"And how did you like him?"
"0," with a kind of shiver, "he is so cold!"
Now, I felt that the delicate probe of the French mind had dissected
out a shade of feeling of which I had often been conscious. There is a
coldness about all the luscious exuberance of Milton, like the wind
that blows from, the glaciers across these flowery valleys. How serene
his angels in their adamantine virtue! yet what sinning, suffering
soul could find sympathy in them? The utter want of sympathy for the
fallen angels, in the whole celestial circle, is shocking. Satan is
the only one who weeps.
"For millions of spirits for his fault amerced,
And from eternal splendors flung."
God does not care, nor his angels. Ah, quite otherwise is God revealed
in Him who wept over Jerusalem, and is touched with the feeling of our
infirmities.
I went with Mrs. Fazy the other night to call on Mrs. C.'s friend,
Pastor C. They were so affectionate, so full of beautiful kindness!
The French language sounds sweetly as a language of affection and
sympathy: with all its tart vivacity, it has a richness in the gentler
world of feeling. Then, in the evening, I was with a little circle of
friends at the house of the sister of Merle d'Aubigne, and they prayed
and sang together. It was beautiful. The hymn was one on the following
of Jesus, similar to that German one of old Godfrey Arnold, which is
your favorite. These Christians speak with deep sorrow of our slavery;
it grieves, it distresses them, for the American church has been to
them a beloved object. They have leaned towards it as a vine inclines
towards a vigorous elm. To them it looks incomprehensible that such a
thing could gain strength in a free Christian republic.
I feel really sorry that I have had to withdraw so much from proffered
kindness here, and to seem unwilling to meet feeling; but so it has
been. Yet, to me, apparently so cold, many of these kind Genevese have
shown most considerate attention. Fruit and flowers have been sent in
anonymously; and one gentleman offered to place his garden at my
disposal for walks, adding that, if I wished to be entirely private,
neither he nor his family would walk there. This, I thought, was too
much kindness.
One social custom here is new to me. The husband, by marriage, takes
the wife's name. Thus M. Fazy, our host, is known as M. Fazy Meyer -
Meyer being his wife's name - a thing which at first perplexed me. I
was often much puzzled about names, owing to this circumstance.
From the conversation I hear I should think that democracy was not
entirely absolute in Switzerland. I hear much about _patrician_
families, particularly at Berne, and these are said to be quite
exclusive; yet that the old Swiss fire still burns in Switzerland, I
see many indications.
