ABO--FINLAND.
I was strongly inclined to spend several weeks in Helsingfors. The
bathing is delightful, and the manners and customs of the people are
primitive and interesting. My adventure on the sea-shore, as I soon
discovered, was nothing uncommon. I mentioned the matter to my
landlady--a Finnish woman of very sociable manners, who spoke a little
English. I asked her if it was customary for the ladies to dispense
with bathing-dresses. She said they generally wore something when they
bathed in public, but beyond the limits of the regular bath-houses, at
the end of the Botanical Gardens, they seldom troubled themselves
about matters of that kind; in fact, they preferred going in without
any obstruction, because "they could swim so much better."
Having procured my passport at the Bureau of the Police, I took
passage in a Swedish steamer bound for Abo and Stockholm. Next morning
by daylight the steamer arrived from St. Petersburg. I went on board,
and in a few hours more the fortifications of Sweaborg were dim in the
distance.
The accommodations on board the Swedish steamers are excellent. I took
passage in the second cabin, for the sake of economy, and found every
thing as clean and comfortable as I could desire. The waiters are
polite and attentive, the fare is good, and the company quiet and
respectable. The difference in this respect is very striking between
first and second class passengers on board of American and Swedish
steamers. In the latter there is no rowdyism--no incivility from
officers or servants; and, so far as the passengers are concerned, I
could not perceive that they were debarred from any of the privileges
enjoyed by passengers of the first class. They had the entire range of
the vessel, and were treated with the same respect and consideration
shown to others who possessed the means of indulgence in a little more
style. I have been particularly pleased with this trait in the
management of public conveyances throughout Europe. In Sweden and
Norway it is especially characteristic. The commonest deck-passenger
on board a Swedish or Norwegian steamer is treated with courtesy.
Indeed, I have seen instances of care and tenderness toward the poorer
classes, whose circumstances compelled them to travel in this way,
that I regret to say would excite astonishment in our own democratic
country. I can scarcely understand why it is that the captain and
officers of a steam-ship on our side of the water consider it their
duty to harass passengers who do not pay the highest price with all
sorts of vexatious restrictions, and to render their condition as
uncomfortable as possible. To be overbearing, insolent, and
ungentlemanly seems to be the only aim of these important
functionaries, and, so far as my experience goes, they succeed so well
in this respect that if they do not actually prove themselves brutes
and blackguards during the passage, they are usually rewarded for
their forbearance, on reaching the port of destination, by a card of
thanks. I have seen no such insolence on the part of officers and
slavishness on that of passengers on board of any Swedish or Norwegian
steamer, as I have often seen on the Panama and California coast
steamers. Yet cards of thanks are not common in Europe. In fact, they
would be regarded as a reflection upon the officers rather than an
evidence of complimentary appreciation.
The coast of Finland from Helsingfors to Abo abounds in small rocky
islands, covered, for the most part, with a stunted growth of pine.
The outline of the main land is extremely rugged and irregular,
presenting a succession of promontories, bays, and inlets,
weather-beaten cliffs of granite, and gloomy pine forests. No sign of
habitation is to be seen during the entire voyage, with the exception
of an occasional group of fishermen's huts or a custom-house station.
The whole country has the appearance of an unbroken wilderness. The
steamer plows her way, hour after hour, through the narrow and winding
passages that lie between the islands--sometimes so close to the
overhanging cliffs and rugged boulders of granite as almost to
touch--and often apparently land-locked amid the maze of islands and
promontories. While there is nothing grand or imposing in the scenery,
the coast of Finland is certainly one of the most interesting portions
of the world, in a geological point of view. The singular formation of
the rocks, their rich and varied colors, and the strange manner in
which Nature has grouped them together, afford an endless variety of
interesting studies. The utter isolation of the inhabitants from the
busy world, their rude and primitive mode of life, their simplicity,
hardihood, and daring; the rigors of climate to which they are
subject, and their strong attachment to their sea-girt homes and
perilous pursuits, render the trip interesting to the general tourist,
who, though not skilled in geology, may be supposed to possess, like
myself, a fancy for gathering up odds and ends touching the condition
of his fellow-beings.
The people of this coast region are a hardy race, whose wild habits of
life and isolation from the great outer world develop in them many
striking and peculiar traits of character. During the long winters,
when the bays, inlets, and harbors are blocked with ice, they become
wood-choppers or lumbermen, and spend their time chiefly in the
forests. Upon the breaking up of winter they prepare their nets and
fishing-gear, and, as soon as the season permits, set forth in their
little smacks, and devote the principal part of the summer to catching
and curing fish, for which they find a ready sale at the stations
along the shore, frequented by traders from St. Petersburg. They live
in small cabins, built of pine logs, rarely consisting of more than
two rooms. Each family owns a small patch of ground, with an unlimited
range of forest. A few cows or goats, a vegetable garden, and some
chickens or ducks, constitute all they require for domestic use, and
these are usually attended by the women and children during the
absence of the men on their fishing expeditions. Education is at a low
ebb among them, though the rudimental branches are not altogether
neglected. They are a simple, hospitable, and kind-hearted people,
ignorant and superstitious, yet by no means deficient in natural
capacity. No better sailors than the Finns are to be found in any part
of the world, and there is scarcely a sea throughout the arctic
regions which has not been visited by their vessels. Although the
climate is rigorous during a considerable portion of the year, the
Finns prefer it to any other in the world, and conscientiously believe
the garden of Paradise must have been originally located in Finland.
The lower classes are contented and happy, caring little for affairs
of government, unless they happen to be subjected to some peculiar or
oppressive restraints. As the traveler approaches the Gulf of Bothnia,
they assimilate very closely to the same classes in Sweden, and but
little difference is perceptible either in their language or costume.
The educated classes, such as the professional men, merchants,
bankers, traders, etc., are as polished as most people throughout the
North of Europe, and many of them are distinguished for their
cultivated manners and general intelligence. Such of these as I
conversed with on board the steamer impressed me very favorably. I
found them liberal in their sentiments, and devoted admirers of our
American institutions. Yet, strange to say, the only secessionist I
met in the course of my wanderings in this region was a Finn. Hearing
me speak English, he immediately opened a conversation on the subject
of the revolutionary movement in the United States. He did not know
what we were fighting for; thought the North was acting very badly;
regarded the people of the South as an oppressed and persecuted race;
believed in slavery; considered the Lincoln government a perfect
despotism, etc. In short, his views were a general epitome of the
speeches, proclamations, and messages of the leading rebels throughout
the South. I listened to him with great patience. He had an
interesting family on board, all of whom spoke English; and what
struck me as peculiar, a species of negro English common in the
Southern States. "Sir," said I, at length, "you surprise me! I had not
expected to meet so strong an advocate of slavery and slave
institutions in this latitude. Can it be possible that you are a
Finn?" "Yes, sir," he answered, "a genuine Finn--now on a visit to my
native country after an absence of twenty-five years." "Then you must
have lived in the South?" "Yes, sir; in Montgomery, Alabama. I have
property there. It was getting pretty bad there for a family, and I
thought I had better pay a visit to Finland while the war was going
on." This accounted for the peculiar sentiments of my fellow-traveler!
He seemed to be a very nice old gentleman, and I was sorry to find him
tinctured with the heresies of rebellion. Farther conversation with
him satisfied me that if he could get his property out of Montgomery,
and put it in Massachusetts, he would be a very respectable Union man.
I don't think his heart was in the movement, though his pocket,
doubtless, felt a considerable interest in it.
The town of Abo, formerly the capital of Finland--now a place of no
great importance except as a custom-house and military station--is
beautifully situated on the banks of a river called the Aurajoki,
about three miles above its mouth. Vessels of medium draught,
including the coasting steamers, have no difficulty in ascending as
far as the bridge, where they lie alongside the wharves and receive or
discharge freight. Those of larger draught usually anchor off the
village of Boxholm, a picturesque gathering of red cottages, with
high peaked roofs, situated at the entrance of the river. Above the
village, on the summit of a rocky cliff, stands the fort of Abohus,
ready at a moment's notice to pour a broadside into any enemy of
Imperial Russia that may undertake to pass up the river.
Abo, since the removal of the capital and University to Helsingfors
and the great conflagration of 1827, which destroyed two thirds of the
town, has fallen into decay, and now does not contain a population of
more than ten or twelve thousand souls. Spread over an area of several
miles square, with a sufficient number of houses to accommodate twice
or three times the population, its broad, stone-paved thoroughfares
and numerous untenanted buildings have a peculiarly desolate
appearance. Back a little from the river the pedestrian may walk half
a mile at midday without meeting a single soul in the streets. A dead
silence reigns over these deserted quarters, as if the prevailing
lethargy had fallen upon the few inhabitants that remain. Grass grows
on the sidewalks, and the basement walls of the houses are covered
with moss. A dank, chilly mildew seems to hang in the air. One might
become green all over, like a neglected tomb-stone, should he forget
himself and stand too long in one spot. I spent a considerable portion
of the day rambling through these melancholy by-ways, and must admit
that the effect upon my spirits was not cheering. Now and then the
apparition of some cadaverous old woman, wrinkled with age--a greenish
hue upon her features--would appear unexpectedly at some unexpected
opening in one of the ruinous old houses, and startle me by a gaze of
wonder or some unintelligible speech addressed to herself. Probably a
human being had not been seen in that vicinity for the last month.
Sometimes a slatternly servant-girl would appear in the distance, her
dress bedraggled with slops, a tub of water on the pavement close by,
and a long-handled mop in her hand, with which she seemed to be
vigorously engaged in scrubbing the green slime and tufts of moss off
the window-sills; but catching a sight of the strangers, down would
go the mop, and then the usual hasty attempt would be made at fixing
her hair and otherwise increasing her personal charms. As I drew near,
this useful member of society would naturally take a sidelong glance
at the strange gentleman, and perceiving that he was uncommonly
attractive in personal appearance, it was quite natural she should
make a neat little courtesy and say "_Got Aften!_" to which, of
course, I always responded in the most affable manner, not forgetting
to say to myself, in an audible tone, "Sken Jumfru!"--a pretty girl.
No harm in that, is there?
In the afternoon I walked out to a public garden about two miles from
town, where there are some very pleasant promenades, a large building
containing a ballroom, and numerous pavilions for refreshments. It was
a festive occasion, and the elite and fashion of Abo were assembled
there in their best attire. The music was inspiring. Dancing seemed
contagious. The ballroom was crowded, and old and young were whirling
about on the light fantastic toe with a zest and spirit truly
inspiring. Old gentlemen with bald heads seemed to have forgotten
their age and infirmities, and whirled the blooming damsels around in
the dizzy mazes of the waltz as dexterously as the youngest; and young
gentlemen hopped about quite frantic with joy, and altogether
bewildered with the beauty of their partners. It was really a pretty
sight. Rarely had I seen so many pleasant faces of both sexes,
especially those of the ladies. Good-humor, simplicity, and frankness
were their predominant traits. All ceremony seemed to be cast aside,
and every body participated in the dance as if it were one great
family frolic. The formality of introduction was dispensed with, or
probably most of the guests were already acquainted. The fiddlers
scraped louder and louder; wilder and faster blew the horns, and on
went the dance with increasing vigor. I was getting excited--the
spirit of the thing was contagious. Though not much of a dancer, yet
I had occasionally in my life filled a place in a reel or a cotillon.
Waltzing, to be sure, was a little beyond my experience, but I had a
general idea of the figure, and could not perceive that there was any
thing very difficult about it. Most of the waltzers here whirled
around with great ease, and I could see no reason why it would not be
entirely practicable for an active man like myself, who thought
nothing of climbing high mountains or jumping across small rivers, to
do the same. Besides, these people were strangers; it would be a good
opportunity to try my skill. Doubtless, any of the young ladies would
oblige me if I asked them to dance. They seemed to oblige every body
that asked them, and showed no signs of fatigue. Indeed, they looked
fresher and more vigorous after every bout. I was particularly charmed
with the appearance of one young lady. Her complexion was florid, and
her figure absolutely magnificent. At a rough guess she must have
weighed a hundred and eighty pounds. Every time she whirled past me I
could feel the floor give way. Her partner was rather small, and
revolved around her like a planet round the sun. When she laughed,
which was nearly all the time, her beautiful mouth opened at least two
thirds of the way across her face, revealing a set of teeth to which
flakes of snow, pearls, or any thing of that kind could bear no
comparison. The extraordinary vigor of this girl, her tremendous
powers of endurance, her weight, beauty, and good-humor, rendered her
a general favorite. She was, in fact, the belle of the room. To dance
with her would be an honorable distinction. Now I am naturally a
modest man, but of late years that defect has been gradually
disappearing from my character. I resolved to dance with this girl--if
she would consent. As soon as there was a pause, therefore, I made
bold to go up to her, and, with a very polite bow, solicited her
hand--in English. She didn't understand English, but she understood
dancing, and answered me very politely in Swedish, "Ja!" I think my
dress and manner, together with my ignorance of the Swedish language,
had rather a favorable effect. She certainly looked complimented and
gratified. I saw her turn round her head as we stood up, and laugh at
the other girls, which I interpreted to mean that she, of all in the
room, had succeeded in catching the distinguished stranger. Well, the
music started--it was a German waltz. I stood holding on to my partner
as the ivy clings to the solid oak. Never did I feel so firm a girl.
Had she been formed of lead she could not have felt more substantial.
Now, thought I, away we'll spin over the floor, a living duet,
altogether accidental, but beautiful to behold--
"Like the sweet tunes that wandering meet,
And so harmoniously they run,
The hearer dreams they are but one."
There was only one consideration that gave me any particular anxiety.
Being of a light and slender figure, I had some apprehensions that in
the giddy whirl of the waltz this powerful young lady might
accidentally throw me out of balance and create an unpleasant scene.
However, there was no time for reflection. At a given signal, away she
started with tremendous energy. I did my best to whirl her round, and
don't think it would be possible for any body to do any better under
the circumstances; but she didn't keep time--or I didn't. Round and
round the room we flew, to the inspiring strains of the music, with an
undulating motion very difficult to conceive, and still more difficult
to execute without danger to the other dancers. The warm blood rushed
to my face; my head grew dizzy: the only thing I saw was that this
style of waltzing must end in destruction to myself or somebody else.
I was fairly lifted off my feet at every turn, and found myself
absolutely hanging on to my partner to keep from falling. She never
relaxed in her vigorous movements one moment; but as the music
increased in spirit, so did she. The room was filled with waltzers. It
was impossible to be flying about in this way without hitting
somebody. I knew it from the very beginning, but what could I do? The
first man down was an old gentleman. I begged his pardon, and helped
him up again. Next I was dashed against a young lady. She and her
partner both went down. I helped them up, and begged pardon again,
which was granted with great good-humor. After that, most of the
waltzers began to get out of the way, so that we presently had a more
enlarged scope of operations. I fancy there was something uncommon in
my style of waltzing that attracted attention. It was not long before
we had the entire circle to ourselves, the crowd standing around and
manifesting the most intense appreciation of our efforts. All went on
very well for a while. Up and down the room, and round and round we
whirled, and at every whirl there was a murmur of admiration and
applause. My beautiful partner shook her sides as if convulsed with an
earthquake--I could feel the motion, but was unable to conjecture the
cause. Possibly she was getting agitated--or it might be that
sentiments of tenderness were stealing over her heart. That idea, or
something else, confused me. I struck out one foot a little awkwardly.
She tripped against it, whirled me half round in attempting to gain
her balance, and then we fell. It was very awkward. What rendered it
still more unpleasant, every body began to laugh. People always do
laugh at the misfortunes of others. I would have picked the young lady
up at once, or at least tried it (for she was rather heavy), but the
fact is, I fell underneath, and was utterly unable to move. Had I been
pinned and riveted to the floor, I could not have been in a more
helpless position. A man whose natural instincts are polite is surely
a subject of sympathy and commiseration under such a pressure of
difficulties as this. I breathed hard, but was unable to get out a
single word of apology, till, with, a laugh and a bound, my fair
partner regained her feet, and then she very good-naturedly assisted
me in regaining mine. Mortified beyond measure, I conducted her to a
seat. As I was passing out of the room soon after, a new waltz struck
up. The dancers went at it again as lively as ever. I turned to see
what had become of my partner. She was whirling over the floor with
undiminished energy in the arms of a young gentleman in military
uniform. He may have been more accustomed to waltzing than I was, but
I think any person present--not excepting the young lady
herself--would have been willing to admit that his style did not
compare with mine in force and individuality. It certainly produced no
such effect upon the audience.
I walked back to town a sober and thoughtful man. This dancing
business is a very foolish pastime. It may do very well for giddy and
thoughtless young persons, but for men of mature years it is the
height of folly. I am surprised that they should be led aside from
their customary propriety by the fascinations of beauty.
The sun was just setting. Its last rays rested upon the ruined walls
of the Observatory. I followed a crowd of citizens who were slowly
toiling up the stone steps, and, after a pretty hard climb, was
rewarded with a magnificent view of the city and surrounding country.
The rocky pinnacle upon which the Observatory stands rises some three
hundred feet above the banks of the river, and overlooks a large
portion of the valley of the Aurajoki. The winding waters of the
river; the green fields; patches of woodland, villas, and gardens; the
blue mountains in the distance, and the silent city lying like a
mouldering corpse beneath, presented a scene singularly picturesque
and impressive. I sat down upon the ruined walls and thought of Abo in
its glory--the ancient head-quarters of Christianity in Finland; the
last abiding-place of the beautiful Caroline Morsson, the peasant
queen of Sweden, wife of Eric XII., who died here, and whose remains
lie in the Cathedral--the city of the mighty hosts of warlike Finns
who fought under the banner of Charles XII., and made a funeral pyre
of their bodies upon the bloody field of Puttara. The present Finns
are of this heroic race. Not less brave, yet less fortunate than the
Spartans of Thermopylae, they have lost their country and their
freedom, and now groan under the oppression of a despotic government.
While thus musing on the past, a strain of delicious music broke the
stillness. I rambled over the granite cliffs in the direction of the
sound, and soon came to a grove of trees, with an open space in the
middle, occupied by a band of musicians, who were surrounded by a
group of citizens, thus pleasantly passing the summer evening. Booths
and tents were scattered about in every direction, in which cakes and
refreshments were to be had; and gay parties of young people were
seated on long planks so arranged as to make a kind of spring seats,
upon which they bounced up and down to the time of the music. Children
were playing upon the grass, their merry shouts of laughter mingling
pleasantly with the national air performed by the band. On the
moss-covered rocks sat groups of young ladies, guarded by their
amiable mothers or discreet duennas, as the case might be, trying hard
not to see any of the young gentlemen who lounged about in the same
vicinity; and young gentlemen prowled about puffing cigars as if they
didn't care a straw whether the young ladies looked at them or
not--both being, of course, according to the established usages of
society, natural enemies of each other. For the life of me, I can't
tell why it is that young ladies and gentlemen should be thus
everlastingly at war. Would it not be better to kiss and make it up,
and try, if possible, to get along peaceably through the world?
But the steamer blows her whistle--the bell rings--I must hurry on
board. Good-by, dear Finns, big and little, I like you all. God bless
you! Good-by old Abo, with your ancient church, and your moss-grown
streets, and deserts of houses--I feel sorry for you, but I can't help
it! Good-by, Russia! If I don't call again, attribute it to no want of
interest in the great cause of civilization. Just drop me a line and
let me know when the serfs are free and a constitutional government is
established, and I will strain a point to pay my respects to Alexander
II. I rather like the young man, and have an idea that he is capable
of noble deeds and heroic sacrifices. But he must abolish his secret
police, punish them for whipping women, open universities upon a
liberal basis, throw the camarilla and the aristocracy overboard, quit
murdering the poor Poles at Warsaw, and do several other things before
he can have my support. Should he accomplish these beneficial reforms,
and at any future time think proper to settle in my neighborhood,
where the climate is more genial, I shall cheerfully vote for him as
mayor of the city of Oakland.