Le Rhin, Tome IV

A young traveler sets out before dawn, watching the sun pierce the clouds over the Jura and glimpse the distant granite ribs of the Alps. The road from Freiburg to Basel unfolds like a living watercolor, alternately opening onto deep pine forests, solitary oaks, and rushing ravines of the Black Forest. Along the way, the narrator sketches the landscape with the same keen eye that later makes his prose legendary.

Inside the coach, an eclectic troupe of passengers provides comic relief: a German librarian mourning a missing lab coat, an elderly gentleman dressed in Louis XV attire teasing a fellow traveler, and a cloth merchant who jokes that he’s hauling “wine” rather than fabrics. The narrator also spots a solemn philosopher—yellow vest, gray coat, umbrella, and a whip in one hand—herding a troupe of pigs, a scene both absurd and oddly philosophical. These vivid portraits turn an ordinary journey into a gallery of human quirks.

Reaching Basel, the traveler checks into the historic Hôtel de la Cigogne and writes from a window that frames twin fountains, one fifteenth‑century stone basin shimmering with green‑tinted water. He muses on how the Alpine torrents give birth to such charming fountains across Swiss towns, linking nature’s power to urban beauty. Listeners are invited to wander these streets through his poetic eye, feeling the crisp air, the chatter of locals, and the timeless rhythm of a road trip long before the age of steam.