TRAVELING in style : A PALACE WHERE SERVICE IS KING : If a royal reception and plush pampering are your holiday goals, then head for this haute hostelry in Gstaad, where guests are greeted (and treated) with gracious thoughtfulness.

Ah, Gstaad. To experience this world-renowned Swiss village with spirit, one should begin a visit by hailing a chauffeured Rolls-Royce at the village’s Lilliputian rail station for a run up the mountain to the celebrated Palace Hotel, a Swiss institution the cognoscenti maintain is unmatched for service, cordiality and a reputation for blessed privacy. As a refuge for the celebrity (although celebrity status is by no means a proviso for residency) the Palace is the chosen sanctuary of stars who descend on Gstaad to ski, attend tenni s clinics and breathe in the charm of a village that, well, simply drugs the soul.

Below the hotel’s castle-like turrets, the town is a playground for celebrities ranging from actress Elizabeth Taylor to deposed kings and billionaire businessmen. No one questions that the chosen spot of an earlier era was St. Moritz and its own distinguished Palace Hotel. But when that legendary resort succumbed to the temptations seeded by developers with their unsightly concrete edifices, Gstaad rose to the challenge, choosing to perpetuate its Old World image.

Gstaad is a gingerbread masterpiece that combines rustic elegance with the comforts of a Zermatt (or indeed a St. Moritz), with credit going to the town burghers whose strict ordinances protect Gstaad’s chalet-style architecture. The noted writer Christian Defaye describes Gstaad’s abhorrence to threatened change: “ Nein to concrete jungles, nein to unfettered growth, nein to anything that does not blend perfectly into the setting of this breathtaking post card scene, so that the jaded eye can find here a refreshing oasis . . . a mountain resort sheltered from murderous assaults on nature.”

Gstaad lies in a verdant valley surrounded by alpine peaks and waterfalls--a ski resort by winter, a hiker’s dream during summer (although in summertime the skier is lifted by helicopter to the 10,000-foot Diablerets glacier, a diamond that sparkles above the village on moonlit nights). With nearly 70 lifts and 250 kilometers of runs, Gstaad draws both the beginner and the practiced skier. As winter gives way to spring and summer, vacationers are delivered on picnic outings to meadows and mile upon mile of trails that await the hiker. Hot-air balloons rise over Gstaad in summertime; the Swiss Open is played in July and the Yehudi Menuhin Festival draws other crowds.

With its alpine magic, Gstaad perpetuates its reputation as a world-class mountain retreat that caters to the affluent. The Palace, which rises over the village like a feudal castle, is a sanctuary favored by actresses Julie Andrews and Audrey Hepburn, Prince Rainier, Marlene Dietrich, singers Diana Ross and Ella Fitzgerald, Linda Evans of “Dynasty,” rock star David Bowie and actors Robert Wagner and Roger Moore. The late Richard Burton was a regular, as was the urbane and popular David Niven, along with Winston Churchill. The guest register lists the names of Juan Carlos of Spain, the Aga Khan, Prince Vittorio Emmanuele of Savoy, Britain’s Prince Charles, the Earl of Warwick, the Duke of Cadiz and William F. Buckley. These and dozens more. Describing Gstaad, Rex Harrison remarked to one writer: “The only way of telling one Swiss peak from another is by the many celebrities who schuss its slopes by day and carouse by night in the village huddled at its base. By that standard, I’d say Gstaad rates jolly high on the list.”

Without appearing obsequious, the staff at the Palace provides service without fault. No request, no matter how trivial (or Herculean), is dismissed. Several winters ago when an Indian princess telephoned from a mountaintop that she’d left behind her sun goggles, they were dispatched within minutes by helicopter.

The Palace is known for its eccentrics as well as its celebrities. A seasoned waiter recalls the American matron who ordered a bowl of Dom Perignon delivered daily to her terrier, a ritual that went off without a whimper until the waiter substituted a more prosaic label. The terrier stiffened, turned up its nose and yelped like a wounded coyote. When the waiter returned with the Dom Perignon, the dog lapped its bowl dry, howled happily and staggered off, a bit unsteadily, to its private bedroom.

Another guest shared his suite with dozens of wrens and canaries and sprinkled seed on the roof each morning for swallows that nested in the trees outside his window.

Concierge Jorges Mounier recalls the Arab billionaire who telephoned for a Latin-American orchestra to entertain guests in his suite at 2 a.m. The unflappable Mounier located a group from Brazil who, by coincidence, was appearing in the village. Within the hour they were playing a gig at the Palace. Mounier responded on another occasion when a guest--stranded by a transportation strike--begged to be delivered to a business meeting in Turin. No problem, Mounier declared. And shortly thereafter the anxious fellow was off by balloon.

Some insist that more miracles take place at the Palace than at Lourdes. When a guest announced that he was anxious to continue skiing but was expected at a wedding in Geneva (his own), the fellow was airlifted by helicopter to his bride--and delivered back to Gstaad for another round of skiing. Indeed, the same afternoon.

The Palace keeps an index indicating one’s likes and dislikes: whether one prefers a blanket to an eiderdown, a decanter of Finlandia to a belt of Stolichnoya. Or perhaps a spread of foie gras to a serving of caviar. All of which makes for happy relations between guest and staff. Because of a fondness for the late Peter Sellers, head bartender Franco Campana named a drink after the actor’s popular film, “The Pink Panther,” a potion that remains a favorite among guests.

A devotee of Gstaad, actress Julie Andrews plunked down a hefty sum for a string of tiny lights that outline rooftops along the village’s main street. Christmas is particularly special in this storybook town where several years ago a princess played St. Nick by delivering gifts to Swiss families in a carriage drawn by a team of white horses.

Gstaad’s celebrity list is endless. Besides film stars, Gstaad--and particularly the Palace--attracts royal heads and wealthy business figures. Still, the village tries to to play down the celebrity idea by appealing to the vacationer of more humble means, listing Gstaad’s reasonable hotels and its cozy B&Bs;: the snug Arc-en-Ciel, the charming Posthotel Rossli, the spotless Hotel Christiana and the popular Hotel Olden whose restaurant/bar is a hangout for locals and celebrities alike. The Olden was a favored watering hole of actor David Niven; actress Elizabeth Taylor still stops by to chat with proprietress Heidi Donizetti, the “Empress of Gstaad.”

Vacationers gather at the Teahouse Apple Pie to sip espresso and cappuccino and to nibble on apple pie flavored with raisins and pears and soaked with liqueur. Others ride cable cars to Berghaus Eggli, a 300-year-old farmhouse anchored to an alpine peak where proprietor Urgen Diekmann-Broggi serves steaming goulash soup, mushrooms fresh from the forest, Sacher tortes and rich ice cream dripping with hot chocolate.

Like resident Roger Moore, Hollywood writer Jerry Payne, who considers himself an honorary citizen of Gstaad, is especially fond of the Olden: “Its sidewalk tables and its warm, smoke-browned interior tell stories of glowing fires, warmth and comfort.” Candlelighted tables and checkered tableclothes recall memories of friendly dinners. “When a local says, ‘I’m going home,’ you can bet that home is the Olden--for a draft beer or an ice cream sundae or a mulled wine.”’

Of the Palace, Payne waxes poetically. “Every room has a view of the mountain, a meadow, a flock of sheep, a garden, a ski slope or a glacier glowing in the moonlight. Guests leave their draperies open in order to awaken to a window filled with surprises.” Payne, who regularly attends summer clinics presided over by world-renowned tennis champion Roy Emerson, prefers Gstaad to St. Moritz where he skied as a boy. The writer describes Gstaad as a “typical Swiss village without the commercialism of St. Moritz.” Payne enjoys hiking up the mountains and “talking to the cows.” If he sounds a trifle eccentric, well . . . he pleads guilty. In St. Moritz,” says Payne, “I’d have to take a taxi out of town in order to talk with the cows!”

As a regular at the Palace, Payne recalls the matron who checked in with a lion. When she strolled into the restaurant with the beast on a leash, the maitre d’ politely but firmly said, “No, madam, sorry. No lions.” A solution was reached whereby the pet was left in the care of the night porter who confided that the lion was damn well-behaved. More so, he confessed, than a confounded fox that had chewed a hole in his trousers the week before.

Well, times have changed. No longer are wild animals welcome at the Palace. Neither are certain guests. Billionaire Adnan Khashoggi was sent packing. “Whatever importance you have, you must leave if you do not behave,” says manager Hansruedi Schaerer. “My employees are not flunkies.”

He does not elaborate.

Considered as much a celebrity as the celebrities he serves, Schaerer possesses the film-star good looks of a leading man. Schaerer arrived at the Palace in 1957, hired by the late Ernst Scherz whose son, Ernst Andreas Scherz, perpetuates the staff-guest relationship nurtured by his father and which is reputed to be unrivaled at another hotel in Europe. At the same time, he attracted younger guests by installing the popular Greengo Disco that frequently rocks till dawn.

Scherz makes it genuinely easy to feel at home at the Palace. Certain guests remain for weeks. A Swedish widow returns year after year, this being her 40th season. At the Palace the guest isn’t treated merely as another room number. Concierge Jorges Mounier and his staff memorize the names of each client, for service is their raison d’etre .

Upon entering the Palace I went directly to my room--and discovered how with uncanny speed my luggage had preceded me. Regulars at the Palace are made to feel they are returning home. Often mail inquiries are answered personally by Ernst Andreas Scherz or his charming wife, Shiwa. In turn they are deluged with notes from satisfied guests.

Daily, the hotel’s vintage Rolls-Royce is dispatched to the rail station for guests, and frequently the Scherz family awaits their arrival. High tea is served each afternoon in the lounge with its polished mahogany walls and windows that frame the Palace’s lovely gardens. At the Palace, the staff is genuinely devoted to the guest. Luggage is packed and unpacked. Shoes are shined. Maids draw one’s bath and otherwise pamper the fortunate few who call the Palace home--however short that period might be.

A sense of well-being overcomes one in this remarkable hotel. In the lounge guests sink into sofas, savoring quiet moments and drinks served by the personable Franco Campana. Like concierge Jorges Mounier, Campana’s memory for names is uncanny as he greets guests who’ve often been absent, sometimes for years.

The lounge is a joy on a rainy day. Logs snap in the great fireplace; the notes of classical melodies fill the room. To be a guest at the Palace is to be pampered, coddled and indulged beyond any hope of returning to the real world a satisfied soul. Each individual is treated as a privileged person, which is the secret to the Palace’s remarkable repeat business. Piero Bigai, the hotel’s head waiter, often serves guests, even before taking the orders of Ernst and Shiwa Scherz. The easiest guest to please, confesses Bigai, is often the wealthiest.

After doing stints at hotels in Cairo and St. Moritz, the late Ernst Scherz arrived in 1938 to the manage the Gstaad Palace. By 1947 he’d bought the hotel. His son, who studied at Cornell (he speaks five languages) is chairman of the Leading Hotels of the World, an association of nearly 200 global hotels of which the Palace is a member. Scherz describes himself as “a defender of our kind of hotel, which must survive and which must hold its own against the big international hotel chains.”

As a result, Scherz’s staff provides a service that is unsurpassed at other European hotels. The concierge thinks nothing of sending a limousine to Lausanne to pick up a guest. Or to Zurich or Geneva. Others arrive by helicopter and private jet.

In comparing the Palace in Gstaad with the Palace in St. Moritz, Scherz explains: “They are both magnificent hotels, of course, but here we have a saying that a man with $1 million will arrive in St. Moritz in a Ferrari while a man with $10 million might arrive in Gstaad driving a Volkswagen.”

No matter. Whether one arrives in a VW, a Ferrari or the Palace’s vintage Rolls-Royce, the guest is certain to become addicted to pleasures that spell service. And that, without question, is what the Palace at Gstaad is all about.