Versailles

...of taste, but to me Versailles is too grandiose, too inhuman in its scale, too tiring to trudge around, somehow too contemptuous of its visitors.


* History *

The product of envy and self-importance, Versailles got off to a bad start. It was built as a statement rather than a home. Indirectly, Louis' first finance minister, Fouquet by name, was to blame. Fouquet had commissioned the foremost architects and designers ...
...the royal hunting lodge at Versailles into the most prestigious palace in Europe. This was no small undertaking. The mound on which the main chateau was to stand had to be greatly enlarged, the surrounding swampland drained, rivers diverted and forests transplanted before the main task of construction could even begin.

Twenty years elapsed before Louis' court moved to Versailles in 1682. Two years later there were still 22,000 labourers ... more

The more I learn about him, the less I like Louis XIV. Arrogant, autocratic, egotistical, capricious, vain. Of course, all despots are a bit that way inclined. It's an occupational hazard, but that doesn't make it any more appealing.

One of the few arguments for hereditary monarchy is that if you're going to have a despot it's better to have one born into the role rather than one who has clawed his way up the slippery pole, since almost by definition the self-made despot is going to display all the characteristics you'd least like to see in the job. With hereditary monarchs, luck of the draw comes into the equation and there's a chance they'll turn out half-human. But then chance sometimes works the other way and comes up with a Louis XIV, who seems to me to have been hardly human at all, not at least in the complimentary sense of the word.

Forgive me this introductory diatribe. I'm trying to come to terms with, or at least to articulate, why I deeply dislike Versailles. Not the town of Versailles, which is a pleasant enough suburban sort of place with some good cafés and an excellent market, but the palace. And the more I think about it, the more it comes down to the degree to which the palace, and its grounds, reflect the character of the king who caused it to be built.

You may, for all I know, already be aghast at such heresy. Don't all the guidebooks wax lyrical about Versailles' magnificence? Indeed they do. It's unique, a World Heritage Site, one of the greatest of the world's palaces. Two days minimum are needed for a proper visit, insists the Michelin Green Guide. Well, the Miche would say that, wouldn't it, full as it is of the glory and grandeur of France? These things are, of course, all a matter of taste, but to me Versailles is too grandiose, too inhuman in its scale, too tiring to trudge around, somehow too contemptuous of its visitors.

* History *

The product of envy and self-importance, Versailles got off to a bad start. It was built as a statement rather than a home. Indirectly, Louis' first finance minister, Fouquet by name, was to blame. Fouquet had commissioned the foremost architects and designers of the time to build him a palatial home at Vaux le Vicomte, which duly became the trendy rendezvous for the in-crowd of contemporary courtiers. As King, of course, Louis had an open invitation to be guest of honour, but that wasn't nearly enough for him. Following one of Fouquet's most lavish banquets, Louis had him arrested on a trumped-up charge and clapped in irons for life. If there was going to be a fashionable venue for courtiers to gather, it was going to be the King's own court, not that of a mere minister, and it was going to be of unrivalled splendour.

Louis promptly enlisted Fouquet's team - the architect Louis le Vau, interior designer and artist Charles le Brun and landscape gardener André le Nôtre - and set them to work on converting the royal hunting lodge at Versailles into the most prestigious palace in Europe. This was no small undertaking. The mound on which the main chateau was to stand had to be greatly enlarged, the surrounding swampland drained, rivers diverted and forests transplanted before the main task of construction could even begin.

Twenty years elapsed before Louis' court moved to Versailles in 1682. Two years later there were still 22,000 labourers and 6,000 horses at work on the site. It was to take another 46 years for it to be finally declared to be finished, although later monarchs naturally added their own embellishments. The cost was staggering; it has been estimated that the equivalent of half a year's GDP for the whole of France, at that time Europe's richest country, went into building Versailles, and anything from 5% to 25% of ongoing tax revenue into its upkeep and staffing.

All the guidebooks to Versailles are riddled with statistics of this kind. Somehow, it is impossible to describe the place without resorting to numbers to express its egregious scale. This seems to me to be no accident. Overawing people was always part of Louis' intention. Everything had to be bigger and better in order to intimidate subjects and visiting dignitaries alike.

* The Palace itself *

As a visiting non-dignitary you are likely to approach the palace from the town, past the vast former royal stables (the Grande and Petite Écuries) and across the vast Place d'Armes, now a coach park. From here one passes through a cordon of railings into another forecourt, almost as vast, flanked by two long buildings which formerly housed the King's ministers, suitably near at hand to do his biding. At the rear of this courtyard stands a statue of Louis on horseback, beyond which lies an inner courtyard known as the Royal Court, recessed into the vast frontage of the palace itself. To either side are confusingly different access points for various tours for groups and individual visitors.

Once you have found the right queue for your purposes, and waited in it, you will in due course be admitted to the palace itself. Less than half of the interior is open to the public, which is just as well. Inordinate stamina would be required to see all of the seven hundred rooms, not to mention trudging up and down the sixty-seven staircases. Full access would be wearying, most probably, to the senses as well as to the body, with the relentless bombardment of baroque ornamentation and ostentatious materials - marble and metal finishes - used wherever feasible and sometimes where not.

As matters stand, one has to take it on trust that the parts that are accessible are those most worth seeing. To list just a few of the more famous features, they include:

1. The King's Suite. Located, needless to say, at the very heart of the palace though on the first floor, approached by an ornate ceremonial staircase, and consisting of numerous salons, offices and chambers. The centrepiece is the King's Bedroom itself, which looks out, through three arched windows opening onto a gilded balcony, in the direction of the sunrise, in keeping with Louis' branding as "le roi soleil" ("the sun king"). His rising and retirement were all part of a court ritual that regulated every waking hour at Versailles, and those visiting the room even when the king was absent were required to bow to the royal bed. The present-day décor has all been reconstructed, but lavishly so, with elaborately carved woodwork picked out in gold everywhere, old masters on the walls, and gold and silver embroidered brocade forming the canopy of the four-poster bed, the curtains and the wall-hangings.

2. Surrounding the Royal Suite are the State Apartments - reception rooms and audience chambers. The most famous of these is the Galerie des Glaces (usually translated as Hall of Mirrors, though one never quite forgets Ben Reich's "kind of fancy for an ice cream parlor"). However translated, fancy it certainly is, even though the original silver furniture was melted down to help fund later wars. The hall stretches no less than 73m with seventeen windows overlooking the gardens, opposite which are seventeen panels each consisting of seventeen mirrors - 357 mirrors in all. It is lit by enormous crystal candelabra, both hanging from above and supported by gilt statues, and boasts a painted ceiling by Le Brun, featuring Louis depicted as a Roman Emperor, with a series of panels each designed to illustrate some aspect of the supposed benefits of his rule. Since Louis' reign, this hall has been the scene of much history - from the proclamation of the German Empire following the defeat of France in the Franco-Prussian War to the signing of the treaty of Versailles following the defeat of Germany in World War One - but with the sightseers trouping through it, I found it curiously lacking in atmosphere for all its magnificence.

3. The Grand Apartment. I'm still not clear in what way this suite of reception rooms is distinct from the adjacent suite known as the State Apartments; the original French nomenclature - Grand Appartement as opposed to Grands Appartements - makes the differentiation more rather than less obscure. Perhaps the clue lies in the name of the principal salon: the Abundance Salon; when you've got such an abundance of salons it's hard to keep thinking up new names for them. Anyway, for the record, there's any amount of mind-boggling baroque ornamentation here too - polychromatic marble; gilt, ormolu and brass; rich dark-coloured paintings; embossed velvet and brocade drapes; statues, illustrated stucco ceilings and so on.

4. The Chapel. It is a tribute to the ostentation of the rest of the palace that the Royal Chapel, built into the north wing, seems on entry to be relatively austere - dominated by two levels of white stone columns, the lower one supporting a gallery that surrounds the nave. But it is only relative, and the eye soon adjusts to notice the gilt detail in the carved stonework, the adornment of the marble altar with gilded bronze bas-reliefs, the inlaid patterned marble floor, the paintings and sculptures in the alcoves and, of course, yet another high-vaulted painted ceiling to cap it all.

5. The Royal Opera. Well, no palace would be complete without its own private opera-house/court theatre, would it? The one at Versailles is, needless to say, one of the largest of its kind, able to seat over 700 people in two balconies as well as the stalls, although the precise arrangement could be altered for different occasions with sophisticated machinery. Also, needless to say, the décor is elaborate; although the walls are entirely of wood for its acoustical properties, not a square centimetre is left undecorated in red, green and, of course, gold.

Those then are just a few of the more salient interior attractions. There are also the Queen's Suite, both King's and Queen's private apartments, and various galleries, salons and suites of a later era, some of them given over to museums. The history museum, dedicated "à toutes les gloires de la France", is the largest of its kind in the world. Well, it would be, wouldn't it? None of these features is modest in its scale or decoration, and there are lots of notable works of art to be seen among them. But if I detail them all you will become as punch-drunk reading about it as I did going round.

What did it all amount to, I kept asking myself, all this grandeur? Can one imagine the etiquette- and intrigue-circumscribed lives of the courtiers and courtesans, the serpentine sycophants who slithered around these gilded corridors, manoeuvring to catch the notice, and ultimately even the favour, of the king? Yes, one can, alas, and a deeply depressing vision it is.

* Gardens and Grounds *

At last one emerges into the gardens for a breath of fresh air. Most immediately, behind the palace, one finds oneself amid the parterres, formally laid out with geometrical flower-beds between box hedges. I am told that over 70,000 fresh plants a year were required to keep these parterres in bloom, but the impression is still one of stone and gravel rather than of greenery. Between the parterres, overlooked by the Galerie des Glaces, is a pair of vast ornamental fountains, complete with bronze figurines. The southern façade of the palace still dominates, but the terrace is so arranged as to provide views in all other directions.

The main view is westward, down over further descending terraces and water features flanked by hedged-off sub-gardens until the vista opens up to reveal the parkland surrounding the Grand Canal - a mile-long artificial lake that forms a cross with the Petit Canal - the centrepiece of the extended grounds. The use of water was a recurrent theme in Le Nôtre's grand design for the garden, and when the fountains are at play, they are magnificent and provide both coolness and visual relief from the vast open spaces. But they are seldom turned on, and one has to time one's visit specially (and pay more) to see them in full swing. Without the water spouting around them, the baroque bronzes in the huge pools look rather forlorn.

The view from the North parterre also descends to a water feature, in this case the Neptune basin, reached by a "water alley" - a watercourse running through a series of marble pools. The Neptune basin is one of the biggest and most ornate in the grounds, with statues of all kinds of gods - pretty well a full roll-call of classical deities could be conducted in the gardens of Versailles - dragons and sea monsters. But the view to this side is somewhat marred by a backdrop of the western extremities of Paris - not visible in the other directions.

To the south, a garden in the lee of the raised parterres is known as the Orangery, and shelters many of the more sensitive plants, some in conservatories, including citruses as its name implies. Beyond is yet another expanse of water, known as the Swiss Pond.

Let us descend down the main axis of the gardens towards the Grand Canal. This takes us first to the Latona Basin - more pools, more fountains, more statues - and then down an avenue surrounding a long green lawn, the Tapis Vert, to approach the Apollo Basin at the base.

Of to either side run little groves, hedged and often tree-lined, concealing a maze of sub-gardens, each with a different theme. Many are no long kept up, and cannot be entered by visitors, which makes their exploration rather unrewarding. But there are one or two little gems to be discovered, such as the Royal Garden, pleasantly informal in layout with bright flower-beds amid lawns, shrubberies and rare trees. In contrast, the Colonnade is an artifice of many-coloured marble columns and statues, but acquires charm by being hidden in a little grove.

* Parkland *

I've read somewhere that what is now called Le Grand Parc was originally Le Petit Parc; what remains is one tenth of the size of the expanse originally allocated for the King's pleasure and his hunting. At 2000 acres it is still large enough for most purposes. It is pleasant enough to wander round, but rather two orderly to imitate wild woodland walking.

The avenues are attractively lined with oak, ash, beech, linden and cherry trees but they are often wide and gravelly underfoot. Vistas are often dominated by the cruciform arms of the Grand and Petit Canals which, geometrically straight and flanked by lawns, look anything but natural waterways. Still, the park is relatively peaceful compared with the bustle of fellow-tourists with whom one is almost invariably surrounded in the formal gardens.

* Satellite attractions *

In a corner of the park are also found the Grand and Petit Trianons, together with their gardens, and also the Hameau, the "hamlet", a little cluster of cottages.

Trianon was originally the name of a village that Louis had demolished to make room for a pavilion, where he could retreat for light meals with his family and escape the protocol of the main palace. Since the protocol was largely of his own invention, imposed at his own insistence, this seems slightly perverse, but since when was consistency required of an absolute monarch? What we now know as the Grand Trianon was conceived as 'little palace of marble and porphyry with delightful gardens' and it has to be said that it is a charming building, with its pinkish colonnades, on a much more human scale than Versailles itself. Roses, orange trees and jasmine dominate the garden, which has a fine view down to the Grand Canal.

The Petit Trianon was built later, under Louis XV, and is architecturally a complete contrast, more classical in style, imposing but rather austere. The garden is another contrast, intimately landscaped in what is allegedly an "Anglo-Chinese" style, but studded with rare botanical specimens.

The lakeside "hamlet" is picture-book pretty, and according to anecdote was where the Queen Marie Antoinette and her ladies-in-waiting would play at being shepherdesses. Other sources pour scorn on this, claiming that she was far too attached to ceremonial to even condescend to amuse herself with anything so rustic. Similarly, no one seems to know for certain whether she actually said "let them eat cake" when she was told that the common people were complaining that they had no bread, but it was the sort of thing she might have said and the credibility of the characterisation did for her.

* Getting there and cost *

Versailles is just a dozen or so miles south-west of central Paris, and easily reached, either by SNCF train from St Lazaire station, or by RER (the fast outer suburban extension to the Metro system) line C. There are also buses from Pont de Sèvres.

Coming by car, Versailles is just off the A13 autoroute (exit Versailles-Château) that runs out from Paris towards Rouen. You can park, at a cost, in the Place d'Armes, or round the back of the park for nothing.

Similarly, there is no fee for entering the park and gardens. A day pass to all the attractions within the Chateau grounds costs €25 on public holidays, €20 at other peak season times, and €16 in the winter. To see the Chateau only costs €13, or €10 out of season. This includes audio-guides; if you want a real live guide droning on at you it costs more. Minors get in free - a generous concession, so go looking young. It is worth knowing that tickets can be bought in advance at railway stations and tourist offices, helping you to avoid the queue if you can find the right way in.

To alleviate the fatigue of walking round the grounds it is worth knowing that you can hire a bike for €6 an hour, or a nasty little golf-buggy-like contraption for €20 an hour. However, the latter has a control that only allows you to follow a set, approved itinerary while it lectures you automatically about what you are looking at. Sounds well worth avoiding to me. More fun looked the rowing boats for hire on the Grand Canal, but I forgot to check the cost.

If you want to say in Versailles itself, there are plenty of hotels. We liked the look of the Cheval Rouge, picturesquely situated behind the market, although it might be noisy early in the morning on market days (Thursday and Saturday). The town is nothing special architecturally, but is attractive enough and well worth a wander round, if only to enjoy a drink at one of the animated cafés while you recover from the chateau.

* When to go *

Avoid midsummer at all costs, when the crowds are intolerable and the heat makes the long trek around even more tiring still than usual. Spring and early Autumn seem like the best times to me; Winter might improve the landscape but the gardens would not be at their floral best.

Try to arrive early in the morning, again to avoid the worst of the crowds. The chateau itself opens at 9.00, the Trianon complex not till 12.00, but if you visit the chateau first you won't reach them till then anyway.

Finally, don't go on a Monday. It's closed.

* Conclusion *

Yes, reflecting on how much there is to see, I regret to say that the green Miche is right; it probably takes two days to "do" Versailles properly, but what a chore that would be.

When I first visited Versailles as a teenager - many years ago - I was dutifully impressed, even if not much attracted, by it. Going back, I hoped to appreciate it more, but found I liked it even less. Maybe I was too young then and am now too old, too set in my prejudices. Versailles is impressive, but also oppressive. For all its showy opulence and artistic extravagance, it strikes me as far from beautiful, and possessed of very little charm.

So, after all that grouching, do I recommend a visit? Despite everything, I suppose I should. No one can quite match the French at making you feel you ought to appreciate what they have to offer at the same time as resenting doing so, but the sense of obligation persists just the same. Versailles is, after all, unique, a World Heritage Site, one of the greatest of the world's palaces and all that stuff.

Go, if you find yourself in Paris with a day or two to spare. Be impressed, if you must, and as you probably will be. Like it, if you can. I can't.

© torr 2006

 

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