I have left the city, and I cannot tell you how happy I felt in leaving that place. How often have I sighed, thinking of those walks where one meets so many closed faces, where one hears so many voices that say nothing to you! Here I am now amid the fields, amid the hills, and I feel well, I feel free. Nature alone is immense and varied, like an almighty God who has no need of forms; but our men here, our honest burghers, are all cut from the same pattern, all cast in the same mold: nothing here that pleases the eye, nothing that touches the heart. For the rest, all that touches me little, and I long still less to enter into conversation with those people. I am happy from the bottom of my heart when I see nature in full bloom, when I see the hills covered by an infinite multitude of flowers, when I see the insects buzzing in the great sun and a thousand swarms of birds and insects fluttering about; and when the forests and mountains shade the fertile meadow, and the murmuring brook, picturesquely winding, refreshes the impatient birds falling from the cloud; when the gray tint of the distant mountains draws the soul that flies away toward the beyond and yearns for that beyond—only then do I feel well, only then do I experience happiness. That all these gentle spectacles of nature, that these beautiful and joyful landscapes have an inexplicable charm for man and penetrate him, comes without doubt from this: that they contain the principal element of our strength, that they can soften the conflict and opposition so often found within us, and lead a bewildered spirit back into the world and into the bosom of nature. That is why passionate men, whose desires and longings struggle and cross one another, love to wander through forests and countrysides, to see in the flowering plains the happiness of their existence, to shed tears by which the soul is refreshed, and to revive their weary courage; and physicians would profit well if, for certain patients, instead of bitter drugs, they prescribed frequenting the pleasant sites of nature. Hence I made an excursion into the region called Wahlheim. I cannot tell you how well Wahlheim is situated. The village lies on a hill; from its summit the view is most extensive. On arriving there by a road that climbs the mountain, one suddenly discovers the view of the valley. An innkeeper, an honest man, has opened an inn at that spot; there he offers travelers refreshment, fresh wine and coffee; and two great linden trees, whose spreading branches cover a little square before the church, which is surrounded by peasants' houses, barns, and farmyards. So welcoming and so familiar is this place that I chose it for my dwelling, and I gave up my excursions. It is about half an hour's road from there to the town; that is the most advantageous distance for knowing all the pleasures of the countryside. That is how a friend of the town, who has just lost the wife for whom he had great tenderness, has found, they say, in beautiful landscapes a softening of his sorrow, by wandering through them. From time to time I go to see him; I find him seated before his door with his children; and I notice that he always has difficulty holding back his tears. When I see him thus, I sit down beside him, and I share with him his joys and his sorrows. He tells me the story of his life, and above all he speaks to me of his wife, for whom he always had the most lively tenderness. He tells me that he married her after a long and sincere union, and that she died after giving him five children. He often recounts the details of their domestic life, the care she took of her children, and the way she directed his household. He tells me that when he remembers these things, his sorrow is renewed; but that when he lets his gaze wander over nature, when he sees those beautiful fields, he finds relief. I believe that all these spectacles of nature, which surround us with such gentleness, recall to us the happiness we have lost, without recalling to us the unhappiness of having lost it; and that is one of the great pleasures of nature. I have also made the acquaintance of other people of the region, simple folk, full of good sense and uprightness. I see them, I converse with them, and I find an inexpressible charm in their society. How I rejoice to see that man can be happy within a narrow sphere, when he knows how to limit himself, when he sees things as they are, and when he does not torment himself with desires that exceed his strength and his lot! I have also grown accustomed to taking long walks every day through the countryside. I visit the hills, I cross the plains, I see the streams, the forests, the fields covered with harvest, and I feel ever happier, freer, more master of myself. O my friends, why is the torrent of genius so seldom united, so seldom unfolded, with those floods of grandeur, with those movements that make the soul marvel? O my friends, why does it so often flow in its deep bed, so calm and so peaceful, when it might rush forward with such force?