Letters of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy from Italy and Switzerland Part 12

Evening, Chateau d'Oex, candle-light.

I have had the most delightful journey. What would I not give to procure you such a day! But then you must first become two youths and be able to climb actively, and drink milk when the opportunity offered, and treat with contempt the intense heat, the many rocks in the way, the innumerable holes in the path, and the still larger holes in your boots, and I fear you are rather too dainty for this; but it was most lovely! I shall never forget my journey with Pauline; she is one of the nicest girls I ever met, so pretty and healthy-looking, and naturally intelligent; she told me anecdotes about her village, and I in return told her about Italy; but I know who was the most amused.

The previous Sunday, all the young people of _distinction_ in her village had gone to a place far across the mountain, to dance there in the afternoon. They set off shortly after midnight, arrived while it was still dark, lighted a large fire and made coffee.

Towards morning the men had running and wrestling matches before the ladies, (we pa.s.sed a broken hedge testifying to the truth of this;) then they danced, and were at home again by Sunday evening, and early on Monday morning they all resumed their labours in the vineyards. By Heavens, I felt a strong inclination to become a Vaudois peasant, while I was listening to Pauline, when from above she pointed out to me the villages where they dance when the cherries are ripe, and others where they dance when the cows go to pasture in the meadows and give milk. To-morrow they are to dance in St. Gingolph; they row across the lake, and any one who can play, takes his instrument with him; but Pauline is not to be of the party, because her mother will not allow it, from dread of the wide lake, and many other girls also do not go for the same reason, as they all cling together.

She then asked my leave to say good-day to a cousin of hers, and ran down to a neat cottage in the meadow; soon the two girls came out together and sat on a bench and chattered; on the Col de Jaman above, I saw her relations busily mowing, and herding the cows.

What cries and shouts ensued! Then those above began to _jodel_, on which they all laughed. I did not understand one syllable of their _patois_, except the beginning, which was, Adieu Pierrot! All these sounds were taken up by a merry mad echo, that shouted and laughed and _jodelled_ too. Towards noon we arrived at Alliere. When I had rested for a time, I once more shouldered my knapsack, for a fat old man provoked me by offering to carry it for me; then Pauline and I shook hands, and we took leave of each other. I descended into the meadows, and if you do not care about Pauline, or if I have bored you with her, it is not my fault, but that of the mode in which I have described her; nothing could be more pleasant in reality, and so was my further journey. I came to a cherry-orchard, where the people were gathering the fruit, so I lay down on the gra.s.s and ate cherries for a time along with them. I took my mid-day rest at Latine, in a clean wooden house. The carpenter who built it gave me his company to some roast lamb, and pointed out to me with pride every table, and press, and chair.

At length I arrived here, at night, through dazzling green meadows, interspersed with houses, surrounded by fir-trees and rivulets: the church here stands on a velvet green eminence; more houses in the distance, and still further away, huts and rocks; and in a ravine, patches of snow still lying on the plain. It is one of those idyllic spots such as we have seen together in Wattwyl, but the village smaller and the mountains more green and lofty. I must conclude however to-day by a high eulogy on the Canton de Vaud. Of all the countries I know this is the most beautiful, and it is the spot where I should most like to live when I become really old. The people are so contented, and look so well, and the country also.

Coming from Italy it is quite touching to see the honesty that still exists in the world,--happy faces, a total absence of beggars, or saucy officials: in short, there is the most complete contrast between the two nations. I thank G.o.d for having created so much that is beautiful; and may it be His gracious will to permit us all, whether in Berlin, England, or in the Chateau d'Oex, to enjoy a happy evening and a tranquil night!

Boltigen, August 7th, evening.

The lightning and thunder are terrific outside, and torrents of rain besides; in the mountains you first learn respect for weather.

I have not gone further, for it would have been such a pity to traverse the lovely Simmen valley under an umbrella. It was grey morning, but delightfully cool for walking in the forenoon. The valley at Saanen, and the whole road, is incredibly fresh and gay.

I am never weary of looking at the verdure. I do believe that if during a long life I were always gazing at undulating verdant meadows, dotted over with reddish-brown houses, I should always experience the same pleasure in looking at them. The road winds the whole way through meadows of this kind, and past running streams.

At noon I dined at Zweisimmen, in one of those enormous Bernese houses, where everything glitters with neatness and cleanliness, and where even the smallest detail is carefully attended to. I there dispatched my knapsack by the diligence to Interlaken, and am now about to walk as a regular pedestrian through the country; a shirt in my pocket, a brush and comb, and my sketch-book, this is all I require; but I am very tired. May the weather be fine to-morrow!

Wimmis, the 8th.

A pretty affair! the weather is three times as bad as ever. I must give up my plan of going to Interlaken to-day, as there is no possibility of getting on. For the last few hours the water has been pouring straight down, as if the clouds above had been fairly squeezed out; the roads are as soft as feather-beds; only occasional shreds of the mountains are to be seen, and even these but rarely. I almost thought sometimes that I was in the Margravate of Brandenburg, and the Simmen valley looked perfectly flat. I was obliged to b.u.t.ton my waistcoat tight over my sketch-book, for very soon my umbrella was of no use whatever, and so I arrived here to dinner about one o'clock. I had my breakfast in the following place. [_Vide_ page 234.]

Weissenburg, August 8th.

I sketched this on the spot with a pen, so do not laugh at the bold stream. I pa.s.sed 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 hoa.r.s.ely 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 ba.s.s. 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 pa.s.sions, and so forth.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

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 'Const.i.tutionnel,' in which I read that Casimir Perier 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 Rosel's sketches. This is, in fact, the climax of the whole Simmen valley, and thence the old song says:--

[Music: Hin-term Nie-sen, vorn am Nie-sen, sind die be-sten Al-pen im Sie-be-thal, Sie-be-thal, Sie-be-thal, Sie-be-thal, Sie-be-thal.]

I sang this the whole day while walking along. The Siebethal, however, showed no grat.i.tude 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 n.o.bleman 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 bl.u.s.tering, 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.

Wyler, the 9th, morning.

To-day the weather is worse than ever. It has rained the whole night through, and this morning too it is pouring. I have however intimated that I shall not set out in such weather, and if it continues I shall write to you again to-night from Wyler. In the meantime I have an opportunity of making acquaintance with my Swiss host. They are very primitive. I could not get on my shoes, because they had shrunk, owing to the rain. The landlady asked if I wished to have a shoe-horn; and as I said I did, she brought me a tablespoon; but it answered the purpose. And moreover they are eager politicians. Over my bed hangs a horrible distorted face, under which is written. "Brinz Baniadofsgi." If he had not a kind of Polish costume, it would be difficult to discover whether it is intended for a man or a woman, for neither the portrait itself nor the inscription throw much light on the subject.

Evening, at Untersee.

All jesting is turned into sad earnest, which in these days may easily be the case. The storm has raged furiously, and caused great damage and devastation; the people here say that they remember no more violent storm and rain for many years; and the hurricane rushes on with such incredible rapidity. This morning early the weather was merely wet and disagreeable, and yet this afternoon all the bridges are swept away, and every pa.s.sage blocked up for the moment. There has been a landslip at the Lake of Brienz, and everything is in an uproar.

I have just heard here that war has been proclaimed in Europe; so the world certainly bears a wild, bleak aspect at this time, and I ought to feel thankful, that at all events for the present I have a warm room here, and a comfortable roof over my head. The rain ceased for a time early this morning, and I thought that the clouds were fairly exhausted; so I left Wyler, but soon found that the roads were sadly cut up; but worse was to come; the rain began again gently, but came down so violently about nine o'clock, and in such sudden squalls, that it was evident something strange was brewing. I crept into a half built hut, where a great ma.s.s of fodder was lying, and nestled comfortably among the fragrant hay. A soldier of the Canton, who was on his way to Thun, also crept in from the other side, and in the course of an hour, as the weather did not improve, we went on our different paths.

I was obliged to take shelter again under a roof at Leisengen, and waited there a long time; but as my luggage was at Interlaken, a distance of only two hours from thence, I thought that I would set the weather at defiance; so about one o'clock I set out for Interlaken. There was literally nothing to be seen but the grey surface of the lake,--no mountains, and seldom even the outlines of the opposite sh.o.r.e. The little springs, which as you may remember often run along by the footpaths, had swollen into streams, through which I was obliged to wade; and where the road was hilly, the waters acc.u.mulated in the hollows and formed a pool, so I was forced to jump over dripping hedges, into marshy meadows; the small blocks of wood--by means of which brooks are crossed here--lay deep under the water; at one moment I found myself between two of these brooks, which had run into each other, and for a considerable time I was obliged to walk against the current, above my ankles in water. All the streams are black, or chocolate-brown, looking like earth flowing along. Torrents poured down from above; the wind shook down the water from the dripping walnut-trees; the waterfalls which tumble into the lake thundered frightfully from both sh.o.r.es.

You could trace the course of the brown muddy streaks, rushing along through the pure waters of the lake, which, in the midst of all this uproar, remained perfectly tranquil, its surface scarcely ruffled, quietly receiving all the bl.u.s.tering streams that poured into its bosom.

A man now came up, who had taken off his shoes and stockings, and turned up his trowsers. This made me feel rather nervous. Presently I met two women, who said that I could not go through the village, for all the bridges were gone. I asked how far it was to Interlaken. "A good hour," they said. I could not make up my mind to turn back, so I went on towards the village, where the people shouted to me from the windows, that I could come no further, because the waters were rushing down so impetuously from the mountains; and certainly there was a fine commotion in the middle of the village. The muddy stream had swept everything along with it, eddying round the houses, and running along the meadows and footpaths, and finally thundering down into the lake. Luckily there was a little boat there, in which I was ferried across to Neuhaus, though this expedition in an open boat, in torrents of rain, was far from pleasant. My condition, when I arrived at Neuhaus, was miserable enough; I looked as if I wore long black boots over my light-coloured trowsers, my shoes and stockings quite up to my knees, dark brown; then came the original white, then a soaked blue paletot; even my sketch-book, that I had b.u.t.toned under my waistcoat, was wet through.

I arrived in this plight at Interlaken, where I was very ill received, for the people there either could not or would not find room for me, and so I was forced to return to Untersee, where I am famously lodged, and most comfortable. Singularly enough, I had been all along antic.i.p.ating with such pleasure revisiting the inn at Interlaken, of which I had so many reminiscences, and I drove up in my little Neuhaus carriage to the Nuss-Baum Platz, and saw the well-known gla.s.s gallery; the pretty landlady, too, came to the door, but somewhat aged and altered. Neither the dreadful storms, nor the various discomforts I had endured, annoyed me half so much as not being able to remain at Interlaken, consequently for the first time since I left Vevay I was out of humour for half an hour, and obliged to

[Music]

sing Beethoven's adagio in A flat major, three or four times over, before I could recover my equanimity. I learned here, for the first time, the damage the storm had already done, and may yet do, for the rain is still incessant.

_Half-past Nine o'clock at Night._--The bridge at Zweilutschenen is carried away; the _vetturini_ from Brienz, and Grindelwald, will not encounter the risk of driving home, from the fear of some rock falling on their heads. The water here has risen to within a foot and a half of the Aar bridge; the gloom of the sky I cannot describe. I mean to wait here patiently; besides, I do not require the aid of localities, to enable me to summon up my reminiscences.

They have given me a room where there is a piano; it indeed bears the date of the year 1794, and somewhat resembles in tone the little old "Silbermann" in my room at home, so I took a fancy to it at the very first chord I struck, and it also recalls you to my mind. This piano has outlived many things, and probably never dreamt that I was likely to compose by its aid, as I was not born till 1809, now fully two-and-twenty years ago; in the meantime, the piano, though seven-and-thirty years old, has plenty of good material in it yet.

I have some new "Lieder" in hand, dear sisters. You have not seen my favourite one in E major "Auf der Reise,"--it is very sentimental. I am now composing one which will not, I fear, be very good; but it will, at all events, please us three, for it is at least well intended. The words are Goethe's, but I don't say what they are; it is very daring in me to compose for this poetry, and the words are by no means suitable for music, but I thought them so divinely beautiful, that I could not resist singing them to myself.

Enough for to-day; so good night, dear ones.

August 10th.

The weather this morning is clear and bright, and the storm has pa.s.sed away; would that all storms ended as quickly, and were as soon allayed! I have pa.s.sed 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 impa.s.sable. 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."[21] I am afraid its merit is not great; I think it was more inwardly felt than outwardly well expressed; still there are some good pa.s.sages 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 circ.u.mstance 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 _rational_ praise, 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.

[21] In the "Liederheft," Opus 15 of his posthumous works.

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 quant.i.ty 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.

The 11th.

So I now close the first part of my journal, and send it off to you. To-morrow I shall begin a new one, for I intend then to go to Lauterbrunnen. The road is practicable for pedestrians, and not an idea of any danger; travellers from thence have come here to-day, but for carriages, the road will not be pa.s.sable during the remainder of the year. I purpose, therefore, proceeding across the Lesser Scheideck to Grindelwald, and by the Great Scheideck to Meiringen; by Furka and Grimsel to Altorf, and so on to Lucerne; storms, rain, and everything else permitting,--which means, if G.o.d will. This morning early, I was on the Harder, and saw the mountains in the utmost splendour. I never remember the Jungfrau so clear and so glowing as both yesterday evening and at early dawn to-day. I rode back to Interlaken, where I finished my sketch of the walnut-tree. After that I composed for a time, and wrote three waltzes for the Forest-ranger's daughter on the remaining music-paper she had given me, politely presenting them to her myself. I have just returned from a watery expedition to an inundated reading-room, as I wished to see how the Poles are getting on--unluckily there is no reference to them in the papers.

I must now occupy myself till the evening in packing, but I am most reluctant to leave this room, where I am so comfortable, and shall sadly miss my little piano. I intend to sketch the view from this window with my pen on the back of my letter, and also to write out my second "Lied," and then Untersee will soon also belong to my reminiscences. "Ach! wie schnell!" I quote myself, which is not over-modest, but these lines recur to me but too often when the days are shortening, the leaves of the travelling map turned over, and first Weimar, then Munich, and lastly Vienna, are all things of the past year. Well! here you have my window! [_Vide_ page 246.]

_An hour later._--My plans are altered, and I stay here till the day after to-morrow. The people say that by that time the roads will be considerably better, and there is plenty here both to see and to sketch. The Aar has not risen to such a height for seventy years. To-day people were stationed on the bridge, with poles and hooks, watching to catch any fragments of the broken-down bridges.

It did look so strange to see a black object come swimming along in the distance from the hills, which was at last recognized to be a piece of bal.u.s.trade, or a cross-beam, or something of the sort, when all the people made a rush at it, and tried to fish it up with their hooks, and at length succeeded in dragging the monster out of the water. But enough of water,--that is, of my journal. It is now evening, and dark. I am writing by candle-light, and should he so glad if I could knock at your door, and take my seat beside you at the round table. It is the old story over again. Wherever it is bright and cheerful, and I am well and happy, I most keenly feel your absence, and most long to be with you again. Who knows, however, whether we may not come here together in future years, and then think of this day, as we now do of former ones? But as none can tell whether this may ever come to pa.s.s, I shall meditate no longer on the subject, but write out my "Lied," take another peep of the mountains, wish you all happiness and good fortune, and thus close my journal.

[Ill.u.s.tration]