by Tove Jansson
Dear reader, prepare for a surprise. Chance and coincidence are strange things. Without knowing anything of each other and each other’s business the Moomin family and Snufkin had happened to arrive at the same little inlet on Midsummer Eve. It was Snufkin himself in his old green hat who now stood on the shore and stared at the work-basket he had caught.
‘By my hat, if it isn’t a small Mymble,’ he said and took the pipe from his mouth. He then poked at Little My with the crochet hook and said kindly: ‘Don’t be afraid!’
‘I’m not even afraid of ants,’ replied Little My and sat up.
They looked at each other.
The last time they had met Little My had been so small as to be nearly invisible, so it wasn’t very strange that they didn’t recognize each other now.
‘Well, well, dear child,’ remarked Snufkin and scratched his head.
‘Well, yourself, with knobs on,’ said Little My.
Snufkin sighed. He was here on important business, and he had really hoped to be alone for a few days more before returning to the Moomin Valley for the summer. And then some careless Mymble went and put her child to sea in a work-basket. Just for the fun of it.
‘Where’s mother?’ he asked.
‘Somebody ate her,’ replied Little My untruthfully. ‘Have you any food?’
Snufkin pointed with his pipe-stem. A small kettle of peas was simmering over his camp-fire nearby. Beside it stood another with hot coffee.
‘But I suppose milk’s what you drink,’ he said.
Little My gave a contemptuous laugh. She did not bat an eyelid as she swallowed two brimming teaspoonfuls of coffee and ate no less than four peas.
Then Snufkin carefully extinguished his camp-fire with water and remarked: ‘Well?’
‘Now I want to sleep some more,’ said Little My. ‘I always sleep best in pockets.’
‘Quite,’ said Snufkin and pocketed her. ‘The main thing in life is to know your own mind.’ He tucked in the angora wool after her.
Then Snufkin continued his way across the meadows by the shore.
The great flood-wave had never reached as far as the inlet. Here summer was as it had always been. Nothing was known about the volcanic eruption, even if Snufkin often had wondered at the splendidly red sunsets, and the ashes drifting with the wind, of late. He knew nothing at all about the things that had happened to his friends in the Moomin Valley, and he supposed that they had at this moment gathered on their verandah for the usual quiet Midsummer celebration.
He had thought sometimes of Moomintroll, who was probably waiting for him to return. But first he had to settle his account with the Park Keeper. And that could be done only on Midsummer Eve.
Tomorrow all would be over.
Snufkin produced his mouth organ and began to play his and Moomintroll’s old song, ‘All small beasts should have bows in their tails’.
Little My awoke at once and put out her head.
‘I know that one,’ she cried. And then she sang in her shrill and gnat-like voice:
All small beasts should have bows in their tails
Because now the Hemulens are closing the jails:
Whomper’ll dance to the moon and rejoice.
Blow your nose, little Misabel, and laugh at the noise!
Look at the tulips, how happy and bright
They’re shining in morning’s wonderful light!
Slowly, oh, slowly a heavenly night
Is fading away like an echoing voice!
‘Wherever can you have heard that one?’ Snufkin asked in some surprise. ‘You sang it nearly right. You’re a strange child.’
‘You’re dead right there, pal,’ said Little My. ‘And I’ve got a secret, too.’
‘A secret?’
‘You bet, a secret. About a thunderstorm that isn’t a thunderstorm and a drawing-room that turns about. But I won’t tell you more than that!’
‘I’ve got a secret, too,’ said Snufkin. ‘In my knapsack. I’ll show it to you after a while. Because I’m going to settle an old account I have with a villain!’
‘Big or small?’ asked Little My.
‘Small,’ said Snufkin.
‘That’s good,’ said Little My. ‘Small villains are much better. They break more easily.’
She crawled happily down to her angora wool again, and Snufkin continued his walk. He had arrived at a long fence. It was hung with notices at regular intervals:
ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE
The Park Keeper and the Park Wardress lived together, in the park, of course. They had cut and sheared every single one of the trees into round blobs and square cubes, and all the gravel paths were straight as pointers. As soon as any leaf of grass dared to come up it was cut off and had to start struggling over again.
The lawns were fenced in on all sides, and the fences were hung with notices telling in big black letters that something or other was not allowed.
Into this horrible park came every day twenty-four small subdued children who had for some reason become forgotten or lost. They were furry woodies who liked the park as little as the sand-box where they were told to play. What they wanted was to climb trees, stand on their heads, run across the lawns…
Neither the Park Keeper nor the Park Wardress could understand this. They sat watching the woodies, one on each side of the sand-box. What could the little children do?
*
To this park came Snufkin with Little My in his pocket. He crept silently along the fence, looking in at his old enemy, the Park Keeper.
‘What are you going to do him?’ asked Little My. ‘Hang him, boil him, or stuff him?’
‘Scare him!’ replied Snufkin and clenched his teeth around the pipe-stem. ‘There’s only one person in the whole world whom I really dislike, and that’s the Park Keeper. I’m going to pull down all his notices about forbidden things.’
Snufkin now rummaged in his knapsack and pulled out a large paper bag. It was full of small glossy white seeds.
‘What’s that?’ asked Little My.
‘Hattifattener seed,’ answered Snufkin.
‘Oh,’ said Little My, astonished. ‘Do Hattifatteners come from seeds?’
‘They do,’ said Snufkin. ‘But the important thing is: only if the seeds are sown on Midsummer Eve.’
He began throwing handfuls of seed between the fence rails. He crept noiselessly along the whole of the park fence and scattered his seeds everywhere, but was careful to throw them sparsely, so that the Hattifatteners wouldn’t have their paws entangled when they came up. When Snufkin’s bag was empty he sat down, lit his pipe, and waited.
The sun was setting, but the evening was warm, and the Hattifatteners began to grow at Once. Here and there on the neatly mowed lawn round white blobs were appearing, like snowball mushrooms.
‘Look at that one,’ said Snufkin. ‘In a little while it’ll have its eyes over the earth.’
He was right. Very shortly two round eyes appeared beneath the white skull.
‘They’re specially electric when new-grown,’ explained Snufkin. ‘Look now, he’s got his paws!’
The air was already filled with a faint rustling sound from all the growing Hattifatteners. The Park Keeper still hadn’t noticed anything unusual, because he was keeping a keen eye on the little woodies. But on the lawns all around him Hattifatteners were shooting up in hundreds. They had scarcely more than their feet left in the ground. Soon they would take their first steps. A smell of sulphur and burned rubber drifted through the park. The Park Wardress sniffed.
‘What’s that smell?’ she asked. ‘Children, who of you’s smelling?’
Faint electric shocks were noticeable in the ground.
The Park Keeper began to shift his feet uneasily. His shining metal buttons were flashing small blue sparks.
All of a sudden the Park Wardress gave a cry and jumped up on the seat of her chair. She pointed a shaking finger at the lawn.
The Hattifatteners had grown to life-size and now
came swarming and moiling towards the Park Keeper from all directions, attracted by his electrified buttons. Small flashes of lightning crossed the air, and the buttons were crackling. Suddenly the Park Keeper’s ears lighted up. Then his hair crackled and sparkled, his nose began to glow – and all of a sudden the Park Keeper was luminous from top to toe! Shining like a full moon he scuttled off towards the park gates, followed by the army of Hattifatteners.
The Park Wardress was already climbing the fence. Only the little children were left. They sat quietly in the sand-box and looked very surprised.
‘Smart,’ said Little My, impressed.
‘And that’s that!’ said Snufkin, pushing back his hat. ‘And now we’ll pull down every single notice, and every single leaf of grass shall be allowed to grow as it likes to.’
All his life Snufkin had longed to pull down notices that asked him not to do things he liked to do, and he was fairly trembling with excitement and expectation. He started off with:
NO SMOKING
Then he flew at:
DO NOT SIT ON THE GRASS
After that he turned on:
LAUGHING AND WHISTLING
STRICTLY PROHIBITED
and the next minute:
NO HOP, NO SKIP
AND DEFINITELY NO JUMP
ALLOWED HERE
followed suit.
The little woodies stared at him with more and more astonishment.
Little by little it was dawning on them that he had come to their rescue. They left the sand-box and gathered around him.
‘Go home, little ones,’ said Snufkin. ‘Go wherever you please.’
But they did not go, they followed him everywhere. When the last of the notices was trampled to earth and Snufkin lifted his knapsack on to his back, they still followed at his heels.
‘Shoo, little ones,’ said Snufkin. ‘Run along to mamma now.’
‘Perhaps they have no mamma,’ said Little My.
‘But I’m not a bit used to children!’ said the now terrified Snufkin. ‘I don’t even know if I like them!’
‘They seem to like you,’ replied Little My, grinning broadly.
Snufkin looked at the silently admiring group that had flocked around his legs.
‘As if one weren’t enough,’ he said. ‘Well. Come along then. But don’t blame me if everything goes wrong!’
And with twenty-four serious little children at his heels
Snufkin wandered off over the meadows, bleakly wondering what he would do when they got hungry, had wet feet, or a stomach-ache.
CHAPTER 7
About the dangers of Midsummer Night
AT half past ten on Midsummer Eve, at the moment when Snufkin was busy building a hut of spruce twigs for his twenty-four little children, Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden stood listening in another part of the wood.
The bell that had tinkled in the mist was silent again. The forest was asleep, and the black and empty window-panes of the little house in the glade stared sadly at them.
But inside a Fillyjonk was sitting, listening to the ticking of her clock and the passing of the time. Now and then she went over to the window and looked out in the fair June night, and every time she moved there was a little tinkle from the jingle bell she carried on the tassel of her cap. This used to cheer up the Fillyjonk (that was why she had sewn it on), but tonight it only made her sadder. She sighed and wandered around, sat down and got up again.
She had laid the table with three plates and glasses and a bowl of flowers, and on her stove was a pancake grown coal-black from waiting.
The Fillyjonk looked at her clock, and at the garlands over the door, and at herself in the glass on the wall – and then she buried her head in her arms on the table, and began to cry. Her cap slipped forward with a single melancholy, jingling plunk, and her tears rolled slowly down on her empty plate.
It isn’t always easy to be a Fillyjonk.
At that moment somebody knocked.
The Fillyjonk gave a start, jumped to her feet, blew her nose, and opened the door.
‘Oh,’ she said, disappointedly.
‘Merry Midsummer!’ said the Snork Maiden.
‘Thanks, the same to you,’ replied the Fillyjonk confusedly. ‘Nice of you to wish me that.’
‘Well, we just stopped to ask if you’ve seen any new house, I mean theatre hereabouts,’ said Moomintroll.
‘Theatre?’ repeated the Fillyjonk suspiciously. ‘No, quite the contrary – I mean, not at all.’
There was a slight pause.
‘In that case, I suppose we’ll be going,’ said Moomintroll. ‘Thanks all the same.’
The Snork Maiden looked at the laid table and the garlands by the door. ‘Have a nice party,’ she said genially.
At these words the Fillyjonk’s face wrinkled up, and she began crying once more.
‘There’ll be no party,’ she sobbed. ‘The pancake has dried up, and the flowers are fading, and the clock just ticks, and nobody comes. They won’t come this year either! They’ve got no family feeling!’
‘Who isn’t coming?’ Moomintroll asked sympathetically.
‘My uncle and his wife!’ cried the Fillyjonk. ‘I keep sending them an invitation card for every Midsummer Eve, and they never come.’
‘Why don’t you ask somebody else then?’ said Moomintroll.
‘I’ve got no other relatives,’ explained the Fillyjonk. ‘And of course it’s one’s duty to ask one’s relatives to dinner on holidays?’
‘So you don’t like it, really?’ asked the Snork Maiden.
‘Of course not,’ replied the Fillyjonk tiredly and sank down by the table. ‘My uncle and aunt aren’t very nice people.’
Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden sat down beside her.
‘Perhaps they don’t like it either?’ said the Snork Maiden. ‘I suppose you couldn’t ask us who are nice, instead?’
‘What are you saying?’ said the Fillyjonk, surprised.
It was evident that she was thinking hard. Suddenly the tassel on her cap rose a bit in the air, and the jingle bell gave a merry tinkle.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she said slowly, ‘there’s really no need to ask them as none of us likes it?’
‘Absolutely no need,’ said the Snork Maiden.
‘And nobody’s hurt if I ask anyone I like? Even if they’re no relatives of mine?’
‘Definitely not,’ Moomintroll assured her.
The Fillyjonk beamed with relief. ‘Was it that easy?’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, what a relief! Now we’ll celebrate the first happy Midsummer I’ve ever had, and how we shall celebrate! Please, please let’s have something really exciting!’
*
And this Midsummer was to be far more exciting than the Fillyjonk could hope for.
‘Here’s to Pappa and Mamma!’ said Moomintroll and drained his glass. (And at that very moment Moominpappa was sitting aboard the theatre and raising his glass towards the night outside in a toast for his son. ‘To Moomintroll, and may his return be happy,’ he said solemnly. ‘To the Snork Maiden and Little My!’)
Everybody was satisfied and happy.
‘And now for the Midsummer fire,’ said the Fillyjonk. She blew out the lamp and put the matches in her pocket.
Outside the sky was still quite light, and you could make out every single leaf of grass on the ground. Behind the spruce tops, where the sun had gone to rest for a while, a streak of red light remained waiting for the new day.
They wandered through the deeply silent wood and came out on the meadows by the shore, where the night was fairer still.
‘A strange smell the flowers have tonight,’ remarked the Fillyjonk.
A faint odour of burned rubber was drifting over the ground. The grass crackled electrically when they trod on it.
‘That’s the Hattifattener smell,’ replied Moomintroll with some surprise. ‘I thought they were out on the sea at this time of the year.’
The Snork Maiden stumbled over something. ‘Do no
t tread on the grass,’ she read. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘here’s a lot of notices that somebody’s thrown away!’
‘How wonderful, everything’s allowed!’ cried the Fillyjonk. ‘What a night! Let’s build our bonfire of the notices! And dance round it until they’ve burned to ashes!’
*
Their Midsummer bonfire was burning brightly. With merry cracklings it consumed the stack of useless notices: ‘No Singing on the Premises’, ‘Do not Touch the Flowers’, and ‘Sitting in the Grass Allowed on Special Request Only’…. Showers of sparks spurted up against the pale night sky, and a dense smoke billowed out over the meadows and remained floating in the air like woolly white curtains.
The Fillyjonk was singing. She danced on thin legs around the bonfire and poked at the embers with a stick.
‘Never more my uncle,’ she sang. ‘And never more my aunt. I’ll never ask them any more! I don’t, I won’t, I shan’t!’
Moomintroll and the Snork Maiden were sitting side by side and looking contentedly into the fire.
‘What do you suppose my mamma is doing now?’ asked Moomintroll.
‘Celebrating, of course,’ said the Snork Maiden.
The pile of notices collapsed in a shower of sparks. The Fillyjonk cheered.
‘I’ll be feeling sleepy soon,’ said Moomintroll. ‘Did you say nine kinds of flowers?’
‘Yes, nine kinds,’ said the Snork Maiden. ‘And you must promise not to speak a word until morning.’
Moomintroll nodded solemnly. He then performed a lot of gestures that meant: ‘Good night, see you again tomorrow,’ and shuffled off through the dewy grass.
‘I want to gather flowers, too,’ said the Fillyjonk. She came scuttling, sooty and happy, out of the smoke. ‘I like magic tricks! Do you know any other ones?’
‘I know a very creepy Midsummer magic,’ whispered the Snork Maiden. ‘But it’s unspeakably horrible.’
‘I dare anything tonight,’ said the Fillyjonk with a reckless tinkle.
The Snork Maiden looked around her. Then she leaned forward and whispered in the Fillyjonk’s outstretched ear: ‘First you must turn seven times around yourself, mumbling a little and stamping your feet. Then you go backwards to a well, and turn around, and look down in it. And then, down in the water, you’ll see the person you’re going to marry!’