It was too pretty out yesterday afternoon, the only question was where to take a bike ride. Sunday I had had a good hike with Dorian near Mauroux (pronounced moh-roucks). We passed through the phantom village of Orgueil, a strong outpost along the Lot River at the time of the Hundred Years War but completely effaced in the meantime. Funny name for a town since the word means arrogant pride. Our ride took us through Lacapelle-Cabenac where we detoured down a dreamy lane between high stone walls to make the annual pilgrimage to Le Repaire d'Orgueil. This is an ancient house with the cross-shaped windows that date it back to the 14th century at least. The sign on the gate has it to the 12th century. We've been going there for a few years, standing on the pedals of the bike to peer over high boxwood hedges to see the wonderful gardens inside. Unlike many French gardens, this one is a loose progression of intimate environments rather than a rigid, Cartesian plunking down of specimin trees and shrubs in stiff rows and columns.
The name of the house made me imagine severe, proud owners, forbidding noblemen who could freeze your blood with a single glance. Mrs Snoutsworthy noticed a woman inside the gate making her way slowly on crutches. "She gave me a big smile when I said hello: why don't you go talk to her." Before I knew it we were inside! We made it inside! We were walking around the gardens, hearing the names of all the trees, learning that the gorgeous spring used in the old days to water horses yielded water that was unlike most springs, always lukewarm, ideal for horses. The woman spoke beautiful French, and at a stately pace. Later her "companion" joined us and he and I talked ghosts and voices from the beyond while Mrs. S and the woman sauntered off to the herb garden. He suggested I look at the site of "beyonders" at infinitude. He said they had had a destructive mole that year but he couldn't bear to kill it. He found a book on moles and learned that they make vast lengths of tunnels, tens of meters in length and can hear from a great distance the sound of a single worm falling into a tunnel.
They invited us to come back and have tea and see the inside of the house sometime.
