[Illustration: GENEVA—RUE DE MONT BLANC.]
One can with both pleasure and profit spend a fortnight in Geneva. Its well-kept and luxurious hotels all front upon the quays, and from your windows there (as from the Grand Hotel in Stockholm) you look upon an ever-varying panorama—a charming combination of metropolitan and aquatic life. Boats come and go at frequent intervals, accompanied by the sound of music. The long perspectives of the different bridges, full of animated life, afford perpetual entertainment; while, in dull weather, the attractive shops, in some respects unrivaled in the whole of Europe, tempt you, beyond your power to resist, to purchase music-boxes or enameled jewelry. After all, one's greatest pleasure here is to embark upon the lake itself. This famous body of water forms a beautiful blue crescent, forty-five miles in length and eight in breadth. Tyndall declared that it had the purest natural water ever analyzed; Voltaire called it the "First of Lakes;" Alexander Dumas compared it to the Bay of Naples; while Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and Byron have given it boundless praise in their glowing verse. It has been estimated that should the lake henceforth receive no further increase, while having still the river Rhone for its outlet, it would require ten years to exhaust its volume. It might be likened, therefore, to a little inland sea. In fact, a pretty legend says that the ocean-deity, Neptune, came one day to see Lake Leman, and, enraptured with its fresh young beauty, gave to it, on departing, his likeness in miniature. Moreover, it has another charm—that of historical association. Its shores have been the residence of men of genius. Both history and poetry have adorned its banks with fadeless wreaths of love and fame. Each hill that rises softly from its waves is crowned with some distinguished memory. Byron has often floated on its surface; and here he wrote some portions of "Childe Harold," which will be treasured to the end of time.
[Illustration: LAUSANNE, ON LAKE GENEVA.]
The poet Shelley narrowly escaped drowning in its waters. At one point Madame de Staël lived in exile; another saw Voltaire for years maintaining here his intellectual court; while at Lausanne, upon the memorable night which he has well described, Gibbon concluded his immortal work, "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." But of all portions of Lake Leman, that which charms one most is the neighborhood of Montreux and Vevey, and the historic Castle of Chillon. A poet's inspiration has made this place familiar to the world. No English-speaking traveler, at least, can look upon these towers, rising from the waves, without recalling Byron's "Prisoner of Chillon," and reciting its well-known lines: