Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

August 10th

The weather this morning is clear and bright, and the storm has passed away; would that all storms ended as quickly, and were as soon allayed! I have passed a glorious day, sketching, composing, and inhaling fresh air. In the afternoon I went on horseback to Interlaken, for no man can go there on foot at this moment. The whole road is flooded, so that even on horseback I got very wet. In this place, too, every street is inundated and impassable. How beautiful Interlaken is! How humble and insignificant we feel when we see how splendid the good Lord has made this world; and nowhere can you see it in greater magnificence than here. I sketched for my father one of the walnut-trees he so much admires, and for the same reason I mean to send him a faithful drawing of one of the Bernese houses. Various parties of ladies and gentlemen, and children, drove past and stared at me; I thought to myself that they were now enjoying the same luxury I formerly did, and would fain have called out to them not to forget this! Towards evening, the snowy mountains were glowing in the clearest outlines and in the loveliest hues.

When I came back. I asked for some music paper, and they referred me to their Pastor, and he to the Forest-ranger, whose daughter gave me two pretty neat sheets. The "Lied" which I alluded to yesterday is now finished; I cannot help after all telling you what it is—but you must not laugh at me—it is actually,—but don't think I am seized with hydrophobia—a sonnet, "Die Liebende schreibt." I am afraid its merit is not great; I think it was more inwardly felt than outwardly well expressed; still there are some good passages in it, and to-morrow I am going to set to music a little poem of Uhland's; a couple of pieces for the piano are also in progress. I can unfortunately form no judgment of my new compositions; I cannot tell whether they are good or bad; and this arises from the circumstance that all the people to whom I have played anything for the last twelve months, forthwith glibly declared it to be wonderfully beautiful, and that will never do. I really wish that some one would let me have a little rational blame once more, or what would be still more agreeable, a little rationalpraise, and then I should find it less indispensable to act the censor towards myself, and to be so distrustful of my own powers. Nevertheless, I must go on writing in the meantime.

When I was at the Forest-ranger's, I heard that the whole country was devastated, and the most sad intelligence comes from all sides. All the bridges in the Hasli valley are entirely swept away, and also many houses and cottages. A man came here to-day from Lauterbrunnen, and he was up to his shoulders in water; the high road is ruined, and what sounded most dismal of all to me, a quantity of furniture and household things were seen floating down the Kander, coming no one knows whence. Happily the waters are beginning to subside, but the damage they have done cannot so easily be repaired. My travelling plans have also been considerably disturbed by these inundations, for, if there be any risk, I shall certainly not go into the mountains.