An accident to the calash obliged me to stop at Woknabrück. As I roamed about the inn, I came upon a back-door which let me out on a canal. Beyond it lay meadows striped with pieces of brown holland. A river, inflected under wooded hills, served as a belt for those meadows. Something, I know not what, reminded me of the village of Plancoët, where happiness had appeared to me in my childhood. O shades of my old kinsfolk, I did not expect to find you on these shores! You are drawing nearer to me, because I am drawing nearer to the grave, your shelter; we are going to meet again there. My kind aunt, do you still sing your ballad of the Sparrow-hawk and the Warbler[245] on the banks of Lethe? Have you met the fickle Trémigon[246] among the dead, just as Dido saw Æneas in the region of the shades? The day was drawing to a close when I left Woknabrück; Sol transferred me to his sister's hands: a double light of undefinable hue and fluidity. Soon Luna reigned alone: she was inclined to renew our conversation of the forests of Haselbach[247]; but I was not in the mood for her. I preferred Venus, who rose at two o'clock on the morning of the 25th; she was as beautiful as amid those dawns in which I used to contemplate and invoke her on the seas of Greece. Leaving many mysteries of woods, streams and valleys to the right and left, I passed through Lambach, Wels and Neuban, quite new little townships, with flat-roofed houses, as in Italy. In one of those houses, they were making music; there were young women at the windows: things were different in Maroboduus'[248] time. In the towns of Germany, the streets are wide, drawn up in line like the tents of a camp or the files of a battalion; the market-places are spacious, the drill-grounds extensive: the people want sun, and everything happens in public. In the towns of Italy, the streets are narrow and winding, the market-places small, the drill-grounds cramped: the people want shade, and everything happens in secret. At Linz, my passport was endorsed without difficulty. 24 _and_25 _September_ 1833. I crossed the Danube at three o'clock in the morning: I had said to it in the summer what I could no longer find to say to it in the autumn; its waters were no longer the same and I was there at a different hour. Far on my left, as I passed, lay my good village of Waldmünchen, with its droves of pigs[249], Eumaus the shepherd[250] and the peasant-girl who looked at me over her father's shoulder[251]. The dead man's grave in the cemetery was filled up by now[252]; the deceased had been eaten by some thousands of worms for having had the honour of being a man. M. and Madame de Bauffremont, who had arrived at Linz, were a few hours ahead of me; they themselves were preceded by some Royalists, bearing a message of peace, who believed Madame to be travelling quietly behind them: and I came after them all, like Discord, with news of war.