After leaving Lascaux, I climbed into 

 my Volkswagen for a trip further south, 

 through the lower valley of the Vezere 

 to the caves of Lex Combarelles and 

 Font-de-Gaume. There I saw several 

 hundred fine engravings of animals. 

 Continuing the tour, I drove through 

 the rocky landscape of the Dordogne 

 into the beautiful valley of the Lot, 

 winding mile after mile on serpentine 

 roads through steep, descending slopes 

 and dense pine forest, before I finally 

 stood at the entrance of the Pech Merle 

 cave. The scene was that of a fairyland, 

 where phantasy mingled with reality. 

 Well located lamps illuminated the al- 

 most unbelievable beauty of an im- 

 mense grotto. Here, as I had at the 

 rim of the Grand Canyon at night, I 

 stood and "listened" to the silence. 

 Stalactites, like embroidered curtains, 

 dropped everywhere from a dome- 

 shaped ceiling to meet the stalagmites 

 below. The latter pointed upward with 

 bony fingers; some resembled twisted 

 ropes, frozen waterfalls, or organ pipes. 

 The guide touched these with his little 

 stick. There ! — they began to resound, 

 each one in a different tone, vibrating 



Entrance to cave of Font-de-Gaume 



through the space. No instrument could 

 ever imitate such sounds. 



It was here, among moist, glittering 

 temples, pagodas, and richly ornamented 

 columns, that I compared my hand 

 with the hands of our early ancestors 



Page 6 



which I found stenciled on the walls of 

 the first, second, and third floors of the 

 cave. Their palms had been large with 

 relatively short fingers. The little finger 

 was always curved in a way that my 

 hand could not imitate. 



Everywhere, the guide pointed out 

 the engraved or painted representations 

 of mammoths, cows, horses, and other 

 animals. None was as finely drawn or 

 clearly preserved as at Lascaux, nor did 

 they match the monumental dimen- 

 sions — eighteen feet in length — of one 

 memorable Lascaux bull. The ceiling 

 of the Pech Merle cave was engraved 

 with a crowded mass of animal and 

 human figures, hard to identify because 

 they were drawn on top of each other. 



The way to the prehistoric caves of 

 France and Spain is sometimes strenu- 

 ous and difficult. Neither country makes 

 any special effort to attract tourists, 

 and, surprisingly to me, people I asked 

 for directions sometimes had not the 

 slightest idea that there was any cave 

 in their vicinity. An exception to this 

 was the parking area immediately in 

 front of the entrance to the Altamira 

 cave in Spain, which showed signs of 

 resembling a popular amusement park. 

 At the caves I had previously visited, 

 the number of persons in our group did 

 not exceed ten or twenty. Here, about 

 sixty happily chattering people entered 

 at the same time, shattering the sense 

 of serenity I had felt in other caves. 



View from cave in El Castillo Mountain 



Altamira, in the Cantabrian Moun- 

 tains, is one of the first caves to have 

 been re-discovered by modern man. 

 Because of its unique beauty, it has been 

 called the Sistine Chapel of the Ice Age. 

 At first, the visitor does not notice any 

 paintings. Only irregular humps and 

 bulges protrude everywhere from the 

 ceiling. Gradually, as you walk be- 

 neath them, the outlines of animals can 

 be discerned, and you realize that the 

 artist had allowed the natural contours 

 of the cave's ceiling to guide his paint- 

 ing. To his eyes, trained by observa- 

 tion, a mere hump in the wall evoked 

 the sudden memory of a bison pain- 

 fully collapsing in death; so he created, 

 completing the form with color and 

 line, from nature's inspiration. 



A few hours' drive southeast from 

 Altamira rises the cone-shaped moun- 

 tain, El Castillo. Here was the final 

 stop on my tour. In the sweltering heat 

 of a sunny noon, I climbed a small foot- 

 pass to the entrance of the first of five 

 caves situated in a circular position 

 around the cone. Las Monedas, La 

 Pasiega, La Flecha, Las Chimeneas, 

 and El Castillo are still without any 

 lighting installations. The other visi- 

 tors and I groped our way behind our 

 guide, who held a carbide lamp. For 

 almost five hours, we followed him 

 through the mysterious darkness of pas- 

 sages and halls, climbing upstairs and 

 down. The hollow sound of water drip- 

 ping from a stalactite somewhere around 



