After living through the turmoil of revolution and civil war in Moscow, Michel wanted to return home, following much of the rest of Moscow’s French community who had already gone back to France. But the passport he submitted to the authorities in central Moscow to apply for a visa was never given back to him. Even without papers, he was given a residence permit, so he stayed and resumed work at the nationalized Brocard factory. This carried on until diplomatic relations were restored between France and the Soviet Union in 1924. Then Michel finally got his passport back. But he opted to stay in Soviet Russia – perhaps because he was able to work again, perhaps because he had found the love of his life there. In any case, there seems to be no doubt that Michel played a significant role in the re-establishment of the Russian perfume industry after the revolution, which itself brought about a ‘paradigm shift’ in the world of fragrances.
3 Brocard bottle
Before the revolution, the highly developed Russian perfume industry had been shaped largely by foreign (mostly French) firms that competed fiercely for the huge Russian–Eurasian market. But after the industry was nationalized, its priorities were radically different. Its main focus then became the mass production of everyday toiletries and cosmetics for the general population. The foreign experts had departed, the supply chains for importing and exporting essential ingredients had been disrupted, and the entire perfume sector had to be reorganized and placed on a new footing.
The factories in the soap and perfume industry were first consolidated under a committee known as Tsentrozhir, or the Main Committee of the Fat Industry of the Supreme Council of the National Economy (VSNKh), and then, from 1921, in a trust referred to as Zhirkost. When the New Economic Policy (NEP) began in the early 1920s, there were around 470 such trusts. All major cosmetics enterprises were incorporated into these trusts, including the former Brocard and Rallet factories. They produced perfumes, soap, eau de cologne, powders and toothpaste, all of which were also given new names. The cosmetics trust, which was reorganized multiple times, has gone down in Soviet history under the French-sounding name TeZhe. This abbreviation stood for Gosudarstvennyy Trest Zhirovoy i Kosti Obrabatyvayushchey Promyshlennosti, or the State Trust of the Fat and Bone Processing Industry. TeZhe (pronounced like a French tejé) became a brand name and the quintessential Soviet cosmetics label of the 1920s and 1930s. In 1926–7, TeZhe had 11 factories with 6,120 workers and 652 salaried employees, with perfume accounting for only a small portion of production.26 With its French-sounding name, TeZhe was in semantic competition with French brands still familiar from the pre-revolutionary period, including Rallet, Coty, Guerlain and Houbigant. It also operated boutiques, some of them quite luxurious, in major Soviet cities, especially in hotels frequented by foreigners. TeZhe covered every sector relevant to perfume production, including chemical labs, glass-cutting factories and retail outlets. In its scope and range of products, the Soviet cosmetics and perfume trust became the largest of its kind in the world.
TeZhe stood for the return of sweet smells after years of war and civil war, but it also glossed over the reality that the industry was taking an entirely new path. Perfumery was now part of a state enterprise beholden no longer to the laws of supply and demand or the ‘anarchical competition’ of brands, but instead to an economic plan. The production of perfume thus became a state matter, and deciding on preferred fragrances and cosmetics, perfumes and labels, became the order of the day for the People’s Commissar for Food Production and Light Industry. Even the empire of scent was now governed by the ‘primacy of politics’.
The scent of a perfume once known as Bouquet de Napoleon or Bouquet de Catherine was the starting point for two other perfumes that were revolutionary in their own way. The scent was (nearly) identical, but it would take two different routes into modernity in the years (and decades) to come. A paradigm shift would take place in design as well – one that would find expression in the appearance of the bottles. Everything moved in the direction of simplicity – in one case, likely as a response to a surfeit of playfulness and ornamental excess; in the other, out of pure necessity. Still, the shapes of the bottles have a touch of geometry, functionalism and Suprematism about them. The labels for the perfumes from Brocard were probably created by an artist named Nikolai Strunnikov, while the packaging and the bottle for Krasnaya Moskva were designed by Andrei Yevseyev. Vladimir Rossinski is another unjustly forgotten artist who had also previously worked for Brocard. Before the revolution, he had designed the tasteful commemorative publication for Brocard’s fiftieth anniversary (1864–1914), which recounted the company’s history in part through coloured cartoons that were spectacular for their time. TeZhe adopted many aspects of the pre-revolutionary designs.27 In the period of the New Economic Policy, from around 1921 to 1928, the old designs lived on in a slightly modernized form, but the names of the products changed. One poster advertised a loose powder with the sweet-sounding name Swan Down, while another featured a product named Spartakiade, recalling the proletarian games. Old and new forms coexisted, a situation often found in societies in transition and under a diarchy. But this particular transition would involve a collision in the world of fragrances, and it would not leave the creators of those fragrances untouched.
Notes
1 1 Here and throughout the book, I am following the biography of Gabrielle Chanel written by Edmonde Charles-Roux, Chanel and Her World, first published in French in 1979. There are many other accounts of her life; see, e.g., Axel Madsen, Coco Chanel; Paul Morand, The Allure of Chanel. Regarding Grasse as the ‘Rome of fragrances’, see Grasse.
2 2 Tilar J. Mazzeo, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, pp. 60ff.
3 3 Ibid., p. 61; Marie-Dominique Lelièvre (Le No 5 de Chanel, p. 43) speaks of a ‘grey zone’ regarding the date and location of the meeting.
4 4 Quoted in Konstantin M. Verigin, Blagoukhannost’, p. 50 (in the online edition at www.e-reading.club/book.php? book=1016413). French edition: Constantin Weriguine, Souvenirs et parfums.
5 5 Mazzeo, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, pp. 62, 67; regarding the formula for Chanel No. 5, see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chanel_No._5.
6 6 Mazzeo, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, p. 65.
7 7 Ibid., pp. 65f.
8 8 For various accounts of the perfume’s creation, see Michael Edwards, Perfume Legends, p. 43, and Joachim Laukenmann, ‘Es riecht nach Remake’. Regarding the different versions of the story, see, e.g., https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chanel_No_5.The most important analysis of the genealogy of Chanel No. 5 can be found in Philip Kraft et al., From Rallet No 1 to Chanel No 5 versus Mademoiselle Chanel No 1. However, like most accounts, this article disregards the line leading from Brocard’s Bouquet de Catherine to Krasnaya Moskva.
9 9 This formula can be found at https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chanel_ No_5.
10 10 Mazzeo, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, p. 71.
11 11 Karl Lagerfeld, Chanel’s Russian Connection.
12 12 Mazzeo, The Secret of Chanel No. 5, p. 72.
13 13 Ibid., pp. 72, 67f.
14 14 Jean-Louis Froment, No. 5 Culture Chanel, introduction.
15 15 Zolotoy yubiley parfyumernogo proizvodstva Tovarishchestva Brokar i Ko v Moskve.
16 16 Regarding the nationalization of factories after 1917, see Manfred Hildermeier, Geschichte der
