One of the avenues in Versailles is bordered by matching rows of ancient trees. Whether by nature or design I cannot tell, but the upper branches all bend toward the centre of the avenue and form a glorious cathedral. So strangely empty this wonderful walkway and yet it felt as though the ghosts of the past still passed through to some long forgotten pleasure ground.
Could I hear the rustle of panniers, the rattle of sabres? Was that the sound of two world weary Comtes about to sever the thread of one of their dissipated lives in a duel, the laugh of Madame de Pompadour fleeing from the amorous attentions of Louis XV?
I noticed on zooming in on this photograph some tiny figures at the very end of the avenue. Was this the proof I had been looking for? The very ghosts of my reverie?
Alas no. Just some chap with his kid and another lady wandering aimlessly about. How dare they not be Cardinal Richelieu or blousey old Madame de Maintenon at the very least!
Really, tourists are such selfish creatures.