Parts of Finland are very beautiful, and travelling through the country is a most interesting experience; but, at the same time, there are none of the excellent motor roads such as we find in France or Germany. It is not a good country for motorists, waterways being its chief attraction, and its boat service is excellent; but the roads, although well marked by sign-posts and mile-stones (kilometres), are certainly not good.
Oh! the joy that night of being in a real hotel, with a real brass bedstead and a real spring mattress, to say nothing of once again seeing a proper sized wash-hand basin and jug.
Above the roar of the seething waters, fretting at our very feet, claps of thunder made themselves heard, and rain descended in torrents, while vivid, flashes of lightning lit up the wondrous cataract of Imatra.
Thunderstorms are quite common in those parts, and we felt glad of that one, as it did something to dispel for a time the oppressive heat.
Next morning the scene was changed, and as we looked in calm weather from the balcony window, we were fascinated by the vast volume of water dashing ceaselessly on its ruthless way below.
Later, sitting on a rocky boulder, we gazed in awe at the scene before us. This was Imatra. This is one of the three famous falls which form the chain of a vast cataract. This avalanche of foam and spray, this swirling, tearing, rushing stream, this endless torrent pursuing its wild course, year in, year out—this was Imatra, one of the strongest water powers in the world—the Niagara of Europe.
Not a waterfall in the real sense of the word, for within the space of half a mile the water only actually falls about forty feet; but that narrow channel, scarcely twenty yards across, with its rock-bound walls, is daily washed by thousands and thousands of tons of foaming water, poured into it from the quickly flowing Vuoksen's wide waters.
As we sat and contemplated one of the grandest efforts of creation, this wonderful compression of a vast river into a narrow gorge, we realised how small is the power of man compared with the mighty strength of nature. See how the waves, which can be likened only to the waves of the sea in time of storm, as if in fury at their sudden compression, rush over that rock, then curl back, and pause in the air a moment before tearing on, roaring and hissing with rage, to the whirlpool farther down the stream. See how they dash from side to side, see how the spray rises in the air for the dainty sunlight to play among its foam. Hear the noise, like that of thunder, as a great angry white horse dashes down that storm-washed chasm. This is strength and force and power, this is beauty and grandeur. This is Imatra, one of Finland's gems set in a regal crown.
Such a scene enters one's very soul; such grand majestic power, such might, such force, inspire one with lofty feelings, and make one realise a greater power, a greater strength than our poor world can give. Are we not all the better for looking on such scenes? These vast glories of nature, however, should be viewed in peace to enable the spectator to enjoy their greatness and to receive their full influence. Niagara is more vast—and Niagara is boarded by chimneys and men's villainy. Imatra, if humbler, therefore, is almost more impressive.
Yet the hand of the Philistine is, alas! to be found even in primitive Finland. As the modern Roman lights his glorious Colosseum with red and purple fires, so the Finn illumines his wondrous falls with electric light; spans it by the most modern of modern bridges, and does not even attempt to hide "the latest improvements" by a coating of pine trunks. Worse still, he writes or carves his name on every bench and on numerous rocks, and erects hideous summer-houses built of wooden plankings and tin, where the knotted pine-tree would have been as useful and twice as picturesque.