Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Weissenburg, August 8th.

  I sketched this on the spot with a pen, so do not laugh at the bold stream. I passed the night very uncomfortably at Boltigen. There was no room in the inn, owing to a fair, so I was obliged to lodge in an adjacent house, where there were swarms of vermin quite as bad as in Italy, a creaking house clock, striking hoarsely every hour, and a baby that screeched the whole night. I really could not help for a time noticing the child's cries, for it screamed in every possible key, expressive of every possible emotion; first angry, then furious, then whining, and when it could screech no longer, it grunted in a deep bass. Let no one tell me that we must wish to return to the days of our childhood, because children are so happy. I am convinced that such a little mortal as this, flies into a rage just as we do, and has also his sleepless nights, and his passions, and so forth.  

  This philosophical view occurred to me this morning, while I was sketching Weissenburg, and so I wished to communicate it to you on the spot; but I took up the 'Constitutionnel,' in which I read that Casimir Périer wishes to resign, and many other things that furnish matter for reflection; among others a most remarkable article on the cholera, which I should like to transcribe, for it is so extraordinary. The existence of this disease is totally and absolutely denied; only one person had it in Dantzic,—a Jew,—and he got well. Then followed a number of "Hegelisms" in French, and the election of the deputies—oh world!—As soon as I had finished reading the paper, I was obliged to set off again in the rain through the meadows. No such enchanting country as this is to be seen, even in a dream; in the worst weather, the little churches, and the numerous houses, and shrubs, and rills are still truly lovely. The verdure to-day was quite in its element. Dinner has been long over, and it is still pouring. I intend to go no further than Spiez this evening. I regret much that I can neither see this place, which seems beautifully situated, nor Spiez, which I know from Rösel's sketches. This is, in fact, the climax of the whole Simmen valley, and thence the old song says:—  

  I sang this the whole day while walking along. The Siebethal, however, showed no gratitude for the compliment, and the rain continued unremittingly.  

Wyler, evening

  They could not take me in at Spiez, for there is no inn there where you can lodge, so I was obliged to return here. I very much admired the situation of Spiez; it is built on a rock, which projects into the lake, with numbers of turrets, and gables, and peaks. There I saw a manor-house, with an orangery; a sulky-looking nobleman with two sporting dogs at his heels; a little church, and terraces with bright flowers. It was all very lovely. To-morrow I shall see it from the other side, if the weather permits. To-day it has rained for three hours consecutively, and I was well soaked on the way here. The mountain streams are superb in such weather, for they leap and rage furiously. I crossed one of these demons, the Kander, which seemed to have taken leave of its senses, leaping and blustering, and foaming; the water looked quite brown, and scattered its yellow spray in all directions. A black peak of the mountains was here and there visible through the rain-laden clouds, which hung deeper into the valley than I ever before saw them. Yet the day was most enjoyable.