Lisa Chaney - Coco Chanel - An Intimate Life

A few years before Gabrielle jettisoned any pretense to honor by moving in with Etienne Balsan, another young woman whose work would influence her times was making her first steps in this direction.

In 1900, a notorious Parisian hack, Henry Gauthier-Villars (known as Willy), published a novel he claimed to be the work of a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, Claudine. Claudine à l’école and the follow-up novels were hugely successful. Heralded for their style, their frankly sexual subject matter also tainted their author’s reputation with scandal. Willy’s cynical claim that Claudine at School had been written anonymously would eventually be exposed by its real author, his wife, Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, writing to order for her husband. By the time she revealed her true identity, she had left him.

That some find the sexual promise of an adolescent arousing is nothing new. But the traditional French view, in which a woman becomes more seductive as she grows beyond her teens and twenties and gains experience, had an unorthodox competitor in the raw young Claudine. On the surface, the Claudine novels served as soft porn for the bourgeoisie, but below the titillation and sexual heresy, Colette was articulating an unsettling version of a gnawing contemporary problem: the battle between the sexes.

Many men were ambivalent about women. On the one hand, woman was Venus, whose corseted and exaggerated hourglass figure was worshipped; on the other, the male fin de siècle mindset had become increasingly preoccupied with the image of the femme fatale, the man-consuming sphinx. One of the best examples of this was the proscribed, ritual drama played out between the fin de siècle courtesan (the femme fatale) and her lover. And many found this a more insidious relationship than the traditional balancing act of man-woman relations described in earlier literature.

In the provocatively unorthodox Claudine, Colette had captured something in the contemporary mind, and literary versions of the character became common in literature. Nothing like the seductive and majestic grandes courtisanes , this younger woman, with her unripe allure, had an edgy, anarchic femaleness, her ignorance and unself-consciousness liberating her from constraint. In the future, a man of experience would write, “Today, I miss… the time one spent waiting. The penitence and the continence that society imposed on us imparted an unbelievable flavor to the opposite sex, and they conferred something sacred that has been lost.” 1In contrast, devoid of cultivation, Claudine was confrontational, revealed her confidence in a caustic sense of humor, cared little for tradition and was utterly impervious to the notion of maturity. While encapsulating an important aspect of the sexual flavor of the period, the anarchic Claudine would also emerge as its most unsettling female image.

There is no doubt that Gabrielle’s particular allure lay somewhere in this mold.

Nevertheless, for all the apparent unorthodoxy of Royallieu, she had no more real scope than any traditional mistress. She was “kept” by Etienne, and with her solemn elfin beauty, in photographs Gabrielle often looks fiercely at the camera with an air of studied defiance. Whatever Claudine’s influence, like other women with any ambition, Gabrielle was faced with “a choice as dramatic as it was contrived: between retaining the prestige of their femininity, which left them at the mercy of their men; and renouncing it for the sake of man’s autonomy… which set them adrift in an environment hostile both psychologically and economically to emancipated women.” 2

The constant stream of visitors to Royallieu brought a cheerful mix of aristocratic sportsmen, stars of the turf, actresses, singers and demimondaines — young people whose lives revolved around entertainment of one kind or another. Etienne’s friends were strongly discouraged from showing up at Royallieu with their wives. Mistresses were preferred. But if Etienne’s life appeared a carefree round of riding to hounds and house parties, this omits an important detail: in many ways, he wasn’t a carefree soul at all. While his love of playing the fool went in tandem with an aversion to emotional responsibility, in fact, a vein of absolute commitment ran seamlessly through his life: Etienne was dedicated to horses. He knew them, loved them, understood their foibles, their worth, and was capable of fierce competitiveness about them too. When purchasing one or taking part in a race, he was a formidable adversary. As a result, his rise to prominence as both trainer and gentleman rider was rapid, and would eventually make him one of the most famous horse breeders in France. His obsession also left Etienne prepared to live in the country, something most young men of his status were loath to do.

The country house to which he brought Gabrielle was a handsome one. First a hunting lodge for kings, it became La Maison du Roy and, eventually, simply Royallieu. A priory, then an abbey, it was extended and altered over time. Finally, the château became a stud farm, which perfectly suited Etienne’s needs. Royallieu was close to the Chantilly racetrack, in the province of Oise, regarded as the best purebred training ground in France.

At Moulins, while the rich young officers had been flattering and fun, the reality of Gabrielle’s life had been servitude as a lowly shop assistant, with lodgings in a poor part of town. At Royallieu, she experienced for the first time the elements of grandeur, and also a certain public notice. While never the mistress of the house, she was to remain there as Etienne’s irrégulière for several years to come. Absorbing the standards and conventions of Royallieu, however, was a considerable struggle, and for some time, Gabrielle felt out of her depth. She later admitted lying to camouflage her inadequacy.

The contrast between her old life and Royallieu was almost unimaginable. Sloughing off virtually overnight a life ruled by figures she found unsympathetic, it is no wonder that she saw Royallieu’s privilege, its servants and its sophisticated company as a kind of dream. No longer did she need to rise early and cross town to her petit bourgeois employers, bowing and scraping subservience to their condescending clients. Slowly comprehending her new position, Gabrielle learned, for example, to negotiate the thorny problem of the Royallieu domestics, of whom she would say, “I was afraid.” Social hierarchies may have been under attack in 1906, but Etienne’s servants would have disdained to treat their master’s lower-class mistress with much deference. Meanwhile, if she chose, this ex-shopgirl needed do nothing all day except lie in bed, reading her trashy novels.

At first, Gabrielle worked hard at this leisure, something alien to both her nature and her upbringing. Etienne was too active to cultivate the art of languor, and marveled at her ability to read in bed until noon. But Gabrielle was doing more than simply reading popular fiction, she was learning. Since childhood, this highly intelligent young woman had found no one to guide her. Admitting later that her early reading matter was “rubbish,” she added, “The very worst book has something to say to you, something truthful. The silliest books are masterpieces of experience.” 3Indeed, Gabrielle said that she “learned about life through novels… There you find all the great unwritten laws that govern mankind… From the serial novels to the greatest classics, all novels are reality in the guise of dreams.” 4Permitting herself the time, previously in such short supply, to luxuriate in her dreams, Gabrielle devoured her cheap romances, the only imaginative fodder that had so far come her way. One wonders if this orgy of immersion in fantasy may also have signaled something about the inadequacy of her relationship with Etienne.