FIRST STATION.
First day's journey—Entrance into Switzerland—Morning at Berne—Evening at Enghe—That which the Alps and the Sun said to me—Thun—The Titans when seen more nearly—A bath in the Aar—Queen Bertha—Arrival at Lausanne—Chilly days—New acquaintance—Picture of the Confederate States of Switzerland—“Des Terneaux” Chapel—The Free Church—Questions and Cogitations which led me to Switzerland—A. Vinet—Sketch of Lausanne and its everyday life—“A la Montagne!”
There is a small country situated, as you see, in the heart of Europe; its circumference is insignificant, and insignificant its population, compared with the powerful states which surround it—France, Germany, and Italy; but its mountains are the highest in Europe, and there the mightiest European rivers have their head-waters. Its people, a pastoral people, have stood foremost in battle for what constitute the most valuable treasures of all people—political freedom and freedom of conscience.
Separated by mountains and valleys, by dissimilarity of origin, language, and religious faith; divided into States and into families dissimilar in race—yet is this people, composed of many distinct peoples, united in love for freedom and for that common father-land—that little Switzerland. And over all the states, however dissimilar in manners, language, or religious opinion, a word prevails, with magical, cementing, binding power—a name alike availing to them all—it is Sworn-Confederate. If opposing elements separate them for a time, they are again united in this. Disseverance is dissolved in eternal unity.
I found myself in this little country in the beginning of the summer of 1856. The beautiful oak woods round Stockholm lay as if dreaming of spring when I left them at the end of May. A gray-green vail covered the northern landscape. Two days later, in Germany, I found summer, and the hay-harvest in progress. But much rain and the long railway journey had fatigued me so much that I could not but ask myself, whether I were not too old to undertake a long journey; whether, after a certain amount of years, it were not better for people to stop quietly at home.
At his house on the banks of the Neckar, I again saw Chevalier Bunsen. It was like a ray of sunshine. I had seen him a few years before as Prussian Minister in London, and then, depressed by the political embarrassments which were at hand, and forseeing the great and bloody war in the East, he was also suffering so much even in health, that I could not but think of him as one who had not long to live.
I now met with him again amongst the vineyards of Heidelberg, healthy, cheerful and overflowing with life and the enjoyment of labor. He seemed to me to have become younger by twenty years. He had now abandoned the diplomatic career and entered with unabated energy upon that scientific path of literature which combats for the freedom of thought and conscience both in religion and politics. He had begun great and important works. May he have time and strength given him for their completion! Every thing belonging to him, his countenance, his state of mind, his surroundings, nay even his study, had one expression, and that was—light.
Again I had cold weather and rain on my way to Basle. At Basle, the portal of the Rhine between Germany and Switzerland, the sun shone, and there was a lively gathering, as it were, of free, gay folk-life across the vast river in the moonlight evenings. Beneath the colossal wooden bridge flows the river, clear and calm, in a half circle embracing, the old gloomy city, which has a very learned look, like a professor in his chair. A short distance above the bridge plies a little ferry-boat, guided, as by a magic thread, from the one shore to the other; from the shore with its professor-like aspect and queer old houses, to the other with its green fields and trees. During the morning I allowed myself to be taken backwards and forwards by the little ferry-bout across the stream, and during the evening I wandered backwards and forwards on the wide bridge listening to the cheerful, fresh murmuring of out-door life. I also visited the Cathedral; and this was all which at that time I cared either to see or hear of Basle. It was my intention to return thither in the autumn—I would now merely go to the Lake of Geneva and forward to Lausanne, where I intended to rest.
There stands at a short distance from Basle, and not far from the road, a beautiful lime tree, at the foot of which is a stone of memorial. It is in commemoration of thirteen hundred Swiss from nine different cantons, who fought at St. Jacques with an army of thirty thousand French and Austrians, and perished on the field. But their brave defense excited such high esteem in the mind of the French Dauphin, who commanded the enemy's forces, that he did not venture further into the country, but soon afterwards made peace with its people at Einsisheim. The grateful fatherland raised this memorial to its heroic sons, with the following inscription:
“Our souls with God, our bodies with the enemy.
Here fell, the 26th August, 1444, unconquered, wearied
of conquering, 1300 Sworn Confederates and
Companions in arms, against united France and Austria.”
Magnanimous, affecting words! No one would be
dear to me who could tread, without reverence, a soil
where the stones thus cry out.
The memory of these brave men is still annually celebrated here by songs and orations.
I commenced my journey to Berne in a thick fog which made it all as one whether I had been traveling over the heaths of North Germany, or the most glorious Alpine region; there was nothing to be seen but mist. Thus I reached Berne. What I there experienced, as well as what you have just read, I noted down afterwards. It was in Lausanne that I commenced my Diary.
Berne, June.—“To-day the mountains may be seen. It is clear,” said the waiter at the Crown Hotel, as he handed me my morning coffee. I dispatched my breakfast in all haste and then went out. It had rained and been stormy during the night, but now it was bright and I could see the mountains.
I stood upon the lofty terrace of the Cathedral and looked around me. Yes, it was bright, indescribably bright and glorious. The splendor of heaven and earth seemed to me twofold. Far below my feet rushed the rapid Aar through verdant meadows, and there, encircling the distant horizon in their white draperies, stood the pyramids of the Alpine land, Schreckhorn, Doldenhorn, Finster-Aarhorn, Eiger, Monch, Yungfrau with its Silverhorn, and whatever other names they may bear, those primeval Titans, the beautiful and magnificent forms of Switzerland. They were quiet now, those ancient assaulters of Heaven. The Lord of Heaven had scattered over them a handful of snow and they were turned to stone. And now in helmet and armor of eternal ice they stand and reflect the glory of the sun. Oh, how white, how beautiful they looked, and how their majesty was enhanced by him. The storm of the preceding night had gathered itself into little islets of clouds which were collected in dark specks at their feet and there vanished, dissolved by the sunbeams and attracted by the concealed spirits of the mountains to the springs in their bosoms.
How my soul's eyes and ears drank in this sight, and listened to the voices which spoke to me from it!
“Have confidence in the sun! Let not thy courage sink. Has not a natural storm but lately passed over thy life; did not heaven seem dark, and every prospect on earth closed? And did not the tempest, all at once, as by a magic stroke, become dispersed, and all was again bright? See the cloudlets yonder, below the mountains, how they melt away before the sun, which absorbs them, changes them into blue ether—or into fertilizing springs and rivers! Thus human sufferings and errors.—Ah! that which makes life so dark, and the heart so heavy, thus sink they into the deep; thus are they dissolved by the sun of the Divine Goodness. Have confidence in the sun! Sing, sing, O heart, and praise its power, as do the Alpine heights, the clouds and the verdant, ever youthful earth!”
Joyously rushed on the Aar with swelling waters; the birds sang, the acacia diffused its fragrance around, and the earth and the Alps shone brightly. Oh, this morning,—I can express but little of that which I experienced during it, of that which the sun and the Alps spoke to me!
I wandered for yet an hour in the ascending sunlight around Berne, that I might become better acquainted with its situation and physiognomy, shook paws with its bears, which, although turned to stone, parade the market, and stand round the fountains as large as life, and like friendly countrymen stretched out their paws to me. Berne, standing on its peninsular rock, around which rushes the lively Aar, reminded me vividly of the plain-featured but powerful Rochester, and the fascinating Jane Eyre in the charming novel of that name. Thus plain-featured but picturesque and stately is Berne, thus lively, full of the freshness of youth and individuality is the river which winds around its walls, a sportive naiad, and a strong, enlivening queen at the same time. Which possesses the greatest majestic power? It lies in the two combined. Without the Aar, Berne is barren and gloomy; without Berne, the Aar would lack its full significance.
In the evening I went to Enghe.
Enghe, one of the principal places of resort for the inhabitants of Berne, lies at about a quarter of an hour's distance from the town. It is a lofty headland formed by the Aar, and is planted with beautiful trees, forming a grand promenade, from which a still more splendid view, if possible, is obtained of the Oberland Alps than from the cathedral-terrace in the town. You seem here to be nearer to them; you obtain a deeper view into their mystical temple of nature. The clouds had again encamped above their peaks, but the descending sun shone amidst them with wonderful gradations of purple, gold, and pale rose-tint. How the mystical cloud-swathings throw the Alpine peaks, now into brighter, now darker relief; now elevated, now depressed them; according as the cloud draperies elevated themselves or dropped down, or the sunbeams caught upon them, presenting ever-changing pictures; for there was a soft movement in these Alpine regions, which was unfelt beneath the green trees of Enghe, where all was profound calm. At a little distance on the terrace, wind-instruments were playing soft and beautiful melodies.
That which I felt at this moment, I cannot describe, neither do I myself rightly understand. A deep emotion overcame me, and caused my tears to flow, whilst a world of half-defined feelings, thoughts, presentiments, arose in my soul. I wept, but I was happy, astonished by a something new and wonderful, which resembled a revelation within myself.
I came to Berne merely to proceed thence to Lausanne. The object of my journey was a year's residence and quiet study on the shores of the Lake of Geneva. But at this moment the horizon extended itself, and it was as though I saw sun-cycle beyond sun-cycle shining above my path into a remote distance, and as it were gleaming out of the clouds, the towers of primeval and renowned cities, to which I, as yet, did not dare to give the name. The wonderful vision disappeared with the magical pomp of colors, and the melodies which called it forth. But that which remained, that which still remains in my soul, of this never-to-be-forgotten morning and evening, is the sense of inner, unimpaired health and strength, together with a presentiment of a larger purpose in my journey than I myself had given to it.
I was again free, after several gloomy, sorrowful years; free, not through my own individual endeavor, but released by God's mighty hand. I had before me an unlimited time which I might devote in freedom and peace to the solution of many long-cherished questions and investigations. Well, then! for these I will live, and endeavor to strengthen my half thoughts and my half light, and see if they cannot lead me to some great whole. And so may the Spirit of Truth, which alone I will follow, guide me whither and as it will!
Thus I said to myself, and calmed my excited feelings with a Vanilla ice—it was very delicious!—which I took sitting on a stone wall under the tree. The sun descended; the fantastic cloud-imagery among the Alps faded away; the music ceased, the few pleasure-seekers on the terrace departed either in groups or alone, but I returned happy in the evening twilight to Berne.
“I am solitary, but not alone!”
But the Titans of the Oberland had produced too great an effect on my mind for me to turn my back on them at once. No: I could not be satisfied without seeing them more closely; seeing their brilliant icy palaces, and hearing the roar of their waters. I could in a few hours reach Thun and Interlachen, the heart of the Oberland. I had been once before in Berne. Then I was young, but bound as a bird in a golden cage. Now I was old, but free, and——Divine freedom!
I went to Thun. Hast thou been to Thun and seen its lake and its shores? If thou hast not been there, then go, if thou possibly canst, for a scene of more enchanting beauty, on a large scale, is not to be met with on this beautiful earth. And the morning, how beautiful it was, when I rose with the young June sun and wandered along the shores of that mirror-smooth lake; first towards the little church, which, standing on a hill to the right of the town, looks so pretty amongst its leafy trees, and surrounded by its peaceful monuments. Every grave is indicated by flowering shrubs, mostly roses; and out of every flowering thicket rises a metal spire with a little gilded star at its point. The grave-stars shone like flames in the ascending sun. The dew lay in bright pearls upon the fragrant roses. How fresh, how peaceful was every thing!
I pursued my way along the lake, by the opposite shore, to the town. It led me through a natural path; the green-sward was covered with flowers, the tall grasses waved gayly in the morning breeze, and the little feather-adorned ladies looked forth from their dwellings. It was a great marriage-feast. A beautiful butterfly, just come out of its pupa state, sat with moist wings upon a leaf. I gathered it in my bouquet, and walked till I became hungry and weary. I then retraced my steps, and, so doing, met a young bridal couple, she with a garland of meadow-flowers on her brown hair, and he with one round his hat.
They were returning from the church, where they had been married this morning. They held each other by the hand, and thus walked side by side, healthy, handsome, gay, through the flowery scene, on their way to the Alpine hut, their home. But they were not happier than I was that morning; and their breakfast could scarcely taste more delicious to them than did mine after my early ramble.
I passed yet another enchanting morning at Thun, and wandered through its magnificent walnut and chestnut woods; after which I went on board the steamboat which goes to Interlachen. It was a beautiful afternoon; the heavens, clear and summer-blue, and the lake dimpled by playful winds. We left behind us the lovely idyllian scenery of the lake with its verdant park-like shores, and advanced rapidly towards the Titans, Eiger, Monch, and the fern-like Fru, or Blumlis Alp, and many others. The loftiest Alps of the Oberland stood before us in mingled magnificence. At length stepped out the twelve-thousand-eight-hundred-foot-high Jungfrau, and it seemed as if we were about to steam directly into her bosom. But the vessel swung abruptly to the left, and the snow-clad giants stood on our right; behind us the pyramidal Niesen: more distant, the new-old castle Schadow, which rises so picturesquely out of the waves; and we entered a bay between the mountains, in whose gloomy shadow we landed upon a verdant shore. We are at Neuhaus. Before us lies a plain, surrounded by immense mountain-heights. A friendly German lady and her daughter offered me a seat in their carriage, and thus we drove to Interlachen, a small town situated on a tongue of land between the lakes of Thun and Brienz, from which circumstance it probably derives its name: Inter-lacus.
The mountain air, the baths in the Aar which flows through the valley, the facility by which, from this place, the most celebrated scenes of the Oberland can be reached, have of late years made Interlachen a great resort of travelers in Switzerland, and large hotels have altogether driven away the shepherds' huts from the valley. As yet, the season for the baths has not commenced. The water of the Aar is quite too cold before midsummer, and the air of the valley too cold also. It is, therefore, now very quiet on the grand promenade, and the hotels are empty. Nothing now is to be heard in the valley but the ringing of cattle-bells, and this music is not of the most melodious description.
The valley is a plain between two lakes and the mountain-walls which follow them from shore to shore. Two rivers, the Aar and the Lutschine, flow through it with rapid course; but the general levelness of the ground, and the growing crops, prevent their being seen, except you are close upon their banks, and the immense heights on either side of the valley prevent you having an idea of its width. To me it appeared only as a moderate leap from one mountain-wall to the other, and on all sides the view is circumscribed, so that I confess to having felt myself considerably oppressed by the close neighborhood of the Titans, which, at this point, are more imposing by their mass than by their beauty, and which, morning and evening, cast their cold, dark shadows across the valley, so that it is there gloomier at the same hour than anywhere else in the neighborhood. The empress of the valley, the lofty Jungfrau, which is so magnificent when seen from a distance, is here a lofty, broad-shouldered Medusa, which seems ready to crush her worshipers. Ha! I would not live here!
But Hohbuhl's wood, opposite the giantess, is beautiful, and the view from its heights is celebrated. I set out on a morning walk and voyage of discovery there, and lost myself completely among its paths, which were covered with autumn leaves, so that I could not find a single elevation where I could obtain a general view, not even to ascertain whereabout I was. Nothing beautiful could I see, except a few green openings just at hand, where thousands of little butterflies were fluttering above the grassy sward, as if they were intoxicated by the sun, the morning air, and the perfume of the flowers. Not so was I; captive in the labyrinths of the wood, I went round, and round, and round, hour after hour, seeking no longer for views, but merely an outlet, until, at length, after four hours' wandering, I emerged from the wood, and reached Interlachen, so wearied with walking, seeking about, the heat of the sun, and wood-snares, that I seemed to be at least sixty years old, and I began again to mistrust my strength for the journey I had undertaken.
I passed a bath-house on the banks of the Aar, on my way to the hotel—the Schweitzer-Hof. The door stood half open, and the thought suggested itself to me of a bath in the Aar. True, the season for bathing was not yet, and the Aar water was at all times icy cold. The Aar is a glacier river, and has its origin in the bosom of an ice-mountain not far from here; but the embrace of the Titans' daughter must be invigorating with a vengeance, and I would venture it! I enter the house; the kindly-mannered attendant says:—
“No one has yet bathed here; the water is still very cold, but you can make the trial.”
Good; I will do so. But with the first attempt to step into the bath, I drew back with terror, for it felt like burning iron round my ankles. I bethought myself for a moment; summoned all my courage; the water was so clear and fresh, so smiling, so enticing; I plunged down at once, and up again, and yet a second time; “hah, hah, hah, hah! ah! ah!”
What a wonderful sensation! what a change! I am, as it were, new born. I have left my old humanity in the bath. I feel strong, healthy, full of vigor, rejuvenated, scarcely five-and-twenty years old! The energetic life of the Aar was flowing in my veins. Thanks to the Titans' daughter.
Vitalized anew, soul and body, I wandered slowly along its verdant bank, reading in the “Album Swisse,” which I bought at a book shop, with unspeakable pleasure, L. Vulleimin's sketch of the reign of Queen Bertha. It was my first acquaintance with this remarkable Swiss historian, and with the noble Queen, who is one of the most beautiful characters of old French Switzerland, and whom the people still honor as the good genius of the country. Whilst Rudolph, her husband, as King of Burgundy, carried war into Italy, and endeavored to conquer Lombardy, she remained at home, engaged in the benevolent works of peace. “She laid down roads,” says her historian, “encouraged the cultivation of the soil, planted vineyards, and protected the poor serfs. At the same time that Queen Bertha founded convents, asylums for prayer and labor, she built fortresses in Gourse, in Moudon, in Neufchâtel, from the Alps as far as Jura; and, under the protection of these strongholds, the country, being defended from the ravages of the Huns and Saracens, was enabled to flourish. She rode on horseback through the land, visiting the peasant farmers, acquainting herself with their means of life, visiting their barns and hemp-spinneries, encouraging and rewarding the industrious. She made herself acquainted with every subject on which she gave commands; she even spun with her own hands her husband's clothing, and they treasure up to this day, in Payerne, the saddle upon which she sat and spun, as she rode through the country. She established many estates in the country (metairies), of which she herself was the mistress. She also built strong castles, which still remain and bear her name; and when Rudolph, tired of war, returned home, she induced him to unite with her in laboring for the culture of the country, and the administration of justice.”
“The Princes in those days,” continues Vulleimin, “had not as yet their fixed residences. They went from place to place, now dwelling in Lausanne, now in Payerne; now on the shores of the Lake of Thun, and they might be found, like the ancient judges of Israel, holding their seats of judgment in the open fields, beneath the shadow of a large oak. It is with reason that Queen Bertha is regarded as the origin of our earliest liberties (franchises); with reason that she is regarded as the mother of our population. A humble-minded woman, she still teaches to all future generations the virtues of the olden time. The people still believe that they see her upon the Vaud-Skaberg, holding in her hand an urn full of treasures, which she pours out over the country;” and the time in which Queen Bertha, at once motherly-mistress and Queen, spun the King's clothing, lives in the memory of the people as their country's golden age. “The good old time,” is equivalent, in Swiss phraseology, with that in which Queen Bertha spun: “ove la reina Bertha filava!”
How excellent the women of a country should be when they have a Queen Bertha for their example!
The next morning, I took a ramble into the valley, and talked with the people who were making hay. The costume of the women is now more poetical than it was thirty years ago. The stiff black horse-hair gauze round the face, has now become soft lace, which falls gracefully. The more wealthy wear silver chains over the dark jackets. I also crossed the Lake of Brienz, the same morning, to Giessbach, met with two pretty little talkative girls, with wood-strawberries to sell, who told me about their goats. Each one had a goat which gave milk and butter—goats are the cows of the poor—and they joddled and sang so sweetly,—
“Auf die Alpen, auf die schönen Alpen,”
that they made me forget the flight of time, and the hour when the steamboat leaves. When, therefore, I reach the shore, it is gone. But no matter! I take, therefore, a little one-horse carriage, with a good tempered lad to drive, and go to the valley of Lauterbrunnen, which lies in the bosom of “die Schönen Alpen.” It is a beautiful day, and the first portion of the valley is like a lovely orchard, along which the two-armed river, Zwie-Lutschine, rushes down towards the plain of Interlachen. The road lies up the side of the river, with wonderful castellated masses of rock on the left hand, and on the right the white massive form of the Jungfrau.
After a leisurely drive of two hours up the valley, we reach the tavern at Steinbock. Here I order dinner for myself and the boy, and after having partaken of it set out alone up the valley, with the spirits of which I wished to hold silent converse. From Steinbock the valley becomes narrower, between ever higher mountain walls. Louder and louder roar the becks and the streams which, now swollen by the rains, are hurled from the glaciers down towards the valley and the river. Here falls the Steinbock, thrown like silver rain, driven hither and thither by the wind over the field which it keeps green below; here rushes down the strong Trimbelbach, foaming from the embrace of the cliffs; there the still stronger Rosenbach which the Jungfrau pours out of her silver horn. On all sides, near and afar off, there is a rushing and roaring and foaming, on the right hand and on the left, above me, below me, and before, out of a hundred hidden fountains, and ever wilder beside me rushes on the Lutschine, with still-increasing waters. It is too much, I cannot hear even my own thoughts. I am in the bosom of a wild Undine, who drowns her admirers whilst she embraces them; and the Titans are becoming ever loftier and broader, and the valley ever narrower, more gloomy and more desolate! I feel depressed, and, as it were, overwhelmed, but nevertheless I go forward. It is melancholy scenery, but at the same time grand and powerful! And scenery of this character exercises a strong attractive power, even when it astonishes. The shades of evening fell darkly over the valley, when I saw far before me, in its gloomy depth, a broad, gray-white, immense mass of rock, like dust, hurled thundering down from a lofty mountain. It seemed to shut up the valley. That is enough. I salute the giantess, the great Schmadribach, the mother of the Lutschine river, and turn back. Ha! no, it is not good to be here, and the society of the Titans is more agreeable for a simple mortal at a greater distance! I am glad to fall in with a little twelve-years-old girl, who is going the same way with me, and to have her company.
She lives in a cottage in the valley. During the winter she and her mother make lace; during the summer she goes to school on the Murrenberg. She was a pretty, sensible girl, and seemed contented with her world; she knew no other.
I was glad when I reached the good hotel at Steinbock, to be once more in civilized life; refreshed myself with a good cup of tea, after which I returned to Interlachen. But on my return, the Titans presented me with a glorious spectacle, and it was not without joyful admiration that I parted from their immediate neighborhood. The great spirits which terrify can also enchant. In the light of the descending sun the white peaks and fields of the Alps stood out in the most brilliant coloring; the lofty Jungfrau clothed herself in rose-tint, her blue glaciers shone transparently, and the lower the sun sank, the higher and clearer gleamed the Alpine pinnacles; thus they shone upon my return through the valley of Lauterbrunnen, which was delicious with the fresh mountain air in the calmness of evening.
Later still, in my Schweitzer-Hof, new astonishment awaited me from the camp of the giants. The head of the Jungfrau was surrounded with a soft glory of light, which increased in beauty and brightness—as did my curiosity—till at length the moon, shining in full splendor, slowly advancing above, crowned the Titaness with beauty, as it did also my day.
Two days afterwards, I was on my way to Lausanne. The whole road lies as through a magnificent park, and everywhere it is well cultivated, scattered with good houses, and presenting a prosperous aspect. Man and nature here live in happy association.
The sun was near its setting, when from a height and at a great distance still, I saw, deeply embedded in a circle of verdant shores and lofty Alps, the celebrated lake, which history at its commencement says, was wholly vailed by fogs, and surrounded by dense forests whence it took the name of the Lake of the Desert (Leman), and which afterwards, in the light of the sun and of civilization, has become a rendezvous for the whole refined travel-loving world of Europe.
My eye sought along its shore for Lausanne, because there it was that the noble, highly-gifted Vinet lived and taught only a few years back; and then I would gain intelligence of him from his friends and disciples, and from the Free Church, of which he was the originator and centre. It was for this purpose that I came to Switzerland.
“Lausanne, la jolie” as it is called in an old song, and by many of its admirers, was brightly illumined by the sinking sun, which, however, set in thick cloud, as I reached my appointed home there in the pension of M. La Harpe, on the beautiful promenade, Montbenon. The gorgeous sunset coloring still continued whilst I walked on the terrace with my polite host and hostess, in admiration of the view which it afforded of the Alps and the lake, and listening to their descriptions of its beauty on calm summer and autumn evenings. I had the same view from my little chamber, and in particular from the stone terrace in front of it. There—that is to say, in my room—I wrote two days later.
Lausanne, June 19th.—Are there here Alps, a lake, enchanting shores, and a sunny life upon them? I see nothing but a thick fog. Lausanne “la jolie” has lain wrapped for the last three days in a dripping mantle of rain, which vails her and every thing in cloud and darkness. It is also as cold as with us in Sweden during October, and my little room, very charming in fine weather, is as gloomy as a cellar when the sun is hidden in cloud, and such a cloud! I believe that I never saw one so dense before. Soul and body seem as it were to shrink together in its cheerless surroundings. But, during this time, I was not without an inner sun. A couple of new acquaintances and ditto books, have lighted up my inner world, and enabled me meanwhile to forget the outer gloom.
The widow of A. Vinet is a fine middle-aged lady to whom one feels immediately attracted with cordial confidence. Hers is a beautiful, transparent nature. The Professor of History, L. Vulleimin, is a man of rare classical refinement, as well in person as in mind and character. Beneath his lofty forehead crowned with thin locks of silver hair, those dark eyes beam with all the fire of youth, and with a glance at once keenly penetrative and kind. The glance of his soul is steadfastly directed to the ideal of life, in society, in the church, and in the state. I have seldom met with a man whose mode of expression and manner have been so agreeable, seldom have experienced so much satisfaction and pleasure from any conversation as from his. Whilst, without, darkness and rain vailed the earth of Switzerland, his Introduction to the History of Switzerland—a continuation of J. Mucker's great work has raised to me the covering which hitherto concealed from my mind, the peculiarity of the Swiss Confederated States, and from it I select, as worthy of memory, the following characteristic traits of land and water:
“In the middle of Europe lies a country which in extent does not exceed some of the oldest provinces of France. Its history loses itself too frequently in petty religious disputes. Its heroes are shepherds and peasants; yet kings have not failed to solicit union with the Swiss, who, however, on their part have very rarely returned the compliment.
“Helvetia has now submitted to, and now defied foreign powers. She sports without anxiety on the political ocean; and after every storm stands forth in renewed youth.
“The republics of Europe have died out one after another. Florence, Venice, Genoa! Switzerland alone, with her institutions, maintains, like an everlasting flower, her place in the light of the sun.
“This is a remarkable fact, especially for those who understand Switzerland. Diverse races, languages, manners, the most dissimilar interests—it would be thought impossible to form a body-politic out of these varied nationalities. In the heart of the Alps, the people are the old Goths and Rhetians; on the plains the Allemanni; in the west Burgundians mingled with Romans. On the banks of the Aar the German tongue prevails, around Lake Leman the Romande.
“A few miles only in Switzerland will divide life of the most primitive races from that of the most highly civilized cities; here herdsmen who often change their dwelling-place, there towns on the shores of the lakes, the Smyrna and Tyre of the Cantons. The old customs of the Sabines mingle with those of republicans, who live in daily intercourse with the two hemispheres. The extremes of time, climatized as it were, are drawn together. Two valleys bring into close proximity the most ancient institutions with those which are in the advance movement of the present time. Whilst more than one Canton endeavors with pious reverence to maintain its most ancient laws, the extreme opinions of modern freedom were advocated in Geneva long before they were adopted in France. Basle, in 1691, passed through a storm unobserved by Europe, which, exactly a hundred years afterwards, produced in France, the revolution. This Alpine valley speaks at this day the Romande language of the middle-ages; whilst from that Swiss town proceeded the movement which gave, in the sixteenth century, construction and rule to the French tongue, and from this other, that which prepared the way for Schiller and Goethe. Every thing approximates, every thing crowds together. A thousand colors are reflected as it were, in one Alpine lake. One contrast ceases merely to give place to another. When law is becoming universal, religion comes in and shelters it. There was a time when all went to bow the knee before our Lady of Lausanne or Einsiedeln. Nothing then divided the Vaudois under the rule of Berne from those under the rule of Freyburg. How different is it now, both in custom and religion. Reform began in Switzerland at the same time as in Germany, and has given rise to her first as well as to her last war. Of a truth we know not either what crimes or what virtues, what old or new ideas, may not be met with at the foot of the Alps.
“It is in the midst of these contrasts that thirty sovereign states, all differing in interests and physiognomy, sit down to take counsel together for the common good. Cantons of twenty thousand souls take their place beside those of three hundred thousand. Monarchists, aristocrats, and the most dissimilar democrats sit together; all forms of government, with one exception only, the despotic. To which we must add, in order to complete the picture, the whole nation, armed, is always as one, upon the scene; that which is elsewhere accomplished by the will of some few, is in Switzerland accomplished by the voices of all; and that this people's modes of action as a sovereign people lead to perpetual agitation.
“Such has Switzerland been in all ages. It is this which characterizes Switzerland, that whilst it is a union of dissimilar races, languages, religions, natural circumstances, receiving every kind of culture, it yet remains the same.
“But what is the power that holds together these dissimilar elements? By what power, what art, is this confederate state still in existence, free and secure in itself?
“The soul, and vitalizing principle in our union is, love of freedom. Republicans anterior to Rome, our forefathers could not endure a monarchy. In later history they are the first-born of freedom.
“ ‘We have seen,’ says Bodin, in the sixteenth century, ‘Athens change her form of government seven times in one century, and Florence also seven times under the government of their refined lords, whilst the Sworn-Confederates have maintained their popular institutions since A.D. 360.’
“Foreign powers, at the present time, are not ignorant that any attempt to overcome the Cantons would awaken the same resolute resistance as that of which Sempach and Grandson are the monuments. For others the festivities, gayeties, and splendid scenes of courts; for us the fraternal feeling which makes the heart throb in a nation fostered by equality on a free soil. We could not bear to live, if we had lost that which gives life its value.
“Behold, then, what the Swiss have in common, from the Rhine to the Rhone, from Geneva to the wild valleys of ———.
“The annals of Switzerland have shown their vocation for independence.
“ ‘Helvetia,’ said our fathers, ‘is a confusion which God regulates.’ They taught us not to doubt God; their history, never to despair of our native land. The great nations subsist by their masses, we, by our faith and love.
“Our union is expressive of this. In what name are we Sworn-Confederates, if not in those which are united in our banner:
God and the Fatherland.”
Vulleimin turns, after this, to the Swiss people, whom he admonishes to the development of a higher life in church and state. He encourages them to hold public meetings, and festivals, in the exercises and the sports of which, all the Cantons might give each other “rendezvous.”
“I would wish,” says he, “that the arts, together with the sciences, should be represented there; they who cultivate the earth, as well as they who enlighten our steps upon it; the industrial arts, which multiply our means, as well as the fine arts, which beautify our everyday life. All are benefactors of the fatherland. All are the sons of freedom. As it attains to a new age, it will attain to a new worship. Its idea has extended itself—let us extend our hearts.”
“But,” continues this noble friend of freedom, “let us be careful not to confound freedom with that which often assumes her name. Few nations love her as we do; and few, also, have done her such bloody wrong.
“Here a people, proud of its poverty, believes itself to be the noblest on the earth, whilst it dreads slavery, and is the slave of blind prejudice. There a popular assembly believes it has conserved the public good when it has voted a sum for the purposes of higher education, or has humiliated some man, the honor of his country.
“When did jealous mediocrity believe itself free until it had dragged all down to its own medium stature!
“In this Alpine valley there are few laws, but also little justice; no taxes, but neither are there any roads; a quiet life, but no noble endeavors in which man unites to conquer nature. I have seen freedom so enthusiastic that it resembled drunkenness; I have seen her so tardy and self-absorbed that it was the same thing as egotism.
“Do not imitate the old; even virtue imitated is virtue no longer; truth becomes prejudice. But since you are penetrated by the grandeur of the former ages, lift up your eyes to the heights on which the genius of humanity abides.. It is from him that you must derive your strength.
“Our most dangerous opponents live in the midst of us; our most fearful enemies are within our own bosoms. The most fearful of these are those which bring death into the soul, which sap the foundations of truth and justice, which trample upon the doctrines which are the guards of virtue, and the consolation of the sorrowful. The man who will persuade us that Winkelried and the betrayer of the fatherland sleep the same sleep, is far more terrible than powder and shot to the peace of our domestic hearth. He endeavors to deprive us of that trust which is the sanctuary of freedom.”
These are words which apply equally to all free people, and deserve to be considered by all. Whilst I read, I seemed to myself to be sitting by a fountain amongst the Alps, whose pure stream refreshes the waters of the river in its course through villages and towns.
Man, nation, humanity, eternal union! The day when I first understood this great concord, was that on which I first understood, with true emotions, myself and my own life.
June 24th.—Yesterday, all was enveloped in gloom and rain, and to-day, what a change! Yesterday masses of clouds were rolled from the Alps down upon the fields and valleys, threatening to deluge every thing! People talked of nothing but rain and gloomy prospects. The corn was in bloom; the vine ought to be just now in flower, but the rain and the cold!—nothing could ripen in the gardens; nobody could get even a few berries for dessert or preserving. It had rained ever since May. In the higher valleys, it had rained twenty-two days out of the thirty, and a family which had removed thither from Lausanne had been half drowned. It might rain the whole summer, as on some former occasions it had done. In France, the rivers overflowed their banks. People prophesied “une armée de calamités” (A beautiful prospect for summer pleasure.)
That was the case yesterday; but yesterday evening there seemed something like a faint smile upon the deluge-physiognomy of the firmament—something resembling a sunbeam penetrated the cloud-garment of the Jura, and to-day—what splendor! A brisk “Bise” (north wind) has chased, and still chases away, the dense clouds, piles them together on the peaks of the Alps, where they form triumphal arches, garlands, and diadems, which mount higher and ever higher, and Lausanne “la jolie” decks herself in sunshine, with bouquets of gleaming meadows, woods, and gardens, and mirrors herself in Lake Leman, which smiles in heavenly blue towards the deep blue heaven above. The earth, covered with luxuriant promise, shines forth, with tearful eyes, it is true, as yet, but the sun kisses away the tears, and—oh, assuredly it is a midsummer festival, and hardly myself knew, during these last few days, how gloomy life was without sun, and I can well understand how the old heathen Thorgeir was willing to worship the God who made the sun. I would now have a May pole and a troop of a hundred children to dance round it, as formerly at Arsta! Here they celebrate Midsummer-day neither with divine service nor dance.
July 3rd.—During these last wonderfully beautiful days and nights I have scarcely allowed myself to sleep, so intent have I been to enjoy, with my whole waking soul, the gorgeous coloring, the marvelous effects of light and shadow which morning and evening have presented in this glorious region; and the bright mysteries of the night; the singular splendor of the milky way, like a heavenly Staubbach, thrown in silvery cascades from invisible heights, down to the Alpine land of earth—it is a glorious show! I believe I never before saw the starry heavens so brilliant.
But my nocturnal flights out of my little chamber upon the terrace below, have caused me to take cold, so that for the present I am obliged to forego an excursion which I had intended to make to Chamouni, and, instead, to hasten my removal to one of the mountain valleys, (Rossinière or Chateau-d'Œx,) which Mme. Vinet recommends to me as a salubrious residence during the summer months. And to these and other mountain valleys in the neighborhood of Leman, all the people of Lausanne who are able to do so, betake themselves for some weeks, and there live in freedom, enjoying the mountain air, milk and fruit, in a word, all the luxuries which pastoral life affords in the neighborhood of the glaciers. For this purpose, the herdsmen give up their huts to the townspeople, who remove thither with their children and their households. One hears every day of individuals or families who had betaken themselves “à la montagne,” or who are intending to do so.
I have in the mean time made some agreeable acquaintance, both in and out of Lausanne, which I hope on some future occasion to improve. First and foremost, two amiable persons, a married couple, intimate friends of M. Vinet, M. and Mme. F., at whose beautiful estate at St. Prex, near Merges, on the shore of Leman, it was very pleasant to me to converse with them of their deceased friend, who was alike remarkable as a man and a thinker. Mme. F. was at this time occupied in preparing for the press the notes which he left behind him, of the literature of France during the sixteenth century, a course of lectures which he had given in Lausanne. But my indisposition at this time prevented my full enjoyment either of the pleasures of society or the beauties of the country. And thus I merely saw at a distance “Wufflens” castle, with its many towers, a stately memory of Queen Bertha, the royal spinner, who held the sceptre and the distaff with the same hand, as the old song says, together with the trowel, building fortresses and towers which bear her name.
I was present at various evening parties in Lausanne, where I greatly enjoyed myself, as, indeed, was the case with the social intercourse in Switzerland, from which I experienced only pleasure unmixed with the weariness which so generally oppresses me in parties assembled for the pleasures of conversation. The advantage here is, that it is so easy to enter both with gentlemen and ladies upon subjects of general interest, and to meet with persons who have thought on these subjects with more or less independence of mind. Even young girls can speak both sensibly and with interest of the various church establishments in the cantons, and their relationship to each other. Two pretty, young sisters told me, this evening, many things of interest relative to the Free Vaudois Church, in the high valleys (Pays d'en haut), which is asserted to be the most vitally illumined portion of this church. They vividly described the picturesque assemblies, and the divine worship in the open air, the beautiful singing, etc.
I spent last evening with M. and Mme. de Gr., at their beautiful country house, with its glorious view over the lake and mountains. But from every point around this lake are there lovely, magnificent views, and they contribute not a little to the peace and enjoyment of a social meeting. In the face of a beautiful evening sky, the thoughts become brighter and more cheerful. The people conversed together, and there was music. I noticed with pleasure the simple toilettes of the young ladies, and their agreeable, unpretending demeanor. There was no gossip nor idle talk. Health, and the peace of quiet thoughts, seem to rest upon these daughters of the Alpine land. Two married daughters of England's Elizabeth Fry were of the party, handsome women, with that noble expression and bearing which distinguished their mother. They spoke with warmth of the great good which women may accomplish, even beyond their own house and home, if they will only with clearness and steadfastness work for that object which is the true bent of their powers. There was a great consciousness of womanly dignity in these ladies, beneath the gentlest, the most womanly exterior. All women ought to have the same.
The Blind Asylum is one of the most beautiful institutions of Lausanne, and M. Herzel, its superintendent, is, of a truth, one of its most interesting men. A fine instance of his skill is a young man who, from his earliest childhood, was perfectly blind, deaf and dumb, owing, I believe, to small-pox, but whom M. Herzel enabled to become an intelligent, thinking, useful, and happy human being. M. Herzel has employed, in his case, the same methods which the American philanthropist, Dr. Howe, employed for Laura Bridgeman, and his success has been equally perfect. Young F. is now a strong, healthy, perfectly intelligent, and unusually cheerful young man. His skill as a turner is wonderful.
I was shown a little letter and a pretty gift which the young American had sent to her unfortunate brother in Switzerland, who, in the first place, had written to her, and sent her a little present. Affecting intercourse this, across the ocean, between two beings whom misfortune doomed to spiritual life-long captivity, but whom human love and the spirit of science have liberated!
The principal founder and supporter of this institution is a M. Haldimand, who, although confined to his easy chair by lameness, is said to be the most active and benevolent citizen of Lausanne. To-day I paid a visit to the universally-beloved philosopher, at his country-seat, between Lausanne and Ouchy, and found him, a handsome, elderly gentleman, with great power and freshness of mind, although an attack of paralysis deprived him, two years ago, of the use of his limbs. He was seated in a circular room, with glass doors opening into the grounds, amongst the trees of which fountains were playing, and the view opened to the Alps. Two gentlemen were present, and the conversation turned upon the importance and prudence of as little as possible helping the poor, and by that means obliging them as much as possible to help themselves. Many anecdotes were told to prove that the ready help of the rich encouraged laziness, improvidence, dishonesty, etc. They maintained the great difficulty of doing any good, of meeting with any actually deserving objects of charity, and so on. I said a few words for children, for the sick and the aged. M. Haldimand commended the principles of Malthus's Political Economy, which he seemed wholly to approve.
I afterwards expressed my surprise to two of my acquaintances in Lausanne, at hearing this assertion of the utter inability to do good by outward relief, from a man who employed the greatest part of his time and his wealth in public or private benevolence.
“Oh!” replied they, with a smile, “this is a subject which is often brought forward by M. Haldimand, and the doctrine which he commonly preaches.”
Certain men have certain favorite inconsequent modes of reasoning. The inhabitants of Lausanne say, that M. Haldimand ought never to die, and they trouble themselves beforehand with the thought of his decease.
Last Sunday I attended divine service at the chapel “des Terneaux,” the principal place of meeting for the Vaudois Free Church at Lausanne. The chapel is a large hall, as simple as a school-room, without picture, without an altar, and without any proper pulpit for the preacher, who stands simply on an elevated stage at the end of the room, with a desk before him, as a lecturer in an ordinary lecture-room.
The chapel was full to overflowing. The assembly of this church was long forbidden, and its congregation even violently persecuted in the Pays de Vaud, and it is still inhibited there. But the respectability and courage of its members, together with the more liberal spirit of the times, has enabled it now to meet without opposition; and, after having for so long been compelled to hold their assemblies secretly and in private houses, now openly to congregate in a chapel which they have lately taken for that purpose, in the light of day, and on one of the most frequented promenades of Lausanne. The long-despised church has, from the great abilities of the preachers, now become the fashionable church of Lausanne, and is attended by the principal people. This was very evident on the Sunday I attended the chapel “des Terneaux.” The sermon, by M. Bridet, a young man of great talent, both as an orator and a Christian thinker, from the text, “My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God,” could not have been better or more awakening.
All this was very satisfactory to me. I missed, however, the liturgy and the public confession of faith. It seems as if the Free Church had not yet decided upon what this should be; but has satisfied itself, as yet, principally by zeal for a deeper earnestness amongst Christian professors in doctrine and in life, a perfect truth and consciousness in faith and in profession. It has declared itself independent of the established church in Switzerland, the national church, and dependent alone on God's word and Spirit, as foundation and guiding star. It is governed by synods, composed of clergy and laymen. But the priest is not, here, priest in the old significance of the term, but only a brother, who, by vocation and gift, is chosen to teach amongst brethren. The elders of the church stand by his side, as assistants, either in teaching or in any other work, and they also are chosen by the congregation. They can even perform divine service if it be needed.
In the afternoon a meeting for “mutual edification,” was held in the same church, in which three or four persons spoke. One of these was a stranger passing through the place, who had joined himself to the Free Church from sympathy of feeling. His topic, as well as that of most of the other speakers, was, the Truth; the importance of being true before God and ourselves,—for we see ourselves as God also sees us—and before men. Earnestness in conviction, honesty and candor in profession, were insisted upon, which also was A. Vinet's great topic. Anecdotes of personal experience were related, to prove clearly what self-examination and what conviction really are.
Afterwards, various transactions of the synod during the past May were communicated. M. Schott admonished the congregation to make themselves acquainted with these, and particularly with all the affairs of the church, because this was the business of all good members. The details then followed, many of sufficient interest even for strangers. In the synod of one hundred persons, dissimilarity of views had been openly expressed, with the maintenance of the most perfect harmony, both as to individual temper and the business of the synod. Not a single word had been said which could cause regret. In the congregations of the Free Church, amounting to above forty, some deviated from others in sundry usages and institutions; but unity in the main object and intention had remained undisturbed. I was much pleased with a little man who seemed to be the finance minister of the Free Church, and who, with much tact and good humor, rendered an account of the not very brilliant state of the central fund, and admonished “the brethren and sisters” to a more liberal contribution.
The meeting closed by the singing, in an excellent style, the beautiful old hymn Agnus Dei. The chapel was, on this occasion also, very well filled, although not so numerously as in the morning.
The Free Church in the Canton Vaud originated in the revolution of 1845, when the new, self-constituted government required that the clergy of the national church should read from the pulpits, in the presence of their congregations, a long proclamation in vindication of its accession to power and its mode of action. A great number of the clergy refused to obey this command, because the new government had established itself by violence, and because the canons of the church required that the pulpit should be kept free from political questions and dissensions. On this, the new government gave the protesting clergy their choice between obedience to its commands or retirement from their several congregations, whereupon upwards of eight hundred ministers retired from their office, although the greater number did not know at the time how they should find bread or the shelter of a roof for themselves and their families. But this brave protest for the rights of conscience awoke sympathy in thousands of hearts. Abundant contributions of money poured into the fund which was immediately opened for the maintenance of the retiring clergy. A great many persons, and especially ladies, opened hospitals and provided lodgings for the homeless families, and strengthened them in their combat for truth and justice. In forty-three cases, a portion of the congregation seceded with their spiritual leader, and formed themselves into new churches by the side of the old—new also in this respect, that they dissevered themselves from the state, which had made its superior power to be felt merely by domination and arbitrary will. Such was the origin of the Free Church, which immediately became an object of open persecution to the government, and of enactments at once oppressive and ridiculous, which continued for several years. But, as is generally the case under such circumstances, the persecuted congregations became more firmly established, and organized with a higher consciousness of their great purpose.
What is it that lies beyond the mere outward protest? Is there here a higher, more vitalizing principle? And how does it stand with regard to the Bible and the principle which is the basis of Protestantism? Does this new Free Church contain the seed of a church of the future, one actually universal—like the sun and the gospel?
These are questions which I shall be better able to reflect upon, in the high valleys, where indeed the Free Church has its highest life, and where I shall have sufficient time and leisure. These are the questions which have brought me hither.
The political revolution of which I lately spoke, greatly resembled one of those which Voltaire called “une tempête dans un verre d'eau.” One fine day a crowd of people, some hundreds in number, assembled on the great terrace of Montbenon, with drums and flags, and a person in the crowd announced in a loud voice that the old government of the Pays de Vaud was at an end, and a new one, in conformity with the wishes of the people, was established, at the head of which was M. D. The good citizens of Lausanne were greatly astonished, and the city militia came forth immediately on behalf of the legal government, ready with armed hands to chase away that which had illegally taken its place. But these good men, averse to the shedding of blood, preferred rather to give way quietly to the usurping party, who had, in fact, a great portion of the working class on their side. These, and the adherents of the new government, upbraided the old with being a “town-council” government, without sympathies for the people, or desire for their advancement; doing nothing for popular education in schools; never showing themselves amongst the people; opposing popular festivities, etc.: which charges were indeed not without grounds. The new government promised to be in a high degree popular, and began by removing from the universities the most deserving men and instructors, and replacing them by their own partisans. I hear it said, on all hands, that this revolution has thrown back the development of the country, and its culture, more than twenty years. In the mean time, the better general voice, and the spirit of the age, have compelled the new government, gradually to fill the offices of both city and State by men of ability and fitness; and for the last ten years, since this has been the case, it has continued steadily to advance, both in action and spirit, and now it is universally acknowledged, “not to work badly.”
The government does much for the encouragement of schools—but rather, as it appears, by the increase of subjects of instruction than by the solidity of instruction itself—and of popular festivals there is no lack. Of these, shooting at a mark and dancing seem to be the principal. The day before yesterday, a great festival of the children of the national schools was held on the heights of “la Sauvabellin,” a lofty plateau, an hour's distance from the town, where is a glorious primeval forest of oak and beech, which, it is said, dates back from the time of the Druids. Yesterday afternoon a still greater popular festival was held, at which I was present. People danced to thundering music on the turf which skirted the old forest. Many families were there with their children, and the children also danced. They were mostly of the artisan classes; all were well dressed and looked well to do; a certain gravity and calmness prevailed even in their enjoyment.
The view from the height of “la Sauvabellin,” was very extensive over this glorious region, but who can attempt to describe its beauty as seen under a bright sunset? It is beyond all description. The festival of nature was to me more beautiful than the festival of the people, and the latter, it seemed to me, ought to have had a higher purpose than was the case. I could fancy that I saw the Druids come forth from the ancient wood, lifting to Heaven their venerable heads, gilded by the bright descending sun. Thus they took leave of each other, the sun and the beautiful wood, in silent solemnity. Below, was the buzz of the dancing crowd, altogether too thoughtless! But I will not be a member of the deposed government! I, too, was once young and full of thoughtless life!
July 6th.—In two days time, I leave Lausanne, to betake myself, like every body else, “à la montagne,” in the Pays d'en haute. But before I leave Lausanne, I will take a hasty sketch of the town and its life. Lausanne “la jolie” is, it must be candidly confessed, really an ugly little town, with narrow and winding streets, gray and dismal-looking houses. Picturesque it is, unquestionably, from situation, with its gray, irregular masses of houses, grouped round the foot of the stately old Cathedral “Notre Dame de Misericorde,” one of the oldest and noblest Gothic churches in Switzerland. This, standing aloft in the middle of the town, with its tall tower, the bells of which are beautiful, with its terrace of thick-branched lime-trees, looks forth grandly and calmly above the tumult of human inhabitants, who seem to be clambering and climbing up and around its firm walls. Seen from Montbenon, it looks like a preacher in his pulpit, amidst his congregation. Around this stately Cathedral, around this kernel of gray-brown houses, which look as if they had stood from the times of the old Roman Laussaninum, extends in wider and ever wider circles a girdle of beauty and grace. This is composed of gardens, enchanting parks, and country houses, where the élite of the inhabitants, and wealthy families from the cultivated countries of the whole world reside—often the whole year through. These country houses are rarely remarkable for the splendid style of their building, or the luxury of their interior finishing. Their distinguishing beauty is that of their site, and the views which they command of the lake and the Alps—the heroine and heroes of the scene. These views are different in every separate situation, but the beauty of all are nearly equal. The larger residences have large gardens, beautiful pleasure-grounds and fountains; the smaller ones have, at all events, a terrace and a little grass plot, and all have an affluence of beautiful shrubs and flowers.
“How good,” said Madame Vulleimin to me one day during a walk, glancing at a country-house, “how good it is that every one here can have in his dwelling a portion of the best and the most beautiful which life affords!” Every one here can have a small house, a garden, and—this view!
Few of the inhabitants of Lausanne are rich, but many are in easy circumstances, and life is simple. They meet at little tea-suppers, without luxury or pretension; they converse on the terraces, amongst flowers, with the Alps before them as their horizon, and the lovely lake at their feet. The more wealthy occupy themselves much with improving the condition of the poor, and especially with the education of the children. With these magnificent surroundings, it seems to me that human beings become more simple, true, and earnest. Life is calm, occupied, and full of kindly influences.
The grand time of Lausanne, the time when Voltaire—monarch of wits—held his court there, is past; but its good time seems to me to be the present. And especially the condition of the country, with its daily work, its conflict of parties, its institutions for the public advancement, its gay popular festivals, which unite all classes—the great Helvetian musical festival which attracts annually to Geneva persons from every Canton, not only for its enjoyment, but to take part in it—in one word, life here, in its rich and fresh manifold character, seems to me no poor continuation of the good time “when Queen Bertha spun.”
There is yet another feature in Lausanne life which I must not overlook. More than once, on Sunday afternoons, and even on week-days, the melodious tones of choral singing have reached my terrace. These tones proceed from homes where parents and children celebrate together family worship. They testify to the work of the Spirit in the reform, which has taken the life of the Church into the innermost of life, and which has converted the domestic hearth to an altar. This is a peculiar trait in the reform movement, which, proceeding from Switzerland, has been planted in England, Holland, and France. But of this, more another time.
I will now go forth into nature, will live like the trees and the flowers there. Let me thank the good, great Father, for the beautiful weather which he has now given, for now they are making hay; now both the wheat and the vine is in blossom, and the whole face of the earth looks glorious and full of life. Now, however, it is very warm, and I exclaim, with all the people of Lausanne, “à la montagne!” “à la montagne!”