“Et c’est un miracle constant,
Le plus chétif, en un instant,
Est en athlète transformé
A Paramé!
“Du reste, miracle plus fort,
Jamais personne ici n’est mort,
On ne connaît pas d’inhumé
A Paramé!
“A vous tous, gandins rabougris
Qui dépérissez à Paris,
Venez humer l’air embaumé
De Paramé!
“Vous ne le regretterez pas:
On y fait d’excellents repas,
Et le cidre est fort estimé
A Paramé!
“Donc, sur l’honneur, je vous le dis,
A défaut du vrai paradis,
Il n’est sur terre, en résumé,
Que Paramé!”
That is about the sort of round that one gets at Paramé, with motor-cars, golf, and bridge parties thrown in, but a wonderful aspect of nature to be seen at every turn, and it is perhaps small wonder that the little summer colony has now grown to huge proportions.
Americans should have a special interest in, and a fondness for, St. Malo, “the city of the corsairs.”
St. Malo is the chief town of the province of Jacques Cartier, the discoverer of Canada. “It is a city of great men and the chief place of the Breton middle class,” said the Abbé Jalobert in his curious work on St. Malo and St. Servan.
There is some truth in calling St. Malo the “corsair stronghold,” for it was the cradle of Mahé de la Bourdonnais, Duguay-Trouin, Surcouf, and their followers, all “sea-rovers” if they were not something more.
To-day St. Malo’s “sea-rovers” are the sailors of the Newfoundland fishing-fleet, the humble “terre-neuvas,” as they are known, who go in large numbers to fish for cod on the Grand Banks of Newfoundland.