Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1905-07-21
A LITTLE MEMORY OF A SWISS Ao.
VENTURE

VENTURE.
Recently, while standing on the corner
Of Twenty-third street and Eighth avenue,
waiting for a downtown car, there hap
pened to be a temporary lull in the street
noises, brief cessation of rumbling
wagons and as l became gradually con-
sclQus of the unusual stiffness, suddenly
bewitching glimpse of Switzerland came
INTO my mind. l seemed caught away
from the sordid, unlovely New York street
corner TO the idyllic peace and beauty of
the Rhone Valley. L saw the little paved
square before the Hotel de la Post in the
village of Brieg. The cream and russell
walls of the houses surrounded me, the
great siX-horse diligence which had just
come down from the Simplon Pass was
beside me, and gray-clad, hobnail-booted
hostlers were leading away the horses,
while from the opposite side of the little
square came a half-dozen sleek cows
jangling their bells as they slowly STUN
bled along in the dusk to the stone water
ing trough.
Jangling their bells! All! that was the
fairy call that lured me so quickly off to
Switzerland. Coming down Eighth avenue
was ragman's cart, implanted and
creaking and with a string of discordant
bells strung between two short posts at
the back. They produced just the medley
of sound of drove of Swiss cattle 1
shut my eyes, and, letting two downtown
cars go by unheeded, was, as 1 listened.
whisked back again to the little cobble-
stone square and the. entrance of the
Hotel de la Post.
All the way downtown 1 dreamed of
Switzerland. 1 did not see the conductor
as l mechanically paid my fare and for
got TO ask for transfer. 1 breathed the
air OF the Alps, and stamped into the
Hotel de la Post demanding a hot supper
and preparing for It In a dainty little bed
nN Il H., A..
the chairs. What day 1t had been! The
most adventurous of many. And here l
was safe in Switzerland with my bicycle
and the diligence authorities outwitted!
The day before had set out, with a
light heart, on the last and more difficult
part of my bicycle trip / had ridden from
Florence across the Apennfnes to Bologna,
thence up the smiling Lombardy plain to
Milan and the Italian Lakes, and, leaving
Pallanza, on Lake Maggiore, about mid
afternoon, rode the twenty-five miles of
level macadam road, reaching Domo Dos
sola at the foot of the great mountain
wall that separated me from Switzerland,
at dusk 1t was in early April, and as l
looked across to the mountains l noted
how low the snow line was, and realized
that could not cross the pass on foot.
Hating at the dismal hosiery opposite
the diligence office, 1 secured brick
paved, severely furnished room for the
night and strolled across to the office.
To the man at the little window 1 made
my request for a seat in the coupe.
Perfectly, monsieur. What luggage
have you?"
"Only a knapsack and bicycle"
An! bicycle! l am sorry, monsieur,
but the law does not allow us to take
bicycles on the diligence"
mo bicycles!" 1 cried, aghast; but
am travelling by bicycle! How can 1 get
across?
II rorl,, ono 80 .h...s ,...-..A,. ~,
shrugs by which one throws off all re-
sponsibility in the matter and leaves you
helpless.
II am living in the Rhone Valley at
present" 1 explained 'and 1 have come
from Florence on my bicycle. l must
cross the Simplon tomorrow How can l
go. If not by the diligence?"
1t was growing dark, and the post agent
was anxious to close the business.
Monsieur" he said, firmly and coldly,
many voyageurs have come hither en-
bicyclette, and they have all had to enter
Switzerland by some other route. There
are fifteen feet of snow on the pass al this
season, and five hours of the journey are
in open sledges. How, then, can a bicycle
be transported? Besides" and he rose to
close the window, 1.-The law forbids. Good
night"
And l stood alone, looking blankly into
the dark square across which were the
lights of the inn. l walked angrily back,
summoned the landlord, and demanded
that he come to my rescue. 1t began to
rain, and the evening was chilly. l had
been looking forward for days to my re-
turn to my beloved Switzerland, and here,
a the very threshold, the door was sud
denly shut in my face. To go to Lake
Geneva by some other route meant either
the Mont Gents tunnel via Turin and
Geneva, or the St. Gothard via Lucerne,
either route necessitating three or four
additional days. My landlord stoldly veri-
fled the remarks of the agent, and said
that frequently messieurs les voyageurs
were thus disappointed.
But" 1 persisted, why cannot 1 go
by extra post?"
A genial, full-bearded fellow guest, a
Dutch gentleman who had been listening
to our conversation, here Joined in, raising
his hat with charming grace to me, in
apology for the intrusion.
Certainly" he said in excellent Eng