Ghosts of the Trianon....

Ghosts of the Trianon

...or a case of mutual hysteria brought on by lesbianism

The Grand Trianon, commissioned by Louis XIV in 1670 to serve him as a venue in which to conduct nefarious endeavours, is perhaps one of the most decadent yet refined architectural ensembles, to be found and enjoyed in the royal estate of Versailles. Typically, of the time and architectural bent, a gauche yet at the same time modest palace set across a single storey and boasting pink marble, it was said to combine the ‘elevation of an orangery, the layout of a warren and the materials of a royal residence’.

On the 10 August, 1901, in the languid heat of the first summer of the new century, it was also the destination for two holidaying friends, visiting from Oxford, on a day that would later come to be known, as the Morberly-Jourdain incident (or, for increased thrill, The Ghosts of Trianon).

Firm friends, academics and respected womenfolk, Charlotte Moberly and Eleanor Jourdain, claim to have witnessed first-hand, an 18th century courtly scene unfold in front of them, encountering elegantly dressed dignitaries, labouring peasants, suspicious millinery and none other, that Marie Antoinette herself. Said former queen had long since had her head removed in a dreadful scene involving a guillotine and a baying crowd whilst famously uttering, “Pardonnez-moi, monsieur. Je ne l’ai pas fait exprès" (trans. ‘no offence meant’).

Eleanor Jourdain

Suddenly finding themselves immersed in what they later recounted in their book, ‘An Adventure’, as a time slip, the pair of holidaymakers had been overwhelmed with a heady sense of oppression and dreariness, whilst seemingly lost on route to the petit Trianon. Encountering character after character dressed in what they thought initially to be costumery, their ghostly perambulation included an encounter with a foreboding gentleman in a large ‘shade’ hat, sporting pox scars and ‘an expression of evil’. 

Sharing no immediate concern on the day regarding their unusual afternoon, they returned to Oxford and waited a full week before reconvening to discuss their bizarre experience, agreeing to write separate accounts, and in doing so, establishing what would become an obsession for them both, with return trips to France and the subsequent publication of their book in 1911. Penned using pseudonyms of Elizabeth Morison and Frances Lamont, they were keen to avoid ridicule or scandal.

Charlotte Anne Morberly 

Contested and occasionally ridiculed, their position as respected Oxford academics managed to prevent their reputations from derision, and the two ladies later went on to experience further, albeit separate, paranormal incidents. In an interesting turn, sceptics chalked up the event as some kind of shared female hysteria, a symptom, no less, of a suspected lesbian affair. Given the emerging discipline of psychotherapy sometimes recommended drilling holes into patients heads to treat psychoses, this doesn't surprise one.

However, their spectral misadventure went on to inspire many, including the surrealist, novelist and filmmaker, Jean Cocteau who referred rather vacuously to the story as being one of ‘the greatest of all-time’. Rather taken by the notion of stepping across a time-space continuum, Mr Cocteau went on to produce the confusing and self-indulgent film Le Testament d’Orphée, starring himself and involving a similar wormhole concept. It's arguably nonsense.