I only care for the two extremes, and it is this
which separates me from each of them.
Our everyday life, split up as it is into clashing parties and opposed
opinions, and harassed by perpetual disorder and discussion, is painful
and almost hateful to me. A thousand things irritate and provoke me. But
perhaps it would be the same elsewhere. Very likely it is the inevitable
way of the world which displeases me--the sight of what succeeds, of
what men approve or blame, of what they excuse or accuse. I need to
admire, to feel myself in sympathy and in harmony with my neighbor, with
the march of things, and the tendencies of those around me, and almost
always I have had to give up the hope of it. I take refuge in retreat,
to avoid discord. But solitude is only a _pis-aller_.
July 6, 1880.--Magnificent weather. The college prize-day. [Footnote:
The prize-giving at the College of Geneva is made the occasion of a
national festival.] Toward evening I went with our three ladies to the
plain of Plainpalais. There was an immense crowd, and I was struck with
the bright look of the faces. The festival wound up with the traditional
fireworks, under a calm and starry sky. Here we have the republic
indeed, I thought as I came in. For a whole week this people has been
out-of-doors, camping, like the Athenians on the Agora.
Pages:
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618