Le Morvan, [A District of France,] Its Wild Sports, Vineyards and Forests

In Short

Written by a former French dragoon officer, this vivid portrait of the Morvan region captures a rugged landscape defined by vast oak forests, timber-rafting torrents, and rich vineyards. Through a series of spirited field anecdotes, legendary lore, and rustic sketches, the author leads the reader on dangerous wolf hunts, midnight vigils at woodland watering holes, and comical misadventures with visiting city slickers. It endures as an authentic, charming window into mid-nineteenth-century French rural traditions and the untamed natural beauty of a region largely forgotten by the outside world.

The Story

The book opens with a sweeping topographical and meteorological survey of the Morvan, anciently known as Morvennium. Situated between the vine-covered slopes of Burgundy and the granite peaks of the Nivernois, the region derives its true wealth from its massive, dark forests of oak and beech. Thousands of trees are felled annually, sent floating down mountain streams as single logs, assembled into great timber rafts on larger rivers, and navigated all the way to Paris. The author depicts a sun-drenched climate punctuated by violent, cleansing summer tempers, nurturing a extraordinarily healthy population where centenarians are far from rare.

As the narrative unfolds, it delves into the rich texture of local life, contrasting the rugged mountain dwellers with the prosperous farmers of the plains and the jovial local curés who share a deep appreciation for Burgundy wine. The narrative frequently shifts from natural history to colorful personal anecdotes. In one extended episode, a naive Parisian student visits his uncle's forest estate, only to get thoroughly lost while chasing a taunting cuckoo, ultimately spending a terrified night treed by wolves before being rescued. Another sequence follows the author's friend, Gustave Adolphe, a delicate Parisian "chasseur-de-salon," whose hilarious awkwardness in the field ends in an accidental boar kill that is slyly celebrated by the local community.

Central to the text are the intricate techniques of rural sport. The author provides exhaustive details on hunting at the mares—secluded forest watering holes where sportspeople construct hidden boughs to wait for game under cover of darkness. In a particularly humorous episode, a short-sighted Parisian banker on a health retreat mistakes a poor, stray donkey for a ferocious wild boar, shooting the beast and igniting a storm of wounded pride when his companions burst into laughter.

Beyond comedic field errors, the book captures the genuine peril and ecology of the region's wildlife. Wolves are portrayed not merely as targets for sportspeople, but as ravenous, destructive forces that terrorize sheepfolds and occasionally prey on vulnerable children when winter hunger strikes. Yet, in summer, the author notes with wry precision how wolves become sluggish and seemingly intoxicated after gorging themselves in the shady rock piles (meurgers) of high-altitude vineyards.

The narrative concludes with a warm homage to the native peasantry, defending their simple, nature-bound existence over the artificial amusements of urban theater-goers. The author finishes by comparing the Morvan to the fashionable, enervating retreat of Cannes, urging vigorous English sportspeople and lovers of nature to bypass luxury resorts and explore the wild, restorative paths of this untamed French interior.

How It Unfolds

The region surveyed The author introduces the geography, sweeping oak forests, and timber-floating rivers of the Morvan. He highlights the delightful climate and the extraordinary longevity of its rustic inhabitants.

A forest misadventure A visiting city student chases a elusive bird deep into the woods, loses his way, and is forced to spend a nerve-wracking night up a beech tree surrounded by hungry wolves.

Lessons in wood-craft The narrative explores the secretive world of local poachers and their remarkably intelligent dogs. A tense confrontation over a harvested hare illustrates the sharp wit and unyielding nature of the forest dwellers.

The city slicker's boar hunt Gustave Adolphe, a delicate Parisian hunter who flinches at flushing partridges, takes part in a forest hunt. Through sheer luck and friendly deception, he returns home hailed as a fearless boar slayer.

Comedy at the forest pool A group of sportspeople settles into a concealed hut for a night hunt, only for an ill-prepared, near-sighted banker to shoot a wandering donkey under the impression that he is fending off a wild beast.

The wolf of the Morvan The text details the formidable nature of the native wolf, detailing its desperate winter raids on livestock and its curious, sluggish summer habits within the vineyard stone heaps.

In praise of rural life The journey finishes by contrasting the natural pageantry of village festivals and starry forest nights with the artificiality of city life, offering a final invitation to adventurous travelers.

The People

• The Author (Henri de Crignelle): A former dragoon officer who spent his youth roaming the hills and woods with a gun on his arm. He desires to share the unique sports, untamed nature, and primitive customs of his homeland with a broader audience, acting throughout as a knowledgeable, witty, and seasoned guide.
• Père Séguin: A weathered, iron-willed local poacher who lives in deep harmony with the forest. Possessing an almost telepathic connection with his clever dog, he outsmarts young sportspeople with icy indifference, stubborn logic, and subtle sarcasm.
• Gustave Adolphe: A suave, pale young Parisian dancer and singer with rose-colored nails. Out of his element in the wilderness, he panics at the sudden flight of birds, yet his nerves gradually improve after an absurdly staged triumph over a wild boar.
• The Parisian Banker: An overworked, highly strung city gentleman who retreats to the Morvan to recover his health. Impatient and severely near-sighted, his fiery temper and pride lead to humiliation when his hunting zeal results in the tragicomedy of shooting a stray ass.

In Its Own Voice

"The forests of the Nièvre are some of the most extensive in France; thick and dark, and formed of ancient oaks, maple, and spreading beech, they cover nearly 200,000 acres of ground."

The author outlines the vast scale and dense arboriculture that form the true wealth of the Morvan region.

"'My dog never told a lie,' rejoined the braconnier, and he dipped the remnant of his turnip for the twentieth time in the salt. 'Never.'"

A stubborn old poacher coolly defends his hound's right to a contested hare during an argument in the woods.

"Say, reader, is not this hill a charming pit-stall, and much preferable to the narrow crimson section of the bench at the Opera?"

The narrative reflects on the simple, grand splendor available to the French peasant under a starry sky.

What It's Really About

Beneath its lively sporting tales and lighthearted character sketches, the book functions as a defense of the traditional, unvarnished countryside against the encroachment of urban softness. It contrasts the authentic, vigorous life of the forest dweller with the artificial vanity of Parisian society. Nature in the Morvan is presented not as a passive backdrop or a gentle garden, but as a vital, dangerous, and majestic force that shapes the character of those who live within it.

The work also examines the deep-seated harmony between humans and their immediate environment. Whether detailing the complex logistics of wood-rafting or the intuitive partnership between a poacher and his dog, the author argues that true fulfillment stems from a life lived outdoors, tuned to the rhythms of the land.

Why Read It Today

Le Morvan appeals to readers who delight in vintage travel writing, natural history, and classic field sports. It offers a wonderfully atmospheric escape into nineteenth-century rural France, written with a charming blend of military crispness, local affection, and quiet humor. Reading it feels like sitting by a fireplace while an old soldier recounts vibrant yarns of woodland hunts, cunning peasants, and absurd municipal visitors.

Modern readers should note that the book reflects the sporting ethos of its era, where wildlife is frequently viewed through the lens of the hunt, and wolves are characterized with period dramatic flair as villainous pests. Additionally, its leisurely pace and detailed descriptions of regional geography require a patient reader willing to amble through the landscape. Yet, for those who appreciate authentic local color, keen observations of animal behavior, and a refreshing lack of modern cynicism, this portrait of a wild, sunlit corner of old France remains a thoroughly engaging hideaway.