Part 5

During all this bustle and turmoil, and running to and fro of his progenitors, Monsieur Alphonse Peyrade remained motionless as a post. He was a tall young man, of about six-and-twenty, with handsome, regular features, but totally devoid of expression. His figure and athletic appearance accorded well with the reputation he bore throughout the country, of being a first rate tennis-player. He was dressed this evening in an elegant manner, his clothes being made to resemble exactly the engravings of the last number of the Journal of Fashion. But he did not seem to be at ease in his dress. He was as stiff as a pike-staff in his velvet collar, and when he turned his head, it was only by a movement of his whole body. His large sun-burnt hands with their short nails contrasted strangely with his costly coat; they were the hands of a laborer issuing from the sleeves of a dandy.

Although he examined me from head to foot, with great curiosity, which my character as a Parisian had probably excited, he addressed to me but a single question during the whole evening; which was to ask, where I had bought my watch-chain.

'And now, my dear guest,' said Monsieur Peyrade to me, as supper drew to a close, 'you are in my house, and are my property; and I shall not let you go until you have seen all the curiosities of our mountains. You must take some pains to get acquainted with our Roussillon, so as to do her full justice. You must have no doubts about the things we are going to show you. There are Phenician, Celtic, Roman, Arabic, Bysantian monuments; you shall see them all, from the cedar to the hyssop. I will take you every where, and not a brick shall escape you.'

A fit of coughing here forced the old gentleman to pause; taking advantage of which, I began to express to him my regret at intruding upon his family circle at such an interesting period.

'If you will only give me your excellent advice,' said I, 'touching the excursions I propose making, I will not put you to the trouble of accompanying me.'

'Ah!' said he, interrupting me, 'you mean the marriage of that boy there. This is but a trifle; it will take place the day after to-morrow. You must be present at the wedding with us, in a quiet family way; for the intended bride is in mourning for an aunt, whose property she inherits. So we are to have no merry-making, no ball. This is a great pity. You ought to see our Catalonian girls dance. They are buxom lasses, and perhaps some of them might induce you to follow the example of my Alphonse. One marriage, they say, leads to others. On Saturday, the young folks wedded, I shall be at liberty, and then we will commence our rambles. But I beg pardon for wearying you with this country wedding; you a Parisian, tired of city gayeties and festivities: and a wedding without even a ball! However, you will see a bride; and such a bride! you must tell me what you think of her. But you are so grave and sedate a man, that perhaps you do not look at the women. But I have something better than this to show you; I will let you see something to-morrow! A grand surprise will you have, I promise you.'

'Indeed,' said I, 'but it is a difficult matter to have a treasure in one's house, without people being aware of it. I suspect I can guess what it is you have in store for me. If it is your statue to which you allude, the description my guide gave me of it has only served to excite my curiosity, and prepared me to admire it.'

'Ah! you have then heard about the idol, as they call my beautiful Venus Tur---- But I must say no more at present. To-morrow in broad daylight you shall see her, and you will then say whether I have not reason to be proud of such a master-piece. Parbleu! you could not have arrived more opportunely. There are inscriptions upon it, which I, poor ignoramus, explain after my own fashion; but a savant from Paris! You will perhaps laugh at my explanations: for you must know that I have drawn up a paper on the subject. Yes, even I, old country antiquary as I am, have launched into it. I shall make the press groan. If you, now, would read and correct my memoir for me, I should have some hopes. For instance, I am very curious to know how you would translate this inscription on the pedestal? CAVE---- But I must not ask any thing of you now. To-morrow! to-morrow! Not a word of the Venus to-night.'

'You will do well, Peyrade,' said his wife, 'to leave your idol alone for the present. You must see that you are preventing Monsieur from eating his supper. Besides, Monsieur has seen at Paris a great many handsomer statues than thine. At the Tuilleries there are dozens of them, and all of bronze too.'

'Here is ignorance for you! the blessed ignorance of the province!' interrupted Monsieur Peyrade. 'To compare an admirable antique with the foolish images of Costou! 'With what irreverence do my household speak of the gods!' Do you know that my wife wishes me to melt my statue, and run it into a bell for the church! The good dame would like to stand godmother to it. A master-piece of Myron, Sir.'

'Master-piece! master-piece! a pretty master-piece she has made of it! To break a man's leg!'

'Look you here, my wife,' said Monsieur Peyrade, in a resolute tone, and stretching toward her his right leg encased in silken hose, 'if my Venus had broken this leg, I should not have grieved for it.'

'Good heavens! Peyrade, how can you talk so? Luckily the man is doing well; but still I cannot take pleasure in looking at a statue, which causes such misfortunes. Poor Jean Coll!'

'Wounded by Venus, Sir,' said Monsieur Peyrade, bursting into a loud laugh, 'wounded by Venus; the rogue may well complain: 'Veneris, nec proemia noris;' who has not been wounded by Venus?'

Monsieur Alphonse, who understood French better than Latin, gave a knowing wink, and looked toward me, as much as to say: 'Do you understand that, Parisian?'

The supper at length was finished. I had not been able to eat a mouthful for the last hour. I was extremely fatigued, and could not conceal the frequent yawns which escaped me. Madame Peyrade was the first to perceive them, and observed that it was time to go to bed. Then commenced new apologies for the poor night's lodging I would have. It would not be as at Paris. In the provinces one is so badly provided, I must make allowances for the Roussillon fare. In vain I protested that after a long journey in the mountains a bundle of straw would be a delightful bed; they persisted in begging me to pardon poor country folks, if they did not treat me as well as they wished. At length I ascended to the chamber allotted me, accompanied by Monsieur Peyrade. The staircase, the upper steps of which were of wood, terminated in the middle of a corridor, upon which a number of apartments opened.

'On the right,' said my host to me, 'is the room I have appropriated to Madame Alphonse, that is to be. Your chamber is at the opposite end of the corridor. You know,' added he, with an air which was meant to be facetious, 'you know we must keep the new married couple by themselves. You are at one end of the house, and they are at the other.'

We entered a well-furnished apartment, where the first object which met my eye was a bed about seven feet long, six wide, and so high that it would require a step-ladder to clamber into it. My host having pointed out to me the bell-rope, and satisfied himself that the sugar-basin was replenished, and the bottles of Cologne water, and other appendages of the toilet, duly placed upon the table, and having asked me twenty times over if I wished for any thing more, at length bade me good night and left me alone.

The windows were closed. Before undressing, I opened one, that I might enjoy the cool night air, so delicious after a long supper. Opposite me was the Canigou, at all times striking in appearance, and now illuminated by the beams of a brilliant moon, seeming the most beautiful mountain in the world. I stood for some time gazing upon its picturesque outlines, and was about closing the window, when casting my eyes down, I perceived the statue upon a pedestal, some twenty toises from the house. It was placed at the corner of a quickset hedge, which separated a small garden from a large square perfectly level, which I afterward learned was the tennis-ground of the village. This piece of land, the property of Monsieur Peyrade, had been thrown open to the public by him, at the urgent solicitation of his son. At the distance at which I stood, it was difficult to distinguish the attitude of the statue. I could only judge of its height, which seemed about six feet. Just at this moment, two idlers of the village passed across the play-ground, pretty near the hedge, whistling the pretty air of Roussillon _montagnes regalades_. They stopped to look at the statue, and one of them apostrophized it aloud. He spoke the Catalonian dialect, but I had been long enough in Roussillon to comprehend nearly all he said.

'Ah! there you are, you slut! (the Catalonian epithet was more energetic) there you are!' said he. 'It was you, then, that broke Jean Coll's leg? If you belonged to me I would break your cursed neck!'

'Bah!' said the other, 'with what? She is made of copper, and so hard that Stephen broke his file trying to make a notch in her. It is copper of the time of the heathens, and harder than any thing I know.'

'If I had my good chisel here, (it seems he was a locksmith's apprentice,) I would soon have out those big white eyes, as I would take an almond from the shell. There's enough silver there to make an hundred sous.'

They proceeded a few paces. 'I must bid the idol good night,' said the larger of the two apprentices, suddenly stopping.

He stooped down and probably picked up a stone. I could see him stretch out his arm, throw something, and immediately a ringing sound was heard from the bronze. At the same instant, the apprentice put his hand to his head, uttering a cry of pain.

'She has flung it back at me!' cried he; and the two vagabonds took to flight, as fast as their legs could carry them. It was evident that the stone had rebounded from the metal, and punished the wag for the insult he had offered the goddess.

I closed the window, laughing heartily. 'Here is another Vandal punished by Venus! May all the destroyers of our ancient monuments have their heads broken in the same manner!' With this charitable wish I fell asleep.

When I awoke it was broad day. Near my bed stood on one side Monsieur Peyrade in his morning gown, and on the other a domestic sent by his wife, with a cup of chocolate.

'Come, get up, get up, Parisian! Why, what lazy fellows you of the capital are!' said my host, as I hurried on my clothes. 'This is the third time I have been up here. I approached your door on tiptoe: nobody stirring; not a sign of life. It is bad for the health to sleep too much at your age. And there is my Venus, which you have not seen yet. Come, swallow this cup of chocolate from Barcelona; real contraband. You can't get the like of it at Paris. You will need all your strength, I can tell you; for when you once get before my Venus you will not so easily be drawn away from her.'

In five minutes I was ready; that is to say, half shaven, scarcely buttoned, and with throat scalded by the chocolate, which I had swallowed boiling hot. I descended into the garden, and found myself before an admirable statue.

It was, in truth, a Venus, and of a marvellous beauty. She was above the common stature, as the ancients usually represented their principal divinities. The right hand raised to the level of the breast, was turned with the palm inward, the thumb and two first fingers outstretched, the two others slightly bent. The other hand placed near the hip, sustained the drapery which covered the lower part of the body. The attitude of this statue reminded me of that of the thrower of the discus, which is designated, I know not why, as Germanicus. Possibly the artist wished to represent the goddess playing at that game.

However this might be, it was impossible to conceive any thing more perfect than the figure of this Venus; nothing more soft or more voluptuous than its outlines; nothing more noble or elegant than the drapery. I had expected some production of the middle ages; I saw a master-piece of the best period of statuary. What chiefly struck me was the exquisite truth of its form, so that one might have supposed it modelled from nature, did nature ever produce perfect models.

The hair, turned back from the forehead, appeared to have been formerly gilded. The head, small like those of almost all the Greek statues, was slightly inclined forward. As to the face, I despair of being able to express its strange character, the type of which did not at all resemble that of any ancient statue I remembered. It was not that calm and severe beauty of the Greek sculptors, which imparts by design to all the features a majestic repose. Here, on the contrary, I observed with surprise the evident intention of the artist to express in the countenance malice almost bordering on malignity. All the features were slightly contracted; the eyes a little oblique, the corners of the mouth drawn up, and the nostrils somewhat dilated. Disdain, irony, cruelty, might be read in the countenance, which was still of incredible beauty. Indeed, the more one looked at this admirable statue, the more one experienced a sense of pain that such marvellous beauty should be allied with the absence of all sensibility.

'If her model ever existed,' said I to Monsieur Peyrade, 'and I doubt if heaven ever produced such a woman, how I should pity her lovers! She would have taken pleasure in making them die of despair. There is something ferocious in her expression, and yet I have never seen any thing more beautiful.'

'C'est Venus tout entière à sa proie attachée!' exclaimed Monsieur Peyrade, satisfied with my enthusiasm.

This expression of infernal irony was perhaps increased by the contrast of the silver eyes, which were very brilliant, with the hue of blackish green which time had given to the whole statue. These lustrous eyes produced a certain illusion which almost gave the effect of the reality of life. I recollected what my guide told me, that she made those who looked at her cast down their eyes. This was in fact almost true; and I could not help feeling vexed at finding myself not quite at my ease before this visage of bronze.

'Now that you have admired every thing in detail, my dear colleague in antiquarian lore,' said my host to me, 'let us have, if you please, a little scientific conference. What say you to this inscription, which you have not yet noticed?'

He pointed to the pedestal of the statue, where I read these words:

CAVE AMANTEM.

'What do you say to that, most learned?' demanded he, rubbing his hands. 'Let us see if we can agree upon the meaning of this _cave amantem_.'

'But,' said I, 'there are two senses in which it may be understood. It may be translated 'Beware of him who loves you; do not trust lovers.' But in this sense I hardly know whether _cave amantem_ would be good Latin. On looking at the diabolical expression of the lady, I should rather think the artist wished to put the spectator on his guard against this terrible beauty. I would therefore prefer translating it: 'Take care of yourself, if she loves you.''

'Humph!' said Monsieur Peyrade; 'to be sure that meaning is admissible; but with due deference I prefer the first translation, which however I will develop a little. You remember the lover of Venus?'

'She had a great many.'

'True, but the first one was Vulcan. Now does not this mean to say: 'In spite of all your beauty, and your proud and disdainful looks, you shall have a blacksmith, a miserable lame wretch for a lover.' A profound lesson, Sir, for coquettes!'

I could scarcely repress a smile at this far-fetched explanation.

'This Latin is a terrible language with its conciseness,' observed I, not wishing to contradict more directly the good antiquary; and I stepped back a few paces, that I might have a better view of the statue.

'One moment, colleague!' said Monsieur Peyrade, seizing my arm; 'you have not yet seen all. There is another inscription. Get upon the pedestal, and look at the right arm.'

So saying, he assisted me in climbing up. I put my arm without much ceremony around the neck of the Venus, with whom I began to be on familiar terms. I gazed at her a moment face to face, and found her on a close survey to be still more wicked-looking, and still more beautiful. I then noticed some small characters, apparently of an ancient date, engraven upon the arm. With some difficulty, and by the aid of a magnifying-glass, I spelled as follows; Monsieur Peyrade repeating after me each word as I pronounced it, with strong emphasis and gesticulation:

VENERI TVRBVL * * * * EVTYCHES MYRO IMPERIO FECIT

After the word TVRBVL of the first line, there appeared to be some letters effaced; but TVRBVL was perfectly legible.

'And what does that mean?' asked my host, chuckling, and smiling maliciously; for he rightly thought that I would not be able to make out this TVRBVL.

'There is one word here that I cannot yet explain,' said I; 'all the rest is easy enough. Eutyches Myron has made this offering to Venus, by her command.'

'Very well. But TVRBVL; what do you make of that? What does TVRBVL mean?'

'Why, TVRBVL puzzles me a good deal; I am trying to recollect some of the appellations of Venus to aid me. Let me see; what do you say to TVRBVLENTA? Venus who troubles, who disturbs? You see I am constantly impressed with her wicked expression. TVRBVLENTA; this is not a bad epithet for Venus;' added I, with an air of deference, for I was not myself very well satisfied with this explanation.

'The turbulent Venus! Venus the virago! Ah! you think then that my Venus is a Venus of the ale-houses. By no means, Sir; she is a Venus of good society. But I am going to explain to you this TVRBVL. You must, however, promise not to divulge my discovery before my memoir is published; because you must know that I take some little credit to myself for this investigation. It is but fair that you gentlemen savans of Paris, who are so rich in the spoils of antiquity, should leave a few ears to be gleaned by us poor devils of the provinces.'

From the top of the pedestal, on which I still remained perched, I solemnly promised him that I would never be so base as to steal his discovery.

'For TVRBVL. . . ., Sir,' said he, coming close to me, and lowering his voice for fear any one else should hear him, 'read TVRBVLNERÆ.'

I was not a whit wiser than before.

'Listen to me,' continued he; 'about a league from hence, at the foot of a mountain, there is a village called Boulternére. This is a corruption of the Latin word TVRBVLNERA. Nothing is more common than these inversions. Boulternére, Sir, was a Roman city. I have always had my suspicions of this, but never had the proof. Now, Sir, there is the proof. This Venus was the local divinity of the city of Boulternére. And this word Boulternére, which I am going to show is of ancient origin, proves a still more curious fact, which is that Boulternére, before it was a Roman city, was a Phenician town!'

He stopped a moment to take breath, and enjoy my surprise. I could scarcely repress a strong inclination to laugh.

'In fact,' continued he, 'TVRBVLNERA is pure Phenician. TVR, pronounce TOUR; TOUR and SOUR, the same word, is it not? SOUR is the Phenician name of Tyre; I need not recall to you its meaning. BVL, this is Baal, Bal, Bel, Bul, with slight differences of pronunciation. As to NERA, this has given me some little trouble. I am strongly inclined to believe, in default of finding a Phenician word, that this comes from the Greek _nerós_, humid, marshy. This, it is true, would make it a hybrid word. To justify _nerós_, however, I will show you at Boulternére how the streams from the mountain form stagnant pools there. On the other hand, the termination NERA might have been added at a much later date, in honor of Nera Pivesuvia, the wife of Tetricus, who probably had conferred some benefit upon the city of Turbul. But, in consequence of the marshes, I prefer the etymology of _nerós_.'

My worthy friend here took a pinch of snuff, with an air of great satisfaction.

'But let us leave the Phenicians, and return to our inscription. I translate it then: 'To Venus of Boulternére, Myron, by her command, dedicates this statue, his work.'

I took good care not to criticise my learned friend's etymology, but wishing to give in my turn a proof of penetration: 'Hold there, Sir!' said I; 'allowing that Myron has dedicated something, it does not follow that it is this statue.'

'How!' cried he, 'was not Myron a famous Greek? Talent would be perpetuated in his family; and it was one of his descendants who made this statue. Nothing can be more certain.'

'But,' replied I, 'I see upon the arm a small hole; this, I think, has served to support something; a bracelet, for instance, which this Myron has given to Venus as an expiatory offering. Myron was some unfortunate lover with whom Venus was angry, and he endeavored to appease her by the offering of a golden bracelet. You must remember that _fecit_, made, is often used for _consecravit_, dedicated. They are, indeed, synonymous words; and I could give you more than one example, had I Gruter, or rather Orelius at hand. Nothing is more natural than that a lover should see Venus in a dream, and imagine that she commanded him to give a golden bracelet to her statue. Myron dedicated a bracelet to her. Afterward the barbarians, or perhaps some sacrilegious robber'----

'Ah! ha! one may easily see that you have written romances;' cried my host, giving me his hand to assist me in descending. 'No, no; Sir, it is a production of the school of Myron. Only look at the workmanship, and you must be convinced of it.'

As I make it a rule never to contradict an obstinate antiquary, I bowed with an air of conviction, and merely observed: 'It is indeed an admirable piece of work.'

'Ah! mon Dieu!' cried Monsieur Peyrade, 'here is another piece of Vandalism! Somebody has thrown a stone at my statue!'

He had just perceived a white mark a little below the bosom of the Venus. I had noticed a similar appearance upon the fingers of the right hand, which I supposed had been grazed by the stone thrown at her the preceding evening, or more probably a fragment had been detached by the concussion, and had glanced off from the hand. I related to my host the insult of which I had been the witness, and the prompt punishment which followed. He laughed heartily, and comparing the apprentice to Diomede, wished that, like the Greek hero, he might see all his companions changed into white birds.

The breakfast bell here interrupted our classic conference; and, as on the previous evening, I was again compelled to eat the share of four. Then came the farmers of Monsieur Peyrade; and while he gave them audience, his son took me to see a new carriage which he had lately bought at Toulouse for his intended bride. I admired it in silence, and then accompanied him to the stables, where he kept me half an hour, boasting of his horses, relating their pedigree, and telling me how many prizes they had won at the neighboring races. At length, by a transition from a gray palfrey which he intended for her use, he was led to speak of his future wife.

'We shall see her to-day,' said he. 'I don't know whether you will think her pretty or not. You Parisians are hard to please; but every body here and at Perpignan think her beautiful. But the best of it is, she is deuced rich. Her old aunt at Prades, who died the other day, left her all her money; and no trifle either. Don't you think I am a lucky dog?'

I was grieved to see the young man so much more affected by the dower than by the amiable qualities of his future wife.