The horse does the physical effort. The rider, on the other hand, has to be the mental force. It’s the rider who decides when the horse should jump, and must work on his technique and have a good instinct. It’s a sport of impressions.” Honorary president of the Monaco International Jumping Competition for the past year, she has been showing greater and greater interest in developing the image of riding, a PR strategy that has consequently sent her looking for partners. “It’s very removed from what I was studying,” she muses. “But it’s enjoyable, and my horses keep me grounded in the present, in something real.” Reality, the grip of nature, basic instincts must certainly be an intoxicating breath of fresh air, a clever way of playing hooky from the constraints of royal life. “I am not a princess,” Charlotte Casiraghi is at pains to stress. “My mother is, not me. I am the niece of a head of state, and while I do have some duties representing Monaco, it isn’t too restricting. It's also for that reason that I refused to be styled like a typical princess for these pictures. For example, I did not want to be photographed on Marie Antoinette's bed. That's the opposite of who I am." Message received then, but whether she wishes it or not, the aura of a royal it-girl illuminates her, and each of her appearances at the Venice Biennial, the Rose Bal, and or the Amfar Dinner at Cap d'Antibes, clad in Chanel, Lanvin, Gucci, Stella MCCartney or Giambattista Valli, sets off a volley of flashbulbs and a world-wide diffusion of pictures, which are dissected by the press and on the Internet. "Like all women, I like clothes," she says. "I like the transformative power fashion permits. But it's not an obsession, and nor do I find it tiresome. Dressing, for me, is a way of honoring those who have invited me or my family. I never try to be spectacular. I want to be correct and respectable."
Listening and observing her, one is reminded of the savage splendour of Brooke Shields in "The Blue Lagoon," and forced to admit that perfection has rarely been so divinely incarnated. In an era of overexposure and vulgarity, Charlotte is a rare species with a deadly lure -- an intriguing, well-behaved young woman, whose purity is a shield. "I've know Charlotte since she was born," says Karl Lagerfeld. "She is a great beauty, that's obvious, but what is more striking is her intelligence and her knowledge. The opposite of "shut up and look pretty." I remember when she came on vacation to my house in Biarritz, and she offered to organize my library with her friends. She adores books, like me, and she always has her nose in a book from morning until night."
Just before she leaves for Monaco where her horses are waiting for her, she mentions she likes, "Rome, ville ouverte" and "Le Mepris," and her iPod which is full of classics such as her favorite "L'isle joueyse" by Debussy, as well as Sly, Faily Stone, avid Bowie, Janis Joplin, Prince and Led Zeppelin. She wraps herself up in a beige trench coat, elegantly freeing her thick bronze hair from around her neck. The temptation to broach the subject of destiny before she leaves is too strong. The question is asked. The response is an amused wink. "It's hard to put together a response to such a question," she replies. "Now I see more clearly what you're asking me. The only thing I can say is that I am very aware of being lucky, and I also know it's necessary to fight. You don't inherit a life. You have to make your own. And that is what is important. The End. She slips out like a shadow on the tips of her ballet flats, Seneca still in her bag. A little while later in a bookshop, I look at "On the shortness of life" and fall by accident on this sentence which could have be written just for this exquisite Amazon: "life is amply long for those who order it properly."
