Château de Versailles
Wigged heads held aloft on spikes and the hunchbacks and cripples had gone, decadent affluent parties come to their end and the scent of fashionably unwashed bodies in goldthread gowns washed clean.
From a Hunting Lodge in 1624, it swelled into this power seat of absolute monarchy—all that glitters is gold—and even seen in a grey drizzle, it shone like a crown jewel, not apologetic in the least for what it represented.
But time has worn the gold, cracks have appeared and the Hall of Mirrors was not the sparkling sight I had envisioned. It looked a bit drab, like an Antoinette fed up with keeping up appearances.
But it dazzled enough!
From a Hunting Lodge in 1624, it swelled into this power seat of absolute monarchy—all that glitters is gold—and even seen in a grey drizzle, it shone like a crown jewel, not apologetic in the least for what it represented.
But time has worn the gold, cracks have appeared and the Hall of Mirrors was not the sparkling sight I had envisioned. It looked a bit drab, like an Antoinette fed up with keeping up appearances.
But it dazzled enough!