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:--