"I breathe freely in the neighbourhood of this lake; the
ground upon which I tread has been subdued from the earliest ages;
the principal objects which immediately strike my eye, bring to my
recollection scenes, in which man acted the hero and was the chief
object of interest. Not to look back to earlier times of battles
and sieges, here is the bust of Rousseau—here is a house with an
inscription denoting that the Genevan philosopher first drew breath
under its roof. A little out of the town is Ferney, the residence
of Voltaire; where that wonderful, though certainly in many
respects contemptible, character, received, like the hermits of
old, the visits of pilgrims, not only from his own nation, but from
the farthest boundaries of Europe. Here too is Bonnet's abode, and,
a few steps beyond, the house of that astonishing woman Madame de
Stael: perhaps the first of her sex, who has really proved its
often claimed equality with, the nobler man. We have before had
women who have written interesting novels and poems, in which their
tact at observing drawing-room characters has availed them; but
never since the days of Heloise have those faculties which are
peculiar to man, been developed as the possible inheritance of
woman. Though even here, as in the case of Heloise, our sex have
not been backward in alledging the existence of an Abeilard in the
person of M. Schlegel as the inspirer of her works. But to proceed:
upon the same side of the lake, Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, and
others mark, as it were, the stages for our progress; whilst upon
the other side there is one house, built by Diodati, the friend of
Milton, which has contained within its walls, for several months,
that poet whom we have so often read together, and who—if human
passions remain the same, and human feelings, like chords, on being
swept by nature's impulses shall vibrate as before—will be placed
by posterity in the first rank of our English Poets. You must have
heard, or the Third Canto of Childe Harold will have informed you,
that Lord Byron resided many months in this neighbourhood. I went
with some friends a few days ago, after having seen Ferney, to view
this mansion. I trod the floors with the same feelings of awe and
respect as we did, together, those of Shakespeare's dwelling at
Stratford. I sat down in a chair of the saloon, and satisfied
myself that I was resting on what he had made his constant seat. I
found a servant there who had lived with him; she, however, gave me
but little information. She pointed out his bed-chamber upon the
same level as the saloon and dining-room, and informed me that he
retired to rest at three, got up at two, and employed himself a
long time over his toilette; that he never went to sleep without a
pair of pistols and a dagger by his side, and that he never ate
animal food. He apparently spent some part of every day upon the
lake in an English boat. There is a balcony from the saloon which
looks upon the lake and the mountain Jura; and I imagine, that it
must have been hence, he contemplated the storm so magnificently
described in the Third Canto; for you have from here a most
extensive view of all the points he has therein depicted. I can
fancy him like the scathed pine, whilst all around was sunk to
repose, still waking to observe, what gave but a weak image of the
storms which had desolated his own breast.
The sky is changed!—and such a change; Oh, night!
And storm and darkness, ye are wond'rous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the lire thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night:—Most glorious night!
Thou wer't not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,—
A portion of the tempest and of me!
How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comet dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black,—and now the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young; earthquake's birth,
Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between
Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted
In haste, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted;
Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed—
Itself expired, but leaving; them an age
Of years all winter—war within themselves to wage.
Though I have been so unsuccessful in this town, I have been more fortunate in my enquiries elsewhere. There is a society three or four miles from Geneva, the centre of which is the Countess of Breuss, a Russian lady, well acquainted with the agrémens de la Société, and who has collected them round herself at her mansion. It was chiefly here, I find, that the gentleman who travelled with Lord Byron, as physician, sought for society. He used almost every day to cross the lake by himself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, and return after passing the evening with his friends, about eleven or twelve at night, often whilst the storms were raging in the circling summits of the mountains around. As he became intimate, from long acquaintance, with several of the families in this neighbourhood, I have gathered from their accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's character, which I will relate to you at some future opportunity. I must, however, free him from one imputation attached to him—of having in his house two sisters as the partakers of his revels. This is, like many other charges which have been brought against his lordship, entirely destitute of truth. His only companion was the physician I have already mentioned. The report originated from the following circumstance: Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelly, a gentleman well known for extravagance of doctrine, and for his daring, in their profession, even to sign himself with the title of ATHeos in the Album at Chamouny, having taken a house below, in which he resided with Miss M. W. Godwin and Miss Clermont, (the daughters of the celebrated Mr. Godwin) they were frequently visitors at Diodati, and were often seen upon the lake with his Lordship, which gave rise to the report, the truth of which is here positively denied.
[1] Since published under the title of "Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus."
The sky is changed!—and such a change; Oh, night!
And storm and darkness, ye are wond'rous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
Leaps the lire thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud,
Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!
And this is in the night:—Most glorious night!
Thou wer't not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,—
A portion of the tempest and of me!
How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comet dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black,—and now the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young; earthquake's birth,
Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between
Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted
In haste, whose mining depths so intervene,
That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted;
Tho' in their souls which thus each other thwarted,
Love was the very root of the fond rage
Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed—
Itself expired, but leaving; them an age
Of years all winter—war within themselves to wage.
Though I have been so unsuccessful in this town, I have been more fortunate in my enquiries elsewhere. There is a society three or four miles from Geneva, the centre of which is the Countess of Breuss, a Russian lady, well acquainted with the agrémens de la Société, and who has collected them round herself at her mansion. It was chiefly here, I find, that the gentleman who travelled with Lord Byron, as physician, sought for society. He used almost every day to cross the lake by himself, in one of their flat-bottomed boats, and return after passing the evening with his friends, about eleven or twelve at night, often whilst the storms were raging in the circling summits of the mountains around. As he became intimate, from long acquaintance, with several of the families in this neighbourhood, I have gathered from their accounts some excellent traits of his lordship's character, which I will relate to you at some future opportunity. I must, however, free him from one imputation attached to him—of having in his house two sisters as the partakers of his revels. This is, like many other charges which have been brought against his lordship, entirely destitute of truth. His only companion was the physician I have already mentioned. The report originated from the following circumstance: Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelly, a gentleman well known for extravagance of doctrine, and for his daring, in their profession, even to sign himself with the title of ATHeos in the Album at Chamouny, having taken a house below, in which he resided with Miss M. W. Godwin and Miss Clermont, (the daughters of the celebrated Mr. Godwin) they were frequently visitors at Diodati, and were often seen upon the lake with his Lordship, which gave rise to the report, the truth of which is here positively denied.
[1] Since published under the title of "Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus."