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05/17/2018
Valrahmeh
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Valrahmeh
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A summer day for the king
The King is in Marly. He values the privacy of his pavilion when he can no longer bear the hustle and bustle of the courtiers and the constant complaining of the noble ladies in Versailles: Sire, it's pulling through the roof, Sire, it's raining through the windows, Sire, the firewood is too damp...Yes, yes, Versailles is a dump full of pitfalls and inadequacies.
Of course the king is not alone in Marly at the weekend, in smaller pavilions around him a selected company may accompany him. The nobles almost fought each other to come along, they held flowery begging tirades to get hold of a weekend pavilion near the king.
Unfortunately, it's only March, and it's cold. The King wants it to be summer. Everything has to listen to him, including nature. Le Nôtre is already pruning the park, La Quintinie the fruit and vegetables. Who makes March summer?
I want a greenhouse, screams the king, not just an orangery. I want it to smell in there. To oranges! To pears! For berries! I want bee hum and redcurrant jelly.
The nobles are frightened, Jean-Baptiste de la Quintinie, directeur des jardins fruitiers et potagers des maisons royales, is the last hope. He has to come to Marly in the middle of the night with lots of orange trees, honey jars, fragrant jelly and wizened pears in his luggage. But he also brought some fresh fruit from his new greenhouse.
Gold, says a valet, gold must go with it. He's the king!
And so hundreds of oranges are hastily pressed in a pavilion at night, redcurrant jelly distributed everywhere in small bowls, gold tinsel placed in a cedar wood bowl, pear compote cooked with honey. A kitchen boy waggles a towel and mixes the smells. Now the king can come.
You blindfold him, he loves games like that. And then he enters the summer pavilion. A wave of fresh orange juice scent sloshes towards him, he is led around, tender honey notes join the orange juice, something soft caresses his nose, it is wood, it is wax, it is fresh pear compote....
When he tears the blindfold from his eyes, small gold particles fall down on him. Perfect, says the king, perfect. A truly royal summer day. I want to have the scent in a bottle.
Sire, says Baptiste de la Quintinie, that would challenge the gods. You can have an artificial summer day with gold tinsel if we work on it all night long. That's all I can do. Maybe in 350 years.
PS The small company "Atelier des Ors" is located in Marly. And the bottle is adorned with the symbol of the Sun King, including gold tinsel, even for bourgeois perfume junkies.
Of course the king is not alone in Marly at the weekend, in smaller pavilions around him a selected company may accompany him. The nobles almost fought each other to come along, they held flowery begging tirades to get hold of a weekend pavilion near the king.
Unfortunately, it's only March, and it's cold. The King wants it to be summer. Everything has to listen to him, including nature. Le Nôtre is already pruning the park, La Quintinie the fruit and vegetables. Who makes March summer?
I want a greenhouse, screams the king, not just an orangery. I want it to smell in there. To oranges! To pears! For berries! I want bee hum and redcurrant jelly.
The nobles are frightened, Jean-Baptiste de la Quintinie, directeur des jardins fruitiers et potagers des maisons royales, is the last hope. He has to come to Marly in the middle of the night with lots of orange trees, honey jars, fragrant jelly and wizened pears in his luggage. But he also brought some fresh fruit from his new greenhouse.
Gold, says a valet, gold must go with it. He's the king!
And so hundreds of oranges are hastily pressed in a pavilion at night, redcurrant jelly distributed everywhere in small bowls, gold tinsel placed in a cedar wood bowl, pear compote cooked with honey. A kitchen boy waggles a towel and mixes the smells. Now the king can come.
You blindfold him, he loves games like that. And then he enters the summer pavilion. A wave of fresh orange juice scent sloshes towards him, he is led around, tender honey notes join the orange juice, something soft caresses his nose, it is wood, it is wax, it is fresh pear compote....
When he tears the blindfold from his eyes, small gold particles fall down on him. Perfect, says the king, perfect. A truly royal summer day. I want to have the scent in a bottle.
Sire, says Baptiste de la Quintinie, that would challenge the gods. You can have an artificial summer day with gold tinsel if we work on it all night long. That's all I can do. Maybe in 350 years.
PS The small company "Atelier des Ors" is located in Marly. And the bottle is adorned with the symbol of the Sun King, including gold tinsel, even for bourgeois perfume junkies.
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