Some people have little weekend homes, the farmhouse in Normandy, the hunting lodge in Picardy, cottages in the woods, and the like. Louis XIV had Marly. When Versailles got to be just too much, he would retreat to his little country home in Marly, starting in 1684. The central chateau was for himself and his family only. It was flanked by two wings of six pavilions each. Eleven housed favored courtiers and one was dedicated to bathrooms. The wings were connected to the chateau by lush, fragrant arbors and separated by cascades and water works. Marly was small compared to Versailles, but the scale is hard for the ordinary person to grasp. Etiquette was more relaxed and it was possible to have the king’s attention. When he announced a potential visit, courtiers would surround him and whisper “Marly, Sire?” in the hopes of receiving the royal nod. The picture below is a painting of the chateau, courtesy of the public commons of Wikipedia.
The chateau did not survive, but even the remains are lovely.
I bring up Marly to make my point about taking pot-luck at the Louvre. We had finished “doing” the exhibits we wanted to see, notably Egypt, and were standing in the Carrousel wondering what to do next. As every guidebook agrees, the Louvre is huge and overwhelming and so full of options as to be paralyzing. We broke the stasis by randomly choosing an aisle and diving in. We found ourselves in a huge, gorgeous sculpture garden, radiant with natural light. It turned out to house some of the few remaining sculptures from Marly. We would never have known to look for them, but here they were.
Urn from Gardens, with 6’ human to show scale
As you can tell, these statues are huge! Yet, they take up only a tiny piece of the Louvre.
Marly was also famous for the “great machine at Marly” which was the huge waterworks that fed the fountains, cascades, and pools at Versailles. The great machine is gone, too. Little remains of Marly but a few vistas and views, again courtesy of the public commons of Wikipedia.
The great machine at Marly is featured in Plague of Lies, a mystery by Judith Rock that features former soldier, now Jesuit, Charles du Luc. The mysteries are always intriguing and honest. She somehow immerses the reader in the life of the period so naturally that it seems like you’re right there, in Paris and Versailles, perhaps taking chocolate in Paris with La Reynie, Chief of the Paris Police. La Reynie was the man stuck with telling Louis XIV that Mme. De Montespan, then his main mistress and mother of his children, was strongly implicated in the Affair of the Poisons. Better him than me.
Our random dive into the Louvre was richly rewarded, easy, and fun. If you don’t have much time, see what’s on your highlight list, take a breather, and dive in.