“Pure means for a pure object!”
The confessions of faith, of the head of a political party, and of the moral philosopher!
The visitor to Rousseau's room—which, however, is very uncomfortable, and has only one window without any view—must not forget to lift up the trap-door, and see the little, secret stairs by which Rousseau escaped from his numerous visitors. An institution which might be very valuable!
In itself, the little island is enchanting, from its luxuriant vegetation and its simple natural beauty. Its northern slopes are covered with vineyards. The people were at work in them, pruning the vine-shoots, so that they might bear more fruit.
I spent two days there, reading, botanizing, and enjoying the air—pure and delicious, as if of heaven,—the solitude, and the view of the Alpine chain during the magnificent evening-spectacle of death and resurrection—the “after-glow” dyeing the snow-clad summits with a transparent crimson brightness which seems not to be of the light of this world. I could very well understand how happy Rousseau must have felt himself here.
Hence I proceeded to Berne.
There was then holden in Berne—those first days in July—the great Federal festival, with Olympian games, in the spirit of the newer time. Shooting societies from nearly every Canton of the confederacy had hastened hither to compete with each other for prizes of from one thousand to three thousand francs. Exhibitions, deputations, toasts, songs, speeches, entertainments, waving flags, and everywhere scenes,
