|
Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
townspeople ply their crafts and domestic callings abroad. In fine weather, no work that can possibly be
done in the open air is done within four walls. Another curious feature of these engaging old streets, is
the number of blacksmiths' shops. It would seem as if all the horses, mules, and donkeys of the Nievre
were brought hither to be shod, the smithy fires keeping up a perpetual illumination.
A third and still more noteworthy point is the infrequency - absence, I am inclined to say - of cabarets.
Soberest of the sober, orderliest of the orderly, appear these good folks of La Charite, les Caritates as
they are called, nor, apparently, has tradition demoralised them. One might expect that a town dedicated
to the virtue of almsgiving would abound in beggars. Not one did we see.
CHAPTER X. POUGUES.
If an ugly name could kill a place, Pougues must surely have been ruined as a health resort centuries ago.
Coming, too, after that soothing, harmoniously named La Charite, could any configuration of letters grate
more harshly on the ear? Truth to tell, my travelling companion and myself had a friendly little
altercation about Pougues. It seemed impossible to believe pleasant things of a town so labelled. But the
reputation of Pougues dates from Hercules and Julius Caesar, both heroes, it is said, having had recourse
to its mineral springs! Coming from legend to history, we find that Pougues, or, at least, the waters of
Pougues, were patronised by the least objectionable son of Catherine de Medicis, Henri II. of France and
runaway King of Poland. Imputing his disorders to sorcery, he was thus reassured by a sensible physician
named Pidoux: "Sire, the malady from which you suffer is due to no witchcraft. Lead a quiet life for ten
weeks, and drink the water of Pougues." The best king France ever had, namely, the gay Gascon, and
after him Louis XIII., by no means one of the worst, had recourse to Pougues waters; also that
arch-voluptuary and arch-despot, the Sun-King, who imagined that even syntax and prosody must bow to
his will. [Footnote: One day the young king ordered his carriage, saying, " mon carrosse," instead
of "ma carrosse," the French word being derived from the Italian feminine, carrozza. On
being gently corrected, the king flew into a passion, declaring that masculine he had called it, and
masculine it should remain, which it has done to this day, so the story runs. Let the Republic look to it!]
And Madame de Sevigne - for whom, however, I have scant love, for did she not hail the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes? - Madame de Sevigne honoured Pougues with an epigram.
A second Purgatory she styled the douches, and, doubtless, in those non-washing days, a second
Purgatory it would have been to most folks.
To Pougues, nevertheless, we went, and if these notes induce the more enterprising of my countrypeople
to do the same next summer, they are not likely to repent of the experiment. Never, indeed, was a little
Eden of coolness, freshness, and greenery more abominably used by its sponsors, whilst the name of so
many French townlings are a poem in themselves!
From a view of sky blue waters and smooth brown sands we were transported to a world of emerald
green verdure and richest foliage, interpenetrated with golden light. On this 14th of September the
warmth and dazzlingness of mid-summer still reigned at Pougues; and the scenery in which we suddenly
found ourselves, bosquets, dells, and glades, with all the charm but without the savageness of the forest,
recalled the loveliest lines of the laziest poet: -
"Was naught around but images of rest,
And flowery beds, that slumberous influence kest[1],
Sleep-soothing groves and quiet lawns between,
From poppies breathed; and beds of pleasant green."
|
