I don't know why I waited so long to visit Geneva, which turns out to be a very elegant city, and the office home of a very special friend, Mary Robinson, so helpful to us in the early 1970s of the past century when civil and human rights were so greatly endangered in Ireland, writes Deasún Breatnach
But why visit Geneva? A thousand reasons, perhaps; but, in my case, initially just one: research for a novel, to get the geography right. The novel, Anam ar Strae, has been commissioned by Bord na Leabhar Gaeilge; and the research is paid through a modest grant by An Chomhairle Ealaíon.
The novel opens in Geneva - was made to open in Geneva, by an entity other than the mere writer. Carl G. Jung, when going a long way to explain creativity (The Spirit in Man, Art and Literature), wrote: "You will remember that I described the nascent work in the psyche of the artist as an autonomous complex. By this we mean a psychic formation that remains subliminal until the energy-charge is sufficient to carry it over the threshold into consciousness. . .the autonomy of the complex: it appears and disappears in accordance with its own inherent tendencies, independently of the conscious will. The creative complex shares this peculiarity with every other autonomous complex. . .the divine frenzy of the artist comes perilously close to a pathological state, though the two things are not identical. . ."
That last bit is comforting; and he adds: "presence of autonomous complexes is not in itself pathological."
Mythological figure
Personalisation of this entity will be familiar to students of literature, perhaps. Myles would have referred to it, likely enough, as "your man" (or "woman"). Jung is more explicit: "The primordial image, or archetype, is a figure - be it daemon, a human being, or a process - that constantly recurs in the course of history and appears whenever creative fantasy is freely expressed. Essentially, therefore, it is a mythological figure. When we examine these images more closely, we find that they give form to countless typical experiences of our ancestors."
In Ireland, traditionally, that image has been a young woman, notably in the aisling poetry, and as such she has appeared to me in dreams. I gave an account of this in the introduction to a collection of my poetry (Dánta Amadóra; Baile Átha Cliath, 1998; Everson Gunn Teoranta).
I kept these dreams very confidential until one day I met Liam Ó Muirthile, and nervously told him my story. He replied: "Ná bí buartha. Creideann muid uilig é sin," or words to that effect. Later, I happened on Jung's work, first delivered as a lecture in May, 1922, six months after I was born.
Most writers are gratified to receive any kind of assistance or recognition in what can be a very lonely pursuit. Thus, I welcome Musette, as she calls herself. But her help consists of only the story essentials, not the detailed geography. Hence my visit to Geneva during the last alleged "summer". My five days in that city (which is more like a large town) were warm and dry, though the previous night, according to my taxi-man, it had rained throughout, as is the habit in Ireland whenever somebody prays for rain.
Surrounded by parks
Strolling around the city I was able to sense where this or that episode should occur. There had been a park in the first draft, and Geneva is virtually surrounded by them, so there was no great problem there. French is the city's tongue and that fits snugly.
France is just down the road from the airport and that helps explain the language. Some German figures also in my story as well as a little Romansh. I searched in vain for a dictionary, Romansh-Français or Romansh-Deutsch, but maybe on the next visit I will have more luck.
The River Rhône apparently divides Geneva into two more or less equal parts. It is a very fast-flowing river and its use as a swimming pool is forbidden, and just as well. But it is great for providing electricity. It was first harnessed for this purpose about 100 years before our Shannon Scheme.
The Rhône flows from the largest fresh-water lake in Europe - Lac Léman, to give it its French version, very likely having its origin in the Celtic. Naturally, I had to have a look at that, and what do I see anchored a few metres out from the quay but a locally registered launch flying our Tricolour? Unfortunately, nobody was aboard. Did it belong to Mary Robinson, God bless her?
On the Sunday of my visit I attended Mass in a church not far from the hotel. There were few worshippers. This is not surprising, as Geneva at one time was virtually the capital of the Reformation, and the city is full of reminders. Calvin was the great Geneva hero of that event but the city was also the birthplace of Jean Jacques Rousseau, who is honoured here by a fine statue.
Incidentally, the ainsi soit il of the French I learned at school, corresponding to our Amen would appear to have been abandoned, at least in Geneva Catholicism. Since when?
I admired greatly the street names of the city, generally based on former citizens of renown, unlike most street names in Dublin, which honour foreign overlords for the most part. It's a habit we might copy in Dublin. Oh, yes, and another contrast: Geneva seems to have escaped for the most part the claws of "developers" who have destroyed our capital (and other Irish cities).
One day, walking by the Rhône, I was delayed by a sign with the placename Cornavin, a parish just across the river. Celtic? At a stretch of the imagination it might mean Corr na bhFiann, but I doubt if Fionn got this far away from home.
Some reference to the river? Certainly, this area once was occupied by Celts who settled there about 500 BC, the Allobroges. But by 58 BC the Romans were in charge. I was reminded of the Celtic past by a huge statue below my hotel window of a naked warrior astride a fine horse - one of the Allobroges, no doubt, though the sculpture is modern. The city's name goes back to Genua, first mentioned in a writing by Julius Caesar (Gallia in tres partes divisa est: Remember?)
An expensive place
Geneva, for the Irish at least, is an expensive place, but it's the sort of city in which I would have no difficulty spending a few years, for much the same reasons as had Byron, the two Shelleys, Dostoevsky, and other famous writers. It is a most democratic republic in the most democratic confederation in the world: Switzerland. And it appears to know no racism, thank God.
Almost every citizen would appear to know at least three languages, including English, and many have six, including my friend the Tunisian in La Cascade bar.
Before Anam ar Strae reaches its fourth or fifth draft, I hope to return to the Rhône to savour this jewel of a city in all its seasons.