Binnenthal/Im Feld, Tue.16. July 1793
My dear Friend, Our journey from London to the Wallisser-Land
was Exciting in the extreme but damnably Tiring e.t.c. e.t.c. To begin
with, in the course of the Sea Voyage to Genova, we narrowly escaped
being Shipwrecked - the waves crashed against our Felukke and we were
Drenched with foam. Sophia's eyes were wide open – in truth the size of
Saucers – and were Terror-Stricken, as in a Heroic oil painting. Our
Felukke was seaworthy – for which God be thanked – and our journey
continued with little or no further Harm done. For the country path
from Genova to the Alps
we were obliged to travel by mule, a Resentful creature acquired from a
grim-looking, square-headed, Miserly sort of fellow with a dirty
Bandage covering his left eye, who immediately harangued us with
demands for gin. As our Tortuous route took us straight across
stretches of marshland to Domo d'Ossola, the mountains drew nearer, and
through Optic Glass I viewed to descry new Lands, Rivers or Mountains
in the spotty Globe. Sophia and I took turns sitting on the mule, and
whenever it was my turn, I Endeavoured to powder my hair as best I
could. As we made our way along the countless twists and turns of the
path, dotted with falls of rock, we saw a Wondrous variety of mountain
views. Full of Curiosity, I buried my nose in Gabriel Walser's map of Wallis; the descent from the "Pass auf Mayland" is a paved path, which proved most Helpful. Then came a stream rushing down from the Ofi Horn
glacier, which could only be crossed with the Utmost difficulty with
our grumbling mule. Sophia, with her peach-blood coloured,
ribbon-winged bonnet, was in need of Restoration, and I gave her the
last of our victuals, a tiny piece of ship bread. We passed through
Alpine villages, where we were greeted by little children chanting at
us: Mule, mule, mule, the dwarves will help! – all this accompanied by
Boisterous dancing. And already the Binnenthal
started to unfold before us. Sophia's sufferings were soothed by a
warm, gentle Breeze which dispelled our fatigue and made us bloom
again. We were refreshed when the night welcomed us with the Deepest of
dark blues and the moon, like an enormous disc gleaming faintly in the centre of the remote valley, bestowed its light on us. In Im Feld
we were able to stay with genuine peasantfolk, who were most
hospitable. The English eat Roastbeef, Plumpudding, and drink Oporto
and Claret. The Binnen people eat Bratchäs, which they heat by a fire,
and air-dried beef, and drink their spiced brandy. The walls were
covered with Crucifixes and horrible carved masks. I was fascinated by
the unfamiliar sounds of the local dialect and felt it was not
surprising that a great variety of Ghosts are living here. In fact, a
farmer's wife, seated at her spinning wheel, pipe in mouth, insistently
pointed out to us that down by the Lengenbach mine there was sometimes Dreadful soul dancing and spirits were known to congregate.
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