Despotism makes things all the pleasanter for the stranger. Catholicism
lends itself admirably to his purposes.
There are public gardens (one, at least) in Geneva. . . . . Nothing
struck me so much, I think, as the color of the Rhone, as it flows under
the bridges in the lower town. It is absolutely miraculous, and,
beautiful as it is, suggests the idea that the tubs of a thousand dyers
have emptied their liquid indigo into the stream. When once you have
conquered and thrust out this idea, it is an inexpressible delight to
look down into this intense, brightly transparent blue, that hurries
beneath you with the speed of a race-horse.
The shops of Geneva are very tempting to a traveller, being full of such
little knick-knacks as he would be glad to carry away in memory of the
place: wonderful carvings in wood and ivory, done with exquisite taste
and skill; jewelry that seems very cheap, but is doubtless dear enough,
if you estimate it by the solid gold that goes into its manufacture;
watches, above all things else, for a third or a quarter of the price
that one pays in England, looking just as well, too, and probably
performing the whole of a watch's duty as uncriticisably.
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