It is a calm September morning. Dew glitters in the fields; fog rolls along the bare spikes of the leafless trees, to fade at last into the air. This morning the brothers rose in vicious mood and, in a sulky silence, washed their faces, brushed their hair and dressed themselves in their Sunday best. For they had decided that to-day they would go to the parish clerk’s to school.

They now eat their breakfast at Jukola’s long pinewood table, and the brown peas seem to taste well to them, though their air is far from merry and dull care gleams from their brows; the thought of the school-trip, on which they must soon depart, is the cause of this gloom. Yet, having eaten, they did not hasten at once on their way, but sat and rested a while. They sat in silence, some staring moodily downward at the floor, others fixing their red-backed a-b-c books as they turned the stout leaves. Beside the southern window of the farmhouse Juhani sat, looking up along the stony hillside towards the dense pinewood, where the old woman’s cabin glowed faintly with its red-lintelled door.

JUHANI. Venla trips there along the path, and nimbly she skips.

AAPO. And only yesterday both mother and daughter were to go to their kinsfolk at Tikkala to dig turnips and pick whortleberries, and stay there until late autumn.

JUHANI. Until late autumn? It makes me uneasy. I suppose they’ll go; but there’s a farm-hand at Tikkala this year, a bonny lad and a bit of a scamp, and there’d be the end of all our hopes. Best do the great deed this minute; put the question, the question of questions. Let’s go now and ask the wench if she’s willing and if her heart’s aflame.

TUOMAS. I believe that would be best, too.

TIMO. I too.

JUHANI. Ay, ay! Nothing else now but all a-marrying at the same time like true lads. Ay! The Lord protect us! It can’t be helped, so a-wooing, a-wooing! Here we are in our best clothes, washed and brushed; our whole outer man that of a Christian being: clean, and, as it were, born again. I feel very uneasy in my mind. But on to Venla! Now is an acceptable time.

EERO. And may it be also a day of bliss.

JUHANI. Whose bliss, whose? Aha! What dost thou think, boy?

EERO. Why not all of ours?

JUHANI. Meaning that she should marry all of us?

EERO. Why not?

JUHANI. What!

SIMEONI. How in God’s name would that be possible?

EERO. Before God nothing is impossible. Let us all love with one accord.

JUHANI. Shut up, Eero, for now we’re off a-wooing and the same road to school, bags on our shoulders.

AAPO. If we are to carry out the thing properly, one of us ought to act as a kind of spokesman in yon cabin.

JUHANI. An important point. But thou thyself art as though cast for the job. Thou hast a goodly gift; thy speech will always awaken fire and lightning in a man’s breast. Verily, thou wert born to be a parson.

AAPO. What do I know? And why speak of gifts? Here in the forest they fade in the mists of ignorance, die away like a tinkling brook in sand.

JUHANI. Hard luck has kept thee from school.

AAPO. Where would our farm have got the means to send me to school? Remember that more than one food-bag dances between home and school before a lad is ready for the wooden tub. But to come to business again, our wooing-business, may it be as you say. I’ll step forward as the common spokesman and try to speak as a wise man.

JUHANI. Let’s get to work. Lord ha’ mercy! Nothing can help us now, so let’s get to work in earnest. We can leave our bags outside the old woman’s cabin, and Lauri, who has no cows in this well, can guard them from the pigs. Come on now! And let’s enter the bridal chamber with our a-b-c books in our hands; it lends us a kind of solemnity.

EERO. Still more if we turn the last page with the cock on outside.

JUHANI. At it again? But the cock reminds me of a horrid dream I had last night.

SIMEONI. Tell it us; it might be a warning to us.

JUHANI. I dreamed that on yon stove there was a hen’s nest with seven eggs in it.

SIMEONI. Jukola’s seven sons!

JUHANI. But one of the eggs was ridiculously small.

SIMEONI. Eero!

JUHANI. The cock dies.

SIMEONI. Our father!

JUHANI. The hen died.

SIMEONI. Mother!

JUHANI. Then all at once the whole world’s mice, rats and weasels attacked the nest.--What would these animals mean?

SIMEONI. Our sinful passions and the lusts of the world.

JUHANI. I suppose so.--Well, the weasels, rats and mice came and turned and rolled the eggs, tapped and rattled them, so that they broke, and from the little egg burst a very evil smell.

SIMEONI. Mark that, Eero.

JUHANI. The eggs were broken and an awful voice, as the voice of many waters, shouted from the oventop into my ear: ‘all is broken, and the breakage is great!’ So it shouted but at last we began, however, to gathering the mess together and cook it, and in the end we got what is called scrambled eggs; this we ate with great pleasure and even gave some to our neighbours.

EERO. A good dream.

JUHANI. A bad one; thou stankest in it like Hell. It was a very bad dream I had of thee, my boy.

EERO. But I had a real sweet dream of thee; I dreamed that the cockerel in the a-b-c book laid thee, as a reward for thy diligence and wisdom, a big heap of sweets and lumps of sugar. Thou wert greatly pleased and smacked thy lips over them; they gavest me some too.

JUHANI. Did I give thee some? That was a good deed.

EERO. When is it ill to give?

JUHANI. Never; especially if I were to give thee a little taste of the stick.

EERO. Why only a little?

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw, bull-calf!

TUOMAS. Do that both of you, and let us start.

AAPO. Let each take his bag and his a-b-c book.

And they set forth to woo their neighbour’s daughter. In Indian file, silent, they crossed the mound in which their potato-cellar lay, marched up the stony hill and stood at last before Mother Pinewood’s cabin.

JUHANI. Here we are and here we leave our bags; do thou, Lauri, keep faithful watch until we return from the bridal chamber.

LAURI. Will you be there long?

JUHANI. As long as the shaping of our errand demands.--Has anyone a ring?

EERO. It isn’t needed.

JUHANI. Has anyone a ring in his pocket?

TIMO. Not I, nor as far as I know have the others. There you are now: a bachelor ought always to have a ring in his pocket when he goes out.

JUHANI. The Devil! Here we stand now. And peddler Isak was at our place yesterday, who could have sold me both the ring and the shawl. But, I pig that I am, never thought of that.

AAPO. Such instruments we can buy ourselves later. Indeed it is best to know first for certain whether any of us, and which, is to make these joyful purchases.

JUHANI. Who opened the door? Was it Venla?

TIMO. It was the old woman, the long-chinned hag.

JUHANI. Venla’s spinning-wheel hums in there like a merry dung-beetle on a summer evening, foretelling fine weather. Let’s go in now. Where’s my a-b-c?

AAPO. In thy fist, brother. Why, God’s creation, thou art as though a little mixed in thy head.

JUHANI. Nothing much to be afraid of, brother. I’m not smutty in the face, am I?

EERO. Not in the least, thou art as clean and warm as a new-laid egg.

JUHANI. Let’s go in now!

EERO. Wait! I am the youngest and will open the door for you and come in last myself. Walk in.

They entered the old woman’s low-roofed cabin, Juhani first, with staring eyes and hair upright like the spikes of a hedgehog, while with great gravity the others followed at his heels. They entered, and Eero quickly closed the door after them, but himself stayed outside and sat down on the grass, a knowing grin on his lips.

The old woman in whose cabin five brothers now stand as wooers, is a nimble and vigorous woman; she makes a living by keeping hens and gathering berries. All the summer and autumn she bobs about the stump-bestrewn clearings, the mounds where grow the alpine strawberries and whortleberries, bobs and sweats with her daughter Venla. The maiden is said to be beautiful. Her hair is the colour of rust, her glance cunning and sharp, her mouth melting, though perhaps a little too wide. She is short in stature, but broad-shouldered and plump; she is also said to be strong. Such was the brothers’ love-bird in the pinewood’s shelter.

But suddenly the cabin door squeaked and Juhani came excitedly out, angrily exclaiming to the others who still lingered within: ‘come away, boys!’ And soon they were all outside, with annoyance writ large in their faces, and began walking onwards to the village. But when they had come some fifty paces from the cabin, Juhani picked up a stone about as big as a man’s fist and, snorting with rage, cast it at the cabin door. The cabin shook, and inside, the old woman shrieked; then, throwing open the door, she cursed and raged, shaking her fist at the retreating brothers. With their a-b-c’s in their hands and bags on their shoulders the brothers marched after each other along the road to church, without exchanging a word. At a furious speed born of anger they marched: the sand flew and the bags danced; nor did they notice how quickly they fared.

EERO. How did the matter succeed?

JUHANI. Ah, indeed! How did it succeed? Didst thou come in with us, thou magpie, thou young crow? But thou didst not dare, truly thou durst not. What good is a young crow like thee! Venla could hide thee in her skirts. But look you how much I have dreamed of thee. I had, as I now remember, another dream of thee last night. Funny! There in the pine-grove thou didst sit with Venla, billing and cooing, as I drew near creeping stealthily. But oh, when you saw me, what did Venla do? Hid thee, devil take me, in her skirts. ‘What has thou wrapped up in thy skirts?’ asks I. ‘Only a young crow,’ answered the wench. He-he-he! And this was no dream at all, no, dog take it, it wasn’t! But ’twas made up all alone, out of his own head, by Juhani-boy. Ah, indeed! He isn’t quite as stupid as folk think.

EERO. Funny how we have dreamed of each other. This is what I dreamed of thee: among the pines over there thou and Venla stood, lovingly hugging each other and looking solemnly up at the clouds. From there, from the heights of the sky, you craved some sign, something to show that your love had found favour. The heavens listened, the forests, fields and even the little birds listened, and you yourselves waited in deepest silence for what would befall. Came at last an old crow, flying stiffly through the calm air, and when he reached the place where you were standing he cast down one glance at you, but soon turned his gaze elsewhere, and spreading out his legs dropped something white that fell with a splash on the two young foreheads, splashed right over your faces.--But don’t let this disturb thy calm; for I dreamed all this and have not made up anything out of my own head.

JUHANI. Thou devil-possessed, I’ll....

And he charged furiously at Eero, who fled swiftly before his enraged brother. With one spring he was off the road and scuttling like a hare over the clearing, with Juhani shambling after him like a maddened bear. Their bags danced, the dry ground rang beneath them; and from afar the voices of the other brothers entreated them to goodwill and forbearance. Then back to the road hastened Eero again, and the others rushed forward to save him from the dread clutch of Juhani, who ran already at the heels of his youngest brother.

TUOMAS. Stop now and be quiet, Juhani.

JUHANI. I’ll lay him out.

TUOMAS. Quietly, my boy.

JUHANI. Thunder and lightning!

AAPO. He only returned honour for honour.

JUHANI. Accursed be his tongue, accursed be this day! Weren’t we, in God’s name, refused by Venla! Horny-headed Goblins and Hosts of High Heaven! My eyes can scarce see a fathom before me, so black is the earth and sky, black on my heart’s account. Thunder and lightning!

SIMEONI. Don’t curse, man.

JUHANI. I’ll curse till the world spins round, falls to pieces like an old log-sleigh under a monster tree-trunk.

SIMEONI. What can we do?

JUHANI. Do? If this a-b-c were not the Word of God, God’s own book, I’d dash it into bits at once! But see here: I will dash my dinner-bag to bits against the hillside! Would you like to see?

SIMEONI. For the Lord’s sake not the gift of God! Think of the Maid of Paimio.

JUHANI. In the torment of my heart!

SIMEONI. ‘Pain and torment on earth, manna in Heaven.’

JUHANI. I give a fig for manna in Heaven when I couldn’t get Mother Pinewood’s Venla. Oh brothers and kinsmen! If you knew, you would understand that my thoughts have circled daftly round that wench for years. But now my hopes are gone, gone like ashes before the wind.

TIMO. We were refused in the early morning.

JUHANI. Every one of us!

TIMO. No mercy for anyone, not even the least among us. We all got the same.

JUHANI. All, all! But even that was better than that one of you should have won her for his better half. Devil take me! I’d thrash the lad who’d had that luck, that I would.

TUOMAS. We were quite out of the question. That the girl’s mocking grin showed when Aapo had mentioned our errand.

JUHANI. She deserves to be beaten, the slut. To make a mock of us! Wait, thou jade.--Aapo did his best, that can’t be denied, but even the tongue of a cherub wouldn’t have helped here.

TIMO. But if we had stepped before the girl in a black broadcloth coat, and a watch like a big turnip had bulged out our waistcoat pocket, the key clinked on a chain and a silver-bound pipe smoked between our teeth, there’d have been, dog take it, both eggs and chickens hatched out of our errand.

JUHANI. Women and magpies have the same fierce desire for shining objects.--But Aapo’s as silent as a frozen lake.

AAPO. Our voice cannot carry in a storm. Or are the wild whirlwinds of thy mind beginning to calm down in thy bosom?

JUHANI. The bloody pool of my heart still storms, and will storm for long. But say a word, anyhow.

AAPO. Two, if needed. So listen. Take thy heart in thy hand, and whisper this in its car with the voice of common-sense: Venla would not have thee because she does not love thee, and that she does not love thee is nothing to lose thy temper over; for the flame of love is lit at Heaven’s and not at man’s command. A beggar-girl falls in love with a king, a queen falls madly in love with a chimney-sweep’s boy. So flies the spirit of love around down here, and thou knowest not whence it comest.

TIMO. Love bloweth where it listeth, thou hearest the voice thereof, but thou knowest not whence it cometh and whither it goeth. So I often used to hear the old pensioned widow say. But it was the love of God she meant, I’ll lay.

AAPO. Go on, Juhani, to thy heart thus: stop kicking! Venla did right in refusing thee; for to enter into marriage without the spur of love doesn’t seem to end well, but brings trouble and often leads to works of eternal regret, as, more’s the pity, we so often see and hear nowadays. Ay, brothers, may Venla take the one set apart for her, we’ll do the same.

TIMO. The girl who was made out of my rib will be mine in the end, though the Devil were to scream. I know another thing: a man’s heart lies on his left, and a woman’s on the right of her breast.

JUHANI. My heart doesn’t lie anywhere, but jumps and rages like a heathen.--Oh thou hussy, thou gypsy jade! Why didst thou refuse me, a farmer, the eldest son of a real clay-soil farm?

AAPO. Nothing to wonder at in that. Our farm is in crying need, and the girl hopes, though to my belief vainly, to become mistress of a much better farm. I have heard that that good-for-nothing Juhani Sorvali cuddles her.

JUHANI. Thou spiky-chinned Juhani! If I had thee in these hands now, I’d wipe thee down a little. Tricking a wench to her everlasting shame.

AAPO. Ay, ay, the world is mad and treacherous all at the same time. Venla is not lacking in beauty, nor Jussi in cunning. Sorvari is a wellknown farm and that entices, while Jukola, this nest of cripples, is in a very sad state, and we ourselves, its seven heirs, in a still sadder state, at least in the eyes of the world. Remembering the idle and often wild life of our youth, people hardly expect anything good to come of us. And I know that even ten years well-behaved and in every way respectable life would scarcely be enough to raise us again in the sight of our fellows. So hard is it to free ourselves from the dirt of a bad name, once it has stuck to a man. Yet it’s better to rise late than to sink for ever in the mudpool of our misery. So now, improvement, improvement with all our might!

JUHANI. We’re on the road to improvement now. But this unlucky wooing-trip has given my heart a blow that it will suffer from dreadfully for days and weeks; it caused a wound.

AAPO. A wound, ay, that it did; but time, I know, will cover the wound with the scab and skin of forgetfulness.--What racket is that on the road?

TIMO. A merry crowd of lads from Toukola.

AAPO. They’re enjoying an idle Monday with a big spree, the scamps.

TIMO. And greatly want us too to join them.

JUHANI. Temptation draws nigh.

TIMO. They’re having such a good time.

JUHANI. But we? What lies before us? A thousand horned heads! A fiery wigging is what awaits us poor wretches.

EERO. What a difference: to jabber the a-b-c in the parish clerk’s corner, or to enjoy an idle Monday, cheering and singing with jolly comrades.

JUHANI. The difference is terribly big, as big as the depth between a well and Heaven. Brothers, which shall we choose?

EERO. Let us choose Heaven.

AAPO. The well, the well! To guzzle ourselves full of the water of life. Let us thrust into the jungle of learning, skill and wisdom.

TUOMAS. To the parish clerk!

JUHANI. Well, let’s plod on then.

EERO. Hark at Kissala Aapeli’s clarinet.

JUHANI. Lovely!

TIMO. Rings out like a head-angel’s bassoon.

JUHANI. When the hosts of Heaven exercise and march till the dust flies. Lovely!

TIMO. They are greatly keen on us joining them.

JUHANI. That’s well known. Temptation draws near us, truly it does.

While the brothers thus conversed, a number of lads from Toukola village approached them, though not in quite as polite and good-natured a spirit as the brothers supposed. They were somewhat drunk, and being minded to jest with the brothers, sang as they came along a song newly made up, to which they had given the name ‘Seven Men Strong’. Thus, to Kissala Aapeli’s words:

‘Set, my lads, your throats a-squealing, Here’s a song will set you reeling; Seven Men Strong is the ditty.

Like the Great Bear up in Heaven, Jukola has brothers seven, Lubberly, hulking joskins.

Juho roars, the cabin quivers, That’s a lad gives me the shivers: Jussi, a lad high and mighty.

Tuomas stands, an oak unbending, Hearing Aapo’s gab unending,-- Hearken to Solomon spouting.

Simeon, his whiskers quaking, Mourns for man in accents shaking-- “Prodigal, pigheaded, naughty.”

Simeon works, the peas preparing, Timo adds the fat, and stirring, Spits in the pot to clear it.

Lauri-lad the forest searches With an eye to twisted birches, Nosing the woods like a weasel.

Last of all the brothers hearty, Little Eero, slippery party, Jukola’s snappy-tongued puppy.

There’s a band to go to battle, Stout and hale as full-blood cattle, Here’s to the health of the seven!’

In silence, though grinding their teeth, the brothers listened to this song. But when the mockery of their tormentors ceased not at this, and endless gibes rained on them from every side, especially with regard to the cockerel on the back of their a-b-c books and its fancied power of laying eggs for the brothers, their gorge began to rise and their eyes grow small, small and sharp as the eyes of a mink, as it looks out from beneath its tree-stump in the wilds at the light of day. And now a wag from the ranks of the Toukola men, in passing Juhani, suddenly snatched the a-b-c book from his hand and made off with it at top speed. Mad with rage, Juhani instantly thundered after him; whereupon the other brothers charged with equal fury at their mockers, and a general fight began. At first only slaps resounded on either side, but soon they were at each other’s throats and began--blindly, with whistling breath--tearing and gorging and laying about them with flail-like fists. Fiercely the Toukola lads hit back, but with greater ferocity the men of Jukola laid on; and heavily as sledge-hammers the brothers’ fists fell on the heads of their enemies. In dust and dirt they wrestled; the dust rose from the dry road in rolling clouds; the sand and gravel rattled around them in the bushes. So for a space the fight went noisily on, and the brothers, on the point of victory, already cried in a loud voice: ‘Will you beg, Devil’s spawn, for mercy?’ and an echo from the clouds answered ‘Mercy’. But for long the men of Toukola resisted, till at last they sank nerveless to the ground. There, with torn lapels to their coats and swollen faces, they lay, greedily swallowing the cool air into their heated, gasping lungs. And as victors the brothers stood, but their appearance too denoted that they had had their fill of strife, and that a moment’s rest was welcome. Especially with Eero had it gone hardly in the fight; the shortness of his stature had been a great advantage to his opponents. Often while the combat had raged, he had rolled like a little beagle under the feet of the other heroes, and only swift assistance from the brothers had saved him from a thorough beating. With ruffled hair he now sat on the edge of the ditch and gathered new strength, meanwhile puffing mightily.

But just as the others ceased fighting, Juhani approached with his man, dragging him by the collar, and now and again squeezing him by the throat. Fear-inspiring, terrible, was now the visage of the eldest Jukola. Fury flashed like fire from his always smallish eyes, which, bloodshot now with rage, rolled wildly in his head; the acrid sweat poured down from his cheeks, and he puffed and snorted like a war-horse.

JUHANI. Fetch my a-b-c book, fetch it at once! Look, I’ll squeeze thee till thy guts fly out if thou don’t. Bring, for God’s sake, that red-backed a-b-c of mine, thou blackguard. See this is what I’ll give thee, see this!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Don’t hit me!

JUHANI. The a-b-c book!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. I threw it over there in a bush.

JUHANI. Give it into this hand like a good child, with thy best bow, ruffian. Dost thou think thou art dancing for thy pleasure, blackguard? Wilt thou not, accursed, give that a-b-c book into my hand?

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Thou’rt crushing my throat, my throat!

JUHANI. The a-b-c book! The Lord preserve us! The a-b-c book!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Here, thou terrible man.

JUHANI. Give it a little kiss. Ay, kiss it nicely.

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. What? Kiss it?

JUHANI. Real nicely. And for God’s sake do it, brother, if thy back itcheth and thy life is dear to thee. Do it, do it, or this very minute thy blood shall cry aloud for vengeance on me, like aforetime pious Abel’s blood. Thou seest that I am black in the face as a bath-house brownie. So kiss my a-b-c. I beseech thee for both our sakes!--That’s it.

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. Art thou satisfied?

JUHANI. Very satisfied. Go now and thank thy Creator for getting off so easily. And if thou shouldst feel, halfway between thy shoulders and that hammer-head of thine, a few marks tomorrow, like the marks of a toothed vice, and especially if thou shouldst feel a mump-like stiffness there, be not over-much surprised. Ay, off with thee now. But one word more, one word, little brother. Who made up the song we were forced to listen to a while back with ears erect?

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. That I don’t know.

JUHANI. Out with it!

THE MAN FROM TOUKOLA. I don’t know.

JUHANI. Well, well, that I can always find out. But greet Kissala Aapeli from me and tell him that next time I meet him his throat’ll sing shriller than his clarinet did just now. Go now, for my presence is not the healthiest place for thee.--Leave off muttering about revenge. Take care I don’t get it into my head to set off after thee, to give thee a little into the bargain.

TUOMAS. Leave him in peace now, the miserable man.

JUHANI. He’s got his hiding, I’ll warrant that.--But let us leave this dreadfully ploughed bit of road, all scratched over in every direction. It isn’t wise to linger here, for a fight on the highway is a desperate business in the eyes of the law, and can land its man in a tight fix.

AAPO. Let us hurry on.--But that was a basting; I’d have been well plucked if Simeoni hadn’t spread out the pile over me a little.

SIMEONI. Why did we touch them? But man is weak and cannot control the strength of his anger and the power of sin. Ah! Seeing how Tuomas’s fist felled men, I couldn’t help thinking: now murder is near.

TUOMAS. Perhaps I did hit out a bit unthinkingly, but men have been hit for less.--Let’s walk a bit quicker, the day is getting on.

Swiftly they strode on, but resentment and indignation seemed loth to fade from their faces, and stung painfully at their hearts, as they remembered the insulting song of the Toukola lads. Silent, Juhani marched on ahead, marched with the fierceness of an enraged man, spitting and now and again shaking his head. At last, however, turning towards the others, he opened his mouth.

JUHANI. What accursed imp made up that song?

EERO. Kissala Aapeli.

AAPO. That’s what I suspect too; for he is a spiteful mocker. It was he who made up that cruel poem about our poor old curate, who--the Lord ha’ mercy on him--happened to besmirch his noise a little at Bible Class.

TIMO. If I had a span of spirits and were to whisper a couple of words in Ananias Nikula’s ear, we’d soon hear a song a fathom long if we liked, which’d show plainly what kind of a man Aapeli is. A great scoundrel and a rogue he is; struts about the villages with his clarinet in his hand, getting the serving-wenches with child and living on his poor old mother. The man’s a scoundrel.

JUHANI. If the rubbishy song they call ‘Seven Men Strong’ hails from his skull, lo and behold, next time I meet him, even if it is on the church rise, I’ll flay the scalp off him from his neck to his eyebrows, may that be said.--But couldn’t we have the law on him?

AAPO. The law won’t sentence anyone without solemn witness.

JUHANI. Well, let him take oath on his innocence; I believe he’d think twice before casting his soul into the valley of darkness. But if he were to do this miserable trick, well--goodnight, neighbour, sleep in peace for me.

AAPO. I don’t think the law lets an accused man swear himself guiltless in a case like this.

JUHANI. Then he’ll get it from my own fist, and that, I believe, will have the same sting for him that the salt of law and justice would have had.

SIMEONI. Let’s leave both the song and that brute-like brawl on the highway now.--There’s the resiny stump at whose foot I once had a marvellous dream while tending the cattle, though hunger squealed in my stomach. I was as though in Heaven, sitting on a soft and springy sofa, with a heaped-up table steaming before me. Tasty, ah so tasty were those dishes, and so fat. I ate and drank, and little cherub-boys waited on me like on some great person. Everything was matchlessly beautiful and solemn; nearby, in a golden hall, echoed the angel choir, and I heard them sing the new and wondrous song. So I dreamed, and it was there I got this spark in my bosom, which I hope will nevermore leave it.

JUHANI. It was that Bible-reading old shepherd, that red-eyed, waggle-bearded Tuomas Tervakoski, thy companion that time at the herding, made thee slightly daft; and there’s thy spark.

SIMEONI. Eh, well, we’ll see on the last day.

TUOMAS. There’s the spruce where our father once brought down a big glutton; and it was his last glutton.

TIMO. So it was, after that time he never came striding home any more, but was dragged out of the forest, stiff.

JUHANI. A brave and bonny man, but hard and unbending as a rock towards his sons. Yet it was seldom he walked the Jukola yard; he lived in the woods, while the rats and mice thrived in our home.

AAPO. True he would forget his home for long stretches on account of that craze of his for hunting, which was perhaps bewitchment, but he was a good father anyhow and like a real man he died. May he rest in peace!

TIMO. And doubly so our mother.

JUHANI. There was a good housewife and a pious woman for you, even though she could not read.

SIMEONI. Yet she prayed on her knees every morning and evening.

JUHANI. That she did. A matchless mother and housewife! I always remember how she strode after the plough, stout as a giantess.

EERO. She was a good mother, but why weren’t we obedient children? why didn’t we toil then in the fields like seven bears? Jukola would look different now. But what did I understand at that time, a little brat in a shift?

JUHANI. Hold thy jaw now! I well remember thy wicked and impudent way with our poor mother. But she always forgave thee, as fathers and mothers usually do their youngest child; but the eldest’s fur is for ever being dusted, as I know best from myself. Haven’t I, in the Devil’s name, been beaten in my time like a cur? But I still hope all was for the best, with God’s help.

SIMEONI. Punishment surely does good, especially if thou blessest the rod and punishment in God’s name.

EERO. Especially if thou warmest the rod as well.

SIMEONI. I am deaf to thy miserable jokes, thou stone-blind, thou sparingly-punished child.

TIMO. ‘A good child punishes itself’, but that’s a trick I’d like to see.

SIMEONI. Here’s the cross-roads under Sonnimäki Hill. It was here the ghost of a dead man followed that sinful glazier from Kiikkala all the way from the churchyard for having uttered, the godless man, a fearful oath while passing the church at night. Let this be a warning to you to beware of the sin of swearing.

JUHANI. Now we’re on Sonnimäki’s summit; there’s the church, and yonder the parish clerk’s red-painted house glows like a flaming nest of devils. Hi! There’s the whole glory of Hell, dreadful wisdom and awesome honour. Now all my limbs turn numb and my legs rise mercilessly against me. Ah! what shall I do in this hangman’s hour, what shall I do, I, your miserable eldest brother?

EERO. As thou art the eldest, lead on with good example and turn back from the road to Hell. I’ll follow thee.

TUOMAS. Silence, Eero, not a step backward now.

JUHANI. O horny bulls! The parish clerk’s door is the gate of death to me.

AAPO. There lie the beginnings of our self-respect and our honour.

JUHANI. A hot honour, a hot honour! Woe us! There I see the whole grandeur of the parish clerk’s, the fearful pomp of the rectory, and my nature rises against me--God help us!--rises against me. What dost thou say, Timo?

TIMO. Strongly it rises.

AAPO. I believe you, but we can’t always be dancing on flowers and roses down here.

JUHANI. Flowers and roses? Have we danced on flowers and roses?

AAPO. We shall have many bitter pills to swallow yet, little brother.

JUHANI. Bitter pills? Haven’t we swallowed enough bitter pills? Oh poor Aapo! we’ve been boiled in many soups already, our hair ruffled in many winds. And why? Where is our victory? This world is a big dunghill, and nothing more. To Purgatory with parish clerks and priests, Bible-classes and books and sheriffs with all their piles of paper. The evil spirits of this world, all of them! I mentioned books, but of course I didn’t mean the Bible, the hymn-book, the Catechism and the a-b-c book, nor the ‘Voice in the Wilderness’--that terrible book--I didn’t mean any of these. But why was I born at all?

SIMEONI. Do not curse thy days, the days of thy time of mercy.

JUHANI. Why was I born at all, why was I born?

TIMO. Into this world I was born a wretched wanderer. Why didn’t I sooner open my eyes as a split-lipped young hare under that spruce yonder?

JUHANI. Or I as that squirrel, who chatters on the fork of yon pine with his tail bolt upright? His carefree bread is the pinecone, and his blanket the beard of the spruce in his mossy cabin.

TIMO. And he needn’t learn to read.

JUHANI. He needn’t know how to read!

AAPO. Each was given his lot, and ‘a sword to match’. And lamenting and sorrow won’t help, but work and action will. Onward now, brother!

TUOMAS. Onward, to the parish clerk’s, though the way led over the foaming straits of the sea.

JUHANI. What dost thou think, Eero-lad?

EERO. I’m thinking of going to the parish clerk’s to school.

JUHANI. Hm! Well, let’s be going, let’s march on. Ah, Son of the Lord! Sing, brother Timo, sing!

TIMO. I’ll sing of the squirrel in his little mossy chamber.

JUHANI. Ay, do.

* * * * *

TIMO. Cosily the little squirrel Cowers in his mossy chamber;

There no hound, its white fangs baring Nor the cunning, guileful ranger Ever discovered the way.

From his home on high he seeth All the earth in conflict riven, Strife and battles rage beneath him; O’er his head a branch, wind-driven, Flutters its pennant of peace.

O the life of bliss untroubled In a swaying cradle-bower. In the spruce’s mother-bosom Rocked through every happy hour; Forest, thy lullaby sing!

There with tail aloft he dozes At his tiny casement lying; Songs of birds beneath the heavens Waft him when the day lies dying. Into an Eden of dreams.