Forges-les-Eaux, near which the Andelle rises, first became celebrated for its chalybeate springs in the time of Anne of Austria, mother of Louis XIV., who, with many other celebrities of royal and noble birth, went there to take the waters.
To-day its fame has not wholly departed; but those who go to such places usually find that they are the more beneficial, the more fashionable they are, and the more alluring its amusements. Forges-les-Eaux is not one of the most fashionable, hence the virtues of its waters are now somewhat negatived. This is a pity, for it is in the midst of a charming country, and the sylvan attractions round about are doubtless as good an antidote to the excessive imbibing of water as "_Petits Chevaux_" or "_Trente et Quarante_."
There are, however, no very splendid architectural remains in the town itself. A few old houses, some far more interesting ones in the country near by, a conventional "_Etablissement_" and a modern Gothic church, after the old-time manner, complete the list of attractions of Forges-les-Eaux, in addition to the springs themselves.
Southwesterly until one reaches the forest of Lyons, nearly four hundred square miles in extent, there is naught in this beautiful river valley but a succession of typical French villages, with high stone walls enclosing farms, red-roofed cottages, and outbuildings; and an occasional _pigeonnier_, and wayside cross.
At Lyons-le-Forêt, the little forest town of perhaps half a thousand inhabitants, one comes immediately into touch with a civilization strangely out of keeping with its idyllic setting. There is a hotel there with all the improvements of our own time: enamelled baths, running water, an automobile omnibus to the station, seven kilometres distant, ice for cold drinks, Scotch whisky, and many other luxuries which discount one's enjoyment of real country travel.
It is pleasant enough, however, on a hot summer's day; and the town itself is delightfully unspoiled, with its crooked, winding streets, its picturesque though not beautiful market-house, its pretty little church, and the tiny river Lieure, a tributary of the Andelle, where one may take fish if he likes.
Being in the midst of this great forest, it is but natural that the church of Lyons-le-Forêt should have a shrine to St. Hubert, the patron of the hunt. It is there on the north wall of the single nave of the church, with all its well-recognized symbolism; though, truth to tell, it is rather a tawdry shrine of no great artistic merit, and horribly desecrated by a coat of dirty yellow paint.