8:00 am Rue Linné, on the deserted sidewalk in front of #16. The only signs of life are stirrings within a neighboring brasserie, where the proprietor is starting to move chairs and tables from inside to the front of the establishment. In Paris, at least in the Latin Quarter this close to the University, mornings are slow to get going.
With full awareness of the expanse awaiting us, our group headed for the entrance building, where an amazingly short queue stood. However, we soon discovered that the shortness of the line derived from the closure of access due to an unannounced strike. Although we never actually found out exactly who was striking or why, I found the sign announcing the action in three languages most intriguing.
Although the overall message that the public couldn’t enter was roughly consistent, each of these statements has a very different implication. In French, entry is “prevented” by a “social movement”; speakers of English are merely delayed, and the cause is an “industrial action”. Only the Spanish come right out and call it a “strike” that prevents the opening of the palace. I’m not sure what to make of the discrepancy between these pronouncements, but there are clearly a lot of cultural and political differences in perspective at work. (Incidentally, I’d love to hear anyone else’s take on this in comments!)
For whatever reason, we confronted an indefinite delay. Rupert, our intrepid driver, was ready with an alternative to standing around waiting, and suggested we return to the van and take a road tour of the vast grounds surrounding the palace. I had the feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d encountered problems with access.
From its north bank, we had a great view of the palace from the back side, including the renowned Gallerie des Glaces (Hall of Mirrors).
But more astonishing was the expanse of precisely laid out and shaped corridors of lanes and trees extending in various directions towards seemingly endless disappearing horizons of
perspective. This one parallels the long axis of the watercourse, looking in a general westerly direction,.
and this, looking away from Grand Trianon towards the east, ends almost a mile distant at le Bassin de Neptune on the northern periphery of the complex of gardens behind the Palace.
Turning to the south, here’s a view along the Allée Saint Antoine, this one paved with stones dating to the 18th century.
The precision and care with which these courses are positioned, and the uniform planting of trees, mostly elm and linden, all shorn of boughs below a certain height and all trimmed to vertical forms expresses the firm belief, born of the Rennaissance, that Nature itself was subject to the full dominion of man. The expansive landscape surrounding the palace builds upon the ideal French garden, as designed in the 17h Century by André le Notre, who also designed the Jardin des Tuileries adjacent to the Louvre.
Our impromptu tour also brought us to Le Petit Trianon, the Chateau built by Louis XV for his mistress, Madame de Pompadour, but more widely known as the home of Queen Marie Antoinette.
Returning to the Palace proper, our group headed for the entrance, finally getting a chance to view the ornate, gilded gate from the inside.
Louis XIII built the first Chateau de Versailles in 1623 as a simple hunting lodge, catering to Louis’ passion for hunting in the expansive surrounding lands long known for abundant game. For three years starting in 1631, Louis commissioned Philibert le Roy to enlarge and augment the original structure with additional buildings, as he intended to retire there once his son, the Dauphin, reached majority. Much of that Chateau was retained during the subsequent expansion and, greatly adorned, it now occupies a central position to which the vast edifice of the remainder of the palace connects.
Entire libraries are filled with volumes written about Versailles, its art and architecture, political intrigue, and historical significance. To the relief (or, more likely, the dismay) of the one or two still reading, I’m not even going to touch on specific artistic or architectural features, but rather spend some time describing my reaction to the experience of walking, along with an astonishing throng, through the rooms, halls, and corridors of the Palace.
I’ve mentioned several times my dearth of historical knowledge, and although the audio tour was mostly impenetrable (it was hit or miss knowing which number to enter for a given room, with few signs provided as guidance), enough of the narrative registered over my rapidly numbed visual senses to allow the penny to drop, at least in my meter. I came away with both an idea of what had happened and why, as well as a deep curiosity for the broader historical context in which the stories of this monument transpired. Since it seems to me relevant to the modern experience, that’s what I’m going to discuss. I’ll make an effort to temper the occasional rant, but consider yourself warned.
The splendor, expanse, and extravagance of opulence that Versailles presents is inextricably associated with the glory of France, and there’s no denying the pinnacle of power attained by the monarchy under Louis XIV. Construction of the vast Palace was in no small part the foundation for his successfully attaining absolute monarchy, and although Louis had assumed full powers following the death of Cardinal Mazarin in 1661, there’s not the slightest doubt in my mind that the strategy underlying establishment of the Court at Versailles was a direct result of political calculations that are traceable to both Mazarin and his predecessor, Cardinal Richelieu. As first ministers and close advisers to kings and regents, both of these clever clerics had experienced firsthand the treachery, guile, and direct insurrection that had erupted almost continuously among the far-flung noble households of the French kingdom for over a century. They understood that staying in power required constant vigilance, and they made sure to have spies deeply embedded as widely as possible in order to detect nascent sedition at its outset. Consolidation of power required consolidation of information, and that, in the final analysis, was the king’s motivating intent in establishing a self-contained seat of government outside of Paris at Versailles. Having the Court assembled, living in one place, with regular audience in the Court a requirement, ensured that the Sun King could keep a close eye on the contentious, rebellious, and fractious families that held the highest positions of wealth and prestige in the kingdom.
My son, who is far more historically sophisticated than I in such matters, observes that the most impressive attribute of Versailles is not that it could have been conceptualized, but that the king had the determination and power to make it a reality. My own feeling is that Louis probably recognized that creating such an unparalleled structure and associated system was the only way to assure his continued survival, much less preeminence as King. Living and participating in
Court at Versailles it was hard to avoid constant reminders of Louis’ political and military victories, including the celebration of the King’s consolidation of power in the central panel, The King Governs Alone, painted in glorious portrayals
on ceiling panels of the Hall of Mirrors through which the court and retinue paraded at least daily.
The other piece of the Versailles story that I found particularly compelling was the description of the regimen of daily life at the Palace. Every aspect of life at the court was regulated precisely, either by the clock
or by strictures of etiquette that became progressively more refined and elaborate as time passed. Much of the ritual reinforced hierarchies of nobility within a class structure determined almost entirely either by birthright or by extraordinary accomplishment on a battlefield (and the latter category was entirely dependent upon a granting of privilege by the monarch). Thus, etiquette served the function of distinguishing nobility from the lower classes, the rank and file of the population. For denizens of the Court at Versailles, physical isolation from the environs and proximity of the governed was not enough: they worked compulsively and tirelessly to differentiate themselves in what they wore, how they moved, how they spoke. Life at the Court of Versailles, from the viewpoint of an outsider, was certainly exclusive, but as a participant, it was extremely limited in terms of free will.
The ritual and excess of Versailles expanded the division between upper and lower levels of society, very intentionally glorifying those fortunate enough to be participants in Court parties, entertainment and sumptuous banquets. Centuries of feudalism had inured lesser ranks of Parisians to the often-outrageous antics of royalty. Contemporary accounts reveal that rather than being offended or envious, rank and file Parisians just didn’t care about the lavishness of Versailles, at least not during most of the reign of the Sun King. The glaring economic inequality embodied in the excess of absolute monarchy was simply the way things were, a part and parcel of the Divine Right of Kings.
Louis XIV may have succeeded in taming his fractious nobles, but he also engaged in a series of unsuccessful wars and alienated much of the population through other policies. His successors weren’t even able to sustain the regimen of Palace life, and waged even more disastrous and costly wars, leading to the political and financial collapse of the government in 1789 and the subsequent social upheavals that changed the face of Europe and the world forever.
Versailles remains unequaled in the splendor and extravagance of its execution, and the following images give just a taste of what we experienced.
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| Louis, Prince of Condé, (1621-1686) |
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| Chapel at Versailles |
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| Corner detail, Versailles Salon |
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| Green Room, with period furniture |
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| Queen's bedchamber |
And then, finally, there was this, among others:
I kid you not. Through a government program of art in public places, an exhibition of modern Japanese sculpture was installed at Versailles. I thought the juxtaposition of this creation with Le Salon de Venus particularly apt. Après moi, le déluge? Looking at this elevates Mel Brooks to a stature comparable to Molière!!
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