Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 2, 2025
The great novelist loved the valley of the Loing almost as fondly as his native Touraine; and if these pastoral scenes did not inspire a chef d'oeuvre, they have thereby immensely gained in interest. "Ursule Mirouet," of which I shall have more to say further on, is not to be compared to such masterpieces as "Eugenie Grandet."
The Loing canal joins the Seine at Saint Mammes, a few kilometres lower down, continuing its course of thirty kilometres to Bleneau in the Nievre. Canal life in Eastern France is a characteristic feature, the whole region being intersected by a network of waterways, those chemins qui marchent, or walking roads as Michelet picturesquely calls them.
Moret was in those days an old-fashioned town of one street at the edge of the forest of Fontainebleau, and the Ecu d'Or was a hotel which still had about it the decrepit air of the Ancien Regime. It faced the winding river, the Loing; and Miss Chalice had a room with a little terrace overlooking it, with a charming view of the old bridge and its fortified gateway.
If, leaving the world of forest to our right, we continue our journey in the direction of Chapelle la Reine, we overlook a vast plain the population of which is very different from that of the smiling fertile prosperous valley of the Loing. This plain, extending to Etampes and Pithiviers, might, I am told, possibly have suggested to Zola some scenes and characters of "La Terre."
"Who knows Nemours," wrote Balzac, "knows that nature there is as beautiful as art," and again he dwells upon the charm of the sleepy little town memorialized in "Ursule Mirouet." The delicious valley of Loing indeed fascinated Balzac almost as much as his beloved Touraine.
Loing and myself all our baggage was there, and the house, built on high poles, was very shaky. The bamboo floor gave way in a disagreeable manner, and it did not seem a remote possibility for it to fall, though the genial lady of the manor, who went away herself, assured us that the house was strong.
Entering Nemours by the road to Paris, we cross the canal du Loing, the steep banks of which serve the double purpose of ramparts to the fields and of picturesque promenades for the inhabitants of that pretty little town. Since 1830 several houses had unfortunately been built on the farther side of the bridge.
"Why not for me too?" said Goupil maliciously, instantly suspecting a secret motive in Minoret's conduct. "Isn't it through information you got from me that you make twenty-four thousand a year from that land, without a single enclosure, around the Chateau du Rouvre? The fields and the mill the other side of the Loing make sixteen thousand more. Come, old fellow, do you mean to play fair with me?"
I climbed on board and found rattan piled high everywhere, covering even the steps that led up to the "passenger-deck," where I emerged crawling on all fours. A shelter of duck had been raised for me in one corner, the lieutenant and Mr. Loing placed their beds in the adjoining space, while the soldiers camped next to them. All the natives, packed closely together, formed another row.
I did not feel thoroughly comfortable until the "onder" and the thirteen men had finished their cooking and gone elsewhere to camp. When all was quiet and we could go to sleep it was twelve o'clock. Early in the morning Mr. Loing went back in the small prahu to take up the map where he had been compelled to quit on account of the darkness.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking