The Life and Letters of Maria Edgeworth, vol 2 | Page 5

the house which we were
told was Madame de Montolieu's we saw a lady, of a tall, upright,
active-looking figure, with much the appearance of a gentlewoman; but
we could not think that this was Madame de Montolieu, because for the
last half-hour Dumont, impatient at our losing our way, had been
saying she must be too old to receive us. She was very old thirty years
ago; she must be _quatre-vingt_, at least: at last it came to
_quatre-vingt-dix_. This lady did not look above fifty. She came up to
the carriage as it stopped, and asked whom we wished to see. The
moment I saw her eyes, I knew it was Madame de Montolieu, and
stooping down from the open carriage I put into her hand the note of
introduction and our card. She never opened the note, but the instant
her eye had glanced upon the card, she repeated the name with a voice
of joyful welcome. I jumped out of the carriage, and she embraced me
so cordially, and received my sisters so kindly, and M. Dumont so
politely, that we were all at ease and acquainted and delighted before

we were half-way upstairs. While she went into the ante-chamber for a
basket of peaches, I had time to look at the prints hung in the little
drawing-room: they had struck me the moment we came in as scenes
from Caroline de Lichfield. Indifferent, old-fashioned, provoking
figures, Caroline and Count Walstein in the fashions of thirty years
ago.
When Madame de Montolieu returned, she bade me not look at them;
"but I will tell you how they came to be here." They had been given to
her by Gibbon: he was the person who published Caroline de Lichfield.
She had written it for the entertainment of an aunt who was ill: a
German story of three or four pages gave her the first idea of it. "I
never could invent: give me a hint, and I can go on and supply the
details and the characters." Just when Caroline de Lichfield was
finished, Gibbon became acquainted with her aunt, who showed it to
him: he seized upon the MS., and said it must be published. It ran in a
few months through several editions; and just when it was in its first
vogue, Gibbon happened to be in London, saw these prints, and
brought them over to her, telling her he had brought her a present of
prints from London, but that he would only give them to her on
condition that she would promise to hang them, and let them always
hang, in her drawing-room. After many vain efforts to find out what
manner of things they were, Gibbon and curiosity prevailed; she
promised, and there they hang.
She must have been a beautiful woman: she told me she is seventy: fine
dark, enthusiastic eyes, a quickly varying countenance, full of life, and
with all the warmth of heart and imagination which is thought to belong
only to youth.
We went into a wooden gallery reaching from one side of the house to
the other, at one end of which was a table, where she had been writing
when we arrived. We often took leave, but were loth to depart. Dumont
luckily asked if she could direct us to a fine old chateau in the
neighbourhood, which we had been told was particularly well worth
seeing--Viernon. "It is my brother's," she said, and she would go with
us and show it. The carriage was sent round to the high road, and we

went by a walk along a river, romantically beautiful. Just as we came to
a cascade and a wooden bridge, a little pug dog came running down,
and the Baron and Madame de Polier appeared. Madame de Montolieu
ran on to her brother, and explained who we were. Madame is an
Englishwoman, and, to my surprise, I found she was niece to my
father's old friend, Mr. Mundy of Markeaton. We were all very sorry to
part with Madame de Montolieu; however, we returned to Lausanne,
and Dumont in the evening read out _Le Somnambule_--very
laughable when so well read.
PREGNY, _Sept. 20_.
Next day beautiful drive to Vevay, as you know. After visiting Chillon,
where Lord Byron's name and coat of arms are cut upon Bonnivar's
pillar, I read the poem again, and think it most sublime and pathetic.
How can that man have perverted so much feeling as was originally
given to him!
Have you been at St. Maurice? If you have not, I cannot give you an
idea of the surprise and delight we felt at the first sight of the view
going down through the archway! But what a miserable town! After
Fanny had sketched from the window of the inn