How to define your style and make a French property a home
'There is always a balance between the inhabitant and the provenance of the building'
Author and content creator, Sara Silm, reveals what she inherited at her beloved Béarn chateau and how to put your own ‘country style’ mark on a propertySara Silm
The day we took possession of the house, the agent gave me an enormous set of old keys. They were so big and so heavy that just carrying the front door key with me on a quick outing to buy bread required a large market basket, mostly for the key.
Inside the house there were yet more keys. Every door had a key with a little handwritten label – even the armoires and chests of drawers each had a key.
The day I first unlocked the front door, I was on my own. I’d flown in for two weeks to get the renovations underway, because living in the house at this stage was more like camping. I wandered around the empty house like Goldilocks, removing dust sheets and sitting on chairs, turning keys, opening doors, unlocking secrets.
When I opened the huge armoire in the central hallway on the first floor, I found regimental piles of starched maids’ aprons, monogrammed sets of fine linen sheets, heavy cotton damask bedcovers, and piles of antique fabrics and trims.
In the library on the ground floor, I carefully blew away the dust from ancient leather-bound books and turned their fragile pages. There were books on art and history – and vast collections of poetry and French literature.
In addition to numerous bibles and rosary beads, I found photo albums dating back to 1898, containing time-faded images of grand tours around the most elegant homes of Europe; pictures of Edwardian ladies dressed in fine gowns and elaborate hats having garden parties and sipping tea, and men in white suits with walking canes and Panama hats.
There was a suitcase full of letters from aristocrats and diplomats, and Christmas cards featuring watercolour scenes of sleds in the snow with some remaining scant traces of ancient glitter. In the attic I found framed photos of grand old ladies, as well as portraits of once-cherished babies. In the drawers of the office desk, I uncovered monogrammed stationery, old letter openers and blank postcards of Spanish dancers with little glued-on fabric skirts. There were boxes of paperclips, old pots of ink, nibbed pens and balls of string.
In the kitchen, beneath a soft fuzzy layer of mould, were old Limoges plates, Spode platters and terracotta casserole pots. It was like lifting the lid on a box of incomplete puzzle pieces; like a silent movie that abruptly runs off the spool partway through. There were so many clues, but no answers, and still to this day the identity of these people remains a mystery.
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It was April, and I’d given myself the mission of making the house liveable by Christmas. I’d fly in for two weeks and out for two weeks, project managing while I was away and working on the restoration alongside the team of French artisans when I was there.
We began with a total overhaul of the plumbing and electrics, repairs to collapsed ceilings and floors, and a completely new roof – as well as the addition of three new bathrooms and, for good measure, a new kitchen and a butler’s pantry. I’m never one to shy away from a challenge, but this was one of my most ambitious yet.
Defining your French country style
The general perception of a French country home and lifestyle can be somewhat generic. But just as French cuisine is proudly regional, so too are the daily rhythms of life, the seasonal colours of the landscape, the architecture, the dialects, local traditions and decor.
The lounge room, seen from the entrance hallway. The yellow tapestry chair was found at a local antiques store. The chest to its left was in the exact same spot when Sarah
bought the houseSara Silm
A French country home in Provence will look very different from one here in the Béarn. And by the same token, although Château Montfort is steeped in local history and built with regional materials, my home is as much a reflection of my life as a globe-trotting foreigner as my neighbours’ home is of their life and that of the five generations who preceded them there.
There’s always a balance between the inhabitant and the provenance of the building; and so, for this reason, the results of my renovations by no means represent a classic example of a Béarnaise country home.
They are, however, informed and guided by the colours of the local landscape, the artisanal materials that are unique to this region and by the seasonal, slow lifestyle I’ve come to adopt as my own.
This is where authenticity comes in. Just as it would be considered absurd and downright blasphemous for a farmer from the Béarn to build a Basque-style house on their plot of land, it would also be disingenuous of me to suggest that you – despite clearly being a lover of all things French country – should reproduce everything I suggest in your own home. Your home is your home, and for it to feel authentic there needs to be a balance between what inspires you and what defines you.
So how do you find what’s ‘you’ while still evoking an undeniably French country aesthetic?
When I set out to design an interior, my first step is to take a pen and paper and imagine how I would want to feel in that as-yet imaginary room.
I list the smells, textures, colours, sounds and light, and the provenance – the personal associations and memories – that this ideal interior elicits for me. This is my feel board. I would strongly encourage you to create your own.
If you’re able to identify the emotive elements of an interior – those that resonate with you, those that meaningfully engage your senses and give tangible form to the way you want to feel in a room – the result will always be aesthetically matched, cohesive and authentically you.
