The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, vol 2 | Page 2

the height
from which they fall, the rush of motion, the sparkling and foam of the
water in motion, and the magnitude of the surrounding objects.
After passing the lake of Brienz, we came to the far-famed valley of

Meyringen, which had been much cried up to us; but, whether from the
usual perverseness of human nature, or from being spoiled by the
luxury of cascades, valleys, and Alps we had previously seen, we were
disappointed in it, though, to do it justice, it has nine cascades.
We slept at a wooden inn, and rose at three; and, before four, mounted
on our horses, set off for the Brunig; and after having gone up La
Flegère at Chamouni, the crossing the Brunig was a small consideration.
Brava! brava!
But--something happened to me and my horse; the result being that I
went up the Brunig and down the Brunig on my two legs instead of on
the horse's four, and was not the least tired with my three hours'
scramble up and scramble down. At the little town of Sarnen we ate
eggs and drank sour wine, and Mr. Moilliet, Fanny, and Harriet
remounted their horses; Mrs. Moilliet, Emily, Susan, and I went in a
_char-à-banc_ of a different construction; not sitting sideways, but on
two phaeton seats, one behind the other, facing the horses. Such jolting,
such trimming from side to side; but we were not overturned, and got
out at the town of Stanzstadt, where, after seeing in the dirtiest inn's
dirtiest room a girl with a tremendous black eye, besides the two with
which nature had favoured her, we took boat again about sunset, and
had a two hours' delicious rowing across the lake of Lucerne, which I
prefer to every other I have seen--the moon full and placid on the
waters, the stars bright in the deep blue sky, the town of Lucerne
shadowed before us with lights here and there in the windows. The air
became still, and the sky suddenly clouded over; thunder was heard;
bright flashes of lightning darted from behind the mountains and across
the town, making it at intervals distinctly visible for a moment. It was
dark when we landed, and we had to pass through two or three streets,
servants, guides, bag, and baggage, groping our way; and oh, wretched
mortals, went to the wrong place, and before we could reach the right
one, down poured a waterspout of a shower on our devoted heads and
backs. In five minutes, running as hard as we could, we were wet
through; and Fanny, in crossing the street and plucking at the guide's
bundle for a cloak for me, was nearly run over, but stood it; and, all
dripping, we reached our inn, Le Cheval Blanc. An hour spent in
throwing off wet clothes and putting on dry--tea, coffee--bed--bugs,
and sleep, nevertheless.

We rejoined our landau and _calèche_ at Lucerne, and proceeded in
them to Zug, where there is a famous convent or Frauenkloster, which
escaped being destroyed during the Revolution, because the abbess and
nuns established a school for the female children of the neighbourhood,
where they still continue to teach them to read and work: Madame
Gautier had desired us to go and see it, and to it we walked: rang at the
bell, were told that the nuns were all in the refectory, and were asked to
wait. The nuns' repast was soon finished, and one came with a very
agreeable, open countenance and fresh, brown complexion, well fed
and happy-looking, becomingly dressed in snow-white hood and
pelerine and brown gown. Bowing courteously, she by signs--for she
could speak neither French nor English--invited us to follow her, and
led us through cloister and passage to the room of the boarders; not
nuns, only there for their education. A pretty Italian girl, with
corkscrew ringlets of dark hair, rose from her pianoforte to receive us,
and spoke with much grace and self-complacency Italian-French, and
accompanied by way of interpreter our own conductress, who motioned
us to the sitting-room, where nuns and pensioners were embroidering,
with silk, cotton, chenille, and beads, various pretty, ugly, and
fantastical, useless things. Luckily, none were finished at that moment,
and their empty basket saved our purses and our taste from danger or
disgrace.
I had spied in the corner of the Italian interpreter's apartment a daub of
a print of the King and Queen of France taking leave of their family,
with a German inscription; and thinking the Abbé Edgeworth had a
good right to be in it, and as a kind of German notion of an Abbé
appeared in the print, and something like Edgewatz in the German
words, I put my finger on the spot, and bade the interpreter tell the nuns
and the abbess, who