by Lisa Chaney
In Venice, the reborn Gabrielle understood better Misia’s fascination with Sert, the Spanish painter of grandiosity. Intense, short and vibrant, José Maria Sert was full of impassioned self-assurance, and also possessed a cruel streak. He was obsessed with art, enjoyed a consuming passion for women and, aided by an alcohol and morphine habit, lived in a world absurdly full of fantasy, high drama and adventure. The abandon of his parties was legendary.
Even the artists of Montmartre and Montparnasse, snobbish about Sert’s abilities as an artist, gave him credit for his creation of atmosphere with his striking choices and juxtaposition of objects and works of art. In Venice, Sert spoke about works of art with an erudition that “generated endless connections” for Gabrielle, and she marveled. He took her to museums and churches and showed her the mournful splendor of the city’s buildings. Fascinated and amazed, she absorbed it all like an intelligent, wondering child. Like so many before and since, Gabrielle fell under the sway of that melancholy, watery paradise La Serenissima, and returned to it regularly for the rest of her life.
In the end, though, it wasn’t history that motivated Gabrielle. With the mind of an artist, she intuited that by nurturing in oneself a certain savage disregard for the past, one was better able to make things for the present. Without denigrating the past, Gabrielle could say, with Misia, “Oh, to hell with these Botticellis and da Vincis,” and they would go off to rummage around, unearthing unlikely treasures in some backstreet junk shop, or move from the city’s restaurants to the luxury of a fashionable salon. This was the Venice where Gabrielle saw works of art in the palaces for which they were made, where she socialized with the Serts’ friends, international and Venetian society keen to live the life of the present as much as dwelling upon the illustrious past of their ancestors.
By chance, the three travelers came upon Diaghilev, in a tête-à-tête with a mutual friend, Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna (the elder), and they stayed on to lunch. The grand duchess herself had been left with little and was gracious, and grateful that she and her children had escaped the ravages of the revolution. While they talked, Diaghilev spoke of his perennial financial problems. His choreographer, Massine, was rehearsing a new production of The Rite of Spring for performance in Paris; the cost would be prohibitive. As much as anything, this was because Diaghilev insisted on a vast orchestra. (In struggling to resuscitate the postwar fortunes of the Ballets Russes, he faced problems: ballet audiences had changed, and both his French and Russian patrons’ sources of wealth had collapsed.)
It is said that Diaghilev paid no attention to Gabrielle on this occasion or several others when they met while in Venice.10 But we know that Gabrielle had not only been at the original performance of The Rite of Spring, the premiere of Parade in 1917, and the parties afterward, she had also been at the Parisian premiere of the first postwar Diaghilev-Stravinsky ballet, Pulcinella, in May of that year, 1920. And yet this woman whom Morand had described as “quite a personality,” was apparently meek and silent on these occasions. As we have seen, Misia would have the world believe that Gabrielle trailed around as her shadow in these early years of their friendship. The implication is always that the bohemian types with whom Gabrielle would socialize—and, on occasion, have affairs—liked her for nothing more than her money. The most significant reason for their friendship with her, however, was Gabrielle herself. As to her subdued manner in this period, it was more a result of her state of mourning than because she was meek and self-effacing.
From Venice, the ever-restless Serts took Gabrielle down to Rome. “We arrived weary and drained, and were obliged to visit the city, by moonlight, until we were exhausted. At the Coliseum he [Sert] remembered the recollections of Thomas de Quincey, and said some wonderful things about architecture and about the parties that might be given amongst these ruins.”11 Recalling Sert’s gargantuan appetites and his inability to do anything on a small scale, Gabrielle said that “he was as munificent and as immoral as a Renaissance man.” His perennial good humor, his erudition and encyclopaedic knowledge of the oddest things made him, for Gabrielle, the perfect traveling companion. She said that this “huge, hairy monkey, with his tinted beard, his humped back, his enormous tortoiseshell spectacles—veritable wheels—loved everything colossal.”12 He led her through the museums of Venice, explaining everything, and found in her an “attentive ignorance . . . that he preferred to all his erudition.”13 Gabrielle thought Sert resembled “some enormous gnome who carried gold as well as rubbish inside his hump like a magic sack. He had extremely poor taste and exquisite judgment, the priceless and the disgusting, diamonds and crap, kindness and sadism, virtues and vices on a staggering scale.”14
Returning to Paris, Gabrielle appeared to have emerged from her emotional retreat, and the Serts pronounced her cured. Gabrielle would never be entirely cured of Arthur’s loss, bearing forever its scars. Nonetheless, her powerful urge for life was too strong to lie dormant in her for more than a certain amount of time. Exhilarated by the two Serts’ mad adventures, she had decided “to live.”
One of the first signs of this more positive frame of mind was that Gabrielle now made a dramatic move. There are several versions of this story. One has it that she appeared at Diaghilev’s hotel and asked if she might see him. Another, which subtly alters the balance of power, has it that she asked him to come and see her. One suspects it was the latter, and that her description is correct:I understand that there is a great tragedy. He has fled London because he could not pay his debts . . . “I live at the Ritz hotel, come and see me, say nothing to Misia.” He came to my apartment . . . I gave him a check . . . I think he didn’t think it was real . . . He never wrote to me, he never compromised himself by a word.15
The astonished impresario, who had hoped Misia Sert would bail him out, had instead been given a very large sum by Gabrielle to relaunch The Rite of Spring. Her request that he tell no one was to no avail; Diaghilev thrived on indiscretion almost as much as his boon companion, Misia, and in no time at all she knew. The customary explanation for Gabrielle’s gesture of munificence is that she was flexing her cultural muscles: it wasn’t only Misia who could make things happen. Unlike Misia, however, for whom the cultivation of a salon was almost a raison d’être, the artist in Gabrielle meant that she was only moderately interested in one with herself at its center. (As we have already seen, her interest in power was not for its own sake; it was above all a means to an end, usually freedom to do her work and thereby maintain her independence.) Gabrielle never failed to fall under the spell of creativity, and what primarily interested her in Diaghilev’s case was the fact of his being another artist at work. Anything made well, however modest, never ceased to enchant her. There was, however, nothing modest about Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes.
The maestro, Sergei Diaghilev, was an extraordinary creature, an incongruous, distracted mix of impulse and caprice, generosity and meanness, combined with a breathtaking ability to manipulate. He had no qualms whatsoever about a ruthless dedication to his objectives, which were devoted almost exclusively to his art. As someone remarked of him, “It was not easy to resist Diaghilev’s pressure. He would wear out his opponent, not by the logic of his arguments, but by the sheer stress of his own will.”16 His single-mindedness made him arrogantly selective about his companions, and perhaps it was only in Venice that he first registered Gabrielle properly. Perhaps it was in Venice, too, that Gabrielle understood something better about Diaghilev himself. Certainly, she found his exotic foreignness most attractive. Later, she would describe him as “the most delightful of friends. I loved his zest for life, his passions, his scruffiness, so different from the sumptuous figure of legend.”17
Meeting once again this powerful and charismatic figure, three of whose ballets she had now seen brought to the stage, Gabrielle was keen to be a catalyst for the return of the most scandalous of them so far: The Rite of Spring.
The war had not been kind to Igor Stravinsky. Little of his music had been played,
and he was eking out an existence with his family in neutral Switzerland. With the successful launch of his ballet Pulcinella, however, enhanced by Picasso’s stage sets and costumes, all was set to change. Stravinsky both reclaimed his position at the center of the Ballets Russes and was relaunched as the musical darling of the most elevated Parisian salons.
For many years, with the cream of Europe’s elite, le tout Paris had reveled in the ritual of Venice’s Rabelaisian Carnevale festivities, and a series of glittering balls was followed assiduously by the journals of style. Vogue was so enamored of the festival that it became the sole subject of each February’s issue. The midwinter trip to Venice broke the tedium of the cold season, and in the emotionally chaotic postwar years, the pre-Lenten festivities were indulged in with particular abandon (Carnevale was the Italian Mardi Gras). For those unable to get to Venice, a round of parties was held in Paris, in private ballrooms. Fancy dress was already popular, and because many of the young now believed that life was pretty worthless, they sought escape in partying with a kind of nihilistic fervor.
Stravinsky’s Pulcinella brought the fashion for fancy dress out onto the theatrical stage. If Diaghilev hadn’t vetoed it, Picasso would probably have put the female dancers into contemporary dress, and the strong connection between contemporary art and fashion would have been made more explicit. Picasso’s new wife, the dancer Olga Khokhlova, “had many new robes from Chanel to show,” as Stravinsky would report.18 Olga was a devotee of Gabrielle’s clothes before her marriage to Picasso in 1918, and as his reputation began to soar she was far less constrained by cost. While Picasso indulged his insatiable appetite for sexual encounters outside marriage, he also indulged his beautiful bourgeois wife’s passion for avant-garde fashion.
After the premiere of Pulcinella, a legendary costume party was thrown for the beau monde by the affable and extravagant young prince Firouz of Persia, then a favorite of Parisian society. (He died not long afterward, probably at the hand of an assassin.) The relay of partygoers’ cars was directed out of Paris by men flashing electric torches at crossroads toward a bogus castle rented by an ex-convict friend of Cocteau’s. (The ex-convict’s business was illicit nightclubs, and he regularly had to escape capture by the police.)
On this occasion, “vast quantities of champagne were drunk. Stravinsky got tight, he went up to the bedrooms and, collecting all the feather pillows, counterpanes and bolsters, hurled them over the banisters into the great hall.”19 The ensuing pillow fight was so enthusiastic that the party went on until three the next morning. It was at this party that Gabrielle met Stravinsky once again. Afterward, he left for the provinces.
Still in festive spirit, Misia’s and Picasso’s friend the “fiendish social tyrant” Count Etienne de Beaumont gave one of his magnificent entertainments, a regular highlight of the Parisian spring calendar. From early May to the end of June, this included a series of events that took place across the city as the beau monde disported itself before its peers, all aching to outdo one another in the outlandishness of their costumes and their behavior.
Etienne de Beaumont and his wife, Edith, were then at the apex of the Parisian elite. After the war, the young couple had quickly become two of the city’s most significant hosts, and events at their spectacular hôtel particulier, at the heart of the fashionable seventh arrondissement, were noted for their edgy flavor of modernity. Vogue cooed, talking of “dinners and balls without ceasing,” and did its part to keep the Beaumonts in the forefront of everyone’s minds. Their friendships and patronage of artists of all kinds, including Picasso, Braque, Satie, Cocteau and Massine, and their reputation for daring and exhibitionism, were heralded at an evening in 1918 at which American jazz was played by black performers, arguably for the first time in France.20
The height of each year’s entertainment was the Beaumonts’ spring costume ball, a melding of seventeenth-century court masques and the most radical avant-garde . These spectaculars always had a theme, and the one for 1919 was that guests “leave exposed that part of one’s body one finds the most interesting.”21 No matter how incredible the guests’ costumes, Beaumont always strove to upstage them, with one extraordinarily androgynous outfit after another, and always designed by him. Etienne de Beaumont liked men; his wife, Edith, liked women. They also had a great fondness for each other.
Gabrielle was asked by Beaumont to help design some of the costumes for his 1919 spring ball. Beaumont loved nothing better than accentuating his power through manipulating his friends, and typically kept them in suspense about their invitations. He made a point of leaving off two or three who expected one, and anyone “in trade.” When Misia discovered, to her embarrassment, that her friend Gabrielle Chanel had not been invited, she protested by refusing to take up her own invitation. Instead, on the night of the ball, she collected Gabrielle “with Sert and Picasso as our escorts . . . and mingled with the chauffeurs crowded in front of the house, to watch the costumed guests make their entrance.” They must have made an odd quartet: Picasso, known to several of the guests; Misia and Sert, well-known to most of them; and then Gabrielle, unknown to a great many but recognizable as an immensely stylish woman.
Misia said they had an uproarious time sending up the guests. No matter how up-to-date the upper class’s attitudes to the arts, to bohemia, they still appeared mired in the suffocating and ancient habits of social superiority. Indeed, Etienne de Beaumont had no qualms about using Gabrielle’s skills while rejecting her as a guest. It wouldn’t be long, however, before he and his wife comprehended Gabrielle’s growing significance and were then all too keen to include her in their suave set.
It is commonly said that once Gabrielle gained power, she made it her business to subject the haut monde to the same condescension she had suffered at their hands. But Gabrielle was a more complex and ambivalent creature than that.
16
The Strangest and Most Brilliant Years1
In 1921, after several months at a small Breton seaside resort, Stravinsky had been driven to distraction for lack of stimulation and returned to Paris in search of a house for his chronically ill wife and four children. His financial position was precarious. Recognizing his difficulties, Gabrielle suggested that Stravinsky bring his family to stay at Bel Respiro. She had spared no expense in the creation of a beautiful and consoling retreat, and by late September that year, the Stravinsky entourage, including extended family and various domestic and childcare staff, had settled themselves into Bel Respiro’s luxury.
Writing to an old friend, Stravinsky sounded tense. Apologizing for the brevity of his letter, he said his nerves were “in a poor condition”; possibly a reference to the emotional complications developing at the villa.2 Stravinsky had fallen for Gabrielle. When she voiced concern for Stravinsky’s wife, Catherine, his “very Russian” response was: “She knows I love you. To whom else, if not her, could I confide something so important?”3
Stravinsky took to absenting himself from Bel Respiro and visiting Gabrielle at the Ritz, where she had taken a suite while his family was staying at her house. The composer’s originality as a musician was augmented by his brilliant, intense and highly ambitious nature. He was not handsome, but his memorably strong features were an interesting contrast to his notably dandyish appearance. His aloofness added an attractive element to a complex personality. Gabrielle said, “I liked him . . . because he was very kind, because he often went out with me, and it’s very pleasant to learn . . . from people like that.”4 They went out to clubs, to parties and, once, with Misia and Sert, to the Paris fair. This is borne out by the passport-type photograph they had taken of themselves to commemorate the event.
Gabrielle had little knowledge of music, but Stravinsky set out to teach her. Unsurprisingly, she proved an able pupil. In the process, she developed a passion for Stravinsky’s compositions. He, in turn, developed a passion for Gabrielle, and it wasn’t long before they were launched into an affair. Gabrielle had been seduced once more by that Slavic
cast of mind she seems to have found so irresistible—first Misia, then Diaghilev and now Igor Stravinsky.
If the composer’s nerves were strained by the management of his liaison, his stay at Bel Respiro was, at the same time, very creative. Not only did he finish the brilliant Concertino for String Quartet, he also completed Les noces villageoises, a ballet he had struggled with for several years. This was first heard, in 1923, at the magnificent town house of Winnaretta Singer, the Princess de Polignac and heiress to the vast Singer sewing-machine fortune. Winnaretta’s highly dedicated musical salon was one of the most powerful in Paris, and on that evening, Stravinsky, Diaghilev, the whole of the Ballets Russes and a number of other guests were present. The princess, who had by then become one of Gabrielle’s clients, was asked, “Why do you not ask Chanel?” and in her famously imperious manner she answered, “I don’t entertain my trades people.”5 Winnaretta Singer admired hardworking, self-made women, and her refusal to associate with Gabrielle may well have been partly out of jealousy; she was one of Stravinsky’s most important patrons.
We know little of the details, but during Stravinsky’s affair with Gabrielle, he was able to complete his memorial tribute to Claude Debussy, Symphonies d’instruments à vent, recognized as his most important work of that decade. Its spare and urbane quality has been related to the way postwar reconstruction became an important aspect of all Parisian artistic endeavor. The symphonies are seen as a new departure in Stravinsky’s music, for which no label yet existed, and which was at the heart of the modern sensibility.6 There is no doubt that this brief but intense period at Bel Respiro saw Stravinsky liberated to resolve several long-standing musical problems.