Village _fêtes_--The first of May--The religious festivals--The _Fête Dieu_--Appearance of the streets--The altars erected in them--Procession from the church--Country fairs--The book-stalls at them--Pictures of the Roman Catholic Church--Before the _Vendange_--Proprietor's hopes and fears--Shooting in the vineyards--The first day of the _Vendange_--Appearance of the country--Influx of visitors at this season--The consequences--Herminie--Her sad history--Le Morvan--Recommended to the English traveller--Lord Brougham and Cannes--Contrast between it and Le Morvan 297 LE MORVAN. CHAPTER I. English propensity to ramble--Where and how--Le Morvan--Vezelay--Description of the town--Historical associations connected with it--Charles IX.--Persecutions of the Protestants--View from Vezelay--Scenery and wild sports--The Author--Object of the Work. Every nation has its characteristics, and amongst those which are peculiar to the genius of the English people, is their ardent and insatiable love of wandering. To locomote is absolutely necessary to every Englishman; in his heart is profoundly rooted a passion for long journeys; each and all of them, old and young, healthy and sickly, would if they could take not merely the grand tour, but circulate round the two hemispheres with all the pleasure imaginable. At a certain period of the year, when the weathercock points the right way, the sun burns in the sign of the Lion, and the husbandman bends his weary form to gather in the golden corn, the legs of the rich Englishman begin to be nervously agitated, he feels a sense of suffocation, and pants for change--of air, of place, of everything; he girds up his loins, and without throwing a glance behind him, it is Hey, Presto! begone! and he is off. Where? It is autumn, blessed autumn, the season of harvest and sunny days; the English are everywhere--they fly from their own dear island like clouds of chilly swallows, light upon Europe as thick as thrushes in an orchard, and are soon mingled with every nation of the earth, like the blue corn flowers in the ripe barley fields. Yes, from north to south, from east to west, go where you will, you cannot proceed ten miles without meeting a smiling rosy English girl coquettishly concealed under her large green veil, and a grave British gentleman, whistling to the wide world in the sheer enjoyment of having nothing to do but to look at it.