by Lucy Coleman
‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ Elliot asks, hopefully.
‘Oui, a leetle. The director is this way,’ our guide confirms. ‘Your names, please?’
Elliot introduces us and receives a nod of acknowledgement.
Nervously, I smooth down the lapels of my suit jacket and give Elliot the once-over. We both look the part, anyway. Calm and professional – well, at least on the surface.
The man promptly stops to rap his knuckles on a door and, swinging it open, ushers us inside. He approaches a young woman, who rises from her seat in front of a computer desk, but he speaks too fast for me to catch much of what he says. He turns, giving us another quick nod of his head, before exiting and closing the door behind him.
The woman picks up the phone on her desk and speaks for several seconds before replacing the receiver. My French is rather basic, but she mentioned our names and asked if it was convenient to take us through.
‘Please to follow me,’ we are instructed.
On the wall to the rear of the room is a large painted mural of what I assume is a group of courtiers. Both men and women are finely dressed in the most opulent of outfits. Rich, colourful fabrics now slightly muted over time, but the attention to detail and embellishment are incredible. Either side of the door we’re approaching is a stone column with intricate scroll work around the top. Our escort raps twice and as the door opens, we find ourselves entering a rather impressive-looking study.
The portly gentleman behind the enormous solid oak desk rises, extending a hand towards us.
‘Ah, Monsieur Nielson et Madame Winters, welcome. Please sit.’
We shake hands cordially, delighted and a little relieved at such a warm welcome. Settling ourselves down, we wait as a few papers are shuffled on the desk in front of us.
Elliot clears his throat and I hope for his sake it doesn’t turn into a coughing fit. ‘Thank you for seeing us, Monsieur Tibault. It’s an honour to be here.’
Much to my relief he recovers well.
‘We have a few formalities, as you say, to attend to while we await Madame Forand’s arrival. She will be a little late, I’m afraid, but I can sign off the paperwork for your team’s passes ready for her to collect them later today. Unfortunately, I have one or two amendments to make to the schedule that was previously submitted to you, due to changes in our staff rotas.’
He produces a printed draft of the email attachment I sent across yesterday.
‘Of course.’ I pull the file from my backpack and he indicates for me to place it on his desk.
Scrutinising the planner, the amendments are fairly minor, mainly a few dates where the names of the people we will be filming have changed. He explains that the large team of gardeners is comprised of only a small core of permanent staff. A large contingent is hired on a set contract for specific months of the year. In addition, there is a small army of trainees and interns from various programmes and collaborations. It sounds like quite a task to organise the workload and Elliot interjects, adding that we can be very flexible throughout our entire schedule of visits. This seems to go down very well with Monsieur Tibault and it doesn’t take long to run through the changes to everyone’s satisfaction.
There’s a tap on the door and a woman enters.
‘Ah, this is Madame Forand from our marketing and partnerships department. She will be your guide and contact while you are here filming.’
The very petite dark-haired woman immediately steps forward, thrusting out her hand.
‘Please call me Solange,’ she confirms as we shake. Her smile is warm and friendly, and her English is good.
I shake her hand. ‘I’m Lexie,’ I reply, then take a step back.
‘Elliot. Pleased to meet you, Solange.’
Monsieur Tibault stands, signalling the end of our meeting.
‘I think we are done for now and I’m sure you would like to begin your tour. Welcome to the Palace of Versailles.’
‘Have you visited before?’ Solange asks as she escorts us from the building, and we head up towards the main palace gates.
‘Yes,’ Elliot answers. ‘But it’s Lexie’s first time. I was involved in the filming of a series of documentaries here about two years ago. We were following the renovation work on the Queen’s House in the Petit Trianon Park.’
‘Ah, bon, I did not know that! I’ve only been here just over a year myself. It will finally be unveiled on the twelfth of May and we are all very excited about it.’
‘It’s an enormous task, but an important project and at some point, I’d like to get a peek, if that’s at all possible.’
‘Of course. Sadly, I only have an hour free today, but once your work has started, I will arrange for someone to give you the tour. I suspect it will be of much interest to you, Lexie. The first visit to Versailles is always special.’
Her accent is so charming, and I’m delighted at how welcome we’re being made to feel. I nod, giving an appreciative smile. ‘That would be wonderful, Solange, thank you so much.’
‘And what is your first impression, Lexie?’ she asks. I can feel her eyes scrutinising my face with interest as I gaze up at the magnificent structure in front of us.
‘A lot to take in! Lavish, opulent – I wasn’t expecting everything to be quite so… golden,’ I admit. The gilding on and around the gates is even more magnificent up close and prolific – everything seems to glisten as the sunlight bounces around. Louis chose as his emblem a mask set within the rays of the sun. This heavenly body has always been associated with Apollo, the god of peace and arts. Louis saw the analogy as a fitting symbol for his own absolute role – a patron of the arts, a warrior king bringing about peace, and what he perceived as his God-given authority.
She laughs.
‘The dreams of the Sun King were without boundary. The royal gates were torn down during the French Revolution. It took over two years and a hundred thousand gold leaves to make replicas of the eighty metre baroque-style gates. It was completed in 2008. But it is the crowning glory, yes?’
‘Absolutely,’ Elliot replies. I nod my head in complete agreement.
‘We traverse now the Court of Honour and these outbuildings each side were the Ministers’ Wings, originally housing the King’s Secretaries of State. All of the government offices were here, not just the court itself.’
Ah, that accounts for the grandeur of the buildings. Solange inclines her head in the direction of the main gate in front of the palace.
‘The area beyond that is known as the Royal Court, where Louis’ equestrian statue was originally sited, and the other side of that is the inner Marble Court. Notice the distinctive black and white marble tiles adorning the terraced floor.’
‘The attention to detail everywhere is incredible,’ I affirm as I crane my neck to get a better view, given that the crowd in front of us is constantly shifting.
‘We head to the Orangery now. Monsieur Tibault has arranged for some of your interviews to be conducted there. Others will be at Le Potager du Roi, which was the King’s kitchen garden. It is run by the National School of Landscape Architecture and is close by.’ She turns, extending her arm to point in the general direction to the left of us. ‘It has two hundred landscape architecture students and in excess of three hundred continuing education students.’
‘How many actual gardeners work here in the grounds?’ I enquire.
‘Today we have forty-eight permanent gardeners tending in excess of two-thousand acres, with as many as ten private companies supplying additional labour as the seasons dictate. During the reign of Louis XIV, it is said that seven thousand people were employed to work on the gardens alone.’
Solange is very knowledgeable and it’s a lot to assimilate as she steers us between two buildings. We follow a path skirting the exterior of the palace. As we are drawn away from the crowd of people milling around, the snaking queue of ticket holders slowly shuffles forwards to gain entry to the palace itself. Leading us through a stone archway, Solange unlocks
a tall wrought-iron gate. As it swings open, in front of us the vast panoramic spectacle extends out seemingly endlessly.
Words fail me as we walk forward, and I struggle to take in the sheer scale. My eyes automatically sweep across to our right, to gaze out over the beauty and grandeur of the famous canal and the various fountains.
‘Les Jardins de Versailles.’ Solange’s voice is low as she watches my reaction with interest.
‘It’s… incredible, staggering.’ I gasp.
Elliot has a little coughing fit and I glance at him anxiously. He recovers after a few moments and then chuckles at my initial reaction.
‘Sorry. I must get some cough mixture. I’ve probably stood here surveying this view more than fifty times over the past few years and the sight of the Grand Canal still stops me in my tracks every single time,’ he admits.
‘I’m overwhelmed by it. I’ve studied the guidebooks and read so much about the palace and the gardens, but nothing prepared me for how commanding it is up close.’
Solange and Elliot exchange indulgent smiles.
‘I know. I feel the same way, Lexie. And I get to see this every day of my working life now,’ Solange adds. I can see that she is in love with Versailles.
I’m well aware from the research I’ve carried out that the Sun King’s vision was audacious; many thought it was bordering on madness because of the problems that had to be overcome here. As Elliot said, turning useless, boggy land into acre upon acre of manicured gardens and parks seemed like an impossible task. But the creation of the Grand Canal and the ornate fountains was an even more staggering project by anyone’s standards. Clearly, it was way beyond any possible definition of extravagance.
‘The King’s desire to move his court and government here to escape Paris saw him taking on the role of architect to give life to a vision few could grasp. The original cost was phenomenal – money was no object at all, it seemed, in the pursuit of the glorification of a king. Louis built a power base, distancing himself from his people and forcing the nobility to spend time at court, each year. His desire to establish absolute monarchy depended upon preventing anyone from establishing their own regional power. It was a clever move and it worked,’ Solange explains.
‘As fate determined, Versailles was only the centre of political power for just over a century. Some five thousand courtiers lived here at the very peak of its power, but Versailles was more than the overpowering beauty and grandeur of it all. There is still a tangible sense of the passions that have filled the air here throughout its turbulent lifetime. Political plotting, trysts and impossible love affairs; poisoning, jealousy and people’s lives held in the balance on a whim. At court, being in, or out, of favour could result in either riches or ruin. Sometimes imprisonment, or even death for treason.’
We cross the lightly gravelled area, walking along, adjacent to the rear of the main palace building.
‘The extensive renovation programme in recent years has brought the building back to its former glory.’ She slows to a halt a short distance away to stand and admire the rear façade.
At ground and first-floor levels it comprises a long row of double French doors set within beautiful stone arches that seems to stretch out forever. Room, after room, after room.
‘There are seven hundred rooms, in excess of two thousand windows and sixty-seven staircases,’ she confirms.
At first-floor level it’s slightly set back to accommodate a stonework balcony, only broken by blocks of staunch pilasters, which are rectangular projections. Above each of these is a wide plinth displaying a series of marble statues depicting Roman deities and emperors. Some are netted, undergoing renovation work still, and even from this level it’s clear to see how damaging exposure to the elements has been over time. It serves only to make the condition of the building even more astonishing and a credit to the army of people who work tirelessly to preserve it.
Yet another floor houses a series of smaller rooms with matching windows in line with the full-length French doors below. These smaller rooms would be the quarters for the retinues and attendants accompanying the courtiers. I step back a few paces, tilting my head to get a glimpse of the roofline. In perfect symmetry to the low stonework of the first-floor balcony, slender stone urns are evenly spaced between clusters of statues that, once again, seem to mirror the outline of a King’s bejewelled crown. In between, carved stone trophies are interspersed with slender flame pots to accentuate the elegant profile.
Feeling a little embarrassed when I realise that Solange and Elliot are now a few paces away and patiently waiting for me to catch up with them, I pull myself together.
‘Sorry. It’s beyond amazing. I’ve dreamt about coming here for so many years and now I’m here…’ I tail off, rather pathetically.
‘Lexie’s grandma, Viv, was a horticultural student and spent some time here in the sixties,’ Elliot explains.
‘How wonderful! It is a real connection for you, then, Lexie. That was before l’École Nationale Supérieure de Paysage was set up in 1976, so one of the early programmes, no doubt. Sadly, that is not my area of expertise, though. I note that you will be using the services of Ronan O’Byrne when you are filming. He is very knowledgeable about the history of the gardeners who have worked here since the early 1900s.’
I nod. ‘Yes. He said he knew a few people here.’
She raises an eyebrow. ‘Indeed. He has worked on a number of projects, even in the time I’ve been around. Ronan will, I’m sure, know if any of the gardeners working here during that period are still alive. He has researched and written two books about different periods in the history of the gardens and the park, and is currently bringing it up to the present day in his latest book.’
‘I wasn’t aware of that. How fascinating. I suspect that once people come to Versailles, if they are captured by its spell, they find a reason to stay,’ I muse, speaking more to myself than to Solange. But that wasn’t true for my grandma and again I wonder why, because I know she would have been captivated by this.
To her dying day her windowsills were full of seedlings and cuttings; her garden was a joy to behold. As children we all spent time with her, weeding and planting, but I more so than my siblings. She said that communing with nature was good for one’s soul.
I sigh. Being here must have been such a wonderful time for her and, now I’m here too, I feel a great sadness washing over me. I would have dearly loved to have heard her thoughts and learnt what she did on a daily basis. It would have been her dream; of that I have no doubt at all.
5
A Little Tête-à-Tête
What people often fail to appreciate is the huge amount of planning and research required before an interviewer can get up close to an interviewee with a microphone. Preparing the right questions to draw out the information I want, when I have no idea how forthcoming the person will be – or how they will react to being filmed – requires a lot of forethought. Often, they are being interviewed for the first time and I’ve had a few people clam up on me, making the process painfully slow.
My biggest concern is duplication. With several changes in the list of people I’ll be talking to, I’m worried I won’t get the breadth of experience I was hoping for. From the newest trainees, to interns on a set contract, to the small core group of permanent staff who oversee the entire process, it has to be representative across the entire range of skills and horticultural disciplines.
I’m poring over my notes but I can’t keep asking Solange questions as she’s a very busy lady. My phone buzzes and I groan. After spending nearly an hour earlier in the day talking to Mum to reassure her that I’m fine, just busy, then sending a quick text to Elliot to check he’s doing okay, I intended to knock this into shape without fear of interruption. It’s Ronan calling.
‘Hi, Ronan. How are you?’
‘Great. I bumped into Solange Forand up at the palace this afternoon after escorting a party of Japanese horticulturists around the gardens. She mentioned yo
ur grandma worked at Versailles in the sixties?’
Well, it seems he must know Solange quite well to be so chatty with her.
‘Yes. She was a horticultural student, but I don’t really have any information other than she was on some sort of work experience programme. Elliot threw it into the conversation as he knows I’m hoping to find out something about her time working on the palace gardens. Solange did say I should mention it to you, now I come to think about it, as you might know if any of the gardeners who were here in 1961 are still alive. I didn’t realise the two books you’ve written were actually to do with the history of the park and the gardens.’
‘Well, what is it they say? Jack of all trades, master of none.’
He’s doing it again; it’s as if he doesn’t want to be taken seriously.
‘I, um, wondered if you fancied taking an hour or two off to come to supper at my place? I’m less than fifteen minutes away and hearing about your family link with Versailles has piqued my interest. I’m vaguely aware of a special programme pulled together in the early sixties that folded after only six months. The funds simply weren’t there to justify the manpower. I’m wondering if this was what your grandmother took part in.’
I’m surprised he’s that interested in a passing comment and aware my lack of knowledge is going to be somewhat of a disappointment. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have any information at all that I can pass on. I’m literally starting with a blank page, myself.’
A soft ‘hmm’ filters down the line.
‘That’s a shame. Anyway, first things first. I’m known for making the best croque-monsieur you’ll ever taste. I am part French, you know.’
Really? I start laughing, glancing at my watch and thinking, what the heck? I need a break, anyway.
‘Okay. Text me your address and I’ll punch it into the satnav.’
‘Great. See you in, what, thirty minutes?’
‘Sounds good.’
