Back in the eighteenth century, the bedroom was where high level meetings took place—until Madame de Pompadour, the most famous of Louis XV’s mistresses, removed her chambre from the list of public rooms.
Gathering the trappings of an enviable lifestyle around her, she announced that privacy was the ultimate luxury. Then, in a quiet revolution, she boldly sealed her quarters from uninvited glares. Only then did her bedroom become worthy of being called a boudoir, fulfilling its promise as a place to pout or sulk.
The head-spinning ascension of Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson from modest beginnings as wife of a Parisian tax farmer to irresistible mistress stunned the royal court. Though Madame de Pompadour professed not to notice, detractors called her “fish face” behind her back, since in French poisson means fish. Nothing suggested that the protocol she set in place would forever alter Gallic bedroom culture, yet all of France followed her example.
Nowadays, etiquette dictates that a bedroom door must remain shut, both day and night. Also, it is poor manners for a person to peer into another person’s chambre, whether or not someone is in the room. Almost always, the French close the shutters adorning their homes at night, much like Americans might hang a sign on the door requesting “Privacy.” It is also unheard of to purchase a bedroom suite with wood finishes boringly alike.
No different from the time of the ancient Egyptians, eighteenth-century beds were the ultimate symbols of wealth. As a result, rivalry for matchless levels of splendor fueled an array of variations.
As befitting a majestic mansion, Madame de Pompadour and Louis XV’s love swirled in a lit à la française (canopied bed)—with a crown presiding overhead. Opulent bed hangings billowed romantically, creating a luxurious room within a room when untied.
To this day, the French lavish extraordinary attention on their beds. Most all sheets are white or ecru and posh Egyptian cotton, if not 100 percent linen, which becomes softer and whiter with age. Not hampered by thread count, which people say can be misleading beyond a soft 340 threads per square inch, there is awareness of the comfort bedding offers and the amenities of splendor: embroidery, appliqué, and applied laces. Those not inclined to compromise their standards covet long, thin, single-ply fibers for extra softness and durability, and pillowcases with an interior flap that not only hides the pillow from view but also helps keep it in place.
Borrowing a glamorous mix of style and drama from eras past, a dressing table may add to the setting’s allure. La table de toilette actually made its debut late in the eighteenth century. Historians say that Madame de Pompadour ceremoniously encouraged courtiers seeking the king’s favor to present themselves at an hour when she would be à la toilette. Feeling that she looked especially attractive at that time enticed her to abandon her need for privacy.
These days, a boudoir is as likely to serve as a spot for corresponding as for sleeping, so it typically includes a writing table. And, though area rugs often grace spaces, bare floors are common, too. Seldom do the French lay carpet. What’s more, closets are rare. In fact, some say that armoires owe their enduring esteem to satisfying the need for storage space in rooms.
The skillfully crafted early-nineteenth-century bed in the style of Louis XV, wearing its original cane, is from Les Anges, in Naples, Florida. Sumptuous fabrics from Old World Weavers, Brunschwig & Fils, Lee Jofa, and Beacon Hill make the bed one of the poshest in town.
The sitting area in a master bedroom offers a suggestion for preserving memorable moments. The settee is in the style of Louis XV. The chairs (one unseen) are Louis Philippe period pieces, dating to 1840.
Bed Culture
While one might think twice about shipping a bed from a Paris flea market, there’s no reason not to consider adopting France’s artfully layered bed culture when searching for a good night’s rest. In a twist on tradition, it goes against the natural order of things, paying the rest of Europe little mind.
Apart from what one sees, a stuffed and quilted mattress pad tops the mattress, followed by two flat sheets, then a blanket covered by another sheet. During the coolest months, a couette (comforter) filled with duvet (down) that comes from the underbellies of geese—eiderdown fill is ultralight and the priciest—traps the warmth. Come morning, the French fold les couettes at the foot of the bed.
In the French mind, a bed is not complete without un traversin—a long, firm, round bolster spanning the mattress’s width. Often it is wrapped in a blanket cover; always it supports European square pillows. The middle sheet reveals a monogram or the family crest applied so that it can be readily read by a person standing at the foot of the bed.
In a guest room as beautifully furnished as the home’s master bedroom, an antique French bed is elegantly dressed in vintage lace linens—extolled from table and bed linens. Lace curtains are Jack Lenor Larsen.
Getting Personal
Taking a walk back in time, monograms began as efficient laundry marks—often hand stitched in colorfast red—that made a concerted effort to insure that freshly washed linens returned to their rightful owners. They moved to places of honor in nineteenth-century Victorian hope chests awaiting impending marriages. But long before then, nuns, who learned the art as children, elegantly hand embroidered ornate lettering on church vestments.
Actually, by the mid-sixteenth century, the taste for monogrammed table and bed linens reached royal residences and then added a layer of respectability to dwelling beyond. Fancy or not, personalized linens were refined extensions of oneself, much like a signature deliberately crafted reinforces a stylish image. For each letter formed part of the next, as if intent on making a lasting impression by remaining forever intertwined.
Still, Diane de Poitiers, mistress of Henri II (1519–59) somehow managed to alter the official monogram of the French king and his queen, Catherine de Medici (1519–89), changing the intertwined H and C to H and D.
Today, monograms no longer are the domain of the rich and noble, of course. But they are regal indulgences, adding to the price of beautiful linens. Across Europe, people begin assembling tabletop and bed linens for a baby girl’s trousseau the moment she is born. Tradition dictates that the first letter of her name reign on the left and the first letter of her last name on the right. The center awaits the first letter of her future husband’s family name.
A traverstin wrapped in vintage lace.
Elegant linens from Leontine Linens, New Orleans, become even more chic when monogrammed.