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I was also not a little angered by their treatment of an emigrant Frenchman, who was sitting at their table, compared with these louts he was exceptionally polite, and also quite simply and neatly dressed. Those boors said all manner of coarse things to this man. Then they all burst out into childish laughter. Lucky for the Frenchman that he did not understand a word of German. But he could see from all they did that their talk concerned him. A young woman of the house spoke to him in French. That was some consolation to him. At last he went to bed, and the fellows made themselves right merry at his expense. Had this happened in Paris I would have sworn that they were members of the lowest kind of Jacobin club

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. When all kinds of sweetmeats were set before them as dessert, they cracked the nuts on the bare tablecloth, though they had several pairs of nutcrackers to hand. The maid tried, in a gentle way, to make them stop. Look, said she, you are making holes in the tablecloth - but it was no good. They just laughed in the girl's face and made coarse remarks to her. God alone knows, said the innkeeper to me softly, how these fellows mess things up for me. I would sooner serve kings and princes. Why do you suffer it? said I. He shrugged his shoulders. Said: Ha, there's no help for it. At length I grew tired of the noise and the loutish behaviour. I went to bed. I thought: carters' men are the coarsest of men in the whole world, but in my own country they are not yet so uncouth and coarse. The maid showed me into the bedroom occupied by the Frenchman. He had taken the key from the door. She called to him in French. But he was sleeping so soundly that she almost had to break down the door with a broom-handle before he woke. He showed signs of disquiet at seeing me in his bedroom. But next day, very early, I set out with him, because we were going the same way.

It was the 30th of September. We went by Alchenfluh to Kirchberg for breakfast. Then by St. Niklaus, Helsau and Seeberg and took our midday meal at the lake of Herzogenbusch. The whole way we had fine roads, the most splendid countryside to left and right and, from time to time, the most beautiful views. Signs of prosperity everywhere. My fellow-traveller shortened the way for me, even though he spoke not a word of German and I none of French, we chatted to each other most of the time and made ourselves understood to one another by signs and gestures. A third person would have thought it right comical to see us doing so. The teachings of physiognomy must have sorely deceived me if he was not an honest good-natured citizen.

Now we went on again [...] to Roterist. Here I wanted to spend the night, for the day was declining and I was rather tired. But my Frenchman, who was quite heavily burdened but young and robust, pulled me by the arm to go further with him, pointed to the sky and said "One hour, one hour!" I understood him to say that we could go on for another hour in the twilight. For we had already been told that the next village was an hour's travel further on. So I went on with him. I thought to myself: You can surely keep going for another hour. We walked quickly. My comrade whistled and sang. It grew pitch dark. Close together we groped our way along the road, for (as I thought) much more than an hour. And yet we saw no sign of a village or any human habitation. My comrade was probably thinking the same, for he exclaimed over and over again "One hour! One hour! Sacré Dieu, one hour!" At last we came upon a village, I believe it was Safenwil, and by the light of the lamps we saw an inn-sign, a lion or some such. We stayed the night there. I found my comrade very good company and noticed that he too found me not uncongenial. But the next day, the first of October, we separated. He wanted to take the shortest way to Konstanz. I on the contrary wanted to go to Aarau, where I was recommended to a friend of humanity. After that I wanted to make a detour to Thalheim, to my dear father in God Pastor Rudolf Seelenmatter

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. So I went on over Kolliken in the most beautiful countryside to Aarau.

I had longed as much to see this pretty little town as the proud city of Bern. So I walked through the streets for a while to look at the exterior, and straight away it seemed to me that I

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The original Jacobin club was a revolutionary society founded in Paris in 1789. There were affiliated clubs all over France and they had connections with similar clubs in other countries.The name "Jacobin" had come to be applied to any person or group with radical political ideas or (as here) suspected of subversive activities.


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Formerly pastor at Wattwil from 1756 to 1767.



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