First Impressions on a Tour upon the Continent

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 genius⁸ 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.

We arrived at Lausanne to dinner. The entrance was cheerful and pretty, and the town itself is clean and gay, built upon the side of a very steep hill; the grand street forming as precipitous an ascent as that of Lansdown in Bath. We found all the inns full, therefore took lodgings at a charming house upon a hill overhanging the lake, (the view of the Chateau de Chillon and mountains, in the distance) and to which there was a garden and terrace, ornamented with green-house plants and flowers. We could hardly have desired une plus jolie campagne even for our own permanent residence and property. The restaurateur (who was an appendage to this establishment, and lived in part of the house) was a civil bustling personage, who extremely loved to hear himself talk: he told us that these lodgings ought to stand high in reputation, for they had been occupied successively by les plus grands seigneurs, who had all expressed themselves greatly pleased with their accommodations; a fair hint this, how we were expected to behave. We found, however, upon parting, that the hostess had overcharged us for these wonderful accommodations in a very preposterous manner, and she was so conscious of it, that she consented without much difficulty to take off part of her bill, and to allow us to pay for her apartments in French money, instead of the Swiss, which makes a very material difference. We breakfasted the next morning upon honeycomb from the mountains; I believe I have mentioned this before. It is a very common article for breakfast in Switzerland, and always brings an agreeable association of ideas to my mind. I ought perhaps to have made earlier mention of the great opportunity afforded to the traveller of leisurely surveying and enjoying the beauties of scenery, from the circumstance of his not being able to travel post through Switzerland: the system of voituring is, however, rather tedious, and very expensive.

The environs of Lausanne are almost equally attractive with those of Geneva, but the latter were impressed upon my memory in such bright and bewitching colours, that I could never think any other part of Switzerland quite so delightful.

We quitted Lausanne, Sept. 19, for Berne. Our road still led us through beauties innumerable. On the right was the lake, once more expanded into a breadth like the ocean, bounded, as usual, by mountains. On the left were vineyards, gardens, and hamlets. The grape ripens later here than in France, but is equally luxuriant and delicious in flavour. We frequently passed so near the glowing clusters of this tempting fruit, that we might easily have gathered as many as we chose from the windows of the carriage. There was a wonderfully fine growth of walnut trees also, stretching their long branches for many yards over the water. They are in such quantities that oil is made from the nut, for purposes of the commonest use.

We again saw part of the romantic rocks of Meillerie, so celebrated by Rousseau. We had been reading his Nouvelle Heloise for the last few days (as we were passing through the same scenes which are so beautifully depicted there), and felt as if these rocks were our old acquaintance. I always feel, in reading his works, ready to exclaim,

 
"I love thee, and hate thee!"
 

A literary friend (in a long conversation which we had upon the subject of this author) thought better of his Julie (as a single woman) than I did, or ever can; but we perfectly agreed in admiration of her conduct as a wife and mother, mistress of a family, &c. The lessons of morality (which she there exhibits) are beyond every thing beautiful and impressive; but I never can forgive the disingenuousness of her conduct in consenting to marry Monsieur de Wolmar, without having previously told him her past story. All the reasonings, the arguments, the chain of entangling circumstances, which Rousseau has contrived to justify her for not doing so, I think false, perverted, and totally unsatisfactory.

The costume of the peasants in this neighbourhood is not at all remarkable, except for their straw hats, which are universally of the gipsy shape, with a very high crown, ending in a point like a Chinese pagoda, or the top of a parasol. We took a dejeuné at Vevay, and went in a boat upon the lake, to view the Chateau de Chillon somewhat nearer than we had hitherto been able to do. The beauty of Lord Byron's affecting Tale of its Prisoner returned strongly upon my imagination. I certainly prefer his picture of Captivity to that of Sterne in the Sentimental Journey. It appears to me to be equally touching, and far more sublime. One or two of the minor incidents may probably have been founded upon the legends of the Bastile; but Byron's powerful genius stamps every line with the character of originality.

A few miles beyond Vevay the country assumed all the refined and cultivated beauties of an English park. Here (near a miniature lake) softly swelling hills of velvet turf, ornamented with the rich and feathery foliage of the beech, rose gently upon the admiring eye. There vast plantations of aspiring firs expanded their screen of darker green. Close to the road were meadows enamelled with the lilac crocus, and various wild flowers, fringed by hedges, where the white convolvulus and scarlet hawthorn berry mingled gaily with the thick hazel and other native shrubs. A few ledges of rock now and then started from amid these mild beauties, as if to evince that we were still in the vicinity of wilder scenery. This change in the landscape was novel and delightful to us all. We had not seen any thing exactly in its style since leaving England, and I almost felt annoyed when a turning in the road displayed the snowy peaks of the eternal glaciers towering, as usual, in the distance. Forgive this honest confession, ye exclusive lovers of the sublime, and recollect, that the eye as well as the mind becomes fatigued by being kept too long upon the stretch.

Stopping at a little post-house, between Vevay and Moudon, we were surprised to see a large coarse loaf of bread brought out (instead of hay) for the refreshment of the horses. They eat it in slices, and appeared to relish this sophisticated food not a little. One of the animals, however, would not take the crust in his mouth, tossing it away in the most ridiculously disdainful manner, when he had carefully devoured all the crumb, and it was not until he had received two or three good cuffs on the ears from his driver that he condescended to swallow it.

We met several prettyish women in the course of this day's journey; but the style of their beauty did not please us so much as that of France and Italy. It was mild without being soft, and fresh without being brilliant: they were, in short, neither jolie ni belle; neither had they la grace plus belle encore que la beauté; but formed a class apart, which I cannot exactly define, but which certainly I did not like.

Dined and slept at Moudon (inn, au Cerf), where we experienced the comforts of warmth, cleanliness, and good beds; no bad things after a long and cold journey. We were waited upon by a lively natural young creature, of the name of Josephine, who, together with several other girls, was staying at this inn, to learn the French language from the occasional guests. They were all of them German Swiss. We astonished them very much, by exhibiting a couple of musical snuff-boxes, which we had bought when at Geneva. The girls had never seen any thing of the kind, and were never tired of listening to them. We left Moudon the next morning at six o'clock: the country still continued to charm us with a pleasing succession of woods, mossy banks, and rich valleys, watered by little serpentine silver brooks, softly flowing through green meadows. We were still in the Pays du Vaud. Our servant Christian's national enthusiasm burst forth at every step. Our friend, who frequently took a share of his seat behind the carriage, amused us extremely with an account of his transports. "Ah! there are de cows with bells round their necks! How I love those bells! There be de neat cottages, all of wood: dey builds very pretty ones always in my country." At Lausanne (where he had been at school) it was nothing but "shaking hands," and "greetings in the market-place." – "There is a friend of mine! I know dat man! There lives such a one, a very honest person!" In short, the poor fellow was in a state of continual ecstasy, and carried it so far as to think the very stones in the road were more than commonly valuable and beautiful; for, knowing Mr. W. to have made a small collection of spars and fossils, &c. he drew his attention frequently, upon entering Switzerland, to the pebbles by the wayside, calling out every now and then, "There be a pretty stone now, Mr. V.! Very pretty stones all in my country!" A lady at Geneva, in describing the peculiar attachment of the Swiss to their native land, told me that her brother, upon being exiled to England for pecuniary reasons, actually died of the true maladie du pays, pining gradually away in hopeless longings after the dear scenes amid which his youth had been passed. We now entered the grandest and most luxuriant beech woods I ever beheld. I never had seen such magnificent trees, except in some parts of Norbury park, in Surrey; indeed the whole view strongly reminded me of that exquisite spot, and brought a thousand agreeable recollections and associations to my mind. Wherefore is it that the imagination feels a charm and a repose so delightful amid scenes of this nature? My own peculiar feeling is now confirmed by long experience, and I can consequently assert, with renewed confidence, that wood, assisted by a judicious inequality of ground, forms by far the most satisfactory and soothing feature in a landscape. A visit to mountains, glaciers, lakes, waterfalls, and impetuous floods, gives great and animating sensations, but a constant residence among them I should never desire; though I have no doubt but that a Highlander or a Swiss mountaineer would extremely despise me for the homeliness of my taste.

Payerne, a small town. The women here amazed us by their superb chevelures. We saw three in particular, who wore their hair (of a dark yet golden brown colour) twisted round the head, in a large braid, beneath an enormous flat straw hat. If these braids had been dishevelled, I am certain the hair would have swept the ground, and the thickness of its growth was even yet more remarkable than its length. We were afterwards informed of a circumstance which explained this apparent phenomenon, as I shall presently take occasion to mention. There was a large stone fountain here (with a statue of some warrior, armed from head to heel), which appeared to form the only ornament of the place.

At Avenche we observed a very singular costume among the paysannes; in addition to the full shift sleeve and becoming chemisette, confined beneath the bosom by a coloured boddice, they wore a head-dress of black gauze, lace, or thin horse-hair, transparent as a cobweb, stiffened with fine wire, and standing out widely from the temples, in the most extraordinary manner, resembling some representations I have seen of the cobra capella, or hooded serpent, the wings of a Patagonian butterfly, or the sort of bat-winged cap, which Fuseli, in the extravagance of his wild imagination, has given to his pictures of Queen Mab. The coarse, tame, insipid style of feature which accompanied this attire, however, by no means suited its peculiar character. I looked in vain for the pale, delicate, oval visage, small red lip, and large gazelle sort of dark eye, with which it would have harmonized so exquisitely. This is the usual Bernoise costume.

The country here became much more open, and was enlivened by the glittering waters of the lake of Morat (Note L). In almost every house we passed, we remarked great quantities of green tobacco leaves, suspended from the projecting roofs, drying in the sun. On the borders of the lake of Morat was formerly a chapel, filled with the bones of the Bourguinons, who were killed in battle, in the year 1476, when Charles the Bold was defeated. It is now destroyed, but the bones are still left "bleaching in the wind." We got out of the carriage, and discovered among them some very large thigh bones, &c. The size of the warriors to whom they belonged must have been wondrous. A small rise, upon which we stood, was entirely formed of the bodies of the slain. The fragrant wild thyme and nodding hare-bell grew thickly upon the fatal spot; and I observed a tuft of the latter wreathing its azure flowers (as if in mockery) around the fragment of a mouldering skull!

There are several beautiful little maisons de campagne near this place, with their surrounding vineyards, gardens, orchards, and fountains. They were a good deal in the style of what we are used to call cottages ornées, so few of which we had hitherto seen upon the continent, notwithstanding the adoption of a foreign title. There were also many lovely dwellings belonging to the peasantry, built of tan-coloured wood (Note M.), with stairs and galleries on the outside, and neatly thatched or tiled. The frontispiece to this little volume, which has been kindly presented to me by an elegant amateur artist, is a most correct representation of a Swiss cottage.