Jean-Bruno Renard | Dear Mr. Thoms # 36, 1994

Below are extracts from (A) a book by Dominique Camus (1992) and (B) a book by Jacques Hillairet (1956). Both relate the anecdote. Hillairet seems the more skeptical (“It is said”).

A. Parc Montsouris. The creation of this park is due to a wish of Napoleon III and of Haussmann to establish a large gree space in a popular quarter. Haussmann cose this waste ground, full of stone quarries and windmills, and, between 1865 and 1869, 16 hectares were laid out in the English style much in vogue during the Second Empire. Alphand, who designed the park… created an undulating garden with paths twisting and meandering around cascades, and a large artificial lake. The park was inaugurated by the Emperor in 1869 and the lake, which was to an extent the jewel of the park, was filled with water for the big day but – by accident or through defective workmanship – it emptied suddenly. The engineer who had conceived it, not being able to bear this indignity, committed suicide like Vatel at Chantilly, who could not get over spoiling the king’s lunch because of the delayed arrival of the fish.
(Camus, Dominque, Paris. Paris: Arthaud, 1992, p 571)

B, Le parc de Montsouris. The park of 16 hectares, the largest in Paris after the one at Buttes-Chaumont, is the work of Alphand, it was completed in 1878… It contains an artificial lake almost a hectare in size, the digging of which began in 1869. On the day the park was inaugurated, this lake emptied, it is said, because of a construction fault; its originator committed suicide.

Footnotes

Sandy Hobbs

The Story Spreads: A further and recent example of the story in tourist literature is to be found in this entry on the Parc Montsouris in the Berkeley Guide France written by students from the University of California (New York: Fodor, 1994, page 93):

“…Just so you know, the pond magically emptied on the park’s opening day, and the designing engineer consequently committed suicide.”

Vatel’s Suicide: From the entry on Vatel in Larousse Gastronomique (London: Mandarin, 1990, pp 1352-1353):

“In April 1671 the Prince of Conde entrusted with the task of organizing a fete in honour of Louis XIV, with 3000 guests. The celebrations began on a Thursday evening; in the course of the supper following a hunting party, several tables lacked roast meat because a number of unexpected guests turned up. Later, the planned fireworks display was spoiled by the cloudy sky. These incidents, which were recounted by Madame de Sevgne in a letter of 26 April, persuaded Vatel that his hnour was lost. Learning at dawn that only two loads of fresh fish ordered for the meals of the day had arrived, he gave way to despair: declaring ‘I shall not survive the disgrace,’ he shut himself in his room and ran his sword through his body, at the very moment when the fish carts were entering the castle gates.”

This particular suicide story may have a solid foundation in history, but the irony of the arrival of the fish carts surely has the flavor of legend about it.