The reader may ask why the peasants should misdirect him? They misdirect him, in this particular instance, because they believe that the gate really stood on the town side of the western bridge of the Arroux, in the corresponding position to that of the Porte d'Arroux. But my point is, that, had your informant been utterly ignorant of the supposed whereabouts of the gate, he would, very probably, have directed you with almost equal facility. The Burgundian peasant is very ignorant; but he is also very proud,--much too proud to admit that he does not know the whereabouts of a monument that a stranger has come, perhaps, a thousand miles to visit. His swift imagination, therefore, promptly creates the site; and he, or she, will tell you promptly, volubly, and with much circumstantial detail, exactly how to get there. In this snare we have been taken many times during our travels among the Burgundians. The Provençals have a different and preferable method. They do not invent a site for the monument; they deny its existence. Speaking with some experience of the peculiar ways of the French peasant in such matters, my advice to the gentle stranger is--not to trust him. Get the best guide and map that you can find in the local librairie; and rely on them, and on your own intelligence. You may then, when you are at fault, consult the passer by as to details, letting your judgment decide whether, in his particular case, he is to be trusted. If it be a Château that you are seeking, you must be doubly careful. To a French peasant many a tiny cottage is a "fine house" (belle maison), and almost every modern house, of any pretentions at all, is a château. To us, on the contrary, a château means a castle; usually an ancient one. Many a time has a blue-shirted peasant looked up from his work by the road side, to address me somewhat as follows: "The Château de Bon Espoir; Certainly, Monsieur, 'tis there, three kilometres away, up the hill, tout droit en montant."[35] We climb the three kilometres, wander about for an hour, and return disconsolate. The labourer, hearing the whirr of bicycle wheels, looks up again. "M'sieur et Dame have found the Château?" "No, Monsieur. They told us up there that the ancient Château de Bon Espoir was on the other side of the valley to the north." "Oh! that one? That's only an old ruin. I thought you meant the château de Monsieur Pigot." "No. Who is Monsieur Pigot?" "Monsieur Pigot, 'Sieur Dame, is the proprietor of the grand magasin du Louvre at Paris. He has a lovely château, up there where you went. They would have let you in if you had gone up the drive." "We are sorry we missed it. Good day, Monsieur." The "lovely château" was a terrible erection of red brick and stone, defiling the landscape for a mile around. [Illustration: End of chapter II; Burgundian Peasant] FOOTNOTES: [10] De Bello Gallico, lib. 1, cap. 23: "Bibracte, by far the finest and largest town of the Aedui."