Mont Blanc Summary & Analysis
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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The Full Text of “Mont Blanc”

Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni

                                    I

1The everlasting universe of things

2Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

3Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—

4Now lending splendour, where from secret springs

5The source of human thought its tribute brings

6Of waters,—with a sound but half its own,

7Such as a feeble brook will oft assume,

8In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

9Where waterfalls around it leap for ever

10Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

11Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

                                     II

12Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—

13Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,

14Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail

15Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,

16Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down

17From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,

18Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame

19Of lightning through the tempest;—thou dost lie,

20Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,

21Children of elder time, in whose devotion

22The chainless winds still come and ever came

23To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging

24To hear—an old and solemn harmony;

25Thine earthly rainbows stretch'd across the sweep

26Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil

27Robes some unsculptur'd image; the strange sleep

28Which when the voices of the desert fail

29Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—

30Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion,

31A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;

32Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,

33Thou art the path of that unresting sound—

34Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee

35I seem as in a trance sublime and strange

36To muse on my own separate phantasy,

37My own, my human mind, which passively

38Now renders and receives fast influencings,

39Holding an unremitting interchange

40With the clear universe of things around;

41One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings

42Now float above thy darkness, and now rest

43Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,

44In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

45Seeking among the shadows that pass by

46Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,

47Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast

48From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

                                     III

49Some say that gleams of a remoter world

50Visit the soul in sleep,—that death is slumber,

51And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber

52Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;

53Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd

54The veil of life and death? or do I lie

55In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep

56Spread far around and inaccessibly

57Its circles? For the very spirit fails,

58Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep

59That vanishes among the viewless gales!

60Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,

61Mont Blanc appears,—still, snowy, and serene—

62Its subject mountains their unearthly forms

63Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between

64Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,

65Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread

66And wind among the accumulated steeps;

67A desert peopled by the storms alone,

68Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,

69And the wolf tracks her there—how hideously

70Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,

71Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven.—Is this the scene

72Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young

73Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea

74Of fire, envelop once this silent snow?

75None can reply—all seems eternal now.

76The wilderness has a mysterious tongue

77Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,

78So solemn, so serene, that man may be,

79But for such faith, with Nature reconcil'd;

80Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal

81Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood

82By all, but which the wise, and great, and good

83Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

                                     IV

84The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,

85Ocean, and all the living things that dwell

86Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,

87Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,

88The torpor of the year when feeble dreams

89Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep

90Holds every future leaf and flower;—the bound

91With which from that detested trance they leap;

92The works and ways of man, their death and birth,

93And that of him and all that his may be;

94All things that move and breathe with toil and sound

95Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.

96Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,

97Remote, serene, and inaccessible:

98And this, the naked countenance of earth,

99On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountains

100Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep

101Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,

102Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice

103Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power

104Have pil'd: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,

105A city of death, distinct with many a tower

106And wall impregnable of beaming ice.

107Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin

108Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky

109Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing

110Its destin'd path, or in the mangled soil

111Branchless and shatter'd stand; the rocks, drawn down

112From yon remotest waste, have overthrown

113The limits of the dead and living world,

114Never to be reclaim'd. The dwelling-place

115Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;

116Their food and their retreat for ever gone,

117So much of life and joy is lost. The race

118Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling

119Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream,

120And their place is not known. Below, vast caves

121Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,

122Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling

123Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,

124The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever

125Rolls its loud waters to the ocean-waves,

126Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.

                                     V

127Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:—the power is there,

128The still and solemn power of many sights,

129And many sounds, and much of life and death.

130In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,

131In the lone glare of day, the snows descend

132Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,

133Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,

134Or the star-beams dart through them:—Winds contend

135Silently there, and heap the snow with breath

136Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home

137The voiceless lightning in these solitudes

138Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods

139Over the snow. The secret strength of things

140Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome

141Of Heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!

142And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,

143If to the human mind's imaginings

144Silence and solitude were vacancy?

The Full Text of “Mont Blanc”

Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni

                                    I

1The everlasting universe of things

2Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,

3Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—

4Now lending splendour, where from secret springs

5The source of human thought its tribute brings

6Of waters,—with a sound but half its own,

7Such as a feeble brook will oft assume,

8In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,

9Where waterfalls around it leap for ever

10Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river

11Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

                                     II

12Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—

13Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,

14Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail

15Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,

16Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down

17From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,

18Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame

19Of lightning through the tempest;—thou dost lie,

20Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,

21Children of elder time, in whose devotion

22The chainless winds still come and ever came

23To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging

24To hear—an old and solemn harmony;

25Thine earthly rainbows stretch'd across the sweep

26Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil

27Robes some unsculptur'd image; the strange sleep

28Which when the voices of the desert fail

29Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—

30Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion,

31A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;

32Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,

33Thou art the path of that unresting sound—

34Dizzy Ravine! and when I gaze on thee

35I seem as in a trance sublime and strange

36To muse on my own separate phantasy,

37My own, my human mind, which passively

38Now renders and receives fast influencings,

39Holding an unremitting interchange

40With the clear universe of things around;

41One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings

42Now float above thy darkness, and now rest

43Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,

44In the still cave of the witch Poesy,

45Seeking among the shadows that pass by

46Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,

47Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast

48From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

                                     III

49Some say that gleams of a remoter world

50Visit the soul in sleep,—that death is slumber,

51And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber

52Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;

53Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd

54The veil of life and death? or do I lie

55In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep

56Spread far around and inaccessibly

57Its circles? For the very spirit fails,

58Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep

59That vanishes among the viewless gales!

60Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,

61Mont Blanc appears,—still, snowy, and serene—

62Its subject mountains their unearthly forms

63Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between

64Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,

65Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread

66And wind among the accumulated steeps;

67A desert peopled by the storms alone,

68Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,

69And the wolf tracks her there—how hideously

70Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,

71Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven.—Is this the scene

72Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young

73Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea

74Of fire, envelop once this silent snow?

75None can reply—all seems eternal now.

76The wilderness has a mysterious tongue

77Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,

78So solemn, so serene, that man may be,

79But for such faith, with Nature reconcil'd;

80Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal

81Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood

82By all, but which the wise, and great, and good

83Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

                                     IV

84The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,

85Ocean, and all the living things that dwell

86Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,

87Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,

88The torpor of the year when feeble dreams

89Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep

90Holds every future leaf and flower;—the bound

91With which from that detested trance they leap;

92The works and ways of man, their death and birth,

93And that of him and all that his may be;

94All things that move and breathe with toil and sound

95Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.

96Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,

97Remote, serene, and inaccessible:

98And this, the naked countenance of earth,

99On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountains

100Teach the adverting mind. The glaciers creep

101Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,

102Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice

103Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power

104Have pil'd: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,

105A city of death, distinct with many a tower

106And wall impregnable of beaming ice.

107Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin

108Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky

109Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing

110Its destin'd path, or in the mangled soil

111Branchless and shatter'd stand; the rocks, drawn down

112From yon remotest waste, have overthrown

113The limits of the dead and living world,

114Never to be reclaim'd. The dwelling-place

115Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;

116Their food and their retreat for ever gone,

117So much of life and joy is lost. The race

118Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling

119Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream,

120And their place is not known. Below, vast caves

121Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,

122Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling

123Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,

124The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever

125Rolls its loud waters to the ocean-waves,

126Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.

                                     V

127Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:—the power is there,

128The still and solemn power of many sights,

129And many sounds, and much of life and death.

130In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,

131In the lone glare of day, the snows descend

132Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,

133Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,

134Or the star-beams dart through them:—Winds contend

135Silently there, and heap the snow with breath

136Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home

137The voiceless lightning in these solitudes

138Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods

139Over the snow. The secret strength of things

140Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome

141Of Heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!

142And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,

143If to the human mind's imaginings

144Silence and solitude were vacancy?

  • “Mont Blanc” Introduction

    • English Romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley composed "Mont Blanc"—one of his most famous works—on an 1816 tour of the Alps with his wife, fellow writer Mary Shelley. Gazing up at the dizzying summit of Mont Blanc, Shelley is driven to thoughts of the sublimity of nature, the relationship of the human imagination to the world around it, and the awe-inspiring, unfathomable "Power" that drives existence onward. In part, these thoughts are a reaction against the earlier poets William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge, who saw nature as a loving teacher, a friend to humanity, and a manifestation of the divine. Shelley, by contrast, describes nature as a power past human understanding (and certainly outside and above any religious system). The poem first appeared in History of a Six Weeks' Tour (1817), a collaborative travel narrative to which both the Shelleys contributed.

  • “Mont Blanc” Summary

    • I

      All that exists eternally flows through the mind like a swift river. Sometimes it's dark—sometimes it glitters—sometimes it reflects shadows, and sometimes it reflects gleaming light. This is the place where, from hidden sources, human minds bring up their own contribution to the flood. The sounds of human thought are magnified by the sound of the larger river of existence, just as a little creek hidden away in the wilderness will sound louder when magnified by the rush of waterfalls, wind in the trees, and a great river that endlessly roars over rocks nearby.

      II

      You, oh deep, dark valley of the river Arve, sound just like that—you valley of many colors and many sounds, over whose trees, peaks, and caves the shadows and sunbeams course. This is an awe-inspiring place: here you can see Power himself, in the form of the Arve, descending from the icy valleys that encircle his secret throne. Power explodes through these mountains as lightning explodes through a storm. You, river, lie with the trees (your gigantic children) clustering around you—the children of days long ago, to whom the wandering winds pay tribute, relishing their scent and listening to the ancient, grand music of their swaying. The rainbows in this valley (brought down to earth) reach across the airy rush of the waterfall, which veils the wild and uncarved rock. When no voice can be heard here, a strange trance seems to envelop the whole scene in the silence of eternity. The caves of the valley echo back the sounds of the river—a loud, lonesome sound that can't be softened by any other. You, oh dizzyingly steep ravine, are full of that constant movement, and you create the channels that endless sound runs through. When I look at you, my imagination entrances me, and I start pondering my own mind, which involuntarily gives to and takes from the outside world around it in a constant exchange. My mind is a seething flock of winged thoughts, now hovering above the darkness, now resting in the one place where thoughts and the outside world are welcome and can meet: the silent cave of the witch Poetry. Watching the fleeting impressions that pass it by, my mind seeks some pale, faint, ghostly shadow of your reality, oh ravine. And when my thoughts return to my own body, you are still there!

      III

      Some people believe that we catch glimpses of a far-off world in our dreams—that death is only a sleep, and that its world is beyond the imagination of people who are "awake," alive. I look upward and wonder: has some mysterious, all-powerful force raised the veil between life and death? Or am I dreaming, seeing that grander world of sleep spreading out around me, further than I could ever reach? For my spirit can't handle what I see; it can only wander like a lonely cloud before the wind from mountain peak to mountain peak, vanishing in invisible winds. High above me, so high it seems to stab the endless sky, I see Mont Blanc: motionless, snow-capped, and calm. Around it, lesser mountains cluster in strange shapes of ice and rock. In between, broad valleys are full of frozen waters, unmeasurably deep and as blue as the sky overhead; these waters wander among the piled-up rocks. This abandoned place is only inhabited by storms, unless an eagle carries a lost hunter's bone here, trailed by a ravenous wolf. How ugly these craggy rocks are! They're crude, stark, high, horrid, scarred, cracked apart. Is this the place where the ancient demon of the earthquakes taught her children the art of destruction? Were these rocks the toys they played with? Or did this silent snow once crackle beneath a sea of fire? No one can tell me. Everything now looks as if it were always just this way. The wilderness speaks to us mysteriously, teaching us to feel awestruck uncertainty—or a kind of belief so muted, respectful, and quiet that it merely allows humanity to come to an acceptance of Nature on its own terms. You, great mountain, can teach us to reject fraudulent, destructive beliefs; not everyone can hear your voice, but those who are wise, great, and good can understand you, and share what you teach them, and feel deeply what you reveal to them.

      IV

      The fields, the lakes, the forests, the streams, the ocean, and every creature that lives inside the labyrinthine earth; the lighting, the rain, the earthquake, the blazing floods, the hurricanes; the sleepy time of year when all the plants seem to be locked up in sleep, dreaming vaguely or not at all; the sudden energy with which they spring alive from that hateful slumber; everything humanity does, people's lives and deaths, everything they make and everything they might make; everything that lives and breathes and works and makes a ruckus; all of these things are born, and then they die. They turn around, fall back, grow again. Power lives separately from all this: alone, imperturbable, untouchable. This is the lesson that Earth's naked face (which I gaze at now) teaches the mind that turns toward it. The glaciers inch across the landscape like snakes on the hunt, rolling slowly down from their far-off sources. At those distant sources, the Frost and the Sun (scorning humanity's meager powers) have built mighty mountains—cities of death, adorned with domes, pyramids, and towers, built with unbreachable walls of gleaming ice. But no, these aren't cities, but a flood of endless destruction that rolls down from the very edge of the sky. Huge trees fall in this flood's fated path, or stand half-ruined in the churned-up earth; the rocks that the flood throws down from this furthest-off wasteland have been flung beyond the limits of the world, never to be seen again. Everywhere that insects, animals, and birds live falls to the destructive flood, which claims their homes and their food for its own. So much of life and joy is lost. Humanity runs from this sight in terror, but even so, humanity's works and homes disappear like smoke beneath floods of rain, and no one knows where they were (or where they go). Beneath all this, humongous caves gleam in the reflected light of the waters that well up from secret sources far beneath the earth, meet here in this valley, and become a single vast River—the bloodstream, the breath of faraway places—which eternally rushes toward the ocean and exhales its mists to the churning air.

      V

      Mont Blanc still shines above me. Its ancient power is there: the silent, grand power that has overseen endless sights and sounds, and aeons of life and death. In the quiet of dark nights, in the lonely blaze of daylight, the snows fall on the mountain's slopes. No one sees them, whether they're illuminated by the sunset or pierced through by starlight. Winds battle there without making a sound, forcing the snow into drifts, always silently! The silent lightning makes its home in these lonely places, hovering over the snow like a mist. The unknowable power behind reality—which rules over human thought, and which governs even the endless heavens—lives in you, Mont Blanc! And what would you, and the earth, and the stars, and the sea be, if silence and loneliness struck the human mind as nothingness?

  • “Mont Blanc” Themes

    • Theme The Eternal and Impersonal Power of the Universe

      The Eternal and Impersonal Power of the Universe

      Gazing up at the distant peak of Mont Blanc, Percy Shelley has a moment of insight. The mountain—so very high, forbidding, and eternal-seeming—strikes him as the very image of the mysterious force that made the mountain (and everything else around it). Everything that exists, in Shelley's view, is made and unmade by a vast, impersonal, unknowable "Power." To call this power a God would only be a "code[] of fraud," in Shelley's view: the power that drives the universe is beyond any human system of religious understanding.

      Paradoxically, Mont Blanc stands as both a symbol of this power and a subject to it:

      • As symbol of an eternal power, Mont Blanc, to the tiny little poet at its foot, looks like a vision from another world. It appears so tall that it can "pierc[e] the infinite sky," and its ice is "blue as the overhanging heavxen": in other words, it reflects the infinity of space in its hugeness. "Still, snowy, and serene," it also seems eternal and changeless.
      • But at the same time, Shelley knows that even the vastest mountain isn't eternal! Once upon a time, he's aware, a "sea / of fire" might have bubbled where Mont Blanc now stands. Mountains grow and wear away just like any other thing on earth.

      Everything that exists, then, is subject to an endless cycle of life and death, "revolv[ing], subsid[ing], and swell[ing]" in turn. But whatever makes this happen is a "Power" that "dwells apart in its tranquility"—an unmoved mover, to borrow Aristotle's term.

      Other writers, Aristotle included, have interpreted this "Power" as God. (So did the elder Romantic poets Wordsworth and Coleridge, whose Christian responses to nature Shelley reacts against here.) But to Shelley, there's nothing loving or personal in the workings of Power. Power's only voice is an awesome silence that teaches humanity an "awful" (or awe-inspiring) "doubt."

    • Theme Perception, Reality, and Imagination

      Perception, Reality, and Imagination

      Gazing at the awesome, forbidding landscape around him in the "Ravine of Arve" (the Alpine valley carved out by the Arve River), Shelley doesn't precisely feel as if he's a separate consciousness looking at something external. Rather, he feels as if his "human mind" is like a little brook, a tributary to the vast river of the "everlasting universe of things" (existence itself). Flowing into the metaphorical river of reality, the mind alters reality and is altered by it in turn.

      Throughout the poem, Shelley makes this point by switching rapidly back and forth between literal and metaphorical images of the "Vale of Chamouni." For instance, he begins the poem with the metaphorical idea of the "everlasting universe of things" as a river and "human thought" as its "tribute," its smaller tributary. He then reveals that he found this metaphor while gazing at the very real Arve. "When I gaze on thee," he tells the river valley in an apostrophe, "I seem [...] / to muse on my own separate phantasy." In other words, when he looks at the river, he feels like he's looking at his own imagination.

      The human mind, in Shelley's vision, is forever involved in an "unremitting interchange" with the world around it. And "interchange" is really the right word: an imaginative perception of the world changes what one sees, and what one sees changes one's mind.

      It's through this imaginative give-and-take with the world, Shelley concludes, that people find wisdom and understanding—and the world develops meaning. Without "the human mind's imaginings," the "silence and solitude" that Shelley perceives on the slopes of Mont Blanc would be a mere "vacancy." With the human mind's imaginings, nature becomes an awe-inspiring voice for a power beyond the imagination.

    • Theme The Sublimity of Nature

      The Sublimity of Nature

      Through its sheer scale and grandeur, Mont Blanc makes Shelley feel as if he's dissolving into nothing. His "very spirit fails" as he looks up at the mountain's slopes: it's just so very huge, so very imposing, that it makes him feel that he's no more than a frail little "homeless cloud" who will soon dissolve into the wind.

      Shelley's experience in the face of Mont Blanc is a classic example of the sublime: an encounter with something so grand, mighty, and beautiful that it becomes awe-inspiring, terrifying, and even annihilating. While many writers and philosophers had observed this phenomenon before the Romantic era, Romantic poets like Shelley really took the concept to heart, finding particular sublimity in their encounters with the natural world.

      Shelley's sublime mountain has a particular kind of wisdom to offer him. Reminded of his own fragile mortality by Mont Blanc's imposing greatness, he's also led to reflect that even the mountain itself only "seems eternal." If Shelley will die and dissolve, well, so will the mountain: once upon a time, a "sea / of fire" might have burbled where the peak now stands, and there's no knowing what will come after the mountain.

      Paradoxically, then, Shelley's sublime mountain is a reminder only of the even greater power of nature itself, with its endless and merciless cycle of birth, growth, and death. The implacable workings of this process might also tend to make a person feel like little more than "smoke before the tempest's stream" (that is, smoke melting away into a storm).

      For Shelley, sublime natural wonders like Mont Blanc thus point the way toward an awe-inspiring and terrifying insight into the impermanence of "all things that move and breathe," and indeed all parts of the "everlasting universe of things."

    • Theme The Powers and Limits of Poetry

      The Powers and Limits of Poetry

      Contemplating Mont Blanc and the "Ravine of Arve" with an "adverting mind" (an attentive mind, that is), Shelley discovers powerful insights into the nature of the universe. But such insights are "not understood / By all," Shelley feels. They need a translator. It's only the "wise, and great, and good" who can "interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel" the message of the "great Mountain." And as a poet, Shelley certainly counts himself among the number of these interpreters. One of the roles of poetry, in "Mont Blanc," is to capture and translate as many fragments of the world's wisdom as possible.

      However, that goal is always at least a little bit stymied. When Shelley gazes in a "trance sublime and strange" on the Arve River, for instance, he feels as if his thoughts have flown away to the "still cave of the witch Poesy," an eerie personification of poetry that suggests the art form's power. But even when they're in the very den of poetry, Shelley's thoughts can only grasp at "ghosts of all things that are," hoping to capture "some phantom, some faint image" of the vast reality they observe.

      Poetry, this image suggests, is a way of trying to pin down something fleeting, bringing "shadows that pass by" into a "still" and magical place. But that effort is always going to be thwarted a little bit: poetry can't completely capture even the "ghosts of all things that are." There's an unbridgeable distance between poetry and reality. (Shelley brings that point home with copious allusions to—and borrowings from—Coleridge's "Kubla Khan," a great and famous meditation on the inherently fragmentary nature of poetry.)

      But then, poetry's distance from reality itself expresses something complete and truthful about the nature of the world. The "everlasting universe of things / Flows through the mind" of the poet, and part of what it reveals is that the great power that moves the world is forever beyond any mortal's comprehension. Poetry's inability to capture everything it sees, paradoxically enough, is one of the ways in which it speaks most truthfully.

  • Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “Mont Blanc”

    • Lines 1-6

      The everlasting universe of things
      Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,
      Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
      Now lending splendour, where from secret springs
      The source of human thought its tribute brings
      Of waters,

      The first lines of "Mont Blanc" fling readers straight into the depths of a metaphor. Shelley kicks the poem off by declaring that the "everlasting universe of things / Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves" like a great river.

      That's a demanding idea. The words "the everlasting universe of things" seem to mean—well, everything, all reality. "Things" is an awfully general word; perhaps, coming after the grandeur of the "everlasting universe," it even feels like a strikingly simple or vague word. But through its very simplicity, it can encompass all that is.

      This vast and eternal "universe of things," Shelley continues, "flows through the mind." Again, there's a sense of a unifying broadness here. The universe of things doesn't flow through the speaker's mind, or through any one person's mind. It flows through "the mind"—through the general mind of humanity.

      Shelley thus depicts the whole universe as something that's on the move through the human consciousness. People, in this vision, aren't enclosed in their heads, looking out at the reality around them. Rather, the universe courses through them.

      And as the river-universe "rolls its rapid waves," it changes:

      Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
      Now lending splendour, [...]

      The quick anaphora on the word "now" here suggests just how swiftly the "everlasting universe" changes character as it moves through the mind. So does the imagery, which alternates between dark and light, glitter and gloom, as fast as one can say "now." This is a vision of an everlasting universe that is also, paradoxically, endlessly changing and changeable.

      And part of what makes the universe change so fast is the fact that it "flows through the mind." For the "source of human thought" brings its own "tribute [...] of waters" to the great river of being. The mind bubbles up from "secret springs": in other words, it comes from who knows where. But it joins in with the broader current, forming part of it, a "tribute"—a word that here might suggest both a tributary (a smaller river that flows into a bigger one) and an honor or a gift.

      The mind, then, flows into the universe even as the universe flows into the mind. And the two seem to change each other. For the universe sometimes "reflect[s] gloom" and sometimes "lend[s] splendour" to the mind—words that might suggest a mind's emotional perception of what's around it as much as they describe the play of dark and light.

      In the complexities of these first few lines, Shelley sets up a philosophical thesis statement for this poem. "Mont Blanc" will (eventually) describe Shelley's experience of the titular mountain, the highest peak in the Alps. But it will begin by describing the effect that this experience had on Shelley's ideas about perception, about the way that people see and interact with the universe. The big idea, here at the start, is that people don't sit on little islands of consciousness peering out at an external world around them. Rather, their minds are part of a massive, eternal, ever-moving reality. Thought and imagination, to Shelley, aren't separate from "things."

    • Lines 6-11

      —with a sound but half its own,
      Such as a feeble brook will oft assume,
      In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
      Where waterfalls around it leap for ever
      Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
      Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.

    • Lines 12-19

      Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine—
      Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale,
      Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail
      Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene,
      Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down
      From the ice gulphs that gird his secret throne,
      Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame
      Of lightning through the tempest;

    • Lines 19-27

      —thou dost lie,
      Thy giant brood of pines around thee clinging,
      Children of elder time, in whose devotion
      The chainless winds still come and ever came
      To drink their odours, and their mighty swinging
      To hear—an old and solemn harmony;
      Thine earthly rainbows stretch'd across the sweep
      Of the aethereal waterfall, whose veil
      Robes some unsculptur'd image;

    • Lines 27-34

      the strange sleep
      Which when the voices of the desert fail
      Wraps all in its own deep eternity;—
      Thy caverns echoing to the Arve's commotion,
      A loud, lone sound no other sound can tame;
      Thou art pervaded with that ceaseless motion,
      Thou art the path of that unresting sound—
      Dizzy Ravine!

    • Lines 34-40

      and when I gaze on thee
      I seem as in a trance sublime and strange
      To muse on my own separate phantasy,
      My own, my human mind, which passively
      Now renders and receives fast influencings,
      Holding an unremitting interchange
      With the clear universe of things around;

    • Lines 41-48

      One legion of wild thoughts, whose wandering wings
      Now float above thy darkness, and now rest
      Where that or thou art no unbidden guest,
      In the still cave of the witch Poesy,
      Seeking among the shadows that pass by
      Ghosts of all things that are, some shade of thee,
      Some phantom, some faint image; till the breast
      From which they fled recalls them, thou art there!

    • Lines 49-59

      Some say that gleams of a remoter world
      Visit the soul in sleep,—that death is slumber,
      And that its shapes the busy thoughts outnumber
      Of those who wake and live.—I look on high;
      Has some unknown omnipotence unfurl'd
      The veil of life and death? or do I lie
      In dream, and does the mightier world of sleep
      Spread far around and inaccessibly
      Its circles? For the very spirit fails,
      Driven like a homeless cloud from steep to steep
      That vanishes among the viewless gales!

    • Lines 60-66

      Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
      Mont Blanc appears,—still, snowy, and serene—
      Its subject mountains their unearthly forms
      Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between
      Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,
      Blue as the overhanging heaven, that spread
      And wind among the accumulated steeps;

    • Lines 67-75

      A desert peopled by the storms alone,
      Save when the eagle brings some hunter's bone,
      And the wolf tracks her there—how hideously
      Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,
      Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven.—Is this the scene
      Where the old Earthquake-daemon taught her young
      Ruin? Were these their toys? or did a sea
      Of fire, envelop once this silent snow?
      None can reply—all seems eternal now.

    • Lines 76-83

      The wilderness has a mysterious tongue
      Which teaches awful doubt, or faith so mild,
      So solemn, so serene, that man may be,
      But for such faith, with Nature reconcil'd;
      Thou hast a voice, great Mountain, to repeal
      Large codes of fraud and woe; not understood
      By all, but which the wise, and great, and good
      Interpret, or make felt, or deeply feel.

    • Lines 84-95

      The fields, the lakes, the forests, and the streams,
      Ocean, and all the living things that dwell
      Within the daedal earth; lightning, and rain,
      Earthquake, and fiery flood, and hurricane,
      The torpor of the year when feeble dreams
      Visit the hidden buds, or dreamless sleep
      Holds every future leaf and flower;—the bound
      With which from that detested trance they leap;
      The works and ways of man, their death and birth,
      And that of him and all that his may be;
      All things that move and breathe with toil and sound
      Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.

    • Lines 96-100

      Power dwells apart in its tranquillity,
      Remote, serene, and inaccessible:
      And 
      this
      , the naked countenance of earth,
      On which I gaze, even these primaeval mountains
      Teach the adverting mind.

    • Lines 100-106

      The glaciers creep
      Like snakes that watch their prey, from their far fountains,
      Slow rolling on; there, many a precipice
      Frost and the Sun in scorn of mortal power
      Have pil'd: dome, pyramid, and pinnacle,
      A city of death, distinct with many a tower
      And wall impregnable of beaming ice.

    • Lines 107-117

      Yet not a city, but a flood of ruin
      Is there, that from the boundaries of the sky
      Rolls its perpetual stream; vast pines are strewing
      Its destin'd path, or in the mangled soil
      Branchless and shatter'd stand; the rocks, drawn down
      From yon remotest waste, have overthrown
      The limits of the dead and living world,
      Never to be reclaim'd. The dwelling-place
      Of insects, beasts, and birds, becomes its spoil;
      Their food and their retreat for ever gone,
      So much of life and joy is lost.

    • Lines 117-120

      The race
      Of man flies far in dread; his work and dwelling
      Vanish, like smoke before the tempest's stream,
      And their place is not known.

    • Lines 120-126

      Below, vast caves
      Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,
      Which from those secret chasms in tumult welling
      Meet in the vale, and one majestic River,
      The breath and blood of distant lands, for ever
      Rolls its loud waters to the ocean-waves,
      Breathes its swift vapours to the circling air.

    • Lines 127-134

      Mont Blanc yet gleams on high:—the power is there,
      The still and solemn power of many sights,
      And many sounds, and much of life and death.
      In the calm darkness of the moonless nights,
      In the lone glare of day, the snows descend
      Upon that Mountain; none beholds them there,
      Nor when the flakes burn in the sinking sun,
      Or the star-beams dart through them:

    • Lines 134-139

      —Winds contend
      Silently there, and heap the snow with breath
      Rapid and strong, but silently! Its home
      The voiceless lightning in these solitudes
      Keeps innocently, and like vapour broods
      Over the snow.

    • Lines 139-144

      The secret strength of things
      Which governs thought, and to the infinite dome
      Of Heaven is as a law, inhabits thee!
      And what were thou, and earth, and stars, and sea,
      If to the human mind's imaginings
      Silence and solitude were vacancy?

  • “Mont Blanc” Symbols

    • Symbol The Vale of Chamouni

      The Vale of Chamouni

      The Alpine valley of Chamouni (now "Chamonix") in which Shelley stands—especially the Arve river running through it and the peak of Mont Blanc looming above it—symbolizes the mighty and mysterious "Power" that moves everything that exists.

      Shelley uses both river and mountain to serve this symbolic purpose in order to capture something paradoxical about this capital-p Power. Like the river, Power is ever-moving and ever-changing, an endless flow of creation and destruction. And like the mountain, it's overwhelmingly vast and eternal.

      However, Shelley is also careful to observe that the Power he sees reflected in nature is actually something apart from and beyond nature. Even Mont Blanc itself will eventually be eaten up by the movement of this infinite force.

  • “Mont Blanc” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

    • Imagery

      Shelley's experience of Mont Blanc is one of complete sensory overwhelm. Through his imagery, the poet attempts to communicate "some phantom" of the sublimity he experiences—though he's forever aware that he can only capture the faintest impression of the real thing.

      When Shelley turns to gaze at the mountain that looms above the "Vale of Chamouni," his imagery begins to suggest that he can barely fit the sight into his mind, let alone onto the page:

      Far, far above, piercing the infinite sky,
      Mont Blanc appears,—still, snowy, and serene—

      Its subject mountains their unearthly forms
      Pile around it, ice and rock; broad vales between
      Of frozen floods, unfathomable deeps,
      Blue as the overhanging heaven
      , that spread
      And wind among the accumulated steeps;

      The imagery here insistently connects the mountain to the skies above them. Besides "piercing the infinite sky," Mont Blanc has ravines and valleys full of glacier ice "blue as the overhanging heaven." What Shelley is seeing here on Earth feels a lot like a reflection of infinite space. "Still, snowy, and serene," the mountain presents a vision of an eternity that doesn't offer any answers or messages: just its vast, grand, overwhelming self.

      Some of the poem's most striking imagery doesn't exactly describe the landscape itself. Rather, it gives body to a metaphor. In the first stanza, Shelley describes the "everlasting universe of things" (external reality, that is) as a great river that moves in "rapid waves":

      Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—
      Now lending splendour [...]

      The image here is of the interplay of darkness and light over water. And "interplay" is really the right word. Darkness and light alternate here: first "dark," then "glittering," then "gloom[y]," then "splend[id]." The nature of this river, the imagery suggests, is one of constant change and contrast.

      Shelley then leaps from the metaphorical river to a real one: the Arve, the river that has carved out the alpine "Ravine" in which the speaker stands. It is this "dark, deep Ravine," readers begin to understand, that has inspired the speaker's understanding of reality-as-river. The imagery that Shelley uses to describe the literal river valley chimes with the imagery of the metaphorical river. "Many-colour'd" and "many-voiced," the valley is as changeable as the "everlasting universe of things." And like the metaphorical river, which glitters and is dark, the valley's light changes constantly under "fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams."

      Later, Shelley uses a similar image of flowing change in his description of all living creatures:

      All things that move and breathe with toil and sound
      Are born and die; revolve, subside, and swell.

      This vision of life on the move suggests a displacement in time. It makes an intuitive sense to say that living things are "born and die." But when Shelley describes their movement, they first "subside" (fall back or fade away), then "swell"; shrinking and growth seem to swap places here. Once again, the speaker sounds dizzied, overcome by the thought of life's strange and perpetual activity.

      Overwhelmed by what he sees, Shelley sometimes even sounds horrified by nature's power. When he looks up at the "desert" (or unpopulated) slopes of Mont Blanc, he marvels at:

      [...] how hideously
      Its shapes are heap'd around! rude, bare, and high,
      Ghastly, and scarr'd, and riven. [...]

      The rocks, here, make no concession to human notions of picturesque splendor. They're just a craggy, scarred, broken scene of chaos. In this moment, Shelley's imagery captures not only his own emotional response to the landscape, but his skepticism of the way that earlier poets saw and described the natural world. To Shelley, there's no hint of anything divine and benign in nature (as there was, for instance, to Wordsworth). There's just a show of mysterious "Power," pure and simple—a power that sweeps humanity along in its ceaseless current.

    • Personification

    • Metaphor

    • Simile

    • Alliteration

    • Repetition

    • Allusion

  • "Mont Blanc" Vocabulary

    Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

    • Vale
    • Chamouni
    • Gloom
    • Feeble
    • Oft
    • Lone
    • Contend
    • Raves
    • Ravine
    • Awful
    • Gulphs
    • Gird
    • Brood
    • Elder
    • Aethereal
    • Unsculptur'd
    • Desert
    • Pervaded
    • Dizzy
    • Phantasy
    • Renders
    • Unremitting interchange
    • Breast
    • Omnipotence
    • Unfurl'd
    • Inaccessibly
    • Steep
    • Viewless
    • Mont Blanc
    • Subject mountains
    • Rude
    • Riven
    • Envelop
    • Reconcil'd
    • Daedal
    • Torpor
    • Detested
    • Countenance
    • Primaeval
    • The adverting mind
    • Impregnable
    • Beaming
    • Spoil
    • Torrents
    • Tumult
    • Broods
    • Vacancy
    • Valley.

  • Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “Mont Blanc”

    • Form

      "Mont Blanc" is an ode, a poem addressed to a particular subject. Here, that subject is Mont Blanc: one of the highest peaks in the Alps and a spectacle that Shelley regarded with awe during his travels through Europe. This particular ode is as probing and skeptical as it is wonderstruck. Unlike many of his Romantic forebears, Shelley is disinclined to see divine benevolence in this remote, wild, deserted landscape.

      Odes often use a flexible or experimental form. In this instance, Shelley divides 144 lines into five uneven sections, each a single long stanza. The changing stanzas follow the trail of Shelley's experience:

      • Section I introduces a complex central metaphor like a burst of insight. Shelley describes existence as a mighty river, the human mind as that river's little tributary.
      • Section II connects that metaphor to the experience that produced it: Shelley's travels in the Arve Valley. Shelley describes this sublime place as the home of a personified "Power" made manifest in the natural world. Standing in this Power's presence, Shelley is led to reflect on "[his] own, [his] human mind" and how it relates to the world around him—especially its efforts to meet with the outside world in the "still cave of the witch Poesy."
      • Section III muses on how difficult it is to fathom a landscape like the one Shelley sees before him. Mont Blanc and the Arve Valley strike him as something from a dream or a myth, and at last bring him to embrace an "awful doubt"—a sense of awe-inspiring mystery that does away with any one explanation.
      • Section IV ponders the world's endless churn of change: even these mighty mountains will fall one day, Shelley reflects. But he also suggests that the "Power" he feels here stands apart, driving on ceaselessly across time and space.
      • Section V resolves all these ideas into a final vision of Mont Blanc, which goes on "gleam[ing] on high," moved by that mysterious "Power." The mountain's very "silence and solitude," Shelley concludes, reflect not "vacancy," but something mighty and eternal, if forever incomprehensible.
    • Meter

      "Mont Blanc" is written in iambic pentameter. That means that each of its lines uses five iambs, metrical feet with a da-DUM rhythm, as in line 22:

      The chain- | less winds | still come | and ev- | er came

      This is one of the most common meters in English-language poetry; a lot of spoken English falls naturally into an iambic pulse. While iambic pentameter is easy on the ear, it also has a grand history, with Shakespeare and Milton among its masters. It makes sense that Shelley would turn to this natural-but-august rhythm to muse on the sublime power of Mont Blanc.

      Most poetry written in iambic pentameter introduces small variations for flavor, and "Mont Blanc" is no exception. Listen to line 44, for example:

      In the | still cave | of the | witch Po- | esy,

      This line presses its stresses into spondees—strong feet with a DUM-DUM rhythm. This choice gives the image of Poesy's witchy cave a creepy intensity.

    • Rhyme Scheme

      Rather than sticking to any regular rhyme scheme, "Mont Blanc" uses meandering, changeable rhymes. The first section of the poem, for instance, runs like this:

      ABCAADCDEEB

      Similar wandering rhymes continue throughout the poem, creating an effect more like a mist of sound than a solid structure. That feels fitting for a poem about awe, wonder, and mystery: the rhymes circle each other, but never reveal a predictable pattern!

      An unpredictable rhyme scheme is also a common feature of the ode form. Shelley responds to the older generation of Romantic poets here; readers can hear the influence of Wordsworth's and Coleridge's great odes in Shelley's musical, free-flowing rhyme.

  • “Mont Blanc” Speaker

    • The poem's speaker is Percy Shelley himself. Shelley wrote this poem on an adventure through Europe with his wife Mary Shelley and Mary's half-sister Claire Clairmont. Together, the Shelleys described the experience in their collaborative 1817 book History of a Six Weeks' Tour (in which this poem first appeared).

      Readers familiar with Shelley will recognize a lot of his preoccupations here. Shelley was always fascinated by the world's "mutability," its ceaseless change and movement. A lot of his most famous works dwell on nature as a thing in flux. Here, the sight of apparently eternal mountains only drives him to think about what came before them and what will come after them; even this mighty, stony landscape, he observes, is just part of an awe-inspiring eternal process.

      Such ideas lead him to reflect on another favorite theme: the folly (as Shelley saw it) of organized religion. A glimpse of nature's sublime grandeur (and the power behind it) can, in Shelley's eyes, work as a tonic against "large codes of fraud and woe." In other words, Mont Blanc makes Shelley feel that any system purporting to explain the incomprehensibly powerful universe can only be a "fraud," and one that causes plenty of "woe," for that matter. This is Shelley's retort both to earlier Romantic poets (who saw nature as an expression of the divine) and to a predominantly Christian Europe in general—very much in character for a fellow who got kicked out of university for distributing atheistic pamphlets.

      But perhaps the most Shelleyan thing here is a feeling of sheer poetic transport in the face of a grand sight. The Shelley of this poem seems almost to leave his body in his efforts to reach out to what's in front of him—to really meet the scene in all its unfathomable reality.

  • “Mont Blanc” Setting

    • The poem is set in the "Vale of Chamouni": that is, in Chamonix, the French Alpine valley over which Mont Blanc (the highest peak in Europe) looms. Alongside his wife Mary and her half-sister Claire Clairmont, Shelley traveled through the Alps in 1816; the wild, desolate mountains left a deep impression on him.

      Shelley describes the Alps as a scene of pure Romantic sublimity. That term, "sublimity," might need a little unpacking:

      • The "sublime," in Romantic thought, is the quality of nature that might scare a person. A vast, grand scene in nature might be awe-inspiring and beautiful, but also terrifying, reminding the tiny human observer of how small and powerless they really are.
      • Writers and artists of the Romantic period sometimes described an experience of the sublime as transcendent—pushing people beyond their usual limits of understanding—or as outright annihilating, making people feel as if they've shrunk to nothing in the face of the spectacle before them.

      Shelley tastes all these flavors of sublime experience standing at the foot of Mont Blanc. The mountain's apparently ancient, eternal power only reminds him that even this grand sweep of stone isn't eternal: for all that he knows, a "sea / Of fire" might once have blazed where silent ice stands now. The sight of apparently changeless mountains only reminds him of how unutterably long the earth's life has been; the "everlasting universe of things," he observes, is always on the move, rolling on like the river before him.

      The grandeur of the Alps thus pushes Shelley out into deep waters, inspiring him to contemplate that which makes fire burn, rivers rush, and mountains move: a mysterious, transcendent "Power," forever "inaccessible" and "viewless" (out of reach and invisible). Unlike his near contemporaries Wordsworth and Coleridge (the grandfathers of English Romanticism), Shelley doesn't interpret that "Power" as God or even a god, and certainly not as an inherently benign, wise, loving force.

      Instead, Shelley's experience of the "many-colour'd, many-voiced vale" of the Arve River and the "beaming ice" of Mont Blanc lead him to conclude that existence is driven by a force neither kindly nor cruel, but simply grand beyond imagining. To Shelley's eye, the "voice" of this "great Mountain" might even be able to undo the "large codes of fraud and woe"—what he saw as the false, restrictive claims of organized religion.

  • Literary and Historical Context of “Mont Blanc”

    • Literary Context

      Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822) was one of a group of 19th-century British writers now known as the Romantics. Alongside notable figures like his wife Mary Shelley (the author of Frankenstein) and his friend Lord Byron, Shelley helped to transform literature forever.

      Shelley's work, like a lot of Romantic poetry, was concerned with deep feeling, the power of the natural world, and a desire for political and personal freedom. Where earlier Enlightenment-era writers like Alexander Pope and Jonathan Swift aspired to elegant phrasings and satirical wit, Shelley and many of his contemporaries preferred to write passionate verse that valued the mysteries and terrors of the imagination over crisp rationality.

      In this poem, Shelley also reacts against two of the fathers of Romanticism: Wordsworth and Coleridge, a pair of friends and collaborators who kicked off the English Romantic movement with their epochal collection Lyrical Ballads. The radical young Shelley wasn't always too pleased with his artistic forebears; he even wrote a dismayed sonnet criticizing Wordsworth's political conservatism.

      Here, he strikes back against the two men's habit of seeing the divine in nature, arguing that there's no sense in interpreting the "Power" that moves this scene as the personal God of Christianity, as the earlier Romantics were wont to do. "Mont Blanc" is often read as a response to Wordsworth's "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey" and Coleridge's "Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni" in particular. (Note, though, that Shelley also alludes admiringly to Coleridge's "Kubla Khan" in his description of underground rivers flowing to the ocean).

      Shelley is often associated with Byron (a close friend and sometime collaborator) and Keats (a more distant acquaintance), not just because the three men were all important Romantic poets, but because they all died tragically and young. Shelley, with particular drama, drowned in a shipwreck in the Bay of Naples after he insisted on sailing out in a storm. His short life, poetic death, radical convictions, and passionate verse all mean he's remembered as a quintessential Romantic hero, and he remains an admired and influential poet.

      Historical Context

      Shelley wrote this poem in 1816 during a visit to Chamonix, an Alpine valley in southern France. He'd gone on vacation there with his soon-to-be-wife Mary and Mary's stepsister Claire Clairmont. Together, Percy and Mary would describe their travels in their book History of a Six Weeks' Tour (1817), in which "Mont Blanc" first appeared.

      The Shelleys were not the only English visitors to make a pilgrimage to the Alps. The early nineteenth century was the heyday of what was known as the Grand Tour: a jaunt around Europe customarily made by young Englishmen of the upper classes. The idea was rather like taking a gap year. Once one had finished university, before one took up one's profession, one saw a bit of the Continent and broadened one's mind.

      Shelley's version of this journey, however, was far from customary. Kicked out of Oxford for distributing atheistic pamphlets, on his way toward a scandalous second marriage (after abandoning his pregnant first wife), occasionally sleeping with his wife-to-be's stepsister (all in the principled name of free love, of course), and fleeing from his staid and respectable family, the impulsive and iconoclastic Shelley wouldn't have liked to think of himself as a mere tourist. Percy and Mary alike conceived of their visit to the Alps as something of an anti-Grand-Tour, an effort to get off the aristocratically beaten track and see with fresher and more responsive eyes.

  • More “Mont Blanc” Resources