by Lisa Chaney
While only fifty miles from Ponteils, Nîmes was a world away from Henri-Adrien’s life in the mountains. Even so, he knew that there were already other refugees from Ponteils there. The town might be frightening, but it was also a powerful lure, with the prospect of higher wages, shorter hours and better medical care. Gabrielle Chanel’s forebears followed the great drift toward France’s towns. A slow but irrevocable change was taking place in the national mindset, the corollary of France’s transformation into an industrial and metropolitan nation.
As for Henri-Adrien, there were few options available to him and, almost inevitably, he turned to market trading. Markets and fairs were still essential elements in the economy, serving the majority of everyday needs. Some people bought enough for just one day at a time; others traveled miles to market to store up their provisions. Many made the journey to the markets and fairs simply for the contact with the outside world. Everything was there, from clothes — or the wherewithal to make them — to livestock, food and tools, to the strolling players: “charlatans, magicians, musicians, singers… and gamblers.”2 Some fairs even functioned as marriage marts, where, effectively, one could buy a wife.
For almost a year, Henri-Adrien and his wife, Angélina, stayed put at Nîmes. Their son Henri-Albert (always known as Albert) was born there. Then, one day, collecting up their meager belongings and their little boy, they were gone. For years, the Chanels were to continue as itinerant market traders, eventually producing nineteen children in a series of cheap lodgings across the south of France.
Meanwhile, helped by the extension of roads and the spread of the railways, a revolution was sweeping across the land. Life in the provinces had continued in much the same way for centuries but, in the fifty years before 1914, it was set to change out of all recognition. The gradual and sporadic nature of change would be swept away by an avalanche of modernization as France was catapulted into the machine age.
Henri-Adrien and Angélina Chanel cobbled together an existence, but their class would be left behind, rendered virtually obsolete by the changes. As for the children, their lives were to straddle two entirely different worlds, one predominantly rural and agrarian, the other modern, industrial and urban. Success depended upon firmly grasping the new. Although now often traveling by the newfangled train, Henri-Adrien remained wedded to the traditional markets and the fairs — tied, like them, to the season-bound rhythms of rural life.
As the Chanels’ children grew up in a succession of backstreet lodgings, they were soon put to work. The eldest, Albert, and his younger sister Louise worked with their parents from earliest childhood. Life was hard for the children, made harder still by being much of the time outside, tending the stand in all weather. The Chanels’ nomadic lifestyle stoked in Albert a desire for the romance of the road and a constant urge for movement. He, too, became a market trader like his father, and sold haberdashery and domestic tools.
In November 1879, Albert stopped at Courpière, a village in the region of Livradois. With winter’s approach, itinerant traders and peddlers did their best to settle down. Albert found a room for himself with a young man called Marin Devolle, left fatherless at seventeen. That November, Marin was twenty-three, and while his carpentry business was going well enough, he could do with the extra money from hiring out a room. Albert and he were soon firm friends. Marin’s younger sister, Eugénie Jeanne (called Jeanne), lived close by with their maternal uncle, Augustin Chardon, a winegrower. Jeanne also kept house for her brother.
Family tradition has it that the twenty-six-year-old Albert was, like his father, a charmer and a showman who had a way with words and also with women. Whether on the market “stage” or playing the exhilarating game of seduction, Albert was unwilling to shoulder much responsibility. He was charismatic and juggled fantasies about who he wanted to be. And each time his pool of buyers and admirers was exhausted, Albert collected his belongings and took off. In January 1880, as he had done before, he left behind him a lovesick girl. This time it was Marin’s sixteen-year-old sister, Jeanne, who would pay a high price for succumbing to the young lothario’s advances.
As the spring wore on, Jeanne was unable to hide her pregnancy. Her family was incensed. Uncle Augustin threw her out, and she went to live with Marin. By no means did all working people see the need to formalize their relationships — particularly if neither land nor worthwhile possessions were involved. But as respectable property-owning artisans, Jeanne’s family felt a cut above the country peasants. While the Devolles didn’t live in Courpière’s poorest quarter, their proximity to the bottom of the social ladder meant that anything pushing them down a rung was taken very seriously.
The mayor was enlisted to find the father of Jeanne’s child. He tracked down Albert’s parents, Henri-Adrien and Angélina, twenty-two miles away in Clermont-Ferrand. When his letter to Henri-Adrien met no response, Marin and two male relatives set off in pursuit. Either Albert Chanel was to marry their kinswoman, or he must recognize paternity of the child. If Chanel refused, they would have him up in court. These threats sufficiently frightened Albert’s parents to divulge his whereabouts.
No sooner had Marin returned to Courpière with Albert Chanel’s address than Jeanne set off after her errant lover, to Aubenas, 125 miles to the south. Now in the final month of her pregnancy, she believed Albert was more likely to make a respectable woman of her if she presented herself without her family. The intrepid girl, who had never before left Courpière, traveled across the country and found Albert established at a tavern. Here, a short time later, at seventeen, she gave birth to a baby girl, whom she named Julia-Berthe.
Albert was not pleased. His aim was to conquer, not to commit, and he absolutely refused to marry Jeanne. He did, however, acknowledge paternity of the child, and conceded to Jeanne’s promotion to being his companion: she was young, and he could do with help in the markets. At a time when the majority of marriages were based above all upon practicality, the loss of Jeanne’s heart to her lover was seen by her community as soft-headed. But beyond that, the thought of her reception on returning home with an illegitimate child made going back impossible. Jeanne accepted Albert’s refusal to marry and stayed at his side. This episode would set the tone for their relationship, and the girl from Courpière would from now on find herself constantly on the move.
In August of 1883, Jeanne was about to give birth once again. This time, she was in Saumur, the western provincial town that played host to the nation’s elite cavalry regiment and the famed school of horsemanship, the Cadre Noir. Saumur was devoted to its permanent “visitors” and the tailors, blacksmiths and farriers; the smart cafés, elegant restaurants, and pretty “working girls” all catered to the whims of the “gentlemen officers.” The contrast between the officers’ privileged lives and that of Jeanne and Albert in their garret lodgings could not have been greater.
On August 18, in the heat of the summer, Jeanne began her labor. Albert wasn’t around, but somehow his mistress got herself to the one place the poor were assured of assistance, the charity hospital run by the Sisters of Providence. One suspects that she arrived without a friend, and with her little girl, Julia-Berthe, in tow. The following day, the birth of a baby girl was registered at the town hall. The father’s signature is absent from both the child’s registration and birth certificates. Albert was recorded as “traveling” and Jeanne was too weak to attend. With neither parent present, the child’s name was misspelled and became “Chasnel” instead of “Chanel.” When, on the following day, the hospital chaplain christened the baby, in the mistaken belief that her parents were married, the little girl was named Gabrielle Jeanne Chasnel. This, then, was the inauspicious start to the life of a woman who was to become one of the icons of her century.
2. The Bad One
For the first year of her life, Gabrielle’s parents remained in Saumur. With a baby at Jeanne’s breast and a toddler at her feet, she helped Albert in the town’s markets. As few markets were covered over, they woul
d have had no more than an awning to keep off the sun and rain. Albert frequently left his wife and children behind and set up his stall in another town. Jeanne knew he had other women, but her objections had little effect upon his conduct. She was often obliged to supplement the family’s meager income by working as a domestic. Yet although her life was one of unceasing labor, for the moment, youth and determination were on her side.
At some point Jeanne’s uncle Augustin Chardon invited her, Albert and the children to stay for a while, but only on one condition: that Albert marry his niece. After much discussion, and depressing evidence of Albert’s reluctance, the banns were published at Courpière.
When the day arrived, Jeanne went with her family to the town hall: Albert did not appear. To their embarrassment and fury, he refused to attend his own wedding, overcome at the thought of being shackled. Nothing like it could be recalled in Courpière, and Jeanne’s relations’ subsequent threats drove Albert to flee. Following a series of pretty sordid negotiations, a deal was finally struck. Jeanne’s family united, effectively, to pay Albert to marry her. As a precautionary measure, Albert would receive his windfall of five thousand francs, plus Jeanne’s personal possessions and her furniture, only once he had actually signed the marriage contract. Jeanne and her family craved respectability, and Albert finally married her in November 1884.
Incapable of thrift, he quickly squandered his five thousand francs on drink and swagger, thus curtailing his dream of advancement from market stall to his own haberdasher’s shop.1 Proximity to his in-laws became increasingly unpleasant and he set off for the southwest with his wife and little daughters. They settled this time in Issoire, a market town on the Couze River. Here, in 1885, Jeanne gave birth to their first son, Alphonse, who would become Gabrielle’s favorite brother.
The Chanels found lodgings in districts occupied by artisans’ workshops, and the children thus grew up amid the noise and smell of these last vestiges of preindustrial France. They were familiar with the leatherworkers, the can-dlemakers, the joiners, cobblers, tailors and seamstresses: traders whose hand skills — like those of the weavers, button makers, ribbon makers and cutlers from whom Albert bought his wares — were to become redundant as factory machines far outstripped their rate of production.
In 1887, a third daughter was born to Jeanne and Albert at Issoire; they named her Antoinette. By now, the strain of caring for four young children, working outside and living in run-down accommodations was affecting Jeanne’s health. The asthma from which she had long suffered had grown worse, and she persuaded Albert to return to Courpière, where Uncle Augustin again took them in. (Gabrielle would remember the misery of enforced silence because of her mother’s illness.)
Albert’s unpopularity with his wife’s family wasn’t the only reason he soon left Courpière. Nor was it simply that his job required constant travel; the young hustler was constitutionally incapable of remaining still. After a brief recuperation, Jeanne left the children behind and went in search of her no-good man. She returned periodically to Courpière, but the three older children — Julia-Berthe, Gabrielle and Alphonse — remained with their relations for some time. Little Gabrielle’s response to this upheaval seems clear: she was angry. As a way of incorporating and managing her predicament, she resorted to the healthy habit of childhood: make-believe. Years later, she told of acting out her fantasies in an overgrown Courpière churchyard, over which she ruled, where the dead were her subjects. Sometimes, she took along her rag dolls to join in her conversations with the dead. In Gabrielle’s world, the living were miserably failing her.
While the instability of Gabrielle’s life gave her little sense of control, her consequent feelings of impotence were made worse by her relatives’ insensitivity. Discovering that she had stolen kitchen objects and flowers as “offerings” for her lonely games, her elders thwarted her make-believe world by locking things away out of reach. She reacted with disobedience and, in due course, was stigmatized as “the bad one.” Her sister, Julia-Berthe, was never very bright and, although Alphonse was Gabrielle’s favorite, she was angry and frustrated at her powerlessness. She felt lonely, abandoned and unloved by her parents.
In 1889, Jeanne gave birth to her second son, Lucien. Eighteen months later, again pregnant and in poor health, she made her way back to Courpière. Here she gave birth to a third boy, named Augustin, in honor of her uncle. The baby was sickly and soon died. Jeanne’s family now dissuaded her from returning to Albert, and for a year or so, she saw little of her reprobate husband. At the same time, Jeanne was jealous of the liaisons she knew he would be conducting, and pined for him. In due course, with an awful inevitability, the old pattern reasserted itself, and in 1893, against her family’s wishes, she set off in search of him.
He had sent word that he was running a tavern with his brother at Brive-la-Gaillarde, in the Limousin. Jeanne now made the journey of over one hundred miles to reach him. This time, either her family refused to look after Julia-Berthe and Gabrielle, or Jeanne wanted them with her, because she took her eldest girls along.
Typically, Albert’s story was a fabrication and Jeanne’s optimism proved unfounded. Rather than managing the tavern, he was nothing more than its waiter. However dispirited Jeanne must have felt, she didn’t have the strength or the money to go back to her relations in Courpière. With thirteen-year-old Julia and ten-year-old Gabrielle as assistants, Jeanne applied herself to the old routine.
By the winter of 1894, in a very poor state of health, Jeanne was frequently confined to bed with asthma. She developed bronchitis and lay ravaged by a fever and without medical help. Finally unable to take any more she was released from her struggle. Albert’s wanderlust and need for money had sent him out on the road again, and he was absent when his wife died in a Brive-la-Gaillarde garret in February 1895. Jeanne had long since lost her youth to a punishing physical and emotional routine. Now, at thirty-one, she had also lost her life.
Julia-Berthe and Gabrielle would have seen the awful decline in their mother’s health and been powerless to halt it. Quite probably, they shared the room in which she slept. Almost certainly, it was they who discovered her death. Albert’s brother Hippolyte signed the death certificate and made the arrangements for Jeanne’s funeral.2 Those in the family who could have told more never would.
3. The Lost Years
Jeanne Chanel’s death was to usher in perhaps the most mysterious period in her children’s lives. Gabrielle’s early childhood is obscure enough, but for the next six or so years there is virtual silence. Throughout her life, Gabrielle would remain self-conscious about her background. Indeed, it was rumored that she paid some of her family and her associates not to speak about her past and negotiated the destruction of certain documents. Whatever the truth, while she failed to hide it completely, she did succeed in disguising her early life. In doing this, she not only censored the most formative period of her life, she tried to destroy her early self.
The stories she told her friend Paul Morand, while often a remolding of events, nonetheless offer a remarkable glimpse into her complex relationship with her past. Following her father’s example, she hid from the childhood that had damaged her by blurring the edges of fact. Thus she would say, “Reality doesn’t make me dream… and I like to dream.”1
In searching for reality in Gabrielle’s stories, what one repeatedly finds is that the truth of an event for her lay not in the fact but in the feeling. She retained the emotional and psychological residue of the past. As a result, at the heart of her tales one often discovers the tenor of what happened. “My earliest childhood. Those words,” she said, “make me shudder. No childhood was less gentle. All too soon I realized that life was a serious matter.”2
Gabrielle recalled her mother in no more than a handful of anecdotes. In most of them we notice the little girl’s capacity for destructiveness, and her mother’s telling response. In one incident, when the children were staying with their mother at Uncle Augustin’s, the adults h
ad shut the children out of the way. Bored with their seclusion, Gabrielle and her siblings noticed how easily the damp wallpaper could be removed. At first it was just a little strip they took off, but then, to their great amusement, they found they could pull off whole sections at once. They peeled off more, then clambered on chairs they’d piled up, gradually revealing the pink plaster. Then they stripped the ceiling! Their mother eventually came in to discover this “disaster.” She didn’t reprimand the children, she just stood silently weeping. Little Gabrielle was so taken aback by her mother’s response that she “ran away howling with sorrow.” Gabrielle soon recognized that life was indeed “a solemn affair, since it caused mothers to cry.”3
On another occasion, the children were put to bed in a workroom. Bunches of grapes were hanging from the rafters in paper bags, to preserve them for the winter. Throwing a pillow, Gabrielle brought down a paper bag. This was hilarious. She felled another one, then set to work with a bolster. Finally, she had “brought the entire harvest of grapes down, so that they were strewn over the wooden floor… For the first time in my life I was whipped. The humiliation was something I would never forget.”4
Jeanne’s family scorned her ramshackle life with Albert, and her aunts made superior remarks, such as “These people live like traveling circus folk.” As for the children, Gabrielle sensed particular disapproval of herself. One aunt prophesied that she would “turn out badly”; another talked of “selling her to the gypsies” and “discussed beating her with nettles.” Her defense was “stubborn defiance.” Thus upping the stakes, she provoked still greater chastisement, which in turn “only made me more uncivilized, more fractious.”5 One of the saddest legacies of this pattern of behavior was the self-loathing Gabrielle described. In childhood and youth, she believed she was ugly, almost cursed. Only much later was she proud of whom she had become.6