Welcome
back to the final instalment on Ibiza’s first travel writer, the much-maligned
Gaston Vuillier (see Weekly Edition 061 Saturday 27th April and Weekly
Edition 063 11th May 2002 articles for the story so far). To kick
off, I would like to share a few unusual titles from the travel genre which
have recently caught my eye. If readers should spot any of the following in
local libraries, bookshops or databases, your correspondent would appreciate
a line with full bibliographic details:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
11.
12.
13. |
|
Over the Cliff by Eileen d’Eauverre
Where to Find Islands by Archie Pelago
Weekend in Hong Kong by Rick Shaw
Two Yankees in Mexico by Peregrine Goase
Desert Walkabout by Mustapha Kammel
Swimming the Channel by Frances Neare
On the Beach by C. Shaw
How we Got to Bethlehem by Don Keyes
Crossing Rivers by Bridget Furst
Catching Butterflies by Annette Anne de Jarre
All My Travels by Wanda Lust
A Long Walk by Miss de Busse
Five Thousand Miles in the Saddle by Major Aspern |
Hmmn.
Back to Vuillier and the real world. Before moving on to his career after Ibiza,
I would like to quote a few upbeat passages, in order to rectify the dark legend
that he only had bad things to say about the island:
During
my stay I noticed that all the children, not even excepting the infants, were
perpetually smoking cigarettes. I learned that this had been prescribed by the
doctors of the town as a precaution against the prevailing epidemic of diphtheria.
Well,
perhaps not that one. Let’s try again:
I
should probably not have stayed in Iviza longer than I could help, except that
I was virtually a prisoner, as the steamer for Palma only calls once in ten
days, and not as often as that in rough weather.
“Vuillier,
Steamship”
Neither.
How about this?
The
Carthaginians gave it the name of Ebusus,
signifying unfruitful.
Oops.
(And two more factual errors: Iboshim, the Phoenician name, means ‘Island
of Resinous Pines’). In fact, when one consults the English version of Les
Iles oubliées, it is extremely difficult to find a single complimentary
passage: either the translator, Frederick Breton, carefully weeded them out,
or Vuillier’s editor at Hachette censored them from the original articles in
Le Tour du Monde. Those interested in the full version, should consult
the excellent Viaje a las Islas Baleares published by Olañeta of Palma
in 2000, based on the original articles. If your Catalan is up to it, Les
Illes Oblidades: Viatge a Eivissa (Res Publica, 2000) makes a reasonable
alternative, although the engravings are distinctly fuzzy. So, with that clear,
let us proceed with a ‘nice’ quotation about Ibiza:
The
quarter of la Marina, in other ways, contrasts strongly with the ancient walled
city. It is now a populous quarter, lively, full of movement and its own customs,
completely different from the Upper Town … The two quarters are completely
different and have no relationship with one another. Up there, apparently dead;
here (La Marina), life itself. … I was very taken with the quarter of la Marina.
After
the Ibiza piece appeared in 1890 in Le Tour du Monde, Vuillier went on
to write about four other localities; an eighty-page article about Corsica was
published by the same journal in 1891, followed between 1894 and 1896 by twenty
articles on Sicily. Then there was an entire book on La Tunisie (1896)
and finally an article (again for Le Tour du Monde) on Malta and its
Order. All the abovementioned pieces were to appear later in book form
an impressive record in itself , Les Iles oubliées (1893) and La
Sicile (1896) promoting him overnight into the western Med’s first and arguably
finest travel writer. Vuillier first landed in Sicily in the spring of 1893,
just as the first opus magnum was in the press. Stepping off the Palermo
boat, he immediately went in search of the father of Sicilian ethnography, Giuseppe
Pitré. This erudite but unassuming doctor, known to scholars far beyond the
island, was eventually located deep inside a bookshop on the city’s principal
boulevard. This highly auspicious beginning led to a lasting friendship and
also consolidated Vuillier’s growing ethnographic interests.
“Vuillier,
The Aguadores”
The
five hundred and three quarto pages of Les Iles oubliées placed its author
firmly on the literary map: within a matter of months two leading German monthlies,
Globus and Vom Fels zum Meer, had published summaries of
the Balearic sections by Friedrich von Hellwald, a leading travel writer also
known as a Darwinist who influenced Nietzsche; a Spanish translation of the
Balearic sections entitled “Viaje a las Baleares” appeared in the Barcelona
journal La Velada (1893-94, Vols 2-3); and three years later the English
version (The Forgotten Isles, 1896) was published simultaneously in London
and New York, a distinction which was to throw the Archduke Luis Salvador, permanently
into the Anglo-Saxon shade. Also worth mentioning here is an Italian edition
of La Sicile, which was brought out in 1897 by a leading Milan firm,
the same year that a second edition of The Forgotten Isles hit the shelves
in London. During the eleven decades which have since passed, no one has really
taken Vuillier’s place. In the last thirty years alone, five local editions
of his Balearic and Corsican writings have appeared, as well as a complete re-edition
of La Sicilia.
It
is time now to turn our backs on the wine-dark sea with its seasonally-overrun
islands, and head north to the sleepy, forgotten province of Limousin,
exactly half way between Ibiza and Paris as the swallow flies. The winter temperature
in those hills can drop well below freezing, leading to the development of a
caped cloak which in the days of open-air motoring gave its name to a luxurious
vehicle. After cycling across the western part of the province a decade ago,
I made a solemn resolution to explore further, but the following spring marked
my initial encounter with Ibiza. Sad to say, I have never been back.
Both
Ibiza and the Limousin share two features which are irresistible to artists
and writers the world over - picturesque, rolling hills and charming, unspoilt
villages. It was in the 1880s that Vuillier began his autumn visits to this
quiet backwater, drawn by the lovely vistas and quaint local traditions. The
upper Corrèze valley was the perfect place for a budding folklorist to fill
notepads and sketchbooks between island-hopping, and before long he was submitting
his first pieces about rural France to Le Tour du Monde. Five articles
appeared between 1892 and 1902, with evocative titles like “Chez les magicians
et les sorciers de la Corrèze” or “Le culte des fontaines en
Limousin”. These
texts have recently been rediscovered by local-history enthusiasts in Tulle,
whose new editions mirror the activities of their counterparts in Toulouse,
Palermo, Palma de Mallorca, Barcelona, Cagliari and now Ibiza.
Between
1898 and 1902 Charles-Gaston began to acquire land around the waterfall at Gimel
near the town of Tulle. Like the Archduke with his prime pieces of Mallorcan
real estate, Vuillier targeted this picturesque corner not simply to enjoy it,
but also to preserve it from the land sharks. His Nature Park, one of the first
of its kind, included a ‘Pavilion of Living Water’ restaurant where tired trampers
could fill stomachs and rest their feet while contemplating the natural marvel.
It was so tastefully done that in 1909 he even received the prestigious Grand
Prix du Paysage. But the trophy hardly had time to gather dust when an Alsatian
industrialist arrived with a hydroelectric scheme which would have spelt the
end of the aesthetically-framed cascade. Our hero emerged from the ensuing eco-battle
victorious but not unscathed, his local reputation tarnished by tabloid-style
publicity about Andalusian beauties brought back from a sketching trip in Granada.
Further ammunition was provided by his fascination with sorcerers and pre-Christian
folklore.
As
well as travelling, sketching and writing, Vuillier found time to produce two
serious works on social-historical themes, La danse (1898) and Plaisirs
et jeux (1900), the former translated into English, Italian and Russian,
and recently reissued in English; his illustrations for an Arabian book (A
Pilgrimage to Nejd by Lady Anne Blunt, granddaughter of Byron and pioneering
horse-breeder) was followed by others on Indo-China (1898) and Scotland (1898)
as well as Prosper Mérimée’s Carmen (1911); finally, two volumes of verse
Aspirations religieuses (1905) and Devant le tabernacle (1906),
wrapped things up. Never, it seems, did our Gaston-Charles know a dull moment.
And
so we reach the end of the Vuillier story. My thanks to Christine Bellan, without
whose assistance these articles would have barely penetrated the surface of
this forgotten and much-underrated figure. I will leave you today with his closing
comments on ‘Iviza’:
Mounted
on an ass, as in primitive days, and accompanied by the hospitable priest [of
Santa Eulalia], I started back to Iviza town to catch the steamer for Palma.
At a turn in the path, I looked back and took a last glance at the village with
its white presbytery and old rampart-flanked church. In spirit, I seemed to
hear again the wild scream which had made the professor shudder, the dull report
of the murderous musket, and the cry of distress which followed. I wondered
if I should ever again visit this strange, half-forgotten people, with their
barbarous customs and terrible superstitions. I said as much to the clergyman
when he bade me farewell at the top of the hill.
“Quien sabe?” was his wise reply. |