During my time in Paris earlier this summer, I spent a large amount of time in the Jardin des Plantes, I’ve already reviewed a couple of the museums and the Ménagerie will probably be next. Another of the many educational attractions present, are the Grandes Serres du Jardin des Plantes, which can only be considered as one of Paris’s greenest time-machines. These are two iron-and-glass structures trap humidity and light, providing visitor with a lush botanical theatre, tucked behind the classical façades of the Muséum national d’Histoire naturelle. Walking into these greenhouses is a kind of urban escapism or teleportation, within a few steps you trade the city’s stone and traffic for the forced climate of humid forests, dry deserts and island endemics. My aim is with this blog to try to trace their history, examine their architecture and plant collections, and gives a detailed on-the-ground review of what to expect as a visitor/curious plant-lover.
The Jardin des Plantes itself has roots reaching back to the 17th and 18th centuries, originally a royal medicinal garden, it evolved into the Muséum national d’Histoire naturelle and a scientific centre where plants were studied, classified and displayed. As botany matured into a public science, the need for permanent greenhouses grew, spaces where exotic species collected from expeditions could be acclimated, studied and shown to visitors. The Grandes Serres are a material expression of that impulse, Victorian technology (iron frames and large panes of glass) married to scientific display. Over the 19th and early 20th centuries the Muséum constructed a number of glasshouses, some of the surviving ‘large greenhouses’ that visitors see today date from the late 19th century and were progressively adapted and reworked across the 20th century. The ensembles we experience now are the product of accumulation, repeated repairs, changing horticultural fashions and evolving exhibition goals, rather than a single architectonic moment. The Muséum and the City of Paris treated these structures as both utility and heritage: they were workspaces for horticulturists and laboratories for botanists, and gradually became objects of architectural interest in their own right. Now the collection houses over 2,500 plants over 1700 m2.
If you approach the Grandes Serres primarily from an architectural point of view you’ll notice a characteristic vocabulary: long barrel-vaulted spans of glass, steel ribs, and masonry bases that anchor the pavilions. The structure is deliberately legible, the ironwork holds thin panes of glass so that the plants are lit from above, but the masonry plinths protect roots and undercrofts from frost and manage humidity. The combination gives the greenhouses a cathedral-like quality: long sightlines under a luminous ribbed ceiling punctuated by pockets of dense foliage, artificial waterfalls and carefully graded paths. A crucial stylistic point is that these are working greenhouses first. They were designed to meet horticultural needs such as controlling humidity, temperature and circulation for plants coming from the tropics, deserts, islands and temperate zones. Yet because they sit in Paris and have always been public-facing, their design balances utilitarian engineering and scenographic display. You’ll see service areas and staging behind the scenes, but the visitor routes are composed to produce drama, a sudden grotto of ferns, a towering palm chimney, a drowned pool with giant leaves. That theatricality was strengthened by the late-2000s restoration and scenography, which I discuss below.
Two modern events are especially important to the Grandes Serres’ recent history. First, the greenhouses suffered from storm damage during the severe weather events around 1999 (and more broadly from decades of wear) which exposed structural deterioration and forced closures and repairs. Second, following those crises the Muséum and the City of Paris undertook a major restoration project, culminating in the reopening of the main listed greenhouses in 2010 after extensive work and an investment that public sources describe as substantial. The refurbishment combined structural consolidation with new exhibition design, refreshed plantings, and interpretive displays that repositioned the greenhouses as both science and visitor experience. That 2010 reopening is the moment that shaped the visitor experience many of us now know: the greenhouses were reframed as themed environments: humid tropical forests, drier forests, New Caledonia-specific habitats, arid/desert sections and a didactic greenhouse on plant evolution. The scenography aimed to educate as much as to delight, linking living specimens with explanations about biogeography, adaptation and conservation. This combination of spectacle and science is precisely the Grandes Serres’ modern identity.
The Grandes Serres are organised around several environments. Rather than presenting a taxonomic cabinet, the greenhouses usually present ecological reconstructions so that visitors can understand plants in context, how palms live in an understory, how succulents store water, how island floras evolve in isolation. The major thematic groupings include a tropical humid forest which contains a dense, warm, humid space populated by tall palms, tree ferns and lianas that create the sense of cathedral canopy. Expect high humidity and a lush, layered planting, which leads into a desert and arid zone which has displays of drought-tolerant plants and succulent forms, often arranged to highlight adaptations such as thick leaves, reduced surfaces, water storage organs. You have to go up a level out the back of a large concrete structure that has a waterfall flowing from it to get to the next section. If you’re tall like me, make sure you watch your head. This leads to the New Caledonia section, a dedicated greenhouse telling the story of an ancient, highly endemic flora. New Caledonia’s plants are famous to botanists because a very high proportion of its species are endemic meaning they are found nowhere else, the Muséum treats the island as a biogeographical case study. The final space is a greenhouse dedicated to the history of plants and their evolution.
This ecological framing reflects contemporary museology, it’s less about “look how many species we collected” and more about telling coherent stories, evolution, endemism, threatened habitats and the relationships between plants and people. That said, there’s still conservational and research value; the greenhouses function as living collections that support scientific study, propagation and ex-situ conservation. As the Grandes Serres are run by the Muséum national d’Histoire naturelle (MNHN), they therefore sit at the intersection of public education and scientific mission. The plants are not only a spectacle for many species the greenhouses provide ex-situ conservation, a living bank where endangered or geographically restricted species can be propagated and studied. The Muséum emphasises research, plant systematics and conservation projects that use the living collections as part of broader programs. On-site horticulturists and botanists work on acclimatisation, seed banking and cultivation protocols that may be shared with international partners.
The New Caledonia greenhouse is a concrete example of this scientific angle: because the archipelago’s flora is so distinct and threatened, displaying and maintaining those species in Paris serves both an educational and a scientific purpose. The ‘History of plants” greenhouse, likewise, is structured to teach evolutionary concepts with living material, a valuable teaching tool for students and the public. Walking around the Grandes Serres is less a museum visit than a short expedition. You enter through the Muséum grounds, pass lawns and classical buildings, and step into an enclosed climate. The paths are compact but well-signed; the scenography often uses low lighting and moist air to create immersion. Only the main greenhouse was open during my visit, the second smaller one which houses the History of Plants was closed. This is a shame as I was looking forward to seeing some quite interesting and more primitive plants but I guess this gives me an excuse to come back another time. The main greenhouse was open and its size really took me by surprise, especially given how small it looked from the outside. It certainly does have a TARDIS feel to it, including managing to squeeze in quite a lot into a compact space.
The smell of humid earth, the sheen of wet leaves, the cacophony of dripping water and insects. These greenhouses are sensory and intimate. That’s the principal charm: the living plantings constantly change, season to season and as the horticulture team experiments. From a visitor’s standpoint I find the Grandes Serres succeed on three counts: they are beautiful, they are educational, and they remain alive (literally). Where they fall short is in size (you may feel the visit is short relative to the ticket price if you’re in a hurry) and from what I can tell on Google Lens, signage often assumes the reader has some prior botanical knowledge. But for those who slow down, sit by a pool, read a panel about New Caledonia, or watch how epiphytes cling to a mound, the visit is rewarding. It is definitely worth the few euros entry fee to explore and learn more about plants, something we should all be doing far more of to reduce our plantblindness.
If you liked this post and enjoy reading this blog, please consider supporting me on Patreon where you will also gain access to exclusive content. If you enjoy reading my blog, why not subscribe using the form below?
