"Latin is a difficult tongue, because of its concise expression," I
remarked, to avoid contradicting my antiquarian friend outright; and I
stepped further away to see the statue better.
"One moment, colleague," said M. de Peyrehorade, seizing me by the arm,
"you have not seen everything. There is still another inscription. Climb
up on the pedestal and look at the right arm." And saying this, he
helped me up.
I held on to the neck of the Venus unceremoniously, and began to make
myself better acquainted with her. I only looked at her for a moment,
right in the face, and I found her still more wicked, and still more
beautiful. Then I discovered that there were some written characters in
an ancient, running hand, it seemed to me, engraved on the arm. With the
help of spectacles I spelt out the following, whilst M. de Peyrehorade
repeated every word as soon as pronounced, with approving gesture and
voice. It read thus:--
_VENERI TVRBVL ..._
_EVTYCHES MYRO_
_IMPERIO FECIT._
After the word _TVRBVL_ in the first line, I thought some letters had
been effaced; but _TVRBVL_ was perfectly legible.
"What do you say to that?" asked my host, radiantly smiling with malice,
for he knew very well that I could not easily extricate myself from this
_TVRBVL_.
"I cannot explain that word yet," I said to him; "all the rest is easy.
By his order Eutyches Myro made this great offering to Venus."
"Good. But what do you make of _TVRBVL_? What is _TVRBVL_?"
"_TVRBVL_ puzzles me greatly; I cannot think of any epithet applied to
Venus which might assist me. Stay, what do you say to _TVRBVLENTA_?
Venus, who troubles and disturbs.... You notice I am all the time
thinking of her malignant expression. _TVRBVLENTA_ would not be at all a
bad epithet for Venus," I added modestly, for I was not myself quite
satisfied with my explanation.
"Venus the turbulent! Venus the broiler! Ah! you think, then, that my
Venus is a Venus of the pot-house? Nothing of the kind, Monsieur. She is
a Venus belonging to the great world. And now I will expound to you
this _TVRBVL_.... You will at least promise not to divulge my discovery
before my treatise is published. I shall become famous, you see, by this
find.... You must leave us poor provincial devils a few ears to glean.
You Parisian savants are rich enough."
From the top of the pedestal, where I still perched, I solemnly promised
that I would never be so dishonourable as to steal his discovery.
"_TVRBVL_ ... Monsieur," he said, coming nearer and lowering his voice
for fear anyone else but myself should hear, "read _TVRBVLNERÆ_."
"I do not understand any better."
"Listen carefully. A league from here, at the base of the mountain, is a
village called Boulternère. It is a corruption of the Latin word
_TVRBVLNERA._ Nothing is commoner than such an inversion. Boulternère,
Monsieur, was a Roman town. I have always been doubtful about this, for
I have never had any proof of it. The proof lies here. This Venus was
the local goddess of the city of Boulternère; and this word Boulternère,
which I have just shown to be of ancient origin, proves a still more
curious thing, namely that Boulternère, after being a Roman town, became
a Phoenician one!"
He stopped a minute to take breath, and to enjoy my surprise. I had to
repress a strong inclination to laugh.
"Indeed," he went on, "_TVRBVLNERA_ is pure Phoenician. _TVR_ pronounce
_TOUR.... TOUR_ and _SOUR_, are they not the same word? _SOUR_ is the
Phoenician name for Tyre. I need not remind you of its meaning. _BVL_ is
Baal, Bâl, Bel, Bul, slight differences in pronunciation. As to _NERA_,
that gives me some trouble. I am tempted to think, for want of a
Phoenician word, that it comes from the [Greek _neiros_]--damp, marshy.
That would make it a hybrid word. To justify [Greek _neiros_] I will
show you at Boulternère how the mountain streams there form poisonous
swamps. On the other hand, the ending _NERA_ might have been added much
later, in honour of Nera Pivesuvia, the wife of Tetricus, who may have
done some benevolent act to the city of Turbul. But, on account of the
marshes, I prefer the derivation from [Greek _neiros_]."
He took a pinch of snuff with a satisfied air.
"But let us leave the Phoenicians and return to the inscription. I
translate, then: 'To the Venus of Boulternère Myro dedicates by his
command this statue, the work of his hand.'"
I took good care not to criticise his etymology, but I wanted, on my own
account, to put his penetrative faculties to the proof, so I said to
him: "Wait a bit, Monsieur, Myro dedicated something, but I do not in
the least see that it was this statue."
"What!" he exclaimed, "was not Myro a famous Greek sculptor? The talent
would descend to his family; and one of his descendants made this
statue. Nothing can be clearer."
"But," I replied, "I see a little hole in the arm. I fancy it has been
used to hold something, perhaps a bracelet, which this Myro gave to
Venus as an expiatory offering, for Myro was an unlucky lover. Venus was
incensed against him, and he appeased her by consecrating a golden
bracelet. You must remember that _fecit_ is often used for
_consecravit_. The terms are synonymous. I could show you more than one
instance if I had access to Gruter or, better still, Orellius. It is
natural that a lover should behold Venus in his dreams, and that he
should imagine that she commanded him to give her statue a golden
bracelet. Myro consecrated a bracelet to her.... Then the barbarians, or
perhaps some sacrilegious thief--"
"Ah! it is easily seen that you are given to romancing," cried my host,
lending his hand to help me down. "No, Monsieur, it is a work after the
School of Myro. Only look at the work, and you will agree."
Having made it a rule never to contradict pig-headed antiquarians
outright, I bowed my head as though convinced, and said--
"It is a splendid piece of work."
"Ah! my God!" exclaimed M. de Peyrehorade, "here is yet another mark of
vandalism! Someone has thrown a stone at my statue!"
He had just seen a white mark a little below the breast of the Venus. I
noticed a similar mark on the fingers of the right hand, which at first
I supposed had been scraped by the stone in passing, or perhaps a
fragment of it might have broken off by the shock and rebounded upon the
hand. I told my host the insult that I had witnessed and the prompt
punishment which had followed. He laughed heartily, and compared the
apprentice to Diomede, wishing he might see all his comrades changed
into white birds, as the Greek hero did.
The breakfast bell interrupted this famous interview; and, as on the
previous evening, I was forced to eat as much as four people. Then M.
de Peyrehorade's tenants came to see him, and, whilst he gave them
audience, his son took me to see a carriage which he had bought for his
_fiancée_ at Toulouse, and, of course, I admired it properly. After that
I went with him to the stables, where he kept me half an hour praising
his horses and telling me their pedigrees and the prizes he had won at
the country races. At last he spoke of his future bride, by a sudden
transition from the grey mare that he intended for her.
"We shall see her to-day. I wonder if you will think her pretty. You are
so difficult to please in Paris; but everybody here and at Perpignan
thinks her lovely. The best of it is she is very wealthy. Her aunt, who
lived at Prades, left her all her money. Oh, I am going to be ever so
happy!"
I was deeply shocked to see a young man much more affected by the dowry
than by the beautiful looks of his bride-to-be.
"Are you learned in jewellery?" continued M. Alphonse. "What do you
think of this ring which I am going to give her to-morrow?"
So saying, he drew from the first joint of his little finger a large
ring blazing with diamonds, formed by the clasping of two hands: a most
poetic idea, I thought. It was of ancient workmanship, but I guessed
that it had been retouched when the diamonds were set. Inside the ring
was engraved in gothic letters: "_Sempr' ab ti_" ("Ever thine").
"It is a lovely ring," I said; but added, "the diamonds have taken from
its original character somewhat."
"Oh, it is much prettier as it is now," he replied, smiling. "There are
one thousand two hundred francs' worth of diamonds in it. My mother gave
it me. It was an old family ring ... from the days of chivalry. It was
worn by my grandmother, who had it from her grandmother. Goodness knows
when it was made!"
"The custom in Paris," I said, "is to give a very plain ring, usually
made of two different metals, say, gold and platinum. For instance, the
other ring which you have on that finger would be most suitable. This
one is so large, with its diamonds and hands in relief, that no glove
would go over it."
"Oh, Madam Alphonse can arrange that as she likes. I think she will be
pleased enough to have it. Twelve hundred francs on one's finger is very
pleasing. That little ring," he added, looking with a satisfied
expression at the plain ring which he held in his hand, "was given me
one Shrove Tuesday by a woman in Paris, when I was staying there two
years ago. Ah! that is the place to enjoy oneself in!..." And he sighed
regretfully.
We were to dine at Puygarrig that day, at the house of the bride's
parents; we drove in carriages, and were soon at the Castle, which was
about a league and a half from Ille. I was introduced and received like
one of the family. I will not talk of the dinner, nor of the
conversation which took place, and in which I had but little part. M.
Alphonse, who sat by the side of his future bride, whispered in her ear
every quarter of an hour. She hardly raised her eyes, and blushed
modestly every time her intended spoke to her, though she replied
without embarrassment.
Mademoiselle de Puygarrig was eighteen years of age, and her lithe,
delicate figure was a great contrast to the bony limbs of her sturdy
lover. She was more than beautiful: she was enchanting. I admired the
perfect naturalness of all her replies. Her expression was kindly, but
nevertheless was not devoid of a light touch of maliciousness which
reminded me, do what I would, of my host's Venus. While making this
comparison to myself I wondered if the superior beauty which undoubtedly
belonged to the statue was not largely owing to her tigerish expression,
for strength, even when accompanied by evil passions, always induces
wonder and a sort of involuntary admiration.
What a pity, I reflected, as we left Puygarrig, that such a charming
person should be so rich, and that her dowry should be the cause of her
being sought by a man so unworthy of her!
Whilst on the return to Ille I found it difficult to know what to talk
of to Madam de Peyrehorade, with whom I thought I ought to converse.
"You are very strong-minded people here in Roussillon," I exclaimed, "to
have a wedding on a Friday. In Paris we are more superstitious; no man
dare take a wife on that day."
"Oh, please don't talk of it," she said; "if it had depended only on me,
I would certainly have chosen another day. But Peyrehorade wanted it,
and would not give way. It troubles me, however. Suppose some misfortune
should happen? There must be something in it, else why should everybody
be afraid of a Friday?"
"Friday," her husband cried, "is the day dedicated to Venus. An
excellent day for a wedding. You will notice, my dear colleague, that I
only think of my Venus. What an honour! It was on that account I chose
Friday. To-morrow, if you are willing, we will offer her a small
sacrifice before the ceremony--two ringdoves and incense, if I can find
any."
"For shame, Peyrehorade!" interrupted his wife, who was scandalised in
the highest degree. "Offer incense to an idol! It would be an
abomination! What would be said about you through the countryside?"
"At all events," said M. de Peyrehorade, "you will let me put a wreath
of roses and lilies on her head?
"'Manibus date lilia plenis.
You see, monsieur, the charter is but a vain thing. We have no religious
freedom."
The arrangements for the morrow were regulated in the following manner.
Everyone had to be ready and dressed for the wedding at ten o'clock
prompt. After taking chocolate we were to be driven to Puygarrig. The
civil marriage was to take place at the village registry, and the
religious ceremony in the Castle chapel. After that there would be
luncheon. Then we were to spend the time as we liked until seven
o'clock, when we were all to return to M. de Peyrehorade's house, where
the two families would sup together. The remainder of the time would
naturally be spent in eating as much as possible, as there would be no
dancing.
Ever since eight o'clock I had sat before the Venus, pencil in hand,
beginning over again for the twentieth time the head of the statue,
without being able to seize the expression. M. de Peyrehorade came and
went, giving me advice and repeating his Phoenician derivations. Then he
placed some Bengal roses on the pedestal of the statue, and addressed to
it, in a tragi-comical air, vows for the couple about to live under his
roof. He went in to see about his toilette towards nine o'clock, and at
the same time M. Alphonse appeared, well groomed, in a new suit, white
gloves, patent-leather shoes, chased buttons and a rose in his
button-hole.
"You must take my wife's portrait," he said, leaning over my drawing;
"she, too, is pretty."
Then began on the tennis ground, to which I have already referred, a
game which at once attracted M. Alphonse's attention. I was tired, and
in despair at being unable to reproduce that diabolical face, so I soon
left my drawing to watch the players. There were among them several
Spanish muleteers who had come the night before. They were men from
Aragon and from Navarre, almost all clever players. Although the local
players were encouraged by the presence and advice of M. Alphonse, they
were very soon beaten by these new champions. The patriotic onlookers
were filled with concern, and M. Alphonse looked at his watch. It was
still only half-past nine. His mother was not ready yet. He hesitated no
longer, threw off his coat, asked for a vest, and challenged the
Spaniards. I looked at him with amusement and in some surprise.
"The honour of our country must be upheld," he said.
Then I saw how very handsome he was. He was roused to passion. The
toilette, which had just now filled his thoughts to the exclusion of
everything else, was completely forgotten. A few minutes before he
hardly dared turn his head, for fear of spoiling his cravat. Now he
thought nothing of his curled hair or of his beautifully got up frilled
shirt. And his _fiancée_! I really believe that, if necessary, he would
have adjourned the wedding. I saw him hastily put on a pair of sandals,
turn up his sleeves, and with a self-satisfied manner range himself at
the head of the vanquished party, like Cæsar when he rallied his
soldiers at Dyrrachium. I leapt the hedge and took up a position
comfortably under the shade of a nettle tree in such a way as to be able
to see both camps.
Contrary to general expectation, M. Alphonse missed the first ball;
true, it grazed the ground, and bound with surprising force near one of
the players from Aragon, who seemed the head of the Spaniards.
He was a man of about forty, strong, yet spare in appearance; he stood
six feet high, and his olive skin was of almost as deep a tint as the
bronze of the Venus.