Chapter VI: Part 6

The country was lovely during our first two or three stages. We met the travelling equipage of a Russian princess (Potemkin), and her people stopped to inquire of ours about accommodations at Sion. Christian had the honour of a personal conference with her highness, who was extremely gracious and affable. Indeed this man never lost any opportunity of gossip, let it be with whom it might; and I believe he loved chattering on all occasions better than any thing in existence. He was an honest creature; but so idle, that he required constant looking after: we found him, however, so useful, particularly where the different _patois_ is spoken, that we have safely recommended him to our friend, Lord G.

The roads in this part of Switzerland were most execrable, and I thought the carriage would have been overturned every moment: the postillions universally adopted a very disagreeable and awkward manner of driving their horses; not three abreast (which is safe and rational), but harnessing one before the other pair, with long reins, in the unicorn style; the same postillion thus acting the part of a coachman also: the old rope traces were perpetually breaking; and the fore horse scrambling all over the road, often running into a hedge to crop what best pleased his appetite, or to drink at a fountain by the wayside. The driver seemed to have very little command over his lawless motions, and altogether, I confess that I was by no means delighted with this mode of travelling, although no coward in general. However, I recollected that it was customary here, and soon was able to reason myself into not caring for what I had no possible means of altering or preventing: in this instance, happily emulating the example of the late venerable Mrs. H. who used to say, "that it was of little use to have powers of understanding, and the faculty of reason, if you could not avail yourself of them, when occasion required; and that by a long and resolute habit of self-control, it was undoubtedly possible to bring the feelings nearly as much under command as the limbs." I have frequently proved the truth of her remark.

At Riddez (a little village) we saw a christening procession pass by. The godfather (a young man) walked first, with a cockade of ribands, and a large bouquet of natural flowers in his hat, carrying the infant in his arms, covered with a long transparent mantle of coarse white lace. He was followed by the godmother, and the _sage femme_, neither of the parents being present. The manners of the inhabitants here were remarkably gentle; every peasant we met bowed, and often wished us the "good day" as we passed. Many horrible _goîtres_, however, and idiots are to be found among them. The villages and hamlets we had as yet seen were even frightful: there was no such thing as a pretty cottage; and the costumes of the people were gross and tasteless in the greatest degree.

Mr. B.'s illness increased to a height of aguish shudderings and total exhaustion, which prevented our attempting to proceed farther than Martigny, where we put up at an inn called _Le Cigne_, which, on its outside, was not of a much more promising appearance than the Hospice of the Simplon, which I formerly deprecated. However, we had learned by this time not to judge of an auberge from its exterior, and upon entering this, found shelter, comfort, civility, and wholesome plain food. We procured the only good strong-bodied Burgundy we had seen during the whole of our tour, which was particularly fortunate, as it acted as a great relief to our invalid. The hostess was the widow of the poor inn-keeper, who was carried away in the terrible and memorable flood of last June (mentioned with much affecting detail in the English newspapers), where a lake at nine leagues distance burst, and, flowing into the river Drance, the latter broke its usual boundaries, and destroyed more than half the village of Martigny, with many of the unfortunate inhabitants. Poor woman! she was in mourning, as well as her children, who waited upon us, two modest, simple, young creatures. I never saw any thing like their kind-hearted attention, in avoiding the least noise which might have been likely to disturb an invalid, while they were preparing things for dinner in the same room. Nothing could be imagined more desolate and wretched than the present appearance of Martigny; and, at the moment when the flood happened, the ruin was so instantaneous and complete as to resemble an earthquake. This house was ten feet deep in water. The host might have been saved: he had already avoided the first horrible rush; but venturing into danger once more, in the hope of saving his cattle, he was borne down by the impetuous torrent, and perished miserably! For a long time he was plainly discovered with his head far above the stream, yet unable to stem its resistless tide: his body was afterwards found, in an erect position, supported against a tree, not in the least mangled or disfigured. It was supposed his respiration had been stopped by the weight and force of the current, which could hardly be called water, so thickly was it mingled with mud. The cook (who happened to be in the wine-cellar) was saved by his perfect knowledge of swimming, and presence of mind. The flood completely filled the cellar, staircase, and hall, in a moment, and he paddled and swam up the steps of the former, till he reached the surface, and thus almost miraculously escaped.

The next day we quitted Martigny about nine o'clock, our spirits depressed by this wretched scene of desolation. The whole country appeared wildly melancholy, under the additional gloom of a very wet dark morning. The prieur of this village, who belonged also to some convent on Mont St. Bernard (_note_ F.) had written a petition for the relief of his poor parishioners, which was pasted up in the sitting-room of the inn we had occupied. We did not, of course, shut our hearts against the appeal, and carrying our little subscription to the house of the prieur, found it a most humble primitive dwelling: it was built upon a hill behind the church, and at the time of the flood had been a foot deep in water, notwithstanding its elevated situation. The old man described the horrors of the scene, and said he should never forget the moment when he first heard the mighty roar of the waters, louder than a mountain cataract. I am proud to add, that our dear countrymen have been almost the only travellers who have had the humanity to bestow a farthing upon the necessities of the surviving sufferers. I should be narrow-minded indeed not to regret the want of generous feeling which those of other nations have thus evinced, or to rejoice (as some people would, I fear, do) at the foil they have afforded to the merit of the English; but surely it is impossible, as a British subject, not to delight in this additional proof of the liberality and compassion of our compatriots!

We now passed a celebrated waterfall (_note_ G.), which descends from a vast height, between granite mountains, covered with rich green moss. It was highly majestic, yet not bearing the character of terror; therefore (according to Burke) we must not designate it by the term _sublime_, but rather class it under the head of _the beautiful_. Its feathery foam of spotless white, dashing over the craggy obstacles in its descent, afforded a lovely contrast to the dark background of the adjacent rocks. There are great numbers of chestnut, walnut, and apple trees in this neighbourhood. We met an English family in a coach and four here. We stopped to change horses with them, and as they were going to Sesto, and from thence to Milan, we thought it but kind to warn them that they ought to take _gens d'armes_, on account of the banditti. The abigail (elevated upon the seat behind) seemed prodigiously discomposed at this intelligence; and I should not wonder if she had given warning at the next stage, to avoid the horror of proceeding with the family. Her little round grey eyes almost started from their red sockets, and her nose assumed a purplish hue, which was beautifully heightened by the cadaverous tint of her cheeks. Her master and mistress also appeared not a little startled, but expressed themselves vastly obliged to us for our information; and we parted with much courtesy on both sides. A hearty fit of laughter, at the expense of Mrs. Abigail, seized us all at the moment of their departure; but I am sure I had no business to triumph; for never was there a more complete coward than I shewed myself to be, when in my turn I first received a similar warning from our Neufchatel friend at Gallarate.

We saw, shortly afterwards, an old peasant tending a few sheep, in a curious sort of costume: it consisted of a whole suit of clothes of a dingy yellowish brown; his hat, as well as his face and hands (parched by summer's sun and winter's wind), being of the same tan-coloured hue. Indeed the costumes in this part of Switzerland appeared to us universally unbecoming, as well as singular.

We now entered St. Maurice. Upon the rocks encircling the town was a small hut, inhabited by a hermit; built in such a craggy bleak situation, that we were led to suppose he had chosen it as a place of painful penance. If he is an old man, I think he must have found it nearly impossible to descend, even for the means of subsistence: it would be a hard task for a young and active hunter of the chamois; so I rather imagine he lives, like a genuine ascetic, upon berries, wild fruits, and roots, and quenches his thirst at the crystal spring. Part of the town of St. Maurice is actually built in the wild rocks that rise abruptly behind it, their rough rude sides forming the back wall, and now and then even the roof, of some of the humbler dwelling-houses. The inhabitants were plain and uninteresting in their persons, and we did not observe any taste or fancy displayed in their costumes. Here we changed horses, and passed the Rhone again, by means of a bridge, of so ancient a date, that it is said to have been built by Julius Cæsar. The river is very magnificent. Our road led us through a charming bower of long-continued walnut and beech trees, the opposite banks of the stream being covered with rich vegetation, forming an agreeable relief to the imagination, after the desolate and melancholy scenes of the preceding stages. The meadows were enamelled with the autumnal crocus, of a delicate lilac colour, and had a remarkably gay and brilliant appearance. We remarked a number of beehives in the cottage gardens; but they were not of such a picturesque form and material as those in England, being made of wood, in the shape of small square boxes. The whole face of the country was really beautiful, the rocks being fringed with luxuriant copse wood, rich in every varied tint of the declining year, while the pasture-lands were verdant and fresh, as if in early spring. Wild boars, wolves, and bears, are common in the Valais; very pleasant personages to meet during a late evening ramble. Here we dimly descried the _Chateau de Chillon_, on the borders of the lake of Geneva; but it was at too great a distance for us to judge of it accurately. I regretted this, as I did not then know that we should afterwards have had an opportunity of viewing it to greater advantage. The waters of this wonderfully fine lake were of the most brilliant pale blue, majestic mountains rising beyond it, clothed even to their summits with underwood, and mossy velvet turf. It is vastly more expansive than Lago Maggiore, but still we thought the enchanting Italian lake much more beautiful.

The roads now began to improve greatly, and after all the jolting we had undergone for the last two days, it was particularly acceptable to find them returning into a state of smoothness and regularity. We dined this day early, at St. Gingoulph, (sometimes spelt St. Gingo), on the borders of the lake: our vulgar expression of St. Jingo is a corruption of the name of this Saint. The inn was delightfully clean and comfortable, the people most attentive, civil and active, and we procured an excellent dinner at a very few minutes notice; a circumstance peculiarly agreeable to travellers who were quite exhausted with hunger, like ourselves.

We slept at Thonon, the capital of the Chablais, and found comfortable accommodation. The woman who waited upon us was a native of Berne, as well as our servant Christian, and they went on puffing off their canton, _à l'envi l'un de l'autre_.

I ought to have mentioned that before we arrived at Thonon, we passed by the rocks of Meillerie, so well known through the medium of Rousseau's sentimental descriptions. The same style of country continued, by the side of the lake, for many miles, and the roads were very good. We were now once more in the King of Sardinia's dominions, having entered upon them at St. Gingoulph, and we did not quit them until we reached Douvaine, not far from Geneva. As we proceeded, the country opened more, and the lake became restrained between much narrower boundaries: the practice of enclosing fields with hedges, in the same manner as those in England, was general here. At length Geneva, rising grandly from the blue waters of her noble lake, and fenced on every side by her superb mountains (Mont Blanc dimly gleaming through a veil of clouds upon the left), burst upon us;--the _coup d'oeil_ was most electrifying. The morning was clear and bright, the air had a cheerful freshness which lent spirit and animation to us all, and our first entrance to this city was marked by a crowd of agreeable and enlivening sensations. We found, however, that it would be impossible for Monsieur De Jean to receive us at his well known and comfortable hotel at Secherons (about a mile out of town); and even at Geneva itself we had the mortification of being turned away from every inn except one, owing to the swarms of our countrymen who had previously monopolized all accommodation. At this one (_hotel des Balances_) we at length gained admittance; it was opposite the Rhone, a circumstance which to me made it the most desirable of all possible situations, for I never was satiated with looking at and admiring the extraordinary beauty which this glorious river possessed. We had not before beheld any thing to equal its force, rapidity, depth, and exquisite transparency; but above all other perfections, its colour (in this particular part of Switzerland) appeared to us the most remarkable. I can compare it to nothing but the hue of liquid sapphires; having all the brilliancy, purity, and vivid blue lustre, of those lovely gems. I never passed it without feeling the strongest wish to drink and at the same time to bathe in its tempting waters, and from the bridge we clearly discerned the bottom, at a depth of at least twenty feet. We sent our servant in the evening, to deliver some letters of introduction to several families here; among others to Dr. and Mrs. M.--to the former of whom our thanks are particularly due, for his kind attention in prescribing for my husband, who had here a relapse of his complaint. We went the day afterwards to Ferney (the celebrated residence of Voltaire), and also to Sir F. d'I.'s beautiful country house in the same neighbourhood. We were highly interested by all we saw at Ferney. Voltaire's sitting-room, and bed-chamber, have been scrupulously preserved in the same state in which they were left at the time of his death: there was a bust of him in the former, and in the latter a smaller one, upon a mausoleum (which was erected to his memory, by his niece), bearing this inscription: _son esprit est partout_, _et son coeur est ici_. The latter was literally the case for a considerable time, his heart having been embalmed and placed in a leaden box, within the mausoleum; but it has since been removed to the Pantheon at Paris. We observed several prints framed and glazed, hanging upon the walls of his bed-room; portraits of those celebrated characters he particularly esteemed, either for their talents or from motives of personal regard. Among them we remarked those of Milton (notwithstanding Voltaire's unjust critiques upon the Paradise Lost), Newton, Washington, Franklin, Marmontel, Corneille, Racine, Helvetius, and Delille. The last personage (remarkable as a poet, and as the translator of Virgil), had a line underneath his portrait (written in what many people have believed to be the hand of Voltaire himself), which was singular enough, as it might be taken in a double sense, either as a compliment or a satire. Upon being made acquainted with its meaning in English, I saw the truth of the supposition in a moment. The words were these,

"Nulli flebilior quam tibi Virgili."

We saw Delille's tomb in the burying-ground of _Pere de la Chaise_, at Paris: a garland of flowers, evidently fresh gathered, had been hung by some admirer of his works over the door of his sepulchre. In this same apartment at Ferney were also portraits of Voltaire, Frederic of Prussia, the Empress Catharine of Russia (presented by herself), and some others. His own picture made a great impression upon us, not from any individual merit as a work of art, but as it so exactly expressed, in the countenance and air, the brilliant and lively genius, the arch satire, and acute penetration, of this celebrated wit. All the furniture of both rooms was dropping to pieces with age and decay. The garden was laid out in the ancient French mode, so abhorred by the purer taste of Rousseau at that time, and since, by every true judge of the grace and simplicity of nature. On one side was a grove of trees, and on the other a close embowered alley of hornbeam, cut into the shape of formal high walls, with gothic windows or openings in them, from whence the prospect of a rich vineyard in the foreground, a lovely smiling valley beyond, and the magnificent glaciers, with Mont Blanc, in the distance, formed a most sublime and yet an enchanting spectacle. I should think it almost impossible to live in the midst of all these charms and wonders of creation, without lifting an admiring eye and grateful heart to "Nature's God." That Voltaire was an atheist is thought now to be a calumny entirely void of foundation, although he was so miserably mistaken, so fatally deceived, in regard to the glorious truths of revealed religion. Living in an age when the pure doctrines and benignant spirit of Christianity were so atrociously misconstrued and misrepresented, when bigotry stalked abroad in all the horrors of her deformity, and ignorance blindly followed in the bloody traces of her footsteps, it is less to be wondered at than regretted, that Voltaire's vigorous understanding should have disdained their disgraceful shackles; and that in his just ridicule and detestation of the conduct of some followers of Christianity, he should have been unfortunately induced to mistake and vilify Christianity itself: notwithstanding some impious expressions concerning it, at which I shudder in the recollection, he has in many parts of his works evidently looked with a more favourable eye upon the protestant doctrines of England. Certain it is, that he built at his own expense the church at Ferney. Not that I mean to assert, that church-building, any more than church-going, is always an infallible proof of religious feeling; I only mention the fact. The church bears the following inscription:

"Deo erexit Voltaire!"

There is a pretty copse or bosquet, at the end of his garden, in which the present proprietor has erected two paltry monuments, to the memory of Voltaire and his cotemporary Rousseau. I cannot wonder at the dislike which subsisted between them, since the latter was such a warm admirer, and the former so declared an enemy, of overstrained sentiment and sickly sensibility. However, they neither of them did justice to the real merits of each other; and proved individually how strong is the force of prejudice, in blinding the judgment even of the cleverest men.

The village of Ferney was by far the prettiest we had seen since we left our own country; the houses all had an air of neatness and comfort dear to an English eye, and nothing could be more gay and cheerful than their little gardens and orchards; in the former, flowers and vegetables flourished promiscuously, and in great luxuriance, and the latter were glowing with a profusion of rosy apples. We observed a species of this fruit among them, which we did not remember ever to have seen in any other country; it was quite white, and full of a sweet and spirited juice.

From hence, we drove to call upon Sir F. d'I., who is a native of Switzerland, _conseiller d'etat_ at Geneva, and well known in England as the intelligent author of several political works. We were much charmed by the graceful politeness and hospitable frankness with which both himself and Madame d'I. received us. We had been provided with letters of introduction to them, by friends in England, and Sir F. was personally acquainted with Mr. W. He shewed us the grounds of his truly beautiful little villa, which, from being laid out under his own eye, in the English taste, bore a peculiar character of grace and cultivated refinement. I must say that our method of adorning shrubberies, lawns, gardens, &c. appeared in a very superior point of view, when compared with that of other countries. The prospect from the drawing-room windows, of the blue waters of the majestic lake, with Mont Blanc, surrounded by his attendant chain of humbler mountains, was grand beyond all idea! in short, this abode was far more like Paradise than any dwelling upon earth. Sir F. was in momentary expectation of the arrival of the Duke of Gloucester, (then visiting Geneva, &c.) and who was desirous of viewing this enchanting epitome of perfection, before he left the neighbourhood.

We returned to our inn, and my companions, leaving me under the guard of our Swiss, immediately set off upon a three days' journey to Chamouni, Mont Blanc, the Mer de Glace, &c. I found it neither prudent nor reasonable to attempt joining them in this expedition, as the cold and fatigue inseparable from it would have been too much for my strength. I expected to have been quite solitary until their return, but was agreeably disappointed; my new friends (whose polite attention to all who bear the name of English is well known), being kind enough to engage my whole time in such a manner as completely to banish _ennui_. Sir F., who passed many years of his life in our country, respected for his integrity and abilities, and rewarded by the esteem of Majesty, has returned to his native land (now restored to its independence), in the bosom of which he enjoys the high consideration of its most distinguished members, among whom he is noted for liberality of sentiment and a singular proportion of domestic felicity. We were told that the people of and near Geneva are remarkable for honesty, and we found no reason to doubt the accuracy of this information. We heard also that the servants, as well as country people, were faithful and harmless, and that such an offence as housebreaking, or breach of trust in pilfering personal property, was unknown: that every family in these environs went to bed without closing a shutter, and might safely leave cabinets and drawers unlocked, during any absence from home. There were twelve or more physicians in Geneva, eight out of the number having studied and taken their degrees at Edinburgh; they are all accounted clever in their profession. The apothecaries here are not allowed to practise as amongst us; they are entirely restricted to the preparation of medicines, have a thorough knowledge of the properties of drugs (which here are of the purest and finest quality always), are good chemists and botanists, and in other respects well educated men. This is a high advantage to invalids. While I was in the _boutique_ of a little jeweller, the Princess Bariatinski came in, with one of her female attendants. She appeared a graceful unaffected young woman, was drest with extreme simplicity, and addressed herself to the persons who waited upon her with great affability, and a benevolent wish of sparing them all unnecessary trouble. She is the second wife of the prince. In the course of the day I drove about the environs in a caleche, and returned the visits of several ladies, for whom we had letters from their friends in England. Madame C. was fortunately at home, and I was much pleased by her polite reception, and also by the sweet countenance and madonna features of her grandaughter, Madame P. Their house is upon the brow of a hill, commanding the most extensive and lovely prospect; but what place is not lovely in this part of the world? I never could have imagined so delicious a _sejour_ as the neighbourhood of Geneva affords, had I not seen and enjoyed it myself. In the grounds of Mons. de C. a singular natural phenomenon, takes place; I mean the confluence of the Rhone and the Arve. They meet here, yet without mingling their currents; the clear blue pure waters of the former being scrupulously distinct from the thick turbid stream of the latter. Destiny has compelled them to run the same course, but the laws of sympathy (more powerful still) seem for ever to prevent them from assimilating. How frequently is this the case with mankind! no ties of affinity can cause two dispositions to unite and flow on together in a tranquil or felicitous course, where nature has placed a marked opposition of sentiment and character. Those moralists who endeavour, from motives of mistaken principle, violently to force this native bent, do but ensure themselves the mortifying fate of Sisyphus.

I returned to dinner at _l'hotel des Balances_, intending to accept Madame C.'s polite invitation to take tea with her, at eight o'clock; but first I accompanied Sir F. and Madame d'I. in a _promenade_ round the environs, in a little open carriage called a _char_: I found this a very social although somewhat rough conveyance, and it was so near the ground as to allow females to alight from or ascend it without assistance, and with perfect safety. Our drive was charming: they pointed out many glorious prospects to my observation, and I accompanied them to the _campagne_ (or country house) of Monsieur A., who possesses one of the most elegant places in that neighbourhood. Monsieur A. is an uncle of Madame d'I.'s. We met him at the entrance of his grounds, driving in a low phaeton. It was a novelty to a curious contemplative English traveller, like myself, to observe the manners here of near relations towards each other. Monsieur A. took off his hat, and remained uncovered the whole of the time during his conversation with his niece; and, upon taking leave, the expressions of "_Adieu, mon oncle!_"--"_Adieu, ma chere nièce!_" with another mutual bow, conveyed an idea of mixed cordiality and ceremony, which was far from unpleasing. I have often thought that family intercourse among us in England is too frequently carried on in a very mistaken and (as it relates to eventual consequences) a very fatal manner. How many people think that it is needless to maintain a constant habit of good-breeding and politeness in their conduct towards immediate relations, and that the nearness of connexion gives them the liberty of wounding their self-love, and of venting unpleasant truths in the most coarse and unfeeling manner; and all this under the pretence of sincere and unrestrained friendship! How entirely do such persons forget that admirable Christian precept, "Be ye courteous one to another!"

We found Madame and Mademoiselle A. at home: the former is somewhat advanced in years; she has frequently been in England, and both of them speak our language fluently. The conversation this evening, however, was wholly carried on in French, which was an advantage to me, as it gave me an additional opportunity of conquering a ridiculous degree of awkward shyness in speaking the latter, which is a complete bar to improvement, and yet is often dignified amongst very good sort of people in our country by the name of _amiable_ _modesty_. These ladies were highly well-bred and agreeable; they knew several of my friends, the L. family in particular: Madame A. perfectly recollected the late Mr. L. many years since, at the time he was living at Geneva, and spoke of his virtues, his distinguished and noble manners, his various talents, and taste for the fine arts, in a way that brought tears of pleased remembrance into my eyes: indeed no one, who had (like myself) the honour and happiness of being intimate with this excellent and lamented man, can ever, I should think, forget him, and I shall always feel it as a source of great and flattering gratification, that I once was a favourite, and I may say, an _elève_, of so venerable and superior a character.

Mademoiselle A. shewed me some exquisitely fine casts from the antique, and copies of paintings (the originals of which are now in the Louvre at Paris), which formed the chief decorations of a charming saloon here, floored with walnut in so elaborate and elegant a manner, that it almost rivalled a tessellated pavement. The house and grounds altogether are delightful, and the latter reminded me of an English park. We enjoyed a promenade under some noble trees in front of the former, and then returned to take our tea, when we entered upon a very animated and (to me) a most interesting conversation upon Voltaire. Madame A. observed, that it was always a treat to her to hear the original remarks of persons who (judging for themselves) perused his works for the first time. I was sorry when the moment for taking leave arrived, and could have passed the whole of the evening here with much satisfaction. Sir F. and Madame d'I. had the goodness to deposit me safely at the hotel of Madame C., and made me promise to spend the next day with them at their lovely _campagne_. I found a very agreeable and intellectual society assembled at Madame C.'s. Among them were Monsieur and Madame de Saussure. He is a relation of the celebrated philosopher, who was one of the first persons who ascended to the top of Mont Blanc, many years since, and whose observations taken there have been published. Madame P. (who is very young, and almost a bride) sang like an angel: her husband also possesses no inconsiderable vocal talent, and they gave us several duets of Blangini's, which happened to be my own peculiar favourites. Le Baron de M. an intelligent gentlemanly man (a native of the Pays du Valais, I believe), and who has travelled a great deal in Italy, seemed perfectly to feel and appreciate the superior merits of the Italian school of harmony, which surprised me at first, as I had taken him for a Frenchman, and knew how rarely pure taste of that sort was to be expected from his nation. He had the politeness to conduct me home at night, and left me at the door of my apartments, with many profound bows, _en preux chevalier!_

The next morning, _presque a mon réveil_, I received a long visit from Madame P. and I afterwards drove to Sir F.'s, where I dined, and passed a very happy day. I met there the children of Count S. (minister for Russia at the approaching congress at Aix la Chapelle), and their _gouvernante_. These two little countesses (for so they were always called), of eight and ten years of age, and their brother, a very fine boy of five or six, ran about amid the flowers and shrubs, much at their ease, and seemed to look upon Sir F. as a father. Indeed, he had, in a manner, the charge of them at this time. In the evening I accompanied my kind hosts to the house of another very pleasant family, which was also built in a spot that commanded a superb and romantic view, where we met a very large party, among which were several English. Some of the company were in full dress, having called to take tea, in their way to a grand ball, which was given that night by our countrymen to the inhabitants of Geneva, and the latter were to return the compliment in a similar manner in the space of a few days. I was invited by several of the Genevese families, to attend this ball; but declined doing so, for various reasons. This was not the only amusement at that time anticipated; they were preparing to attend a very pretty, and I may say, chivalrous sort of _fête_ (an _alfresco_ breakfast), upon the borders of the lake, given to the ladies by a party of gentlemen, who were called _les chevaliers du lac_. The day which the gallant entertainers had long destined for this gay banquet was unfortunately early overcast by lowering and envious clouds, which, before the company had been assembled half an hour, broke over their heads in torrents of rain. We had thus an opportunity of observing, that England was not the only country where the caprices of climate render _fêtes champêtres_ rather hazardous. The costume of the rest of the ladies was very simple, being exactly that of the French, when not _bien paré_, and much resembling what we wear as a morning dress, all having their gowns made high in the neck, with long sleeves, and many of them wearing large bonnets. The profusion of rich needlework in petticoats, ruffs, &c. was, however, very remarkable.

The tone of general conversation here was easy, animated, lively, and full of benevolently polite attention to the feelings of each other. In short, it was conversation; of which we do not always understand the right meaning, or enter into the true spirit, in the circles of England, whatever is the reason. We had a discussion upon the drama, and the present state of the Italian opera, both with us and upon the continent. Those who had been in England praised Miss O'Neill very rapturously, but Kean did not appear to have struck them so forcibly as I thought his merits deserved. I was asked (as the conversation turned upon the marked taste for classical and studied tragic acting upon the French stage), whether I thought Miss O'Neill or Mrs. Siddons (in her day) would have been most applauded and understood by a Parisian audience? I had no hesitation in replying that I thought the latter would have been more to their taste, as her style was rather the perfection of art than the wild and spontaneous effect of nature. They all agreed in this opinion, and seemed to prefer Miss O'Neill to her dignified and splendid rival: those who consider acting as a science, however, will not coincide with them.

At about eight o'clock we adjourned to another apartment, where tea was served: the table was very long, and covered with a cloth, round which the company seated themselves as if at dinner. The lady of the house made tea herself, and the servants waited behind her chair, to hand it about; her situation was no sinecure: There was a profusion of cakes, brioches, and fine fruit. This is always the custom at Geneva, where, as people dine at three o'clock, they of course are ready to make a sort of supper at tea-time. I never beheld any thing so resplendently beautiful as the moon during my drive home: I saw it rise like a globe of fire from behind the mountains, and throw a long track of glittering brightness upon the calm bosom of the lake. The effect was lovely, and the sky appeared to me to be of a far deeper and more decided blue colour than with us. I ought not to omit the mention of a very singular and striking phenomenon (if I may so call it), which I had likewise this day witnessed at Sir F.'s: I mean the influence of the setting sun upon the glaciers. They first, as the orb declined, assumed a yellow tint, then gradually warmed into pink, and kindled at length into a glow of rich crimson, of indescribable beauty. Mont Blanc's three fantastic peaks received it last of all, and immediately afterwards the whole snowy chain of mountains rapidly faded into their original hue of spotless (or, as my friend Mr. T. fancifully calls it, _ghostly_) white. Upon my return to the hotel, I had the unexpected pleasure of finding Mr. Baillie and Mr. W. safely arrived from their expedition to Chamouni. The following is the former's account to me of the incidents of their journey.

"As we could only allow ourselves two entire days in which to perform our journey to Chamouni, it was quite necessary that we should make the most of our time; the distance (if I recollect right) being from fifteen to eighteen leagues from Geneva. We started from thence at about five o'clock in the afternoon, on the 13th of September, and slept that night at Bonneville, a small town about fifteen miles on our route. There was nothing particularly worthy of remark thus far, except the magnificently beautiful tints of the setting sun upon the Mole and adjacent mountains, which we enjoyed in great perfection. The next morning we proceeded through the small town of Kluse to St. Martin, where we breakfasted, and hired mules for the remainder of our journey, the road being impassable for any carriages except those of the country, called _char-a-bancs_, which are the most uncomfortable conveyances that can be imagined, being built without springs.

"We passed this day two very beautiful waterfalls; but as you have already seen the P. V. (which is superior to both), I need not trouble you with an account of them. The aubergiste at St. Martin was philosopher enough to have a cabinet of the natural curiosities of the country, upon which he set no small value; his prices for the minerals, &c. being absurdly high. The prospect became far more interesting as we advanced towards the base of that hoary mountain, whose summit we had distinctly seen at a hundred and fifty miles distance, some few weeks since. We observed and admired a singular piece of water, in whose transparent bosom Mont Blanc was clearly reflected. This was the Lac de Chede, and though very small, is interesting, from its retired and solitary situation. It is infested by serpents, but I could not learn that they were venomous.

"The valley of Servoz, into which we afterwards entered, and which joins the vale of Chamouni, is romantic beyond any thing I have ever beheld. The road (cut out of the mountain's side) is in many places rough, and somewhat dangerous, a very abrupt precipice being on one hand, and the river Arve rolling below, whose waters are of great depth. I confess that I was a little disappointed with the first view of these glaciers (_note_ H.), perhaps, as the imagination has no bounds, from having previously formed too magnificent an idea of them. They are situated in the valley, at the foot of the mountain, and are formed by the frozen snow, or rather snow-water. Their shape is irregularly pyramidical, and their colour a very light blue.

"The Mer de Glace, which is the object most worthy of notice in this valley, is a glacier of giant size, the pyramids of ice being in some places of prodigious altitude, and the chasms proportionably deep. From this place the Arve takes its source. It is quite impossible for me to give you an adequate idea of this stupendous sea of ice, so called from its constant, although imperceptible, movement towards the valley, the entrance of which, it is generally expected, it will in time effectually block up. We witnessed one or two avalanches, which our guide told us were inconsiderable; their noise, however, made the valley roar.

"Our trusty mules deserve mention. We really thought we could not too much admire them; although we had been prepared to find them sure-footed and steady, we had no conception that they could possibly have led us with such perfect safety through such rugged and dangerous passes; the more particularly as we had no reason to reckon upon their complaisance, having urged them to a pace to which they were quite unaccustomed, from our desire of visiting the Mer de Glace the first day.

"The inn at Chamouni was clean and comfortable, and upon a far superior scale of accommodation than could have been supposed in so forlorn a situation. The Duke of G. arrived during the evening, and consequently must have travelled through Servoz when it was dark, thereby losing all the beauties of that wonderful scene. We set off the next morning very early, upon our return. It was a severe frost, the ground quite white with the hoary particles, and the weather feeling colder than I ever remember to have experienced, although the season was but little advanced; so much so, that my companion had to walk at a great pace for a considerable distance, to preserve any degree of animal warmth. About the middle of our route we observed a monument, in the shape of a large mile-stone, which had been erected during the consulship of Bonaparte, to the memory of a young German philosopher, who was unfortunately lost, from the ignorance of his guide, while traversing these mountains. He fell into the crevice of a glacier, and was not discovered until some time afterwards, when it appeared his nails were worn off, and his fingers stripped to the bone, in his agonizing and desperate attempts to release himself from his horrible grave. The stone was erected (as it is stated in an inscription) first, as a warning to travellers in their choice of guides; secondly, to commemorate the loss of the unhappy youth; and, thirdly, to inform the world that France encourages science, even in her enemies.

"We found a variety of all the rarest Alpine plants and vegetables in this valley, and were assured that it contained also mines of gold, silver, and lead, (_note_ I.) which the poverty of the state at present prevents being worked. We met at the little inn two Polish gentlemen, who had been making a pedestrian tour through Switzerland; one of them had a few days before ascended the highest mountain (next to Mont Blanc) in the neighbourhood: he was the friend and companion of an enterprising nobleman of the same nation, who some weeks since had gone up Mont Blanc, by a different route to that pursued by Monsieur de Saussure, who has written voluminously on the subject. The Pole had endured great difficulty and fatigue, and had been three days in completing his journey, having slept two nights upon the mountain: he was attended by about twenty guides, all of whom were tied together, as a precaution against any one of them falling into the chasms which are so frequently met with in the ascent. The summit was found to be considerably changed since it had last been visited. This stupendous mountain is 15000 feet above the level of the sea, and rises about 9000 from the valley of Chamouni. It is hardly necessary to tell you, that its brow is eternally crowned with frozen snow.

"Travellers who are in delicate health, or otherwise not strong, are by no means advised to undertake the journey from St. Martin to Chamouni on mules; especially if they are pressed for time, as that method of conveyance is both fatiguing and dilatory. They will find the guides of the inn particularly intelligent and conversible, possessing a knowledge of the mineral and vegetable kingdoms that is quite extraordinary in men of their situation and rank in life. They are employed during the winter months in chamois hunting, and other dangerous and hardy exercises, and are frequently detained (as they told me themselves) by the snow, for weeks together, in the cheerless shelter of the most wretched _chalets_."

The next day we devoted to the purchase of some of the curiosities for which this place is celebrated (_note_ J.), and to taking leave of our friends, who had shewn us so much attention: we also visited the street in which Rousseau was born, and which is called after his name, the Rue de Jean Jacques Rousseau. We took leave of Sir F. and Madame d'I. with a degree of regret that was only softened by the hope of seeing them in England ere many ages should elapse. I believe I have not yet mentioned their children; a fine boy and a very promising little girl, both extremely young, and in whose welfare and happiness the parents seemed to be completely wrapped up. Yet Sir F. did not appear to have spoiled them by injudicious indulgence; on the contrary, he expressed his conviction of the necessity and importance of _early_ moral restraint, and I had one accidental opportunity of witnessing that his practice perfectly harmonized with his theory: this desirable union does not always take place, even among parents who pride themselves upon a superior system of education.

On September 17th, we bade adieu to this delightful neighbourhood, and proceeded upon our route to Lausanne. We continued for a great length of way to wind along the borders of the lake, which sparkled like a diamond in the morning sun, and whose extensive surface was slightly rippled by a fresh and animating breeze from the mountains. With respect to the extraordinary exhilaration of mountain air, which first struck me in crossing Mont Cenis, and has been confirmed by subsequent experience, I had heard and read a thousand times of its effect; but a truth, when personally proved for the first time, always seems like a discovery, rather than a sober confirmation of the words of other people. This pure atmosphere appears to me the finest remedy possible for every sort of nervous indisposition. It would even lighten (I should think) the heavy pressure of real affliction, acting as a perfect cordial to the spirits, as well as a tonic to the body--but Rousseau has expressed this opinion so admirably in the first volume of his _Nouvelle Heloise_, that while I recal his magical description, any other seems powerless and inadequate. (_Note_ K).

We now passed though the village of Coppet. Necker's house is still shewn here, to which he retired upon being denounced by the French government as an enemy to his country, and where the adversity of this great and amiable character was soothed by the presence of his equally celebrated daughter, Madame de Stael. I feel an involuntary sensation of _attendrissement_, whenever I think of the singular degree of affection that subsisted between this venerable parent and his daughter, and which breathes so touchingly in every line of her _Memoires de la Vie privée de Monsieur Necker_, lately published in our own country. An affection so highly wrought, as to bear rather the character of passion, and which has therefore been objected to, by many people, as overstrained and unnatural. But let it be remembered that the great virtues, the attractive gentleness, the grand and expansive mind, and superior talents of Necker, were (in her eyes) unique, and might therefore well have the effect of creating a more than ordinary portion of admiration, respect, and love: nor, in judging of Madame de Stael, should it ever be forgotten, that her extraordinary depth of feeling, and her native enthusiasm of disposition, rendered it impossible for her to experience sensations of any sort, in a mediocre degree, or even in that rationally moderated force, which can alone secure the possession of real happiness. This peculiarity of feeling, which unfortunately induced some errors in her conduct, has been admirably commented upon, by the Edinburgh Review, in its critique upon her works in general. It explains and apologizes, I think, for those wildly warm expressions in which she has indulged, when speaking of Necker's character, and which might perhaps sound strange, if uttered by a less energetic personage, or if applied to those sort of parents who are usually met with in common life. The woman who has been allowed by the general voice of her cotemporary judges to be "the greatest writer of a female, that any age, or any country, has produced;" (nay even by one distinguished genius[8] has been called "the most powerful author, whether man or woman, of her day;") has surely a high claim upon the forbearance of all who have been charmed by her transcendent talents. At the same time, let me not be mistaken, as to my own particular sentiments upon the subject; for I have no hesitation in avowing, that as a general principle, I extremely disapprove of the admission of what is termed passion into the filial affections, and _vice versa_. I believe it to answer no wise or rational end, but to be, on the contrary, in nine cases out of ten, a fruitful source of disquietude and disappointment.

I fear my earnestness in the cause of a writer whose abilities I so greatly admire, has led me into a dissertation which may prove tedious to some of my readers.--_Revenons à nos moutons_. The country, the whole of the way to Lausanne, is one continued scene of beauty; and the pastoral air of the verdant meadows, the rich cultivation of the hills (sprinkled with the prettiest little hamlets), the appearance of comfort and neatness in the cottages (each with a garden and orchard), and the grandeur of the lake and mountains beyond, altogether formed a scene of peace, loveliness and delight, that is far more easily imagined than described. Were it possible for me to forget the charms of my dear native land, it is here that I could happily live, and tranquilly die. Not that it possesses the Armida-like fascination of the shores of the Lago Maggiore in Italy, or the high romance of parts of Savoy: the imagination here is less excited, but the heart is more interested. I turned from one to the other, with the kind of sensation which the mind experiences, when comparing a brilliantly beautiful and accomplished, a highly enchanting and charming acquaintance, with a tender, cheerful, and amiable friend.

We stopped to take breakfast at Rolle, a neat little town, where at the humble inn (_la Couronne_) we hailed with great satisfaction the comforts of cleanliness and domestic order, so totally unknown to the natives of the other countries through which we had passed.

Morges; a remarkably pretty town. In this neighbourhood there were many vineyards, which yielded the fruit of which the wine called _vin de cote_ is made. The lake became much narrower here, and the mountains upon the opposite side seemed to rise abruptly from the water. Their dark purple hue contrasted finely with the light aqua-marine tint of the latter, and the fresh verdure of the banks, where the peasants were mowing their second crop of hay. The beauty of some of the cottages also struck us with admiration, but we observed as yet no particular costume.