Versailles was equal part beautiful, inspiring, and utterly frustrating to me. The former two, I think, are the intended effect for guests, and to its credit, it succeeds tenfold. Immediately striking is the main entrance, beautiful architecture with roofs gilded with gold. Equally striking is the horde you surge through, of star struck guests ogling with pictures and poses. I cannot pretend I was not one of them, I absolutely was, but a growing sense of discomfort initially began as I had the subtle thought: In its heyday few of us would have been permitted inside beyond being servants.

The inside felt just as grand as the outside, and in many cases, succeeded it. The apartments were a fun reminder how small people used to be, with beds that were about as long as a twin. In this section, I was struck by how much less indulgent I thought it was going to be. That’s not to say they weren’t indulgent, only less so than expected. There was little ominous or immediately offensive to my sense of justice.

The room I stepped into next, however, was more than a little uncomfortable. Dark walls painted with images of weaponry, the dimly lit connection to the bathhouses did in fact feel ominous. None of it was intentional, but the broken bodies of animal statues felt foreboding and to me, hearkened to the bloodshed of that era.

The Napoleon rooms, rooms on the other hand, were delightful. This was my next foray, after getting turned around and buying a macaroon (Marie Antoinette flavored???) Napoleon is a fascinating figure to me, especially the path of his ascent from an officer to housing himself in Versailles. The incredible journey he took to get there, to crown himself as emperor, it’s just not something that had ever been done. I really like the way those rooms were done, keeping that in mind. Each year was given its own room, giving further weight to the sheer amount of things he accomplished. Of course, he was still a tyrant and a warmonger, and the gorgeous paintings reflected that, with young men sent to fight and die for him. But there is an undeniable pull and glory for that sort of thing, and I certainly felt that in that room.

I could understand why young men like Marius could be swept away by the sheer grandiose of the man, even after he died. Napoleon wasn't just a great general I realized. He was a master propagandist.

Versailles is good for that. Understanding how there is an attraction to this sort of thing. Louis XIV had a similar pull, his logo looks sleek, even modern. The luxury and glory of kings and emperors within a vacuum can feel inspiring, beautiful. Again, you understand why men can become royalists, whether it's poor farmers who are kept in the dark, or wealthier men like Marius' grandfather. There's security in a sun king, security that the mess of a mob can't provide. The paintings can feel larger than life, the architecture can take you to other worlds, and the logo of King Louise XIV can look stylish on a pair of 16 euro socks– but it’s all toxic and destructive. It’s spending money on gold roofs while peasants starve, it’s crowning yourself emperor based on the merits of being the best at killing large groups of people before they kill you. It’s plunging nations into debt and war and dragging the people along with you.

These thoughts bustled to the front of my mind as I shuffled through the crowded, sweaty corridors on the way to the hall of mirrors. People pushed, shoved, and even stalled to take pictures, all to catch a glimpse of the height of decadence and luxury, that was withheld from a starving nation. The rooms up there were extravagant, almost too much so. It looked wildly uncomfortable to live in, not in the physical sense, but just the sheer glamour was nauseating (or maybe that was just the smell of the crowd, but I digress).

Finally, though, I found myself in the hall of mirrors. It was beautiful. Bigger than I thought it would be, just in the sense, I have no idea how they were able to cram so much inside this palace. Again, I liked the beauty of it, but something stunk. And this time I was pretty confident it wasn’t BO.

Before entering the garden, I entered the gift shop. They put the two next to each other, because of course, so it’s not like I wasn’t going to go in. I mentioned socks earlier, but there was so much more than that. There were cheap plastic figures of Louise XVI, Napoleon cosplaying cat pillows, replica pistols, beanies, tote bags, shirts, even an 80 euro plastic key. It was all so ridiculous to me. Here was a palace, a monarchy, so devoted to itself and its luxury it prompted a messy, angry revolution, and here we are selling its merch? I don’t expect lessons in history to ever go heeded, but man, Versailles truly underscored that. It’s not the first place in France I’ve seen do that either, I’ve seen Marie Antoinette mangas for instance, but Louise XVI action figures were such a blatantly bewildering sight I'm not sure if I’ve yet recovered.

After that dizzying experience, I got to enjoy the majesty of the garden. Well, first I grabbed a bite to eat (the worst meal I had in Paris), but then I enjoyed the majesty of the garden. Not much to say other than it was really nice. Wandering through the hedges was like entering a forest, the long middle walkway gave a nice view to the lake, and I enjoyed the little areas where various pillars and fountains were constructed.

And then I left, feeling a little less angry, with food in my stomach and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in my hand.