Fridolin's folly

In 1917 the unsettled state of Finland led to food shortages. In that part of the world, famine was still a living memory. The architect Torkel Nordman of Björneborg (Pori) sent his friend Jean Sibelius, living in Ainola, a present of a shoulder of smoked mutton. To avoid exposing hungry postal workers to temptation, Nordman sent it in an empty violin case.

In response Sibelius composed the song "Fridolins dårskap" (Fridolin's folly) for male voice choir; Nordman was a keen member of the Björneborg choir. Erik Axel Karlfeldt's poem of 1901 was doubly appropriate. It refers to a leg of mutton, evidently meaning a violin!

(Information from Maria Nylund's article.)

This is my free translation:

Fridolin's folly

Only just roach time, salmon jumping,
winter's hardly blown out,
but you're as red as in olden days
eyes gleaming as you look about.
Your ideals are broken crockery,
your feelings the stalest wine,
so what's with your soul's intoxication,
ancient Fridolin?

What's it to you the primrose smiles,
the cranesbill's pink as the dawn?
Have you still got some garland to give,
you all the women scorn?
You who would blend the sighs of your breast
with the rustle of woodlands green,
is there any human voice that replies,
sighing back "Fridolin"?

You stroll in frock-coat to your knees,
with high and gleaming hat,
the scent of balsam in your hair,
and sporting a wild cravat.
To think that on the fragrant paths
of swaggering nineteen
I still should meet you coming along,
oh ancient Fridolin!

Go home, and scrape the leg of mutton
hanging on your wall,
and sing about our empty years,
the dregs of past recall.
Lay strong beer on the splinters
of the mangled violin,
and play the evening songs about
your sadness, Fridolin!



Fridolins dårskap

Knappt leker mört, knappt hoppar lax,
knappt blåses vintern ut,
då står du röd som fordomdags
och glimögd vid din knut.
Vid idealens spruckenhet
och känslans skämda vin,
hvar får din själ dess druckenhet,
du gamle Fridolin?

Hvad bryr det dig att vivor le,
att nävans kind är täck?
Har du ännu en krans att ge,
du många kvinnors gäck?
Hvad suckan blandas av ditt bröst
med djupa skogars hvin?
Finnes än, till svar, en mänsklig röst,
som suckar: Fridolin?

Du går med knäsid gångjärnsrock
och hög och fejad hatt,
du dragen balsam i din lock
och bär en skön kravatt.
Ack, på de unga narrars stig,
där vällukt svävar fin,
att jag ännu skall möta dig,
du gamle Fridolin!

Gå hem och gnid det fåralår,
som hänger på din vägg,
och sjung om våra tomma år
och sälla dryckers drägg.
Gjut dubbelt öl på flisorna
av sargad violin,
och gjut o aftonvisorna
ditt svårmod, Fridolin!


Fridolins dårskap (Sibelius), sung by the Gothenburg Academic Choir:



Erik Axel Karlfeldt refused the Nobel Prize for Literature during his lifetime (he headed the committee), but was awarded it posthumously.

He was the son of a farmer in Dalarna. He changed his name from Eriksson to Karlfeldt when his father, who had got into financial difficulties, was convicted of forging the signatures of relatives and was jailed for two years. (The young Beethoven had a similar experience; so did Elvis Presley.)

Fridolin, as you may have guessed, is an alter ego of the poet himself. Two of his collections were titled Fridolin's Songs (Fridolins visor, 1898) and Fridolin's Pleasure Garden (Fridolins lustgård, 1901).

I didn't have time to learn Sibelius' melody, so I made up my own...