Page 345 - Livre Beau Rivage Palace

REMINISCENCES

A TRUNK FULL OF BUTTERFLIES

AROUND 1925

Nicole LANDOLT-SANDOZ

‘Lots of young bellboys would congregate around the enormous lift with its tapestry seat and
‘Here we go! We’re off to the Beau-Rivage in Lausanne. The omnibus, which we booked
in advance at the Gare de Lyon railway station in Paris, comes to collect us and our small suitcases, marquetry sides: they operated it by tugging on a rope, which the young guests would occasionally
be allowed to touch. A couple of them, Maurice and Paul, continued to work
the big trunks having already left the day before. After seven hours on the train we arrive
at the Gare de Lausanne, teeming with porters who dash across the railway tracks while we make at the hotel into old age, and would still recognise their guests, who had also aged, down on the
quay or at the general assemblies, which Paul came to with his wife Ernestine, whom he had
our way more slowly down and up the flights of stairs. We reach the exit for the “Hotel Porters”: married when she was a young chambermaid at the hotel […].
some of them merely sport striped waistcoats and green overalls, while others, like the porter
of the Beau-Rivage, are in full livery with cap. Our man greets us, picks up our luggage and opens ‘[My parents’ room was below the McCanns’]. Helen, Frances and I would pass messages to each
the door of the large vehicle which takes us down [to the hotel], where we are welcomed by two other from floor to floor via a basket tied to some string and a little bell. We were soon made

gentlemen in black tailcoats: the paunchy general manager, Mr Egli, and dear Mr Muller,
to stop this toing and froing, which was deemed too “noisy and unsightly for a beautiful hotel”.
who rubs his hands and directs us towards the Palace building. In the corridor, we quickly cast Sometimes we would play in the lower grounds of the hotel, on the climbing frames, swings or at
our eyes over the Gazette des étrangers to see who is staying at the hotel and what events are
croquet, all the while ogling the Prince of Asturias on the tennis courts […].
planned. This newspaper disappeared after the Second World War, when people preferred to travel When it rained, we would go underneath the terrace, which was just marvellous: there was the

incognito, and stopped taking up residence long enough to form lasting friendships.
upholsterer’s workshop packed full with hotel furniture, a shed containing some old wooden
horses on springs… and best of all, the left luggage room… I was lucky enough to be there when
‘Between 1926 and 1939, life at the Beau-Rivage Palace was very different from life in 1989. one of the trunks, belonging to a lady who had long since vanished or died, was opened up…
Back then, there were two entrances: that of the old Beau-Rivage and that of the Palace as soon as the lid was prised open, clouds of moths and little butterflies came fluttering out:

where we stayed […].
all of the furs – the sables, squirrels and minks – had been devoured…’

Nicole LANDOLT-SANDOZ [Memories], 1989, unpublished typewritten text.

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