Dover Book

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    This is one of those books that I procrastinated about writing the review, because there is so much I want to say about it that I sometimes need to let my thoughts settle and get organized.
    First, this Dover edition which is translated by Stanley Appelbaum is excellent. In addition to the translation, he also provides a very interesting review on the life of Colette, and notes on the story, which is quite autobiographical. He also mentions that in some places his translation is such as to make a modern English reader understand the author's intentions. First published in 1979, there are cases where he uses trendy '70s language to convey the meaning of the dialogue, and sometimes it sounds a bit goofy and dated, especially to those of us who were young adults in that period. But otherwise, I have no negative comments. The book is very readable, in fact, I just zoomed through it because I couldn't put it down. What an extraordinary lady was Colette.
    I will here mention just a bit about this extremely prolific writer, because she will be showing up in my pages more and more. There's not many of her works available yet in digital form, at least not translated into English, even from The University of Adelaide in Australia, where I can usually find many rare goodies. Amazon, however, has tons of her writings in book form, you know, the used ones that cost a penny with a $3.99 shipping charge, and are most often almost like new . . . I won't pay for an eBook, but four bucks for a paperback is a good deal!
    Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette was born in 1873 in Saint-Sauverne-en-Puisaye (countryside to the southeast of Paris). Her mother inherited a great deal of property from her first husband, only to lose much through her second, Captain Jules-Joseph Colette, the father of our author. He published scientific writings, and it was the publisher's son, Henri, known as Willy, who met Colette when he brought his illegitimate child to the town to be raised. They fell in love and married in 1893, making Colette now a high-society "Parisienne." Willy, however was a blatant and abusive womanizer and writer of trashy romance novels, of which Colette became one of many "ghost writers." However, her four "Claudine" novels were of a high quality, becoming best sellers, and even made into stage productions. (Though they were originally published under Willy's name, they are now under Colette's own.)
    The dysfunctional marriage ended in 1906, (divorced in 1910), but Colette continued a business association with her ex-husband. She began a lesbian romance with the former Marquise de Belbœuf, known as Missy, and began her stage career studying pantomime with Georges Wague. She later became pregnant and married the baron Henri de Jouvenel. Her daughter, Colette de Jouvenel was her only child. After that marriage ended in 1925, she met the Jewish pearl dealer, Maurice Gaudeket. They married in 1935, and this one was for real. Colette broke her leg in 1931, then suffered from arthritis which kept her mostly bedridden from the early 1940s on to the end of her long life. She died just one year before my birth, in 1954. This information, courtesy of the introductory material in this present edition by Stanley Appelbaum.
    What drew me into the theme of this story, and opened my heart to this wonderful woman is the fact that I see myself in her experience, and can so very much relate to her struggles, with a couple exceptions, the most obvious being that I am not lesbian or bisexual. And though I was never a stage actress, my lifetime profession was in the arts, particularly music and writing. The other huge difference is that, unlike Colette, I never succumbed to the lure of marriage, a choice which, as I look back to my younger years, was one of the best life decisions I ever made, along with also choosing to not bear any children. But her struggles between the two worlds were mine, too.
    The Vagabond is a book ultimately about feminist strength—a psychological and emotional struggle between the hunger for true independence and freedom, juxtaposed with the physical and emotional yearning for romance and companionship. Truly been there, done that. The story, as mentioned above, is quite autobiographical, with certain characters clearly representing those in real life. Though she lives in relative poverty doing a job hardly considered acceptable in proper high society, she is her own person and supports herself, and for that, she has developed a great deal of personal courage and strength of character.
    The other aspect about Colette which draws me near is her love for animals. In the story, dogs play a large role as characters, particularly her own little bulldog, Fossette. Through her writing, it seems the French placed dogs as an important member of their society. In the Vaudeville shows, dogs were backstage and onstage—very much integrated into the lives of the actors. (Colette also wrote a number of novels where animals were the main characters.)
    The book is written in the first person, almost in a diary-like manner. Colette takes on the name Renée in the story. Part One begins at the place in her life where she is already an established pantomime with her stage partner, Brague, (who represents real-life Wague), in an act called Dominance. It is ten thirty, and she is ready too early, as usual. She sets the mood for the scene by describing the acts before her:

How the floor is shaking tonight! You can tell it's cold: the Russian dancers are trying to keep warm. When they all shout "Ho!" together with the shrill, hoarse voice of young pigs, it will be eleven ten. My clock is infallible; it doesn't lose or gain five minutes in a month. At ten I get here; Madame Cavallier is singing her three songs, "The Little Vagrants," "The Farewell Kiss," and "A Little Somebody." At ten Antoniev and his dogs. At ten twenty-two, rifle shots, barks, the end of the dog act. The iron staircase creaks and someone coughs: it's Jardin coming down. She swears while coughing because she steps on the hem of her dress every time—it's a ritual . . . Ten thirty-five, the comic singer Bouty. Ten forty seven, the Russian dancers. And finally eleven ten: me!

    The world in which she lives is one of not only acting but drunks, prostitutes, hunger, fatigue, and disease. Not a pretty picture she paints, but certainly one of sensory stimulation. She is used to men coming to her dressing room door, so doesn't pay much attention to an apologetic one who calls himself a ninny. She hopes he will just go away like the others. He doesn't.
    Meanwhile we hear constantly about her abusive ex-husband, an artist named Taillandy, Of him Appelbaum says:

Taillandy is a total caricature of Willy as a monster with no redeeming features. This was the first of many occasions on which Colette "aid him back" for what she perceived, or at least portrayed, as his unwarranted dominance over her.

    The picture she paints of him is quite disgusting indeed. In fact a great part of Part One and much of Part Two is about the walls enclosing Renée to protect her from ever falling in love again, and from what we can tell, she has also remained quite celibate. She and her close friend Hamond, who suffered similar humiliation by his ex-wife, get together and lament on their dismal past.
    In Part Two, the ninny who had entered her dressing room becomes her "admirer." She discovers (to her dismay) that Hamond actually is a childhood friend of the Big Ninny, who in fact is a wealthy and respectable gentleman. Monsieur Maxime Dufferein-Chautel eases his way into her life, through the visits of Hamond, in which he tags along. Renée remains indifferent at first but his persistence gradually breaks through. They become "in love" but not yet lovers. Yet still we sense that something is not genuine. A contract for travel across France over a period of forty days is signed by Renée and Brague. Maxime is not invited, On the contrary, Renée stresses that he must not follow her.
    Part Three is a series of letters written by Renée to Maxime while she is on tour. Hers are vibrant, his are dull. He begins talking about their future and his taking a house for the two of them, and marriage, too. She is suddenly struck at the way her life is being planned without her consent, and wakes up from her dream. grateful that she is able to see the life of discontent to which she almost succumbed. In the end, she secretly returns home only to be soon off again on a much more grand tour to South America.
    Colette's style (and certainly this translation) is very readable. There is almost no sense of drama—it is more of a "day in the life" series of scenarios told by an obviously tough woman who knows herself and knows how to keep going. There is subtle amusement as she sees what each experience will bring, and a more or less acceptance of her circumstances, always knowing that she has made her own decisions. She has turned the ordinary to extraordinary in her retelling. We feel as if we are there, moving along in her shadow. Here is a quote from Part Two, when she arrives home to find Hamond, Maxine and Fossette playing cards.

    Three heads are raised when I enter my study: those of Hamond, Fossette, and Dufferein-Chautel. Huddling together under the pink lampshade around a little table, they're playing écarté while waiting for me. Fossette knows how to play cards in bulldog fashion; sitting on a chair, she follows the men's hands back and forth, ready to catch on the fly a card they tip too far.
    Hamond exclaims. "At last!" Fossette says, "Woof!" Dufferein-Chautel says nothing, but he almost barked, too . . .

    And here, from Part Three, is a quote when, on her forty-day tour of France, she realizes she is breaking free of a relationship that she knows down deep was not right. (Ah, I well know that feeling.)

    Because I will run away! A premeditated escape is being organized way down in the depths of me, though I'm not yet taking a direct part in it . . . At the decisive moment, when I shall need merely to call, like a madwoman, "Quick, Blandine, my valise and a taxi!" I shall perhaps be deceived by my confusion, but, dear Max, whom I tried to love, I confess here with the sincerest sorrow: from now on, everything is decided.
    Except for this sorrow, haven't I become what I used to be once again—that is, free, frightfully alone and free? The transitory grace by which I was touched is withdrawing from me, since I refused to immerse myself in it.

    In all, great reading. I highly recommend this book, and even more so if you are a strong and independent woman! Incidentally, the wonderful painting shown on the book cover is by Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec called Salon at the Rue des Moulins.

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