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