We saw marvellous mummies—all once living members of some of the oldest families in Finland; there they lie in wondrous caverns in the crypt, but as formerly tourists were wicked enough to tear off fingers and so forth in remembrance of these folks, they are now no longer shown. However, that delightful gentleman, the Head of the Police, who escorted us about Åbo, had the mysterious iron trapdoor in the floor uplifted, and down some steep steps—almost ladder-like, with queer guttering tallow dips in our hands—we stumbled into the mummies' vault. The mummies themselves were not beautiful. The whole figure was there, it is true, but shrivelled and blackened by age. The coffins or sarcophagi in which they lay were in many cases of exquisite workmanship.
We cannot dwell on the history of the cathedral, which has played such an important part in the religious controversies of the country, any more than we may linger among the mummies and general sights of the respective towns, because this in no way purposes to be a guide-book. All information of that kind is excellently given in Dr. August Ramsay's admirable little guide to his own land, which has been translated into several languages. For the same reason we must pass over the interesting castle—not nearly so delightful though as our dear old haunted pile at Nyslott—with its valuable collection of national curiosities, among which figures an old-fashioned flail, used until comparatively modern times, to beat the devil out of the church.
It was at Åbo we were introduced to one of the greatest delicacies of Finland.
Crayfish, for which the Finnish word is rapu, appear to be found in nearly all the lakes and rivers in the south and middle of Finland. Oh, how we loved those crayfish. There is a close season for them which lasts from the 1st of May until the 15th of July, but immediately after the latter date they are caught by the tens of thousands and sent in large consignments to St. Petersburg, Stockholm, and even Berlin. Catching these little crayfish is not only a profession, but also a great source of amusement to young and old among the better class.
At night, or the early morning, is the best time for the sport. A man takes ten or more sticks, to the end of each of which he fastens a piece of string about thirty to fifty centimetres long. To this string he secures a piece of meat, which, be it owned, is considered by the little fish a more dainty morsel when slightly tainted. These sticks he fixes to the bank or holds in his hands, so that the piece of meat is below the surface of the water. Having secured what may be called all his fishing-rods safely at a certain distance, he wanders along the banks observing carefully where a crayfish is hanging on to a piece of meat by its claws. When such is the case he quickly gets hold of a landing-net, and placing it under its little black shell lifts the animal out of the water. Then he goes to the next stick, and generally the crayfish catch on so quickly, he is busily employed the whole time going from one rod to another. The more professional catchers have a net under the bait, but that is not really necessary. Young men and women thoroughly enjoy these crayfish parties, where it is said the maidens sometimes catch other fish than the rapu.
It was really amazing, in the market-place at Åbo, to see the large baskets filled with these little crayfish. Think of it, ye gourmands. They were not sold singly or even by the score, but by the hundred; and a hundred of them cost fourpence. When one remembers the enormous price paid in Paris for bisque soup, and the expense of écrevisse, generally, one feels what a fortune ought to lie in those baskets. But such is life. We either have too much or too little of everything.
CHAPTER XX
A FASHIONABLE WATERING-PLACE.
One cannot be long in Finland during the summer without being asked "Are you going to Hangö?"
"See Rome and die" seems there to be transformed into "See Hangö and live."
"Where is Hangö, what is Hangö—why Hangö?" we at last inquired in desperation.