One day last summer I visited the little copper museum in Durfort with my sketch book hoping that I would be allowed to sketch the antique copper vessels for the rest of the afternoon. I was given a chair and permission to stay as long as I liked. Another world opened up to me, the world of pots and pans made for cooking local dishes the old fashioned way, in a fireplace. Each one of the pots in the museum was designed for a specific purpose. For instance the “tourtiere” which has an indented lid to hold coals becomes an oven when nestled in a bed of coals. Read more »
One of the thirteen mills along the river Sor
Durfort, The Copper Village
At one time Durfort’s thirteen water mills along the Sor were used to mill wheat and to drive looms. It was when the textile industry slid into decline in the 15th century that the mill owners displayed ingenuity in harnessing the waterwheels to “marteau pilons”, the huge pylon-hammers that pound copper ingots into vessels. Most of the houses in Durfort were copper ateliers up until 1930, just about everyone was involved in the production of copper ware. When the local graveyard was moved, it was discovered that the skeletons of the copper workers were green from the oxidized copper absorbed by their bones.
When the local ateliers were put out of business by cheaper copper imports from North Africa, Durfort re-invented its livelihood by shifting from manufacturing to retail. Today the copper boutiques on the square mostly sell the imported copper. Although the village replaced one of the Roman bridges with a bridge to the parking lot large enough for tour buses, cars and buses still prefer to park in the town square. The parking lot remains mostly empty except for le jour de fête, once a year.
When browsing in one of the Durfort copper shops I was surprised to see our neighbor, a master copper craftsman, in a video demonstrating how a copper disc is pounded into shape by a marteau-pylon, a massive water-driven hammer. He rotated the disc with tongs as his burlap-wrapped foot nudged the hot metal in position under the thundering marteau-pylon. It looked dangerous.
I didn’t learn until years after we bought La Cascade that his wife grew up in our house. She claimed she didn’t mention it because she was afraid we’d invite her in; however when she eventually visited us she was relieved to see that it was so changed that it didn’t stir up old memories.
Our good neighbors have been very patient with us when we’ve proved ourselves to be a bit clueless. One day when I had inadverdently locked out an entire class of students, our neighbor appeared with a chair. He assisted each student through the window with a gentle push on the buttoks. “Voila, ça va“.
A watercourse once used to temper copper flows down Rue des Martineurs.
