24;6 Ten Years of my Life. 



and who looks like an Italuin robber. He keeps in the castle 

 a kind of restaurant, and manj people go there to drink his 

 good wine and enjoy the splendid view. 



More frequently we visited a place only a short walk from 

 us, close to Castle Wartegg. It was called ' im Wiedien,' and 

 belonged to a man of the name of Raggebas, whose family 

 have owned the house and surrounding fields for centuries. 

 The very insignificant-looking house was built against the hill, 

 and one entered with reluctance, first, a room where workmen 

 from the neighbouring quarries were smoking horrid tobacco, 

 eating horrid cheese,- and drinking a horrid fluid called saft. a 

 kind of weak cider made of pears, a whole pint of it costing 

 but a fraction of a penny. 



From there one came into another room, where a better 

 class of people, and amongst them some servants of the Duke 

 of Parma, were drinking thtir coftee or pint of wine. Through 

 this room one came 1o the third largest room, which was re- 

 served for those persons who were imagined to belong to the 

 higher classes. All the rooms were scrupulously clean and 

 pleasant. The owner of this farm, who was a wealthy man, 

 never aspired to a higher place in society than had been held 

 by his ancestors. He was a free Swiss peasant, and, wearing 

 all the year round his blouse and hobnailed shoes, he carried 

 his milk to his customers and worked on his farm, leaving to 

 his wife and servant the care as to housework and attendance 

 on the guests. 



Mrs. Raggebas became a great friend of ours, as she 

 had been of the late Duchess of Parma, who often came and 

 had achat with her. She was a middle aged, pleasant, kind, 

 and polite peasant woman, who kept her house in trim order, 

 and everything she served was excellent and ridiculously 

 cheap. 



When we came there in company of six or eight persons and 

 enjoyed all the luxuries to be had, as splendid coffee, excel- 

 lent cream, cake, honey, and good Tyrolean wine, we never 

 succeeded in running up a bill surpassing five francs ; and when 

 paying, Mrs. Raggebas always forced upon us a quantity of 

 cherries or pears, adding with a reassuring smile in her Swiss 

 dialect, ' Koscht nix.' 



She had a maid-servant, who was remarkable also. She 

 was the daughter of a wealthy farmer herself, but not liking her 



