Le Morvan [A district of France] - 1851 -
Introduction Born in one of the most
beautiful provinces of France, in a country of noble forests and extensive
vineyards ; brought up in the open air amidst the blue hills, and ever
wandering over the fields and mountains with a gun on my arm – all the hours
of my youth, if I may so say, were spent in search of partridges and hares
in the dewy stubbles, and in the pursuit of the wild cat and in the shady
depths of the woods.
When relating the adventures of these different shooting rambles to a friend,
talking over with him our mode of sporting so different from that of England,
and when in imagination I carried him along with me into the dells and dark
ravines, and described to him the chase and death-struggle of the ferocious
wolf, or the odd characters and antediluvian customs of the primitive people
amongst whom I passed the days of my happy boyhood, astonished, he could
hardly believe that such sports and ,such regular personages existed within
so short a distance of his own country.
“Why not scribble all this?” he would say, “your sketches would make capital
light reading.”
“But to write is not easy ; and, besides, what a poor figure I and my dogs
and wolves, woodcocks and vineyards, would cut after the terrible Mr. Gordon
Cumming. How could any description of mine interest the public in comparison
with those of that famous shot and his three Hottentots, with his bands of
panthers and giraffes, his troops of yellow lions dancing sarabands round
the fountains, and his jungles and swamps swarming with elephants and
hippopotami?”
“But we might be able to go to Le Morvan,” said my friend, “whereas few
indeed, if they wished it, can go to the South of Africa to shoot elephants
through the small ribs ; neither is it probable that many of us would like to
pass several years of their valuable lives shut up in a loose, rolling
sea-bathing-machine-like wagon, with their own beloved shadow alone for all
Christian company. Let us have a narrative of your exploits?”
“You do not consider what you ask,” I replied ; “my gossip may have amused
you, but the effusions of my pen would to certainly make you yawn like
graves.”
“Nonsense,” whispered the flatterer, “you will open to us a new country, you
will confer a real service upon hundreds of restless Englishmen, who when
summer comes know not for the life of them where to go, or where not to go ;
- write your work, and advise them to turn their steps to Le Morvan at the
time of the vintage.”
But now another, a huge difficulty, sprung up. Printers, do not lend their
types for nothing any more than they give gratis their time and paper. To
publish a book is always an expensive affair ; misfortune, which had touched
me with its wings, which has been the sad guest of my house, deprived, me of
the power of undertaking it myself ; and where to find a person so generous
as to take upon himself the responsibility of undertaking ? Happily I was in
England, in the land of kind hearts and warm sympathies. A noble lady, the
mother of a distinguished English nobleman, who passes her life in doing
good, took an interest in my forlorn history, and was pleased to honour me
with her patronage. With this mantle of protection around me, and my
generous friend having undertaken to bear the responsibility of publishing,
the difficulties were soon swept away, and Le Morvan was written.
I had hoped that I should in this Preface be permitted to mention her name,
which would have been less a compliment to her than an honour to me : but
her modesty has refused this public acknowledgment of my unbounded
gratitude, - a veil of respectful reserve shall therefore remain suspended
over her name. As for me and mine, we shall we pray that the Great Giver of
all good may confer upon her His most precious and gracious blessings.
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