CHAPTER II. Summary of Results of Research

SUMMARY OF RESULTS OF RESEARCH

The Plough

The first incident in our expedition to Trianon in 1901 was that, after passing the logement des corps de gardes, a small hand plough was seen by Miss Lamont lying on the ground not far from some wide open gates in an old wall opposite to us, through which we could see the stems of a grove of trees, and a drive leading through it.

In 1905 Miss Lamont was told by a gardener that no plough was kept at Trianon; there was no need of one, as the government only required the lawns, walks, water, trees, and flowers, to be kept up.

In 1908 another gardener told us both that ploughs have entirely altered in character since the Revolution, and it was not likely that the old type would be seen anywhere in France now.

It would seem that no plough was used ordinarily at Trianon even in old days, for amongst a list of tools bought for the gardeners from 1780–1789, there is no mention of a plough.

We learned, in 1905, from Desjardins’ book, that throughout the reign of Louis XVI. an old plough used in his predecessor’s reign had been preserved at the Petit Trianon and sold with the king’s other properties during the Revolution.

A picture of this identical plough, procured in 1907, showed that it had handles like the one seen in 1901, but the cutting part was hidden in the ground and could not be compared.

In the old map of 1783 there is ploughed land where later the Hameau was built and the sheet of water placed: but there is none in the later maps, nor any now to be seen in the grounds.

The Guards

The second event was our meeting with two dignified, thoughtful-looking officials, dressed in long green coats and three-cornered hats, holding something in their hands which Miss Lamont wrote of in 1901 as possibly being staves. In response to our enquiry for the Petit Trianon they coldly directed us forward.

There are no officials so dressed at Trianon now. At present they wear black, with tricolour rosettes in their hats; in summer they have white trousers.

In 1904 we were told by fully-informed persons at Versailles that it was “impossible” that we should have seen such uniforms, “unless they were worn by masqueraders,” for green was a royal livery, and no one wore it now at Trianon.

Supposing them to have been masqueraders, the dress may have been that of gardes de la porte. The ceremonial overdress of the gardes de la porte, as was that of part of the gardes du corps (gardes de la Manche), was green, with gold and silver embroidery and red stockings: they carried halberds. But the officers had galon instead of embroidery, and no red stockings: they carried an ebony cane with an ivory ball.

The livery of the Comte d’Artois, who was colonel-général of the gardes Suisses was green; and those of the gardes du corps and Suisses who were in his service had green uniforms.

There is evidence of a much quieter dress without even galon, called the “petite livrée,” which was probably green, as it was worn by the Suisses, piqueurs, gardes de la porte, and the garçons jardiniers. The traditional dress of those royal servants who filled the minor parts in the Royal Theatre at Versailles is still to be seen at the acting of the Barbier de Séville in the Comédie Française, which is the descendant of the Royal Theatre. This dress (except for the added red stockings) is the same as the one we saw in 1901.

In 1908 we learned that the porte du jardinier at the Petit Trianon was always guarded ‘dans le temps,’ and that on October 5th, 1789, the guards were two of the three Bersy brothers who, with Bréval, were generally on duty whenever the Queen was in residence at Trianon. From their writing and spelling they were evidently well educated. In 1910 we found that they had the title of garçons jardiniers de la Chambre, and they are said to have been stationed in “la pepinière proche la maison.” The most ancient pepinière was close to the gardener’s house.

Cottage, Woman, and Girl

Whilst speaking to the two men, Miss Lamont observed on her right hand a solidly-built cottage with stone steps, on which a woman in old-fashioned dress was standing, handing something to a girl of about 13 or 14, who wore a white cap and skirts nearly reaching to her ankles.

In 1904, Miss Lamont saw a picture resembling this cottage in its general appearance in the Album de Trianon at the Bibliothèque nationale. In 1908, she and a friend discovered such a cottage (more than one) within the gates which were not far from the place where she had seen the plough. These cottages were not in the right position for our experience in 1901, but the type was the same.

In 1907 we discovered from the map of 1783 that there was a building, not now in existence, placed against the wall (outside) of the gardener’s yard between the ruelle and the porte du jardinier; if our original route lay through this yard to the English garden, this building would be exactly in the right place for Miss Lamont’s cottage.

In September, 1910, we saw from marks on this wall that a building might have stood here; for the cornice of the wall is broken into, and there seems to be a perpendicular line from it to the ground visible through the plaster. A photograph shows this.

If the girl seen should be the “Marion” of Madame Julie Lavergne’s story (first read in 1906), she would have been 14 years old in 1789, and her mother was then alive. Her father’s house would have been near the reservoir and not within the locked gates of any enclosure, for she let herself out at night by an open window. All this would suit the position of the building in the map.

The Kiosk

On our entrance into the English garden in 1901, we found our path crossed by another, beyond which, in front of us but rather to the left hand, stood a small circular building having pillars and a low surrounding wall. It was on rough uneven ground, and was overshadowed by trees.

Repeated searches during seven years by ourselves and others have failed to discover this building.

In September, 1908, Miss Lamont found in the archives a paper (without signature or date) giving the estimate for a “ruine” having seven Ionic columns, walls, and a dome roof. (A “ruine” seems only to mean a copy of an older building.) If the walls of this building were low it would correspond in appearance with our recollection of the kiosk. This “ruine” is said to have formed a “naissance de la rivière,” suggesting its position above the small lake which fed the principal river. A piece of old water pipe is still to be seen on the north-western side of the small lake.

If this “ruine” and two others of those alluded to in the archives were one and the same, there is additional reason for placing the columned building in this part of the garden. I. In 1788 it is stated that rocks were placed at intervals on a path leading from “la ruine” to the “2^{ième} source du ravin” beyond the wooden bridge. Desjardins considers one of the “sources” to have been close to the theatre which was at our right hand; this might have been the second spring. II. Mique states that in 1780 he placed a small architectural “ruine” above the grotto. A note in the archives, dated 1777, speaks of the “porte d’entrée au bout du grotte.” If, as we believe, we had just passed out of the gardener’s yard by this “porte d’entrée” we should have been close to the earliest placed grotto.

In 1909 two old maps were procured from Paris; in one, dated 1840(?), there is something which may indicate a small round building placed on the rocher behind the Belvédère. The other map was reproduced from an old one of 1705, but added to until a railway appears in it. In this map below the name “pavillon de musique” (the Belvédère) is the name “Le Kiosque.” It does not seem likely that a second name for the Belvédère should be given, and it may therefore refer to something else which does not appear in this map. Therefore the mere chance name which from the first moment we gave to our building was justified by there having been something called by that name exactly in that part of the garden.

In 1910 we looked out this name in the best etymological French dictionary and found that it was admitted to the French Academy in 1762, as “pavillon ouvert de tous côtés”: and defined by Thévenot (contemporary) as “kioch ou divan qui est maintenu de huit grosses colonnes.”

The Man by the Kiosk

On our first visit a dark-complexioned man, marked by smallpox, was sitting close to the kiosk; he wore a large dark cloak and a slouch hat.

Though we were assured in 1908 by a very good authority, that no gentleman now living at Versailles would wear a large cloak either in winter or summer, there might be nothing surprising in what we saw if the kiosk could be found. But considering that it is gone, it is historically interesting that we discovered in 1904 that there is one man in the story of Trianon who exactly suits the description.

Most of the intimate accounts of the period say that the Comte de Vaudreuil was a Creole and marked by smallpox. He was at one time one of the Queen’s innermost circle of friends, but acted an enemy’s part in persuading her to gain the King’s permission for the acting of the politically dangerous play of Le Mariage de Figaro. The King had long refused to allow it, saying that it would cause the Bastille to be taken. The earlier version of the same play, Le Barbier de Séville, was last acted at Trianon (August 19th, 1785), just at the beginning of the diamond necklace episode, when Vaudreuil took the part of Almaviva and was dressed for it in a large dark cloak and Spanish hat.

In 1908 we found out from Madame Éloffe’s Journal (the Queen’s modiste) that in 1789 the broad-brimmed hat had entirely displaced the three-cornered hat, and was generally fashionable; also that swords were no longer generally worn.

Vaudreuil left the court of France amongst the first party of émigrés after the taking of the Bastille, July, 1789.

The Running Man

Though we were surprised when the second man, also dressed in a large cloak and hat, ran up to us and with extreme earnestness directed us to go to the right rather than to the left, yet we merely thought his manner very French; and as he said in the course of a rather long unintelligible sentence “cherchez la maison,” we imagined that he understood that we were looking for the house, and followed his direction. We noticed that he stood in front of a rock and seemed to come “either over, round, or through it.”

The following year (1902), we learned that there was a tradition that on October 5th, 1789, a messenger was sent to Trianon to warn the Queen of the approach of the mob from Paris: that she wished to walk back to the Palace by the most direct route, but the messenger begged her to wait at the house whilst he fetched the carriage, as it was safer to drive back as usual by the broad roads of the park.

A local tradition affirming this has been embodied by Madame Julie Lavergne in a volume entitled (unfortunately for historical purposes) Légendes de Trianon. This particular scene in the story, called “La Dernière Rose,” interested us greatly, for it seemed to come from an eye-witness and recalled many of the points of our vision. The Queen, it is said, had been walking with and talking to Marion (the daughter of an under-gardener) before going to her favourite grotto. After remaining there some time, and on growing alarmed at her own sad thoughts, the Queen called to Marion and was surprised to see, instead of the girl, a “garçon de la Chambre” suddenly appear, trembling in all his limbs. After reading the letter brought to her from the Minister at the Palace, the Queen desired him to order the carriage and to let Madame de Tourzel know. The messenger bowed (as our man had done), and once out of sight, ran off at full speed. The Queen followed him to the house.

Enquiries through the publisher, in 1907, as to Madame Lavergne’s sources of information, elicited the fact that her informant as to every detail of that scene had been Marion herself. This Marion, the Légendes tell us, afterwards married M. Charpentier, an under-gardener, known in 1789 by the name of “Jean de l’Eau,” on account of his bringing water daily from Ville d’Avray for the Queen’s table. He afterwards became jardinier en chef, being appointed in 1805 by Napoleon in succession to Antoine Richard.

The name “Charpantier” appears in 1786 amongst the “ouvriers terrassiers,” who clear up sticks and leaves, plant flowers, and rake.

In 1783, “Mariamne” received wages for picking up leaves in the Trianon grounds; this is quite possible, as children are said to have been used for that work, and the absence of surname suggests that she was the daughter of one of the gardeners.

The marriage certificate of Alexandre Charpentier, in 1823, gives his father’s name as Louis Toussaint Charpentier, and his mother’s name as Marie Anne Lemaignan. The marriage certificate of these persons (from which we should have learnt their age) is said to have been destroyed.

In the wages book the names of two “Lemonguin” (elder and younger) appear; also “Magny,” but not, so far as has been discovered, Lemaignan. If this Marie Anne Charpentier was 21 years old at her son’s birth (November, 1796), she would have been eight years old in 1783, and 14 in 1789. This would suit the “Mariamne” of the Archives, Madame Lavergne’s story, and the girl seen by Miss Lamont.

Two more points show the faithfulness of “Marion’s” account of that scene. Madame Lavergne (quoting her) says that “pale rays of autumn sunshine lighted up the faded flowers.” It must, therefore, have been fairly fine; and in the wages book it appears that on October 5th, 1789, all the gardeners were at work in the grounds, and it is stated that on wet days they worked under cover, sometimes clearing out the passages of the house. Secondly, she says that the Queen sat at the entrance of her grotto, where fallen leaves choked the course of the “ruisseau.” From entries of payment it appears that the streams were cleared of dead leaves on October 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, 1789, but not on the 4th or 5th, or ever again. It is exactly a point which Marion would have noticed.

Madame Lavergne lived at Versailles from 1838 till her marriage in 1844, at which time Marion would have been 69; and as we believe that Alexandre Charpentier was head gardener at the Petit Trianon for over fifty years, his mother would have been easily accessible to Madame Lavergne during her repeated visits to Trianon, even after her marriage. Her father, M. Georges Ozanneaux, was a personal friend of Louis Philippe, and was constantly about in the royal palaces.

It is necessary to speak of the grotto; for Madame Campan says that the Queen “était assise dans sa grotte ... lorsqu’elle reçut un mot d’écrit ... qui la suppliait de rentrer à Versailles.” Madame Lavergne says “Marion se dirigea vers le parterre des rosiers, et la Reine alla s’asseoir à l’entrée de sa grotte favorite, auprès de la petite source. Les feuilles jaunies tombées des arbres couvraient la terre et obstruaient le cours du ruisseau.... Le murmure de la petite cascade qui arrose l’intérieur de la grotte, retentissait seul dans le bosquet.... Effrayée d’être seule, elle appela Marion; mais, au lieu de la jeune fille, un garçon de la Chambre ... parut, une lettre à la main.” The Queen cannot, therefore, have been many steps away from the grotto, at one end or the other, when the messenger came to her.

In 1908 we asked to be shown this grotto, and we were taken to one on the further side of the Belvédère, near the hill called l’Escargot, which was formed in 1781. We felt sure that this could not have been either of the two grottos spoken of in the archives.

In 1777 the end of one grotto is mentioned as being near the porte d’entrée, “à la cloison de la porte d’entrée du jardin au bout du grotte trois pottereaux et deux traverses.”

In 1777 there was a “projet d’un pont et chutte en rocher, avec parapet.” This was probably a bridge (the Vergelay bridge?) over the principal river where it issued from the larger lake. The river was made at this time.

In June, 1780, a new “petite rivière” was planned to receive the water drained from the “ravin de la grotte,” and to conduct it into the larger lake. For this purpose a new grotto was made of a “forme ovale, ornée en glaçon,” through which the “petite rivière” was to run. A “ravin du petit pont” was also planned.

In August, 1780, masses of rock were procured, and the “petite rivière” was begun, and also a hill was thrown up “pour couvrir la grotte.”

In September, 1780, “Bourdin a passé la journée ... à poser le deuxième pont venant du coté de la grotte.” This second bridge was probably the present Rocher bridge, being the second placed over the lakes. Neither of these two bridges would be the “pont de bois,” and “la conduitte en bois,” two descriptions of, and identical with, the one alluded to in the words “ravin du petit pont,” which was said to have been erected on high ground “au dessus du Rocher du Ravin.”

In December, 1780, the work was finished: “Conduitte de l’exécution de la grotte, petite rivière, et chutte d’eau retombante dans le grand lac, autre petits ravins dans la montagne près du grand lac à la fin de la petite rivière de la grotte.”

In 1781 a “montagne” was made “en face du jardin français—en face de la comédie.”

In March and April, 1781, a hill called “l’Escargot” was piled up—beyond the Belvédère—and, presumably, a third and very small grotto was made. The creation of the Escargot hill would have made the “ravin” on the north side of the Belvédère, which is still visible, and leads to the greater lake.

There are several reasons why we think that the Queen’s grotto (the second made) was on the theatre side of the Belvédère.

1. D’Hezecques’ description of it in 1789 shows that, though a “ruisseau” passed through it, persons could go freely out at both ends; whereas when water was passing down through the upper entrance of the “escargot” grotto, no one could have used it at the same time: there is only room for the water.

2. He speaks of the “prairie” being visible from “une crevasse, qui s’ouvrait à la tête du lit”; this would have been possible from a grotto on the theatre side, but not on the other, as the “escargot” hill would have been in the way.

3. D’Hezecques describes a staircase which “conduisait au sommet de la roche,” enabling persons to leave hurriedly. There is something like an ancient rock staircase attached to the back of the large rock, giving the name to the Rocher bridge.

4. He says that the grotto was very dark on first entering, and L’Espinasse’s picture of the Belvédère in 1783 shows the opening to a cavern on its southern side close to the Rocher bridge, which could be truly described as “venant du coté de la grotte.” Could the rock out of which the cavernous mouth was cut have been lifted over the long bridge at some later time? for in L’Espinasse’s picture there is no such rock over the bridge as there is now, and the cavern has disappeared.

5. The map of 1783 represents (according to Desjardins) “le projet de Mique complètement exécuté.” In it the figure (5) (indicating the grotto) occurs both at the “escargot” and also on the theatre side of the Belvédère.

In September, 1910, Miss Lamont was asked whether she had seen a map of the place recently placed in the front hall of the Petit Trianon, and she said No. On going there she found the map, which had not been there at any of her former visits, and saw that the grottos were put, as far as she could judge, just where we had long ago, through elaborate personal research, decided must be their real position. She could only make this out by standing on the table amongst the books and photographs, the map being hung too high to be easily seen.

Several further points of interest have emerged in connection with the running man.

1. In April, 1908, we learned that our being directed at all in the grounds was unusual, for since September, 1870, they have been thrown open until dark. The difficulty now experienced is to find a guide.

2. He spoke of the “maison.” In 1907 we found out that the Queen was in the habit of calling the Petit Trianon “ma maison de Trianon,” to distinguish it from the Palace and the Chateau. Louis XVI. had presented it to Marie Antoinette on his accession.

3. The Queen is reported by Marion to have addressed the messenger as “Breton.” This was not an uncommon name about the court and old Versailles. The court almanack for 1783 shows that then the Queen had a Page “de l’Écurie,” called “De Bretagne.” (The Pages de la Chambre sometimes became “de l’Écurie” before receiving a commission or some other office.) He is not mentioned in the almanack of 1789, but (as we know from other instances) it does not follow necessarily that he had no office in the household. Madame Éloffe (the Queen’s modiste) mentions a Mademoiselle Breton amongst the Queen’s women, who does not appear in the almanack.

If “De Bretagne” was 16 years old in 1783, he would have been 22 in 1789,—just in the fresh young vigour suitable to our running man.

The name “Breton” may have referred to his nationality only, for in November, 1907, we discovered that the accent in which the man spoke to us resembled the Breton accent, in which the consonants are strengthened and the diphthongs broadened.

In the autumn of 1909 we read the Baron de Frénilly’s Souvenirs, in which it is stated that wigs were universally worn by gentlemen in French society up till 1787. After that date powdered hair became the general usage; the first person (M. de Valence) who ventured to appear with unpowdered hair did so, apparently, in 1788, after which it became a mark of extreme fashion.

The same was the case with buckled shoes. Gold, silver, stones, and rosettes had been required for a gentleman’s dress ornaments; but after the commercial treaty with England in 1786, steel was used for everything. Buckled shoes are expressly mentioned as being very fashionable in 1789, and there was, at that time, a rage for steel ornaments.

Bridge over Little Cascade

Following the man’s direction, we turned to the right and walked over a small rustic bridge which crossed a tiny waterfall coming from above us, on our right hand, and flowing in front of a little rocky cliff with ferns growing in the crevices. The water seemed to have formed a steep narrow little ravine, which shelved away below us to a little glimmering pool.

Neither bridge, nor cascade, nor ravine can be found, or anything suggesting them. In 1905 the person in charge at the house assured Miss Lamont that there never had been more than one cascade, meaning the rush of water under the Rocher bridge. The Rocher bridge is certainly not the one we crossed, which was high above the level of the lakes.

In 1907 we bought Souvenirs d’un Page by the Comte D’Hezecques. He says: “En face du chateau, une pelouse ... se terminait par une roche ombragée de pins, de thuyas, de mélèzes, et surmontée d’un pont rustique, comme on en rencontre dans les montagnes de la Suisse et les précipices du Valais. Cette perspective agreste et sauvage rendait plus douce celle ... de la troisième façade du chateau.”

He also speaks of water passing through the moss-lined grotto, which, according to our idea, must have been below us, but close by on our right hand. Madame Lavergne writes of the “petite cascade” and of the sound of it in the grotto.

In April, 1908, extracts from Mique’s accounts and plans for the Trianon grounds were procured from the archives, giving the history of the grottos. “Juin 4, 1780, fait un model en terre du ravin du petit pont.” “1788, Pièce au dessus du Rocher du Ravin et ... passage des voitures sur le pont de bois ... Pièce à droite en face du Rocher du Ravin.” “Au long du chemin de l’emplacement de la Ruine sur la conduitte en bois à la deuxième source du Ravin.” The first source was probably close to the “Ruine” (our kiosk?). The second “source” might coincide with Desjardins’ “source,” which he places a few steps from the poulaillers, and was probably meant to feed the “petite rivière,” which passed through the Queen’s grotto, carrying off the water from the stagnant pool between the grottos to the larger lake. That would exactly agree with the position of our little cascade, small bridge, and glimmering pool.

In April, 1908, an old MS. map was found amongst such archive papers as relate to the grottos, showing a small bridge in the right position relatively to the lakes, the Rocher bridge, and the place where we believe the Queen’s grotto to have been.

Isolated Rock

In 1908 we found a mass of rocks standing in the dry bed of the small lake. On one rock covered with ivy were two full-grown pine trees. It seems unlikely that the trees should have originally been in the small circular basin of water.

D’Hezecques says that thuya and pine trees were planted high up over the grotto to give it the appearance of a Swiss mountain. The grotto was destroyed about 1792, and it is possible that some of the rocks covering it were displaced and allowed to slip into the lake below, and that the present pine trees may have been seedlings at the time, for we are told that the life of a pine tree is from 100 to 200 years old.

In 1908 we noticed that at one side of this ivy-covered rock were peculiar projections; one of these was broken off short, but the other was intact. We thought they might once have formed supports for a small bridge.

Rocks are said to have been placed in 1788 at the “montagne des Pins à gauche et en montant au Rocher.” “Montagne des Pins à droite en montant au Rocher.”

In January, 1791, trees were torn up from the montagnes.

In February, March, April, 1792, every few days occurs the entry: “Journée à arracher les Thuja sur les montagnes.”

According to the old picture by L’Espinasse (1783), there was nothing over the low long bridge between the two lakes, but there was by the side of it, just where the grotto would have ended, a cavern in a rock. This is no longer there; but possibly the face of rock with the cavern-like opening may have been lifted over the bridge, and account for the very peculiar rock which is at present above the bridge, causing it to be called the Rocher bridge. A rough rock staircase which has no meaning is attached to this rock behind. D’Hezecques speaks of a staircase as having been within the grotto leading up to its entrance on the high ground on the montagnes—has it been moved to the lower end of the grotto?

There is now no isolated rock standing up as we saw it behind the running man;—only mounds covered with shrubs and trees. But in the archives there is a note saying that in 1788 rocks were placed in various parts, and one is especially mentioned, “pièce donnant au bord du lac de l’ancien côté des rochers ... au long du chemin de l’emplacement de la Ruine sur la conduitte en bois à la deuxième source du Ravin.” This would have been the path we were on in 1901.

Pelouse

It is easy to suppose that between the years 1901–4 trees were cleared away from the rough ground on the north side of the house, which in 1901 had given it the look of an orchard. So much was this the case that the lady sitting under the north terrace was thought to be making a study of tree stems; for she was looking into trees, and she held a large paper in her hand, and, as we passed, held it out at arm’s length.

At present there are trees on each side of the pelouse, and one growing near the site of the old Jeu de Bague, but none growing in front of the house, and it all looks drier, brighter, and less confined than in 1901.

We have found two interesting mentions of this pelouse.

Before the new theatre was built in 1779, the old comédie stood on it for three years. When the comédie was moved it gave place to a “pelouse parsemée d’arbres.”

The Lady

Nothing unusual marked the lady sitting on a low seat on the grass immediately under the north terrace. I remember recognising that her light-coloured skirt, white fichu, and straw hat were in the present fashion, but they struck me as rather dowdy in the general effect. She was so near us that I looked full at her, and she bent slightly forward to do the same.

I never doubted that we had both seen her, and three months after was astonished to hear that Miss Lamont had not done so. That sounds simple to others, to ourselves it is inexplicable. Miss Lamont had seen the plough, the cottage, the woman, and the girl, which I had not; but she is generally more observant than I, and there were other things to look at. At this moment there was nothing to see on the right, and merely a shady, damp-looking meadow on the left, and the lady was sitting in front of the house we had come to see, and were both eagerly studying. The lady was visible some way off; we walked side by side straight up to her, leaving her slightly on the left hand as we passed up the steps to the terrace, from whence I saw her again from behind, and noticed that her fichu had become a pale green.

The fact that she had not been seen at a moment when we were both a little exercised by our meeting with the men,—one looking so unpleasant, and the other so unaccountably and infectiously excited,—made a deep impression.

The legend that we heard the following winter of the Queen having been occasionally seen sitting in front of the house in the English garden, is of course incapable of proof; but three things were to us full of interest.

I. In 1902 I saw Wertmüller’s picture of the Queen, which alone of all the many portraits shown me in any way brought back the face I had seen; for the face was more square and the nose shorter. A few weeks later we read that Madame Campan considered it almost the only picture of her that was really like, though other people thought that it did not do her justice.

II. In April, 1908, we learned that there was only one time during the Queen’s tenure of the Petit Trianon when she could have seen strangers in her gardens, from which, in earlier days, the Court was entirely excluded, and to which even the King only came by invitation. For four months, after May, 1789, when the Court was carried off to Paris, the public streamed in as it liked. So many came to see the place that had been too much talked about, that the King and Queen had gone that summer to Marly for a little rest and quiet. That was the time when D’Hezecques, with one of the deputies, walked round and saw the grotto and the little bridge. At the time the Trianon officials must have learnt to treat strangers with cold politeness, but probably resenting the necessity. This exactly accounts for the manner of the guards at the porte du jardinier; they made no difficulty, and told us that we should find the house by going that way, but in quite an unusual manner for Frenchmen. It was mechanical and disengaged.

III. In the summer of 1908 we read the Journal of Madame Éloffe (the Queen’s modiste). She says that during the year 1789 the Queen was extremely economical, and had very few dresses made. Madame Éloffe repaired several light, washing, short skirts, and made, in July and September, two green silk bodices, besides many large white fichus. This agrees exactly with the dress seen in 1901. The skirt was not of a fresh white, but was light coloured,—slightly yellowish. The white fichu in front seemed to have an edge of green or gold, just as it would have appeared if the white muslin, or gauze, was over green. The colour would have shown more clearly at the back, but in front, where the white folds accumulated, the green would have been less prominent. The straight edge in front and the frill behind had often puzzled me, but in Madame Éloffe’s illustrations of the fashions at that time there are instances of the same thing. There is in the book a coloured picture of the green silk bodice, with all the measurements to enable her to fit the Queen perfectly.

Jeu de Bague

As we approached the terrace at the north-west corner of the house, we had some barrier on our right hand entirely blocking the view, so that we could see nothing but the meadow on our left hand, and the house with its terrace in front.

At present the pathway which curves towards the house, and is very likely the old one, has a large bare space on the right hand with one beautiful old tree growing on the edge of it; and from some way off one can easily see across it to the chapel beyond the French garden. A long piece of wall extends westward from the terrace, round which one has to go into the French garden in order to find the staircase; whilst the whole length of wall, including part of the north terrace, is hidden by a large old spreading bush, completely covering the place where the lady sat.

Originally, we could not see the steps whilst on the path, but after we had passed the barrier on our right hand we found them at once without going round any wall.

The map of 1783 shows us that the Jeu de Bague (put up in 1776) once stood on what is now bare space. It was a circular building surrounded by a wooden gallery, masked by trees. This would have completely shut out the view, and the path was probably curved on its account.

In 1907, we learnt that the Queen had a passage made under the terrace from the house to the Jeu de Bague; and in 1908 we discovered the old walled-up doorway leading into the English garden behind the bush. The ground seems to have been a good deal raised since it was used. Four feet to the right of this door, just at the point where the top of the present staircase is reached, is a change of masonry, the rest of the wall being plastered over.

In 1910 we found that this extension of the wall was composed of rubble. Perhaps it had been added to the stone terrace in the time of Louis Philippe. If the present staircase is old, we could have reached it easily from the English garden in the absence of the wall, but if it is not old, and it is not indicated in Mique’s map, there may have been something quite different—even steps turned northward towards the English garden.

In 1910 we also learned that the bush had been planted when the Duchesse d’Orleans occupied the house.

The Chapel Man

Whilst we were standing at the south-west end of the terrace above the French garden, the door of a building at right angles to the house suddenly opened, and a young man came out and slammed the door behind him. He came to us very quickly along a level. His manner was jaunty and imperious, and he told us that the only way to the house was by the cour d’honneur. It was difficult to hear what he said. We thought at once that we were trespassing and looked for some way down from the terrace, upon which he constituted himself our guide, and with an inquisitive, amused expression, went with us a little way down the French garden, and showed us out into the avenue by a broad road.

There is much to say about this incident.

I. The man evidently did not mean us to stand on the terrace so near to the house, and forced us to move away. He was the second person that afternoon who had excitedly insisted on our going one way rather than another; but now we know that since 1870 the gardens and terraces have been made public until dark, and people walk about freely. No one has ever stopped us since, nor can we hear of anyone else who has been guided as we were.

II. In 1905 we found that the building out of which the man came was the old chapel, which is in a ruinous condition.

In 1906, Miss Lamont had leave to go into the chapel, which she had to enter from the avenue, there being no entrance from the garden. When inside she saw that the door out of which he had come was one leading into the royal gallery. The gallery now stands isolated high up on the north wall of the chapel. Formerly, from inside, it was reached by a door on a landing at the top of a staircase. This staircase is completely broken down, and the floor of the landing is gone, so that there is now no access to the gallery. The terrace door of the gallery is bolted, barred, and cobwebbed over from age and disuse. The guide said that the door had not been opened in the memory of any man there: not since it was used by the Court.

In April, 1907, Miss Lamont went again to the chapel, this time with two companions. Their guide then told them that the doors had not been opened to his knowledge for fifteen years, and the great door not since it was used by the court of Louis XVI. “Moi, je suis ici depuis quinze ans, et je sais que les portes ont été condamnées bien avant cela.” He added that having the sole charge of the keys, no one could have opened the doors without his knowledge, and smiled at the idea as he looked at the blocked-up old doors.

In August, 1907, two other friends went to the chapel and entirely confirmed all that had been said about its ruined condition and the impossibility of the great door having been opened in 1901. Their guide told them that the big door had been Marie Antoinette’s private entrance. The gallery was still standing and had two chairs on it of gilt and old red velvet; but when they asked whether it was possible to enter it, the guide laughed and pointed to the staircase. There was no other entrance, he said, and the stairs had been in that condition for the last ten years. They thought from the look of the stairs that they had probably been so for much longer.

In September, 1910, a fifth friend went to the chapel and bore witness to the impossibility of the doors having been used in 1901, and was told that the staircase had finally broken down fifteen years before.

III. From Desjardins’ book we learned that the Queen’s concierge had been Bonnefoy du Plan. He had rooms between the chapel and the cour d’honneur and kept his stores in a loft over the chapel, reached by the now broken-down old staircase. The window of this attic still looks over the French garden, and from it, in old days, he would have seen anyone approaching the house from that side. The name of the suisse (the porter) in charge of the porte du perron de la chapelle in 1789 was Lagrange. His rooms were immediately behind the chapel, looking into the avenue. He could easily have been sent through the chapel to interview strangers on the terrace.

IV. We did not lose sight of the man when he came to us. As it is now he must have gone quite out of sight, down one flight of steps outside the chapel door, and (after passing under a high wall) have reached the terrace (where we were standing) by a second set of steps. The present wall of the chapel courtyard is so high as to hide half the door, and a large chestnut tree in the courtyard hides it from the part of the terrace on which we were,—even in winter.

In April, 1907, we discovered that a continuous ground-floor passage from the kitchens once passed the chapel door to the house. This set us wondering as to whether there had ever been a pathway above it. The same year we were told that the chapel courtyard round which the passage had gone had been enlarged.

In August, 1907, two friends reported to us and photographed a mark on the outside of the courtyard wall, showing where it might at some time have been raised.

In March, 1908, another mark on the chapel was discovered, revealing that there had once been an inner wall to the courtyard, which might have been removed when the courtyard was enlarged. We also found out that the levels were so different that the passage would have been partly underground on the side of the French garden, but in the rez de chaussée in the courtyard and where it flanked the cour d’honneur. We noticed from the photographs that the bastion at the south-west corner of the house in the cour d’honneur looked older than the top part of the wall adjoining it above the chapel courtyard.

In September, 1910, permission was given to enter this courtyard; when within, it was definitely explained that above the kitchen passage there had been a covered way, by which the Queen could enter the chapel from the house in wet weather. The top of this covered way had been “de plain pied,” joining the bit of terrace outside the chapel door to the terrace by the house. This would have been the level way along which our man came to us.

The marks of the passage and covered way (forming the intervening piece of terrace) were perfectly clear both on the inside of the present wall and on the ground in the courtyard. The present balustrade adjoining the bastion was probably placed when the old covered way was destroyed and the outside wall was raised. It was also noticed that the round windows in the bastion lighted the lower kitchen passage; but that those facing the French garden, being on a higher level, lighted the covered way.

The guide stated that the tree in the centre of the chapel courtyard had certainly been planted after the days of the monarchy.

V. The road from the garden to the avenue (through which the man ushered us) was not far from the chapel, and was broad enough to admit a coach. The present one is narrower and further to the west.

In 1907, we read a note by M. de Nolhac in Les Consignes de Marie Antoinette in which he says that the old porte de la ménagerie which must have led from the avenue to the French garden is now lost, but that it must have been “tout auprès des bâtiments de la Conciergerie et des cuisines.” We thought that perhaps it was the one we went by, and on looking at Mique’s map of 1783 found a broad road dividing the kitchen court into two parts. At present solid continuous buildings on the two sides of the kitchen court show no sign of an entrance, though in two places the roofs have a difference of level.

In April, 1909, a Frenchman, who sold prints and seemed to be a specialist in maps, said that Mique’s map was the only authoritative one.

In September, 1910, we learned from the first authority that Mique’s map was “exact”: that the road found in it had certainly existed, and its position relatively to the pond in the French garden was explained. A search for some sign of it was at once made, and successfully. On the garden side, not at all far from the chapel, the jamb of an old opening still projects from the building, covered with ivy; and the stones on the ground are laid, for a space of about twelve paces, the other way from the stones on either side, evidently to make a carriage road. A large rectangular stone was lying on the ground which might either have been a step, or part of the second jamb. On the avenue side marks of an opening of some sort can be traced through the plaster with which Louis Philippe finished the buildings after restoring and also altering them. The opening would have included two present windows not far from the porte de la bouche, as the signs of it are visible on both sides of the opening, and the space between is from twelve to twenty paces.

Within the kitchen court the buildings have been so altered and plastered over that no traces of change could be found.

All the points corresponded with the recollection of the roadway through which we had passed in 1901.

Two Labourers with Cart and Horse

On her second visit, January 2nd, 1902, Miss Lamont saw, in the field near the Hameau, two labourers, in brown tunics and bright-coloured short capes, loading a cart with sticks. The capes hardly came below their shoulders and had hoods: one was bright blue and the other red.

In May, 1904, a search was made in the archives with the result that it was clear that carts and horses for the purpose of tidying the grounds were hired by the day in old times, and not kept in the farm for constant use. In January, 1789, two men, instead of the usual one (“plus un homme”), were hired “pour ramasser les loques des chenilles et les brûler.”

In 1906 we discovered that the tunic and short cape were worn by the bourgeoisie in the fourteenth century.

In April, 1908, we had proof that the artisans were wearing them in the eighteenth century, and that some of the working men at Trianon in 1776 had “hardes de couleur.”

The entry in the wages book showed that up to 1783, from time to time “une voiture à cheval, et un conducteur,” were hired for picking up branches and sticks in the parks: but on October 4th, 1789, a cart with two horses (almost certainly requiring two men) was hired for three days for the purpose.

In August, 1908, a former gardener, who had been at Trianon long enough to remember both the Charpentiers, father and son, laughed at the idea of such a dress being worn now at Trianon, as it belonged to the “ancien régime.” He assured us that carts of the present day in France had scarcely altered at all in type, and that the two now in use at Trianon (which we found in a shed at the ferme) were of the old pattern.

The Wood

Miss Lamont then went from the Hameau towards the small Orangerie. Whilst on the ascending path she saw, on looking back, a man passing in front of, or in, a distant plantation on his way to the Hameau. He was dressed in the cloak and hat we had seen the previous summer.

She then descended to the low ground in front of the Belvédère and crossed one of the bridges over the principal river (not the Rocher bridge, but possibly the Vergelay bridge). After going forward a little she turned, meaning to go back to the Hameau, and recrossed either the same bridge, or the next one which is very near the Vergelay. She immediately found herself in a wood of very tall trees, with such high, thick undergrowth that (even though it was winter) she could not see through it. Well-kept paths opened at intervals right and left at different angles, and they gave the impression of being so arranged as to lead round and round. She had the feeling of being in the midst of crowds passing and repassing her, and heard voices and sounds of dresses. On looking back she found the view as completely blocked as it was in front and to the sides. After vainly pursuing the confusing paths for some time, she found herself close to the hill leading to the Orangerie.

In 1904 and in 1908 we tried to find this wood, without results. There are open plantations, but they have no undergrowths concealing paths from one another, even in summer. Several people have gone independently to look for the wood, but have not found it.

In 1905 Miss Lamont was told by the chief authority that in this direction trees had been thinned and not replaced.

The entries in the archives indicate that there must have been woods near by in which paths were cut for the Queen; it is also likely that the older woods, such as Les Onze Arpents, are not referred to; for when these plantations were made thousands of lower shrubs were bought to be placed under the trees, which were paid for by the King. In the gardeners’ wages book, the gathering up and occasional burnings of undergrowths in a wood (apparently in this part of the garden) are alluded to.

In Mique’s map (1783) the wood with its diverging paths can be plainly seen. It is approached by the two bridges over the river, and stretches towards the hill on which the Orangerie stands.

The Music

Whilst in the wood Miss Lamont heard sounds of a band of violins drifting past her from the direction of the house. The sounds were very soft and intermittent, and were lower in pitch than bands of to-day. She could afterwards write down from memory about twelve bars, but without all the inner harmonies.

She ascertained immediately afterwards that no band had been playing out of doors that afternoon at Versailles. It was a cold, wet winter’s afternoon.

In March, 1907, the twelve bars were shown to a musical expert, who said (without having heard the story) that the bars could hardly belong to one another, but that the idiom dated from about 1780. He found a grammatical mistake in one bar. After hearing the story, he said that bands in the eighteenth century were lower in pitch than they are now. He suggested the name of Sacchini.

In March, 1908, Miss Lamont and a friend were told in Versailles that no bands had been allowed to play in the park in winter until 1907. They also ascertained that no music played at Versailles, or in the park, could have been heard at Trianon.

In the same month they searched through a great deal of unpublished music in the Conservatoire de Musique at Paris, and discovered that the twelve bars represented the chief motives of the light opera of the eighteenth century, excluding Rameau and his school, and that, as far as they could discover, nothing like them occurred in the opera of 1815 onward. They were found in Sacchini, Philidor, Monsigny, Grétry, and Pergolesi. Grammatical mistakes were found in Monsigny and Grétry.

Sacchini.

“Dardanus.” General likeness.

“Œdipe à Colone.” Number 6. Two bars intact in the key answering to that heard in 1902, allowing for the rise of a semi-tone, which had taken place since the eighteenth century. This was proved by later editions of operatic music, in which the songs were dropped a semi-tone to retain the original key.

Philidor in a collection of single airs (Rigaudons, 1767)—the cadence.

“Le Maréchal Ferrand”: repetition of single notes, the first bar of the melody, and many other hints of likeness.

Duni. 1765. The same general characteristics, but no exact resemblance.

Monsigny.

“Le Roi et le Fermier.” Written for performance at the opening of the new theatre at the Petit Trianon, August 1, 1780, when the Queen first acted herself. Up to 1908 it had not been republished. In it the figure of the first of the twelve bars was found.

“Le Déserteur.” No published edition was found after 1830. In one published before that date the last three bars of the music were found, and the melody of the first bars was assigned to the second violins, and very freely, in inversions and variations, in other places. The character of the accompaniment was reminding.

Thirds and sixths constantly occur in Monsigny’s music.

Grétry. The same phrases were used and the ascending passage was found. Also, hidden consecutive fifths.

Pergolesi.

“Largo and Andante in D.” Similar phrases were used.

The Tall Gardener

Miss Lamont then went along the upper path, and when between the Escargot hill and the Belvédère, she met a very tall gardener of apparently great strength, with long muscular arms. She thought that with his long hair and grizzled, untidy beard and general appearance, he had the look of an Englishman rather than a Frenchman.

He was dressed in a rough knitted jersey, and a small dark blue round cap was set at the back of his head. She enquired where she should find the Queen’s grotto, and he walked a little way beside her to show her the way.

Miss Lamont expected to have to turn back to the present grotto, and when she remarked that they were going past the Belvédère, he replied firmly that they must go past the Belvédère, and said that it was necessary to have been born and bred in the place to know the way so that “personne ne pourrait vous tromper.”

It appears that from 1870 onwards the gardeners at Trianon have been selected from the technical schools, and that it is now a matter of competition, no one being appointed simply because he was born and bred there. We do not know whether this is the case with the under-gardeners; nor whether the tall gardener was a chief official or not.

In August, 1908, we were told by a former gardener that their dress now is the same as the traditional dress of the ancien régime, viz., a rough knitted jersey with a small casquette on the head.

In the old weekly wages book there appears, for several years, the name “l’Anglais”—probably a nickname. He must not be confused with John Egleton, who remained at Trianon only a few months, and whose wages were settled on his departure by a bill which is still in existence, but is not in the wages book.

We owe our researches as to the position of the Queen’s grotto almost entirely to the tall gardener’s decided directions and guidance to the part of the English garden between the Belvédère and the montagnes close to the theatre.

E. M. F. L.

September, 1910.