THE LURE OF THE GARDEN 



the summer days of Marie Antoinette at the little 

 Trianon was a silk and satin simplicity, with diamonds 

 for dewdrops. The gardens were as artificial as the 

 manners, and tree and flower almost as far removed 

 from their purely natural condition as were the lords 

 and ladies from the naked freedom of Adam and Eve. 

 There is a story somewhere in St. Simon's Memoirs 

 concerning a duchess who hated the confinement of a 

 room, and who always led her lover forth into the 

 garden, wandering with him along winding paths where 

 the larkspurs, hedges, and rose-trees grew so tall as to 

 hide from view whoever passed between them. Be- 

 hind the dreaming pair, at a discreet distance, followed 

 a servant with a rake, whose duty it was to carefully 

 obliterate the footprints of the lovers, and to leave the 

 path as smooth and fair as though no human feet had 

 ever touched it. This garden of the vanished steps 

 was a place covering several acres, and sloping down 

 from the chateau in a series of terraces, with marble 

 fountains in the center of each throwing fantastic jets 

 of water high into the air, and surrounded by rows of 

 formal trees and beds of flowers as brilliant as jewels. 

 Another lady is said to have dearly loved the moon- 

 light, and to have given several exquisite entertain- 

 ments in her gardens by its soft illumination. On one 

 such occasion all the guests were asked to come in 

 white raiment. The costumes were of white satin, 

 cloth of silver, and embroidered silks, while the only 



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