GeorgiannaLane
allo and happy tuesday! the last week of january…i hope your year is off to a great start. it’s good and quiet here, still early with the day is full of potential and for the first time in a while i’ve felt like blogging. don’t get me wrong, i always want to blog, but sometimes life gets in the way and it’s the last desire that gets indulged. i apologize cause i was supposed to announce the winner of the macarons over a week ago. so here goes…the random number generator says…#4, sandra chapin. congratulations and i hope you enjoy them!
so what’s been going on? a lot around here, but not the frenzy it was. i’m trying to hone in and get down to basics. home life is pretty and minimal, but for the business of business, i’m refining the brand, the logo, the packaging, the company mission and mantra! 2014 already feels different. does it for you?
GeorgiannaLane
one of the new adventures i’m looking forward to is a collaboration with great photographers and vendors. my goal is to focus on curating ‘the paris apartment’s’ boutique and enjoying lots of eye candy while doing it. my first new photographer captures all the sparkling facets of paris and i find her photos magically delicious. please help me welcome the one and only, GeorgiannaLane!
we’ll upload her tpa collection over the next few weeks. she’s in france now and i can’t wait to see what she’s shooting. one of the topics we’re both obsessed with are the mansions, apartments, hôtel particuliers and townhouses all around paris; the once grand homes that have been preserved to this day. thank god the french care enough to preserve them!
i didn’t go to paris this month for the maison objet (january is so cold there)! but in a reasonable fasimilie, we took a trip right here in florida and had a fantastic experience, close to one we’d have in france. we went to viscaya, a mansion that was inspired by paris and venice and it was just what we hoped. built in the last century, it’s a perfect time capsule/jewel from the last century. (i’ll take you on a tour of it, i got lots of shots)!
today is the first i’ve been at home relaxing and enjoying my laptop. a vignette is still set up from last week’s party and we keep adding to it, kind of like a sculpture. one of the components is a painting, you can see it on the far right. it’s whimsical and wonderful. you remember madame de florian, the woman whose apartment was discovered a few years ago in paris that had been untouched for decades? it’s another one of those time capsule apartments. i hope they keep it as a museum.
all week long i kept hearing about madame de florian and she seemed to be showing up everywhere, even on my desk. i got the painting (above) last month and have a feeling it’s the madame herself. i’m not sure how but a combination of stars aligned and prompted me to write a story about her. below is the first chapter (my first novel)? it’s my daydream of what may have happened to her and her heirs. and i’ll keep following up on where we are with the real story and in the meantime i posted the first chapter below. if you’re interested you can pre-order in the comments.
i’d love to incorporate georgiana’s shot and was playing around with ideas. below is the title page of my first book. i didn’t realize how similar they were till just now!
speaking of that, the original book is getting a facelift and re-release this spring. we still have a few first editions and today’s giveaway is the original book, “The Paris Apartment”. if you’d like a copy let me know and we’ll draw two names this week. (i swear)! in the meantime, if you have any ideas on what may have happend with the mystery , leave them in the comments and we’ll wind it in!
************************************************************************************************
Madame de Florian’s Paris Apartment
Abandoned Beauty
Colette clutched the silver skeleton key in her hand. It was cold and heavy and she knew it was the only one like it in the world. It had a smooth, polished feel as though it had been touched by many hands before. It was on an old ring along with four other keys. The must have once been of great importance to their caretaker but now just hung rusty and long forgotten. Yet this one had stayed smooth and shiny. The set had been handed to her reverently by the guardian of the building. The lock drew the key like a magnet and the two fit perfectly together as soon as she inserted it. The sound of the latch turning excited her and she felt her heart race at the prospect of what was behind the door in her very own Parisian apartment.
Colette received a strange letter the week before. The postman had actually come to her apartment and knocked on the door. He said it was very important and needed to be hand delivered. For a moment she thought he bowed when he handed it to her and backed out of the doorway slowly. She was surprised but sometimes odd things happen in New York. She turned the envelope over and over again, not wanting to open it right away. It was a beautiful letter on blue paper, with a black wax seal on the back. The handwriting was an old fashioned, careful and deliberate script.
Dear Colette,
It has taken me quite some time to locate you and I pray I have found the right girl. If it were not for modern technology, perhaps I would still be looking. The conveniences of our century have certainly move fast. We were searching for you for many years and I believe we have finally found you through an internet search. However, I’m hand writing this letter because I do not trust computers and I wanted to make sure this was delivered to you personally. My grandmother says that the postal service connects people, electronics push them away. Oh but I digress. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Sylvie Montaigne. Our family is humble yet we live in the grandest of Parisian mansions. I am the youngest in a line of four generations who have cared for what is known as ‘Villa Belle Epoque’. I work hard but my life has been one of reflection and allows me to write and paint in my spare time. In the moments of calm and I often contemplate the good fortune of having been born in such a magnificent city. I do hope you will visit soon. We are situated in the heart of Paris near Pigalle. Mother and grandmother could regale you all day with stories of our home, of those who’ve come and gone, lived and died, and those who’ve just passed through and made changes throughout the years. But today it stands proud and majestic, with grand walls silently watching the drama that comes and goes as Paris changes. No one really notices us but we are always here, making sure the courtyard’s garden is tended, that the stain-glass windows sparkle, brass railings are polished, and the garbage unseen. We hold doors for the beautifully dressed mesdames as they glide in and out and nod our heads in their honor.
Colette turned the key three times before the latch released but it worked as if it were brand new. The hinges of the heavy red door creaked as she pushed it open slowly. Light streamed into the room and filled it with dusty sunbeams. It was so bright and thick she squinted and covered her nose with her scarf. Around the room were floor to ceiling windows. Her first instinct to open them all and send the heavy scent of perfume and musk out right away. With a twist of the locks she was able to release the room’s energy for wha seemed like the first time in a hundred years.
So, dear Colette, by now you must be wondering what this is all about. The truth is that it’s difficult to put into words. What seemed like an easy letter to write is proving quite difficult for me now. Perhaps it’s too personal to share for all eternity by putting it to paper and pen. As I write this I realize that I had better not give any further details except to ask you to please come to Paris, there is something quite extraordinary for you at Villa Belle Epoque. Perhaps I should be blunt: You have inherited an apartment and it is waiting for you.
Yours very sincerely,
Sylvie Montaigne
With the cool spring air rushing in and the dust beginning to clear, Colette stood in the center of the room surveying the scene. It felt both voyeuristic and surreal as she turned around and around, trying to comprehend the scene. It was familiar somehow, almost like a déjà vu, as if she had been there in a dream. She put down her bags in the center of the room and surveyed the situation. It was the quuintessential Paris apartment. A grand chandelier hung in the center of a square room. The walls were a pale green, decorated with mouldings and carvings. A fireplace mantle with a mirror above reflected the petite but grand space. In one corner was a decorated vanity table that seemed to call to her. It was exquisite even under all the soot. On top sat a mirror with carved roses and garlands carved around it, a frame that would make any woman feel beautiful. The glass was coated with a thick layer of dust and she used a hankerchief embroidered with the letter F to wipe it off. She pulled out the pretty little boudoir chair and sat down. It poofed an enormous cloud as she sat but she was too mesmerized by the table to notice. Even with the layers of grime it still sparkled. She turned around to look behind her. Was someone there? No, that would be impossible. She was alone and the place had been sealed like a tomb. But why? A single perfume bottle had been left open and was creating the stale scent in the room. She put the lid on it and picked it up. It read ‘House of Guerlain, 1890′. Someone had kissed the label with red lipstick. She put it down carefully on a little painted tray. The vanity seemed to be something of an altar in a way. There was a dish with ruby earrings, a lock of hair tied with a silk ribbon and a string of pearls. Among the relics scattered on the table top was a silver hand mirror. She picked it up and felt a familiarity with the smooth monogrammed handle. It was marked MF. She stared in the mottled glass and wondered who had looked at herself, just as Colette was doing now, and wondered what she was doing here.
Downstairs in the kitchen the Sylvie and her mother were preparing dinner while her grandmother embroidered a tea towel with a family crest. The scent of bouillabaisse and a hot, fresh baguette wafted up the spiral stairs at the back of Villa Belle Epoque. Residents were starting to come home from their busy days with carriages, packages, groceries and wood for the fire. In and out, up and down, the door swung and latched to its own rythym each night. Each time the door opened Sylvie peeked through the lace curtain to see who it was, closely watching the hall as her parents and grandparents had done for so many years before.
“I just can’t understand why you didn’t consult me first!” cried Sylive’s grandmother. It was my responsibility and I was going to handle it the way I saw fit in my own good time.”
Sylvie dusted the flour on her apron, and held out her hands. “But chère Grandmere Therese, you’ve had the keys for 60 years. You’ve told me stories over and over, isn’t it time to tell the truth about what’s upstairs?”
She shot back, “It was my story, my key and my wishes! A woman my age is entitled to keep some things private isn’t she? If we don’t have our memory to keep us company then what good is getting old? You’ve ruined my life!”
Sylvie’s mother, chimed in, “I wish you two would stop arguing, it’s been going on for much too long. To tell you the truth I’m relieved that she’s here.”
Therese put her chin in her hand and rested it on the cotton tablecloth. Looking out the window she said wistfully, “Well, I guess my days of youth are coming to a close and time marches on.”
“Maybe you can still go up and visit the apartment sometimes, Sylvie offered cheerfully. Therese shot her a look. “I will not”! I only went in and out to make sure the pipes didn’t freeze and see that things were still in order. But now that she’s here, I guess I won’t be needed any longer.” Sylvie hugged her from behind and the old chair creaked. Therese patted her hand and said, “I could never really be angry with you Sylvie, I guess my temper got the best of me. It’s hard to watch things that seemed so familiar suddenly change so fast. But we have each other and that will never change.”
With that, Clare turned around from the stove and carefully placed the final dish of what looked like a feast on the table. “It warms my heart to see my two favorite ladies happy. And now, father will be home any minute.” With that the door flung open and in walked Antoine, a big, cheerful man whose face was flushed from the cool evening air. Sylvie ran to his arms and covered his jacket with dusty flower. There was a moment’s pause before they all laughed together as she helped him off with his coat and hung it on the door. “Perfect timing, dinner is served,” announced Clare. They sat down just as they had every night for as far back as they could remember. It was then that Antoine asked, “What about our guest?” The women all looked at one another as Antoine left to go and invite Colette to supper.
Upstairs on the 6th floor, Colette was alone with her thoughts. The room had become pink as dusk fell and started to change the light. The apartment was taking on a mystical quality and she felt an anticipation yet wasn’t sure why. It was as if something lovely was about to happen. But she didn’t know anyone in the city and didn’t have plans. Still, it seemed that there was something in the air, an energy she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Out on the street she could hear passersby and car horns. She heard the clip-clop of the police on horseback and felt a sense of being in two places at once. It suddenly dawned on her that she hadn’t moved. How long had she been sitting there? She looked at her wristwatch. Four hours! Where had the time gone? Since she had nowhere to be and this was home for the next few weeks, she decided to get comfortable and continue to explore.
She took off her coat and scarf. The apartment was dim and now felt comfortable and inviting in the evening light. It had a glow about it and she saw that it had not been disturbed for many years. She picked up a silk negligee hanging over the dressing screen. It was rosebud pink. Alongside it was a matching robe with feathers around the cuffs. She shook it off, slid it over her sweater and jeans and tied the sash. Normally quite staid, something compelled her to twirl with joy. It was as if the robe had a life of its own. It was making her heady and sending thoughts of romance, love and freedom through her body and mind! Where was she and what was happening?
Suddenly there was a knock at the door. She was jolted out of the moment and thrust back into reality. “Uhhhhhh, oui?”
“Mademoiselle, it is Antoine, the caretaker of the building. I’d like to invite you to join my family for dinner downstairs.”
Colette caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror in the corner. Her long hair was half in and out of a ponytail and she was definitely tired and jet lagged. To her surprise, she thought her image in the robe was sort of chic. Suddenly she got hold of herself and whipped the robe off and tossed it on the chair. She straightened her hair and opened the door. “Bonsoir!” Antoine held out his hand. “My family and I have been here for many years and are honored to have you under our roof. It is now your roof as well. I hope you will enjoy your time here. Are you finding the accommodations to your liking and is there anything you need?” He looked past her to the room filled with antiques, toys, taxidermy, clothes and souveniers from what must have been the 1800s. In the middle of the floor were Colette’s bags and suitcases, fresh and new and striking in contrast with the rest of the decor. She stretched out her hand. “Bonsoir, merci. Hmmmm. Do you have an extension cord?” There was a moment’s pause before they burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. This apartment had never seen electricity. It sat closed up tight for a century, before the world knew what electricity would bring and how it would change society. Antoine propped the door open and held it for her. “Please bring down anything you’d like and we can charge it while you have dinner.” She suddenly realized how very hungry she was and grabbed her phone, ipad, laptop, camera battery with chargers for each and headed down to the apartment under the stairs.
As Antoine opened the door, Colette was greeted by the warm and smiling faces of three generations of women. “Welcome, bienvenue, s’il vous plait, come in! Please sit down, you must be hungry! You arrived this morning and haven’t left the building. It’s 8pm. Won’t you join us for supper?” Antoine uncorked a bottle of wine. “Château Lafite!” He pronounced proudly. “I have been waiting for a special occasion to open this bottle. It’s from a very old family estate here in France. Have you heard of the King’s wine? Well this is it!”
He poured it carefully into a glass, swirling it gently, looking at the color and holding the bottle. He rubbed the label with his thumb. This is a very special wine. It’s been in our family for decades. We didn’t want to open it until you were here.” “Until I was here?” Colette was surprised and unsure how to react. She didn’t know this family, lovely though they were, until this very moment.
Sylvie jumped up and took the glass from her father and handed it to Colette. “What my father means is that we were waiting for a special occasion. We hope it is as special for you as it is for us.
By now Antoine had poured glasses of wine for the ladies and his own as well. They all raised their glasses to Colette. “Welcome home, Colette. Salut!” They all stood and touched glasses above her head. Colette was not sure what was happening but was glad to have the wine. She took a long gulp and they all laughed at her voracious spirit. “Please now, sit. You have traveled a long way and we have lots to tell you. But first, let’s enjoy our meal.
After the stew and the haricots vert, the bread, the sauce and wine, Colette was feeling relaxed and happy. This family welcomed her with open arms and made her at home. Still, she was not sure what she was doing here or why she was called.
Dinner was winding down when Therese brought out an apple and blueberry jalousie pie. The scent was intoxicating and Colette couldn’t help but take a small piece. By now she was feeling drowsy and a little light headed. As much as she wanted to find out about the apartment, she knew it was best that she keep that discussion for tomorrow. Antoine put her into the old elevator and sent her up. He took the stairs two at a time and helped her with the keys as she fumbled at the door. Inside the curtains were blowing the dust around and night had come. The moonlight was streaming in and violin music wafted in from cafe below. It was as though time was physically passing through the apartment. Maybe it was the wine but suddenly she felt old and young at the same time, both here and far away, familiar and unusual. It was all too much and she fell to the floor in a thud. Antoine picked her up. He was about to put her on the bed but suddenly realized it was dusty and stood there with her in his arms. As she came to he put her on the chaise lounge and handed her the bottle of water she’d had on the plane. There was a knock on the door. It creaked open and Sylvie walked in with two pillows and a blanket. “Mother thought you may need these.”
Antoine opened a large trunk that was in the back closet. It was filled with embroidered linens that were perfectly preserved and folded. While they changed the sheets on the bed, Colette rubbed her eyes.
It was getting chilly and Sylvie began to close the windows. She left the one at the foot of the bed open and moonbeams danced on the freshly made bed. “There’s nothing like a moonbath is there?”
Colette thanked them both and they silently closed the door behind them. She peeled off her jeans and sweater and climbed into the bed. The white linens felt s smooth and cool from her cheeks to her feet. As her head sunk into the pillow she could feel herself drifting away. Again she was having conflicting feelings, this time fighting to stay awake and enjoy the beautiful night while knowing she needed to drift off into a very much needed, deep sleep. Finally she gave in and drifted away.
The faintest ray of sunlight began around 6am. when Colette awoke she felt as if she’d been on a whirlwind trip through her dreams. But Paris was silent for the first time since she’d been there. The quiet seemed even stronger than all the noise the day before. The silence was deafening but allowed her to think. She tried to recall her dreams and vaguely remembered dancing. She took a deep breath and sighed. Who had lived here, had woken up here, just like this? What had her life been like and why was Colette here now?
The silence put Colette in a state somewhere between sleep and meditation. She had always tried to practice but it was hard to shut her mind off. As she drifted in and out she allowed herself to feel the energy of the apartment. It had a life of its own and something in the air was electric, alive. She saw a party in the living room. She reached her had out to a man inviting her to dance. The thought brought her back to the moment. That’s insane, she thought. But jus then she looked around and some of the things seemed different. Was there a gentleman’s top hat and cane on the chair yesterday? She didn’t remember seeing that. It was then she realized that inanimate objects may have their own stories to tell. Until then she would have to get her information from the source; the guardiens.
Filed under: Madame de Floiran, Marthe de Florian, Paris, Paris Apartments Tagged: Madame de Floiran