A fellow who claims to know about such things estimates that of the 425,-000 girl babies born in France in 1963, at least 10,000 were named Brigitte. (Frenchmen are wishful thinkers too.) But fashions in names change as fast as fashions in frocks, and the favorites now are Marielle and Christine—which ought to send a shudder through every haute couture salon in Paris.
Marielle and Christine Goitschel believe in long Johns, stretch pants, and woolly sweaters. Naturally. They spend most of their time in places where the snow is 6 ft. deep and the temperature is 15°. Marielle is 19, Christine is 20, and they are the best female skiers in the world.
Last year they turned the Winter Olympics at Innsbruck, Austria into a French family affair. Christine won the special slalom, beating Marielle by .91 sec. Then Marielle came zipping down the slopes to win the giant slalom, edging Christine and the U.S.'s Jean Saubert, went on to take the overall women's combined championship (special slalom, giant slalom, downhill). This year the sisters have polished their act. In six international meets so far, they have each won the special slalom twice. Marielle also has one giant slalom victory to her credit, as well as four combined titles.
Breaking Bones. The girls have been skiing since 1949, when their parents left the French Riviera to open a small pension in the Alpine village of Val-d'Isère. By the time Marielle was 14 and
Christine was 15, they were on the French national team. Christine's record was unspectacular until 1964, when she won a big slalom victory in Germany on her way to the Olympics. Almost from the start, Marielle was the star: in 1962, at 16, she astonished everyone by winning the women's combined title in the world championships at Chamonix.
The sisters could hardly be more dissimilar—on or off the slopes. Christine's skiing form is immaculate: body bent in the classic "comma" position, skis and poles perfectly controlled, she is the picture of grace as she zigzags through the slalom gates, rarely even brushing the marker poles. Bah, snorts Marielle. "Skiing beautifully is an unimportant matter"—and she attacks a slalom course like a fullback, flailing furiously with her poles, bowling over the gates, diving headlong across the finish line. Her hell-bent style has its disadvantages: Marielle has broken her left leg three times—while Christine has never broken a bone. But slow down? Never. "Sometimes, after I have skied particularly well, I think that I am not capable of going any faster," Marielle says. "Then, a few days later, I do even better. But that's life—n'est-ce pas?'