Of Rivers, Baguettes and Billabongs. Reg Egan
too, for that matter.
Our bed and our meal for the evening were near Lacave on the Ouysse River and we wandered in that direction along the southern side of the Dordogne. It was time for coffee which I like to drink at 3.45 (or 15.45) precisely and eventually we saw a pleasant little café. There were only two tables taken and a dog lay under one. We sat down and the aroma of a good roast wafted out to us. The café had shown its proprietorship by enclosing a generous section of the foot path with potted box hedges all immaculately watered and clipped.
I was sipping my coffee and reflecting of things French including their formal gardens when a middle aged woman walked past lead by a trotting, head-up, poodle. The poodle had been artistically clipped and clipped, and clipped — it was all gutters, ridges and plateaux. Arrogant creatures those poodles. The French have a mania for topiary — they’ll clip anything: country hedges, trees up to twenty or thirty metres in height (as at Fontainbleau), parterres around vegetable gardens, formal gardens, dogs…There is no end to their tidiness and their formality.
The first formal garden that amazed and utterly delighted me was Vaux-le-Vicomte. We went there by coach many years ago in the late autumn. I had seen glossy pictures of the view of the embroidered parterres from the steps of the château with the Farnese Hercules in the distance and frankly it left me cold. There were about ten of us only, on this huge coach and the guide was able to give us his full attention and display his knowledge; “we are going past the stables, poor Fouquet, the great Le Nôtre, one should always see a French garden from a height, e.g. the first floor (not the ground floor)” et cetera, et cetera. He rabbited on. We climbed the steps and stood on the terrace and then we turned and looked across the tapestry of box, lawn and gravel. Magnificent.
You need a whole day to see Vaux-le-Vicomte — to stroll amongst its clipped yew trees, to marvel at the close-trimmed hedges with the overhanging copper beeches and chestnuts. It is masterly. And the pauvre Fouquet who presented such splendour to his lord the magnificent Louis X1V, what did he get for his efforts? He got the suppressed jealousy of a pampered but powerful monarch and he also got exile, which Louis in his kindness and generosity “commuted to life imprisonment.”
And what about the master gardener André Le Nôtre? André got the construction of Versailles, everlasting fame and a surprisingly long life for those times.
There’s a formal French garden in the Dordogne valley not far from Souillac and Sarlat (in fact almost midway between them and slightly to the north) and it is most certainly worth a visit. I don’t say it rivals Vaux-le-Vicomte or Versailles but Eyrignac is quite beautiful and impeccably kept. The château has a charm that Vaux cannot match and the hostesses who conduct you on the tour are just as charming. There are roses, lawns, hornbeams, yews, boxes — it’s all there. See Vaux, you should, but see Eyrignac in the Valley of the Dordogne too, and have lunch by your car in the shade of the oak trees in and around the car park.
CHAPTER NINE
Our room at Le Pont de l’Ouysse was on the first floor, up the narrow and picturesque stairs; and its great virtue was its view of Château Belcastel. This château is not particularly historic and certain additions and alterations have been made to increase its comfort, but it is a pleasure to look at. It stands at the confluence of the Ouysse and the mighty Dordogne and, naturally, it is on a cliff, and therefore, has a great view. This is a quiet and restful part of the Valley and is only a short and pleasant trip from Souillac. We saw quite a bit of Souillac, our starting point on many journeys,
Within walking distance of Le Pont de l’Ouysee is the La Treyne château which is built overhanging the Dordogne. Part of it is fourteenth century and the rest was rebuilt in the seventeenth after being burnt down by the Catholics in the wars of religion. You could be pardoned if you sometimes thought that religion is rather a mixed blessing. The château is now a very smart hotel and restaurant. We parked and ignoring the bustling kitchen staff, all beautifully uniformed, went up into the gardens. Whether the gardens are a state responsibility or are under the care of the hotel I know not, but they could have been quite interesting. The grass is neatly mown and the hedges (ah, those hedges) have been clipped but the roses and the flowers are mediocre. They are, I suppose, the hard work and the expense of any garden. We were somewhat disappointed and we, therefore, journeyed on.
The church in Souillac is another Auvergne-style building and again has a side entrance. Commercial buildings are attached to and form an extension of the church as they sometimes do in France, but the church is none the worse for that. This church, just to even things up, in terms of religion, was pillaged by the English and thereafter, the Protestants. The abbey formerly attached to the church was destroyed but the church survived.
There’s another church, or rather the ruins of a church, in Souillac and it is up on the hill towards the Route Nationale. It was called St. Martin and somehow the ruins look more interesting than the Abbey church down on the flat.
When you come in to Souillac from Lacave it is important to stop in the centre of the town, find a parking space and walk down to your left — that is where the good shops, cafés and old houses are. Just above this interesting section (and near the ruins of St. Martin) is a small garden with some statues of famous Souillacrians, including one Amiral Jean Baptiste Verinac Saint Maur who was born in 1794. It was he who brought back from Luxor, the site of the Ancient Egyptian city of Thebes, the obelisk which stands in the Place de la Concorde in Paris. It is said that the obelisk was given to him by the Pasha Mehenet-Ali. The little square where the bust is erected is called the Jean Jaques Chapou square, and who he was, I’m sorry but I am unable to tell you.
Martel is off on the D803 and when we arrived there it was raining, and when we left after our picnic lunch it was still raining. And perhaps, Martel needs rain often because it is an important centre for those precious things with the elusive perfume — truffles. Martel is said to be named after Charles Martel, a brutal leader who defeated the invading Saracens in the eighth century. His favourite weapon, his killing weapon, was a hammer and Martel has celebrated this little predilection of his by having three hammers on its crest. Charming. There’s also some nonsense about Richard Lionheart and his brother Henry Short Coat, but honestly it’s not all that interesting.
The church of St. Maur is worth the walk but more because of the very old and very lovely houses (hôtels) and archways that you see along the route. Oddly enough the church is down one end and is on the rather flatter part of the town. Where we had parked (in the rain) just off the Boulevard des Cordeliers, the garden had been built on and over the site of the twelfth century ramparts which, perhaps I am wrong, still seem to exist in part. There are lovely trees along the side of the boulevard and there is a toilet!
When we arrived at Turenne the rain had stopped; well, to be truthful it was intermittent. There is a quite lovely fortified gate which gives access to this small but old town, or village rather, and you are requested to explore it on foot. We did so; and yet it soon became evident that a few more cars would not have done any harm. I think I saw only four or five on the whole of our walk. Michelin says that the Tour de César “seems to date from the eleventh century”. It looks as though it could be one thousand years old. The church is not at the top, again. What went wrong with some of those Catholic bishops?
Turenne, quite seriously, was a country within a country in the fifteen century or thereabouts: it ruled over vast tracts of the local countryside and it is said enjoyed the allegiance of some twelve thousand villages. There is a very attractive artisan woodworking shop opposite the fortified gateway.
On the way back to Lacave, sort of on the way back, is the most unusual village of Collonges la Rouge. It is quite astonishing for here, in the heart of the pale and sometimes slightly pink, stone of the Dordogne is a village built in nothing but red stone. And it is quite red. You will be lucky to get a park anywhere near the village and even when you do you will have to pay. Don’t be deterred if you see an illuminated post blocking your entrance to the gravelled area. You simply put your Euros in the machine and the post disappears into the ground.
This