Thursday, April 9—Shelley and I journey towards Como. The weather is beautiful, and the country we pass through continued gardens. We arrive at Como about three, and after dinner go out on the lake, which is narrow, but very beautiful. The mountains come precipitously down to the lake, and are covered with chestnut woods. In the evening read an Italian translation of ‘ Pamela.’ Friday, April 10.—In the morning we go out on the lake to look for a house, with a person we are recommended to by Signor Marietta. We see a very nice house, but out of repair, with an excellent garden, “but full of serpents. On our return from the Villa Lanzi we leave our companion, and set out for the Tremezzina. Nothing can be more divine than the shores of this lovely lake. We go to look at the house of a M. Sommariva, and are joined by the master, who makes his apologies that he cannot accompany us in our search. We sleep at an inn here. Saturday, April 11.—We look at a house beautifully situated, but too small; and afterwards, crossing the lake, at another magnificent one, which we shall be very happy if we obtain. We then return to Como. Nothing can be more divine than the shores—partly bare, partly overgrown with laurels. We visit a fine waterfall and the Pliniana, The wind is against us, and the lake rather rough. We arrive at Como about five. Shelley has finished the ‘Life of Tasso,’. and reads Dante. Read ‘Pamela’. A thunderstorm. from Edward Dowden The Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley: In Two Volumes, Volume 2 Source: https://archive.org/details/lifeofpercybyssh0002edwa/page/195/mode/1up

Thomas Ender (1793 - 1875) Blick über den Comer See auf Bellaggio Aquarell undated Source https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Thomas_Ender_Blick_%C3%BCber_den_Comer_See_auf_Bellaggio.jpg

Romantic Landscapes (31.1)
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Mary Shelley records the visit at #LakeComo in her journal.

Mont Blanc was before us, but it was covered with cloud; its base, furrowed with dreadful gaps, was seen above. Pinnacles of snow intolerably bright, part of the chain connected with Mont Blanc, shone through the clouds at intervals on high. I never knew—I never imagined what mountains were before. The immensity of these aerial summits excited, when they suddenly burst upon the sight, a sentiment of extatic wonder, not unallied to madness. And remember this was all one scene, it all pressed home to our regard and our imagination. Though it embraced a vast extent of space, the snowy pyramids which shot into the bright blue sky seemed to overhang our path; the ravine, clothed with gigantic pines, and black with its depth below, so deep that the very roaring of the untameable Arve, which rolled through it, could not be heard above—all was as much our own, as if we had been the creators of such impressions in the minds of others as now occupied our own. Nature was the poet, whose harmony held our spirits more breathless than that of the divinest. Mary Shelley History of a Six Weeks' Tour (1807) Letter IV (to Thomas Love Peacock) Travelogue from 1816

J.M.W. Turner Mont Blanc from the bridge of St.Martin near Sallenches Watercolour, dated 1807 The Mont Blanc mountain appears dominating, but faint as a huge white pyramid in the center of the picture above a wide valley plain, in front of and blurring into a white blue sky. There is nearly no structure in this massive shape - only the dazzling white of the mountain. In the foreground a row of trees, buildings of village, and a small flock of sheep nestling in front of a low wall of stable or garden. On both sides of the valley, there is a rim of dark grey cliffs or green slopes. A road is meandering into the valley floor left of the center. The season seems to be late autumn or early spring.

Romantic Landscapes (12.5)
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Mary Shelley describes the Mont Blanc in her _History of a Six Weeks' Tour_ -

A 17th century landscape painting by Johannes Silberechts (1627 - 1703) showing 'Henley-on-Thames from the Wargrave Road, Oxfordshire' dated 1698. It shows the river Thames flowing through green smooth hills and fields or grass land, with sheafs or haystacks. In the foreground, the Wargrave Road with some traffic - a large hay wagon pulled by horses (it allows to fix summer or harvest time as the season depicted), a couple on horseback, and pedestrians. To the right of the road a tall dark tree, partly crippled that could be an oak. To the left down in the valley, the river flows around small green islands, there is a barrage and lock occupied by a boat with freight, some houses near the river that could belong to a mill and further boats. In the center background the small town of Henley - rows of bright houses with reddish tiled roofs and tall church steeple under a bright blue sky with some cheerful white-yellow clouds. Overall a peaceful atmosphere of human activity on a bright summer day in pre-industrial England.

The sun shone on the town of Henley upon Thames. The inhabitants meeting one another, exclaimed: “What enchanting weather! It has not rained these two days; and the moon does not change till Monday, we shall perhaps enjoy a whole week of sunshine!” Thus they congratulated themselves, and thus also I thought, as with the Eclogues of Virgil in my pocket, I walked out to enjoy one of the best gifts of heaven, a rainless, windless, cloudless day. The country around Henley is well calculated to attune to gentlest modulations the rapturous emotions to which the balmy, ambient air, gave birth in my heart. The Thames glides through grassy slopes, and its banks are sometimes shaded by beechwood, and sometimes open to the full glare of the sun. Near the spot towards which I wandered several beautiful islands are formed in the river, covered with willows, poplars, and elms. The trees of these islands unite their branches with those of the firm land, and form a green archway which numerous birds delight to frequent. I entered a park belonging to a noble mansion; the grass was fresh and green; it had been mown a short time before; and, springing up again, was softer than the velvet on which the Princess Badroulboudour walked to Aladdin’s palace. I sat down under a majestic oak by the river’s side; I drew out my book and began to read the Eclogue of Silenus. Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, from 'Recollections of Italy' in 'Tales and Stories' , first published in _London Magazine_ Vol.9 (January 1824)

Romantic Landscapes (14)
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Mary W. Shelley on fine weather and pleasurable times in England - in the Thames valley: 'better than the muddy Arno' or the 'ditches' of Venice.