written in Budin.
In Pirna we spent an hour with Herr Siegfried,(1) whom you know as the author of Siama and Galmori, and who, with several acquaintances, accompanied us to the border. Then the road rose upward; and though it had been mild down by the river, it was rough enough above, and in a few hours we already had snow. It increased up to a few hours beyond Peterswalde,(2) then gradually lessened, and ceased entirely again near Aussig.(3)
I had been given quite strange notions of the striking displays of Bohemian Catholicism. I observed nothing of the kind. On the contrary, I must say that everything pleased me exceedingly. Our inn at Peterswalde was as good as one could ever wish with proper modest contentment. The customs officer who stamped my passport was friendly. The meal was not bad, and the maid—most charmingly neat and pleasant. Laugh if you will at this remark of mine, you old grumbler! One would need to have a very sour and un-aesthetic soul not to prefer a young, pretty, friendly face to an old, ugly, morose one. The girl stood before the mirror in our room—hung between two pictures of the Virgin—and adjusted her little silver cap with such artless grace, as if she might well forgive herself a touch of disorder in honourable innocence. The heretic Schnorr(4) looked so rapturously into the eyes of the true-believing creature that one might have thought he was on the point of converting to her faith—or at least of making her his model.
Moreover, the Bohemian-German dialect(5) as far as Lowositz is rather agreeable; it does not gurgle out the words half so thickly and unpleasantly as the mountain speech in Saxony.
The road from Peterswalde to Aussig (SN4) is rough but beautiful; from Aussig—where one rejoins the Elbe(6)—romantically wild, with high mountains rising left and right along the river, full of ravines, cliffs, and sharp peaks. Here I was told of the complaint against the indiscipline of our Saxon compatriots, who during the Bavarian War of Succession(7) burned all the vine-stakes here for firewood. They need only have climbed a few hundred paces higher to find whole forests. Such things pain me to the soul for the sake of others. If the Austrians behaved just as badly, that does not make us the better for it. When will our humanity at last wipe away such stains?
At Lowositz(8) the mountains gradually come to an end; from there up toward Eger(9) and down toward Leitmeritz(10) lies a fine, noble, fertile country, which two hours beyond Budin(11) becomes entirely flat. In Budin—a place that seems quite forsaken—I found, at the house of the Jew Lasar Tausig, a small collection of good books. As he had lent Lessing’s Nathan the Wise(12) to a friend, he gave me instead for the evening Kant’s The Only Possible Ground of Proof for the Existence of God.(13)