That evening we went to the Opera house, where Faust was being played.  I had a great desire to see Faust in the original, and though my German is not up to Goethe’s standard, I could follow the plot somewhat, and I was eagerly watching for Margaret to make her appearance on the stage.  After a long evening, the curtain went down, and all the people got up and left—­yet no Margaret had appeared.  I was puzzled; but my friend explained that the play was only half over.  If I desired to see the rest, I would have to come back the following evening.  What do you think of that?  Well, I didn’t go back—­I went to Lucerne, next morning.

I wanted to see the Alps, of course, and we got a distant view only of them from Zurich.  Here, at Lucerne, we have them in all their grand beauty.

I don’t mind admitting to you that my purse would not allow my stopping longer at the Schweizerhof, than to merely take a good look at the exterior.  I had with me the Lucerne elders’ address, and easily found them.  They directed me to a friend who had cheap rooms, and it is here I am writing to you.  The view is just as fine from my window as from the big hotel—­nay, finer, for I am higher up; and after all, Lucy, the five francs’ out-look on a beautiful world is enjoyed quite as much as if it cost fifteen.  I can see the cap or the collar of Mt.  Pilatus better perhaps than the fat, cross, silk-clad lady I saw on the boat yesterday, can see them. (By “cap” is meant a cloud resting on top, by “collar” the cloud encircling Pilatus’ head.)

This brings me to my trip on Lake Lucerne day before yesterday.  We started early.  The tourist season has hardly begun yet, so we were not crowded.  There was rain threatening.  The mountain tops were hidden by clouds, and the prospect was not assuring.  However, by the time we landed at Brunnen, the clouds had lifted, the sun came out, and the day became pleasantly warm.  From Brunnen, it was our plan to walk along the Axenstrasse, to Fluelen, a distance of five or six miles.  There were three of us, with an elder for guide.  I wish you could have spent that afternoon with us—­with me, strolling along that wonderful road, cut out of the mountain side bordering the lake.  The post cards I am enclosing will give you an idea of the scenery, and I assure you the blueness of the lake is not overdone in the picture.

The road leads along gently sloping hill-sides, covered with farms, then it pierces the sheer rock, then again borders the cliff, fifty or one hundred feet from the lake below.  The trees are in full leaf and some are in bloom.  The grass is high where we walked, but up towards the tops of the mountains, the snow still lies.  One of the strange sights is to see large, splendid hotels perched in some cranny away up near the summit of the peaks.  Cog railways now take the tourists up some of the mountains.

The region around Lake Lucerne is historic, I am told.  Here began the Swiss struggle for liberty which we read about.  The scene of William Tell’s exploits are laid here, and we are shown on the shore of the lake, Tell’s Capelle, said to mark the spot where the apple-shooting patriot leaped ashore and escaped from the tyrant Gessler.  I do not wonder at men, born and reared amid these mountains not submitting to the yoke of oppression.