the breakfast room
It was a December night. It was about to snow and we needed a hotel. In Mazan , a town in the south of France without a soul on the streets, there was no one to ask.
And there, on a dead end street, was the plaque. I like few things more than a plaque on the front of a house that says: "He lived here..." . And in The Chateau de Mazan had lived the Marquis de Sade . “Do you have any free rooms?” I asked. And they had.
It was a December night. It was about to snow and I needed a bath. I like few things more than a bathtub and there was a freestanding one, white, with its four little legs resting on the floor. It was the tub expected in a swinger pup house of a French family of landowners.
But the best was yet to come. It happened in the morning, going downstairs (if stairs could talk) to go to breakfast.
I was there the most beautiful breakfast room one can dream of, in case one dreams of breakfast rooms . There were cupboards with crockery, books, memories of the most sadistic family in history, nightstands, sideboards, mirrors of different sizes.
It was adorned with fresh flowers and plants, dotted with lanterns and candles, with that self-conscious French laziness. The room was bright and cheerful as one would expect in a mansion from 1720, one of many owned by the Marquis de Sade. People had breakfast more or less oblivious to this waste of beauty. I ate croissants with butter, on the verge of Stendhal syndrome.
A day that starts in such a breakfast room can only get worse. I have returned to the Château de Mazan recently, one summer afternoon. I wanted to share it with loved ones. The cupboards were still there. It gave me the feeling that they were winking at me, sadistically, with their eyes.
_ Le Château de Mazan - Place de Napoleon - 84380 MAZAN - Tel. : +33 (0) 490696261. Info: [email protected]_
Eating croissants with Stendhal Syndrome
Sade lived here
Also: swimming pool
and terrace