1936 On the Continent

miles and there are many pleasant cafés in which to rest. As everywhere, the hills rise in the background, merging into the higher peaks of the mountains and villages can be seen on the slopes, whilst across the lake lies the panorama of the great snow-clad peaks. The visitors at Montreux are a cosmopolitan crowd and life here is distinctly fashionable. The tennis courts are reputed to be the finest in Europe and there is also a golf course not far from the town.
“Prisoner of Chillon”
    In the casino-kursaal we can dance, have light refreshments and watch various types of entertainment. From the lakeside can be seen the cleft which the Rhône valley makes in the shore on the opposite side, and it seems to fade away into the blue distance, while above it hovers the Dents du Midi, with clouds screening part of it. In the Bay of Territet we must pay a visit to a building which is the goal of every visitor, the famous Château de Chillon. There can be but few show places which so truly merit the numerous stars bestowed on them by guide-books. In a marvellous state of preservation—parts of it were erected in the eighth century—Chillon is intensely picturesque, no matter from what angle it is seen. It has had a chequered career and is known mainly because it was here that Bonnivard, a patriotic Swiss friar, was imprisoned by Duke Charles of Savoy in 1526. After being captive there for ten years he was released when the castle was taken by the Bernese. Byron’s poem, the “Prisoner of Chillon,” was inspired by the story of Bonnivard. The castle was then inhabited by the Bailiffs of Vevey, but has been uninhabited since 1733. The interior does not disappoint and ranges from the quaint wooden balconies in the courtyard to the grim torture chamber. We can also climb up to the roof of the main tower, whence we get a view of the lake framed by the towers of the castle, and one that we will not easily forget.
    Returning to Montreux, if you are able to visit it during the first week of June, you will be able to participate in the famous Narcissus Festival. This carnival is usually held on the first Saturday and Sunday of June, and rivals the fetes of the French Riviera. Crowds pour into the town; first there is an excellent entertainment, then a procession of beautifully decorated cars which is followed by a battle of flowers and confetti. At night there is a Venetian Fête on the lake and a firework display. The whole lakeside is illuminated and the hotels are also decorated, so that Montreux takes on a most festive appearance. But the
pièce de résistance
for me is not so much the fête in the town as the narcissi themselves, in whose honour it is held.
Narcissi
    The hills and meadows behind Montreux are covered so closely with the white blossoms that they give the illusion of a snowfall. They are lovely at Les Pleiades, which is reached from Blonay, but the finest displays are on the meadows near Les Avants, above Montreux. If you start out from the village and wander into the meadows beyond, or, better still, take the rack railway up to the Col de Sonloup and then work your way downhill, you will very soon find yourself in the midst of the flowers, and the perfume—which impregnates the air—will come wafting towards you as you step out of the train.
    If you stand on top of the hill and look down, you will see a fairy-like scene which it will be rare to equal anywhere. The down slopes in every direction are covered with the white narcissi, and where the
bouton d’or
is mingled with them, there seem to be gold streaks among the silver. Deep blue-green pines form a contrast to the prevailing white, while far down in the valley you can see the brown chalets almost hidden among the masses of pink and white bloom of the fruit trees. The shadowy flanks of the mountains seem to have their bases in snow, and on the peaks of the higher ones there is real snow that is scarcely whiter than the fields. And over all, glorious sunshine, not polluted by fogs and smoke particles, and a sky of deepest blue. A scene unsurpassable in loveliness you would say. Yet that same sun—still very warm, if not quite so hot as now—in winter shines down on these hills and valleys when they areall white with snow, and the blue of the sky is then repeated in the shadows. The trees are stripped of their bloom, but the hoar frost and snow have converted them into delicate white traceries.
    This is fine ski-ing country, and the winter sports