{"id":31006,"date":"2019-03-05T16:33:42","date_gmt":"2019-03-05T16:33:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.lovehappensmag.com\/blog\/?p=31006"},"modified":"2020-04-09T17:03:31","modified_gmt":"2020-04-09T17:03:31","slug":"la-louche-at-hotel-de-crillon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.lovehappensmag.com\/blog\/2019\/03\/05\/la-louche-at-hotel-de-crillon\/","title":{"rendered":"La Louche at Hotel de Crillon"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n\n

Melanie arrived at the Hotel de Crillon behind her boss into\nthe muted opulence of the hotel\u2019s lobby. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBonjour, Madam. Apres-vous,\u201d said one of the hotel staff,\nobviously anticipating their arrival. They were promptly escorted up the\nhotel\u2019s grand staircase to one of the designer suites that, upon entering,\nopened up to a large committee of stylishly dressed fashion elites all gathered\naround a few haute couture designs at the center of the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh! Bonjour, Madam!\u201d shouted a man from the middle of the\ncrowd. He got up and approached Madam to greet her properly. He kissed her twice\non either cheek and held her by both shoulders. It was apparent that he\nesteemed her greatly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She was dressed plain by comparison to this man. He wore the\nfinest suit Melanie had ever seen a man wear on a Monday afternoon. The women\naccompanying him peered down from their exceptional height, accentuated unnecessarily\nby designer stilettos. They were visibly unimpressed by their arrival. Melanie\nsmiled out of habit and quickly followed Madam to the center of the room where\nthe garments hung on several live models. \n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monsieur directed Madam to the handful of adjustments and\napplications that needed to be made to each piece. Madam took the measurements\nwhile Melanie recorded everything in her pocket-sized notebook. Fashion week\nwas quickly approaching and many of the pieces were still unfinished. The remaining\nwork was beyond the ability of the major fashion houses. Small, yet\nexceptionally skilled and unpretentious hands from the best ateliers were\nrequired to finish the final tasks. Everything would be completed painstakingly\nby hand, an art still revered by Monsieur, yet overlooked and unrecognized by most.\n<\/p>\n\n\n\n

These ateliers were the true source of haute couture fashion,\nhowever, most of society, even the fashion insiders, were relatively unaware of\nthe work being done in those ateliers. The chambre syndicale de la haute\ncouture, founded in 1868, required all major fashion houses to maintain an atelier,\nhowever, the unpretentious and tedious nature of the work required years of\nmasterful training for little recognition and pay, a deterrent to many\nnewcomers and also a major reason behind its impending death. But there were\nstill those like Monsieur who understood and respected these small ateliers. Once\nMadam was through, he kissed her graciously again upon her departure and gave\nMelanie a genuine smile and embrace as he saw them out. A large group of chicly\nclad women chatting incessantly amongst themselves left the suite with Madam\nand Melanie passing them in the corridor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMelanie, please take the rest of the evening off,\u201d insisted\nMadam as she rustled through her purse. \u201cI will need you in the shop very early\ntomorrow morning and I\u2019m afraid it\u2019s going to be long hours for the rest of the\nmonth.\u201d Madam parted ways with Melanie, kissing her as she left. \u201cAu revoir!\nGet some rest.\u201d Melanie loitered and looked down at her watch. Her ride wasn\u2019t\ndue for another thirty-minutes. As she approached the doors leading out onto\nthe Place de la Concorde she passed an interior room that caught her attention.\nIt was the hotel bar, a room of supreme elegance, exuding a golden hue. It\nseemed to pull her in against her will.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"la<\/a>
Les Ambassadeurs Bar at Hotel de Crillon
Source: Hotel de Crillon<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Upon entering she immediately noticed the group of women\nfrom the suite upstairs. A few of them turned to see who the newcomer was,\ntheir bodies pulling away from the inner circle they had formed. Their body\nlanguage seemed to momentarily suggest that she join them. But just as soon as\nthey broke ranks, they huddled back together, making it clear that their inner\ncircle was full.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

She took a seat at the bar. The bartender immediately\ngreeted her with a napkin and a menu and said that he\u2019d be back to take her\norder shortly. He smiled and left to tend to the other patrons. She starred at\nher surroundings, gaining her bearings. She studied the gilded fa\u00e7ade and\ntraced the elaborate columns to the extent of their height arriving at the\nceiling, a piece of art deemed a national landmark. How out of place it all\nmade her feel. She observed the pockets of people around her. Chic men and\nwomen were scattered throughout the room talking in subdued tones as not to\ndisturb the sanctity of the place. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cQu’est-ce que je vous sers, mademoiselle?\u201d Startled, she\nlooked back ahead of her abruptly to an attentive and smiling face. By reflex\nshe opened the menu to quickly order but became immediately overwhelmed. It was\npage after page of champagne and vintage wines with names and dates that meant\nnothing to her. The bartender, sensing that she was a novice, offered her a\nreasonably priced glass of champagne. He did this politely as if merely out of protocol\nand not pity. She looked around her with her eyes at what the other patrons\nwere drinking. None of the girls from upstairs were without a glass of\nchampagne in hand and she immediately began to feel suffocated by some ethereal\nforce. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. No, thank you. I need something else, something\ndifferent.\u201d Without thinking she blurted out, \u201cI\u2019ll take an absinthe please.\u201d\nThe bartender\u2019s polite and corporate smile suddenly turned genuine and a sense\nof excitement came over him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"la
La Louche
<\/em>Source: Shutterstock<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOui, mademoiselle!\u201d Overcome with emotion at this breach in\nprotocol, he set off almost militantly and came back at once. He set a\nPontarlier glass down on the bar in front of her and began pouring the absinthe\ninto it. The bright emerald green liquid came level to the bottom brim and he\nimmediately stopped pouring. He rested a slotted spoon over the rim of the\nglass and placed a single sugar cube over its perforated parts. \u201cI\u2019m going to\nrun ice water over the sugar to slowly dissolve it into the drink. Be patient,\nthis must be done deliberately as if almost by-hand. It\u2019s what we call the\nceremonial task of la louche. The drink will become cloudy. Once the final\nlayer of neon green disappears from its surface, it is finished.\u201d Placing an\nelaborate water drip over her single glass, he opened the spicket to allow\nsmall drops to pierce the sugar cube one by one. He smiled once again and left\nthe rest to her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

After several long minutes the absinthe had completed its\ntransformation and a strong aroma perfumed her area. She took a sip and set the\nglass back down on the bar. It was immensely refreshing and not at all like the\npoison she was made to believe it was. She closed her eyes, taking in the\nmultitude of herbs now flowing through her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, mademoiselle, you look like a painting there!\u201d said a deep\nvoice from her left. She opened her eyes and turned towards him slightly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPardon-moi?\u201d she questioned meekly. \u201cAre you speaking to\nme?\u201d She felt embarrassed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He kept speaking as if he didn\u2019t hear her. \u201cYou know, you\nwould have caused quite the scandal 150 years ago.\u201d He spoke in platitudes that\nmade her uneasy. \u201cNo one orders that blasted drink anymore, so it\u2019s easy to\nforget!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJe suis desole, I don\u2019t understand you. What painting exactly\ndo I remind you of?\u201d She felt ridiculous for entertaining his absurdities, yet\nshe was unfailingly polite.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh!\u201d He threw his head back in an epiphany. \u201cPardon me!\nI\u2019ve gone off with my imagination again!\u201d his whole body laughed to himself. \u201cI\noften have this absurd recollection that people understand what I am saying.\nBut, I have to remind myself that that is just not so!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n\n\n\n
\"black<\/a><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

He was an old man, to what extent, she did not care to\nguess. He spoke with the remnants of an ancient dialect and gave off the\nimpression of a man with a rough demeanor. But his roughness did not point to\nhis upbringing. No, his persona was one conceptualized out of spirit rather\nthan by birth. She could tell by the way he was dressed. The cut, the fabric,\nand the bon tomb\u00e9 du v\u00eatement <\/em>as they commonly said in the atelier were\nall signs of a custom design. This was by no means a common man.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are the girl in the caf\u00e9!\u201d His whole face grew\nexpressive as if his explanation were crystal clear. His statements were\nbeginning to make her wonder whether she was just an absolute fool or if he\nwere just insane. She remained silent, but she could not hide her ignorance\nfrom him. He could sense it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"The<\/a>
In a Caf\u00e9, 1873 by Edgar Degas<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDegas\u2019 painting, In\nthe Caf\u00e9<\/em>. Or as I like to call it, The\nGirl Drinking Absinthe in the Caf\u00e9.<\/em>\u201d This made him laugh again. \u201cOh, you\ndon\u2019t believe me, but it was very scandalous for its day. Caused quite the\nuproar!\u201d His eyebrows rose upward as one does when discussing a juicy piece of\ngossip and then he took a long swig of his drink. He set it back down, entering\nback into thought. \u201cOne British art critic\u2014George Moore to be exact!\u2014even\ncalled the femme fatal \u2018a slut\u2019, his words not mine. And now! Look how far\nwe\u2019ve come. A young woman can sit alone with a glass of absinthe without the\nleast bit of disapproval or judgement. How marvelous and supple human nature is!\u201d\nHe starred into space, in reverence to the world. \u201cYou know, when I first saw\nyou sitting there, I said to myself \u2018I have a message for this girl. This girl\nhas a message that she needs to hear.\u2019\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas the story about the painting what I was meant to hear?\u201d\nshe remarked still not following the conversation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh,\u201d he replied, \u201cno, no! That was purely anecdotal, purely\nanecdotal. My message to you is this.\u201d He pointed at her drink. She frowned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre all your remarks merely inside jokes that you have with\nyourself?\u201d His speech began to make her feel bold.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHa! You give me too much credit. I\u2019m not witty; I\u2019m just a fool.\u201d\nShe did not contradict him. \u201cAnd a messenger. My message is meant for you, so\nyou must be burdened with my message.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMust I?\u201d she said provokingly, now taking a slight interest\nin this old man\u2019s vague obscurities. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLa louche\u2014the message lies within la louche.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPardon-moi?\u201d she asked, eyes widening and protruding out\nslightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll artistic progress is in a state of la louche. Just like\nabsinthe, the world must become cloudy and unclear to release those\nrevolutionary ideas inside of us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMe?\u201d she looked around in jest. \u201cAre you inferring that I\u2019m\nan artistic revolutionary?\u201d She didn\u2019t know whether to laugh or be concerned.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course! What don\u2019t you understand?\u201d Searching her for\nany acknowledgement or understanding he found none. \u201cDarling, look. The herbs\nin absinthe do not activate unless they go through la louche, where the cold\nwater completely transforms the drink. The world works in the same way. We\nexperience rare moments of truth and beauty but they only come by the hands\nthat have suffered the most. One generation builds up a beautiful society\nthrough hardship, yet their offspring, ignorant to the sacrifices made to\nattain it, become easily complacent and restless, for mankind is not a\nstationary creature. We need progress! It\u2019s for that very reason alone that much\nevil has been done in the name of progress. We progress blindly believing that we\nare embarking on truth when in reality we left it from whence we came. So, we\u2019re\nstriving, but all the while leading farther from where we thought we were\ngoing. Society becomes backwards. And we find ourselves having to defend this\nnew and strange way of life simply to justify our progress. Now, to get back to\ntruth, in comes la louche. You see, most people are in la louche, like your\ndrink. They can\u2019t always see things clearly. But the artist is the only\nexception. In times like these society needs an artist, a counter-revolutionist,\nto take her backwards. And that\u2019s been the secret all along, which is why it\nlies in la louche. The real revolutionaries can see truth the clearest in the\ndark. Where the world is blind, they have sight, a vision counter to that\nprideful progress\u2014sent to take us back\u2014to progress in reverse because man has\nthe tendency to stray so far from real understanding. Perhaps I can explain it\nbetter this way:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It has been found again<\/p>

What?\u2014Eternity<\/p>

It is the sea mingled<\/p>

With the sun<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid you come up with that yourself?\u201d she asked. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course not! It came from the mind of someone immensely\nmore intelligent than I. There are those that create genius and those that\nrepeat genius. I prefer to keep a safe distance from the maddening burden of\ngenius.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are you?\u201d she demanded. His attire, his demeanor, his\nmystery all disconcerted her. \u201cYou must be some obscure celebrity or man of\nmeans.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI am neither. I\u2019m merely a fool. A fool who knows too\nmuch.\u201d He raised his glass into the air toasting himself in the spirit of his\nown self-deprecation. He winked and took another long swig. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He continued with his lecture. \u201cWe are in an eternal quest\nfor truth whether we know it or not and it is dependent on man\u2019s fall from\nunderstanding. That is the irony of life. And perhaps also the greatest tragedy.\nFor all men fall, but few have the capacity to redeem themselves, which is why\nwe need those artisans of human nature\u2014the ones that blossom when the sea\nmingles with the sun\u2014to lead man back to truth.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After a few moments of silence, she exclaimed, \u201cAll of this\nis very beautiful. Truly. And perhaps even beyond the scope of my\nunderstanding. Well, actually, that\u2019s just the point. It is <\/em>beyond the scope of my understanding. I can\u2019t possibly be meant\nto hear this. How could I if I couldn\u2019t even understand it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh\u2014that\u2019s simple. Because you chose it yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho are you? And what gives you the impression that you\nknow anything about me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have powers of perception.\u201d He tapped the side of his\nhead as if to indicate to something. \u201cI sized you up almost immediately. It\nwasn\u2019t until you ordered the absinthe that I was able to confront you. But you\nare a complex soul. Despite your plain and simple attire, you have what they\ncall depth. An internal depth that cannot be seen, only experienced. You do\nartistic work of an ancient practice. I can tell by your briefcase there.\u201d He\npointed to her sewing bag. \u201cYou\u2019ve dedicated your life to mastering this\nartform, but you feel undervalued. You feel underappreciated and you question\nthe value of your work.\u201d He paused to give her an opportunity to refute. She\nwas silent, so he continued. \u201cThose women over there intimidate you.\u201d He\npointed to the women from upstairs at a table just to her right. \u201cYou feel like\nan outsider and wonder what it would feel like to be inside that circle. But\nlet me warn you dearly. That inner ring is death. It is la louche without any\nredemption. It is empty. Nothing of value comes or goes from that circle. To\nenter would be futile.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He stopped speaking and began to look about himself. \u201cSee\nthese columns and these murals? These were all brought to life through\nsomeone\u2019s bare hands. A painstaking process and for what? For beauty. They\nstand as a testament to the belief that if you endeavor on something, no matter\nhow small or grand, in the spirit of truth and beauty, you will become their\narchitects in this world. Because like all invaluable things, they are begotten,\nnot made. And that is why I tell you that the truth lies in la louche and to\nenter that inner circle is death. The real work is being done in your atelier. Do\nnot be discouraged. There is much value in your humble profession because it is\na small keepsake of virtue that all the world can admire. It beckons and calls back\nthat man that has gone astray. It leads him back to whence he came.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n\n\n

GIRL POWER: KOKTAILS WITH KOKET<\/a><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n
<\/div>\n\n\n\n

Just then her phone vibrated in her hands. She looked down. The\nsolitary word here<\/em> appeared on the\nscreen. She no sooner wanted to stay with this strange man than she wanted to\nleave. She felt herself in an odd place. But she couldn\u2019t keep her ride waiting\nso she drank the last of her drink and began collecting her things. \u201cI\u2019m afraid\nI must leave you at the most interesting part.\u201d She smiled, truly perplexed by\nthis stranger before her. \u201cMonsieur, perhaps it\u2019s unnecessary at this point,\nbut I\u2019m Melanie. Et toi?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cZelenyy, Feya Zelenyy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Zelenyy, it\u2019s been a pleasure. You have,\u201d she paused,\n\u201centertained me immensely.\u201d She held out her hand as if to receive a handshake\nin a spirit of truce rather than a parting. Sensing her expectation, he reached\nout for her hand but took it and kissed it in that imperial way of true chivalry.\nShe blushed. Unaccustomed to such gallantry, she felt ashamed and departed\nwithout another word. As she made her way out onto the bustling Place de la\nConcorde all of those grand feelings that he had filled her up with immediately\nbegan to fade. That was the problem with grand and holy ideas. They rarely\nlasted. She looked back behind her. There was the balcony that Marie Antoinette\nused to sit after her piano lessons. She turned back out onto the Rue Royale. And\nthere, there was the place of her husband\u2019s execution. All had already faded\ninto the past. The world kept going forward. Progress, progress, progress.<\/em> She could hear those words echo in\nher mind. She suddenly felt ashamed for parting so abruptly. Signaling to her\ndriver that she forgot something she ran back into the Hotel de Crillon and\ninto that gilded sanctuary. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Looking for her stranger, he was gone. \u201cExcuse me,\u201d she urged\nto the bartender. \u201cCould you please tell me where to find the old man that was\nsitting with me here just moments ago?\u201d His mechanical smile      turned puzzled. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMademoiselle, je suis d\u00e9sol\u00e9, but I do not know the man\nthat you are referring.\u201d He seemed a little concerned. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe was sitting right here.\u201d She pointed to his exact seat. \u201cHe\nwas wearing a very well-made hunter green suite. It was only minutes ago!\u201d she\ncried desperately. \u201cI only need to ask him one last thing. How he knew that I\nworked for an atelier. It was the strangest thing and I only realized it until\nnow.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMiss, I\u2019m sorry. I\u2019ve been here all evening and I have not\nserved any old men in a green suite. Again, I\u2019m very sorry.\u201d He bowed slightly\nand backed away as if wanting to separate himself for her madness yet remain\nwithin the bounds of propriety. Her mind was revolving trying to recall every\ndetail. It can\u2019t be so<\/em>, she thought\nto herself. In a daze, she took to leave. But from the corner of her eye she\ncaught the image of a rouge napkin in the place of her strange meeting. She\nrushed to it. Written there on the fabric in an elegant hand were the words:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It has been found again<\/p>

What?\u2014Eternity<\/p>

It is the sea mingled<\/p>

With the sun<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\n\n\n

Signed: \u201cFeya Zelenyy, Your Green Fairy\u201d. <\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n

Words by Alexa Jennelle <\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n

\"black<\/a><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Melanie arrived at the Hotel de Crillon behind her boss into the muted opulence of the hotel\u2019s lobby. \u201cBonjour, Madam….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":31010,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[31,6949],"tags":[6290,2493,6291,6289,6292],"class_list":["post-31006","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-lifestyle","category-travel","tag-absinthe","tag-haute-couture","tag-hotel-de-crillon","tag-la-louche","tag-seamstresses"],"yoast_head":"\nLa Louche at Hotel de Crillon - Love Happens Mag<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"A young seamstress visits Hotel de Crillon for a haute couture client fitting after which a stop at the bar and la louche take her on mystical journey.\" \/>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" 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