Thy will be done!
September 14, 1874. (_Charnex_).--A long walk and conversation with
----. We followed a high mountain path. Seated on the turf, and talking
with open heart, our eyes wandered over the blue immensity below us, and
the smiling outlines of the shore. All was friendly, azure-tinted,
caressing, to the sight. The soul I was reading was profound and pure.
Such an experience is like a flight into paradise. A few light clouds
climbed the broad spaces of the sky, steamers made long tracks upon the
water at our feet, white sails were dotted over the vast distance of the
lake, and sea-gulls like gigantic butterflies quivered above its
rippling surface.
September 21, 1874. (_Charnex_).--A wonderful day! Never has the lake
been bluer, or the landscape softer. It was enchanting. But tragedy is
hidden under the eclogue; the serpent crawls under the flowers. All the
future is dark. The phantoms which for three or four weeks I have been
able to keep at bay, wait for me behind the door, as the Eumenides
waited for Orestes. Hemmed in on all sides!
"On ne croit plus a son etoile,
On sent que derriere la toile
Sont le deuil, les maux et la mort."
For a fortnight I have been happy, and now this happiness is going.
There are no more birds, but a few white or blue butterflies are still
left.
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