The Washington times., 1935-10-09
NOW
C1LUin's Ideas
Rule Geneva
SILENT NIGHTS
By HELEN ESSARY
GENEVA.

the habits Of modern Geneva.
There is no nonsense in this
town about anything-except, OF
course, war.
But war in Europe hasn't been
q part of Switzerland's business
for many years. The longer the
League of Nations and its chorus
of trained seals linger, the bet
ter will be the hotel business
and the richer the town.
Even such present prosperity
is no reason for late hours in
Geneva. At midnight, except
for conversation and beer drink
ing in the Bavaria, and the de-
termined and rather grim gaiety
of three night clubs, the day
and the night in Geneva are
finished. Every light in the
town is out and out to stay.
The streets are deserted, and
when I say deserted I mean lit
orally deserted. A young British
secretary laughed out loud IN
one Of the thoroughfares at 10
minutes past midnight last
Wednesday. Immediately a po-
liceman appeared and said:
81 beg Of you, monsieur, keep
still! Laughing will wake up
the people"
Few taxis lurk anywhere.
Sometimes the only way to get
back to your hotel, if you have
stayed out a little late, is to
walk. Almost every place in
Geneva is within walking dis
tance of every other place, or at
least you think it is, the air
from over the glaciers is so
fresh and invigorating.
So you walk and you walk, for
blocks and blocks, without ever
meeting anybody, without hear.
ing a sound.
The street lights. however, are
on bright. The CalviniStic in
fluence takes no chances with
the darkness.
The promenade along the quail
between the double row OF
chestnut trees is so brilliant
with electricity that the flow
ers in the garden beds are as
cheerful as If the sun were
shining. In the lake steamers
and the motorboats, anchored
at the wharves, in the groups OF
tables and chairs, painted pale
pink, red and blue, and piled up
for the night. you may see both
color and line distinctly.
When you get back to your
hotel-your big hotel, remem-
ber, not your pension-at 1915.
is it too brightly lighted and
welcoming?
It is not. There is not a light
anywhere. The door is locked
tight. So-you ring a bell. And
wait, apprehensively If you are
q newcomer; calmly, if you are
an oldtimer. After two or three
rings, a light suddenly illumi-
mates the hotel lobby. A sleepy
concierge suddenly appears
from around a corner and lets
you in.
Above stairs you find an
electric switch to light your
dark hall. You creep to your
room feeling like a villain.
Outside the bedroom doors
are the shoes of many nations.
waiting to be polished for their
next days pursuit of peace.
If the Calvinistic influence
sends Geneva to bed early, it
also, in the equally stern man
ner of Benjamin Franklin, get
the town awake early.
1t is now only about $50 in
the morning. In the courtyard
under by bedroom, extraordi-
narily vigorous foreigners" be-
gin shouting and laughing in
their native languages. For.
eigners seem to have strong
throats and to take pleasure in
the sound of their own voices.
This morning, particularly,
they begin exercising their vocal
chords before the English spar
rows come pecking at my bal
cony window for crumbs from
nv breakfast chocolat complet
with rolls.
I can't hear the foreign voices
so clearly now because things
are being unloaded rom wagons.
Probably railroad ties for their
funiculars. Or maybe it's coal.
But I shouldn't think they'd need
much coal, with every bedroom
double-windowed and feather
bedded.
Now somebody's beating on a
mattress. This is also an early.
morning custom in Switzerland.
AS heaven is my witness
yodeler is beginning to sing in
the court yard!
Five stories down a sturdy
fellow in the musical comedy
costume of a Swiss native
short trousers, white shirt and
plum-colored, sleeveless vest-is
singing to a guitar accompani-
ment. Each song, romantic or
patriotic, ends with a yodel.
People appear at other win
dows and balconies and throw
down coins wrapped in paper.
A hotel laundreSS who is hang
ing, out sheets-about a thou
sand, I should Say-on the roof
beyond-pauses to listen for an
instant. In the block of flats