first visit to these parts after the war.nThen I stayed at the Beau Rivage innnearby Ouchy (Lausanne now), wherenI met a strange gaggle of collabosnrunning for their lives, including thenlikes of Coco Chanel and Etienne denBeaumont. In those days the refugeenrich were in abundance on this littlenRiviera — I had the dying CountessnPotocki pointed out to me, with fortunesnon her fingers — and now Infound myself performing the samenlakeside stroll, or totter, between Veveynand Montreux, one now enhanced bynthe boxes of flowers set alongside thisnrather geriatric path.nPassing the grandeur of thenMontreux Palace Hotel, with its yellownwindow blinds, I invariably tipped mynhat to the memory of Nabokov whonexacted such sweet revenge on a lifetimenof detractors by taking, at the endnof it, the entire top floor of this sumptuousnestablishment, its leaded mansardsnreminiscent of the Negresco innNice, or the majesty of the old Ruhlnthere. One can think of worse places innwhich to shove off.nYou may not bathe in these lakes.nYou may not sound a car horn in anynSwiss city, nor erect flashing neonnsigns, nor paint your dwelling withoutnCantonal consent. Trains run on timenall right, indeed metronomically so,nconductors on them being very highgradenpersonnel indeed. Cars stop fornpedestrians at designated crossings andna routine bus driver says good morningnto you as you mount.nIn this connection a contrast occurrednto me when I once saw a buttoned-upnZiircher businessman give anreproving tap of his newspaper (doubtlessnthe Ziircher Zeitung) to a vehiclenthat had slightly encroached onto onenof these pedestrian walks. For somenyears ago an elderly friend performednthe same office to a truck in similarn•circumstances on Lexington Avenue.nThis time the driver got out, slammednmy friend with a wrench, and threwnhim down into an abandoned buildingnsite, where he was discovered unconsciousnhours later and taken to a hospital.nThough it was a sunny afternoonnno one intervened. Manhattanites simplynwent on their way. My friend hadnto have two operations and died shortlynafter the second. No one apprehendednthe driver.nOn one visit to Zurich I parked myn44/CHRONICLESncar in a slot on the Miinsterhof. Returningnto it after some shopping withnmy wife I found a policeman on allnfours behind it. He was testing thentread on my tires with a pencil-likenimplement and, finding one of them tonbe insufiicienriy deep, required me tonchange it on the spot. I did not argue.nOne does not with Swiss authority, as anmatter of courtesy more than anything.nImmigration is here very strictly controlled,nas are temporary work permits.nThe lessons of neighbors are learnt —nall those Algerians in Paris, while it isnsaid there are as many Turks in WestnBerlin today as in Istanbul.nAll this enviable harmony representsnan astonishing coordination betweennthree or four language groups. Nonhostile pressure for bilingualism here,nsince everyone is trilingual (linguisticnresearches have shown that if a childnearly acquires two languages, it has anmuch greater facility to adopt another).nThe customary cry of the disaffiliatednintellectual is that all this law and ordernis stultifying, as mirrored in an amusingnbook by a Swiss called Fiinf MillionennGerechte. The degree of self-controlnseems admirable to a New Yorker, butnthere was considerable public outcrynabout it when I was there, both in thenexcellent local press and on TV.nThanks to a release-of-information actnsimilar to our own, it was discoverednthat the Swiss government possessednfiches on no less than 400,000 of itsncitizens (a count growing as I left).nThe fiche is that filing card familiarnto Americans registering at any Frenchnhotel. But the sheer size of the Swissnself-documentation, more secret andnfar more invasive than any census, itnseems, staggered everyone. I gatherednthat a large proportion, perhaps a majority,nof German Switzerland werenwhat is called ftchiert in that tongue, asnwere, rather more understandably, residentnforeigners. One Suisesse foundnthat a fiche had been started on hernafter she had spent a year at an Americannuniversity that had been subject tonrepeated student busts! However, documentationnis not necessarily regimentation,nand one wonders if without itnSwitzerland can remain the beacon ofnsanity it is.nGeoffrey Wagner is an emeritusnprofessor of English at the CitynUniversity of New York.nnnLetter From thenLower Rightnby John Shelton ReednWhat I Did on My VacationnLast August found our family on a bluenhighway tour of the Northeast, anglingnacross some of the remoter parts ofncentral Pennsylvania and upstate NewnYork to Lake Champlain, crossing onnthe ferry for a few days in Vermont.nFrom Vermont, we nipped up to Montrealnto extend fraternal greetings to thenQuebec secessionists.nJust kidding. They had their handsnfull with Mohawk irrendentists at thentime. But whatever the outcome ofnCanada’s latest constitutional crisis, I donwish the Quebecois well. They’re absolutelynright to be concerned about thenthreat to their culture from the surroundingnAnglophone world. Quebec’snstringent French-only sign laws make itnlook as if you’re in a French-speakingncountry, but I was disappointed, on thisnfirst visit, at how easy it is to get along innEnglish. Even the signs seem to compromisenwhen it really matters. On thensuperhighway, for instance, perhapsnwisely, signs explain in both French andnEnglish that some westbound lanes becomeneastbound for the afternoon rushnhour. Similarly, a hand-lettered sign onna public toilet said both ‘Tas fonctionale,neh?” and “Out of order, dude.”nBut not everyone replied in Englishnto my halting French, and a fine lunchnof sausages and pommes frites at anbusinessmen’s bistro in Vieux Montrealnled me to wonder once again whynthe French from Saigon to New Orleansnare so good at table. It’s still farnmore interesting to cross the border innVermont than in Michigan, and althoughnit’s really none of my business,nI’d like to see it stay that way.nMost French-Canadians would, too,nof course, but they’re now demandingnprotections that other Canadians maynhot be willing to give them. As annAnglo reporter for the CanadiannBroadcasting Corporation complainednto me, “they want to be treated as ifnthey make up half the country.” Well,na Southerner ought to recognize thendoctrine of the concurrent majoritynwhen he encounters it, and this Southerner,nat least, sympathizes.n