Luxembourg Gardens is the Left Bank's great public garden, and Paris at its most unhurried. You drag a loose green metal chair to wherever the light falls best — that small freedom is half the pleasure. Children steer wooden sailboats across the octagonal pond with a stick, pensioners bend over chessboards, and runners loop the gravel. A ring of white marble queens watches over the water, and in one shaded corner a baroque grotto fountain looms above two stone lovers. The garden is of two minds: rigid French geometry around a sunken parterre, looser English lawns at the edges.
It began as an act of homesickness. Marie de' Medici, widow of Henri IV, missed Florence and commissioned a palace and grounds echoing the Pitti Palace and Boboli Gardens of her childhood. The palace now houses the French Senate, which still owns and tends the estate. Bees work a corner apiary and gardeners graft heritage apples nearby. Hemingway crossed these paths hungry; Marius first glimpsed Cosette here. It remains a working garden, formal in its bones and endlessly, easily used.