Maison Barrière Vendôme

Paris has been generous to Napoleon. He has a column on Place Vendôme, and several streets nearby commemorate his victories. But at Maison Barrière Vendôme, a few minutes away, he has failed to secure a bedroom. The hotel's twenty-six rooms, suites and apartments are named after remarkable women instead. It is a funny idea for an address surrounded by monuments to powerful men. Happily, you don't need to know your George Sand from your Simone Signoret to enjoy staying here.

The first thing to understand is its size. This isn't another palace with an enormous lobby and a procession of people arriving for afternoon tea. It is a small, richly furnished house on rue du Mont-Thabor, almost around the corner from the Tuileries. The staircase has bronze branches curling around its banister; upstairs there are deep fabrics, old furniture and enough colour to make the rooms feel inhabited rather than assembled. Designer Daniel Jibert took his cues from the twenty-six women, but the result is more intimate than theatrical. Most of the references can simply be enjoyed as part of the decoration.

Not that the women have all been treated alike. Joséphine Baker's suite is lively and glamorous; other rooms are calmer, looking across the courtyard rather than towards rue de Castiglione. In the attic, Marguerite Yourcenar gets beams, skylights and just eighteen square metres. It may be charming for a night, but it is hardly somewhere to unpack two large suitcases. A Castiglione Suite offers thirty-seven square metres and a separate sitting area. For a longer stay, the Vendôme Apartments have proper kitchens, so coffee, an impromptu lunch or a late supper need not involve a waiter. The names are entertaining. The layout is what matters once you have moved in.

The grandest apartment belongs to George Sand. At ninety-four square metres, it has a kitchen and room to entertain, with a balcony looking over the rooftops towards the Vendôme Column. The joke of giving Sand a view of Napoleon is difficult to resist, but the more appealing thought is being able to invite friends to dinner in your own Paris apartment, then leave the washing-up to somebody else. That is the kind of luxury Maison Barrière understands best: less ceremony, more room to make the stay your own.

Downstairs, Frida is a cheerful change of mood. The bar and restaurant, named for Frida Kahlo, are all strong colours, patterned fabrics and lively glasswork, with a green courtyard for meals when the weather cooperates. People come in from outside the hotel, which is good news in a house this small. Without them, it might become a little too private. You can return from the shops, stop for a drink and slip upstairs without crossing a vast public lobby.

The location makes that easy. Place Vendôme, rue Saint-Honoré and the Tuileries are so close that you can spend a morning out and return between appointments without thinking about a taxi. The staff can help organise the day, but the hotel does not try to occupy every hour of it. There is a small SeeMy wellness space with treatments, an infrared sauna and an ice bath, but no swimming pool, and only one restaurant. If your idea of a Paris hotel involves several bars, grand salons and a full afternoon at the spa, look elsewhere.

Nor is this inexpensive. The smallest rooms are genuinely small, and a famous woman's name does not automatically buy you more space, a better outlook or a kitchen. What you are paying for is a very particular kind of stay: privacy and personality in a neighbourhood where luxury is usually performed on a much larger stage. Napoleon can keep the column. Maison Barrière is rather more interested in giving you the keys.