Yet another vandal punished by Venus! Would that all destroyers of our
ancient monuments could have their heads broken like that!
And with this charitable wish I fell asleep.
It was broad day when I awoke. Near my bed on one side stood M. de
Peyrehorade in a dressing-gown; on the other a servant sent by his wife
with a cup of chocolate in his hand.
"Come now, Parisian, get up! How lazy you people from the capital are!"
said my host, while I hastily dressed myself. "It is eight o'clock, and
you still in bed. I got up at six o'clock. I have been upstairs three
times; I listened at your door on tiptoe, but there was no sign of life
at all. It is bad for you to sleep too much at your age. And my Venus
waiting to be seen! Come, take this cup of Barcelona chocolate as fast
as you can ... it is quite contraband. You can't get such chocolate in
Paris. Take in all the nourishment you can, for when you are before my
Venus no one will be able to tear you away."
I was ready in five minutes; that is to say, I was only half shaved,
wrongly buttoned and scalded by the chocolate which I had swallowed
boiling hot. I went downstairs into the garden and was soon in front of
a wonderfully fine statue. It was indeed a Venus of extraordinary
beauty. The top part of her body was bare, just as the ancients usually
depicted their great deities; her right hand, raised up to her breast,
was bent, with the palm inwards, the thumb and two first fingers
extended, whilst the other two were slightly curved. The other hand was
near the hips, and held up the drapery which covered the lower part of
the body. The attitude of this statue reminded me of that of the Morra
player, which, for some reason or other, goes by the name of Germanicus.
Perhaps they wished to depict the goddess playing at the game of Morra.
However that might be, it is impossible to conceive anything more
perfect than the body of this Venus; nothing could be more harmonious or
more voluptuous than its outlines, nothing more graceful or dignified
than its drapery. I expected some work of the Lower Empire, and I beheld
a masterpiece of the most perfect period of sculpture. I was specially
struck with the exquisite truth of form, which gave the impression that
it had been moulded by nature itself, if nature ever produces such
perfect specimens.
The hair, which was raised off the forehead, looked as though it might
have been gilded at some time. The head was small, like those of nearly
all Greek statues, and bent slightly forward. As to the face, I should
never be able to express its strange character; it was of quite a
different type from that of any other antique statue I could recall to
mind. It was not only the calm and austere beauty of the Greek
sculptors, whose rule was to give a majestic immobility to every
feature. Here, on the contrary, I noticed with astonishment that the
artist had purposely expressed ill-nature to the point even of
wickedness. Every feature was slightly contracted: the eyes were rather
slanting, the mouth turned up at the corners, and the nostrils somewhat
inflated. Disdain, irony, cruelty, could be traced on a face which was,
notwithstanding, of incredible beauty. Indeed, the longer one looked at
this wonderful statue, the more did the distressing thought obtrude
itself that such marvellous beauty could be united with an utter absence
of goodness.
"If the model ever existed," I said to M. de Peyrehorade, "and I doubt
if Heaven ever produced such a woman, how I pity her lovers! She would
delight to make them die of despair. There is something ferocious in her
expression, and yet I never saw anything so beautiful."
"'It is Venus herself gloating over her prey,'"
cried M. de Peyrehorade, pleased with my enthusiasm.
That expression of fiendish scorn was perhaps enhanced by the contrast
shown by her eyes, which were encrusted with silver, and shone
brilliantly with the greenish-black colour that time had given to the
whole statue. Those brilliant eyes produced a kind of illusion which
recalled lifelike reality. I remembered what my guide had said, that she
made those who looked at her lower their eyes. It was quite true, and I
could hardly restrain an impulse of anger against myself for feeling
rather ill at ease before that bronze face.
"Now that you have admired it minutely, my dear colleague in antiquarian
research," said my host, "let us, by your leave, open a scientific
conference. What say you to that inscription, which you have not yet
noticed?"