climbing up these mountain heights, of wandering through these valleys, and seeing this blue sky, of discovering that there is a nature which exists by an eternal, voiceless necessity, which has no wants, no feelings, and is divine; whilst we, whether in the country or in the towns, have alike to toil hard to gain a miserable subsistence, and at the same time struggle to subject everything to our lawless caprice, and call it liberty.
Ay, I have ascended the Furca,—the summit of St. Gothard. These sublime, incomparable scenes of nature will ever stand before my eye. Ay, I have read the Roman history in order to gain from the comparison a distinct and vivid feeling what a thoroughly miserable being I am.
Never has it been so clear to me as during these last few days, that I, too, could be happy on moderate means; could be quite as happy as any one else, if only I knew a trade,—an exciting one, indeed, but yet one which had no consequences for the morrow, which required nothing but industry and attention at the time, without calling for either foresight or retrospection. Every mechanic seems to me the happiest of mortals: all he has to do is already settled for him, what he can do is fixed and known. He has not to rack his brains over the task that is set him. He works away without thinking, without exertion or haste, but still with diligence and pleasure in his work, like a bird building its nest, or a bee constructing its cells. He is but a degree above the beasts, and yet he is a perfect man. How do I envy the potter at his wheel, or the joiner behind his bench!
Tilling the soil is not to my liking: this first and most necessary of man's occupations is disagreeable to
