Oui, there is such a thing as love at first sight. We were reminded of that today. And, as in all things romance-related, the dreamboat that made us weak in the knees took us unawares.
We fell, and we fell hard.
There we were, scoping out the goodies on Bond Street, first at avant-garde Oak, then at down-home Billy Reid, when we stumbled upon an intriguing sign that said ‘Cire Trudon c. 1643, 54 Bond Street, downstairs’ with an arrow pointing to a flight of ironwork stairs. How could the Brooklyn Gal resist? Down we went.
Ooh la, la, said the Brooklyn Gal as we entered the subterranean shop, a darling treasure with wood-plank floors, turquoise walls and irresistble displays of candles and candle sets, in a dazzling array of sizes, shapes and scents.
We immediately wanted everything in sight, from the lightly scented hefty pillars known as Le Cierges Camées in scrumptious color combinations like turquoise with brown and red with purple to the waxen busts of Marie Antoinette and Napoleon in marble grey, light water green, black and white, to the Nazareth votive, one of the perfumed Bougies Trudon, made of natural, pure, biodegradable wax scented with clove, cinnamon and orange.
The scents, we discover, are meant to depict a time and place in history. Our favorite: Empire,with the lingering aroma of Maquis en feu or burning bushes, a re-imagining of what Napoleon‘s post-battle camp smelled like.
The icing on the cake: wonderfully elegant old-world boxes to store your waxen lovelies in.
In short order we learned that Maison de Cire Trudon, founded by a Monsieur Claude Trudon in 1643, is renowned throughout France for its luxurious long-burning candles, each one crafted from the finest vegetal wax, with flawless cotton wicks to boot. The Trudon family’s candles were so perfect that they once illuminated Louis the XIV’s royal court as well as his cathedrals and churches.
They can light the Brooklyn Gal‘s humble abode anytime.
In the words of Mary Boland’s character the Countess DeLave, the middle-aged romantic in George Cukor’s The Women, ‘Oh, l’amour, l’amour.’
Cire Trudon, you make our hearts go pitter-pat. We’ll be back when our purses are fuller and we can part with princely sums.