Slubbering Over the Trianon

At the risk of being tiresome, I have idly begun reading Horace Walpole's letters again, and rediscovered a passage describing Versailles and King Louis XIV which I partially quoted long ago and which I want to share at length now. Firstly I like the ingenious turns of phrase and secondly the sarcasm and thirdly the way he sounds like any enervated traveller who catches an unsatisfying glimpse of a popular place and instantly falls in grudge. It was written in 1739 to Richard West.

Stand by, clear the way, make room for the pompous appearance of Versailles le Grand!----But no: it fell so short of my idea of it, mine, that I have resigned to Gray the office of writing its panegyric. He likes it. They say I am to like it better next Sunday; when the sun is to shine, the king is to be fine, the water-works are to play, and the new knights of the Holy Ghost are to be installed! Ever since Wednesday, the day we were there, we have done nothing but dispute about it. They say, we did not see it to advantage, that we ran through the apartments, saw the garden _en passant_, and slubbered over Trianon. I say, we saw nothing. However, we had time to see that the great front is a lumber of littleness, composed of black brick, stuck full of bad old busts, and fringed with gold rails. The rooms are all small, except the great gallery, which is noble, but totally wainscoted with looking-glass. The garden is littered with statues and fountains, each of which has its tutelary deity. In particular, the elementary god of fire solaces himself in one. In another, Enceladus, in lieu of a mountain, is overwhelmed with many waters. There are avenues of water-pots, who disport themselves much in squirting up cascadelins. In short, 'tis a garden for a great child. Such was Louis Quatorze, who is here seen in his proper colours, where he commanded in person, unassisted by his armies and generals, and left to the pursuit of his own puerile ideas of glory.

(From Letters of Horace Walpole, edited by Charles Duke Yonge and published in 1890; at gutenberg.org)