These Finland skies and glorious nights, almost midnight suns, in June, July, and August, are worth the journey. The sunrises and sunsets of the Arctic are more beautiful than in the Tropics.
We were now returning to finish our visit at Ilkeäsaari, and, it being the Finnish Midsummer Day, we had been compelled to hurry our trip from Sordavala somewhat, so as to be back in time to see the famous pagan Kokko fires.
As is well known, it was—till comparatively recent times—the custom even in England to light on St. John's Eve Bael or Baal fires, which were really a survival of pagan Sun Worship. All over Finland Bael fires are still lighted on Juhannus-ilta (Midsummer Eve).
The people look forward from year to year to these Kokko fires, as Juhanni is the great festival both for rich and poor. All is bustle and confusion on the 23rd of June, preparing for the event. Then comes the lighting of the Kokko, and, later in the evening, the bond-dans or ball—no one apparently going to bed that night—which ball is followed by a universal holiday.
As to the origin of the Kokko fires, no one in Finland seems very certain. The custom must be a very ancient one, though it is continued universally in that little-known country to the present day. As a rule, the bonfire is lit on the top of a hill, or in places where there is water at the water's edge, preferably on a small island, or sometimes on a raft which, when ignited, is floated out over the surface of the lake.
The 24th of June being about the brightest day in a land where, at that time of year, it is everlasting daylight, the effect of the brilliant artificial illumination is marred in consequence of the absence of a gloomy, weird, and mysteriously indistinct background of night, the sky in those high latitudes being, during the summer nights, never darker than it is in England at dawn. Nevertheless, the Kokko are so big that they assert themselves, and as we sailed down the canal we must have passed a dozen or more of those flaming beacons. It is difficult to estimate their size. Wood in Finland is comparatively valueless; tar is literally made on the premises; consequently old tar-barrels are placed one on the top of another, branches, and even trunks of trees, surmount the whole, and the erection is some twenty or thirty feet high before it is ignited. Imagine, then, the flames that ascend when once the magic match fires the much-betarred heap.
For hours and hours those Kokko fires burnt. Indeed, it would be considered ill luck if they did not smoulder through the whole of the night. And it is round such festive flames that the peasant folks gather to dance and sing and play games, and generally celebrate the festival of the ancient god Bael. The large landed proprietors invite their tenantry to these great ceremonies, and for hours before it is time to light the fire, boats are arriving laden with guests.
When we landed about ten o'clock on the private pier at Ilkeäsaari, at which we had asked our captain to set us ashore, we were warmly met by our former hostess, and told that their Kokko was ready and only waiting our arrival to be ignited. So away we all sped to the other side of the island to see the fun.
All the members of the family had assembled—some thirty or forty people, in fact, for Finland is famous for big families—and tables of cakes and coffee were spread at a point from which every one could see the enormous Kokko, as high as a haystack, standing on a lonely rock in the water. The boatmen went off and lighted it, having thrown turpentine over the dried branches, and stacked up tar-barrels, so that it might the more readily catch fire, and in a few moments huge volumes of smoke began to ascend, and the flames danced high into the heavens. Great tongues of fire leapt and sprung on high, only to be reflected in all their glory in the smooth waters below. Peering down an avenue of pine-trees to the lake beyond, that fire looked very grand—a splendid relic of ancient heathenism.
Every one sang as the Kokko burst into flame. The General of the garrison, the dapper young lieutenant, the dear old grandmother, the men and women students of the party in their pretty white caps, the children dressed as dear little Swedish peasants—all joined the choruses; while behind were the servants and the real peasants themselves. The tenants had come over the water to enjoy the fun at their master's home in boats so gaily decorated and garnished with huge boughs of the sacred birch-tree that the boat itself was almost hidden. Finnish singing is generally rather weird chanting, sad and melancholy, but not without a strange fascination, and the way a number of odd people in that huge assembly could sing together, each taking his or her own part, without any previous practice, again showed the marvellous amount of music inborn in the Finlander.