The Equinox.--Storm on the Lake.--Chase of a little Boat.--Chateau of
Blonay.--Drive to Lausanne.--Mont Benon.--Trip to Geneva in the
Winkelried.--Improvements in Geneva.--Russian Travellers.--M. Pozzo di
Borgo.--Table d'hôte.--Extravagant Affirmations of a
Frenchman.--Conversation with a Scotchman.--American Duels.--Visit at a
Swiss Country-house.--English Customs affected in America.--Social
Intercourse in the United States.--Difference between a European and an
American Foot and Hand.--Violent Gale.--Sheltered position of
Vévey.--Promenade.--Picturesque View.--The great
Square.--Invitation.--Mountain Excursion.--An American
Lieutenant.--Anecdote.--Extensive Prospect.--Chateau of Glayrole.
Dear ----,
We have had a touch of the equinox, and the Leman has been in a foam,
but its miniature anger, though terrible enough at times, to those who
are embarked on its waters, can never rise to the dignity of a surf and
a rolling sea. The rain kept me housed, and old John and I seized the
occasion to convert a block of pine into a Leman bark, for P----. The
next day proving fair, our vessel, fitted with two latine sails, and
carrying a weather helm, was committed to the waves, and away she went,
on a wind, toward the opposite shore. P----, of course, was delighted,
and clapped his hands, until, perceiving that it was getting off the
land, he compelled us to enter the boat and give chase. A chase it was,
truly; for the little thing went skipping from wave, to wave, in such a
business-like manner, that I once thought it would go all the way to
Savoy. Luckily a flaw caused it to tack, when it soon became our prize.
We were a long distance off when the boat was overtaken, and I thought
the views behind the town finer, at that position, than when nearer in.
I was particularly struck with the appearance of the little chateau of
Blonay, which is still the residence of a family of the same name, that
has been seated, for more than seven centuries, on the same rocky
terrace. I was delighted to hear that its present owner is a liberal, as
every ancient gentleman should be. Such a man ought to be cautious how
he tarnishes his lineage with unjust or ungenerous sentiments.
The equinoctial blow returned the next day, and the lake became really
fine, in a new point of view; for, aided by the mountains, it succeeded
in getting up a very respectable appearance of fury. The sail-boats
vanished, and even the steamers went through it with a good deal of
struggling and reluctance.
As soon as the weather became better, we went to Lausanne, preferring
the road, with a view to see the country. It is not easy to fancy
anything prettier than this drive, which ran, nearly the whole distance,
along the foot of hills, that would be mountains anywhere else, and
quite near the water. The day was beautiful, and we had the lake, with
its varying scenery and movement, the whole time in sight; while the
road, an excellent solid wheel-track, wound between the walls of
vineyards, and was so narrow as scarcely to admit the passage of two
carriages at a time. At a short distance from Lausanne, we left the
margin of the lake, and ascended to the level of the town, through a
wooded and beautifully ornamented country.
We found our friends established in one of the numberless villas that
dot the broken land around the place, with their windows commanding most
of that glorious view that I have already described to you. Mont Benon,
a beautiful promenade, was close at hand, and, in the near view, the eye
ranged over fields, verdant and smooth lawns, irregular in their
surfaces, and broken by woods and country-houses. A long attenuated
reach of the lake stretched away towards Geneva, while the upper end
terminated in its noble mountains, and the mysterious, glen-like gorge
of Valais. We returned from this excursion in the evening, delighted
with the exterior of Lausanne, and more and more convinced that, all
things considered, the shores of this lake unite greater beauties, with
better advantages as a residence, than any other part of Switzerland.
After remaining at Vévey a day or two longer, I went to Geneva, in the
Winkelried, which had got a new commander; one as unaffected as his
predecessor had been fantastical. Our progress was slow, and, although
we reached the port early enough to prevent being locked out, with the
exception of a passage across Lake George, in which the motion seemed
expressly intended for the lovers of the picturesque, I think this the
most deliberate run, or rather _walk_, I ever made by steam.
I found Geneva much changed, for the better, in the last four years.
Most of the hideous sheds had been pulled down from the fronts of the
houses, and a stone pier is building, that puts the mighty port of New
York, with her commercial _energies_, to shame. In other respects, I saw
no material alterations in the place. The town was crowded, more of the
travellers being French, and fewer English, than common. As for the
Russians, they appear to have vanished from the earth, to my regret; for
in addition to being among the most polished people one meets, (I speak
of those who travel), your Russian uniformly treats the American kindly.
I have met with more personal civilities, conveyed in a delicate manner,
from these people, and especially from the diplomatic agents of Russia,
than from any others in Europe, and, on the whole, I have cause,
personally, to complain of none; or, in other words, I do not think that
personal feeling warps my judgment, in this matter. M. Pozzo di Borgo,
when he gave large entertainments, sent a number of tickets to Mr. Brown
to be distributed among his countrymen, and I have heard this gentleman
say, no other foreign minister paid him this attention. All this may be
the result of policy, but it is something to obtain civil treatment in
this world, on any terms. You must be here, to understand how completely
we are overlooked.
Late as we were, we were in time for dinner, which I took at a _table
d'hôte_ that was well crowded with French. I passed as an Englishman, as
a matter of course, and had reason to be much amused with some of the
conversation. One young Frenchman very coolly affirmed that two members
had lately fought with pistols in the hall of Congress, during the
session, and his intelligence was received with many very proper
exclamations of horror. The young man referred to the rencontre which
took place on the terrace of the Capitol, in which the party assailed
_was_ a member of Congress; but I have no doubt he believed all he said,
for such is the desire to blacken the American name just now, that every
unfavourable incident is seized upon and exaggerated, without shame or
remorse. I had a strong desire to tell this young man that the affair to
which he alluded, did not differ essentially from that of M. Calémard de
Lafayette[37], with the exception that no one was slain at Washington;
but I thought it wiser to preserve my _incognito_.
[Footnote 37: This unfortunate gentleman was no relation of the family
of Lafayette, his proper appellation being that of M. Calémard.
_Fayette_, so far as I can discover, is an old French word, or perhaps a
provincial word, that signifies a sort of _hedge_, and has been
frequently used as a territorial appellation, like _de la Haie_.]
The next day our French party was replaced by another, and the master of
the house promoted me to the upper end of his table, as an old boarder.
Here I found myself, once more, in company with an Englishman, an
Irishman, and a Scotchman. The two former sat opposite to me, and the
last at my side. The civilities of the table passed between us,
especially between the Scotchman and myself, with whom I fell into
discourse. After a little while, my neighbour, a sensible shrewd fellow
enough, by the way of illustrating his opinion, and to get the better of
me, cited some English practice, in connexion with "you in England." I
told him I was no Englishman. "No Englishman! you are not a Scotchman?"
"Certainly not." "Still less an Irishman!" "No." My companion now looked
at me as hard as a well-bred man might, and said earnestly, "Where did
you learn to speak English so well?" "At home, as you did--I am an
American." "Umph!" and a silence of a minute; followed by abruptly
putting the question of--"What is the reason that your duels in America
are so bloody?--I allude particularly to some fought in the
Mediterranean by your naval officers. We get along, with less
vindicative fighting." As this was rather a sharp and sudden shot, I
thought it best to fire back, and I told him, "that as to the
Mediterranean, our officers were of opinion they were ill-treated, till
they began to shoot those who inflicted the injuries; since which time
all had gone on more smoothly. According to their experience, their own
mode of fighting was much the most efficacious, in that instance at
least."
As he bore this good-naturedly, thinking perhaps his abrupt question
merited a saucy answer, we soon became good friends. He made a remark or
two, in better taste than the last, on the facts of America, and I
assured him he was in error, showing him wherein his error lay. He then
asked me why some of our own people did not correct the false
impressions of Europe, on the subject of America, for the European could
only judge by the information laid before him. He then mentioned two or
three American writers, who he thought would do the world a service by
giving it a book or two, on the subject. I told him that if they wrote
honestly and frankly, Europe would not read their books, for prejudice
was not easily overcome, and no favourable account of us would be
acceptable. It would not be enough for us to confess our real faults,
but we should be required to confess the precise faults that, according
to the notions of this quarter of the world, we are morally, logically,
and politically bound to possess. This he would not admit, for what man
is ever willing to confess that his own opinions are prejudiced?
I mention this little incident, because its spirit, in my deliberate
judgment, forms the _rule_, in the case of the feeling of all British
subjects, and I am sorry to say the subjects of most other European
countries; and the mawkish sentiment and honeyed words that sometimes
appear in toasts, tavern dinners, and public speeches, the exception. I
may be wrong, as well as another, but this, I repeat for the twentieth
time, is the result of my own observations; you know under what
opportunities these observations have been made, and how far they are
likely to be influenced by personal considerations.
In the evening I accompanied a gentleman, whose acquaintance I had made
at Rome, to the country-house of a family that I had also had the
pleasure of meeting during their winter's residence in that town. We
passed out by the gate of Savoy, and walked a mile or two, among
country-houses and pleasant alleys of trees, to a dwelling not unlike
one of our own, on the Island of Manhattan, though furnished with more
taste and comfort than it is usual to meet in America. M. and Mad. N----
were engaged to pass the evening at the house of a connexion near by,
and they frankly proposed that we should be of the party. Of course we
assented, leaving them to be the judges of what was proper.
At this second dwelling, a stone's throw from the other, we found a
small party of sensible and well-bred people, who received me as a
stranger, with marked politeness, but with great simplicity. I was
struck with the repast, which was exactly like what a country tea is, or
perhaps I ought to say, used to be, in respectable families, at home,
who have not, or had not, much of the habits of the world. We all sat
round a large table, and, among other good things that were served, was
an excellent fruit tart! I could almost fancy myself in New England,
where I remember a judge of a supreme court once gave me _custards_, at
a similar entertainment. The family we had gone to see, were perhaps a
little too elegant for such a set-out, for I had seen them in Rome with
_mi-lordi_ and _monsignori_, at their six o'clock dinners; but the quiet
good sense with which everybody dropped into their own distinctive
habits at home, caused me to make a comparison between them and
ourselves, much to the disadvantage of the latter. I do not mean that
usages ought not to change, but that usages should be consistent with
themselves, and based on their general fitness and convenience for the
society for which they are intended. This is good sense, which is
commonly not only good-breeding, but high-breeding.
The Genevois are French in their language, in their literature, and
consequently in many of their notions. Still they have independence
enough to have hours, habits, and rules of intercourse that they find
suited to their own particular condition. The fashions of Paris, beyond
the point of reason, would scarcely influence them; and the answer would
probably be, were a discrepancy between the customs pointed out, "that
the usage may suit Paris, but it does not suit Geneva." How is it with,
us? Our women read in novels and magazines, that are usually written by
those who have no access to the society they write about, and which they
oftener caricature than describe, that people of quality in England go
late to parties; and they go late to parties, too, to be like English
people of quality. Let me make a short comparison, by way of
illustration. The English woman of quality, in town, rises at an hour
between nine and twelve. She is dressed by her maid, and if there are
children, they are brought to her by a child's maid: nourishing them
herself is almost out of the question. Her breakfast is eaten between
eleven and one. At three or four she may lunch. At four she drives out;
at half-past seven she dines. At ten she begins to think of the
evening's amusement, and is ready for it, whatever it may be, unless it
should happen to be the opera, or the theatre, (the latter being almost
proscribed as vulgar), when she necessarily forces herself to hours a
little earlier. She returns home, between one and four, is undressed by
her maid, and sleeps until ten or even one, according to circumstances.
These are late hours, certainly, and in some respects unwise; but they
have their peculiar advantages, and, at all events, _they are consistent
with themselves_.
In New York, the house is open for morning visits at twelve, and with a
large straggling town, bad attendance at the door, and a total want of
convenience in public vehicles, unless one travels in a stage-coach,
yclept an omnibus, it is closed at three, for dinner. _Sending_ a card
would be little short of social treason. We are too country-bred for
such an impertinence. After dinner, there is an interval of three hours,
when tea is served, and the mistress of the house is at a loss for
employment until ten, when she goes into the world, in order to visit at
the hour she has heard, or read, that fashion prescribes such visits
ought to be made, in other countries, England in particular. Here she
remains until one or two, returns home, undresses herself, passes a
sleepless morning, perhaps, on account of a cross child, and rises at
seven to make her husband's coffee at eight!
There is no exaggeration in this, for such is the dependence and
imitation of a country that has not sufficient tone to think and act for
itself, in still graver matters, that the case might even be made
stronger, with great truth.--The men are no wiser. When _invited_, they
dine at six; and at home, as a rule, they dine between three and four. A
man who is much in society, dines out at least half his time, and
consequently he is eating one day at four and the next at six, all
winter!
The object of this digression is to tell you that, so far as my
observation goes, we are the only people who do not think and act for
ourselves, in these matters. French millinery may pass current
throughout Christendom, for mere modes of dress are habits scarce worth
resisting; but in Germany, Belgium, Italy, Switzerland, or wherever we
have resided, I have uniformly found that, in all essentials, the
people have hours and usages of their own, founded on their own
governing peculiarities of condition. In America, there is a constant
struggle between the force of things and imitation, and the former often
proving the strongest, it frequently renders the latter lame, and, of
course, ungraceful. In consequence of this fact, social intercourse with
us is attended with greater personal sacrifices, and returns less
satisfaction, than in most other countries. There are other causes,
beyond a doubt, to assist in producing such a result; more especially in
a town like New York, that doubles its population in less than twenty
years; but the want of independence, and the weakness of not adapting
our usages to our peculiar condition, ought to be ranked among the
first. In some cases, necessity compels us to be Americans, but whenever
there is a tolerable chance, we endeavour to become "second chop
English."
In a fit of gallantry, I entered a jeweller's shop, next day, and bought
a dozen or fifteen rings, with a view to distribute them, on my return,
among my young country women at Vévey, of whom there were now not less
than eight or ten, three families having met at that place. It may serve
to make the ladies of your family smile, when I add, that, though I was
aware of the difference between a European and an American foot and
hand,[38] every one of my rings, but three, had to be cut, in order to
be worn! It will show you how little one part of mankind know the other,
if I add, that I have often met with allusions in this quarter of the
world to the females of America, in which the writers have evidently
supposed them to be coarse and masculine! The country is deemed vulgar,
and by a very obvious association, it has been assumed that the women of
such a country must have the same physical peculiarities as the coarse
and vulgar here. How false this notion is, let the rings of Geneva
testify; for when I presented my offerings, I was almost laughed out of
countenance.
[Footnote 38: The southern parts of Europe form an exception.]
A wind called the _bise_ had been blowing for the last twenty-four
hours, and when we left Vévey the gale was so strong, that the
steam-boat had great difficulty in getting ahead. This is a north wind,
and it forces the water, at times, into the narrow pass at the head of
the lake, in a way to cause a rise of some two or three feet. We had
taken a large empty bark in tow, but by the time we reached Nyon, where
the lake widens suddenly, the boat pitched and struggled so hard, as to
render it advisable to cast off the tow, after which we did much better.
The poor fellow, as he fell off broadside to the sea, which made a fair
breach over him, and set a shred of sail, reminded me of a man who had
been fancying himself in luck, by tugging at the heels of a prosperous
friend, but who is unexpectedly cut adrift, when he is found
troublesome. I did not understand his philosophy, for, instead of
hauling in for the nearest anchorage, he kept away before it, and ran
down for Geneva, as straight as a bee that is humming towards its hive.
The lake gradually grew more tranquil as we proceeded north, and from
Lausanne to Vévey we actually had smooth water. I saw vessels becalmed,
or with baffling winds, under this shore, while the _bise_ was blowing
stiff, a few leagues farther down the lake. When I got home I was
surprised to hear that the family had been boating the previous evening,
and that there had scarcely been any wind during the day. This
difference was owing to the sheltered position of Vévey, of which the
fact may serve to give you a better notion than a more laboured
description.
The following morning was market-day, and I walked upon the promenade
early, to witness the arrival of the boats. There was not a breath of
wind, even to leeward, for the _bise_ had blown itself out of breath.
The bay of Naples, in a calm, scarcely presents a more picturesque view,
than the head of the lake did, on this occasion. I counted more than
fifty boats in sight; all steering towards Vévey, stealing along the
water, some crossing from Savoy, in converging lines, some coming down,
and others up the sheet, from different points on the Swiss side. The
great square was soon crowded, and I walked among the peasants to
observe their costumes and listen to their language. Neither, however,
was remarkable, all speaking French, and, at need, all I believe using a
_patois_, which does not vary essentially from that of Vaud. There was a
good deal of fruit, some of which was pretty good, though it did not
appear in the abundance we had been taught to expect. The grapes were
coming in, and they promised to be fine. Though it is still early for
them, we have them served at breakfast, regularly, for they are said to
be particularly healthful when eaten with the morning dew on them. We
try to believe ourselves the better for a regimen that is too agreeable
to be lightly dropped. Among other things in the market, I observed the
inner husks of Indian corn, that had been dried in a kiln or oven,
rubbed, and which were now offered for sale as the stuffing of beds. It
struck me that this was a great improvement on straw.
I had received a visit the day before from a principal inhabitant of
Vévey, with an invitation to breakfast, at his country-house, on the
heights. This gratuitous civility was not to be declined, though it was
our desire to be quiet, as we considered the residence at Vévey, a sort
of _villagiatura_, after Paris. Accordingly, I got into a _char_, and
climbed the mountain for a mile and a half, through beautiful pastures
and orchards, by narrow winding lanes, that, towards the end, got to be
of a very primitive character. Without this little excursion, I should
have formed no just idea of the variety in the environs of the place,
and should have lost a good deal of their beauty. I have told you that
this acclivity rises behind the town, for a distance exceeding a mile,
but I am now persuaded it would have been nearer the truth had I said a
league. The majesty of Swiss nature constantly deceives the eye, and it
requires great care and much experience to prevent falling into these
mistakes. The house I sought, stood on a little natural terrace, a speck
on the broad breast of the mountain, or what would be called a mountain,
were it not for the granite piles in its neighbourhood, and was
beautifully surrounded by woods, pastures, and orchards. We were above
the vine.
A small party, chiefly females, of good manners and great good sense,
were assembled, and our entertainment was very much what it ought to be,
simple, good, and without fuss. After I had been formally presented to
the rest of the company, a young man approached, and was introduced as a
countryman. It was a lieutenant of the navy, who had found his way up
from the Mediterranean squadron to this spot. It is so unusual to meet
Americans under such circumstances, that his presence was an agreeable
surprise. Our people abound in the taverns and public conveyances, but
it is quite rare that they are met in European society at all.
One of the guests to-day recounted an anecdote of Cambacérè's, which was
in keeping with a good banquet. He and the _arch-chancelier_ were
returning from a breakfast in the country, together, when he made a
remark on the unusual silence of his companion. The answer was, "_Je
digère_."
We walked through the grounds, which were prettily disposed, and had
several good look-outs. From one of the latter we got a commanding view
of all the adjacent district. This acclivity is neither a _côte_, as the
French call them, nor a hill-side, nor yet a mountain, but a region. Its
breadth is sufficiently great to contain hamlets, as you already know,
and, seen from this point, the town of Vévey came into the view, as a
mere particle. The head of the lake lay deep in the distance, and it was
only when the eye rose to the pinnacles of rock, hoary with glaciers
above, that one could at all conceive he was not already perched on a
magnificent Alp. The different guests pointed out their several
residences, which were visible at the distance of miles, perhaps, all
seated on the same verdant acclivity.
I descended on foot, the road being too precipitous in places to render
even a _char_ pleasant. On rejoining the domestic circle, we took boat
and pulled towards the little chateau-looking dwelling, on a narrow
verdant peninsula, which, as you may remember, had first caught my eye
on approaching Vévey, as the very spot that a hunter of the picturesque
would like for a temporary residence. The distance was about a mile,
and, the condition of the house excepted, a nearer view confirmed all
our first impressions. It had been a small chateau, and was called
Glayrole. It stands near the hamlet of St. Saphorin, which, both
François and Jean maintain, produces the best wines of Vaud, and, though
now reduced to the condition of a dilapidated farm-house, has still some
remains of its ancient state. There is a ceiling, in the Ritter Saal,
that can almost vie with that of the castle of Habsburg, though it is
less smoked. The road, more resembling the wheel-track of a lawn than a
highway, runs quite near the house on one side, while the blue and
limpid lake washes the foot of the little promontory.