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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
proceeded to put the wayfarer on his right road.
As a rule French peasants are exceedingly courteous to strangers, but these good people of the plain
seldom come in contact with the tourist world, their country not being sufficiently picturesque even to
attract the cyclist.
The curious thirteenth-century church of Recloses had long been an art pilgrimage. It contains, or at least
should contain, some of the most wonderful wood carvings in France; figures and groups of figures
highly realistic in the best sense of the word. These sculptures, unfortunately, we were not able to inspect
a second time; exhibited in the Paris Exhibition they had not yet been replaced.
It is a beautiful drive from Recloses to Bourron by the Croix de Saint Herem. A little way out of the
village we came upon a pretty scene, people, in family groups, playing croquet under the trees. Dancing
also goes on in summer as in the olden time. It was curious as we drove along to note the behaviour of
my friend's dog: it never for a moment closed its eyes, and yet there was nothing to look at but avenue
after avenue of trees. What could the little animal find so fascinating in the somewhat monotonous sight?
A friend at home assures me that a pet of her own enjoyed drives from purely snobbish motives; his great
gratification arising from the sense of superiority over fellow dogs compelled to trudge on foot. But in
these woodland solitudes there was no room for such a sentiment, not a dog being visible, only now and
then a cyclist flashing by.
There is no more splendid cycling ground in the world than this forest of Fontainebleau.
Shakespeare says: -
"This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve
By his loved mansionry that the heaven's breath
Smells wooingly here: no jutty frieze, buttress,
Nor coigne of vantage, but this bird hath made
His pendent bed, and procreant cradle: Where they
Most breed and haunt, I have observed the air
Is delicate."
About this time at Bourron the village street was alive with swallows preparing, I presume, for departure
southwards. A beautiful sight it was to see these winged congregations evidently concerting their future
movements.
Another feature to be mentioned is the number of large handsome moths frequenting these regions. One
beautiful creature as large as a swallow used to fly into our dining room every evening for warmth;
fastening itself to the wall it would there remain undisturbed until the morning.
I finish these reminiscences of Bourron by the following citation from Balzac's "Ursule Mirouet": -
"On entering Nemours at five o'clock in the morning, Ursule woke up feeling quite ashamed of her
untidiness, and of encountering Savinien's look of admiration. During the time that the diligence took to
come from Bouron (sic), where it stopped a few minutes, the young man had observed Ursule.
He had noted the candour of her mind, the beauty of her person, the whiteness of her complexion, the
delicacy of her features, the charm of the voice which had uttered the short and expressive sentence, in
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