Strangely enough, I have often found that what other people could note in their diaries merely as an ordinary visit or a trivial expedition, assumed for me the character of an adventure.  This occurred on our journey to the Bad, when, owing to the coaches being crowded, we were detained at Chur in an incessant downpour of rain.  We were obliged to pass the time in reading at a most uncomfortable inn.  I got hold of Goethe’s West-ostlichen Divan, for the reading of which I had been prepared by Daumer’s adaptation of Hafiz.  To this day I never think of Goethe’s words in elucidating these poems without recalling that wretched delay in our journey to the Engadine.  We did not get on much better at St. Moritz; the present convenient Kurhaus was not then in existence, and we had to put up with the roughest accommodation; this was particularly annoying to me on Herwegh’s account, as he had not gone there for health, but simply for enjoyment.  However, we were soon cheered by the lovely views of the grand valleys, which were quite bare but for the Alpine pastures, that met our eyes on our way down the steep slopes into the Italian valleys.  After we had secured the schoolmaster at Samaden as a guide to the Rosetch glacier, we embarked on more serious expeditions.  We had confidently looked forward to exceptional enjoyment in thus penetrating beyond the precipices of the great Mont Bernina, to which we gave the palm for beauty above Mont Blanc itself.  Unfortunately the effect was lost on my friend, owing to the tremendous exertions by which the ascent and crossing of the glacier were attended.  Once again, but this time to an even greater degree, I felt the sublime impression of the sacredness of that desolate spot, and the almost benumbing calm which the disappearance of all vegetation produces on the pulsating life of the human organism.  After we had been wandering for two hours, deep in the glacier path, we partook of a meal we had brought with us, and champagne, iced in the fissures, to strengthen us for our wearisome return.  I had to cover the distance nearly twice over, as, to my astonishment, Herwegh was in such a nervous condition that I had repeatedly to go backwards and forwards, showing him the way up and down before he would decide to follow.  I then realised the peculiarly exhausting nature of the air in those regions, as on our way back we stopped at the first herdsman’s cottage, and were refreshed with some delicious milk.  I swallowed such quantities of it that we were both perfectly amazed, but I experienced no discomfort whatever in consequence.

The waters, whether for internal or external use, are known to be powerfully impregnated with iron, and in taking them I had the same experience as on previous occasions.  With my extremely excitable nervous system, they were a source of more trouble than relief to me.  The leisure hours were filled up by reading Goethe’s Wahlverwandtschaften, which I had not read since I was quite young.