Geneva.
The situation of Geneva is in many respects as happy as the heart of man
could desire, or his imagination conceive. The Rhone, rushing out of the
noblest lake in Europe, flows through the middle of the city, which is
encircled by fertile fields, cultivated by the industry, and adorned by
the riches and taste, of the inhabitants.
The long ridge of mountains called Mount Jura on the one side, with the
Alps, the Glaciers of Savoy, and the snowy head of Mont Blanc on the
other, serve as boundaries to the most charmingly variegated landscape
that ever delighted the eye.
With these advantages in point of situation, the citizens of Geneva enjoy
freedom untainted by licentiousness, and security unbought by the horrors
of wars.
The great number of men of letters, who either are natives of the
place, or have chosen it for their residence, the decent manners, the
easy circumstances, and humane dispositions of the Genevois in general,
render this city and its environs a very desirable retreat for people
of a philosophic turn of mind, who are contented with moderate and calm
enjoyments, have no local attachments or domestic reasons for preferring
another country, and who wish in a certain degree to retire from the
bustle of the world, to a narrower and calmer scene, and there for the
rest of their days—
Ducere solicitæ jucunda oblivia vitæ.
As education here is equally cheap and liberal, the citizens of Geneva
of both sexes are remarkably well instructed. I do not imagine that
any country in the world can produce an equal number of persons (taken
without election from all degrees and professions) with minds so much
cultivated as the inhabitants of Geneva possess.
It is not uncommon to find mechanics in the intervals of their labour
amusing themselves with the works of Locke, Montesquieu, Newton, and
other productions of the same kind.
When I speak of the cheapness of a liberal education, I mean for the
natives and citizens only; for strangers now find every thing dear at
Geneva. Wherever Englishmen resort, this is the case. If they do not find
things dear, they soon make them so.
The democratical nature of their government inspires every citizen with
an idea of his own importance: He perceives that no man in the republic
can insult, or even neglect him, with impunity.
It is an excellent circumstance in any government, when the most powerful
man in the state has something to fear from the most feeble. This is the
case here: The meanest citizen of Geneva is possessed of certain rights,
which render him an object deserving the attention of the greatest.
Besides, a consciousness of this makes him respect himself; a sentiment,
which, within proper bounds, has a tendency to render a man respectable
to others.
The general character of human nature forbids us to expect that men will
always act from motives of public spirit, without an eye to private
interest. The best form of government, therefore, is that in which the
interest of individuals is most intimately blended with the public
good.—This may be more perfectly accomplished in a small republic
than in a great monarchy.—In the first, men of genius and virtue are
discovered and called to offices of trust by the impartial admiration of
their fellow-citizens—in the other, the highest places are disposed of
by the caprice of the prince, or of his mistress, or of those courtiers,
male or female, who are nearest his person, watch the variations of his
humour, and know how to seize the smiling moments, and turn them to
their own advantage or that of their dependents. Montesquieu says, that
a sense of honour produces the same effects in a monarchy, that public
spirit or patriotism does in a republic: It must be remembered, however,
that the first, according to the modern acceptation of the word, is
generally confined to the nobility and gentry; whereas public spirit is
a more universal principle, and spreads through all the members of the
commonwealth.
As far as I can judge, a spirit of independency and freedom, tempered
by sentiments of decency and the love of order, influence, in a most
remarkable manner, the minds of the subjects of this happy republic.
Before I knew them, I had formed an opinion, that the people of this
place were fanatical, gloomy-minded, and unsociable as the puritans in
England, and the presbyterians in Scotland were, during the civil wars,
and the reigns of Charles II. and his brother. In this, however, I find I
had conceived a very erroneous notion.
There is not, I may venture to assert, a city in Europe where the minds
of the people are less under the influence of superstition or fanatical
enthusiasm than at Geneva. Servetus, were he now alive, would not run the
smallest risk of persecution. The present clergy have, I am persuaded,
as little the inclination as the power of molesting any person for
speculative opinions. Should the Pope himself chuse this city for a
retreat, it would be his own fault if he did not live in as much security
as at the Vatican.
The clergy of Geneva in general are men of sense, learning, and
moderation, impressing upon the minds of their hearers the tenets of
Christianity with all the graces of pulpit eloquence, and illustrating
the efficacy of the doctrine by their conduct in life.
The people of every station in this place attend sermons and the public
worship with remarkable punctuality. The Sunday is honoured with the most
respectful decorum during the hours of divine service; but as soon as
that is over, all the usual amusements commence.
The public walks are crowded by all degrees of people in their best
dresses.—The different societies, and what they call circles, assemble in
the houses and gardens of individuals.—They play at cards and at bowls,
and have parties upon the lake with music.
There is one custom universal here, and, as far as I know, peculiar to
this place: The parents form societies for their children at a very early
period of their lives. These societies consist of ten, a dozen, or more
children of the same sex, and nearly of the same age and situation in
life. They assemble once a week in the houses of the different parents,
who entertain the company by turns with tea, coffee, biscuits and
fruit; and then leave the young assembly to the freedom of their own
conversation.
This connection is strictly kept up through life, whatever alterations
may take place in the situations or circumstances of the individuals.
And although they should afterwards form new or preferable intimacies,
they never entirely abandon this society; but to the latest period
of their lives continue to pass a few evenings every year with the
companions of their youth and their earliest friends.
The richer class of the citizens have country-houses adjacent to the
town, where they pass one half of the year. These houses are all of them
neat, and some of them splendid. One piece of magnificence they possess
in greater perfection than the most superb villa of the greatest lord in
any other part of the world can boast, I mean the prospect which almost
all of them command.—The gardens and vineyards of the republic,—the Païs
de Vaux;—Geneva with its lake;—innumerable country-seats;—castles, and
little towns around the lake;—the vallies of Savoy, and the loftiest
mountains of the Alps, all within one sweep of the eye.
Those whose fortunes or employments do not permit them to pass the summer
in the country, make frequent parties of pleasure upon the lake, and dine
and spend the evening at some of the villages in the environs, where they
amuse themselves with music and dancing.
Sometimes they form themselves into circles consisting of forty or
fifty persons, and purchase or hire a house and garden near the town,
where they assemble every afternoon during the summer, drink coffee,
lemonade, and other refreshing liquors; and amuse themselves with cards,
conversation, and playing at bowls; a game very different from that which
goes by the same name in England; for here, instead of a smooth level
green, they often chuse the roughest and most unequal piece of ground.
The player, instead of rolling the bowl, throws it in such a manner, that
it rests in the place where it first touches the ground; and if that be
a fortunate situation, the next player pitches his bowl directly on his
adversary’s, so as to make that spring away, while his own fixes itself
in the spot from which the other has been dislodged.—Some of the citizens
are astonishingly dexterous at this game, which is more complicated and
interesting than the English manner of playing.
They generally continue these circles till the dusk of the evening, and
the sound of the drum from the ramparts call them to the town; and at
that time the gates are shut, after which no person can enter or go out,
the officer of the guard not having the power to open them, without an
order from the Syndics, which is not to be obtained but on some great
emergency.