The same tiresome and tame style of country continued until we reached

Novara; where we dined and slept at _l'Albergo d'Italia_. The latter was

a horrible-looking place; my heart sank within me, as we drove into the

court, for if I was so bitten by the bugs, &c. at the superb albergo of

Turin, I naturally conceived I should have been quite devoured here!

This was a striking proof, however, of the truth of that moral axiom,

which tells us, "it is not good to judge of things at first sight," and

also that it is absurd to consider them on the dark side, since at this

same inn we found every comfort: the dinner was served in a cleanly

manner (the knives, forks, and spoons were really washed), and we

enjoyed a night of calm repose, undisturbed by vermin of any sort. The

gentlemen went in the evening to an Italian comedy, at the theatre here,

which was a neat building, entirely fitted up with private boxes and a

parterre, the scenery and costumes far above mediocrity, and the

orchestra very tolerable; but the length of the Italian dialogues, and

the unnatural bombast of the actor's delivery, soon fatigued their

attention and exhausted their patience, and they were glad to return

home to indulge unrestrained an overwhelming propensity to sleep. The

women at Novara were much better looking than any we had yet seen in

this country; the custom of gently parting the hair upon the forehead,

_à la Madonna_, finishing with a soft ringlet behind each ear, and the

longer tresses confined in an antique knot, gave an air of infinite

grace to the head and throat, and appeared to us to be in far better

taste than that of the French, which strains up the long hair to the

crown of the head, rendering the forehead quite bald, save at the

temples, where a lank straggling greasy curl always is left hanging down

upon the cheek, which has a formal and unbecoming effect. Apropos to

personal charm, I was assured before our departure from England (by an

amateur artist of high genius and feeling, and who had lived for years

in different parts of Italy), that we should find there a small number

of what are generally called "pretty women," in comparison with what we

had been used to see in our own country; but that when real Italian

beauty was occasionally encountered, it was of that decided and

exquisite nature, as to be infinitely superior to any which England's

daughters can boast. Even my slight experience has perfectly convinced

me of the truth of the remark. I am national enough to be sorry for it,

but it cannot be helped; we must submit to this mortification of our

vanity, and if we do it with a good grace, may probably find that

quality _plus belle encore que la beauté_ of power to captivate, where

regularity of feature has failed. The first stage of our journey the

next day did not afford us any relief from the insipidity of country of

which we had complained since leaving Turin. We saw here (as in most

parts of the continent) large tracts planted with corn, here called

_melliga_, and remarked a good deal of meadow land; but we did not once

taste cream either in Italy or France (except at Samer, and afterwards

at Quillacq's hotel at Calais, when we were treated with a few spoonfuls

in our tea of a rich sort of milk which boasted that name), nor was

Paris itself exempt from the want of it. This wearying sameness in the

landscape was at length agreeably broken by the prospect of a vast

common, where the purple heath-flower, with which it was entirely

covered, wet with dew, gleamed like an amethyst in the morning sun. Yet

even here, I missed the gay variety of the bright golden broom, which

invariably is found upon our commons at home--Home! the term always

makes my heart throb with pleasure and pride; I know not why, but at

that moment its idea rose in vivid strength before me, softened and

beautified by the colours with which memory never fails to adorn a

beloved object in absence. I felt (and my companions warmly participated

in my sentiments) that our dear little island had charms of a different

nature, but in no way inferior, to those even of this favoured land, so

celebrated, so enthusiastically vaunted, by the poet and the painter. I

felt (and what Englishwoman ought not to feel?) that I could truly

exclaim in apostrophizing my native country,

"Where'er I go, whatever realms I see,

My heart, untravell'd, fondly turns to thee."

And yet, reader, we were no _bigots_ in the cause, for we could discern

foreign excellence and deeply feel it, and we could perceive where

England's faults lay, could acknowledge those faults, and wish that they

were rectified; and this, I am sorry to say, is not always the case with

our countrymen, many of whom have listened to all commendations of other

nations, as if they were so many insults offered to our own. It seems

wonderful that such feelings should in these enlightened days exist

among persons who are not actually fools, nor of that class of society

in which a want of education necessarily induces ignorance and

prejudice; yet so it is, unfortunately, as it has more than once been my

lot to witness.

We now passed the river Tessin, by means of a bridge of boats. It was

much impaired in beauty and force, by the heat of the late season, but

we could easily imagine that in general its portion of both must be

extreme. Bonaparte had begun to build a fine and permanent bridge across

it, but fate intervened, and it is left unfinished, like his own

eventful history.

At Buffalore, the _douaniers_ were tiresome enough, according to

_custom_ (pardon the pun), but we conducted ourselves towards them with

great patience and civility, which (together with a little _silver_

eloquence) soon touched their stony hearts. Indeed it would have been

useless to have done otherwise, as I never yet heard of any body being

able to soften rocks with vinegar, except Hannibal; and I consider even

that instance to be apocryphal.

We arrived at the grand city of Milan early, and proceeded immediately

to visit the cathedral, that mighty _duomo_, of which Italy is so justly

proud. We were absolutely silent with admiration and wonder, upon first

seeing this stupendous work of art, and I really despair of doing it

justice in description; like many other things, it must be seen to be

fully comprehended and appreciated. St. Peter's at Rome is generally

accounted the superior miracle of genius; but I believe there are many

imaginations which have been more forcibly impressed with the effect of

this. In the first place, the _material_ claims pre-eminence, being

entirely of white marble, brought from the Lago Maggiore. It is of

gothic architecture, and was begun in the year 1386: the plan of the

choir and the two grand organs were given by the celebrated Pellegrini,

and the façade, which had remained for so many years unfinished, was

completed by Bonaparte, from the simple and superior designs of the

architect Amati. Various statues and bas reliefs, with other costly

ornaments in spotless marble, ornament the outside; and the interior has

no less than five naves, supported by one hundred and sixty superb

columns of the same magnificent material. Immediately beneath the dome

or cupola (which is by Brunellesco) is a subterranean chapel, where

sleeps the embalmed body of Saint Carlo Borromeo, (the Howard of his

age, and an ancient archbishop of Milan), enshrined in a coffin of the

purest rock crystal, inclosed in a tomb of solid silver, splendidly

embossed, and of enormous size and value. The pillars which support this

chapel are alternately of silver and of the most exquisite coloured

marble, highly polished. The wax tapers, which were lighted by the

guides, to enable us to thread the dark mazes of this magnificent

dungeon (for I can call it by no other name, debarred as it is from the

sweet air and light of heaven), cast a stream of gloomy radiance upon

our somewhat lengthened visages, and dimly illuminated the buried

treasures of the tomb. Never, surely, since the days of Aladdin, has

there existed so imposing a scene of sepulchral wealth and grandeur!

Having expressed a wish to see the saint (who I ought to mention has now

been dead for nearly three hundred years), the priest (first putting on

a sort of cloak of old point lace, and crossing himself with an air of

profound respect and reverence), assisted by the guide, began to set

some mechanical process at work; by means of which, as though by a

stroke of magic, the silver tomb appeared to sink into the earth, the

lid flew up as if to the roof of the chapel, and the body inclosed in

its transparent coffin was suddenly exhibited to our wondering gaze. It

was habited in a long robe of cloth of gold, fresh as if just from the

loom; on the head was a mitre of solid gold (presented by one of the

former kings of Spain), and by the lifeless side, as if just released

from the powerless hands which were crossed upon its breast, lay a

crosier, of massy chased gold, studded with jewels of extraordinary

richness and beauty; the price of which was scarcely to be reckoned, and

whose magnitude and lustre were wonderful! They sparkled brightly in the

rays of the taper, as if in mockery of the ghastly spectacle of

mortality which they were meant to honour and adorn. Nothing certainly

could well be imagined more alarmingly hideous than St. Carlo Borromeo;

and why the humiliating exhibition of his corporeal remains should thus

be produced to the eyes of the careless multitude, when the qualities of

his noble and benignant soul should alone be remembered and dwelt upon,

I cannot possibly conjecture. What a strange perversion of taste, and

what a ludicrous method of evincing gratitude and admiration! A very

brief account of the virtues of this good archbishop may not be

unwelcome to my readers. He was the head of the noble family of

Borromeo, and equally distinguished for his extraordinary benevolence

towards mankind, and his elevated sentiments of piety towards God. Not

satisfied with possessing the respect and homage of his fellow

creatures, he placed his happiness in soothing their griefs, relieving

their wants, and in gaining their warmest affections: he rather wished

to be considered as a father than a superior, and the superb head of the

clergy was merged in the benevolent friend of the people. His whole

fortune was devoted to their service, and during a year of famine he had

so completely exhausted his annual income in feeding others, that he

literally was left totally destitute either of food or ready money, one

evening when he returned to his episcopal residence, fatigued and

exhausted with the charitable labours of the day. This benign

enthusiasm, kindled in early life, never relaxed to the hour of his

dissolution, and he was after death canonized as a saint by the

universal consent of all ranks of persons, as might reasonably be

expected; and with far more justice than many of his calendared

brethren. I am afraid, nevertheless, that he does not quite come up to

the ideas of moral and religious perfection, entertained by a Faquir of

India, or a strict Calvinist of our country; for he certainly never

stuck any nails into his own sides, or planted the thorns of terror in

the agonised bosom of all, whose notions of duty happened not exactly to

agree with those he himself entertained. He persecuted, he despised, he

denounced no one; and he considered all mankind, whether protestant or

catholic, as equally entitled to his good will and benevolence!--To

return to the narrative of our individual proceedings, we retired from

the cathedral, with our imaginations rather disagreeably impressed by

the splendid yet disgusting spectacle we had there witnessed; and

instead of remaining at home all the evening, to brood over the idea of

coffins and crossbones, and to "dream of the night-mare, and wake in a

fright[7]," we were wicked enough to shake off our melancholy, by going

to the theatre of the Marionetti (or puppets), for which Milan is

famous. The scenery and figures (the latter of which were nearly four

feet in height) quite surprised us by their correct imitation of nature.

I assure the reader, that I have often seen actors of flesh and blood

far less animated, and much more wooden. We could now and then discern

the strings by which they were worked, and we found it easy to follow

the Italian dialogue, as the judicious speaker (concealed behind the

curtain), did not indulge in the rant or mouthing of high tragedy, but

gave every speech a natural degree of emphasis, and possessed in

addition, an articulation singularly clear and distinct. The orchestra

was capital, the selection of music extremely agreeable, and I never

heard a _tout ensemble_ better attended to, even at the Opera.

Milan is a large city, and has the convenience of excellent pavements

both for foot passengers and those in carriages. There are four

_trottoirs_ in each street, two of them in the middle of the road, which

is a great advantage to all the draught horses of the place, as it

considerably lessens and facilitates their exertions: I should not

wonder if this improvement had been suggested by the guardian spirit of

the amiable Borromeo, since we are told that "a righteous man is

merciful unto his beast." The _bourgeoises_ of Milan generally wear

black or white transparent veils, thrown carelessly over the hair, and

carry fans in the hand. Some have thin muslin mob caps with flat crowns

under the veil, but the use of a bonnet is quite unknown. Both the

peasantry and _bourgeoisie_ are generally well-looking, and we saw two

or three lovely women: one in particular, a true Madonna of Coreggio,

who if seen in a London circle, would, I am sure, have created an

immense sensation; we had no opportunity of judging whether she was

fully aware or not of her own extraordinary beauty, but taking the thing

in the most rational point of view, I should think it impossible that

she should be ignorant of the personal advantages so liberally bestowed

upon her. Nothing has ever appeared to me more sickening than the pretty

innocence some women (who have been highly favoured by nature) think it

amiable to affect. That it is genuine, no one will believe who is truly

acquainted with human nature and the customs of society; nor will any

female, who is not weak in intellect, or of very defective judgment,

condescend to adopt so paltry an artifice. A woman of _sense_ must know

when she is handsome, and she will also know how to enjoy this species

of superiority without abusing it. There is nothing, however, more

common than the mistaking ignorance for virtue, amongst persons of a

certain calibre of intellect, who yet at the same time pique themselves

upon a reputation for solidity.

The fruit sold in the markets here is in the most luxuriant profusion

that can be imagined. We saw grapes piled up in large wicker baskets,

like those used for holding linen; peaches in tubs and wheelbarrows, and

innumerable quantities of ripe figs. We had the pleasure of hearing

several ballad-singers of a very superior stamp to those of London or

Paris. This is giving them small praise; but I mean to say, that they

were really excellent, differing widely from some to whom we had

listened at Turin (who said they came from Rome), and whose harshness of

voice was unpleasant, although their style, and the music they selected,

was very good. But these people gratified us extremely: they sang a

buffo duet (accompanied by a violoncello, violin, and guitar), with full

as much spirit and correctness as either Signors N. or A. And we

afterwards heard a man (who came under our windows with his guitar)

execute one of Rossini's refined and difficult serious _arias_ in an

equally finished manner.

The next day we took a _caleche_, and drove to see many lions, amongst

others the _arena_ (i. e. amphitheatre), and the triumphal arch, begun,

but not finished, by Napoleon. It was at Milan that this wonderful man

was crowned king of Italy, in 1805; and the arch in question was

intended to be at once a monument of his fame, and a gate to the grand

road of the Simplon, which commences here. When finished, it must have

proved the admiration of posterity; even now it is very striking to the

imagination, and not the less so (in my opinion) for being left thus

awfully incomplete. The groups of figures, prepared as ornamental

friezes, lie piled together in a shed or outhouse hard by, scarcely

secured from the injuries of weather. Nothing can be more chastely

classical than their designs, and the figure of Napoleon, for ever

prominent among them, in the costume of the ancient Roman conquerors, is

a very correct personal likeness. A statue of him also is shewn here

(with some little affectation of mystery), as large, or larger, than the

life, and is equally marked as an accurate resemblance.

The amphitheatre (lately built by Coenonica) is highly magnificent,

and of immense proportions, chiefly appropriated to the celebration of

the _naumachia_, or naval tournament. We found the city full of English;

our attorney-general and Lord K., &c. were in the same hotel with

ourselves (_Albergo Reale_); and I should in justice mention, that the

master of this inn is one of the most attentive, civil, and obliging

persons in the world: I hope all our countrymen will patronise him. In

the evening we drove upon the promenade, which is a very fine one, and

situated in the best part of the city. We were much struck by the width

of the streets adjacent, and by the beauty and dignity of the buildings.

Here we met a crowd of equipages, of every denomination and description;

yet how mean did they all appear, in comparison with those which throng

Hyde Park! I am certain that any English chariot and horses (however

plain and unpretending) would have been gazed at, and followed here as a

miracle of elegance and beauty. At night we took a box at the Opera (_La

Scala_), which is universally allowed to be the largest and most superb

in Europe. It was built by Pierre Marini, in 1778, and did indeed amaze

us at the first _coup d'oeil_, as a stupendous miracle of art: but we

found the same want of brilliancy and cheerfulness as in all other

foreign theatres, and the performance (to say nothing of the performers)

was execrable. Many of the boxes were shut up; but, by the lights which

twinkled through the green latticed blinds, we perceived that persons

were in them; and once, upon this sullen screen being casually opened

for a few moments, we saw them playing at cards, and eating ices,

without the slightest idea of attending to what was passing upon the

stage. The latter refreshment is quite indispensable in this hot

climate, and it was brought to us in the course of the evening:

_Camporese_ was the _prima donna_ here; but we did not see her, as she

was unwell during the time of our stay at Milan. A Signora _Gioja_

appeared in her stead, who made us all triste enough by her tame and

stupid performance. The ballet was _ennuyant à la mort_: its strength

lay in its numbers, and the manner of grouping them; for as to the

dancing it was----in short, there was no such thing which properly

merited that name. The theatre is far too large for the purposes of

hearing (much less of enjoying) music; and there was such a stunning

echo, that the noise of the enormous band of musicians in the orchestra

was almost rendered insupportable to a delicate and refined ear. They

played also (to my indignant astonishment) so loud as to drown the

voices of the singers, instead of keeping the instruments under, and

subservient to them; which I had imagined was a rule so firmly

established, as to render all deviation impossible in a country which

boasts itself to be the _veritable_ land of harmony. In short, we

infinitely preferred the opera at Turin, and were completely

disappointed with _La Scala_. Indeed, I consider our own Opera in the

Haymarket (however fastidiously abused by _soi-disant connoisseurs_, and

although it appears like a nutshell in point of size, when compared with

this overgrown rival), to be indisputably superior in every real

advantage. The whole of Italy (as I afterwards learned from some good

judges at Geneva) is at present lamentably deficient in talent, both

vocal and instrumental; and whatever it affords of any celebrity is sure

to come over to England, where a richer harvest is to be reaped than can

be found in any other country. I mean not, however, ignorantly to deny

the superior excellence of the Italian school of music--superior (as all

real judges must allow) to ours or any other. It is the original parent

of excellence, the nursing mother of true genius. Whatever has charmed

us in the art has sprung from the principles it inculcates; and when,

even in the national melodies of Ireland and Scotland, I have heard a

finished singer enchant and touch the feelings of their enthusiastic

sons, I have been perfectly aware that what they have blindly insisted

upon as being preferable to the Italian school, has in reality been

formed upon its rules; and when I hear a contrary doctrine asserted, I

look upon it as nonsense, unworthy even the trouble of contradiction. I

only mean to say, that the present singers, performers, and composers of

Italy are anxious to transplant themselves to the fostering protection

of British taste and munificence.

We left Milan at an early hour the next morning, and found the country

beyond, both flat and ugly for some distance. We saw great quantities of

white mulberry trees (for the benefit of the silk-worms) in every

direction, and many poplars (being now in Lombardy). The leaf of the

latter we observed to be much larger than those in England: perhaps the

tree degenerates in some measure in our climate. The maple also springs

in abundance, and I suppose there must be a proportionate number of

nightingales in consequence, if the old saying is true, that these birds

love the maple better than any other tree. The postillion wore the usual

Austrian costume, common to his profession: it bore some resemblance to

that of an old English jester, being a yellow jacket with black worsted

lace, and a red waistcoat.

At Rho we passed by a church, called _Notre Dame des Miracles_; where

signs and wonders are believed to be displayed even in these

philosophical days. All the peasants and _bourgeoises_ wore beautiful

coral necklaces, brought from the Mediterranean, of the true light pink

colour, which is so expensive in England. The infants here were cramped

up in swaddling-clothes, and had no caps upon their heads; while the

want of hair, peculiar to their tender age, gave them the air of little

unfledged birds. But now the period approached when we were to

encounter a more serious and hair-breadth scape than any which had

occurred during our tour. Passing through the town of Gallarate, near

the foot of the Alps, we were stopped by a gentleman in an open

travelling carriage, whose rueful visage, scared air, and animated

gesticulations, awakened our most lively curiosity and attention. He was

a merchant of Neufchatel, and perceiving that we were proceeding upon

the same route which he had just passed, desired us most earnestly to

stop at Gallarate, and furnish ourselves with a couple of _gens

d'armes_, unless we wished to encounter the same fate from which he had

just escaped. He then went on to relate a most terrific account of his

having been robbed (he might have added, frightened) by three

horrible-looking banditti, masked, and armed with carabines, pistols,

and stilettos! They had forced his postillion to dismount, and throwing

him under the carriage, with his head beneath the wheel (to prevent his

offering any interruption to their plunder), proceeded to attack him;

and, finally, spared his life, only by his consenting to part with

every thing valuable in his possession. They not only took his watch and

all his money, but a chain of his wife's hair, which they discovered

around his neck; but their ill humour was great, and vehemently

expressed, upon finding this poor man's property a less considerable

booty than they had expected. All this had passed within a quarter of an

hour from the time at which we met him at Gallarate. Of course, we felt

ourselves much indebted for the warning; and as my courage had

completely sunk under the recital, and I found it (like that of Bob

Acres, in the Rivals) "oozing out at my fingers' ends," at every word

this gentleman spoke, my husband took compassion upon me, and

accordingly despatched messengers to summon the attendance of a couple

of well-mounted and completely armed Austrian soldiers, with long

moustaches, and fierce martial-looking countenances. These men

afterwards rode with us (one on each side the carriage) until we had

completely passed the borders, and had entered the king of Sardinia's

dominions; where we were assured of finding perfect safety. No event of

the kind had occurred for the last twelve months; but we were astonished

and indignant at the supine apathy of the police, who did not appear to

have the smallest intention of sending any soldiers after the robbers,

or of making exertions to secure them. These Austrian states have a bad

reputation, as we were told by our host at Lans le Bourg, and were

warned by him of the possibility of a similar adventure. Mr. W., who was

so good as to undertake to order the guards for me at Gallarate, found

that not a single person he encountered in the town understood French,

and he was obliged to be conducted to the schoolmaster (the only man

capable of conversing in the language), before he could make our wishes

comprehended and attended to. My husband remained in the carriage to

scold me into better spirits; for, I confess, I never remember to have

been more frightened in my life.

The country beyond this place began to improve in picturesque beauty;

the Alps (to which we had approached very close), and woody hills in

the distance, forming very imposing features in the landscape. Here we

were met by several English carriages, protected, as we were, by the

attendance of _gens d'armes_; which proved that fear had not been

confined to my bosom alone, and that other people felt the same

necessity of precaution: a black servant upon the box, grimly leaning

upon a monstrous sabre, formed an additional guard. We now entered an

irregular forest, where the postillion (who was the same person that had

driven Monsieur Bovet) shewed us the spot where the ruffians had issued

forth. It was a fine place for a romantic adventure of this sort; and

never did I feel so thankful as when I cast my eyes upon the spirited

horsemen, who continued to keep close by the side of our vehicle, giving

me now and then looks of mirthful encouragement: indeed they seemed to

consider the business as a party of pleasure, and we heard them laughing

more than once as they rode along.

At Sesto a mob gathered round the carriage, as it stopped at the

post-house; and I am not sure that they did not at first mistake us for

state prisoners. Our postillion was now truly a great man! the centre of

an open-mouthed, staring circle, wild with curiosity, to whom he held

forth at length upon the danger he had undergone. Here we crossed a

ferry over the river Tessin, which divides the dominions of Austria from

those of Sardinia. The richness and grace of the wooded banks, which

fringed this fine stream, delighted us; and the face of the whole

country gradually smiled and brightened, till it at last expanded into

the most glorious burst of exquisite loveliness that the imagination can

conceive: for now we first beheld the _Lago Maggiore_, embosomed in

romantic hills, with the superb Alps rising beyond them, and its shores

studded with innumerable hamlets, villas, and cottages. The declining

sun shed a warm colouring of inexpressible beauty upon the calm surface

of this celebrated lake, whose waters, smooth and glassy, pure and

tranquil, seemed indeed, in the words of Byron, to be a fit

"Mirror and a bath

"For Beauty's youngest daughters."

It was impossible not to kindle into enthusiasm as we gazed upon a scene

of such Armida-like fascination. Why should I attempt a description of

the Borromean Isles, the Isola Madre, Isola Bella, and other fairy-green

gems, which adorned the bosom of this queen of waters? They have been

already so celebrated by the pencil and the lyre, that my efforts would

be those of presumption. I find it quite too much even to relate the

effect they produced upon our minds; for no words can adequately express

our feelings of admiration and surprise!

We were now once more in Piedmont, and the road led us through the town

of Arona, built upon the shores of the lake, which is full forty miles

in length. We saw a picturesque figure of a peasant girl kneeling upon

the banks, and laving (like a young naiad) her long tresses in the

stream. There is a fine grey ruin of a castle upon the left, as you

enter Arona, and a chain of bold cliffs covered with vineyards, with

several cottages, peeping out from amid bowers of fragrance, near their

craggy summits. A refreshing breeze tempered the still ardent heat of

day: it seemed to rise upon us, in a gale of balmy softness, from the

water, whose placid waves are sometimes, however, ruffled into sudden

anger, by storms of wind from the surrounding Alps; and many unfortunate

accidents to boatmen, &c. arise in consequence. It would be difficult to

imagine any thing in nature more luxuriantly beautiful than the hanging

gardens belonging to the little villas in this neighbourhood; where

standard peach-trees, olives, filberts, grapes, figs, Turkey wheat,

orange blossoms, carnations, and all the tribe of vegetables, are

mingled together in rich confusion, and the vines trained upon low

trellises slope down to the water's edge; while, among the grass at the

feet of the taller trees, the pumpkin trails her golden globes and

flowers. We remarked several pretty faces, in a style neither wholly

Italian nor French, but which formed an agreeable and happy mixture of

both. The ever odious _goître_, nevertheless, sometimes obtruded its

horrid deformity among them; and it was an equal mortification to our

dreams of perfection to observe, that even in the little towns, built in

the very heart of all this sweetness and purity, the most disgusting

smells (indicative of innately filthy habits) perpetually issued forth,

poisoning every street, and mingling their pollutions with the fragrant

breath of the mountain gale. But now the fanciful crags on the opposite

side of the lake began to assume a purplish blue tint, deeply influenced

by, and half lost in, the shadow of lowering clouds, which (fast

gathering round their summits in dark and misty volumes) foreboded an

approaching storm. Bright and catching lights, however, still lingered

upon the bright sails of distant boats, and upon the no less white walls

of the little villages; which were built so close upon the shore as to

seem as if they sprung from the bosom of the waves.

We arrived at Feriola (inn _La Posta_), a small town, washed by the same

transparent waters, and sheltered by granite mountains (covered with a

mossy vegetation mixed with vineyards), which rose abruptly and

immediately above the walls of the house: here we passed the night; the

storm was just beginning, as we drove up to this welcome refuge: flashes

of red and forked lightning shot fiercely down from the Alpine heights,

and were quenched in the dark lake below; while peals of hollow thunder

reverberating from the adjacent caverns, increased the awful effect of

the whole. Torrents of rain soon followed, and lasted without

intermission for many hours. We slept well, our beds being free from

vermin, although of the humblest sort, without curtain or canopy, and

covered with quilts which were very like stable rugs. They had been

occupied before us, by dukes and duchesses; who, although not used to

more comforts than those which surround me in my own happy home, had

certainly reason to expect more stateliness of accommodation; necessity,

however, has no law, and I dare say they were as glad as I was to avail

themselves of clean sheets, and a substantial roof over head, after the

fatigues of travelling. The whole of this little inn was built of

granite, from the neighbouring quarries. We rose the next morning at

four, and as I drest by the yet imperfect light, which streamed into the

room through the lowly casement, I was interested in observing the

different appearances of nature, in the midst of such wild scenery, and

at so early an hour.

The dewy mists were slowly rising from the valley, which smiled in all

the fresh loveliness of morning, as they gradually rolled off, and

settled round the brows of the higher mountains like a shadowy veil. The

grass smelt strongly of thyme and balm, after the late rain, and seemed

to be eagerly relished by a flock of sheep, which two shepherdess

figures were leading up the winding path. This fair prospect did not

last long; a heavy rain re-commenced; and as we proceeded upon our

journey we could hardly see our route amid the mountains, from the dense

and heavy fog which obscured every object. All nature truly appeared to

be weeping; this is no merely poetical term, but the truth: there are

some things which cannot be adequately described in the common

expressions of prose, and this is one of them.

We passed Monte Rosa, which is fifteen thousand feet in height: a

beautiful little church hung upon its shelving side, built in a style

that gave it much the air of the Sybil's temple. In all parts of the

country through which we had gone, we observed numerous shrines of the

Virgin; but instead of a simple and appropriate statue, which good taste

might reasonably have hoped to find within, they were constantly

disgraced by a paltry gaudy painting, in distemper. The outside walls of

houses, also, were generally daubed in the same ridiculous manner, and

afforded us perpetual cause of exclamation against the _melange_ of real

and false taste, which Italy thus exhibits. We were sorry to have missed

seeing (near Arona, in our preceding day's journey) the celebrated

colossal statue of St. Carlo Borromeo in bronze; which, rearing its

proud height far above the surrounding woods, forms a very grand and

noble spectacle: a man (in speaking of its proportions to Mr. B.) told

him that the head alone held three persons, and that he himself had

stood within the cavity of the nose! I believe it is seventy feet from

the ground.

We passed over a bridge on the river Toscia, a graceful serpentine

stream, whose waters were of a milky hue, owing to the heavy rains. Here

we met a peasant, wearing a singular sort of cloak, made of long dry

silky rushes, admirably adapted to resist and throw off the wet; he

looked at a distance like a moving thatched hut, his hat forming the

chimney, and we afterwards saw several women and children in the same

costume. The common people also use a rude kind of umbrella of divers

gaudy colours, the frame and spokes being made of clumsy wood.

At Domo d'Ossola we stopped to take refreshment at _la Posta_, a most

comfortable and cleanly inn; every thing was sent up neatly, and really

tempted the fastidious traveller to "eat without fear:" a degree of

heroism which I confess I could not always command, not feeling sure

that I might not be poisoned by some of the dishes; although it would

have been by dirt, not arsenic. This is almost the last town in the

Sardinian dominions, for as soon as you have crossed the Simplon, you

enter Switzerland. This arduous task we now commenced, taking four

horses instead of the usual three. We ascended in a zigzag direction,

which seems to be the plan upon which all roads cut through very high

mountains are formed; the present much resembled those by which we had

descended Mont Cenis. Here we had the leisure and opportunity of

contemplating nature in her grandest forms! The wild fig-tree sprung

from the sides of the most profound ravines, overhanging gulfs from

which the affrighted eye recoiled; and at the base of the most

stupendous mountains lay valleys of inimitable verdure and luxuriance.

An Alpine foot bridge, like a slight dark line, crossed a rapid river

here, and was dimly discovered at intervals, amid the snowy foam of the

waves; there were also frequent waterfalls, pouring their sounding

floods from immense heights above us. At this spot, Mr. B. tied a

handkerchief over my eyes, for three or four minutes: I thought I heard

the noise of water in my ears, louder and more hollow than usual; when

he suddenly removed the handkerchief, and I beheld myself in the first

of those astonishing galleries of the Simplon, of which so much has

justly been said by all travellers. They were half cut, half blasted by

gunpowder, through the solid rock, and have the appearance of long

grottos, with rude windows, or rather chasms in the sides, to admit

light, and through which we discovered, with a shuddering sensation of

admiring wonder, the awful precipices and steeps around. It was

delightful to contemplate them while thus in a situation of perfect

security; a species of feeling analogous to that which I have sometimes

experienced, when comfortably housed beneath the domestic roof, during

the raving of a wintry storm! How different was the aspect of the

ancient road; the view of which, as it dangerously wound along the

opposite mountains, nearly blocked up by fallen masses of rock,

overgrown with tangled shrubs and weeds, and undefended by even the

slightest wall from the yawning abysses, which frowned horribly beneath,

really made my heart quake with terror! There are rude crosses by the

way side, erected here, at long intervals; sad monuments of the tragical

end of former unfortunate travellers. Nothing can be more terrific than

the showers of stony fragments from the overhanging rocks, which

frequently fall here during stormy weather; at particular seasons it is

certain destruction to attempt to pass. We observed the lower and more

level ground to be strewn so thickly with these formidable masses, that

it brought to my mind the ancient story of Jupiter's wars with the

giants; the place indeed truly resembled the state of a field of battle

after one of those mighty engagements.

[Illustration: _London, Published by I, Murray, 1819._

SCENE on the SIMPLON.]

The parish church of Trasqueras is an object of high astonishment; we

passed it, not without adding our individual tribute of wonder. It is

built upon the topmost verge of a barren mountain, at a frightful

height. Apparently no human power could have conveyed thither the

materials for its erection; we could only reconcile the existence of the

fact, by supposing that there must have been a quarry upon the spot.

The priest who does duty there, and the congregation whose zeal leads

them to scale the dreadful precipice to attend public worship, are in

some danger, I should think, of being canonized for martyrs! But to

speak more seriously, there is something infinitely impressive in the

idea of a little band of humble and obscure mortals thus meeting

together to worship the Creator in such a spot of wild and solitary

sublimity. These scenes most certainly tend to elevate the imagination,

and to fill the heart, with strong feelings of devotional adoration and

awful respect. It is not _only_ "those who go down to the great waters,"

who see "the wonders of the Lord!" We remarked a cottage here, in the

style of the most romantic hermitage, close to a raving flood, in the

frightful strait of Yselle. The living rock formed its roof, and the

sides were of flat uncemented stones; a rude door of pine wood shut in

its inhabitants, for inhabited it certainly must have been, as a little

pile of faggots for winter firing evidently evinced. Gold dust is

sometimes found in the beds of the surrounding torrents. There is no

end to the varieties of the Simplon: we sometimes crossed from one

mountain to another; then dived into the dark entrails of the rocks; now

wound along narrow valleys at their feet, and at last rose (by a gentle

ascent) to the proud summit of the loftiest glaciers, far above the

rolling clouds. In some places our eye rested with delight upon the rich

green of the chestnut and beech, in others all vegetation seemed wholly

to cease. The rhododendron (_note_ P.) flourishes here in perfection; it

grows where few other shrubs or plants are able to exist, braves the

severity of the keenest blasts of winter, and affords firing to those

cottagers who cannot easily procure other wood. Its blossoms are of a

lovely pink, and from this circumstance it is called the "rose of the

Alps." These regions are subject to perpetual avalanches; the top of

every stone post that marked the boundary of our road, at about three

yards distance one from the other, was in many places knocked off, by

the continual falling of masses from the rocks above, and now and then,

the whole of the posts had given way, as well as large fir-trees, which

commonly grow out of the shelving sides of the precipices. Just at the

entrance of one of the grand galleries, we crossed over a stone bridge,

hanging in mid air above a tremendous gulf; the river Doveria boiling

far below, fed by a cataract from the heights, near the source of which

we passed: so near, indeed, that its foaming spray seemed almost to dash

against the glass of our carriage windows. Bonaparte had established

here (as well as upon Mont Cenis), a sort of _tavernettes_, or houses of

relief for wayworn or distressed travellers. A few military now

occasionally inhabit them, and the appropriate word _refuge_ is

frequently inscribed over the doors. (_Note_ Q.) A piece of writing

paper inserted in the cleft of a stick, by the road-side, here attracted

our attention. We examined it, and found written thereon, _Viva

Napoleone_! Our postillions appeared delighted, and exclaimed in a

half-checked voice, _bravo_, _bravo_! Candidly speaking, one must be

indeed fastidious not to be forcibly struck with the various noble

works of that wonderful man. At all events we could not be surprised at

his still existing popularity in the north of Italy, a part of the world

where he has really done great good, and far less harm than any where

else; and in so short a space of time also--so young a man--from so

obscure an origin! It will not do to indulge in reflections upon what

might have been, or I could not refrain, I am afraid, from wishing that

(for the sake of the arts and sciences) he had known how to set bounds

to his ambition. This passage of the Simplon alone is sufficient to

immortalize his name, and as long as the mountains themselves exist, so

must the memory of Bonaparte. It is quite the eighth wonder of the

world. If he _is_ a fiend, he is not less than

"Arch-angel ruined!"

But I have done, lest those readers who have never crossed the Simplon,

or gazed upon the other numerous monuments of his grand genius, should

imagine that I am still (in the words of Pitt, as applied to Sheridan's

speech upon Warren Hastings), "Under the influence of the wand of the

Enchanter!"

Now I am on the subject of this stupendous passage of the Simplon, I am

fortunate enough to present my readers with an engraving made by a

friend, of a curious medal, struck in France, representing an immense

colossal figure, which some modern Dinocrates had suggested to Bonaparte

to have cut from the mountain of the Simplon, as a sort of Genius of the

Alps. This was to have been of such enormous size, that all passengers

should have passed between its legs and arms in zigzag directions: I do

not know whether any attention was ever given to the proposal, but that

the idea was not a new one, every schoolboy may learn, by looking into

Lemprière's Dictionary, where he will find that a still more

hyperbolical project was suggested to Alexander the Great, by one

Dinocrates, an architect, who wished to cut Mount Athos into a gigantic

figure of the monarch, that should hold a city in one hand, and a vast

bason of water in the other. Alexander's reply was a fine piece of

irony; "that he thought the idea magnificent, but he did not imagine the

neighbouring country sufficiently fertile to feed the inhabitants of the

said city."

[Illustration: _H Bankes del printed by B. Redman Lithog._]

We observed quantities of timber felled, and lying scattered about the

dark forests; they consisted of a species of larch fir, I believe,

straight, taper, and of a yellowish red.

At length we reached the village of the Simplon, where we dined and

slept. It is only three or four and thirty miles from Domo d'Ossola, yet

we were seven hours or more in accomplishing the distance, and had never

stopped by the way for more than ten minutes. It was a continual ascent,

but very gradual, and our inn here (_l'Etoile_) was four thousand five

hundred feet above the level of the sea. We found other travellers

before us assembled in the only sitting-room.--Lord F----, his tutor,

and another young gentleman: they appeared all to be sensible, well-bred

people, and we rejoiced that accident had not thrown us among less

agreeable companions. The next morning, we left our auberge, after

breakfast, with which we thought it prudent to fortify ourselves, on

account of the severity of the cold. All the rooms were obliged to be

heated by stoves, as it was (to all outward appearance and feeling) the

depth of winter, in its most rigid form; the day before, we had been

almost fainting with heat in the valleys, yet when we rose this morning,

the mountains around us were entirely covered with snow, which had

fallen during the night, accompanied by a rushing blast of wind and a

heavy rain. We were now truly in the "land of the mountain and the

flood," in the regions of mist and storm. I shuddered at the sight,

having been rendered miserable from want of sleep by the vermin, whose

unremitting attacks completely broke my rest, and made me less able to

encounter with proper _fortitude_ the fatigues of our still arduous

journey. I learned upon this tour to feel a great horror at the

expression of _soyez tranquille_, which deceitful words were constantly

used by every _fille de chambre_, when I inquired if there were any of

these disagreeable inhabitants in the beds, and I remarked that the more

vehemently this _soyez tranquille_ was uttered, the more certain was I

of being bit into a fever. We got into the carriage here in a gust of

keen wind, so strong and impetuous that I could not stand without

support. The women in these parts wear a black platter hat (sometimes

ornamented with gold ribands), and the men a russet-brown suit of

clothes with a scarlet waistcoat. A mixture of German and bad French is

spoken amongst them. We passed by (during the continuation of our

journey) the enormous glacier of ---- I know not exactly the proper name;

but it sounded like _Roschbahtn_ in the guttural pronunciation of the

postillion. Higher up, there was a gallery cut through the masses of

frozen snow, but it is only used as a foot-way for passengers during the

winter. We shortly afterwards saw the Hospice of the Simplon, built in a

comparatively sheltered spot; yet by its outward appearance (resembling

a sordid gloomy prison), I should think nothing but the last necessity

would induce travellers to seek for refreshment within its walls. Mass

had been performed there that morning, and we met several peasants

returning from it: all persons journeying this way are entertained here

gratis, but those whose circumstances can afford it are expected to make

some little present to the monks. We observed some dogs about the

entrance, which we concluded were those kept for the purpose of finding

benighted travellers. The colour of the rocks in those places which were

not covered with snow was singular, being of a light _aqua marine_,

occasioned by the lichens which grew upon them. Large eagles, formidable

from their strength and boldness, are frequently seen amidst these

dreary wastes. I was soon quite wearied by the bleak spectacle of such

wide desolation, my eyes ached with the dazzling brightness of the

snows, and I began sincerely to wish the passage over. The ascent and

descent altogether is forty-two miles; coming down from a height of

seven thousand feet, we could not see three yards before us, being

completely enveloped in a thick dense fog. It seemed like plunging into

a fearful gulf of vapours! Such a mist I never could have _imagined_.

The road now led us though tall forests of pine, darkly magnificent,

which grew upon the shelving sides of the precipitous descent. Upon the

jutting crags, we occasionally beheld the fearless goat, bounding about,

enjoying the sense of liberty, and snuffing the keen air of his native

mountains; a child or two, also, sometimes appeared in almost equally

dangerous situations, at the door of a wooden hut, called a _chalet_,

built of timber (of a reddish tint), and much in the form of an ark. A

little thinly scattered underwood of birch, &c. with coltsfoot twining

round the roots, now began to evince our approach to more hospitable

regions, and the sensation of piercing cold in some measure abated. The

sun made several felicitous attempts to struggle through the heavy and

obscuring clouds; and a prospect (of which we caught a transient glimpse

between two enormous rocks) seemed to open like an enchanted vision of

ineffable brightness and beauty. During this interval of a moment, we

beheld a narrow but fertile valley, a river, with hills of vivid green

rising beyond, bounded in the distant horizon by mountains of glowing

purple, and smiled upon by a summer sky of the clearest blue. Suddenly

it was brilliantly illuminated by a partial gleam of sun, and thus

discovered, (sparkling through a thin veil of still lingering mist) it

seemed to break upon us like a lovely dream. I could have fancied it

Voltaire's Eldorado, or the gay, unreal show of fairy land, seen by

Thomas the Rhymer, in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Border. Indeed sober

language has no words or terms to describe its singular effect. Apropos

to sobriety of language: Although there is nothing so wearing as

hyperbolical and exaggerated expressions, applied on common or

insignificant occasions, and although I consider them in that case to be

the resource of a weak capacity, which is incapable of judicious

restraint and discrimination, it is equally insupportable to hear the

real wonders and charms of nature or art spoken of with tame and

tasteless apathy. Those persons who have soul enough to feel and

appreciate them must either vent their just enthusiasm, in terms which

to common minds sound romantic and poetical, or else resolve to be

wholly silent. We reached the end of the Simplon, and changed our tired

horses at Brieg. We were now in Switzerland.

Nothing can be more suddenly and accurately marked than the difference

of feature, as well as costume, between the Italian and Swiss peasants,

(I more particularly allude to the women), and it would be impossible

for any person of the least observation to mistake one for the other.

The latter are frequently hale, clean, and fresh-looking, with cheerful

open countenances; but adieu to grace, to expression, to beauty! We left

all these perfections on the other side of the Alps. The children, too,

struck us (in general) as plain and uninteresting. We were not greatly

impressed by the entrance to the _Pays du Valais_, having already passed

through scenery of the same nature so much superior in Savoy and Italy;

but it is certainly romantic and pretty in some parts. How naturally one

falls into judging by comparison! Had it been possible to have

immediately entered the Valais upon leaving the monotonous plains of

France, we should have thought the former highly sublime and beautiful.

The barberry and elder flourish here in every hedge; also great

quantities of the wild clematis. The rocky banks are fringed with birch,

hazle, heath, and juniper, and between them is the deep rolling turgid

Rhone, skirted with tall reeds and willows.

The climate still continued to be chilly and disagreeable. Although it

was only the 8th of September, the weather rather resembled that during

the last days of November, or commencement of the next dreary month; and

in the midst of this picturesque and romantic scenery, I found my

imagination dwelling with great pertinacity and satisfaction upon the

charms of a blazing fire and a comfortable inn. I did my utmost to shake

off such vulgar and unsentimental ideas, but they would recur again and

again.

We here passed a fall of the Rhone, but were rather disappointed in its

force and magnitude. Our road lay through wild fir woods for a

considerable length of way, the snowy tops of the glaciers peeping above

them, forming quite a scene for the pencil of Salvator Rosa. We

journeyed on, almost in total silence, the little bells at the horses'

heads alone disturbing the breathless stillness of these solitary

glades, emerging from which, we now crossed a bridge upon the Rhone,

which here assumes a character of strength and grandeur, flowing with

rapidity, and emulating in its width an arm of the sea.

Night and her shadows drew near, and we began to wish for the comforts

of the friendly auberge; but, owing to continual delays of horses,

postillions, &c, we did not reach the town of Sierre until eight

o'clock, where we intended to have slept; but found upon our arrival

that no beds were to be had, and the place itself wore so forlorn,

dismal, and dirty an appearance, that we hardly regretted the

circumstance, and submitted with a good grace to the inevitable

necessity of pursuing our route even at that late hour. But ere this

could be accomplished we were obliged to wait (in the carriage) till

nine, for horses to carry us on; for there was at that time an immense

run upon the road. In this melancholy interval our lamps were lit, and

the moon arose; the latter (faintly glimmering amid dark rolling clouds)

feebly illuminated a road which led us by the side of a terrible

precipice, where part of the guardian wall was broken down. The pass was

accounted perilous on that account; but there was no possible remedy. I

had overheard my husband and Mr. W. talking of it at Sierre, and trying

whether it was not practicable to avoid it by securing any sort of

accommodation at the wretched auberge: this, however, being totally out

of the question, they did not acquaint me with the terrors of the road

by which we were in consequence obliged to pass ere we could attain

shelter for the night at the next habitable place: I felt their

kindness, and did not undeceive them as to my perfect information upon

the subject until we had safely reached the end of our day's journey;

but I was truly thankful and relieved when that happy goal appeared, in

the shape of the town of Sion, capital of the Valais. Lord F. and party

(having gone on first) had politely undertaken to order dinner for us at

the _Lion d'Or_, and to that house we accordingly drove up, half dead

with fatigue. Here another mortification awaited us; for so many English

had previously arrived, and filled the rooms, beds, &c, that

accommodation for us was impossible. We, therefore, went to an inferior

inn (called _Le Croix Blanc_), where we knocked the people up, and in

spite of their being forced from their beds to receive us, we found the

utmost celerity, civility, and comfort in every respect. The beds were

excellent (their linen furniture fresh washed, and looking inviting to

enter), the floors (oh! prodigy of cleanliness) were neatly swept, and

our refreshments cooked in a wonderfully short space of time, served

with cheerful readiness, and in a clean manner.

The next morning we opened our eyes upon a beautifully picturesque

landscape. A great delay, however, again took place with regard to

horses, as an English family had arrived during the night, and taken

away eight. They intended to have slept at _Le Croix Blanc_, as we had

done, but were fastidiously disgusted by the look of the inn. Unhappy

novices! they little knew what a paradise of comfort it afforded, when

compared with those which they would afterwards necessarily encounter,

and for the shelter of which they would soon learn to be thankful! The

waiter here was remarkably attentive, and appeared a truly simple,

good-tempered, artless creature. Mr. B. was so much satisfied with his

behaviour, that he increased the usual fee; for which small gratuity the

poor fellow thanked us again and again. We found our bills particularly

reasonable, and the host a most amusing and obliging person: he was one

of the richest _bourgeois_ in Sion, and quite a character. We asked him,

amongst other questions, "what was the chief manufacture of the place?"

and he replied, with a ridiculous shrug of the shoulders, "_Des

Enfans_." This man possessed a _vigne_ upon the mountains, and brought

us a present of a fine basket of grapes from thence, much lamenting that

we would not remain with him another day, as "he would then have put his

own particular horses into a little vehicle of the country, kept for his

use and that of his family, and would have had the pleasure of driving

us to see his vineyards, and also two hermitages, in the neighbourhood,

which were very curious."

Mr. B. was taken extremely unwell this morning, and had a terrible

attack of faint sickness, owing, as we then imagined, to having fasted

so many hours the day before; but we soon found that it was, in fact,

the beginning of a sort of ague and fever. (_Note_ E.)

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.