Along France's river of romance: . e natives looked atus with interest, languid on the part of the men andeager on the part of the bright-eyed girls, but no oneboarded the boat or left it, and in a few minutes we swungoff again, and leaving on our right Donges, with its whitechurch, made across the wide estuary to St. was like the sea now. Afar in the distance we coulddiscern across the dark water, all flecked with foam,romantic chimneys, the spars of ships; and further tothe left, a white dream-city. The prospect took on thatsplendour, that kind of unearthly magnificence which thes
Along France's river of romance: . e natives looked atus with interest, languid on the part of the men andeager on the part of the bright-eyed girls, but no oneboarded the boat or left it, and in a few minutes we swungoff again, and leaving on our right Donges, with its whitechurch, made across the wide estuary to St. was like the sea now. Afar in the distance we coulddiscern across the dark water, all flecked with foam,romantic chimneys, the spars of ships; and further tothe left, a white dream-city. The prospect took on thatsplendour, that kind of unearthly magnificence which thesea only can give ; a magnificence which Turner knew 320 THE LOIRE so wonderfully how to convey to his canvas. No townhas ever given me such an impression of romanticwonder as did St. Nazaire, approached by water. A shaftof sunlight escaping from behind a rain-cloud made itgleam with a radiance as of some other world, while thegreat waste of water remained a soot-like black—astriking contrast. And nothing that I had seen hitherto. Paimboeuf had so impressed me with the power and importanceof the river which I had traced from a tiny rill in thefar - off Cevennes, up through the heart of France tothis vast estuary. In a few minutes my long journeywould be done, my vow accomplished. But as the Ville de Nantes grew nearer and nearer toSt. Nazaire the rich glow of my excitement noticeablycooled. Light, alas, is a magician; imagination a TO ST. NAZAIRE 321 skilled architect. The chimneys and factories justoutside the town, and the network of masts and sparsof the shipping in the docks, were fine enough—butSt. Nazaire itself dwindled in the coldness of actualityto a poor, dull, squalid place. Its streets cross one another at right angles—wide,new boulevards of a desolating lack of interest. Theplace gives the impression of being much smaller thanit is—it boasts really more than 30,000 people—andhas a mushroom air that is in marked contrast to thatatmosphere of old establishme
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