
 
		40 STREETS  AND 
 The  streets  of  Geneva  generally  feel  
 cold,  as  from  tlie  height  of  the  houses  the  
 sun’s  rays  rarely  shine  into  them ;  and  as  
 these  rays  are  far  more  powerful  here  in  
 the  winter  months,  at  liiid-day,  than  in  
 England :  when  you  enter  the  streets,  on  
 returning  from  the  country,  a  sensation  is  
 felt  like  that  of  descending  from  a warm  
 atmosphere  into  a  cold  vault.  To  this  
 sudden  change  may,  I  think,  be  partly  
 attributed  the  disorders  in  the  teeth,  so  
 prevalent  at Geneva ;  but  the  proximity  of  
 the  city  to  such  a  large  extent  of  fresh  
 water,  is  supposed to  be  the principal cause  
 of  this  malady.  Part  of  th e  city  is  built  
 on  a  level  with  the  lake,  and  the  Rhone  
 passes  through  it,  separating  the  parish  of  
 St.  Gervaise  from  the  main  city.  The  
 river  is  crossed  by  four  wooden  bridges.  
 The  Rhone  divides  into  two  branches,  
 which  soon  unite  again,  thus  forming  a  
 small  island,  over which  you  pass  in  going  
 to  St.  Gervaise.  In  this  island,  the  earthquake, 
  which  shook  Geneva while we were  
 there,  was  most  forcibly  felt.  The  upper  
 part  of  the  city  is  situated  about  100  feet  
 above  the  lake ;  it  is  here  that  the  cathedral  
 of  St.  Pierre,  and  the  houses  of  the 
 r 
 i 
 FORTIFICATIONS. 41 
 more  opulent  and  ancient  families  are  
 situated,  the  lower  streets  being  occupied  
 by  tradesmen  and  artizans.  This  division  
 o f  the  city  into  upper  and  lower,  is  
 supposed  to  have  perpetuated  the  strong  
 feelings  of aristocratical  distinctions, which  
 have  caused  so  many political  dissentions  
 among  the  citizens.  Geneva  has  only  
 three  gates,  so  that  you  are  obliged  to  traverse  
 a  great  part  of  the  town  to  go  into  
 the  country.  The  gates  are  shut  at  an  
 early hour, after which  a  trifling  toll  is  paid  
 on  passing  through ;  and  at  eleven  o’clock  
 they  are  finally  closed  for  the  night,  and  
 no  one  can  pass  without  a  written  order  
 from  the  commander  of  the  garrison.  
 Formerly  the  gates  were  closed  at  an  
 earlier  hour.  The  readers  of  Rousseau’s  
 Confessions  will  remember  in what  affecting  
 language he describes his agony of mind,  
 when  a  boy,  on  seeing  the  draw-bridge  
 raised  as  he  was  returning  in  haste  from  
 a  truant  excursion  into  the  country.  The  
 inexorable  guard  refused  his  entrance ;  he  
 slept without  the walls,  and  being  afraid  to  
 return  to  his  master,  he  threw  himself,  a  
 friendless  fugitive,  upon  the  world.  To  
 such  a  trifling  event  may  be  ascribed  the