Episode 14 - The Palace at Versailles

In this episode of Manor of Fact, we explore Palace of Versailles not just as one of the largest and most recognizable palaces in the world, but as a system designed to shape power, behavior, and perception.

What began as a modest hunting lodge under Louis XIII was transformed by Louis XIV into the center of royal life in France. Over decades of construction, expansion, and careful planning, Versailles became more than a residence. It became a place where architecture, landscape, and daily routine worked together to control access, elevate status, and reinforce authority.

We move through the palace, into the gardens designed by André Le Nôtre, and out to the more private spaces of the estate, including the Trianons and Hameau de la Reine. Along the way, we look at how life at court functioned in practice, where visibility was currency and proximity to the king defined influence.

The episode also traces the shift that followed. As financial pressure and political change took hold, Versailles became a symbol of excess and detachment, setting the stage for the French Revolution.

From its origins to its reinvention as a museum, and through moments like the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, this story follows how Versailles has continued to evolve while still reflecting what it was originally built to do.

And as with every visit, the way you experience it depends on how you move through it.

Transcript

Tempo: 120.0

SPEAKER_00 0:22

Welcome back to Manner of Fact. We are exploring one of my favorite places today, the Palace of Versailles. It's well known that the property is massive. The structure is over 721,000 square feet, and the grounds cover over 2,000 acres. If you visited in person though, the full scope is difficult to comprehend. There are moments when you are out on the grounds where the space just keeps opening up. You think you've reached the edge of it, and then another axis appears, another fountain, another long corridor of trees that pulls your eye towards something you can't quite make out in the distance. At a certain point, you just stop expecting it to end. I'm heading back to Paris soon, and during this visit, I'll be walking through Versailles for the third time. It's a place I already know, at least in theory, but each visit has a way of shifting your perspective. You notice different things, or the scale settles differently, and what you walk away with changes. What always stays with me though is not the size of it, although the size is genuinely hard to absorb. It's the sense that every part of Versailles was built with a purpose that went well beyond shelter or even comfort. The palace, the gardens, the sequence of rooms, the placement of windows, all of it was designed to do something specific to the people inside it. In this episode, we'll follow the story of Versailles from its earliest days as a quiet hunting lodge through its transformation into the center of royal life in France, and then into the moment when that system began to give way. We'll move through the palace, out into the gardens, and into the smaller, more personal spaces on the grounds that reveal a different side of what life there actually looked like. Because Versailles was never just a home or even a palace. It was a statement made in stone and marble and water. And once you start to see it that way, it's very hard to unsee. The story of Versailles begins with a place that was chosen very deliberately for what it wasn't. In the early 1600s, the land that would eventually host the palace at Versailles sat well outside of Paris, surrounded by dense forest and open marshland. It was quiet, isolated, and inconvenient to reach. The roads were poor, the soil was difficult, and there was very little about the site that suggested long-term potential. The town was already known as Versailles, although throughout this episode and colloquially in general, Versailles refers to the palace and the surrounding grounds. The name dates back to the medieval village that occupied the area long before any royal interest. Its exact meaning is debated, but it's generally believed to come from old French or Latin roots referring to cleared land, low vegetation, or marshy ground, something closer to scrub land than anything refined or cultivated. And that is exactly what drew Louis XIII to it. In 1623, he ordered the construction of a small hunting lodge on the property. At the time, it was little more than a simple structure built of brick and stone with a slate roof and minimal ornamentation. It was designed to serve a specific purpose, which was to provide shelter during hunting trips. The surrounding forests were rich with game, particularly deer and wild boar, and the location allowed the king to hunt without the interruptions that came with staying closer to Paris. The lodge itself was compact and functional. Early accounts describe it as having just a handful of rooms arranged in a straightforward layout with no attempt at grandeur. It didn't resemble a palace and it was never intended to. It was a working retreat built for privacy and efficiency. Over the next several years, Louis XIII returned to Versailles regularly, though not continuously. His visits were tied to the hunting season, and he often stayed for short periods of time rather than extended stretches. Versailles was a place he went to withdraw, not to govern. By 1631, he decided to expand the original structure into something more permanent. The lodge was rebuilt into a small chateau, still modest by royal standards, but more refined than the original building. It retained its brick and stone exterior with a symmetrical facade and a slightly more formal layout. Even with these additions, it remained understated, especially when compared to the primary royal residences closer to Paris. What's notable is that Versailles never became a central residence during his lifetime. It remained secondary, used intermittently and without ceremony. There was no court established there, no political activity centered around it, and no indication that it would become anything more than a private retreat. The surrounding land also remained largely untouched, without formal gardens, grand avenues, or really any attempt to reshape the landscape in a significant way. It was still defined by its natural state, with dense woods and uneven terrain. At this stage, Versailles existed outside of the structures and expectations of court life, and that was precisely its value. It offered distance from Paris, and with that came a level of control over environment and access that would become increasingly important. At the time, though, it was simply a quiet, functional retreat, and nothing about it suggested what it would eventually become. When Louis XIV came to power, Versailles was still what his father had left behind, that modest chateau used occasionally. But Louis XIV didn't inherit a stable relationship with Paris. As a child, he lived through a series of uprisings known as the Fronde, where members of the nobility and the Parisian population pushed back against royal authority. He was forced to flee the city more than once, and these experiences shaped how he understood power. Paris was necessary, but it was also unpredictable. It placed the monarchy in close proximity to unrest, and it gave the nobility space to organize. Versailles offered an alternative. It was far enough from Paris to create distance, but close enough to remain accessible. And more importantly, it was a blank slate. There were no entrenched power structures on the site, no existing court traditions that needed to be preserved. Everything about it could be designed with intention. Beginning in the 1660s, Louis XIV made the decision to transform Versailles into something entirely different. This wasn't a single construction project, but a series of expansions that unfolded over decades. The original chateau built by Louis XIII wasn't demolished. Instead, it was enveloped and expanded outward, becoming the core of a much larger composition. To carry out his vision, Louis XIV assembled a group of artists and designers who would define the look and structure of Versailles. Louis Levaux was responsible for the architectural expansion, developing the early phases that began to reshape the building. Charles LeBron oversaw the interior decoration, establishing a visual language that reinforced the authority of the monarchy, and André Lenôte began to plan the gardens, extending the influence of the palace far beyond its walls. What emerged from this collaboration was a property designed to organize people. Versailles was structured in a way that required the nobility to be physically present. Over time, Louis XIV began to move the court there, first gradually and then permanently. By 1682, Versailles became the official seat of government. The nobility, who once operated with a degree of independence in Paris and throughout France, were now expected to spend much of their time at court. At Versailles, access to the king became the central currency. Status was defined by proximity, by participation in daily routines, and by visibility within the palace. The design of the building supported that system. Rooms were arranged to reflect hierarchy, movement through the space was controlled, and even the act of observing the king became part of the structured daily ritual. Versailles allowed Louis XIV to bring nobility into a single environment where their behavior could be shaped and monitored, and it reduced the likelihood of organized resistance and redirected their attention toward court life. At the same time, it projected a clear image outward. The scale of the palace, the precision of its design, and the consistency of its visual language communicated stability and control. Visitors understood immediately where the power resided and how it was meant to be perceived. This was the beginning of Versailles as it is now understood, not just a residence, but as a system built into architecture. Once Louis XIV committed to transforming Versailles, construction unfolded over decades in a series of campaigns that expanded and reshaped the property again and again. The original chateau, built by Louis XIII, stayed at the center, but it was gradually enclosed by new construction. Architects wrapped the old structure in larger stone facades, extended wings outward, and created a sequence of courtyards that formalized the approach to the palace. Over time, what had once been a small self-contained building became the core of something much larger and far more deliberate. At any given point, thousands of workers were on site. Some were highly skilled craftsmen, such as stonecutters, woodworkers, metalworkers, and decorative artists, while others handled the physical labor of moving materials and preparing the land. The work was constant and it was demanding. Accidents were not uncommon and the pace of construction rarely slowed, especially when deadlines were tied to royal expectations or major events at court. Materials arrived from across France and in some cases from beyond. Stone was quarried and transported over long distances. Marble was selected for specific rooms and finishes. Timber was brought in for structural work and interior detailing. There was a level of coordination required just to keep materials flowing to the site, and that supply chain had to support construction that was happening in multiple areas at once. What makes this period especially interesting is that the palace was already in use while it was being built. Louis XIV began spending more time at Versailles early in the process, and members of the court followed. That meant that parts of the palace were finished and occupied while others were still undergoing construction. It created an environment where daily life unfolded alongside ongoing building work, with noise, dust, and movement as part of the experience. As the palace expanded, certain spaces began to define its identity. The state apartments were designed with a clear sequence in mind, guiding visitors through rooms that increased in importance as they moved closer to the king's private chambers. Each room was finished with careful attention to proportion, decoration, and symbolism. The Hall of Mirrors became one of the most recognizable expressions of that approach. Designed by Jules Hardouin Mansar and positioned along the garden facade, it was built to capture natural light and reflect it back into the space, amplifying the sense of scale. The mirrors themselves carried real significance. At the time, Venice dominated mirror production, and France was actively working to compete. Jean-Baptiste Colbert, the chief minister of finance, supported the creation of French glass workshops, and Venetian glassmakers were recruited to bring their expertise with them. Installing hundreds of mirrors in a single, highly visible space signaled that France was no longer relying on outside craftsmanship. It showed that the country could produce at the same level and at a scale that was hard to ignore. Inside the palace, decorative work was led by Charles LeBron, who developed a cohesive visual program across ceilings, walls, and architectural details. The imagery often drew from classical mythology and historical references, with recurring themes that reinforced the authority and permanence of the monarchy. These designs were planned as part of a larger system so that each room contributed to the consistent narrative. At the same time, the physical conditions of the site required ongoing attention. As mentioned earlier, the land around Versailles was marshy and uneven, which created challenges for both construction and long-term stability. Drainage systems had to be developed, and the groundwork needed to support the expanding structure had to be reinforced. Water management became increasingly complex as more features were added, especially once the gardens and the fountains began to take shape. By the later stages of construction, Versailles had grown into one of the most ambitious building efforts in Europe. It required sustained funding, a large and coordinated workforce, and continuous oversight. The process itself became part of the story because the scale of what was being built reinforced the authority behind it. As the palace expanded, the land surrounding it was developed at the same level of intention and precision. The gardens at Versailles were designed by Andre Lenot, who approached the project as an extension of the architecture. The layout begins at the back of the palace and moves outward along a strong central axis, creating long, uninterrupted sight lines that pull your focus straight into the distance. From that main line, secondary paths branch off in geometric patterns, forming a network that feels structured but still varied as you move through it. The experience of the gardens is carefully staged. As you walk, the scale shifts. Open spaces give way to enclosed groves and then open again. Your perspective is constantly being guided, even if it doesn't feel that way, in the moment. The planting itself was highly organized. Flower beds, known as parterres, were arranged in symmetrical patterns close to the palace, where they could be viewed from above. These designs often resembled embroidery, with intricate shapes outlined by low hedges and filled with seasonal plantings. The flowers changed throughout the year, but there were some consistent choices. Tulips were especially popular, reflecting a broader European fascination with them at the time. Hyacinths, irises, and lilies were also used, along with roses in more controlled garden areas. Orange trees were another defining feature. They were planted in large, decorative containers and moved indoors during colder months, then brought back out to line pathways and terraces when the weather allowed. Beyond the ornamental beds, there were also carefully maintained lawns, clipped hedges, and rows of trees that reinforced the structure of the design. Every element was placed with intention, contributing to a sense of order that extended in all directions. Water also played a central role in how the gardens were experienced. Fountains were positioned along the main axis and within the boskets, each one designed as a focal point. The Apollo fountain became one of the most recognizable, aligned with Louis XIV's association with the sun, and placed to anchor the long perspective stretching away from the palace. Operation of the fountains required coordination. Water was actually limited, so they were activated in sequence as the king moved through the gardens. From his point of view, everything appeared continuous, but behind the scenes, it required careful timing and constant management. The Baskets added another layer to experience. These were enclosed garden rooms set apart from the main paths and often hidden from view until you entered them. Each one had its own design and purpose. Some included small stages for performances, while others featured more elaborate water displays. Some were designed just for quiet conversation away from the more public areas of the grounds. By the time the gardens were fully developed, they had become an essential part of Versailles. Rather than being separate from the palace, they completed it, extending its influence outward and shaping how the entire property was experienced. Once Versailles became the official seat of government in 1682, daily life there followed a structure that was both highly visible and carefully managed. At the center of that structure was Louis XIV, and nearly everything that happened at court revolved around his schedule. Each day began with the lever, the king's morning ritual. Unlike how most of us begin the day, this wasn't a private moment. It unfolded in stages with different groups admitted in a specific order based on rank and favor. A small select group would be present for the earliest moments, followed by a larger circle as the process continued. Being invited into these spaces carried significance because it signaled access to the king. The same pattern continued throughout the day. Meals, walks, ceremonies, and even informal moments were structured in a way that allowed for observation. The king's dinner, for example, could be attended by members of the court who stood and watched as he ate. Evenings ended with the coucher, the ritual of the king retiring for the night, which followed a similar sequence to the morning. Like the lever, it was an opportunity for members of the nobility to be seen and to maintain their position within the court. For nobility, being present at Versailles became essential. Over time, they were expected to spend extended periods there, often maintaining apartments within the palace. These living spaces varied widely in size and quality depending on rank and proximity to the king. Location within the palace mattered because it influenced how easily someone could participate in daily routines. There was also a level of performance built into everything. Clothing, posture, conversation, and timing all carried meaning. Even small interactions could affect how someone was perceived, and those perceptions could influence their position over time. At the same time, the density of people created its own challenges. Versailles housed not just the royal family and the high-ranking nobles, but also servants, staff, and a wide range of individuals connected to the functioning of the court. Conditions could be crowded and privacy was limited, even for those at the highest levels. What developed at Versailles was a system where daily life and political life were closely connected, and over time that system became self sustaining. The routines, the spaces, and the expectations all work together to shape how the court functioned. And for those within it, participation wasn't optional. As Versailles grew into the center of royal life, the structure that defined it became increasingly difficult to step away from. For Louis XIV, the system he had created required constant attention. His presence anchored everything, and the routines that organized the court depended on him being seen, accessible, and engaged throughout the day. Over time, that level of visibility came with its own weight. The environment was designed to maintain order and reinforce authority, but it also left very little room for privacy or distance, even for the person at the center of it. And that pressure began to shape how the estate itself evolved. The need for space that felt quieter and more controlled, at least in a different way, became more apparent. That shift led to the creation of retreats within the grounds, places where the expectations of Versailles could be softened, even if only temporarily. The first of these was the Grand Trianon, completed in 1687. Louis XIV had already experimented with a smaller porcelain structure on the site, which proved too fragile to last. In its place, he commissioned a more permanent building designed by Jules Hardwin Mansart, designer of the Hall of Mirrors. The Grand Trianon was noticeably different from the main palace. It sits lower to the ground with a horizontal emphasis that changes how you experience the space as you approach it. The exterior is defined by pink marble and long colonnades that open directly into the gardens. Instead of a sequence of enclosed rooms, the layout allows for a more fluid movement between interior and exterior spaces. Louis XIV used the Grand Trianon as a personal home, often staying there with a smaller group that included members of his inner circle, and at times his companion, Madame de Maintenon. Life there followed a quieter rhythm. Meals were less formal, schedules were more flexible, and the atmosphere allowed for a level of ease that was difficult to maintain in the main palace. A few decades later, the estate expanded again under Louis XV, who commissioned the Petit Trianon. Completed in 1768, the building reflects a shift in architectural taste. Its design is more restrained with clean lines and a strong sense of proportion. The structure is compact, with each facade carefully composed, and the interior spaces are scaled for a smaller number of occupants. Louis XV initially used the Petit Trianon as a private residence for Madame de Pompadour and later for Madame Duberry. The Petit Trianon became more widely known during the time of Marie Antoinette, who was given the property by Louis XVI. She took a personal interest in the space and made changes to both the interiors and the surrounding landscape. The gardens were redesigned to feel more natural with winding paths and less rigid planting schemes. One of her most distinctive additions was the Hameau de Lorraine, a constructed village set within the grounds. It included cottages, a farmhouse, a dairy, and a mill, all arranged around a small body of water. The buildings were designed to appear rustic, though they were carefully built and maintained. The space functioned as a retreat, offering a version of rural life that was separate from the structure of the main estate. These buildings reflect a shift in how Versailles was used over time. They show the need for smaller, more controlled environments within a much larger system. And they also reveal how each successive monarch adjusted the estate to fit their own preferences, creating spaces that allowed for a different pace and a different experience of daily life. Within the grounds of Versailles, the Trianons introduced a sense of variation. They provided room to step back, even if only temporarily, from the expectations that defined the palace itself. By the mid-1700s, Versailles was functioning exactly as it had been designed to. The court was centralized, the nobility were present, and daily life followed a structure that had been refined over decades. What began to change was everything outside its walls. France was carrying a growing financial burden, shaped by years of war, mounting debt, and a tax system that placed the heaviest pressure on those with the least ability to absorb it. The cost of maintaining Versailles was only one part of that larger picture, but it was the most visible. The palace had come to represent a level of spending and separation that felt increasingly out of step with the realities facing much of the country. Inside Versailles, daily life continued with remarkable consistency, and that continuity gave the impression of stability, even as conditions beyond the estate were becoming more strained. Under Louis XV and later Louis XVI, the monarchy faced a different set of expectations than it had under Louis XIV. The authority that once felt absolute was now being questioned more openly. The economic pressures combined with changing political ideas began to reshape how people viewed the role of the monarchy. Versailles became a focal point for that change. Stories about life at the palace circulated widely, often emphasizing luxury, excess, and detachment. The presence of Marie Antoinette intensified that perception. Her personal spending and her use of spaces like the Petit Trianon became subjects of public attention, whether those accounts were accurate or exaggerated. She came to symbolize a version of court life that felt disconnected from the conditions most of France was experiencing. At the same time, there were efforts within the monarchy to address the situation. Financial reforms were proposed, advisors were brought in, and there were attempts to adjust policies that were no longer sustainable. But those efforts were inconsistent and often met with resistance, both within the court and beyond it. Versailles continued to operate as a symbol of order and control, but the conditions supporting that image were weakening. In 1789, the frustration that had been building for decades reached a point where it could no longer be controlled from within the structure of Versailles. That spring, Louis XVI called the Estates General, bringing representatives from across France to the palace. It was the first time this body had met in over 170 years, and Versailles quickly filled with delegates, advisors, and observers. The environment shifted almost immediately. What had once been predictable became crowded, active, and uncertain as political debate moved to the center of daily life. In June, that shift became even more defined. Representatives of the third estate, who spoke for the majority of the population, found themselves locked out of their usual meeting space. They relocated to an indoor tennis court on the grounds of Versailles, where they gathered and made a collective decision that would carry far beyond that room. They took what is now known as the tennis court oath, agreeing that they would not disperse until a constitution had been established. It was a direct challenge to the existing structure of power, and it happened within the boundaries of a place that had been designed to reinforce that very structure. By early October, the situation had become even more urgent. Food shortages, particularly the rising cost of bread, had created growing unrest in Paris. On October 5th, a group of women began marching toward Versailles. Many of them were responsible for feeding their families, and the lack of affordable food had become immediate and personal. The march covered roughly 12 miles, moving through difficult weather and gaining momentum along the way. By the time they reached Versailles, the crowd had grown significantly, carrying with it a sense of urgency that was impossible to ignore. They demanded to see the king. That night, the atmosphere remained tense, and by the early hours of October the 6th, the situation escalated. Members of the crowd entered the palace. The breach happened quickly and violence followed. Royal guards were killed, and the queen's apartments became a focal point of their ire. Marie Antoinette was forced to flee through the interior corridors, moving quickly to reach the king's rooms. It was a narrow escape, and it underscored how exposed the royal family had become within a space that had once been tightly controlled. Later that morning, the crowd gathered in the courtyards below, calling for the royal family to appear. Louis XVI stepped onto the balcony first, addressing the crowd and signaling a willingness to respond to their demands. Shortly after, Marie Antoinette appeared as well. At one point, she stood alone before the crowd, a moment that could have gone in several directions. Instead, the reaction settled. The tension didn't disappear, but it changed just enough to allow the situation to move forward. And by the end of the day, the outcome had become clear. The royal family would leave Versailles and return to Paris. The procession back wasn't subtle. The king and queen were escorted by the crowd, moving the same distance in reverse, now under public watch. The direction of movement had changed, and with it, the balance of power. For decades, Versailles had drawn people toward it, and now the monarchy was being pulled away. Their departure marked the end of Versailles as a functioning royal residence. In the days and weeks that followed, the court dissolved, the staff left, daily routines stopped, and the palace began to empty. Spaces that had been filled with constant activity fell silent. After the royal family was driven away, Versailles entered a different phase almost immediately. Without the court to sustain it, the palace no longer had a clear function. What had been designed to operate as the center of political and social life in France was now largely empty. In the early years of the revolution, the contents of Versailles were systematically removed. Furniture, artwork, decorative objects, and even everyday items were inventoried and sold off in a series of auctions. These sales took place over several years, dispersing thousands of pieces that had once been part of a highly coordinated interior. What had been designed as a unified environment was broken apart and redistributed across France and beyond. Some elements were preserved, particularly those considered to have artistic or national significance, but much of what defined the lived experience of Versailles was lost during this period. The building itself remained standing, though its condition began to deteriorate. Without regular maintenance at that same level, sections of the palace showed signs of wear. The gardens, which required constant care to maintain their structure, were also affected. Portions were simplified, and the level of upkeep changed as priorities shifted elsewhere. During the revolutionary period, Versailles was used in more practical ways. Parts of the property were repurposed for administrative functions or storage and occasional public use. The meaning of the space had changed and was no longer treated as a symbol of royal authority. And that transformation continued into the 19th century. In 1837, under Louis-Philippe I, Versailles was officially converted into a museum dedicated to the history of France. Instead of representing a single monarchy, it was reframed as a national space intended to tell a broader story about the country and its past. Large sections of the palace were redesigned to accommodate this new purpose. Galleries were created to display paintings, historical artifacts, and portraits that spanned multiple periods. The goal was to present a continuous narrative connecting different eras of French history within the same setting. That decision preserved Versailles in a way that might not have happened otherwise. By assigning it a new role, the palace was maintained, restored, and reinterpreted rather than abandoned entirely. As the 19th century progressed, Versailles became a place where history wasn't only preserved but also staged. One of the most significant moments came in 1871, when the Hall of Mirrors was used for the proclamation of the German Empire following France's defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. The choice of location was deliberate. Versailles, which had once projected French power, was used to mark a change in that balance. Several decades later, the palace again became the setting for a defining international event. In 1919, at the end of World War I, the Treaty of Versailles was signed, again in the Hall of Mirrors. Representatives from multiple nations gathered in the same space that had once been used to reinforce royal authority, this time to negotiate the terms of peace. The setting carried its own weight, connecting the outcome of the war to a place already associated with power, conflict, and national identity. Throughout the 20th century, Versailles continued to function as both a historical site and an active cultural landmark. Restoration became a long-term effort rather than a single project. Curators and historians worked to preserve what remained while also attempting to reconstruct elements that had been lost. In some cases, original pieces were tracked down and returned. In others, rooms were restored based on inventories, paintings, and written records, creating approximations of how they once appeared. And that process is part of what defines the experience of Versailles today. As you move through the palace, there are moments where the scale and detail feel fully intact, where rooms are furnished and layered in a way that reflects their original use. And then there are stretches that feel noticeably quieter. Many of the rooms are sparsely furnished with fewer objects than you might expect for residence of that scale. That absence traces directly back to the revolutionary period. And what remains now is a combination of preserved elements, later additions, and carefully reconstructed spaces. The result is a palace that feels both complete and incomplete at the same time. Outside, the gardens continue to be maintained at a high level, with ongoing care required to preserve their structure and seasonal plantings. Fountains still operate, though now on scheduled programs rather than in response to the movement of a single individual. The trianons and surrounding grounds remain accessible, offering a different perspective and pace within the larger estate. Today, Versailles operates as one of the most visited historic sites in the world. In a typical year, the estate receives between 7 and 10 million visitors. That number includes access to the palace, the gardens, and the wider grounds. On peak days, tens of thousands of people move through the property, creating a very different kind of rhythm than what the space was originally designed for. The flow of visitors has become part of the modern reality, shaping how the site is managed and preserved. Versailles no longer functions as a residence or a center of government, and it reflects multiple layers of history. The monarchy that built it, the revolution that emptied it, and the generations that have worked to maintain it since. Versailles has always been shaped by how people move through it. It began as a private hunting retreat used by a single king and a small group. Over time, it became the center of royal life where movement was structured and observed and tied directly to status. Who could enter a room and how close they could stand and when they were allowed to be there all carried meaning. Today, that experience has changed completely. The first time I went was in 2015, in February. It was a cold and rainy day, and it felt like a long, inconvenient trip from Paris. By the time I got there, it was packed, wall-to-wall people. I moved through pretty quickly because I didn't really want to stop. And it was hard for me to get any sense of the scale because I was constantly adjusting to the crowd that was around me. I didn't really honestly enjoy my trip very much. But then I went back last year in October, and it was a completely different experience for me. I walked through the house again, but one of the best parts of it was that I got to experience the grounds, which I didn't really want to do when it was raining and cold. So I ended up spending quite a bit of time there going through the gardens. I rented one of the golf carts that they have on property. There are a small number of them, about 40, and it's not inexpensive, but it's definitely worth it because it changes how you can experience everything. Instead of moving through the gardens one section at a time, you really start to understand how everything connects. You can get out to the Grand Trianon, the Petit Trianon, and all of these areas that are much harder to reach on foot unless you're really planning to spend the entire day there. You start to see just how far the grounds extend and how much of Versailles exists beyond the palace itself. When you're in the golf cart, you pass through these long stretches of trees, and then suddenly the space opens up and you're standing in front of something enormous: a fountain, a basin, a sculpture. The one that really struck me is the Apollo fountain, the golden chariot at the center of it. It's massive and it's placed in a way that makes the entire landscape feel like it goes on for miles in any direction. And that feeling, that moment, repeats itself. You move through another section and it opens again, another space, another view. At a certain point, it feels like you've left the property entirely because it stretches so far beyond what you expect. And that's when it really clicks. Versailles isn't just the palace. The palace is one part of a much larger design, and the grounds are what give it its full scale. Today, anyone can visit Versailles. They will follow the same paths, move through the same rooms, and step into the same spaces that wants to find a very controlled way of life. But the way they experience it now is entirely their own. Whether they move quickly or slowly, focus on the architecture or the landscape, stay inside or spend hours outside. And that flexibility stands in stark contrast to how the space was originally intended and allows one to experience it on their own terms. Thank you for listening to this episode of Manner of Fact. 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