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Matilda Betham-Edwards - East of Paris
crops and roots to notice wild flowers. Had he traversed this region earlier in the year, he might have
missed an exquisite feature, namely, the sweeps of autumn crocus. Just now the rich pastures around
Pougues, as well as suburban lawns and wayside spaces, were tinted with delicate mauve, the ground
being literally carpeted with these flowers. It was as if the lightest possible veil of pale purple covered
the turf, the same profusion being visible on every side.
One final word about this sweet and most unmusically named place. On no occasion and nowhere have I
been received with more cordiality than at dear little Pougues, a place I was told there utterly ignored by
my country people. I do honestly believe, indeed, that myself and fellow traveller were the first English
folk to wander about those delicious gardens, and taste the incomparable waters, cool, sparkling,
invigorating as those of Spa.
One enterprising proprietor of an excellent hotel was so anxious to secure an English clientele,
the best clientele in the world, so hotel keepers aver, that she offered me a handsome percentage
on any visitors I would send her. In the most delicate manner I could command, I gave her to understand
that my inquiries about Pougues were not made from a business point of view, but that I should certainly
proclaim its many attractions on the house-tops.
CHAPTER XI. NEVERS AND MOULINS.
I found the well-remembered Hotel de France much as I had left it, just upon twenty years before, every
whit as quiet, comfortable, and moderate in price, indeed, one of the best provincial hotels of France. The
dear old woman then employed as waitress, had, of course, long since gone to her rest, and the landlord
and landlady were new to me. But, the traditions of an excellent house were evidently kept up,
accommodation, meanwhile, having been greatly enlarged.
A place is like a book; if worth knowing at all, to be returned to again and again. After the first brief visit
so many years ago, I wrote, "I envy the traveller who for the first time stands on the bridge of Nevers."
And more imposing, more exhilarating still, seemed the view from the same spot now; under the brilliant
sky, in the clear atmosphere, every feature standing out as in a mosaic proudly dominating all, the
Cathedral, with its mass of sombre architecture; stretching wide to right and left, the gay,
prosperous-looking city; white villas rising one above the other, hanging gardens and terraced lawns,
making greenery and verdure in mid-air. On the occasion of my first visit in August, 1881, the Loire was
so low as to appear a mere thread of palest blue amid white sands; at the time I now write of, broad and
beautiful it flowed beneath the noble bridge, a deep twilight sky reflected in its limpid waters.
How well I remember the first sight of this scene years ago! Then it was early morning of market day,
and, pouring in from the country, I had met crowds of peasants with their products, the men in blue
blouses, the women in neat white coiffes, some bearing huge baskets on their heads, others drawing
heavily laden barrows, driving donkey-carts, the piled-up fruit and vegetables making a blaze of colour.
For three sous I recorded the purchase of more wild strawberries, peaches, and greengages than I knew
what to do with, each grower doing business on his own account, no middleman to share his profits;
choicest fruit and vegetables to be had almost for the asking. On this lovely Sunday evening plenty of
peasant folk were about, the men fishing in the Loire, the women minding their children under the trees.
But I noted here, as elsewhere, a gradual disappearance of the blue blouse and white coiffe. Broadcloth
and bonnets are fast superseding the homely, picturesque dress of former days.
The aerial residences just mentioned are characteristic of riverside Nevers. Craning our necks as we
strolled to and fro, we remarked how much life in such altitudes must resemble that of a balloon, folks
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