Hôtel de Crillion Paris, France  

1798:  A high-stepping mare clatters over the bricks of Paris’ newest square, Place Louis XV, pulling my ebony carriage. We halt at the square’s western edge by the Corinthian colonnade of Count de Crillion’s palace. A porter throws open its massive doors and my carriage swings into the courtyard. The driver executes a three-quarter turn leaving me directly in front of the Palace’s marble steps.

Two crystal torches, as tall as I am, light the way for the doorman who rushes to my assistance. My gloved hand holds up my many-layered silk gown as my satin slippers pad on the marble.

"Princess Kate," the footman announces in a stentorian voice as I enter the 1789 New Year’s ball in Count Crillion’s ballroom.

Thousands of candles throw flickers onto crystal chandeliers and mirrors and they fracture into a zillion glimmers—setting the seven soft colors of the Siena-marbled walls aglow. Dazzled, I dance with the first prince that asks. We float under the clouds of the painted ceiling that is surrounded by agiles—lithesome naked little boys—who are busy building Paris’ monuments.

Flush from the dance and champagne, my handsome prince escorts me over to an open window to watch the fountains and rockets of the New Year fireworks—never imagining the real revolutionary fire that would soon burn hot in this very square.

Awakening in the 21st century, I expected only the remains of Cinderella’s pumpkin. But, lo! I’m cradled in 500-count sheets looking out a French window draped with silk—and I’m still in the palace. Gone the way of many a palace, it is now the Hôtel de Crillion.

And Place Louis XV, a 20-acre octagon, is now the Place de la Concorde. It lies between Paris’ Tuileries Gardens and the Champs-Élysées. Star Trek fans will recognize it as the location of the offices of the President of the United Federation of Planets. Bling shoppistas will know it for the haute couture of the nearby rue du Faubourg Saint Honoré and the rue Royale. I know it as a sumptuous spot for dreams.

My room with its Rocco dresser done up in marquetry and marble, silk-dominated fabrics and its Baccarat chandelier was custom made for dreaming. And while the heated floor in the marbled bathroom was très 20th century, it did have a countess’s touch.

The room’s high ceilings, I would learn, were because it was the noble floor—the third floor. In most Parisian mansions, the ground floor was for business or shops. The low-ceilinged second floor, the entresol, was for the shopkeepers. And the third floor, high enough above the street to get the sun and reduce the street’s noise and stench was where the nobles lived.

I was much aided in my dreamy historical pursuits by the Crillion’s affable concierge, Patrick, who not only sorted out various difficulties I had gotten myself into, but sent me out on one the best tours I’ve ever had. My guide, Fabia, is part of an exclusive group of tour guides who specialize in private tours for people who want something special—from a seriously informed guide. Light years above your average bus tour. On Fabia’s "Doors of Paris" tour, I learned that old Paris was built the reverse of urban America—the backs of the houses faced the street and their big doors were to let in the carriages. The front of the houses (or palaces) faced onto the garden in back.

"Good Morning, Ms. Crawford," a friendly, not stentorian voice greets me each morning for breakfast—an Epicurean breakfast at "Les Ambassadeurs" Restaurant—the once ballroom. Surrounded by beauty and light, silver, white linen and crystal, I brook prodigious choice. A five-tier cart of breads and bakery goods, the freshest of fruits, designer cheeses, pates and smoked fish, fresh eggs, sausages, waffles and more.

"Just a little more café?" the waiter queries.

"Mais, oui," I reply, reclining into the damask armchair. Smiling up at the ceilings’ agiles, "It is as beautiful as a dream," I think to myself.

Only the prince is missing.

But you never know—that might be a good thing.

 Kate Crawford   June 2010

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE   
                        
Hôtel de Crillion on the web.

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