Royal Champagne

Every bottle of champagne comes with a legend attached. The best known has Dom Pérignon, cellar master at the abbey of Hautvillers, tasting his first sparkling wine and calling out to his brothers: "Come quickly, I am drinking the stars!" It is a wonderful line. He never said it. An advertising man wrote it for him, long after the monk was safely in his grave.

The view from Hautvillers, on the other hand, needs no help at all. On the next hill, at Champillon, the vines run in neat ribs down to the Marne, and Épernay sits a few minutes below. Royal Champagne occupies the best seat on that hillside. It is luxury in the grand manner, polished and proud of it, yet the building lies so low against the hill that from the valley it barely interrupts the vines.

There has been an inn on this spot for centuries, named after a cavalry regiment of Louis XV. The architect Giovanni Pace, who rebuilt it in 2018, kept two old façades and bent the new building along the contour in a long, gentle crescent. The slope took some persuading, in the form of several hundred concrete piles. In return, every room has its own balcony or terrace, and none looks down on its neighbour.

Sybille de Margerie, who designed the interiors, sent a painted vine climbing up through the house, changing colour as it rises. Arrival comes with champagne poured into a blida, a small, sturdy glass made in the region for serving mint tea in Algeria, which sets the tone: classic, with a wink. In the spa, the indoor pool runs along a long glass wall, so every length is swum beside the vines.

The evenings are what people remember. As the day fades, the terrace of Le Bellevue fills and the vines below turn slowly from green to gold. Those in the mood for ceremony move on to Le Royal, where blown-glass globes climb towards the ceiling like rising bubbles and Napoleon's love letters to Joséphine are printed on the plates. It is that kind of dinner, and nobody here apologises for it.

Not every bed comes with the full panorama. The garden-level junior suites look across the lawns to the vines, while the sweeping view is reserved for the floors above. Champillon itself is little more than a hamlet, so every tasting in Épernay or Reims needs someone willing to stay sober at the wheel. Guests leaving by car find cold water and a packet of Reims's pink biscuits waiting for them, a small kindness that sums up the house. It is made for celebrations, and for travellers who want a weekend in Champagne to look the part.

Dom Pérignon never had to call for the stars, and neither does anyone here. Beside each bed sits a telephone with a button labelled "Champagne Please!", connected to a list of around a thousand bottles, from the grand marques to small growers who tend a handful of rows. In a region built on beautiful legends, it may be the one that keeps its promise most reliably.