Editor’s Note. We are pleased to present below a previously unpublished diary by Hebel, which the Alemannic poet kept during the trip to Switzerland he undertook in August and September 1805 as a mentor to Barons Carl and Ernst von Metzingen. The diary, dedicated to his noble pupils, is currently housed in the family archive of the Barons of Metzingen at Metzingen Castle near Bruchsal. Friends of Hebel’s charming muse will, however, be somewhat disappointed by the account of his Swiss journey. Like Hebel’s sermons, the account reveals little of the poetic spirit and mischievous humor of the author of the “Alemannic Poems.” Only in a few places does his poetic and original nature shine through; otherwise, the diary is mainly proof that even the finest poet is of little use once he is cast in the role of a tutor. On the other hand, some aspects of the travelogue may be of cultural-historical interest to readers. We limit the reprint of the diary to the section relating to the journey through Switzerland, omitting, moreover, certain passages that are mere lists of names. The journey lasted from August 22 to September 22, 1805. It began in Karlsruhe and led via Offenburg, Krummenschiltach, Villingen, and Donaueschingen to Schaffhausen on August 25, from which point on we let the poet speak for himself.
 

>> 1

At 9 o’clock in the evening we reached Schaffhausen. A nice new hat proclaimed his freedom on Swiss soil, took to his heels that very evening, and was never seen again. Schaffhausen is the capital of a Swiss canton of the same name, located on this side of the Rhine and of the Reformed faith, surrounded by mountains quite close by. This morning we viewed the most interesting part of the town and, on a nearby hill, the old fortress of Unnoth. It consists of a large, walled round tower and a high tower. From this one can overlook the entire town and surrounding area. Inside, the sturdy, spacious vaults and the beautiful paved path leading down to the deep foundation are worth seeing. The cornerstone is said to have been laid in 1516. Rare modesty on the part of a tower keeper! According to Ebel’s more plausible account, this structure dates back to the ancient Romans. From here we went to the new Rhine bridge. It was first crossed on July 15. The old one, built in 1758 by Grudemann, consisted of a suspension structure supported by a single pillar and was considered a masterpiece of bridge engineering until it was burned down by the French on April 18, 1799. Since then, the situation has been the opposite of what it is with deceased people. While they are alive, there is so much to criticize about them. Once they are gone, the grave covers their faults; one remembers their virtues and mourns their loss. Schaffhausen seemed proud of the old Rhine bridge as long as it stood; now it is said to be full of defects, and people say the new one is better. In the afternoon, we walked an hour past Neuhausen to the Rhine Falls. The entire mass of the river plunges here over and between the rocks—50 feet when the water is low, 80 feet when high—with tremendous force, forming the largest waterfall in Europe. We took our first vantage point at the “Drahtzug.” From here, one looks down above the plunge into the wild turmoil of the waves, which in some places crash fearfully against the rocks, and in others plunge boldly and defiantly downward. Then we crossed the Rhine, passing along the entire front of its fall to the opposite bank. Here, a light yet well-constructed wooden scaffold extends out to the edge of the Rhine Falls, where the cascade is at its most powerful and wild, and the entire view is by far the most interesting. The grandeur and diversity of this scene are indescribable—this wild struggle and storm, this eternal scattering and destruction and renewal, this deafening roar, and then again the fine silver mist of water vapor that swirls all around and is painted with all the colors of the rainbow by the slanting rays of the sun. A steep ascent past Laufen Castle finally leads to a pavilion at the third vantage point, where, from this lofty, almost vertical height, one can gaze down over the Rhine—both above and below the waterfall, and the river itself between the two—while sipping a glass of wine, and admire the view with renewed appreciation. So we did, and on the way back we saw for the first time the high snow-capped mountains, which glistened toward us from a distance of perhaps 20 to 30 hours’ journey in the glow of the evening sun, and arrived back in Schaffhausen on the right bank of the Rhine via the bridge.

Monday, the 26th. From Schaffhausen to Constance. 9 hours.

This route took us along the right bank of the Rhine, half through forest, half between the water and the vine-covered hills, through the northern part of the canton of Thurgau. The points of interest along this road are:

'Das Paradies', a convent, a name often mentioned during the last war.

Diesenhofen, a charming little town on the Rhine, fortified in the old style.

Stein (Canton of Schaffhausen) on the left. Here the Rhine flows out of Lake 'Untersee', which stretches from this little town to Constance over a distance of 4 hours and curves sideways almost as far in width to Zell in Lake 'Obersee'. From there, during the pleasant journey along its banks, one can see the island of Reichenau, 1½ hours long, 1 hour wide, and inhabited by about 1,000 people. Before the Peace of Lüneville, it belonged to the Diocese of Constance, situated on both shores of Lake Constance. Now everything on the German side of the great body of water, along with this island and several imperial cities in Swabia, has been incorporated into the Electorate of Baden and forms its third province under the name of the Upper Principality on the Lake.

We saw several beautiful Baden towns on the opposite shore.

Tuesday, the 27th, Constance. Constance, situated on the border between Germany and Switzerland and at the junction of Lake Constance and the 'Untersee', was once one of the most populous and flourishing commercial cities in southern Germany. In 1414, a church council was held there, attended by Emperor Sigismund, at which Pope Martin V was elected and Hus was burned at the stake. Over 100,000 people from all regions were gathered in and around Constance at that time. From that time on, it declined more and more and now has only 4,000 inhabitants, despite its excellent location, with no trade or industry; the city is Austrian. Adjacent to it lies the great Lake Constance with its far-reaching shores full of vineyards, towns, and villages. Its length extends from Bregenz to Bodman, covering 17 to 18 hours’ travel, and its width spans 5 to 6 hours. The greatest depth is stated, probably exaggeratedly, as 500 fathoms. It accommodates ships carrying 8,000 hundredweight of cargo. We spent this morning on a boat trip to Meinau. No pen can describe the splendor of this expanse of water and its shores as they surrounded us in the solemn glow of the morning sun. We lived in the magic of another world. The lake was calm, rippled only gently by the cool morning breeze. A light morning mist initially shrouded the distant shores. There was only the lake and the sky, both bathed in silver light and fragrance. Gradually the fog lifted, revealing the towers of Buchau, then Mörsburg, the capital of the Principality of Baden, then Pfullendorf, and all the splendor of the richly adorned region, with the mountain peaks of Upper Swabia looming in the distance.

Meinau is a high-lying island in the northwestern bay of the lake, featuring a charming castle and a large garden in the old style. It belongs to the Teutonic Order’s commandery of Alschhausen. The castle officials showed us all the sights with the utmost courtesy. But no human art can compensate you for a single glance from the balcony out onto the lake. Meanwhile, we noticed a remarkable bridge here that connects the island to the shore across the lake. It is 680 paces long. If a storm hits it, it tosses the planks—which are not to be nailed down—into the lake like playing cards and drives them to the nearby shore, where they are then gathered up and brought back. If it comes quickly, it can happen that people are on the bridge and see the planks flying away behind and in front of them. During our two-hour stay in Meinau, a strong west wind arose, so that on the way home we were able to sail all the way to the Horn. Beyond the Horn, where the direction of the journey changes, we rowed against the wind into the high waves and were thus fortunate enough to experience, in a single morning, every possible aspect of seafaring—from calm to storm, and from favorable to unfavorable winds.

We did not return to Constance until half past one, and in the afternoon we visited the lake once more, then the city and the Rhine bridge with the large mills built along it. It connects the two banks of the narrow waterway at the point where the Rhine flows from Lake Constance into the Untersee, and led us across to Petershausen, on Baden territory. Petershausen and Salem, formerly two abbeys of the Swabian Circle, now belong to Margraves Frederick and Louis of Baden, as compensation for other possessions lost in Alsace.

This day was the most pleasant of the entire journey.

Wednesday the 28th. From Constance to Zurich. 12 hours.

The route leads over the pleasant and often interesting hills of the canton of Thurgau, from which one had a view to the right of the deep, inhabited valley through which the 'Thür' (Thurgau River) flows.
Here we amused ourselves with post horn blowing and a bountiful apple harvest.

Frauenfeld is the capital of the canton, of mixed religion, dead and empty.

It is all the more interesting to descend into the beautiful Thür Valley and visit the city of Winterthur (Canton of Zurich). A series of beautiful gardens and parks already signals the city’s prosperity from the outside, and inside, wherever one looks, one discovers the source of that prosperity: a general bustle of industry and commerce. From within Winterthur, one crosses the rushing forest stream, the Tös, and then, leaving the valley behind, travels over new hills toward Zurich, a journey of little particular interest.
 

>> 2

Thursday, the 29th. Zurich. This city, with a population of about 12,000, lies in a fairly narrow valley between the Züriberg and the Albis, at the end of a lake and the Limmat, which flows out of it here; it is the capital of the first canton and of the Reformed faith. The location of the Zum Schwerdte inn is extremely interesting. It stands on the Limmat at the wide bridge, which also serves as the market square. Upon waking, we saw before us a large part of the lake and its charming shores in the twilight of the morning light. Soon, in the background, the high snow-capped mountains emerged from the eastern mists at a distance of 15 to 20 hours’ journey. Beneath the windows, above the crystal-clear Limmat, the weekly market was gathering with ever-increasing noise, a showcase of the diverse Swiss traditional costumes. How delicious the coffee with Swiss cream (called “Nideln” here) and buttered bread tasted in these surroundings.

This morning we saw the most remarkable sight in the city and the surrounding area. Barely glimpsed from the side, yet entirely different and new, is the view from the new or high promenade, a churchyard situated in one of the city’s most sublime locations.

The idea of a second monument, situated outside the city at the confluence of the Limmat and the Sihl, is both well conceived and beautifully executed. You cannot tell whether nature here is so beautiful because it follows the rules, or whether art was so natural. Gessner’s monument sanctifies this site. He was a citizen of this city and, as a poet specializing in idylls, earned the love and gratitude of his contemporaries and secured a glorious legacy for his name among posterity.

From yet another vantage point, the splendor of nature surrounds you on the so-called Katze. But you stand on a rampart and look out upon the scene of one of the most significant events of the previous war. From here, one overlooks the key points of the Battle of Zurich between the Russians and the French. On September 25, 1798, it determined the unfortunate consequences of the war for Austria and dashed all the expectations one had placed in the Russians and the glory of their campaign. In a different way, one senses here at the public inn, in the frank judgments about public figures and circumstances, that one is in Switzerland. The most outspoken today was the innkeeper himself. Among other things, he recounted the mischief a French officer had caused in the house. “But by God,” he added, “had I been at home, I would have told him: ‘You are as coarse as your lord and master.’”

Lake Zurich, which we sailed across that afternoon, is 10 hours long, though it cannot be seen in its entirety, and is 1 to 1½ hours wide. Less extensive than Lake Constance, it makes up for what it lacks in size with the proximity of its two shores. Just as beautiful and richly vegetated as the latter, and even more densely dotted with villages, castles, and country houses, it brings everything closer to your eyes that there is lost in the distance. Every stranger returns from this watery paradise in delight, and the cheerful disposition and the—albeit somewhat affected—Swiss warmth of the innkeeper at Küssnacht added to the pleasure of this afternoon.
Friday the 30th. Zurich to Albis. 8 hours.
Today, accompanied by the cheerful and undaunted Hofmann, the great journey on foot begins. One must leave Zurich in the afternoon in order to spend the evening on the Albisberg for the sake of the view. Hofmann gained something more besides: the entertaining company of a fellow villager from the village on the Albis. One reaches the summit of the mountain and the inn there from the foot in five and a half hours. Another half-hour across its ridge brings one to the Hochwache. This is the name given to certain lofty mountain peaks with sweeping views, from which the Swiss send signals to nearby and distant cantons when their homeland is in danger. This Hochwache is in ruins, but the pleasure of the view in the mild evening glow remains undiminished. Behind you lies the city of Zurich, eight hours’ journey away; below you, its long lake and its surroundings; before you, the high, snow-capped mountains of the cantons of Schwyz and Uri; to the right, the majestic Rigi and the dark, jagged Pilatus, which now come into view for the first time, large and close. Stretching toward them and all the way to you lie the low-lying plains of the canton of Zug and its lake; all these fascinating sights seem to converge around the sublime vantage point from which one looks down, coming together to form an indescribably vast and magnificent view.

On the way back, we caught a glimpse of the small Thüreler See peeking out from between its dark fir trees, and then, for the first time, savored the sweetness of rest after a hike through the Swiss Alps.
August 31: From Albis to Lucerne. 9 hours.

Hofmann is courteous and inquires at the home of yesterday’s companion about her well-being. A difficult footpath winds down the Albis to the country road leading to Cappel. From this spot, one walks across the Cappel battlefield. Ulrich Zwingli, the Reformer of Switzerland, stood here on October 8, 1531, in the ranks of 2,000 Zurichers against 8,000 Catholics from neighboring cantons and died on this field fighting for his Gospel, for his fatherland, and for the freedom of conscience of his fellow citizens. A friend of his saved his heart and brought it to Zurich as a relic. But another, so that it would not be desecrated by religious fanatics, threw it into the lake.

Barr is the first town in the canton of Zug, the home of the family famous in Swiss history, 'An der  Matt'.

Zug itself is the capital of this small, predominantly Catholic canton; a charming little town, it stretches down from the gentle hillside to the waves of its lake. The lake is 4 hours long, 1 hour wide, and at one point 200 fathoms deep. Foggy weather made it inadvisable to head toward the alpine-rich Rigi, which rises from the shore of this lake, with a circumference of 8 to 10 hours, in a pyramidal shape to a height of 4,556 feet above the lake and 5,676 feet above sea level, and is called Culm at its highest peak; on a clear day, the effort of a 5-hour climb is rewarded by the view of 18 lakes, the majestic sight of long chains of the highest snow-capped mountains, and sweeping vistas as far as Swabia and France. We sailed past a vertical rock face of the same, 4,000 feet high according to Ebel, on our way to Immensee.

The famous narrow alley leads here to Küssnacht over a stretch of land that takes an hour and a half to cross. Tell had already struck the apple on his beloved’s head with one arrow and revealed the purpose of the other. But the prisons of Küßnacht waited in vain for him. There was no need for the bailiff to rush to receive him there. Having leaped from the ship with bow and arrow near Flüelen in the storm on Lake Lucerne, the archer stood here behind a tree, waiting for the approaching figure. If ever in history an assassination has been justified by necessity and sanctified by its consequences as a meritorious deed, it is this one. At stake were home and hearth, life, wife and child, and the fatherland. The bailiff rides into the alley, the archer lying in wait behind the tree. The bowstring whistles; the tyrant lies dead, all is saved forever, and from this deed, in conjunction with the Rütli Oath, began the Swiss Republic and freedom, which, through long bloody struggles from within and without, grew ever stronger, has now existed for nearly 500 years, and has made the Swiss, to this very day, a respected and envied people in the eyes of all Europe. In memory of this event stands here Wilhelm Tell’s Chapel, known as “Tellen.” Another can be seen near Flüelen, where he leaped from the ship. On ours, one reads the following verses:
               "Here Tell shot down Gessler's arrogance,
                And the noble Swiss freedom was born.
                But how long will this last?
                It would last a long time, if we were still the people of old."
The entire story is rendered with great dramatic artistry in Schiller’s play *William Tell*.

Lake Lucerne, onto which one embarks at Küssnacht (Canton of Schwyz), stretches 9 hours lengthwise from Lucerne to Flüelen and 4 to 5 hours widthwise from Küssnacht to Alpnach. Here, the eye searches in vain for those charming shores, those towns and villages nestled close together, and that lively, cheerful life that once surrounded the Lake of Zurich. But with no less interest, one sails upon these dark waters, recalling the deeds of antiquity to which these shores bore witness, and in this setting of a mountainous world that rises toward the sky, near and far, to heights of 2,000 to 10,000 feet, drawing the clouds down toward itself, and surrounding the lake almost everywhere with black, rugged, steeply sheer rock faces. Ever closer, larger, and more formidable, the giant Pilatus stands before your eyes.

At its foot lies Lucerne, already impressive from the outside, and seemingly inhabited on the inside by a cheerful, good-natured, and industrious little people, numbering 6,300, the capital of a canton of the same name and of the Catholic faith. The Reuss, which rises on the Gotthard Mountains and flows into the lake at Flüelen, emerges here again. Several bridges, some of them very long, ranging from 1,000 to 1,300 feet, connect the parts of the city separated by the river and the lake. That very evening, we viewed the topographical map of Switzerland, a magnificent work, in the cabinet of the late General Pfyffer. It measures 20 feet in length and 12 in width, and, as it is displayed here, is too large to provide a convenient and instructive overview. Nevertheless, it covers an area of 60 square miles and presents the highest mountains, reaching 9,700 feet, at a height of 10 inches above the lake. All elevations and depressions, all places, lakes, rivers, and streams, all roads and footpaths are depicted here in their natural forms and curves and in the most precise proportions. It is the work of twenty years of diligent effort by the general himself.

In 1577, the skeleton of an elephant or some other monstrous creature from the animal kingdom was unearthed near Nieden under an oak tree. In keeping with the beliefs of the time, it was simply and readily taken to be the remains of an ancient giant, and a painter had the idea of depicting it in its supposed human form and size, based on the proportions of this terrifying skeleton. A fearsome colossus.

In Lucerne, we had the most delightful and expensive hospitality.

Baron Ernst was in a very bad mood today.
 

>> 3

Sunday, 1 September. Lucerne to Sachseln. 6 hours.

It was entertaining to walk from here to Winkel amongst the cheerful crowd, who, dressed in their finest Sunday best in traditional costume, were strolling towards the town and the church. These simple folk also seemed to take pleasure in our procession. Hundreds upon hundreds marvelled at the magnificent red cap. From Winkel the route leads back along the lake to the shores of Stanz. This part of the lake is not lacking in charming scenery and varied attractions. Further on, the great Mount Pilatus unfolds to the right. The fields between the lake and its steep slopes are charming. Soon, rising majestically from its ashes, Stanzstad greets us in a rejuvenated form; halfway along this route, the first glacier spreads out in the snowy region of Engelsberg, and soon the eye is lost in the gloomy bosom of Alpnach. Between Stanzstad and Alpnach lies the Rothsberg. Yet this region, consecrated by nature as a hidden haven of tranquillity and peace, was the scene of the most horrific atrocities during the last French and Civil Wars. Did not the flames of arson blaze from Stanzstad and all the farms as far as Stanz, across the lake and up the surrounding Alps and snow-capped mountains! Two honest Swiss men, who had fought in the war and were our companions, were able to recount all the events to us and show us all the arrangements on the spot. It is also thanks to them that we met a woman of humble birth but noble spirit and character. Her husband had gone out with the defenders of the country and had fallen in battle. His comrades-in-arms buried him on the battlefield. When he had already been buried for two days, his wife, who had only just learnt of his death, went out into the night, dug him up again, and carried him home to the churchyard. Here he was laid to rest in consecrated ground according to the sacred rites of the Church, yet neither she nor he found peace. For days on end the poor woman now lay upon the grave that held her dearest, praying and weeping, until one night, whilst she was away, the body was removed a second time and secretly buried in another place. She never learnt where they had laid him to rest. One is tempted to think that such a feeling in a woman’s heart, and the man’s virtue worthy of that feeling, could only be possible in Switzerland. But both were foreigners and Germans. Now she lives with a second husband, also a native German, once again in a happy marriage, and the Swiss transferred to him the fulfilment of a promise they had made to the first. They granted him the most precious thing they have to give, Swiss Civil Rights and Freedom.

We landed at Rothsloch. Here, the Rothsberg has been breached—probably by an earthquake—from the higher plateau that slopes down to its rear, all the way down to the lake on this side. A murky mountain stream now plunges down through the jagged rocks with a wild roar. We climbed as far up into this mountainous terrain as was possible without danger and necessary to get a view of the most interesting part of this waterfall. Before flowing into the lake, it powers a paper mill. Opposite, one can drink from a sulphur spring.

The footpath to Stanz leads round the Rothsberg and then, between scattered rural dwellings linking Stanzstad and Stanz, through a pleasant meadow, surrounded by the foothills of the nearby Alps. The Rigi, which one imagines to be far behind one’s back, stands once more before your eyes with its reverse side. In Stanz, the capital of the canton of Unterwalden, Nidwald, we had lunch in a parlour full of honest, modestly cheerful and courteous country folk. The most remarkable sights of the afternoon are:

The Drachenried (dragons reed), the high-lying, somewhat marshy plain between the back of the Rothsberg and the Alps opposite. One is apparently walking here on the bed of a former vast lake, which once, when the Rothsberg burst, found its outlet through the Rothsloch into Lake Lucerne. The Grosshorn rises majestically to the left; chamois graze on its rocky slopes, and above them circles the vulture. From nearby Melchthal, the homeland of Arnold, one of the founders of Swiss freedom, the Melch river plunges down. One can already see Sarnen, the capital of the canton of Unterwalden, Obwalden and Lake Sarnen close at hand, and walks a further stretch along the left bank of the latter past to Sachseln, where it is not advisable to sit next to the chairs.

Monday 2 September: Sachseln to Meiringen, 6 hours.

Yesterday and again this morning, the beautiful church of Sachseln, adorned with marble columns and altars and widely visited with pious devotion, was viewed. It houses the venerable remains of Saint Nicholas.

Niclaus von der Flüe, a member of one of the country’s most distinguished and prosperous families, was already an old man when, in accordance with the extreme religious views of his time (he lived in the 15th century), he left his wife and children—reportedly twelve of them—and withdrew to the desolate wilderness of the Melchthal valley to spend the rest of his life as a hermit. Whilst men may disapprove of this step, he has at least atoned for it through a great service to the Swiss. For at the hour of the fatherland’s greatest peril, when in 1481 the assembled Confederates in Stanz were about to part in the deepest bitterness, and the sword of civil war threatened to destroy the Holy Confederation, then the hermit Niklas broke his vow and, a noble and majestic figure, descended from the mists of the Melchthal valley into the assembly like a guardian spirit of the fatherland; by his mere presence he moved all hearts, and through the substance of his exhortations united everyone in a renewed and steadfast loyalty to the Confederation. This was the only time he was seen among men again during his life as a hermit. After his death, his body was brought to Sachseln. Few patriotic deeds have been rewarded by posterity with such a grateful and pious remembrance as his. Ceaseless pilgrimages take place to his grave and to his hermitage. Many call him simply Father Claus, or Brother Claus. The whole of Unterwalden is proud of his name.  Catholics speak of him only with reverence, whilst all other Swiss speak of him with gratitude and respect. One can see here:
   1. His grave in a separate chapel. He lay here until the present church was built.
2. His remains, displayed behind glass in the church.
3. His hermit’s robe.
4. Next to a side altar, his truly beautiful portrait, which inspires reverence and love.

Further along the left bank of Lake Sarnen, all the way up to Gyswyl, one can admire many waterfalls plunging down from the high, rugged mountains. In Gyswyl, we made the acquaintance of an interesting young man. In the year 1800, he served as a first lieutenant with the Swiss auxiliary troops in the Heidelberg, Mannheim and Durlach area; he gave us some brief insights into the events of that time, revealed himself in his speech to be an honest, sensible man, and now, like the defenders of the fatherland in ancient Greece and Rome, makes his living from his trade. He is – a shoemaker. Nowhere does one feel more closely and pleasantly surrounded by Swiss honesty and good-naturedness than in the Canton of Unterwalden, and what in a certain other canton might rightly be called Swiss coarseness dissolves, as one travels through the cantons of Zurich, Zug, Schwyz and Lucerne, dissolves here into a charming, sincere simplicity, combined with a refined, natural sense of decency towards strangers. An hour’s walk beyond Gyßwyl, the 'Kaiserstuhl' (Emperors Chair) rises high to the plain of Lake Lungern. Even as you walk along its shores (it takes an hour to walk the length of the lake), you are constantly met with the sight of the waterfalls plunging down from both sides of the mountains and the sound of their roar, whether near or far. From Lungern at the end of the lake, the path begins its descent over the Brünig Pass towards Meiringen, a further three-hour walk. The customs house at the summit marks the crossing into the Canton of Bern. It is a pity that, of all places, a wild bank of fog deprived us of the view of the high mountains opposite and the first beautiful glimpse into the charming Hasli Valley. Worse still, it soon turned into a heavy downpour, which accompanied us right to the doorstep of the inn in Meiringen. There we lit a fire and changed our clothes, dried off and washed, ate and drank, laughed and grumbled. If the fog on the Brünig was thick, the dreadful smoke in the room was even thicker now. Yet we were not deprived of the view of a few waterfalls out of the window, nor of the beautiful, freshly snow-capped peak of a mountain that seemed barely a quarter of an hour’s walk away.

 

>> 4

 3 September. Maieringen.

Maieringen, also known as Hasli, is a beautiful and large village in the much-visited and highly praised Hasli Valley, which is surrounded by high mountains and beautiful Alps, rising up into the Grindel region, flowing downwards through the youthful River Aare, and opening out into the Interlaken plain, between Lake Brienz and Lake Thun. The inhabitants of this valley are said to distinguish themselves from all other Swiss in spirit and physical stature. Their language is described as the finest of the entire Swiss people. It seems, however, that one must spend more than a day in this region, which in any case directs one’s attention to other matters, to find this to be true. Yet something distinctive in the character of the Bernese rural folk does not escape notice. The open sincerity of the small cantons is concealed behind a more serious, at times almost ponderous exterior. The prosperous Bernese is conscious of himself and his prosperity and takes pride in the canton to which he belongs. In contrast, the poor man beside him seems to have lost the sense of being Swiss, at least in these valleys. Even the naive and irresistible manner of the lads from Unterwalden, when they surround the traveller in their villages within a few seconds with a stout old man, and with cheerful gestures, sweetly and charmingly vie for a few kreuzers to play with the crossbow, sinks here to the most vulgar and brazen begging in the German manner. Yet nothing is more difficult than to judge, without prejudice, the character of a people one merely passes through, as if on a country road. A clear sky hung above us when we awoke today, and bathed in the glow of the morning sun, the Schneeberg welcomed us. The morning was spent on occasional walks to the nearby sights of the valley, particularly the waterfalls. Baron Ernst preferred to wash at a waterfall today rather than in his room. So be it! One comes so close to the lower cascade of one waterfall, amidst a spray of water painted in all the flying colours of the rainbow, that, as if served by invisible spirits, one’s head and hands become wet in a matter of seconds, and one can cleanse and refresh oneself without reaching out for a single drop of water. In the afternoon, we visited the distant and remarkable cascade of the high Reichenbach. It is divided into the lower, middle and upper sections. Today we reached the middle section, where we made our first acquaintance with Mr Lafond, a very agreeable man and skilful painter from Bern. One lingers here in surprise and wonder at the manifold views—by turns picturesquely beautiful, by turns terrifying and gruesome—in these wild, thunderous gorges, once again surrounded by all the beautiful colours of the iris. For entertainment for the rest of the evening, we found newly arrived company at home. It is an extremely interesting surprise, when one finds oneself in these lonely mountain regions, feeling somewhat melancholy at being cut off from all civilised, and often from all human, society, to come across a sketching artist here before a sublime subject, to meet an undaunted botanist on a lonely path, and to see strangers from all corners of Europe passing by here and there, or to join them at the inn.

4 September. Maieringen to Grindelwald. 9 hours.
This is the most arduous and most interesting day’s journey. Climbing a steep mountain, we first took a detour to visit the upper and most remarkable cascade of the Reichenbach, which plunges almost vertically, illuminated by the rays of the morning sun, 200 feet down into the rocky chasm of the middle cascade. Higher and higher up, one comes to the first Alpine herdsmen. There, once again with his brush in hand, sat Mr La Fond in front of the snow-capped rocky peak, which one still believes to be a quarter of an hour’s walk away. Higher and higher, past isolated alpine huts, and thirsting as we made our way from one spring to another, we came to a sort of inn, an alpine hut, where we were fortified with butter and cheese, and heartily poor wine (otherwise there is nothing to be had on the whole day’s journey) for the ascent of the final arduous stretch to the ridge. There, one after another, they collapsed to rest. Rarely were all on their feet, yet someone would insist that he was not tired at all, merely catching his breath. But this hike is by no means lacking in compensatory interest of various kinds. Particularly on the left, the high row of rocks—partly bare, partly covered in snow—which one passes by, provides entertainment. Nature seems to be using it to prepare you for the nearby majestic sights. Once you have climbed the ridge, what wonders unfold! There they stand before your eyes, the majestic colossi, the Wetterhorn, the Wettenberg, the Eiger, and, cascading down between the first two, the great Grindelwald Glacier, towards which one now descends. The size of the objects deceives the eye, creating a false sense of distance. The snow-covered mountain from yesterday was still only a quarter of an hour away. The glacier seemed about the same distance. But it was still two hours’ walk. Leaving behind the nearby strawberries, rich in flavour, we climbed as far as we could up this magnificent iceberg, illuminated by the evening sun. Scattered frozen stones, which had tumbled down with the avalanches, made the ascent easier. Without being bothered by the cold, one lies down here on the bare ice and, lying on one’s stomach, drinks from the small pools that the sun has melted into the ice. One feels so at ease and refreshed, gazing with a constant shift of emotions now up at the towering mountain ranges and the nearby blue sky, now down across the glistening ice surface to the green meadows and gardens of the nearby village of Grindelwald, and losing oneself once more in the most delightful little water features all around. There the ice is melting; there, hollows and channels have already been carved out. There, the crystal-clear little streams trickle and bubble ceaselessly in and out. Nature, which seems to reign here in all its sublime majesty, appears to wish to amuse the wanderer in this very spot with the innocent games and frolics of a charming and cheerful childhood. Crossing the Lutschinenbach, fed by the glacier, we reached Grindelwald, refreshed by freshly picked cherries. In a few moments of tranquillity, all fatigue vanishes. The most pleasant feeling of well-being flows through the body in this pure mountain air. Sitting in front of the inn, one surveys the nearby sublime sights and their context with renewed attention. Between the Wetterhorn and the Wettenberg lies the upper, larger glacier, whilst between the Wettenberg and the Eiger lies the lower, smaller one. Both are outflows from a higher snow and glacier valley that stretches from the Grimsel across to Valais. Above the smaller one, the snow-capped peaks of the 'Vieschhörner' rise in the distance.

How small man is here, and yet how great is the power he can muster. Strasbourg Cathedral is 490 feet high, the Wetterhorn 11,450, the Eiger 12,260, and the Vieschhörner even higher. Rarely does one have the misfortune of leaving here without hearing of avalanches. That very evening we heard a sudden distant roar and, just in time, caught sight of a column of snow crashing down the Wetterhorn. We also heard the distant, muffled crash and rumble of another one plunging down on the other side. I shall not reveal what else happened that evening. But another living curiosity in Grindelwald is Annelis’s father, our innkeeper himself. The glaciers have wide crevasses here and there, reaching down to the deep abyss. Whoever falls in is at God’s mercy. Yet this happened to our innkeeper. His companions called down into the depths. No answer! Ropes were lowered, tied one to another. No hand grasped them. He was mourned as dead and given up for lost, when on the third day, like a visitor from the world of crevasses, he returned alone through the village to his home. When, in the dreadful ice dungeon that held him captive, he had come to his senses from the numbness, he heard the murmur of a nearby underground stream, crawled after it with his body crushed and his arm broken, and emerged with it at the foot of the glacier into the joyful light of day and life—the only example of such a rescue.

5 September: from Grindelwald via Lauterbrunn to Interlaken. 7 hours.
A deep, romantic valley leads to Zweylütschinen. In this valley, we noticed a forest, of considerable width, that had been shattered from the mountain ridge down into the valley. Like stalks of grain crushed by hail, the tree trunks lay piled one upon the other. According to our guide, this is the dreadful effect of an avalanche. From Zweylütschinen, one walks leftwards through another valley towards Lauterbrunnen. There, as if from the heavens, the Staubbach plunges 800 feet down a vertical rock face and, dissolving into a hanging column of mist, hovers before the astonished eye in an ever-changing yet ever-familiar magical form. We walked almost close to the rock, passing it as if through the downpour of a thundercloud, and, turning round, beheld with fresh wonder for the first time, in its pure, dazzling white snow-clad robe, the majestic Jungfrau, a snow-capped peak of 12,900 feet in height, 10,422 feet above the valley. Beside it stands the Mönch.

The path leads back to Zweylütschinen. With a longing gaze and a sense of imminent hope, one finally looks out once more towards the lower mountains, the broader valleys and cultivated fields, and finds oneself in Interlaken, between Lake Thun and Lake Brienz, back on the banks of the Aare, and at the mouth of the valley that one had cut through from the Brünig Pass down to Meiringen.

It was here, on 15 August this year, that the great Swiss Shepherds’ Festival was held for the first time, an event which has dominated the pages of all this month’s newspapers. The day was filled with competitions of every kind. This was a true display of the Swiss spirit and character. One man from Appenzell, for example, who had only recently recovered from a serious illness, lifted a stone weighing 1,801 pounds with one hand above his head and, keeping his body still and using only the strength of his arm, threw it 10 paces away. He then wrestled for another half an hour with the strongest competitors. When, at the end, after a hasty drink, he was overcome by nausea and could not accept the prize he had won, his defeated opponent, also an Appenzeller, stepped forward; proud of his countryman, he accepted the prize on his behalf and presented it to him with joyful sympathy.

 

>> 5

6 September, Interlaken–Thun. 6 hours

Mr La Fond had also arrived this morning. After returning from a walk to Lake Brienz, we visited Mr König, also a skilled painter, in the town of Unterseven during today’s journey, and viewed his beautiful works depicting Swiss landscapes and traditional costumes with great pleasure. Soon one stands on the shore of Lake Thun. It is four hours long, one to two hours wide, and is bordered by high, partly steep mountains, among which the Vorgebirg, known as the ‘Nase’, the Beatenberg and the beautiful, regularly shaped Niesen deserve special mention. At the end of the lake, where the Aare flows out again, stands Thun, a pleasant provincial town of the canton. The high-lying churchyard offers a view well worth seeing. The White Maiden gazes proudly across. Here the long journey on foot comes to an end.

The 7th: Thun to Bern. 6 hours.

On this journey we made the acquaintance of the learned and very agreeable Professor Kuhn of Bern. What the region lacks in other curiosities, it makes up for in diversity, embellished by culture. Passing through imposing villages—built of wood, yet large and richly constructed—one soon arrives at artistic and tasteful developments, the harbingers of the nearby town. This evening, our faithful companion Hofmann was dismissed.

8 and 9 September, Bern.

Bern, situated in a narrow but pleasant valley and surrounded by the River Aare, is the most beautiful and one of the largest and wealthiest cities in Switzerland. The entire length of the main street, which is not entirely straight, is lined throughout with houses built of solid ashlar, with arcades on both sides. Duke Berthold V of Zähringen founded the city in 1191. Now, with 13,680 inhabitants, it is the capital of the largest and most powerful canton, of the Reformed faith. On 8 September, as it was the great Swiss Day of Repentance and Prayer, we spent most of the day in quiet reflection in our room and on the promenade, for example by the lovely little deer, and in the high churchyard. Here too, the Virgin Mary greets you.

On 9 September, accompanied by Madame Haller, we visited 1. the library. Among other things, it houses valuable portraits of former heads of state, full of character and life.

2. A large tableau depicting the Resurrection, with several interesting details.
3. A complete collection of all bird species native to Switzerland or visiting as rare guests.
4. A collection of weapons, clothing and implements from South India and Otaheide.
5. A bas-relief of the Bernese Oberland, similar to Pfyffer’s in Lucerne, albeit smaller, but for that very reason easier to take in at a glance and more instructive for brief views. It was well worth surveying everything here in its broad, instructive context, which we had been exploring step by step over the past few days.
6. Alongside this, a similar one belonging to the district of Aigle, formerly part of the Canton of Bern, now part of the Canton of Vaud.
7. A collection of minerals featuring particularly beautiful crystals.
8. The clean, particularly well-appointed and impressive hospitals. The inhabitants of Bern, alongside those of Zurich, are the most educated and, despite their pride in their name, the most courteous towards strangers amongst the Swiss who live in cities.

Tuesday 10 September: Bern to Biel, 6 hours

This morning we visited Mr Lafond at his home and saw, in part, his own Swiss landscapes and traditional costumes, drawn with taste and fidelity, and, in part, several coloured engravings and hand drawings by his famous teacher Freudenberger. Shortly before Bern, we came across a nose today. The largest that could possibly fit on a human face, yet smaller than the promontory of the same name in Lake Thun.
An old, frail fellow, kept together only by brandy, led us over hill and dale, up and down the Frinisberg. Worth noting are Aarberg on the Aare and at the foot of the Frinisberg, and Nidau, a pretty little town on Lake Biel and the border of the Canton of Bern.

Biel, formerly a member of the Swiss Confederation, is now a French border town belonging to the Department of the Upper Rhine. A quarter-hour’s walk led through a poorly maintained promenade to Lake Biel, 8 hours long, 1 mile wide, and 216 feet deep. From its shore one can see Peter’s Island, made famous by Rousseau’s name. Running down towards the lake and the town are the Jura Mountains, which stretch far from France, running from Geneva to Basel along the border between Switzerland and France, and here form a beautiful, wide valley with the Frienisberg opposite. We entrust ourselves to its rocky gorges.

Wednesday the 11th, Biel-Mallerai. 6 hours

Mr Lembke, a fellow countryman and acquaintance, was our pleasant companion today. The path climbs quickly and steeply up the Jura, where once again one catches sight of the distant snow-capped mountains stretching out in a long line, and then winds its way along its rocky slopes, with the rising ridges to the right and a precipice plunging into the depths to the left, where the river rushes by, now invisible, now coming into view in larger and smaller waterfalls. Dark firs clothe the rocks.

Suddenly, the gentle Imer Valley pleasantly interrupts the solemnity of the mood evoked by these surroundings. One crosses it at Sonceboz and climbs the second range of mountains, over whose ridge one passes through the Pierre Pertuise rock arch. A neighbouring, higher mountain ridge descends here across the road. It was probably the Romans who cut through it. Through an opening 40 to 50 feet high, one passes through to Tavanne (Dachsfelden). On this side of the rock stands a Roman inscription, now almost illegible, which is interpreted as follows:
      Numini Augustorum. Via facta pu Titum Dunnium paternum. virum Colon. Helvet:

Immediately beyond the rock, one catches sight of the source of the Birs, our faithful companion all the way to Basel, and travels through a hilly landscape between gentle mountains towards Mallerai, a rather shabby village with a similar sort of inn. Mr Lembke, who had already left us to return to Biel by chaise, came back a few hours later as a prisoner, and had to stay on after his release, as evening was already falling. It was fortunate that he still met us; otherwise he would have been taken to Besançon under military escort, and Mr von Bobenhausen would probably never have seen his parcel.

12 September, Mallerai–Delémont. 5 hours.

Today we travelled on foot again. Even Mr Lembke, who had settled himself comfortably and at his leisure in the carriage yesterday, humbly walked the 6-hour journey back on foot. Joshua, the famous commander, is said to have once commanded the sun during the battle of Jericho. There it stood still over Jericho, and the moon in the valley of Ajalon. A certain gentleman wanted to attempt something similar today and command them out of the fog. But he did not succeed until *)...*)

Unfortunately, at this point and in a few others, the notebook in which Hebel wrote his travelogue is damaged.

The Münster Valley. A majestic sight! For two and a half hours you walk along the base of jagged mountains through a winding rocky gorge, which at the bottom leaves room only for the road and the rushing River Birs. Close to the edge of the first gorge and on the banks of the last, the wild, jagged rock masses tower up; at the top, they soon recede into deep expanses or hover as terrifyingly protruding masses above the hiker’s head, threatening to block out the sky. At the smelting furnace of Corrandelin (Tennedorf), one emerges once more onto a confined plain. Here lies Delémont (Delsperg), the principal town of this region. It was formerly part of the Diocese of Basel, but had its own constitution and was allied with the most powerful cantons of Switzerland. The people who inhabit it enjoy a fine reputation for the warmest good nature and honesty. Since the early years of the last war, their documents of liberty and confederation have been torn to shreds, and the French eagle now spreads its wings over their valleys and rocks. From Biel onwards, the language is patois.

13 September. Delémont to Basel: 9 hours.
Soon one finds oneself once more amidst the rocks of the rugged mountains. Gradually, however, the valley widens; the sheer rock faces level out and become covered with crops and vineyards, until, as one approaches Basel, everything dissolves into the splendour of the great, fertile Rhine Valley. In Saugern, a village, lies the border between French and German-speaking regions. Soon one arrives in Laufen, a charming little town with castles; among others, the beautiful ruins of Pfeffingen lend the area a romantic air. At Esch, one looks out for the first time over the vine-covered hills and beautiful meadows of the Margraviate of Baden; at Reinach, one leaves French soil and enters Switzerland once more, in the Canton of Basel.

To the right, one can still see Arlesheim, the former seat of the Basel Bishop’s Cathedral Chapter; nearby lie the ruins of Münschenstein Castle, which was destroyed by the fury of the Revolution only a few years ago, and one passes close by the battlefield of St. Jakob. In 1444, 1,600 Swiss defended their homeland against 30,000 Frenchmen. Eight thousand enemies fell on the battlefield. Only 16 Swiss survived. Their homeland declared them dishonourable cowards. The red wine that now grows on the battlefield is therefore called ‘Swiss Blood’, and is drunk away in a few days every spring amidst patriotic memories and sentiments. Here the Birs flows into the Rhine.

14th–15th, Basel.

The stages and costs of the Swiss journey -
further information (in German) - here: 1805.