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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
trees.
The formation of the forest has puzzled geologists, to this day the origin of its rocky substratum
remaining undetermined.
Within half an hour's stroll of Bourron lies the so-called "Mare aux Fees" or Fairies' Mere, as sweet a
spot to boil one's kettle in as holiday makers can desire, at the same time affording the best possible
illustration of what I have just insisted upon. For this favourite resort is in a certain sense microcosmic,
giving in miniature those characteristics for which the forest is remarkable. Smooth and sunny as a
garden plot is the open glade wherein we now halt for tea, and while the kettle boils we have time for a
most suggestive bird's eye view. It is a little world that we survey from the borders of this rock-hemmed,
forest-girt lake, one perspective after another with varying gradations of colour making us realize the
many-featured, chequered area spread before us. From this coign of vantage are discerned alike the
sterner and the more smiling beauties of the forest, rocky defiles, gloomy passes, sunlit lawns and mossy
dells, scenery varied in itself and yet varying again with the passing hour and changing month. And such
suggestion of almost infinite variety is not gained only from the Fairies' Mere. From a dozen points, not
the same view but the same kind of view may be obtained, each differing from the other, except in charm
and immensity. Within a walk of home also stands one of the numerous monuments scattered throughout
the forest. The Croix de Saint Herem, now a useful landmark for cyclists, has a curious history. It was
erected in 1666 by a certain Marquis de Saint-Herem, celebrated for his ugliness, and centuries later was
the scene of the most extraordinary rendezvous on record. Here, in 1804, every detail having been
theatrically arranged beforehand, took place the so-called chance meeting of Napoleon and Pope Pius
VII. The Emperor had arranged a grand hunt for that day, and in hunting dress, his dogs at his heels,
awaited the pontiff by the cross of Saint Herem. As the pair lovingly embraced each other the Imperial
horses ran away; this apparent escapade formed part of the programme, and Napoleon stepped into the
Pope's carriage, seating himself on his visitor's, rather his prisoner's, right. A few years later another
rencontre not without historic irony took place here. In 1816, Louis XVIII. received on this spot the
future mother, so it was hoped, of French Kings, the adventurous Caroline of Naples, afterwards
Duchesse de Berri.
The crosses monuments of the forest are usefully catalogued in local guide-books, and many have
historic associations. The most interesting of these - readers will excuse the Irish bull - is a monument
that may be said never to have existed!
The great Polish patriot Kosciusko spent the last fifteen years of his life in a hamlet near Nemours, and
on his death the inhabitants of that and neighbouring villages projected a double memorial, in other
words, a tiny chapel, the ruins of which are still seen near Episy, and a mound to be added to every year
and to be called "La Montagne de Kosciusko," or Kosciusko's mountain. Particulars of this generous and
romantic scheme are preserved in the archives of Montigny. The inauguration of the mound took place
on the ninth of October 1836. To the sound of martial music, drums and cannon, the first layers of earth
were deposited, men, women and children taking part in the proceedings. A year later no less than ten
thousand French friends of Poland with mattock and spade added several feet to Kosciusko's mountain.
But the celebration got noised abroad. Afraid of anti-Russian manifestations the government of Louis
Philippe prohibited any further Polish fetes. Thus it came about that, as I have said, the most interesting
monument in the forest remains an idea. And all things considered, neither French nor English admirers
of the exiled hero could to-day very well carve on the adjoining rock,
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