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.[[20]] 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,[[21]] 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.[[22]]
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.[[23]]
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.[[24]]