Gregory Curtis (5 page)

The three primates of
Melos, in turn, were obliged to raise taxes for the dragoman from the people of the island. If they failed, the dragoman had the power to punish them with fines, dispossession, imprisonment, or beatings. The primates lived in terror of the dragoman. And now, just a few days after the departure of the last French ship, a representative of Morousi arrived at Melos. He had come to search for antique statues.

At least he said he represented the dragoman. This man was a priest named Oconomos. Accused of embezzlement by his superiors in the church, he had been summoned to Constantinople to account for himself. Now he had returned. He was to find statues for the dragoman as a kind of penance to earn back Morousi’s favor. As soon as he learned of the recently discovered statue, he demanded that
Yorgos sell it to him on Morousi’s account. He claimed the dragoman would settle the debt when the statue was delivered to him.

The primates didn’t know whether to believe Oconomos. Perhaps all his claims were part of an elaborate swindle; even at best, how could they be sure the dragoman would pay? Brest reminded the primates that they had promised to do nothing
until he had further instructions from his superiors.
Yorgos, meanwhile, had been listening to his neighbors, who had made him believe the statue was worth twenty to thirty thousand francs, a vast fortune on an island like Melos. Neither the French nor the dragoman was likely to offer that much money. They all found themselves stalemated.

T
HE
C
HEVRETTE
, with d’Urville and Matterer aboard, sailed straight from Melos to Constantinople and arrived there on April 28, 1820. After a few days in port the captain invited d’Urville to accompany him to a dinner on shore at the Russian embassy. There d’Urville met an assistant to the French ambassador, a man who at twenty-five had the air of someone quite at home in the halls of diplomacy and with the intrigues of the sultan’s court. Marie-Louis-Jean-André-Charles Demartin du Tirac, comte de Marcellus, was a small, aquiline man who wore his wavy hair piled high on his head to conceal his receding hairline. His eyelids were hooded, his nose was long, and his mouth was small and straight. All this combined to give him an air of superiority that was somewhat misleading. In fact, he was good company. He was kindly, intelligent, and enjoyed a good laugh.

The young Marcellus had attracted the attention of the great Talleyrand, now returned to power after the restoration of the
Bourbons to the French throne, who sent him first to Corsica and in 1815, when he was only twenty, to Constantinople. There he became secretary to the marquis de Rivière, the French ambassador.

At the dinner at the Russian embassy, Marcellus was impressed by d’Urville, who was spilling over with his enthusiasm for botany. He wanted to take a long hike in the countryside around Constantinople to search for specimens, and Marcellus volunteered to be his guide. D’Urville later recalled his particular pleasure during this expedition in finding a Daphne du Pont, a lys de Galcédoine, and a bourrache d’Orient. Marcellus, however, was more excited by d’Urville’s account of the statue he took credit for finding on Melos. The count pressed him with questions, which d’Urville answered readily. He even showed Marcellus the copies of the inscriptions he had made and drew his own sketch of the statue.

The intensity of Marcellus’s interest was just a bit disingenuous, for a secret reason of his own. He had met the Viennese painter
Johann Ender who had done a portrait of a beautiful girl
who lived on
Melos. She was the daughter of a hideous old ship’s pilot, who allowed Ender to paint his daughter’s portrait on the condition that he show the painting only to Europeans. The old man feared that if the
Turks saw the picture, they would take his daughter for the seraglio. Once Marcellus had seen this painting, he thought about the girl obsessively, although he had faint hope of ever meeting her. Now, Marcellus realized, there might be a way to fulfill his longings after all.

Marcellus brought d’Urville to the marquis de Rivière and had him repeat his story. Marcellus then asked the ambassador for permission to go to Melos to buy the statue. Rivière seemed unenthusiastic. Marcellus was becoming desperate as he saw his chance to visit the island drifting away. However, a royalist himself, he knew that Rivière was a fawning idolizer of the Bourbon monarchy. He suggested that he, Marcellus, could buy the statue for Rivière, who could then donate it to the king in homage. Although still doubtful, Rivière reluctantly agreed. He had already ordered Marcellus on a tour of the eastern Mediterranean, including Egypt and
Palestine, which he considered more important. He gave Marcellus permission to go to Melos only if it didn’t delay his diplomatic mission.

Either the next day or the day after, May 4 or 5, d’Urville sailed with the
Chevrette
through the Bosporus and into the Black Sea as it continued its scientific voyage. On May 6 the
Estafette
anchored in Constantinople, with Robert the Devil in command and Voutier on board. The
Estafette
had come to Constantinople in order to take Marcellus on his diplomatic tour. Now Melos had become the first stop on that tour, but the winds did not cooperate. The
Estafette
was unable to leave before May 15 and didn’t arrive at Melos until a week later. During all that time it seems impossible that Marcellus and the two naval officers—Voutier, who had discovered the statue, and Robert the Devil, who had seen it—wouldn’t have discussed it. And wouldn’t Voutier have shown Marcellus his drawings? Evidently, he did not. In the extensive memoir Marcellus published about this voyage, he never mentions Voutier at all.

A
S THE
E
STAFETTE
glided into the harbor at
Melos early on the morning of May 22, 1820, Marcellus and the crew were in a joyful mood: After a week at sea they had at last arrived at their destination. But they were greeted by a sight so alarming and so coincidental that they couldn’t help but laugh out loud. There out in the bay was the Venus. It was in a lifeboat that sat deep in the water because of its heavy load. A group of Russian sailors were rowing it toward another ship anchored in the harbor. In a memoir he published decades later, Voutier says he was incredulous. “Look,” he shouted. “Someone’s taking our statue away. This can’t be real.”

But it was. It had been more than a month since Brest had received the promise from the primates that the statue would not be sold until he had received further instructions. In the meantime French ships had come and gone from Melos, but none had brought any word from Constantinople. Oconomos had been there on the island all the while and had become more and more insistent. Finally he had promised
Yorgos 750 francs and wrenched the statue away practically by force. He then had it taken down to the harbor and tried to book passage on a ship.

At this point Vice-consul Brest proved he could be both decisive and effective under the right circumstances. Claiming that the sale was illegitimate, and most likely hinting about the results of disregarding French power in the Aegean, he persuaded the captains of all the ships in the harbor to refuse to take the statue. After all, at this point the captains had nothing to lose: The wind was against them, so they couldn’t leave the harbor anyway. Why not humor Brest? But Oconomos kept offering more and more money, until finally the captain of a Russian ship agreed to take the statue. His sailors rowed to shore to fetch it, rowed back, and loaded it on board as Marcellus and the
sailors on the
Estafette
watched helplessly. Luckily for them, the winds had become even stronger and were still contrary to leaving the harbor.

The moment the
Estafette
anchored, Brest rowed out and came aboard. He told Marcellus what had happened. The count, annoyed by the way the vice-consul had been treated by the islanders and propelled, as he put it, “by the ardent desires of a young heart eager to fight against apparently impossible odds,” resolved to seize the statue for himself at any price even if “later she would not justify the excesses of my zeal.”

Marcellus immediately began the fight against apparently impossible odds. First he ordered Robert the Devil to stop the Russian ship if it should try to leave with the statue. Then he went ashore and made the long climb to Castro. Establishing himself in Brest’s house, he sent for the primates. When the three men arrived, he asked to be taken to the Russian ship to see the statue. The primates refused. Angry, Marcellus began to lecture them. They had arbitrarily refused to sell the statue to the agent of France who was the first on the scene and the first to make an offer. A refusal to sell to him prohibited a sale to anyone else. Consequently, any sale that had been entered into under these conditions was null in his eyes and in the eyes of any reasonable judge. He concluded by reminding the primates that he could even use arms to enforce the sale to France. He had fifty trained men aboard his warship.

Then Marcellus bluffed. Before leaving Constantinople, he had obtained several letters of introduction, including one from the patriarch of the Greek church. He now displayed all the letters ostentatiously and read the one from the patriarch aloud. Unfortunately, as Marcellus was well aware, the letter contained only vague recommendations and said nothing specific at all about the case at hand. He hoped simple bombast would carry the day, but it didn’t.

The primates began talking privately. Their discussions seemed to go on and on. Marcellus made a show of not listening.
At last the primates announced to Marcellus that Oconomos would never give up the statue now that he had it. Furthermore, the dragoman had ordered Oconomos to bring the statue to him in Constantinople. Those were facts the primates could not ignore.

By now it was late in the afternoon. As the primates began to leave, Marcellus insisted that they come to see him the next day. He sadly took the road to the port, but as soon as he was back aboard the
Estafette
, he was seized by an idea: He would go see the Venus. Robert the Devil prepared a lifeboat, and with seamen at the oars, Marcellus and several officers—most likely including Voutier—set off across the bay toward the Russian boat.

In the middle of their passage there was still enough light in the day for Marcellus to see a rider galloping across the beach toward the point of the bay closest to the Russian ship. It was Oconomos. He was signaling the Russian captain to keep the French from coming aboard his ship and seeing the statue. In response, the captain had armed his sailors. Marcellus and his companions on the lifeboat found themselves well within rifle range and exposed to possible fire.

The Russian captain, however, had second thoughts about firing on an unarmed French boat. The next French vessel to approach him would not be so defenseless. He sent a dingy out to make his apologies, although he still declined to take Marcellus on board. With that Marcellus gave up. He returned to the
Estafette
feeling that he had attempted to accomplish two things that day—to win over the primates and to see the statue—without the least result.

Still he refused to be discouraged. He even had a favorable presentiment about the outcome, especially after the goddess Venus appeared to him that night in a dream. He awoke the next day full of energy. Once again he climbed the hill to Castro, arriving there early in the morning, and immediately resumed his negotiations.

The situation had changed. The primates came to tell Marcellus that after long discussions they had decided the statue didn’t belong to any single owner. As a group the entire community would send it directly to the dragoman rather than entrust it to Oconomos.

Marcellus regarded the primates’ resolution as their first concession. He told them gently that he was pleased to deal with a fair community that respected France rather than with a single individual whose conduct did not inspire any confidence. Then he reminded them of how little use such a present would be in gaining the dragoman’s favor. The Turks had an aversion to representations of the human form, especially for those that had been mutilated. He assured them that the dragoman would never be able to repair the damage done to the statue by time, the excavation, and the sea passage, whereas it
could
be repaired at the royal museum in Paris. Considering all that, Marcellus concluded, wouldn’t it be better to sell the statue to him?

Marcellus continued to talk in a patient manner, overcoming the primates’ objections one by one. At last he resorted to rereading his letters of introduction. This time his title as secretary to the French ambassador made an impression on the primates, who once again retired to consult among themselves in secret. Within an hour Marcellus saw them returning, followed by Yorgos. They expressed great regret for the delays and for any appearance of ill will. Their excuse was their perpetual fear of the dragoman. Now they were ready to sell the count the statue after all.