Drag and transgender in the 1900s

Colette’s lover Missy / Max (Mathilde de Morny, the Marquise of Belboeuf) lived most, if not all, of her adult life in drag. Society in the 1900s was still rigidly divided into binaries: male/female, heterosexual/homosexual. Today, we are lucky enough not to have to define ourselves so strictly, but then, blurred boundaries, fluid identities, the rainbow spectrum of gender and sexuality, transgender identities, biculturalism, bisexuality, Adrienne Rich’s scale of lesbian continuum… all of these had yet to be invented.

In “Secrets of the Flesh”, Judith Thurman writes, “It is not clear whether Missy thought of herself as a lesbian or as a man”, but she didn’t like [other] women who dressed as men, and “a lesbian couple, both in drag, offended her.” (pp.152-153). From what I’ve read, it seems that Missy did think of herself as a man; those of Colette’s biographers who recognise their six-year relationship (not all of them do) agree that Missy liked to be addressed as “Monsieur le Marquis” (the masculine version of her correct title, “Madame la Marquise”), and “Max” or “Uncle Max” by her circle of intimate friends (“Colette” by Allan Massie, p.58). If she were alive today, it seems likely that Missy would identify as transgender, and so I’ve become used to thinking of Missy as Max.

However, while reading Colette’s letters to Missy, (“Lettres à Missy” edited by Samia Bordji and Frédéric Maget), I was surprised to find only one instance where Colette refers to Missy as Max. In a telegram dated 15 December 1908, Colette begs forgiveness for writing to “Max”, and explains that she was feverish and will never do so again. It is unclear whether she is begging forgiveness for calling Missy “Max” in a previous letter, or for the contents of that letter.

In the novel I’m writing about Colette and Anaïs Nin, Nights in Paris, I first had Colette addressing Missy as Max. However, after reading Colette’s letters, I’ve changed it to Missy, with Max as a special erotic name. I’ve also kept to female pronouns for Missy, unless she is being Max (again, I’m going by Colette’s letters). I want to be authentic, and for my Colette character to think about Missy as the real Colette did. However, I do think that, if they were living their relationship today, Missy would call her/himself “he” and “Max”. So which is the right thing to do? What would Colette do?

Colette’s infidelity — a natural greediness

In Colette’s letters to her lover, Missy / Max, (“Lettres à Missy”, edited by Samia Bordji and Frédéric Maget), Colette often signed off by promising to be good, and sending her kisses and love to Missy and “the children” (their cats and dogs). I wonder if when Colette said she was being “good”, she was reassuring Missy / Max that she was being faithful.

As well as having more sexual relationships than was socially acceptable in the early 1900s, Colette also had many lovers. During her six-year relationship with Missy / Max, Colette had at least three affairs: a renewed secret liaison with Willy (her first husband); a fling with Auguste Hériot (a handsome, rich young man, who had previously been Polaire’s lover); and a serious affair with Henri de Jouvenel, whom she left Missy / Max for and who became her second husband.

Colette argued that having lovers was part of her “gourmandise” (greedy nature), it was something she did “par folie, par emballement, par… gourmandise” (through madness, enthusiasm… greediness) (p.207). Some writers are greedy for the altered states of alcohol or drugs; Colette was famously greedy for good French food and sex.

However, Colette’s self-indulgence didn’t extend to indulgence towards others. In 1911 (the last year of their relationship), Colette was furious when Missy /Max told her that she had had a young blonde in their house at Rozven, and had cut her hair. The editors of “Lettres” question whether this blonde ever existed, or if Missy /Max invented her as revenge for Colette’s affairs (p.29). Whether the blonde existed or not, the trick certainly worked: after her rage, Colette begged Missy / Max for forgiveness, and begged her not to be unfaithful, not to do what she herself had done (p.207).

It’s interesting that all of Colette’s affairs were with men, whereas when she was married to Willy, she had affairs with women. Perhaps this was part of Colette’s sensual nature, her greed for life: wanting to experience everything, not wanting to miss out on or regret anything… which one might also interpret as “the grass is always greener on the other side”!

A script for Colette

Something wonderful and completely new is happening with The Silver Stopper, my Colette short story based on my novel Nights in Paris. The Silver Stopper may be made into a short film — which makes me almost hysterical with joy! My writing is visual and descriptive, so I can see the whole film in my mind, which may be useful for Toni, the director… or annoying! We plan to start writing the script this weekend. I’ve had a look at a script writing program: writing a script is hugely different to a novel or story, but I am full of naïve, idealistic energy at the moment, so I’m not (yet) daunted.

There are already some difficulties we’ll have to contend with, such as: how much of a historical film should we make it? It’s set circa 1907, and Wellington has some historical homes, but not many. Also, how erotic to make it? There’s nothing worse than bad erotica, whether you’re reading or watching it. We could have corsets, shifts and lots of ruffles and ribbons: vintage clothing can be more suggestive and erotic than plain, unadorned nudity. And what about the accents? Do we make our Kiwi actors speak their lines in fake French accents? Aïe aïe aïe, I have a feeling that this could turn très mal, so we need to be careful! Still, it’s a very exciting time, the world is filled with possibilties…

J’ai la possibilité de faire un film de mon histoire de Colette! Je vois déjà le film tout fini dans ma tête — bien sur, c’est un film sensuel, voluptueux et très beau.

Colette and the exotic 1900s Parisian scene

The Colette chapter of my Nights in Paris novel is flowing along nicely, I am so excited about it and so into the whole daring, exotic, early 2oth century Parisian scene! 1909 wasn’t as daring as 1931 (the Anaïs chapter), of course, but because women were more hidden, in a way they had more freedom. (Obviously, not where it really mattered and not if you weren’t moneyed — real life is never as rosy as it seems to a tourist). I do feel lucky to be a tourist — able to dip in and out of 1909, enjoy all the wonderful parts and bypass any ugliness. Well, not quite bypassed, but you’ll have to read the chapter to see what I mean!

The bit I’m writing now is about Missy — or Max, to more intimate friends. She was very brave and lived in drag, at a time when that was illegal. I’m reading Colette’s ‘The Pure and the Impure’ as research and just love the bit about how horsewomen strut around in their leathers smelling of perspiration and horses, and how wonderfully sexy they are. You can’t get the same thrill from driving a poncy car, Colette says. I’ve never had the chance to get into horses, being a city girl, but she’s certainly persuaded me about the erotic allure of people who ride them!

It must have been quite something, in an era where most bourgeoises would allow themselves to smell only of lavender, lemon verbena or violets, to meet a woman who not only wore trousers and smoked cigars, but strode around smelling of the fresh outdoors and of horses, and was rich enough not to give a stuff about conventional femininity. Meeting someone like that (Missy), would have been exciting, fascinating, and erotic.

I’ve wondered if there was anyone else who should go in the novel, and I thought about Katherine Mansfield and Daphne du Maurier…. I’m not sure, will have to put that thought somewhere and just let it ferment for a while. I have also discovered Kiki de Montparnasse (Alice Prin), Man Ray’s stunning muse. There’s a wonderful photograph of her in the 1920s, resting on a cafe table which is littered with cigarettes (Gitanes?), a bottle of wine and half-filled glasses. But she was a model and artist, not a writer, so I must stop myself from getting carried away. If I weren’t limiting myself to writers, I would love to write about Josephine Baker, Lee Miller, and a hundred more, equally fabulous women!

Idea for a new Parisian novel

After sending my first novel, A Prawn’s Heart is in its Head, to a few publishers, I received the first (no doubt of many) rejection letters a few days ago. As a friend of mine says, “Oh, poos.” My thoughts exactly, only her expression is much more polite.

Strangely, I don’t feel too upset, because on the same day I had a fantastic idea for a new book. I’ve had it in my head for the last couple of years (even before I finished my novel) that my next novel was going to be about medieval torture. I adore all that lovely, bloody, gory stuff, and I wanted to explore the people behind the instruments — how does someone just wake up one day and invent a new form of torture? But when I went into the library recently to start my research, I couldn’t find any books to inspire me. I don’t know if the library just didn’t have the right books, or if maybe, without noticing it, I’ve gone off the whole medieval thing. So I decided to leave the ideas to ferment for a while and see what happened.

Yesterday I sat down before breakfast to note down a couple of ideas — and couldn’t stop writing! It was such a wonderful feeling; one I haven’t had very recently. I’ve already got one and a half first drafts of linked stories based on the imaginary erotic lives of famous women from 1900-1950 who lived in Paris. I’m thinking of the title “Nights in Paris”, or “My nights in Paris”; something like that. Feel free to send me any other suggestions!

I’m convinced that the sudden inspiration was partly due to my beautiful new writing book. I’ve been searching for one for ages, but I’m fussy when it comes to writing books: it has to be big enough, of course, not post-it sized. The pages must be blank, without lines, as lines make me feel constricted. And the ideal book has silver or gold coloured paint on the edges of the pages, just because I love books like that. Amazingly, I found just the thing a few months ago; it’s black velvet with silver beads. I found it in one of those swanky shops that sell lots of (mostly useless but) gorgeous things, and then a few weeks ago they had a sale, so I quickly nabbed two! What a fabulous bargain.