True story of Robert of Combrailles

 

Country of Combrailles is the name of the middle mountain near Riom, to northwest of the Arvernie. Its laughing valleys are watered, among others, by Sioule, Morge and Allier rivers. The name of this picturesque region comes from the Gallic Comba Brahia, that means Valley of “Brayes”. That specifies pants of our proud ancestors. It is true that of all times this garment was always better adapted that the Roman togato to the rough climate that rages there often during Winter. In some cantons, inhabitants are always called “brayauds " in reference to this detail. 

It is to the heart of this endearing country that lives Robert, in hollow of a round valley that gave its name to the village. Since long time, Robert is a friend of the Nature. A friend? What do I say? Rather a lover! Robert likes to contemplate stars, to pick mushrooms, to listen the wind whispering in branches and singing birds. And besides, Robert communicates with trees! He knows to do that so well!  

 Some, that believe themselves very smart, blink the eye with knowing air when they see him at the foot of one of these giants, some others, are even a little joking, or even disagreeable: "To communicate with trees, let's see well! Think therefore! Would miss more that trees answer him! Poor Robert! And that they call him, in addition "! And they have the hot throat of it by dint of laughing. 

        But Robert doesn't have cure of it. With his bicycle, he continues to make the tour of his foliate friends in Combrailles. He is happier in their company that with this one of men. Until this day, where Robert punctuates the conversation that he holds with some people, by a: " M….(typical French oath)! They are cutting my ash "! Who lets them amazed. 

 Without other explanation, Robert immediately straddles his bicycle. He pedals promptly some miles. Buddies, enough worried, and especially less sporty, follow him in car. When they see him putting foot on the ground, they must yield then to the evidence: 

        Before them lies an immense ash that peasants are well pruning…  

  L.S /I\ 

 

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