28 June 1880 – 4 July 1880

The temperature is oppressive; I ought to be looking over my notes, and thinking of to-morrow’s examinations. Inward distaste—emptiness—discontent. Is it trouble of conscience, or sorrow of heart? or the soul preying upon itself? or merely a sense of strength decaying and time running to waste? Is sadness—or regret—or fear—at the root of it? I do not know; but this dull sense of misery has danger in it; it leads to rash efforts and mad decisions. Oh, for escape from self, for something to stifle the importunate voice of want and yearning! Discontent is the father of temptation. How can we gorge the invisible serpent hidden at the bottom of our well—gorge it so that it may sleep? At the heart of all this rage and vain rebellion there lies—what? Aspiration, yearning! We are athirst for the infinite—for love—for I know not what. It is the instinct of happiness, which, like some wild animal, is restless for its prey. It is God calling-God avenging himself.

The sun has come out after heavy rain. May one take it as an omen on this solemn day? The great voice of Clémence has just been sounding in our ears. The bell’s deep vibrations went to my heart. For a quarter of an hour the pathetic appeal went on—“Geneva, Geneva, remember! I am called Clémence—I am the voice of church and of country. People of Geneva, serve God and be at peace together.” Seven o’clock in the evening.—Clémence has been ringing again, during the last half-hour of the scrutin. Now that she has stopped, the silence has a terrible seriousness, like that which weighs upon a crowd when it is waiting for the return of the judge and the delivery of the death sentence. The fate of the Genevese church and country is now in the voting box. Eleven o’clock in the evening.—Victory along the whole line. The Ayes have carried little more than two-sevenths of the vote. At my friend——‘s house I found them all full of excitement, gratitude, and joy.