21.

And Sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought.
Stanza xcix. line 5.

Rousseau's _Heloise_, Lettre 17, Part IV., note. "Ces montagnes sont si
hautes, qu'une demi-heure apres le soleil couche, leurs sommets sont
eclaires de ses rayons, dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches _une
belle couleur de rose_, qu'on apercoit de fort loin."[356] This applies
more particularly to the heights over Meillerie.--"J'allai a Vevay loger
a la Clef;[357] et pendant deux jours que j'y restai sans voir personne,
je pris pour cette ville un amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages,
et qui m'y a fait etablir enfin les heros de mon roman. Je dirois
volontiers a ceux qui ont du gout et qui sont sensibles: Allez a
Vevay--visitez le pays, examinez les sites, promenez-vous sur le lac, et
dites si la Nature n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour une
Claire,[358] et pour un St. Preux; mais ne les y cherchez pas."--_Les
Confessions_, [P. I. liv. 4, _Oeuvres, etc._, 1837, i. 78].--In July
[June 23-27], 1816, I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva;[359] and,
as far as my own observations have led me in a not uninterested nor
inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his
_Heloise_, I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggeration. It
would be difficult to see Clarens (with the scenes around it, Vevay,
Chillon, Boveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Evian,[360] and the entrances of
the Rhone) without being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to
the persons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not
all; the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks
of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive
order than the mere sympathy with individual passion; it is a sense of
the existence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of
our own participation of its good and of its glory: it is the great
principle of the universe, which is there more condensed, but not less
manifested; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our
individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole.--If Rousseau had
never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less have
belonged to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by
their adoption; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selection;
but they have done that for him which no human being could do fo