Gerald Durrell - The Picnic and Suchlike Pandemonium

“I am afraid that once again, my dear Peter, I shall have to trespass upon your good nature,” said Gideon, smiling at me, his hat and his eyebrows white with snow. “Sooner or later my demands on our friendship will exhaust your patience.”

“Nonsense,” I said, “just tell me what the problem is.”

“Well,” said Gideon, “I was to leave you in the charge of François and his wife, who were my uncle’s servants. Unfortunately, when I went to the house this morning I found that François’s wife Marie, had slipped on the icy front steps and had fallen some thirty feet on to the rocks and broken her legs. They are, I’m afraid, splintered very badly, and I don’t hold out much hope for them being saved.”

“Poor woman, how dreadful,” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” Gideon continued. “Of course François was nearly frantic when I got there, and so there was nothing for it but to drive them both to the hospital in Milau which took me over two hours, hence my being so late meeting you.”

“That doesn’t matter at all,” I said. “Of course you had to drive them to the hospital.”

“Yes, but it created another problem as well,” said Gideon. “You see, none of the villagers liked my uncle, and François and Marie were the only couple who would work for him. With both of them in Milau, there is no one to look after you, at least for two or three days until François comes back.”

“My dear chap, don’t let that worry you,” I laughed. “I am quite used to fending for myself, I do assure you. If I have food and wine and a fire I will be very well found I promise you.”

“Oh, you’ll have all that,” said Gideon. “The larder is well stocked, and down in the game room there is a haunch of venison, half a wild boar, some pheasants and partridge and a few brace of wild duck. There is wine aplenty, since my uncle kept quite a good cellar, and the cellar is full of chestnut roots and pine logs, so you will be warm. You will also have for company the animals.”

“Animals, what animals?” I asked, curious.

“A small dog called Agrippa,” said Gideon, laughing, “a very large and idiotic cat called Clair de Lune, or Clair for short, a whole cage of canaries and various finches and an extremely old parrot called Octavius.”

“A positive menagerie,” I exclaimed. “It’s a good thing that I like animals.”

“Seriously, Peter,” asked Gideon, giving me one of his very penetrating looks, “are you sure you will be all right? It seems a terrible imposition to me.”

“Nonsense,” I said heartily, “what are friends for?”

The snow was coming down with a vengeance and we could only see a yard or two beyond the horse’s ears, so dense were the whirling clouds of huge flakes. We had now entered one of the many tributary gorges that led into the Gorge du Tarn proper. On our left the brown and black cliffs, dappled with patches of snow on sundry crevices and ledges, loomed over us, in places actually overhanging the narrow road. On our right the ground dropped away, almost sheer, five or six hundred feet into the gorge below where, through the wind-blown curtains of snow, one could catch occasional glimpses of the green river, its tumbled rocks snow-wigged, their edges crusted with ice. The road was rough, snow and water worn, and in places covered with a sheet of ice which made the horse slip and stumble and slowed our progress. Once a small avalanche of snow slid down the cliff face with a hissing sound and thumped on to the road in front of us, making the horse shy so badly that Gideon had to fight to keep control. For several hair-raising minutes I feared that we, the dog cart and the terrified horse might slide over the edge of the gorge and plunge down into the river below, But eventually Gideon got it under control and we crawled along our way.

Eventually the gorge widened a little and presently we rounded a corner and there before us was the strange bulk of Gideon’s uncle’s house. It was an extraordinary edifice and I feel I should describe it in some detail. To begin with the whole thing was perched on top of a massive rock that protruded from the river far below so that it formed what could only be described as an island, shaped not unlike an isosceles triangle, with the house on top. It was connected to the road by a massive and very old stone bridge. The tall outside walls of the house fell sheer down to the rocks and river below, but as you crossed the bridge and drove under a huge arch, guarded by thick oak doors, you found that the house was built round a large centre courtyard, cobblestoned and with a pond with a fountain in the middle. This depicted a dolphin held up by cherubs, the whole thing polished with ice, and with icicles hanging from it.

All the many windows that looked down into the court were shuttered with a fringe of huge icicles hanging from every cornice. Between the windows were monstrous gargoyles depicting various forms of animal life, known and unknown to science, each one seeming more malign than the last and their appearance not improved by the ice and snow that blurred their outlines so that they seemed to be peering at you from snowy ambush. As Gideon drew the horse to a standstill by the steps that led to the front door we could hear the barking of the dog inside. My friend opened the front door with a large, rusty key and immediately the dog tumbled out, barking vociferously and wagging its tail with pleasure. The large black and white cat was more circumspect and did not deign to come out into the snow, but merely stood, arching its back and mewing in the doorway. Gideon helped me carry my bags into the large marble hall where a handsome staircase led to the upper floors of the house. All the pictures, mirrors and furniture were covered with dust sheets.

“I am sorry about the covers,” said Gideon. It seemed to me that, as soon as he had entered the house, he had become nervous and ill at ease. “I meant to remove them all this morning and make it more habitable for you, but what with one thing and another I did not manage it.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, making a fuss of the dog and cat, who were both vying for my attention. “I shan’t be inhabiting all the house, so I will just remove the sheets in those parts that I shall use.”

“Yes, yes,” said Gideon, running his hands through his hair in a nervous fashion. “Your bed is made up . . . the bedroom is the second door on the left as you reach the top of the stairs. Now, come with me and I’ll show you the kitchen and cellar.”

He led me across the hall to a door that was hidden under the main staircase. Opening this he made his way down broad stone steps that spiralled their way down into the gloom. Presently we reached a passageway that led to a gigantic stone-flagged kitchen and, adjoining it, cavernous cellars and a capacious larder, cold as a glacier, with the carcases of game, chicken, duck, legs of lamb and saddles of beef hanging from hooks or lying on the marble shelves that ran around the walls. in the kitchen was a great range, each fire carefully laid, and on the huge table in the centre had been arranged various commodities that Gideon thought I might need, rice, lentils as black as soot, potatoes, carrots and other vegetables in large baskets, pottery jars of butter and conserves, and a pile of freshly-baled loaves. On the opposite side of the kitchen to the cellars and larder lay the wine store, approached through a heavy door, bolted and padlocked. Obviously Gideon’s uncle had not trusted his staff when it came to alcoholic beverages. The cellar was small, but I saw at a glance it contained some excellent vintages.

“Do not stint yourself, Peter,” said Gideon. “There are some really quite nice wines in there and they will be some small compensation for staying in the gloomy place alone.”