Geneva, June 29th, 1830
Got here last night, and found twenty letters at least. I only think of getting home as fast as I can. Left the Simplon in torrents of rain, which lasted the whole day. The descent is uncommonly grand, wild, savage, and picturesque, the Swiss side the finest. All along the valley of the Rhone fine scenery; and yesterday, in the most delightful weather I ever saw, the drive from Martigny, along the lake and under the mountains, is as beautiful as possible. The approach to Geneva is gay, but Mont Blanc looks only very white, and not very tall, which is owing to the level from which he is seen. They tell me it has never ceased raining here, while on the other side of the Alps hardly a drop has fallen. Only three rainy days while I was in Italy—one at Venice, one at Rome, and a couple of halves elsewhere.
Evening.—Passed the whole day driving about Geneva, in Bautt’s shop, and at the Panorama of Switzerland. Dined with Newton, drove round the environs by Sécheron; a great appearance of wealth and comfort, much cultivation, no beggars, and none of the houses tumbling down and deserted. Altogether I like the appearance of the place, though in a great hurry to get away from it. We had a storm of thunder and lightning in the evening, which was neither violent nor long, but I had the pleasure of hearing
Jura answer from her misty shroud
Back to the joyous Alps, that call on her aloud.
Mont Blanc was hid in clouds all day, but the mountains owe me some grudge. Mont Blanc won’t show his snows, nor would Vesuvius his fires. It was dark when I crossed the Cenis, and raining when I descended the Simplon.