
eaten fresh in the winter in Norway.
_Ägg_, cold hard-boiled eggs cut in slices and arranged with sardines or
anchovies.
_Ost omelette_, a delicious sort of custard or omelette, made with
cheese and served hot, although everything else on the side-table is
cold.
Mushrooms cooked in cream is another favourite dish.
Then small glass plates with slices of cold eel in jelly, salmon in
jelly, tongue, ham, potted meat, etc., complete the _Smörgåsbord_, which
is often composed of fifteen or twenty dishes.
These delicacies are many of them delicious, but as the same things
appear at each meal three times a day, one gets heartily sick of them in
the end, and, to an English mind, they certainly seem out of place at
breakfast time.
There are many excellent breads in Finland--
_Frankt bröd_ is really French bread; but anything white is called
_Frankt bröd_, and very good it is, as a rule.
_Råg bröd_, or rye bread, is the ordinary black bread of the country,
made in large flat loaves.
_Hålkaka_, the peasants' only food in some parts, is baked two or three
times a year, so they put the bread away in a loft or upon the kitchen
rafters; consequently, by the time the next baking day comes round it is
as hard as a brick. A knife often cannot cut it. It is invariably sour,
some of the last mixing being always left in the tub or bucket, that the
necessary acidity may be ensured.
_Knäckebröd_ is a thin kind of cake, made of rye and corn together,
something like Scotch oatcake, with a hole in the middle, so that it
may be strung up in rows like onions on a stick in the kitchen. When
thin and fresh it is excellent, but when thick and stale a dog biscuit
would be equally palatable.
_Wiborgs kringla_, called in Finnish _Wiipurin rinkeli_, is a great
speciality, its real home and origin being _Wiborg_ itself. It is a sort
of cake, but its peculiarity is that it is baked on straw, some of the
straw always adhering to the bottom. It is made in the form of a true
lover's knot, of the less fantastic kind, and a golden sign of this
shape hangs outside to determine a baker's shop; even in Petersburg and
in the north of Finland a modified representation of the _Wiborgs
kringla_ also denotes a bakery.
Having partaken of the odds and ends mentioned, the ordinary mid-day
meal or dinner begins, usually between two and four o'clock.
The hostess, who sits at the head of the table, with her husband
generally on one side and her most honoured guest on the other, with two
huge soup-tureens before her, asks those present whether they will have
soup or _filbunke_, a very favourite summer dish. This is made from
fresh milk which has stood in a tureen till it turns sour and forms a
sort of curds, when it is eaten with sugar and powdered ginger. It
appears at every meal in the summer, and is excellent on a hot day. It
must be made of fresh milk left twenty-four hours in a warm kitchen for
the cream to rise, and twenty-four hours in the cellar, free from
draught, to cool afterwards. The castor sugar is invariably served in a
tall silver basin--that is to say, the bowl, with its two elegant
handles, stands on a well-modelled pillar about eight or ten inches
high, altogether a very superior and majestic form of sugar basin.
There are two special drinks in Finland--one for the rich, the other for
the poor.
_Mjöd_ is one of the most delicious beverages imaginable. It is not
champagne, and not cider, but a sort of effervescing drink of pale
yellow colour made at the breweries, and extremely refreshing on a hot
day. It costs about one shilling and sixpence a bottle, sometimes more,
and is often handed round during an afternoon call with the coffee and
_marmelader_, the famous Russian sweetmeats made of candied fruits.
The other drink is called in Swedish _Svagdricka_, but as it is really a
peasant drink, and as the peasants speak Finnish, it is generally known
as _Kalja_, pronounced "Kal-e-yah." It looks black, and is really small
beer. Very small indeed it is, too, with a nasty burnt taste, and the
natives up-country all make it for themselves, each farm having half a
dozen or twenty hop poles of its own, which flavours the _Kalja_ for the
whole party for a year, so its strength of hop or amount of bubble is
not very great.
From the middle of June till the middle of July we ate wild strawberries
three times a day with sugar and cream! They simply abound, and very
delicious these little _Mansikka_ are. So plentiful are they that
_Suomi_ is actually known as "strawberry land."
There are numbers of wild berries in Finland; indeed, they are quite a
speciality, and greet the traveller daily in soup--sweet soups being
very general--or they are made into delicious syrups, are served as
compôte with meat, or transformed into puddings.
Here are a few of them--
Finnish. Latin.
_Mansikka_ _Fragaria vesca_ Wild strawberries, found in
profusion everywhere.
_Mesikka_ _Rubus arcticus_ Red, with splendid aroma.
Liqueur is made from them.
_Vaatukka_ _Rubus idaeus_ Wild raspberry.
_Lakka_ _Rubus chamaemorus_ Black. Often made into a
kind of black juice, and
taken as sweet soup.
_Mustikka_ _Vaccinium myrtillus_ (Wortleberries)--Black.
Often made into soup of
a glorious colour.
_Puolukka_ _Vaccinium vitis idaea_ (Red whortleberry)--Like a
small cranberry. Eaten
with meat.
_Juolukka_ _Vaccinium uliginosum_ A common black kind of
berry, not very eatable.
_Herukka_ _Ribes nigrum_ Cranberry.
_Karpalo_ _Vaccinium occycoccus_ This berry is not gathered
in the autumn, but is left
under the snow all the
winter, ready to be picked
in spring when the snow
melts, as the fruit is
better when it has been
frozen. It keeps in a tub
for months without any
preparation, and is
particularly good as a
jelly when eaten with
cream.
_Muurain_ (Swedish, _Hjortron_) In appearance is like a
yellow raspberry; grows
in the extreme north in
the morasses during
August. It is a most
delicious fruit, with
a pine-tree flavour.
"Will you have some sweetbread?" we were once asked, but as we were
drinking coffee at the moment we rather wondered why we should be going
back to the _éntrees_--our stupidity, of course. Sweetbread is the name
given to all simple forms of cake in Finland; a great deal of it is
eaten, and it is particularly good.
At dinner, hock, claret, or light beer are drunk as a rule; but at
breakfast and supper, beer and milk are the usual beverages, the latter
appearing in enormous jugs--indeed, we have actually seen a glass one
that stood over two feet high.
After dinner, coffee is immediately served with cream, not hot milk;
after supper, tea is generally handed round, the hostess brewing it at
the table.
Beside her stands a huge _samovar_, which is really a Russian urn, and
not a teapot as generally supposed. Inside it are hot coals or coke,
round the tin of which is the boiling water, while above it stands the
teapot, kept hot by the water below. It is generally very good tea, for
it comes from China in blocks through Siberia, but it is much better
when drunk with thin slices of lemon than with milk. As a rule, it is
served to men in tumblers, and to women in cups, an etiquette with an
unknown origin. It is pale-straw colour, and looks horribly weak, and so
it is, but with lemon it forms a very refreshing beverage.
At the end of each meal every one at the table goes and shakes hands
with the host and hostess and says "_tack_" (thank you); certainly a
pretty little courtesy on the part of strangers, but rather monotonous
from children, when there are many of them, as there often are in
Finland, especially when the little ones cluster round the parents or
grandparents as a sort of joke, and prolong the "_tack_" for an
indefinite period.
Then the men smoke; seldom the women, for, although so close to Russia,
Finnish women rarely imitate their neighbours in this habit. The elder
men smoke tremendously, especially cigarettes, fifty or sixty per diem
being nothing uncommon. In fact, this smoking has become so terrible a
curse that there is now a movement among the students, most of whom seem
to be anti-smokers, against tobacco, so perhaps the new generation may
not have such black teeth and yellow fingers.
But to return to the first impressions of our country-house. The
balconies are made very wide so as to admit a dining-table, and as the
roofs of the houses project a couple of feet beyond the balcony, in
order to throw the winter's snows on to the ground instead of allowing
them to block up the verandahs, there is plenty of shade; that is
occasionally increased by hanging curtains of red and white striped
canvas, which can be drawn together, and form quite a little room. They
were the jolliest, happiest meals in that island home! Every one spoke
German--the language we all knew best in common--and conversation,
jokes, and merriment never flagged as we sat facing that glorious view
of pine-wood and water, while the lilac (just two months later than in
England) scented the air, or the hawthorn afforded shelter for endless
birds who were constantly singing. Among the most notable cries was that
of the friendly cuckoo. Fourteen, and even twenty, of us often dined
together--the daughters, sons, husbands, wives, and children from the
other houses frequently gathering round the father's board. And in the
cool of the evening we usually went for a row on the lake.
Every one boats in Finland. Two or three sailing boats, and some dozen
rowing skiffs and canvas _kanots_ of different sizes, lay upon the
Captain's water, and at all times and seasons some person was away in
one of them, or down at the bathing house enjoying a so-called sea-bath,
although it was not really salt water, being more of an inland lake.
Canoeing is one of the great sports of Finland, and yet it is only
within the last ten years that these _kanots_ have come in such
universal use, although no country was ever better fitted for the
purpose, for it is one series of long lakes joined together by beautiful
rivers. Dr. August Ramsay must be termed the Father of Finnish canoeing,
for it was his book on the subject that made the sport so fashionable.
Funnily enough, these Finnish canoes are always made of canvas stretched
over ribs of wood. They are two and a half to three feet wide and some
twenty feet long; therefore they are pretty solid and can be used with a
sail. An Englishman fond of the sport cannot do better than take a
summer jaunt to Finland, and with his canoe travel through some of the
most beautiful parts of that captivating country.
Finlanders lead a very jolly, independent, happy life during the summer
months. They seem to throw off their cares and responsibilities and to
make up their minds to enjoy the long, balmy days, and, as they are not
devoured by the midges which eat up strangers alive, they have nought to
ruffle the even tenor of their way.
After supper, when the day's work is over, and the great heat has gone,
boating parties are made up, and, in the brilliant midnight sunsets,
they glide in and out of the islands, visit distant friends, singing the
while some of the delightful melodies for which their land is justly
famous.
Even as far back as 1896, when I paid my first visit to Finland, and
when telephones were barely in general use in England, _Suomi_ was ahead
of us.
The great excitement in the homes was the ring of the telephone bell and
the Swedish cry, "Hulloa! ring up so and so," which at first we imagined
was being translated into English for our benefit. Telephones are very
cheap there, costing about a couple of pounds a year, and they are
universal; for, like Norway, Finland was one of the first countries to
be riddled with them, and a delightful luxury they are, for by their
means one can live out of the world, and yet be in it.
In those early days of telephones strange things happened. _Pekka_ was
madly in love with _Ilma_, a wondrously beautiful maid. He heard rumours
that she was trifling with another. He could not stand the torture even
for a few hours, and so "rang up" the mansion of the family _Heikkilä_.
Joy, he heard the voice of _Ilma_ in answer, and said, "Is it you, dear
one? I, _Pekka_, am here."
A soft sigh replied.
"Are you glad to hear _Pekka_--do you care for him just a little?"
"Yes," sighed the fair maid.
"Darling, it is not true you care for _Armas Merikanto_?"
"No, no!" she cried.
"You like me--you love me?"
"Yes," she softly murmured.
"Will you be my wife?"
"I will, _Pekka_."
Overjoyed, _Pekka_ almost hugged the wooden box that brought him such
glad tidings.
"When may I come to see you, darling--my little wife?"
"Come, _Pekka_--come for dinner at three o'clock."
A few more sweet nothings, and, quite enraptured, he returned to his
dull office routine. At three o'clock, spick and span, with a golden
ring in his pocket, he presented himself at the house of the
_Heikkiläs_.
In the salon stood the mother. He went towards her to receive her
motherly congratulations. She rushed forward to meet him, as all good
mothers-in-law should, and, throwing herself into his arms, she cried--
"Take me, _Pekka_, dearest _Pekka_; I am yours till death."
"Mine?"
"Yes. I have loved you long, darling _Pekka_, and I am ready whenever
you can fix a day for our marriage!"
Tableau!
_Moral_--beware of telephones!
Matrimony generally expects too much and gets too little. Courtship
proved the same in this case.
The first thing that strikes a stranger on entering a Finnish
country-house is the mats, placed at the foot of every staircase and
outside every door. They are made of the loose branches of the pine-tree
neatly laid on the top of one another to form an even round mat, these
branches being so constantly renewed that they always give off a
delicious fresh smell. The next surprise is the enormous white porcelain
stove or oven found in every room; so enormous are these _kakelugn_ that
they reach the ceiling, and are sometimes four feet long and three or
four feet deep. The floors of all the rooms are painted raw-sienna
colour, and very brightly polished. To our mind it seems a pity not to
stain the natural wood instead of thus spoiling its beauty, but yellow
paint is at present the fashion, and fashion is always beautiful, some
folk say. In winter carpets and rugs are put down, but during summer the
rooms are swept daily (at all events in the country) with a broom made
of a bundle of fresh, green birch leaves--somewhat primitive, but very
efficacious, for when the leaves are a little damp they lick up dust in
a wonderful manner. These little brooms are constantly renewed, being
literally nothing more than a bundle of birch boughs tied tightly
together. They cost nothing in a land where trees grow so fast that it
is difficult for a peasant to keep the ground near his house free from
their encroachments.
In truth, Finland is utterly charming. Its lakes, its canals, its
rivers, its forests, are beautiful, and its customs are interesting. It
is primitive and picturesque, and its people are most kind and
hospitable, but--and oh! it is a very big _but_ indeed, there exists a
Finnish pest.
Strolling through those beautiful dark pines and silver birch woods, he
is ever by one's side; sailing or rowing over the lakes, that Finnish
demon intrudes himself. Sitting quietly at meals, we know the fiend is
under the table, while, as we rest on the balcony in the evening,
watching a glorious sun sinking to rest an hour before midnight, he
whispers in our ears or peeps into our eyes. He is here, there, and
everywhere; he is omnipresent--this curse of Finland. He is very small,
his colour is such that he is hardly visible, and he is sly and crafty,
so that the unwary stranger little guesses that his constant and almost
unseen companion will speedily bring havoc to his comfort and dismay
into his life. The little wretch is called _Mygga_ in Swedish or
_Itikainen_ in Finnish, the Finnish words being pronounced exactly as
they are written, in the German style of calling i, e, etc.
In English he is a mosquito of a very virulent description, and in
Finland he is a peculiarly knowing little brute, and shows a hideous
partiality for strangers, not apparently caring much for the taste of
Finnish blood.
He loves Englishwomen as inordinately as they loathe him, and,
personally, the writer suffered such tortures that her ankles became hot
and swollen, and at last, in spite of lavender oil, ammonia and camphor
baths, grew so stiff that walking became positively painful, and her
ears and eyes mere distorted lumps of inflamed flesh! Therefore, dear
lady reader, be prepared when you visit Midgeland to become absolutely
hideous and unrecognisable. When a kindly servant brings a rug to wind
round your legs under the dinner-table on the balcony, gladly accept
that rug.
There are not merely mosquitoes but--but--that awful experience must be
told in another chapter.
As a town _Wiborg_ is nothing to boast of. There is nothing very
remarkable about any ordinary Finnish town, with the exception of the
capital, _Helsingfors_, where all the best buildings are centered and
built of stone. Most of the towns are modern and generally ugly,
because, being of wood, they are so apt to be burnt down, that
architects give neither time nor thought to their structural beauty, or,
even when not so destroyed, the original houses--which seldom last over
a hundred years--have fallen out of repair and been replaced by
undecorative wooden structures. Stone houses are few and far between,
and, as a rule, the wooden dwellings are only one storey high, because
fires in such low buildings are more easily extinguished, and, land not
being of much value, the space required for such edifices can easily be
afforded. These wooden dwellings are usually painted dark red in the
smaller towns, and lighter shades in the larger, while here and there
on the walls are to be seen iron rosettes and other queer sort of
ornaments, really used as a means of keeping the house together. No one,
not even a Finn, could call the average native town beautiful, although
some excellent stone educational buildings are springing up here and
there.
The capital is charmingly situated and has several very nice buildings,
and is therefore an exception, but even in the case of _Wiborg_ the shop
windows are small and uninviting, the streets are shockingly laid with
enormous boulder stones and sometimes even bits of rock, while
pavements, according to our ideas, hardly exist.
The religion being Lutheran there are no beautiful churches, only simple
whitewashed edifices, extremely plain inside, with an organ at one end,
an altar and perhaps one picture at the other. In the case of _Kuopio_
(which town possesses a Bishop) the cathedral is only lighted by
candles, and, during the service, a man goes round continually putting
out those that have burnt too low with a wet sponge tied to the end of a
stick!
One of the chief characteristics of the towns, most noticeable to a
stranger, is that none of the windows are ever open. The Finn dreads
fresh air as much as he dreads _daily_ ablutions, and therefore any room
a stranger enters at any hour is certain to be stuffy and oppressive.
One day in _Wiborg_, overcome with the intense heat, we went into a
confectioner's where ices were provided, to get cool. Imagine our horror
to find that the double windows were hermetically sealed, although the
café invited the patronage of strangers by placards stating "ices were
for sale." What irony! To eat an ice in a hothouse as a means of getting
cool.
_Wiborg_ has a big market, and every day a grand trade is done in that
large open space, and as we wandered from one cart of meat to another of
vegetables or black bread, or peeped at the quaint pottery or marvellous
baskets made from shavings of wood neatly plaited, our attention was
arrested by fish tartlets. We paused to look; yes, a sort of pasty the
shape of a saucer was adorned in the middle with a number of small fish
about the size of sardines. They were made of _suola kala_ (salted
fish), eaten raw by the peasants; we now saw them in _Wiborg_ for the
first time, though, unhappily, not for the last, since these fish
tartlets haunted us at every stage of our journey up country.
What weird and wonderful foods one eats and often enjoys when
travelling.
Strange dishes, different languages, quaint customs, and unexpected
characteristics all add to the charms of a new land; but it requires
brains to admire anything new.
Fools are always stubborn, even in their appreciation of the beautiful.