AN ADVENTURE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
1911
GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO. LTD.
PREFACE
It is a great venture to speak openly of a personal experience, and we
only do so for the following reasons. First, we prefer that our story,
which is known in part to some, should be wholly known as told by
ourselves. Secondly, we have collected so much evidence on the subject,
that it is possible now to consider it as a whole. Thirdly, conditions
are changing at Versailles, and in a short time facts which were
unknown, and circumstances which were unusual, may soon become
commonplaces, and will lose their force as evidence that some curious
psychological conditions must have been present, either in ourselves, or
in the place.
It is not our business to explain or to understand—nor do we pretend to
understand—what happened to put us into communication with so many true
facts, which, nine years ago, no one could have told us of in their
entirety. But, in order that others may be able to judge fairly of all
the circumstances, we have tried to record exactly what happened as
simply and fully as possible.
ELIZABETH MORISON.
FRANCES LAMONT.
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE
The ladies whose Adventure is described in these pages have for various
reasons preferred not to disclose their real names, but the signatures
appended to the Preface are the only fictitious words in the book. The
Publishers guarantee that the Authors have put down what happened to
them as faithfully and accurately as was in their power.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THREE VISITS TO THE PETIT TRIANON 1
II. RESULTS OF RESEARCH 41
III. ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS 100
IV. A RÊVERIE 121
CHAPTER I
VISITS TO THE PETIT TRIANON
Miss Morison’s Account of the First Visit to the Petit Trianon
AUGUST, 1901
After some days of sight-seeing in Paris, to which we were almost
strangers, on an August afternoon, 1901, Miss Lamont and I went to
Versailles. We had very hazy ideas as to where it was or what there was
to be seen. Both of us thought it might prove to be a dull expedition.
We went by train, and walked through the rooms and galleries of the
Palace with interest, though we constantly regretted our inability
through ignorance to feel properly the charm of the place. My knowledge
of French history was limited to the very little I had learnt in the
schoolroom, historical novels, and the first volume of Justin M’Carthy’s
_French Revolution_. Over thirty years before my brother had written a
prize poem on _Marie Antoinette_, for whom at the time I had felt much
enthusiasm. But the German occupation was chiefly in our minds, and Miss
Lamont and I thought and spoke of it several times.
We sat down in the Salle des Glaces, where a very sweet air was blowing
in at the open windows over the flower-beds below, and finding that
there was time to spare, I suggested our going to the Petit Trianon. My
sole knowledge of it was from a magazine article read as a girl, from
which I received a general impression that it was a farmhouse where the
Queen had amused herself.
Looking in Baedeker’s map we saw the sort of direction and that there
were two Trianons, and set off. By not asking the way we went an
unnecessarily long way round,—by the great flights of steps from the
fountains and down the central avenue as far as the head of the long
pond. The weather had been very hot all the week, but on this day the
sky was a little overcast and the sun shaded. There was a lively wind
blowing, the woods were looking their best, and we both felt
particularly vigorous. It was a most enjoyable walk.
After reaching the beginning of the long water we struck away to the
right down a woodland glade until we came obliquely to the other water
close to the building, which we rightly concluded to be the Grand
Trianon. We passed it on our left hand, and came up a broad green drive
perfectly deserted. If we had followed it we should have come
immediately to the Petit Trianon, but not knowing its position, we
crossed the drive and went up a lane in front of us. I was surprised
that Miss Lamont did not ask the way from a woman who was shaking a
white cloth out of the window of a building at the corner of the lane,
but followed, supposing that she knew where she was going to. Talking
about England and mutual acquaintances there, we went up the lane, and
then made a sharp turn to the right past some buildings. We looked in at
an open doorway and saw the end of a carved staircase, but as no one was
about we did not like to go in. There were three paths in front of us,
and as we saw two men a little ahead on the centre one, we followed it,
and asked them the way. Afterwards we spoke of them as gardeners,
because we remembered a wheelbarrow of some kind close by and the look
of a pointed spade, but they were really very dignified officials,
dressed in long greyish-green coats with small three-cornered hats. They
directed us straight on.
We walked briskly forward, talking as before, but from the moment we
left the lane an extraordinary depression had come over me, which, in
spite of every effort to shake off, steadily deepened. There seemed to
be absolutely no reason for it; I was not at all tired, and was becoming
more interested in my surroundings. I was anxious that my companion
should not discover the sudden gloom upon my spirits, which became quite
overpowering on reaching the point where the path ended, being crossed
by another, right and left.
In front of us was a wood, within which, and overshadowed by trees, was
a light garden kiosk, circular, and like a small bandstand, by which a
man was sitting. There was no green sward, but the ground was covered
with rough grass and dead leaves as in a wood. The place was so shut in
that we could not see beyond it. Everything suddenly looked unnatural,
therefore unpleasant; even the trees behind the building seemed to have
become flat and lifeless, _like a wood worked in tapestry_. There were
no effects of light and shade, and no wind stirred the trees. It was all
intensely still.
The man sitting close to the kiosk (who had on a cloak and a large shady
hat) turned his head and looked at us. That was the culmination of my
peculiar sensations, and I felt a moment of genuine alarm. The man’s
face was most repulsive,—its expression odious. His complexion was very
dark and rough. I said to Miss Lamont, “Which is our way?” but thought
“nothing will induce me to go to the left.” It was a great relief at
that moment to hear someone running up to us in breathless haste.
Connecting the sound with the gardeners, I turned and ascertained that
there was no one on the paths, either to the side or behind; but at
almost the same moment I suddenly perceived another man quite close to
us, behind and rather to the left hand, who had, apparently, just come
either over or through the rock (or whatever it was) that shut out the
view at the junction of the paths. The suddenness of his appearance was
something of a shock.
The second man was distinctly a gentleman; he was tall, with large dark
eyes, and had crisp, curling black hair under the same large sombrero
hat. He was handsome, and the effect of the hair was to make him look
like an old picture. His face was glowing red as through great
exertion,—as though he had come a long way. At first I thought he was
sunburnt, but a second look satisfied me that the colour was from heat,
not sunburning. He had on a dark cloak wrapped across him like a scarf,
one end flying out in his prodigious hurry. He looked greatly excited as
he called out to us, “Mesdames, Mesdames,” or (“Madame” pronounced more
as the other), “il ne faut (pronounced _fout_) pas passer par là.” He
then waved his arm, and said with great animation, “par ici ... cherchez
la maison.”[1]
I was so surprised at his eagerness that I looked up at him again, and
to this he responded with a little backward movement and a most peculiar
smile. Though I could not follow all he said, it was clear that he was
determined that we should go to the right and not to the left. As this
fell in with my own wish, I went instantly towards a little bridge on
the right, and turning my head to join Miss Lamont in thanking him,
found, to my surprise, that he was not there, but the running began
again and from the sound it was close beside us.
Silently we passed over the small rustic bridge which crossed a tiny
ravine. So close to us when on the bridge that we could have touched it
with our right hands, a thread-like cascade fell from a height down a
green pretty bank, where ferns grew between stones. Where the little
trickle of water went to I did not see, but it gave me the impression
that we were near other water, though I saw none.
Beyond the little bridge our pathway led under trees; it skirted a
narrow meadow of long grass, bounded on the further side by trees, and
very much overshadowed by trees growing in it. This gave the whole place
a sombre look suggestive of dampness, and shut out the view of the house
until we were close to it. The house was a square, solidly-built small
country house;—quite different from what I expected. The long windows
looking north into the English garden (where we were) were shuttered.
There was a terrace round the north and west sides of the house, and on
the rough grass which grew quite up to the terrace and with her back to
it, a lady was sitting, holding out a paper as though to look at it at
arm’s length. I supposed her to be sketching, and to have brought her
own camp-stool. It seemed as though she must be making a study of trees,
for they grew close in front of her, and there seemed to be nothing else
to sketch. She saw us, and when we passed close by on her left hand, she
turned and looked full at us. It was not a young face, and (though
rather pretty) it did not attract me. She had on a shady white hat
perched on a good deal of fair hair that fluffed round her forehead. Her
light summer dress was arranged on her shoulders in handkerchief
fashion, and there was a little line of either green or gold near the
edge of the handkerchief, which showed me that it was _over_, not tucked
into, her bodice, which was cut low. Her dress was long-waisted, with a
good deal of fullness in the skirt, which seemed to be short. I thought
she was a tourist, but that her dress was old-fashioned and rather
unusual (though people were wearing fichu bodices that summer). I looked
straight at her; but some indescribable feeling made me turn away
annoyed at her being there.
We went up the steps on to the terrace, my impression being that they
led up direct from the English garden; but I was beginning to feel as
though we were walking in a dream,—the stillness and oppressiveness were
so unnatural. Again I saw the lady, this time from behind, and noticed
that her fichu was pale green. It was rather a relief to me that Miss
Lamont did not propose to ask her whether we could enter the house from
that side.
We crossed the terrace to the south-west corner and looked over into the
cour d’honneur; and then turned back, and seeing that one of the long
windows overlooking the French garden was unshuttered, we were going
towards it when we were interrupted. The terrace was prolonged at right
angles in front of what seemed to be a second house. The door of it
suddenly opened, and a young man stepped out on to the terrace, banging
the door behind him. He had the jaunty manner of a footman, but no
livery, and called to us, saying that the way into the house was by the
cour d’honneur, and offered to show us the way round. He looked
inquisitively amused as he walked by us down the French garden till we
came to an entrance into the front drive. We came out sufficiently near
the first lane we had been in to make me wonder why the garden officials
had not directed us back instead of telling us to go forward.
When we were in the front entrance hall we were kept waiting for the
arrival of a merry French wedding party. They walked arm in arm in a
long procession round the rooms, and we were at the back,—too far off
from the guide to hear much of his story. We were very much interested,
and felt quite lively again. Coming out of the cour d’honneur we took a
little carriage which was standing there, and drove back to the Hotel
des Réservoirs in Versailles, where we had tea[2]; but we were neither
of us inclined to talk, and did not mention any of the events of the
afternoon. After tea we walked back to the station, looking on the way
for the Tennis Court.
On the way back to Paris the setting sun at last burst out from under
the clouds, bathing the distant Versailles woods in glowing
light,—Valerien standing out in front a mass of deep purple. Again and
again the thought returned,—Was Marie Antoinette really much at Trianon,
and did she see it for the last time long before the fatal drive to
Paris accompanied by the mob?
For a whole week we never alluded to that afternoon, nor did I think
about it until I began writing a descriptive letter of our expeditions
of the week before. As the scenes came back one by one, the same
sensation of dreamy unnatural oppression came over me so strongly that I
stopped writing, and said to Miss Lamont, “Do you think that the Petit
Trianon is haunted?” Her answer was prompt, “Yes, I do.” I asked her
where she felt it, and she said, “In the garden where we met the two
men, but not only there.” She then described her feeling of depression
and anxiety which began at the same point as it did with me, and how she
tried not to let me know it. Talking it over we fully realised, for the
first time, the theatrical appearance of the man who spoke to us, the
inappropriateness of the wrapped cloak on a warm summer afternoon, the
unaccountableness of his coming and going, the excited running which
seemed to begin and end close to us, and yet always out of sight, and
the extreme earnestness with which he desired us to go one way and not
another. I said that the thought had crossed my mind that the two men
were going to fight a duel, and that they were waiting until we were
gone. Miss Lamont owned to having disliked the thought of passing the
man of the kiosk.
We did not speak again of the incident during my stay in Paris, though
we visited the Conciergerie prisons, and the tombs of Louis XVI. and
Marie Antoinette at Saint Denis, where all was clear and fresh and
natural.
Three months later Miss Lamont came to stay with me, and on Sunday,
November 10th, 1901, we returned to the subject, and I said, “If we had
known that a lady was sitting so near us sketching it would have made
all the difference, for we should have asked the way.” She replied that
she had seen no lady. I reminded her of the person sitting under the
terrace; but Miss Lamont declared that there was no one there. I
exclaimed that it was impossible that she should not have seen the
individual; for we were walking side by side and went straight up to
her, passed her and looked down upon her from the terrace. It was
inconceivable to us both that she should not have seen the lady, but the
fact was clear that Miss Lamont had not done so, though we had both been
rather on the lookout for someone who would reassure us as to whether we
were trespassing or not.
Finding that we had a new element of mystery, and doubting how far we
had seen any of the same things, we resolved to write down independent
accounts of our expedition to Trianon, read up its history, and make
every enquiry about the place. Miss Lamont returned to her school the
same evening, and two days later I received from her a very interesting
letter, giving the result of her first enquiries.
E. M.
_November, 1901._
Miss Lamont’s Account of her First Visit to the Petit Trianon in 1901
AUGUST, 1901
In the summer of 1900 I stayed in Paris for the first time, and in the
course of that summer took a flat and furnished it, intending to place a
French lady there in charge of my elder schoolgirls. Paris was quite new
to me, and beyond seeing the picture galleries and one or two churches I
made no expeditions except to shops, for the Exhibition of 1900 was
going on, and all my free time was spent in seeing it with my French
friends. The next summer, however, 1901, when, after several months at
my school in England, I came back to Paris, it was to take the first
opportunity possible of having a visitor to stay there: and I asked Miss
Morison to come with me.
Miss Morison suggested our seeing the historic part of Paris in
something like chronological order, and I looked forward to seeing it
practically for the first time with her. We decided to go to Versailles
one day, though rather reluctantly, as we felt it was diverging from our
plan to go there too soon. I did not know what to expect, as my
ignorance of the place and its significance was extreme. So we looked up
general directions in Baedeker, and trusted to finding our way at the
time.
After spending some time in the Palace, we went down by the terrace and
struck to the right to find the Petit Trianon. We walked for some
distance down a wooded alley, and then came upon the buildings of the
Grand Trianon, before which we did not delay. We went on in the
direction of the Petit Trianon, but just before reaching what we knew
afterwards to be the main entrance I saw a gate leading to a path cut
deep below the level of the ground above, and as the way was open and
had the look of an entrance that was used, I said: “Shall we try this
path? it must lead to the house,” and we followed it. To our right we
saw some farm-buildings looking empty and deserted; implements (among
others a plough) were lying about; we looked in, but saw no one. The
impression was saddening, but it was not until we reached the crest of
the rising ground where there was a garden that I began to feel as if we
had lost our way, and as if something were wrong. There were two men
there in official dress (greenish in colour), with something in their
hands; it might have been a staff. A wheelbarrow and some other
gardening tools were near them. They told us, in answer to my enquiry,
to go straight on. I remember repeating my question, because they
answered in a seemingly casual and mechanical way, but only got the same
answer in the same manner. As we were standing there I saw to the right
of us a detached solidly-built cottage, with stone steps at the door. A
woman and a girl were standing at the doorway, and I particularly
noticed their unusual dress; both wore white kerchiefs tucked into the
bodice, and the girl’s dress, though she looked 13 or 14 only, was down
to her ankles. The woman was passing a jug to the girl, who wore a close
white cap.[3]
Following the directions of the two men we walked on: but the path
pointed out to us seemed to lead away from where we imagined the Petit
Trianon to be; and there was a feeling of depression and loneliness
about the place. I began to feel as if I were walking in my sleep; the
heavy dreaminess was oppressive. At last we came upon a path crossing
ours, and saw in front of us a building consisting of some columns
roofed in, and set back in the trees. Seated on the steps was a man with
a heavy black cloak round his shoulders, and wearing a slouch hat. At
that moment the eerie feeling which had begun in the garden culminated
in a definite impression of something uncanny and fear-inspiring. The
man slowly turned his face, which was marked by smallpox: his complexion
was very dark. The expression was very evil and yet unseeing, and though
I did not feel that he was looking particularly at us, I felt a
repugnance to going past him. But I did not wish to show the feeling,
which I thought was meaningless, and we talked about the best way to
turn, and decided to go to the right.
Suddenly we heard a man running behind us: he shouted, “Mesdames,
mesdames,” and when I turned he said in an accent that seemed to me
unusual that our way lay in another direction. “Il ne faut (pronounced
_fout_) pas passer par là.” He then made a gesture, adding “par ici ...
cherchez la maison.” Though we were surprised to be addressed, we were
glad of the direction, and I thanked him. The man ran off with a curious
smile on his face: the running ceased as abruptly as it had begun, not
far from where we stood. I remember that the man was young-looking, with
a florid complexion and rather long dark hair. I do not remember the
dress, except that the material was dark and heavy, and that the man
wore buckled shoes.
We walked on, crossing a small bridge that went across a green bank,
high on our right hand and shelving down below as to a very small
overshadowed pool of water glimmering some way off. A tiny stream
descended from above us, so small as to seem to lose itself before
reaching the little pool. We then followed a narrow path till almost
immediately we came upon the English garden front of the Petit Trianon.
The place was deserted; but as we approached the terrace I remember
drawing my skirt away with a feeling as though someone were near and I
had to make room, and then wondering why I did it. While we were on the
terrace a boy came out of the door of a second building which opened on
it, and I still have the sound in my ears of his slamming it behind him.
He directed us to go round to the other entrance, and seeing us
hesitate, with the peculiar smile of suppressed mockery, offered to show
us the way. We passed through the French garden, part of which was
walled in by trees. The feeling of dreariness was very strong there, and
continued till we actually reached the front entrance to the Petit
Trianon and looked round the room in the wake of a French wedding party.
Afterwards we drove back to the Rue des Réservoirs.
The impression returned to me at intervals during the week that
followed, but I did not speak of it until Miss Morison asked me if I
thought the Petit Trianon was haunted, and I said Yes. Then, too, the
inconsistency of the dress and behaviour of the man with an August
afternoon at Versailles struck me. We had only this one conversation
about the two men. Nothing else passed between us in Paris.
It was not till three months later, when I was staying with her, that
Miss Morison casually mentioned the lady, and almost refused to believe
that I had not seen her. How that happened was quite inexplicable to me,
for I believed myself to be looking about on all sides, and it was not
so much that I did not remember her as that I could have said no one was
there. But as she said it I remembered my impression at the moment of
there being more people than I could see, though I did not tell her
this.
The same evening, November 10th, 1901, I returned to my school near
London. Curiously enough, the next morning I had to give one of a set of
lessons on the French Revolution for the Higher Certificate, and it
struck me for the first time with great interest that the 10th of August
had a special significance in French history, and that we had been at
Trianon on the anniversary of the day.
That evening when I was preparing to write down my experiences, a French
friend whose home was in Paris came into my room, and I asked her, just
on the chance, if she knew any story about the haunting of the Petit
Trianon. (I had not mentioned our story to her before, nor indeed to
anyone.) She said directly that she remembered hearing from friends at
Versailles that on a certain day in August Marie Antoinette is regularly
seen sitting outside the garden front at the Petit Trianon, with a light
flapping hat and a pink dress. More than this, that the place,
especially the farm, the garden, and the path by the water, are peopled
with those who used to be with her there; in fact that all the
occupations and amusements reproduce themselves there for a day and a
night. I then told her our story, and when I quoted the words that the
man spoke to us, and imitated as well as I could his accent, she
immediately said that it was the Austrian pronunciation of French. I had
privately thought that he spoke old[4] French. Immediately afterwards I
wrote and told this to Miss Morison.
F. L.
_November, 1901._
On receiving Miss Lamont’s letter I turned to my diary to see on what
Saturday in August it was that we had visited Versailles, and looked up
the history to find out to what event she alluded. On August 10th, 1792,
the Tuileries was sacked. The royal family escaped in the early morning
to the Hall of the Assembly, where they were penned up for many hours
hearing themselves deposed, and within sound of the massacre of their
servants and of the Swiss guards at the Tuileries. From the Hall the
King and Queen were taken to the Temple.
We wondered whether we had inadvertently entered within an act of the
Queen’s memory when alive, and whether this explained our curious
sensation of being completely shut in and oppressed. What more likely,
we thought, than that during those hours in the Hall of the Assembly, or
in the Conciergerie, she had gone back in such vivid memory to other
Augusts spent at Trianon that some impress of it was imparted to the
place? Some pictures which were shown to me proved that the outdoor
dress of the gentlemen at Court had been a large hat and cloak, and that
the ladies wore long-waisted bodices, with full gathered short skirts,
fichus, and hats.
I told the story to my brother, and we heartily agreed that, as a rule,
such stories made no impression at all upon us, because we always
believed that, if only the persons involved would take the trouble to
investigate them thoroughly and honestly for themselves, they could be
quite naturally explained. We agreed that such a story as ours had very
little value without more proof of reality than it had, but that as
there were one or two interesting points in it, it would be best to sift
the matter quietly, lest others should make more of them than they
deserved. He suggested lightly and in fun that perhaps we had seen the
Queen as she thought of herself, and that it would be interesting to
know whether the dress described was the one she had on at the time of
her rêverie, or whether it was one she recollected having worn at an
earlier date. My brother also enquired whether we were quite sure that
the last man we had seen (who came out of the side building), as well as
the wedding party, were all real persons. I assured him with great
amusement that we had not the smallest doubt as to the reality of them
all.
As Miss Lamont was going to Paris for the Christmas holidays, I wrote
and asked her to take any opportunity she might have to see the place
again, and to make a plan of the paths and the buildings; for the guide
books spoke of the Temple de l’Amour and the Belvédère, and I thought
one of them might prove to be our kiosk.
E. M.
Miss Lamont’s Account of her Second Visit to the Petit Trianon
JANUARY, 1902
On January 2nd, 1902, I went for the second time to Versailles. It was a
cold and wet day, but I was anxious not to be deterred by that, as it
was likely to be my only possible day that winter. This time I drove
straight to the Petit Trianon, passing the Grand Trianon. Here I could
see the path up which we had walked in August. I went, however, to the
regular entrance, thinking I would go at once to the Temple de l’Amour,
even if I had time to go no further. To the right of the cour d’honneur
was a door in the wall; it led to the Hameau de la Reine and to the
gardens. I took this path and came to the Temple de l’Amour, which was
_not_ the building we had passed in the summer. There was, so far, none
of the eerie feeling we had experienced in August. But, on crossing a
bridge to go to the Hameau, the old feeling returned in full force; it
was as if I had crossed a line and was suddenly in a circle of
influence. To the left I saw a tract of park-like ground, the trees bare
and very scanty. I noticed a cart being filled with sticks by two
labourers, and thought I could go to them for directions if I lost my
way. The men wore tunics and capes with pointed hoods of bright colours,
a sort of terra-cotta red and deep blue.[5] I turned aside for an
instant—not more—to look at the Hameau, and when I looked back men and
cart were completely out of sight, and this surprised me, as I could see
a long way in every direction. And though I had seen the men in the act
of loading the cart with sticks, I could not see any trace of them on
the ground either at the time or afterwards. I did not, however, dwell
upon any part of the incident, but went on to the Hameau. The houses
were all built near a sheet of water, and the old oppressive feeling of
the last year was noticeable, especially under the balcony of the Maison
de la Reine, and near a window in what I afterwards found to be the
Laiterie. I really felt a great reluctance to go near the window or look
in, and when I did so I found it shuttered inside.
Coming away from the Hameau I at last reached a building, which I knew
from my plan to be the smaller Orangerie; then, meaning to go to the
Belvédère, I turned back by mistake into the park and found myself in a
wood, so thick that though I had turned towards the Hameau I could not
see it. Before I entered I looked across an open space towards a belt of
trees to the left of the Hameau some way off, and noticed a man, cloaked
like those we had seen before, slip swiftly through the line of trees.
The smoothness of his movement attracted my attention.
I was puzzling my way among the maze of paths in the wood when I heard a
rustling behind me which made me wonder why people in silk dresses came
out on such a wet day; and I said to myself, “just like French people.”
I turned sharply round to see who they were, but saw no one, and then,
all in a moment, I had the same feeling as by the terrace in the summer,
only in a much greater degree; it was as though I were closed in by a
group of people who already filled the path, coming from behind and
passing me. At one moment there seemed really no room for me. I heard
some women’s voices talking French, and caught the words “Monsieur et
Madame” said close to my ear. The crowd got scarce and drifted away, and
then faint music as of a band, not far off, was audible. It was playing
very light music with a good deal of repetition in it. Both voices and
music were diminished in tone, as in a phonograph, unnaturally. The
pitch of the band was lower than usual. The sounds were intermittent,
and once more I felt the swish of a dress close by me.
I looked at the map which I had with me, but whenever I settled which
path to take I felt impelled to go by another. After turning backwards
and forwards many times I at last found myself back at the Orangerie,
and was overtaken by a gardener.[6] I asked him where I should find the
Queen’s grotto, that had been mentioned in De Nolhac’s book which I had
procured while in Paris. He told me to follow the path I was on, and, in
answer to a question, said that I must pass the Belvédère, adding that
it was quite impossible to find one’s way about the park unless one had
been brought up in the place, and so used to it that “personne ne
pourrait vous tromper.” The expression specially impressed me because of
the experience I had just had in the wood. He pointed out the way and
left me. The path led past the Belvédère, which I took for granted was
the building we had seen in August, for coming upon it from behind, all
the water was hidden from me. I made my way from there to the French
garden without noticing the paths I took.
On my return to Versailles I made careful enquiries as to whether the
band had been playing there that day, but was told that though it was
the usual day of the week, it had not played because it had played the
day before, being New Year’s Day.
I told my French friends of my walk, and they said that there was a
tradition of Marie Antoinette having been seen making butter within the
Laiterie, and for that reason it was shuttered. A second tradition they
mentioned interested me very much. It was that on October 5th,
1789—which was the last day on which Marie Antoinette went to
Trianon—she was sitting there in her grotto, and saw a page running
towards her, bringing the letter from the minister at the palace to say
that the mob from Paris would be at the gates in an hour’s time. The
story went on that she impulsively proposed walking straight back to the
palace by the short cut through the trees. He would not allow it: but
begged her to go to the “maison” to wait whilst he fetched the carriage
by which she was generally conveyed back through the park, and that he
ran off to order it.
F. L.
_January, 1902._
1902–4.
During the next two years very little occurred to throw light on the
story. The person living in Versailles to whom we had been directed as
having related the tradition of the Queen’s being at Trianon on October
5th, 1789, was unable to remember anything at all about it. The
photographs of the Belvédère made it clear that it was not identical
with the kiosk. On the many occasions on which Miss Lamont went to the
Trianon she could never again find the places,—not even the wood in
which she had been. She assured me that the place was entirely
different; the distances were much less than we had imagined; and the
ground was so bare that the house and the Hameau were in full view of
one another; and that there was nothing unnatural about the trees.
Miss Lamont brought back from Paris _La Reine Marie Antoinette_, by M.
de Nolhac, and _Le Petit Trianon_, by Desjardins. We noted that M. de
Nolhac related the traditional story of the Queen’s visit, and that the
Comte de Vaudreuil, who betrayed the Queen by inviting her to the fatal
acting of the “Barbier de Séville” in her own theatre at Trianon, was a
Creole and marked by smallpox (pages 61, 212). Turning over the pages of
Desjardins I found Wertmüller’s portrait of the Queen, and exclaimed
that it was the first of all the pictures I had seen which at all
brought back the face of the lady. Some weeks later I found this
passage: “Ce tableau fut assez mal accueilli des critiques contemporains
qui le trouvèrent froid, sans majesté, sans grace. Pour la posterité, au
contraire, il a le plus grand mérite; celui de la ressemblance. Au dire
de Madame Campan, il n’existe de bon portrait de la reine que cette
toile de Wertmüller et celle que Madame Lebrun peignit en 1787” (page
282).
In January, 1904, Miss Lamont went to the Comédie Française to see the
“Barbier de Séville,” and noticed that the Alguazils standing round were
dressed exactly like our garden officials, but had red stockings added.
This was interesting, as the Comédie Française is the descendant of the
Royal Private Theatre, and the old royal liveries worn by the
subordinate actors (who were, in earlier times, the royal servants) are
carefully reproduced at it. Also, she reported, that Almaviva was
dressed in a dark cloak and a large Spanish hat, which was said to be
the outdoor dress of French gentlemen of the period.
E. M.
On Monday, July 4th, 1904, Miss Lamont and I went to the Trianon, this
being my second visit. We were accompanied by Mademoiselle ——, who had
not heard our story. On the Saturday of the same week (July 9th) we went
again unaccompanied.
Both days were brilliant and hot. On both occasions the dust, glare,
trams, and comers and goers, were entirely different from the quietness
and solitude of our visit in 1901. We went up the lane as at the first
time and turned to the right on reaching the building, which we had now
learnt to call the _logement des corps de gardes_. From this point
everything was changed. The old wall facing us had gates, but they were
closed, and the one through which we had seen the drive passing through
a grove of trees seemed to have been closed for a very long time. We
came directly to the gardener’s house, which was quite different in
appearance from the cottage described by Miss Lamont in 1901, in front
of which she saw the woman and the girl. Beyond the gardener’s house was
a parterre with flower-beds, and a smooth lawn of many years’ careful
tendance. It did not seem to be the place where we had met the garden
officials.
We spent a long time looking for the old paths. Not only was there no
trace of them, but the distances were contracted, and all was on a
smaller scale than I recollected. The kiosk was gone; so was the ravine
and the little cascade which had fallen from a height above our heads,
and the little bridge over the ravine was, of course, gone too. The
large bridge with the _rocher_ over it, crossing one side of the lake at
the foot of the Belvédère, had no resemblance to it. The trees were
quite natural, and seemed to have been a good deal cleared out, making
that part of the garden much less wooded and picturesque.
The English garden in front of the house was not shaded by many trees;
and we could see the house and the hameau from almost every point.
Instead of a much shaded rough meadow continuing up to the wall of the
terrace, there is now a broad gravel sweep beneath it, and the trees on
the grass are gone. Exactly where the lady was sitting we found a large
spreading bush of, apparently, many years’ growth. We did not recognise
the present staircase, which leads up to the north-west end of the
terrace, nor the extension of wall round which one has now to go in
order to reach the staircase. We thought that we went up to the terrace
from some point nearer to the house from the English garden. The present
exit from the French garden to the avenue was not so near the house as
we expected, nor was it so broad as we remembered it.
To add to the impossibility of recalling our first visit, in every
corner we came across groups of noisy merry people walking or sitting in
the shade. Garden seats placed everywhere, and stalls for fruit and
lemonade took away from any idea of desolation. The common-place,
unhistorical atmosphere was totally inconsistent with the air of silent
mystery by which we had been so much oppressed. Though for several years
Miss Lamont had assured me of the change, I had not expected such
complete disillusionment.
One thing struck me greatly—people went wherever they liked, and no one
would think of interfering to show the way, or to prevent anyone from
going in any direction. We searched the place at our pleasure.
We went to the Hameau, following the path taken by Miss Lamont on
January 2, 1902. We tried to find the thick wood in which she had lost
her way, but there was nothing like it, and such paths as there are now
are perfectly visible from one another, even in summer. We asked a
gardener sweeping one of the paths whether that part of the grounds had
ever been a thick wood. He said he believed that it had been, but could
give us no date beyond the fact that it was before his time—more than
twenty years ago.
On our return to Versailles, we went into a bookseller’s shop and asked
if he had any maps or views of the Petit Trianon as it had been in old
days. He showed us a picture (which he would not part with) of the Jeu
de Bague. We saw at once that the central building had some likeness to
the kiosk, but the surrounding part was not like, and its position was
unsuitable for our purpose. We enquired about the green uniforms of the
garden officials, and he emphatically denied their existence. He said
that “green was one of the colours of the royal liveries,” and when we
answered that three years before persons in long green coats had
directed us in the grounds, he spoke of it as “impossible, unless (he
added) they were masqueraders.” One of the _gardiens_ of the Palace also
told us that “green was a royal livery and that now only the President
had the right to use it on certain occasions.”
We asked how long the gardens had been thrown open to the public and
people allowed to wander everywhere, and were told that “it had been so
for _years_,” and this evidently implied a great many years.
The result of this visit was to make us take a graver view of the two
first visits, and we resolved to look into the matter as carefully as we
could, and to be entirely silent about the change of scenery until we
had explained it somewhat to ourselves. After some years, and in spite
of various false leads, we have been able to put together some very
interesting facts. The details of the search are recorded in a book
which, to us, goes by the name of the Green Book. It contains the
original papers written in 1901, the history of the gradual accumulation
of information, correspondence with one another and also with others on
the subject, the accounts written by one or two friends who have helped
us at different times, also pictures, maps, and lists of books
consulted, and the account of curious incidents which took place during
the search.
E. M.
F. L.