Perigord had been a naked savage, contemporary with the mammoth, the
reindeer and the cave-bear, that he had not learned to domesticate
animals, to sow fields, to make pots, and that he was entirely ignorant
of the use of the metals.

Since then, in the valley of the Vezere, Les Eyzies in the Department
of Dordogne, has become a classic spot. I have already described it in
another work, [Footnote: "The Deserts of Southern France." Lond.,
Methuen, 1894.] but I must here say a few more words concerning it. On
reaching the valley of the Vezere by the train from Perigueux, one is
swung down from the plateau into a trough between steep scarps of
chalk-rock that rise from 150 to 300 feet above the placid river. These
scarps have been ploughed by the weather in long horizontal furrows, so
that they lean over as though desirous of contemplating their dirty
faces in the limpid water. Out of their clefts spring evergreen oaks,
juniper, box and sloe-bushes. Moss and lichen stain the white walls
that are streaked by black tricklings from above, and are accordingly
not beautiful--their faces are like that of a pale, dirty, and weeping
child with a cold in its head, who does not use a pocket-handkerchief.
Jackdaws haunt the upper ledges and smaller caves that gape on all
sides chattering like boys escaped from school, and anon a raven starts
forth and hoarsely calls for silence. At the foot of the stooping
crags, bowing to each other across the stream, lie masses that have
broken from above, and atop and behind these is to be seen a string of
cottages built into the rock, taking advantage of the overarching
stratum of hard chalk; and cutting into it are russet, tiled roofs,
where the cottagers have sought to expand beyond the natural shelter:
they are in an intermediate position. Just as I have seen a caddis-worm
emancipating itself from its cage, half in as a worm, half out as a
fly.