I descended the last hillside at Canigou, and, although the sun had
already set, I could distinguish the houses of the little town of Ille,
in the plain, towards which my steps were turned.
"You know," I said to the Catalanian who had been my guide since the
previous day--"no doubt you know where M. de Peyrehorade lives?"
"Do I know it!" he exclaimed. "I know his house as well as I know my
own; and if it wasn't so dark I would point it out to you. It is the
prettiest in Ille. M. de Peyrehorade is a rich man; and he is marrying
his son to a lady even richer than himself."
"Is the marriage to take place soon?" I asked.
"Very soon; probably the violinists are already ordered for the wedding.
Perhaps it will be to-night, or to-morrow, or the day after, for all I
know. It will be at Puygarrig; for the son is to marry Mademoiselle de
Puygarrig. It will be a very grand affair!"
I had been introduced to M. de Peyrehorade by my friend M. de P., who
told me he was a very learned antiquarian and of extreme good nature.
It would give him pleasure to show me all the ruins for ten leagues
round. So I was looking forward to visit with him the district
surrounding Ille, which I knew to be rich in monuments belonging to
ancient times and the Middle Ages. This marriage, of which I now heard
for the first time, would upset all my plans. I said to myself, I should
be a kill-joy; but I was expected, and as M. de P. had written to say I
was coming, I should have to present myself.
"I will bet you, Monsieur," said my guide to me, when we were in the
plain--"I will bet you a cigar that I can guess why you are going to M.
de Peyrehorade's."
"But that is not a difficult thing to guess," I replied, holding out a
cigar to him. "At this hour, after traversing six leagues amongst the
Canigou hills, the grand question is supper."
"Yes, but to-morrow?... Wait, I will bet that you have come to Ille to
see the statue. I guessed that when I saw you draw pictures of the
Saints at Serrabona."
"The statue! What statue?" The word had excited my curiosity.
"What! did no one tell you at Perpignan that M. de Peyrehorade had found
a statue in the earth?"
"Did you mean a statue in terra-cotta, or clay?"
"Nothing of the kind. It is actually in copper, and there is enough of
it to make heaps of coins. It weighs as much as a church bell. It is
deep in the ground, at the foot of an olive tree that we dug up."
"You were present, then, at the find?"
"Yes, sir. M. de Peyrehorade told Jean Coll and me, a fortnight ago, to
uproot an old olive tree which had been killed by the frost last year,
for there was a very severe frost, you will remember. Well, then, whilst
working at it with all his might, Jean Coll gave a blow with his
pickaxe, and I heard bimm!... as though he had struck on a bell. 'What
is that?' I said. He picked and picked again, and a black hand appeared,
which looked like the hand of a dead man coming out of the ground. I
felt frightened; I went to the master and said to him: 'There are dead
folk, master, under the olive tree; I wish you would send for the
priest.' 'What dead folk?' he asked. He came, and had no sooner seen the
hand than he cried out, 'An antique statue! an antique statue!' You
might have thought he had discovered a treasure. And then he set to with
pickaxe and hands, and worked hard; he did almost as much work as the
two of us together."
"And what did you find in the end?"
"A huge black woman, more than half naked, saving your presence, sir,
all in copper, and M. de Peyrehorade told us that it was an idol of
pagan times ... perhaps as old as Charlemagne!"
"I see what it is ... some worthy Virgin in bronze which belonged to a
convent that has been destroyed."
"The Blessed Virgin! Well, I never!... I should very soon have known if
it had been the Blessed Virgin. I tell you it is an idol; you can see
that plainly from its appearance. It stares at you with its great white
eyes.... You might have said it was trying to put you out of
countenance. It was enough to make one ashamed to look at her."
"White eyes were they? No doubt they are inlaid in the bronze; it might
perhaps be a Roman statue."
"Roman! that's it. M. de Peyrehorade said that it was Roman. Ah! I can
see you are as learned as he is."
"Is it whole and in good preservation?"
"Oh, it is all there, sir. It is much more beautiful and better finished
than the painted plaster bust of Louis Philippe, which is at the town
hall. But for all that the idol's face is not very nice to look at. She
looks wicked ... and she is so, too."
"Wicked! What mischief has she done you?"
"No mischief to me exactly; but I will tell you. We were down on all
fours to raise her up on end, and M. de Peyrehorade was also tugging at
the rope, although he had no more strength than a chicken, good man!
With much trouble he got her straight. I picked up a tile to prop her
up, when, good Lord! she fell upside down all in a heap. 'Look out there
below!' I said, but I was not quick enough, for Jean Coll had not time
to draw his leg out...."
"And was it hurt?"
"His poor leg was broken as clean as a pole. Goodness! when I saw it I
was furious. I wanted to break up the idol with my pickaxe, but M. de
Peyrehorade would not let me. He gave some money to Jean Coll, who, all
the same, has been in bed the whole fortnight since it happened, and the
doctor says that he will never walk with that leg again so well as with
the other. It is a sad pity; he was our best runner, and, after M. de
Peyrehorade's son, he was the cleverest tennis player. M. Alphonse de
Peyrehorade was dreadfully sorry, for it was Coll against whom he
played. It was fine to see them send the balls flying. Whizz! whizz!
they never touched the ground."
And so we chatted till we reached Ille, and I very soon found myself in
the presence of M. de Peyrehorade. He was a little old man, still hale
and active; he was powdered, had a red nose, and his manner was jovial
and bantering. When he had opened M. de P.'s letter he installed me in
front of a well-appointed table and presented me to his wife and son as
an illustrious archaeologist, whose desire it was to raise the province
of Roussillon from obscurity, in which it had been left by the neglect
of the learned.
Whilst I was eating with a good appetite--for nothing makes one so
hungry as mountain air--I examined my hosts. I have said a word or two
about M. de Peyrehorade; I should add that he was vivacity itself. He
talked and ate, got up, ran to his library to bring me books, showed me
engravings, and poured out drinks for me; he was never still for two
minutes. His wife was rather too stout, like most Catalanian women over
forty, and she seemed to me a regular provincial, solely taken up with
the cares of her household. Although the supper was ample for six people
at least, she ran to the kitchen, had pigeons killed and dozens of them
fried, besides opening I don't know how many pots of preserves. In a
trice the table was loaded with dishes and bottles, and I should
assuredly have died of indigestion if I had even tasted all that was
offered me. However, at each dish that I refused there were fresh
excuses. They were afraid I did not get what I liked at Ille--there are
so few means of getting things in the provinces, and Parisians are so
hard to please!
M. Alphonse de Peyrehorade stirred no more than a statue in the midst of
his parents' comings and goings. He was a tall young man of twenty-six,
with beautiful and regular features, but they were wanting in
expression. His figure and athletic build quite justified the reputation
he had gained in the country as an indefatigable tennis player. He was
that evening exquisitely dressed, exactly like the latest fashion plate.
But he seemed to me to be uneasy in his garments; he was as stiff as a
post in his velvet collar, and could not turn round unless with his
whole body. His fat and sunburnt hands, with their short nails,
contrasted strangely with his costume. They were the hands of a
labouring man appearing below the sleeves of a dandy. For the rest, he
only addressed me once throughout the whole evening, and that was to ask
me where I had bought my watch-chain, although he studied me from head
to foot very inquisitively in uncapacity as a Parisian.
"Ah, now, my honoured guest," said M. de Peyrehorade to me when supper
drew to its conclusion, "you belong to me. You are in my house, and I
shall not give you any rest until you have seen all the curiosities
among our mountains. You must learn to know our Roussillon and to do it
justice. You have no idea what we can show you--Phoenician, Celtic,
Roman, Arabesque and Byzantine monuments. You shall see them all--lock,
stock and barrel. I will take you everywhere, and will not let you off a
single stone."
A fit of coughing compelled him to stop. I took advantage of it to tell
him I should be greatly distressed if I disturbed him during the
interesting event about to take place in his family. If he would kindly
give me the benefit of his valuable advice about the excursion I ought
to take, I should be able to go without putting him to the inconvenience
of accompanying me....
"Ah, you are referring to this boy's marriage!" he exclaimed,
interrupting me. "That is all nonsense. It takes place the day after
to-morrow. You shall celebrate the wedding with us; it will take place
quietly, for the bride is in mourning for an aunt, whose heiress she is.
Therefore there is to be neither fête nor ball.... It is a pity.... You
would have seen our Catalanian women dance.... They are pretty, and you
might perhaps have been tempted to follow Alphonse's example. One
marriage, they say, leads to others.... On Saturday, after the young
people are married, I shall be at liberty, and we will set out. I ask
your forgiveness for the irksomeness of a provincial wedding. To a
Parisian blasé with fêtes ... and a wedding without a ball too! However,
you will see a bride ... such a bride ... you must tell me what you
think of her.... But you are not a frivolous man, and you take no notice
of women. I have better things than women to show you. I am going to
show you something! I have a fine surprise for you to-morrow."
"Ah," I replied, "it is not easy to have a treasure in your house
without the public knowing all about it. I think I can guess the
surprise you have in store for me. You are thinking of your statue. I am
quite prepared to admire it, for my guide's description if it has roused
my curiosity."
"Ah! he told you about the idol, for that is what they call my beautiful
Venus Tur--but I will not talk of it. To-morrow, as soon as it is
daylight, you shall see her, and you shall tell me if I am not right in
considering her a _chef-d'oeuvre._ Upon my word, you could not have
arrived at a better time! There are inscriptions which poor ignorant I
explain after my own fashion ... but a savant from Paris!... You will
probably laugh at my interpretation, for I have written a treatise on
it.... I--an old provincial antiquarian--I am going to venture.... I
mean to make the press groan. If you would be so good as to read and
correct it, I should be hopeful.... For example, I am curious to know
how you would translate this inscription on the pedestal: '_CAVE_'
...--but I do not want to ask you anything yet! To-morrow, to-morrow!
Not a single word about the Venus to-day."
"You are quite right, Peyrehorade," said his wife, "to stop talking
about your idol; you ought to see that you are preventing the gentleman
from eating. Why, he has seen far more beautiful statues in Paris than
yours. There are dozens of them in the Tuileries, and in bronze too."
"Just look at her ignorance--the blessed ignorance of the provinces!"
interrupted M. de Peyrehorade. "Fancy, comparing a splendid antique
statue to the flat figures of Coustou!
"'How irreverently of my affairs
The gods are pleased to talk!'
"Do you know my wife wanted to have my statue melted down to make a bell
for our church? She would have been its godmother--one of Myro's
_chef-d'oeuvres_."
"_Chef-d'oeuvre! chef-d'oeuvre!_ a fine _chef-d'oeuvre_ it is to break a
man's leg!"
"Look here, wife," said M. de Peyrehorade in a determined voice, as he
extended his right leg towards her, clad in a fine silk stocking, "if my
Venus had broken this leg I should not have minded."
"Good gracious! Peyrehorade, how can you talk like that? Fortunately,
the man is going on well.... And yet I cannot bring myself to look at
the statue which did such an evil thing as that. Poor Jean Coll!"
"Wounded by Venus, sir," said M. de Peyrehorade, laughing loudly. "The
rascal complains of being wounded by Venus!
"'Veneris nec praemia nôris.'