Letters of Felix Mendelssohn

Schwytz, August 31st.

Yesterday and to-day I gratefully recalled the happy auspices under which I first made acquaintance with this part of the world. The remembrance of your profound admiration of these wonders, elevating you above every-day life, has contributed not a little to awaken and to quicken my own perception of them. I often to-day recurred to your delight, and the deep impression it made on me at the time. So the Righi is evidently disposed to be gracious to our family, and in consequence of this kindly feeling towards us, conferred on me to-day a sunrise quite as brilliant and splendid as when you were here. The waning moon, the lively Alpine horn, the long-protracted rosy dawn which first stole over the cold. shadowy, snowy mountains, the white clouds on the Lake of Zug, the clear, sharp peaks bending towards each other in all directions, the light which gradually crept on the heights, the restless, shivering people, wrapped in coverlets, the monks from Maria zum Schnee, nothing was wanting.

I could not tear myself away from this spectacle, and remained on the summit for six consecutive hours, gazing at the mountains. I thought that when next I saw them there might be many changes, so I wished to imprint the sight indelibly on my memory. People came and went, and talked of these anxious, troubled times, of politics, and of the grand mountain range before us.

Thus the morning passed away, and at last, at half-past ten o'clock, I was obliged to go; indeed it was high time, as I wished to get to Einsiedel the same day, by Hacken. On my way, however, in the steep path leading to Lowerz, my trusty old umbrella, which also served me as a mountain staff, broke to pieces; this detained me, so that I preferred remaining here, and to-morrow I hope to be quite fresh for a start.