4
Feeling the Buzz
‘So, who is it we’re meeting with this morning?’
Elliot and I walk side by side along the wide, tree-lined avenue leading up to one of the most famous landmarks in the history of France.
‘Bertrand Tibault. He’s the head of administration and security at the palace. I’ve spoken to him several times on the phone, but never met him in person. I did meet his predecessor and got on very well with him when I was here—’
Elliot is brought to an abrupt halt when he starts coughing again.
‘Should we slow down a little so you can catch your breath?’
He shakes his head, walking on again. ‘No. It’s fine. It’s worse early in the morning and late at night. Mia rang first thing and she’s hacking away like a smoker, too. I hope you don’t catch it. It could slow us down when filming begins.’
He makes a face. All it takes is one little thing like a cough to mess up our itinerary, but we’re a few days away from our first session and hopefully Elliot will be over the worst of it by then.
‘I’ll be doing the honey and lemon thing as often as I can to appease Mia, so don’t worry,’ Elliot reassures me.
I know I must look worried so I take a deep breath. It’s going to be fine.
‘Will the meeting take place inside the palace?’ I ask, hoping he’ll say yes.
‘Well, not inside the main building itself, I’m afraid. We’re heading up to les Ailes des Ministres Sud, which is the first building on the left just inside the outer palace gates. We will also be introduced to Solange Forand. She’ll be our on-site contact while we’re filming.’
‘Do you think we should have asked Ronan to come with us this morning?’
Elliot cocks an eyebrow.
‘I’m sure we’ll manage, as Solange Forand would probably have mentioned it in her email if we needed to bring an interpreter. All the required forms for our little team have been submitted and checked, so this meeting is hopefully just to get them rubber-stamped and to approve the proposed schedule.’
We exchange a look that lifts my spirits; Elliot is as excited as I am about this morning. We’re really here, at last. Suddenly he slows, pointing to our right.
‘This rather imposing building is la Grande Écurie, now the home of the Bartabas National Equestrian Academy of Versailles. Louis XIV commissioned one of his favourite architects, Mansart, to build this to house his horses.’
‘It’s rather grand for stables.’ I laugh, taking in the majestic stonework of the building’s façade; with elegant archways and immense proportions, it looks like a palace rather than an equestrian centre.
‘On the left we’re passing the Petite Écurie. It’s a gallery exhibiting sculptures and mouldings and well worth a visit while you’re here.’
While different in size, the buildings are mirror images. Ahead of us, the Avenue de Paris ends at the Place d’Armes, directly in front of the palace; two roads, one on either side, run like spokes in a wheel in a funnel-effect, culminating to form an arc. It closes off the large square in front of the outer palace gates. As we draw nearer, an imposing statue of Louis XIV on horseback is set high on a stone plinth, the huge bronze commanding everyone’s attention. Every inch the omnipotent King, he sits astride the regal animal, whose head is proudly raised, as if he understands the importance of his role. King and horse overseeing not only their own army of men and beasts, but everything that inhabited French soil.
‘It’s everything I’d imagined and more,’ I murmur in awe. Having studied so many of the books written about Versailles in preparation for this project, I wasn’t expecting to feel so overcome with emotion.
‘He was a man with an unshakeable resolve. This area was designed to accommodate six hundred horses, their riders, musicians, pages and onlookers. Louis held court wherever he went.’ Elliot has visited so many times and even now the awe in his voice is discernible.
It’s impossible not to stop in my tracks to gaze up at the statue and beyond, at the sheer spectacle in front of us.
Louis looms large, his commanding image set centrally to the sprawling palace behind him. There is no disputing the sense of ultimate power on display. Nothing was going to stop this man from turning a former hunting lodge, built on boggy unwelcoming ground, into the most unbelievably decadent palace imaginable. He succeeded in letting the world know there was nothing he couldn’t achieve and even at a distance the scale and grandeur is hard to take on board. The astronomical amount of expenditure that must have been involved, at a time when many people went hungry in order to pay their taxes is unthinkable.
Even though it’s only just after nine-thirty in the morning, the sun is already making the gold embellishments on the gates surrounding the palace glisten.
‘It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?’ Elliot’s voice drags me back into the moment.
‘You can understand why it became a symbol for the dramatic and bloody decline of the monarchy during the French Revolution, even though it was some seventy-odd years after Louis XIV’s death. Did you know that the palace was besieged by an angry crowd in a march on Versailles, which was triggered by the scarcity and high price of bread? The then King – also a Louis – and his family were forced to return to Paris. The history books tell us how that ended – in front of the guillotine.’ As I say the word it makes me shudder.
‘All in the pursuit of elevating a man who believed he was untouchable; more than a King even, a resolute power chosen by God. He built something of incredible beauty, admittedly, but you can understand the anger it generated.’ Elliot’s words mirror my own thoughts. Beautiful, astounding, but at what cost simply to immortalise one man? Bold, audacious, visionary and bordering on the impossible. Few dare to dream this big for a reason.
We step through the outer gates, into an immense cobbled area. A large queue has already formed in snaking lines, supervised by stewards. Either side is flanked by mirror-image buildings in the signature pale stonework, with the slate grey Mansard roofs repeated everywhere. The difference, though, is the lavish amount of gilding on the dormer windows set within the roofs, turning them into gleaming, golden eyes staring down at all who come to gaze up and marvel. Some are round, like myriad suns and not the more prolific rectangular style. Detail is everything, but the cost of the renovation work must be just as mind-blowing as the original budget.
To our left, the crowd of visitors mill around and as we head towards our destination it’s clear it also houses the main ticket office.
Three soldiers wearing bulletproof vests walk past us, each purposefully nursing a machine gun, their eyes constantly roving around the mass of people. It’s hard not to stare at them, and I realise I’ve slowed my pace while Elliot is talking to a member of staff.
‘Bonjour. Nous avons un rendez-vous avec Monsieur Tibault.’
The man nods and we follow him inside.
Even though this building is outside the inner palace gates, it’s impressive and very stately. As we walk across the entrance hall our footsteps have a hollow ring until we are led up a sweeping flight of stone steps, each one topped with marble. As we ascend, I look down at the constant coming and going below, marvelling at the intricate pattern of black and white inlaid marble covering the floor.