Petit Trianon

“ Seven o’clock found him seated before his brightly furnished dining-table. The table was of deal, but it was covered with damask, decked with silver, and ornamented by the chambertin. The Duke had a fine appetite, and fell to cheerfully on Monsieur Alphonse’s creations; these were studiously rural in their character—Watteau-like confections. Monsieur Alphonse was dreaming of the Petit Trianon.
The cottage was not large; the sitting-room was in close proximity to the door. A sharp rap of somebody’s knuckles on the door startled him, just as he was finishing his first glass of chambertin. ”

“ Probably it is not so much the desire of the congregation to escape from the preacher, or of the preacher to escape from himself, that drives sophisticated people into the wilderness, as it is the unconquered craving for primitive simplicity, the revolt against the everlasting dress-parade of our civilization. From this monstrous pomposity even the artificial rusticity of a Petit Trianon is a relief. It was only human nature that the jaded Frenchman of the regency should run away to the New World, and live in a forest-hut with an Indian squaw ”

“ 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. ”

“ Is this a tradition?
11. We do not believe in anniversaries in the usual sense. We have tested both our days (August 10th and January 2nd) , going, as far as possible, under the same circumstances, without any result at the Petit Trianon. Yet it is possible that if we entered into an act of memory, it may well have been first made on the terrible 10th of August, 1792, though the memory itself was occupied (in the central place) with the events of October 5th, 1789. The dress of the messenger was more suitable for October than August. ”

“ 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? ”

“ Miss Lamont agreed. 103We then discussed the man by the kiosk and the running man, but said that there was much besides which had caused dreamy depression. Miss Morison returned to her letter and wrote down: “We both think that the Petit Trianon is haunted.”
When we met next (three months later) we talked it over again, and finding that Miss Lamont had not seen the lady, and that Miss Morison had not seen the plough, cottage, woman, or girl, we resolved to write separate accounts of our visit in order to find the discrepancies, but with no idea of making exhaustive histories. ”

“ 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. [47] Louis XVI. had presented it to Marie Antoinette on his accession. ”

“ Miss Lamont brought back from Paris La Reine Marie Antoinette, by M. de Nolhac, and Le Petit Trianon, by Desjardins. We 33noted 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. ”

“ 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 58at 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. [31]
It is necessary to speak of the grotto; for Madame Campan says that the Queen “était assise dans sa grotte ... ”

“ Montagne des Pins à droite en montante au Rocher” (Arch. Nat. O1, 1882) . In 1791, every few days during January, February, March of that year, trees were torn up from the montagnes. In April, 1792, “Journée à arracher les Thujas sur les montagnes” (O1, 1879) .
139. Livre-Journal de Madame Éloffe, pp. 404, 423, 365, 369.
140. After May, 1789, the grounds were thrown open (Desjardins, p. 345) .
141. Le Petit Trianon, Desjardins, pp. 188, 189.
142. The great door of the chapel, which led into the royal gallery, opened upon a terrace then joined to the western terrace of the house. ”

“ Whereupon Alexis Triona thanked his stars for having led him along the true path.
Who can say that, in after years, these twain, when they shall have grown old and have gone through whatever furnaces Fate—either personal destiny or the Fate of Social Institutions—may prepare for them, will not retain imperishable memories of the idyll of that sweet spring day? There they sat, youth spiritually communing with youth; the girl urged by feminine instinct to love him for the dangers he had passed; the young man aflame with her beauty, her charm, her dryad elusiveness. ”

“ When love is dead it’s dead. There’s no resurrection. She loved Alexis Triona. Won’t you ever understand? He’s dead. The love’s dead. If I stayed with her, I should be a kind of living corpse to which she’s tied. So I’m going away—out of her life altogether.”
“And where are you going?”
“Just out into the spaciousness of the wide world,” replied Triona with a gesture. He looked suddenly at his wrist watch. “Good Lord!” he cried. “I’ve only just time to catch my train. Good-bye.”
“Wait a minute,” said Olifant. “Do you think it fair on a woman? ”

“ Triona began to write again: some articles, a short story. The shadow shape of a new novel arose in his mind, and, in his long talks with Olivia, gradually attained coherence. This process of creation seemed to her uncanny. Where did the people come from who at first existed as formless spirits and then, in some strange way, developed into living things of flesh and blood more real than the actual folk of her acquaintance? Her intimate association with the novelist’s gift brought her nearer to him intellectually, but at the same time set him spiritually on unattainable heights. ”

“ Olivia answered, “but my heart doesn’t. You’re standing away and can see things in the round. I’m in the middle of them, and I can’t.”
If she, although his wife, had stood away; if she had been dissociated from his deceptions; if nothing more had occurred than the exposure of the Triona myth, she might have forgiven him. But the deceptions had been interwoven with the sacred threads of her love; she could not forgive that intimate entanglement. To a woman the little things are as children, as the little ones whose offenders Christ cursed with the millstone and the sea. ”

“ But she waited for Triona to say:
“Shall I ever have the pleasure of seeing you again?”
“It all depends whether you can be communicated with,” she replied. “Alexis Triona, Esq., Planet Earth, Solar System, is an imposing address; but it might puzzle the General Post Office.”
“The Vanloo Hotel, South Kensington, is very much more modest.”
“It’s well for people to know where they can find one another,” said Olivia.
“That you should do me the honour of the slightest thought of finding me——” he began.
“We’ll fix up something soon,” Lydia interrupted. “I’m Miss Gale’s elderly, adopted aunt.” ”

“ But the very craziness of the habitation made for their selfish joy. The universe, just for these twain, had gone joyously mad. A cocky little villa made to the model of a million others would have defeated the universe’s benign intention. Nothing could be nearer to Triona’s dream nest in a cliff. Their first half-hour’s exploring, hand in hand, was that of children let loose in a fairy tale castle.
“There’s only one egg-cup,” croaked Myra, surveying an exiguous row of crockery.
“How many more do we want?” cried Olivia. “We can only eat one egg at a time.” ”

“ Alexis Triona laughed sympathetically at her outburst.
“I confess they’re rather trying,” he remarked. “Whenever you hear English people say they belong to the intelligentsia, you may be sure they’re frightened at common sense as not being intellectual enough. Blenkiron and Dawkins are fools of the first water; but Pyefinch is dangerous. I am afraid I lost my temper,” he added after a few steps.
“You were splendid,” said Olivia.
More than ever did he seem the one clear-brained, purposeful man of her acquaintance in the confused London world. Rapidly she passed them in review as she walked. ”

“ It would stir the hearts of men, and they would say: “There is but one man living who could do this and that is Alexis Triona.” And Olivia, reading it, and beholding him in it, would find her heart stirred with the rest, yet far far more deeply than the rest, and would seek him out, obeying his far-off counsel, and believe that, in his essential self and in his infinite love, he was verily her guiding-star. ”

“ Thus did Triona, with bag and baggage take up his quarters in an attic loft in the garage yard at Fanstead.
Not since his flight from Olivia had he felt so free of care. Fate had condemned him to the backwater and in the backwater he would pass his contented life, a life of truth and honesty. And he had before him an essential to his soul’s health—an ideal. He would inspire the spiritless with spirit, the ineffectual with efficiency, the sick heart with health. The man Radnor had deserved well of his country through gallant service, wounds and imprisonment. ”

“ Myra has no faith in your bachelor housekeeping and is sure you’ve eaten him out of desperation.”
He returned a light answer. Then, touching the arm of a man standing by his side:
“Miss Gale—can I introduce Mr. Alexis Triona.”
Triona bowed, stood uncovered while he took the hand which Olivia held out.
“This is my landlady,” said Olifant.
“He is privileged beyond the common run of mortals,” said Triona.
“That’s very pretty,” laughed Olivia, with a swift, enveloping glance at the slight, inconspicuous youth who had done such wonderful things. “I’ve not thought of myself as a landlady before. ”

“ Presently Triona repeated his thanks and declined the proffered lift. Walking would do him all the good in the world; would steady his nerves after his calamitous bump. The young man eyed him queerly. It was a strange word for a chauffeur.
“But if you would take this lady,” said Triona again.
Olivia recovered her wits.
“I will walk too, if you don’t mind. I’m only a mile from home. And this gentleman is really my husband.”
“If we can really do nothing more?” The young man raised his hat. ”

“ Olifant rose and stood before the fire with a puzzled expression on his face. Triona in Medlow at ten o’clock in the morning? Something serious must have brought a man, unannounced, from London to Shropshire. His thoughts flew to Olivia. ”

“ The freshness of subject, outlook, and treatment appealed to the vastly superior youth, the disappointed old, and the scholarly and conscientious few, who write literary criticism. The great firm of publishers smiled urbanely. Repeat orders on a gratifying scale poured in every day. Triona took Olivia to Decies Street to hear from publishing lips the splendid story. They went home in a taxi-cab, their arms around each other, intoxicated with the pride of success and the certainty of their love. ”

“ He laughed. “It’s very dear of you to think of me, Lady Olivia—but the change is not in me. I’ve remained the same. It’s your eyes that have grown so accustomed to the radiant gladness of a happy man that they expect the same in any old fossil on the beach.”
“Now you make me feel utterly selfish,” she cried.
“How?”
“We oughtn’t to look so absurdly happy. It’s indecent.”
“But it does one good,” said he.
Triona entered with the tray, and administered whisky and soda to his guest. ”

“ Mr. Rowington remarked, “that six months’ solitary confinement under such conditions”—he patted the manuscript—“is as much as the human reason can stand.”
“As soon as hunting and killing vermin ceases to be a passionate interest in life,” said Triona.
They conversed for a while. Stimulated by the publisher’s question, Triona supplemented details in the book, described his final adventure, his landing penniless in London, his search for work. At last, said he, he had found a situation as chauffeur in the garage of a motor-hiring company. ”

“ Triona was foreman mechanician. Had he not so desired, he need not have driven. Nor need he have driven in the brass-buttoned livery on which he insisted that Radnor’s chauffeurs should be attired. Smartness, he argued rightly, caught the eye and imagination. But he loved the wheel. Driving cooled the vagabond fire in his veins. There was an old touring-car of high horse-power, excellent when nursed with loving hand and understanding heart, but a box of dismal caprice to the inexpert, which he would allow no one to drive but himself. ”