Coco Chanel_ An Intimate Life - Lisa Chaney [158]
It has been said that having profited from the last war, Gabrielle had decided against it in this one to atone for her guilt. More convincing is her occasional comment that while making her name in the last war, she didn’t feel there would be a place for fashion in this one. She intended tidying up the loose ends of her business, and whenever the hostilities ended, would move on to something else: “I had the feeling that we had reached the end of an era. And that no one would ever make dresses again. [She was referring to haute couture.]2
Gabrielle was no longer young, but her intuitions were still remarkably accurate. With hindsight, one can see that the war was indeed to strike the death knell for the great tradition of haute couture. From the monastery at Solesmes, meanwhile, her friend Pierre Reverdy wrote approvingly of her actions, saying, “The point in life . . . is to find equilibrium in what is inherently unstable.”3
While soldiers from opposing armies faced one another across the Rhine, Gabrielle heard from her nephew that he was in the first line of defense. Gabrielle now set about severing all but two or three links with her past: she wrote to her brothers, Lucien and Alphonse, saying that she could no longer support them as she had done. She said, “You cannot count on me for anything as long as circumstances stay the way they are.” Lucien was touched by her plight and wrote offering her some of his savings. Gabrielle was, of course, still very rich and had no need of them.
She replaced her chauffeur, who had been called up, kept a car ready just in case and consolidated her rooms at the Ritz. She paid for a staircase to be built from her two-room suite up to a small bedroom in the attic, which was very simple, even austere, and contained little more than her bed. For decoration, there was nothing except the beautiful Russian icon given her by Stravinsky, two statues on the mantel and Arthur’s watch, given to her by his sister, Bertha. It still kept perfect time. On the white walls there were no pictures. She said, “Ah no, none of that here. This is a bedroom, not a drawing room.”4 However, even in her drawing room, Gabrielle had only one picture, a painting of wheat by Dalí. It is often said that Dalí gave it to her. He didn’t; Gala Dalí had connived to make Gabrielle buy it. Gabrielle didn’t need painting the way she needed sculpture. Sculpture was, like her couture, a three-dimensional thing, unlike painting, which only plays with three-dimensional space. Indeed, Gabrielle surrounded herself with sculpture of all kinds, from her small herd of large animals, particularly deer and lions, to the classical busts, the large Buddha and the bust of Arthur’s disgraced priest uncle, Thomas Capel. We don’t know whether Gabrielle kept this link with Arthur in the mistaken belief that Thomas was distinguished, or whether she was amused by his dubious reputation.
With the advent of hostilities, many male servants had been called up, so a good number of the better off closed up their establishments, sent their children to the country and, with their jewels and artworks hidden, moved into hotels. Among those living at the Ritz alongside Gabrielle were Schiaparelli and her beloved daughter, Gogo; the fabulously wealthy society figures Lady Mendl and Reginald and Daisy Fellowes; various aristocrats and women whom nothing would budge from Paris; a number of significant politicians; and the actor Sacha Guitry. In the weeks after war was declared, when there was no fighting and the soldiers were all idle, the hostilities