The Portland daily press., 1892-01-15

lovers OF good bargains; ou1 az oie9
ABOUT the villages Of Montre.u3 p rrei,cn
IN the extreme, this being the Langs.uase
spoken, not only by the peopdl:e Gnein-
selVes' but by all who visit inc als'iioo
TERRITEL AND HOTEL DIES ALPEs.
The village of Territel is only home
OF hotels which monopolize ALL ms
Hotel DIES Alpes with its dependencies
contains six hundred rooms and is simply
colonization of gay people VINO pfl ing
with them the cosmopolitan ar Vi cle
best society all over Europe ana Amerlca.
All lts appointments are perIeGU aho us
long suite of apartments, parlors, read
ing rooms, billiard. opera and dancing
halls, in panellings of costly grass ana
with tapestried walls, furnished abund-
ant amusement for evenings ana rainy
days, when the beauties of nature With
out are shut in by clouds ana STORM.
This hotel is thing to see III ltsei1 even
if one were not in search of lovely home
IN which to rest and recuperate. lhere
are long stretches of gardens and parks
on the lake, connected with the hotel,
arranged for out of door pleasure during
the October days, when the earth and
air. especially here, are so Wondrously
fine. Out of these gardens steep paths
lead up to Mt. Fleury, another DEEPEN
dence of the ''des Apes, on the noun.
tain side under the ''Rochesde. Noyes"
MIS-, and to Glion also reached by a rope
railway. 1t is so near the skies that one
breathes tonic enough in a rev hours
visit to this little village to last for many
days.
PRISON OF CHILLoN.
From Territel few minutes walk take
you to the grand old Prison of Chillon.
AS one stands on the draw-bridge over
the Moat, he looks down towards the end
of TIM lake to Villaneuve and espies a
little Isle which Sin your face seems to
SMILE" 1t is a speck of earth twenty
metres square, with three elm trees, eaeh
century old, whose shade reaches to the
water edge, and from under which the
whole vast sweep of the entire lake may
be seen. AS viewed from Territel, this
| prison, as so many pictures represent,
makes a most distinguished appearance.
1t is almost surrounded by the lake, its
| foundation stones being embedded in the
soil at the bottom. The little portfolios
which serve for windows look down per-
| pendicularly to the waters edge.
The safety of prisoners in those days
was not left to any chance Of cloth ropes
made from bedding, &C.. for if one could
! by any possibility have broken bar, got
through a portfolio or delved into the
wall so many metres thick there was then
only the chance of prison in the waters
beneath, since the draw-bridge over the
Moat on the conspicuous side is the only
means of egress. There is long sue
cession of living rooms, audience cham
| bers and council halls, in which an
/ Of c
tore is to be seen.
The huge fireplaces occupy the whole
| side of these rooms and still contain even
! in the parlors and State chambers the
various appurtenances for big barbucues.
THE DUNGEONS.
The dungeons are weird enough, and
the setting sun streaming through loop
holes casts halo on the grim scene.
Engraved on its stone pillars are the
names of Victor Hugo, Byron, Eugene
| Sue, George Sand and others.
| Whether the prisoner of whom the
| guide speaks at great length was really
Downward or some other, it is certain
! one sees the print of some poor waif S
feet worn into the pavement of stone, tho
steps indicating ~ tether of only a metre
| long, the chain being fashioned to the
iron ring which is Still fastened to the
huge stone pillar, round which the pr1s-
oner walked through all the rolling
years out of the right of all the joys of
| life.
| THE oUBLIETTE.
And near by in the same dungeon is
shown the oubliette which served when
life was done, as its name implies, to
end them of it's sad memories. This
oubliette was held out to the joyful eyes
| of the prisoner as means of escape but
when they tried the deceptive staircase
by which they were hidden to descend, a
trap door swinging open, from which they
fell into the gulf beneath. As one
passes out, he notices arms of Vaud over
| the door of the prison and he chants to
! himself the old though never hackneyed
lines from Byron Prisoner of Chillon. y
Chillon thy prison is a holy place.
| And thy sad floor an altaT,-for twas trod
| Until his very steps have left a trace,
| Worn, as if the cold pavement were a sod,
| BY Bonnevard !--may none those marks efface,
| For they appeal from tyranny to God"
A. Ell. G..
ANNUAL MEETINGS.