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La vagabonde
Renée Néré, lasse des infidélités de son mari, le peintre Taillandy, vient de le quitter. La séparation la laisse meurtrie. Pour subvenir à sa vie, Renée devient mime, danseuse et actrice. Un riche héritier, Maxime, en tombe amoureux. La jeune femme est tentée par ce nouvel amour, mais les souvenirs douloureux de son premier mariage sont omniprésents. A l’issue d’une tournée théâtrale, elle prend sa décision… Le roman est riche des premières expériences matrimoniales de Colette. Il est aussi un hymne au théâtre, aux coulisses et aux gagne-petit qui le peuplent. Ces deux thèmes – le renoncement à l’amour et le music-hall – , qui seront ceux que l’écrivain développera tout au long de son œuvre, sont ici inextricablement mêlés. La Vagabonde est le roman de la désillusion, de la nostalgie, mais aussi celui du combat intérieur et de la victoire sur soi.
287 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1910
355 people are currently reading
8566 people want to read
About the author
Colette
921 books1,746 followersColette was the pen name of the French novelist and actress Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette. She is best known, at least in the English-speaking world, for her novella Gigi, which provided the plot for a famous Lerner & Loewe musical film and stage musical. She started her writing career penning the influential Claudine novels of books. The novel Chéri is often cited as her masterpiece.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 452 reviews
April 17, 2020
(Revised and pictures added 4/20)
Long before Cher and Madonna thought they invented “first names only,” there was Colette (1873-1954). (There’s a word for that: mononymous.) And long before gay rights, Collette, who was bisexual, flaunted her numerous lesbian affairs. Of course this was Paris, not Peoria. In addition to being an author, Colette was a stage performer – actress, mime and dancer and that time of her life informs this book, considered an early feminist novel.
So our main character is a 33-year old woman, footloose at the moment. It’s been three years since her divorce. She was married to an artist who beat her and who spent most of his time bedding other women. Still, she stayed with him for eight years. Now she is independent and really loves her work as an actress, mime and dancer (like Colette) . Now she has acquired an admirer. He’s unmarried, persistent, very well off, good-enough looking and he loves her and wants to marry her. She’s fond of him, maybe even in love with him, and she’s tempted.
She goes on the road for a 40-day show tour without him and promises to give him her answer when she returns. They exchange letters and she starts to weigh his words: “This is what I want for us…” Her earlier experience tells her this will only last a few years; this is France around 1900 --- all well-off married men take a mistress after a few years of marriage. But as she tells us many times, she is 33, so she feels her clock is ticking.
The blurbs tell us that Erica Jong called this book “…one of the first and best feminine novels ever written…” That’s quite an endorsement. I’ve read that the title, “The Vagabond,” is in error and it really should be more properly translated as “The Wanderer.”
Interspersed with the narrative are many exquisite passages describing flowers, trees and the seasons. Colette has quite an eye for nature, if you like flowery paragraphs. In fact, here is a link to a story about Colette being a gardening enthusiast: https://lithub.com/how-plants-helped-...
I liked the story and the writing style. It was fairly fast-paced and kept my attention without flagging.
Top photo: Paris street from si.wsj.net/public/resources/images
Paris stage production from guardian.co.uk
Collage "The Many Faces of Colette" from hips.hearstapps.com
Long before Cher and Madonna thought they invented “first names only,” there was Colette (1873-1954). (There’s a word for that: mononymous.) And long before gay rights, Collette, who was bisexual, flaunted her numerous lesbian affairs. Of course this was Paris, not Peoria. In addition to being an author, Colette was a stage performer – actress, mime and dancer and that time of her life informs this book, considered an early feminist novel.
So our main character is a 33-year old woman, footloose at the moment. It’s been three years since her divorce. She was married to an artist who beat her and who spent most of his time bedding other women. Still, she stayed with him for eight years. Now she is independent and really loves her work as an actress, mime and dancer (like Colette) . Now she has acquired an admirer. He’s unmarried, persistent, very well off, good-enough looking and he loves her and wants to marry her. She’s fond of him, maybe even in love with him, and she’s tempted.
She goes on the road for a 40-day show tour without him and promises to give him her answer when she returns. They exchange letters and she starts to weigh his words: “This is what I want for us…” Her earlier experience tells her this will only last a few years; this is France around 1900 --- all well-off married men take a mistress after a few years of marriage. But as she tells us many times, she is 33, so she feels her clock is ticking.
The blurbs tell us that Erica Jong called this book “…one of the first and best feminine novels ever written…” That’s quite an endorsement. I’ve read that the title, “The Vagabond,” is in error and it really should be more properly translated as “The Wanderer.”
Interspersed with the narrative are many exquisite passages describing flowers, trees and the seasons. Colette has quite an eye for nature, if you like flowery paragraphs. In fact, here is a link to a story about Colette being a gardening enthusiast: https://lithub.com/how-plants-helped-...
I liked the story and the writing style. It was fairly fast-paced and kept my attention without flagging.
Top photo: Paris street from si.wsj.net/public/resources/images
Paris stage production from guardian.co.uk
Collage "The Many Faces of Colette" from hips.hearstapps.com
October 4, 2016
I've enjoyed all the Colette books that I have read, but The Vagabond is my favorite. Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, a French writer in the early 20th century, created the memorable characters of Gigi, Cheri, Claudine, and from The Vagabond, Renee Here. Renee gave her love to her first husband who cheated on her and left her. Now at age 33 she is independent, working as a successful dancer and actor, lonely, but afraid to give her heart to anyone again. Then along comes the handsome and rich bachelor, Maxime, who falls in love with Renee, and she is torn between the temptation to give herself to love again, or to remain in her cocoon of loneliness and independence. You can tell that Colette is writing from experience, and with a passion and beauty that simply flows from the page. For my friends who haven't read Colette, give The Vagabond a try, I think you might be pleasantly surprised.
February 22, 2025
Uma mulher itinerante
A protagonista, Renée - escritora e artista de music-hall - dividida entre um novo amor e a liberdade depois de um casamento terminado por razões de traição. Um marido pouco recomendável, que inclusive lhe roubou direitos de autor.
Desgostos ciosamente escondidos endureceram esta mulher acerca da qual se exclama que é feita de aço ou simplesmente «feita de mulher».
O casamento é para ela domesticidade conjugal, uma transformação de mulheres numa espécie de amas de adultos.
Aparece Maxime, um homem rico e ocioso, que lhe oferece um casamento «como um recinto cheio de sol, cercado por muros sólidos.»
Inicialmente receptiva - uma tournée acontece - e, depois de muitas cartas trocadas, Renée conclui que não quer donos que a roubem a si própria, segura que tem companheiros de viagem e que Deus concede magníficos bens aos vagueantes, aos nómadas, aos solitários.
Uma reflexão sobre o amor, o casamento, a liberdade, a vida profissional e, simultaneamente, um grito à liberdade da mulher.
Admirei esta personagem, sua honestidade e determinação; mas lembremo-nos que mulheres como esta, sempre existiram, não só na ficção, mas essencialmente ao nosso redor.
Renée conclui que sua verdadeira liberdade está em não pertencer a ninguém, mantendo-se independente e fiel a si mesma. Ela percebe que, apesar dos relacionamentos passados, a sua força reside na sua capacidade de viver apaixonadamente pelo Amor sem se comprometer com nenhum que não considere suficientemente belo.
A protagonista, Renée - escritora e artista de music-hall - dividida entre um novo amor e a liberdade depois de um casamento terminado por razões de traição. Um marido pouco recomendável, que inclusive lhe roubou direitos de autor.
Desgostos ciosamente escondidos endureceram esta mulher acerca da qual se exclama que é feita de aço ou simplesmente «feita de mulher».
O casamento é para ela domesticidade conjugal, uma transformação de mulheres numa espécie de amas de adultos.
Aparece Maxime, um homem rico e ocioso, que lhe oferece um casamento «como um recinto cheio de sol, cercado por muros sólidos.»
Inicialmente receptiva - uma tournée acontece - e, depois de muitas cartas trocadas, Renée conclui que não quer donos que a roubem a si própria, segura que tem companheiros de viagem e que Deus concede magníficos bens aos vagueantes, aos nómadas, aos solitários.
Uma reflexão sobre o amor, o casamento, a liberdade, a vida profissional e, simultaneamente, um grito à liberdade da mulher.
Admirei esta personagem, sua honestidade e determinação; mas lembremo-nos que mulheres como esta, sempre existiram, não só na ficção, mas essencialmente ao nosso redor.
Renée conclui que sua verdadeira liberdade está em não pertencer a ninguém, mantendo-se independente e fiel a si mesma. Ela percebe que, apesar dos relacionamentos passados, a sua força reside na sua capacidade de viver apaixonadamente pelo Amor sem se comprometer com nenhum que não considere suficientemente belo.
December 28, 2022
If I were two people, I’d mistakenly recommend this book to me. The Vagabond is in love with love, and lives entirely from the heart; she’s an introspective, vaudeville performer who travels with a friend, but needs to live alone. She’s divorced from an abusive man and living successfully on her own. But overall, I was bored.
I think this might have appealed to me 25 years ago, when I found it hard to surrender to another. To be a woman is to be marked, no matter what you do, and we all want to be loved for what’s inside:
“He pretends to forget that he desires me, he doesn’t show any urge to discover me, either, to question me, to divine me, and I see him more attentive to the play of light on my hair than to what I’m saying.”
The story is a simple will-she-won’t-she, weighted by the narrator, Renée’s, previous trauma with her x-husband. It’s insightful, and one of the things I found most poignant was how Renée confused masochistic surrender with what it meant to love. It also touched on how hard it is for any of us to self-actualize while building a partnership at home.
But meaning became meaningless in the search. I had a similar experience with Clarice Lispector’s writing in ‘An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures,’ which felt like the polar opposite of Colette’s here, like the flip side of the same coin. Both protagonists are extremely relational, yet too tangled inside to connect. Unfortunately, this trait carried over from writer to reader: Colette diced all feeling in an upward swirl as I grasped at her fragments, whereas Lispector condensed it all into a mass I couldn’t haul. My feelings about this book were as labile as Renée’s, and ultimately, I wanted to be free.
I think this might have appealed to me 25 years ago, when I found it hard to surrender to another. To be a woman is to be marked, no matter what you do, and we all want to be loved for what’s inside:
“He pretends to forget that he desires me, he doesn’t show any urge to discover me, either, to question me, to divine me, and I see him more attentive to the play of light on my hair than to what I’m saying.”
The story is a simple will-she-won’t-she, weighted by the narrator, Renée’s, previous trauma with her x-husband. It’s insightful, and one of the things I found most poignant was how Renée confused masochistic surrender with what it meant to love. It also touched on how hard it is for any of us to self-actualize while building a partnership at home.
But meaning became meaningless in the search. I had a similar experience with Clarice Lispector’s writing in ‘An Apprenticeship, or The Book of Pleasures,’ which felt like the polar opposite of Colette’s here, like the flip side of the same coin. Both protagonists are extremely relational, yet too tangled inside to connect. Unfortunately, this trait carried over from writer to reader: Colette diced all feeling in an upward swirl as I grasped at her fragments, whereas Lispector condensed it all into a mass I couldn’t haul. My feelings about this book were as labile as Renée’s, and ultimately, I wanted to be free.
April 16, 2021
Why in the world did I like this so much?
Is it the plot? It is about a music-hall dancer, Rénée Néré. She is thirty-three, a Parisian of Montmartre, a recent divorcée. She is burnt by marriage. She is determined and hardened, but honestly she is really just hurt. Hard on the surface and determined to survive. Will she choose to manage on her own or will she marry into an easy life of comfort and wealth…but what must she sacrifice then? What does she really want? We watch her path toward self-discovery.
The book is partially autobiographical, but it was first published in 1910, while the author, Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, died much later in 1954, so it can only be about her younger years. She was born 1873. Any peek at Wiki will tell you that the author married three times and had both scandalous lesbian and heterosexual relationships. When you read the book you don't know how she will choose. You watch, and I found it totally convincing. I think this is what I found so wonderful with the book.
What was life like at the turn of the 20th Century for the music-hall dancers of Paris? This is why I chose the book, but it turned out to be much more of a look at one woman’s choices. I am convinced she made the right choice for her, and that means I got to know who she was, not just any music-hall dancer.
Then there is the writing. First I found the writing florid, filled with words and phrases such as "whence" and "thou" and "his prompt docility" or "in a moment of exquisite bliss". Antiquated? Dated? I started with dislike but grew to marvel at how expertly the author depicted situations and places and emotions. By the end I thought it read as poetry. Does this also reflect the author’s passage toward becoming a writer? I usually like simple writing, and that is not what is delivered, but I certainly liked this. Another surprise.
The narration of the audiobbok by Johanna Ward was f-a-n-t-a-s-t-i-c!!!! It could not have been better. Perfect French and the tone perfectly matched Rénée/Colette. The story is told in the first person narrative so we are listening to Rénée words and thoughts. She must have sounded exactly so! Maybe the audio version further enhances the believability of the story told.
I don’t like short novels, but I really liked this! Both its exquisite writing and how it was so thoroughly convincing! You must know that Colette also wrote Gigi which became both a film and a stage production.
Is it the plot? It is about a music-hall dancer, Rénée Néré. She is thirty-three, a Parisian of Montmartre, a recent divorcée. She is burnt by marriage. She is determined and hardened, but honestly she is really just hurt. Hard on the surface and determined to survive. Will she choose to manage on her own or will she marry into an easy life of comfort and wealth…but what must she sacrifice then? What does she really want? We watch her path toward self-discovery.
The book is partially autobiographical, but it was first published in 1910, while the author, Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette, died much later in 1954, so it can only be about her younger years. She was born 1873. Any peek at Wiki will tell you that the author married three times and had both scandalous lesbian and heterosexual relationships. When you read the book you don't know how she will choose. You watch, and I found it totally convincing. I think this is what I found so wonderful with the book.
What was life like at the turn of the 20th Century for the music-hall dancers of Paris? This is why I chose the book, but it turned out to be much more of a look at one woman’s choices. I am convinced she made the right choice for her, and that means I got to know who she was, not just any music-hall dancer.
Then there is the writing. First I found the writing florid, filled with words and phrases such as "whence" and "thou" and "his prompt docility" or "in a moment of exquisite bliss". Antiquated? Dated? I started with dislike but grew to marvel at how expertly the author depicted situations and places and emotions. By the end I thought it read as poetry. Does this also reflect the author’s passage toward becoming a writer? I usually like simple writing, and that is not what is delivered, but I certainly liked this. Another surprise.
The narration of the audiobbok by Johanna Ward was f-a-n-t-a-s-t-i-c!!!! It could not have been better. Perfect French and the tone perfectly matched Rénée/Colette. The story is told in the first person narrative so we are listening to Rénée words and thoughts. She must have sounded exactly so! Maybe the audio version further enhances the believability of the story told.
I don’t like short novels, but I really liked this! Both its exquisite writing and how it was so thoroughly convincing! You must know that Colette also wrote Gigi which became both a film and a stage production.
November 15, 2008
This is probably the most beautiful piece of writing I've ever found. If there is a more honest exposition, a more sincere appraisal, of the narrative we live when not consumed by mundane distractions, I look forward to your recommendations.
Colette's talent lies in enumerating the sensory details we barely notice and explicating the relationship between the tactile and the emotional. In an existential sense, this is a novel about nature and desire, surrender and choice. But forget the philosophical superimposition, the existential battyfang is reductionist. The Vagabond is simultaneously primal and detached. When all is said and done, you go to ground because who you are is constructed from where you come from. And where you come from is made of smells, fabric, the ambient temperature to which you're accustomed, the color of the foliage and how it turns with the season.
That said, it's impossible to capture the novel in a few sentences. It's deception, it's contrast, it's doubt, it's an assertion of will, it's protofeminism, it's submission... for starters.
Obviously, you just have to read it. More than once.
Colette's talent lies in enumerating the sensory details we barely notice and explicating the relationship between the tactile and the emotional. In an existential sense, this is a novel about nature and desire, surrender and choice. But forget the philosophical superimposition, the existential battyfang is reductionist. The Vagabond is simultaneously primal and detached. When all is said and done, you go to ground because who you are is constructed from where you come from. And where you come from is made of smells, fabric, the ambient temperature to which you're accustomed, the color of the foliage and how it turns with the season.
That said, it's impossible to capture the novel in a few sentences. It's deception, it's contrast, it's doubt, it's an assertion of will, it's protofeminism, it's submission... for starters.
Obviously, you just have to read it. More than once.
April 16, 2022
Nesta obra-prima de Sidonie Gabrielle Colette, escrita em 1910, o enredo e a realidade se misturam, pois o livro é extremamente autobiográfico.
Renne uma promissora escritora, se separa do marido que a traiu e roubou lhe seus textos literários, e parte para o mundo do teatro, da dança, do music hall.
Independente e feminista, vive uma vida de "vagabunda" fazendo o que bem quer da vida, sendo na esfera sexual ou social. Era dona de si, livre e sendo sempre cobiçada pelos homens que sempre desprezava.
Até que um dia se depara com um jovem da sua idade, que praticamente a venera a qual ela também despreza o chamando sempre de " o grande paspalho."
Jovem e rico , Maxime, era o seu nome, fará de tudo para conseguir conquistar Renne .
Mas será que ela vai abrir mão de toda essa liberdade que adquiriu? Ou não estará ela já cansada dessa vida de dançarina, e merecidamente descansará no colo do pobre paspalho?? Ou as feridas do casamento anterior pesará negativamente em sua vida atual??
Parece tudo clichê, um romance barato, mas esse livro é um dos melhores livros que já pude ler…. sensacional, profundo, polêmico, destacou os desafios que as mulheres enfrentavam para alcançar a independência na sociedade francesa.
Amei minha primeira leitura de Colette!!!
Renne uma promissora escritora, se separa do marido que a traiu e roubou lhe seus textos literários, e parte para o mundo do teatro, da dança, do music hall.
Independente e feminista, vive uma vida de "vagabunda" fazendo o que bem quer da vida, sendo na esfera sexual ou social. Era dona de si, livre e sendo sempre cobiçada pelos homens que sempre desprezava.
Até que um dia se depara com um jovem da sua idade, que praticamente a venera a qual ela também despreza o chamando sempre de " o grande paspalho."
Jovem e rico , Maxime, era o seu nome, fará de tudo para conseguir conquistar Renne .
Mas será que ela vai abrir mão de toda essa liberdade que adquiriu? Ou não estará ela já cansada dessa vida de dançarina, e merecidamente descansará no colo do pobre paspalho?? Ou as feridas do casamento anterior pesará negativamente em sua vida atual??
Parece tudo clichê, um romance barato, mas esse livro é um dos melhores livros que já pude ler…. sensacional, profundo, polêmico, destacou os desafios que as mulheres enfrentavam para alcançar a independência na sociedade francesa.
Amei minha primeira leitura de Colette!!!
August 9, 2021
due veloci considerazioni:
- se nella Parigi di inizio '900 ci fossero stati gli antibiotici, quanti libri/opere in meno! son tutti lì a espettorare, con complessioni rachitiche e necessità di svernare al caldo;
- quanto se la racconta/ce la racconta Colette la sua scelta di rinunciare in toto al maschio protettore?
Romanzo interessante per il tema ma che a parte qualche sprazzo narrativo felice, e una vena ironica serpeggiante, non sopravvive alla propria verbosità e anche alla sostanziale ipocrisia.
La protagonista si è liberata da un marito tossico, che oltre a menarla la umilia usandola per i suoi tripli-quadrupli ménage, e si è data all'unica arte che le consenta quella libertà a cui ambisce: calcare i palcoscenici dei café chantant.
Arriva il principe azzurro, Max-il-bamboccione, che giustamente è visto come un moscone che le ronza attorno, e disturba la quotidianità fatta di routine di Renata. Solo che Renata alla fin fine soccombe all'amore, anzi alle braccia muscolose di Max che le danno quel fremito perduto.
Visto che siamo dalle parti della 3a repubblica e la Francia ondeggia tra il moralismo fissato dalla tragica fine della dame aux camélias e la sfrenatezza della belle époque, c'è un limite a quello che Colette può dire o far trasparire. Non tanto perchè non ci fossero precedenti, quanto perché pure lei aspirava a rifarsi una reputazione di donna libera che non ha bisogno di mariti e/o amanti e vive con la cagnetta e qualche amico. Al sesso allude (e illude il caro Max) ma sarà per un'altra volta.
Non invecchia benissimo la scrittura di Colette, mentre i suoi temi ahimè sono sempre lì a ricordarci che nelle equazioni sentimentali non ci sono mai soluzioni certe.
- se nella Parigi di inizio '900 ci fossero stati gli antibiotici, quanti libri/opere in meno! son tutti lì a espettorare, con complessioni rachitiche e necessità di svernare al caldo;
- quanto se la racconta/ce la racconta Colette la sua scelta di rinunciare in toto al maschio protettore?
Romanzo interessante per il tema ma che a parte qualche sprazzo narrativo felice, e una vena ironica serpeggiante, non sopravvive alla propria verbosità e anche alla sostanziale ipocrisia.
La protagonista si è liberata da un marito tossico, che oltre a menarla la umilia usandola per i suoi tripli-quadrupli ménage, e si è data all'unica arte che le consenta quella libertà a cui ambisce: calcare i palcoscenici dei café chantant.
Arriva il principe azzurro, Max-il-bamboccione, che giustamente è visto come un moscone che le ronza attorno, e disturba la quotidianità fatta di routine di Renata. Solo che Renata alla fin fine soccombe all'amore, anzi alle braccia muscolose di Max che le danno quel fremito perduto.
Visto che siamo dalle parti della 3a repubblica e la Francia ondeggia tra il moralismo fissato dalla tragica fine della dame aux camélias e la sfrenatezza della belle époque, c'è un limite a quello che Colette può dire o far trasparire. Non tanto perchè non ci fossero precedenti, quanto perché pure lei aspirava a rifarsi una reputazione di donna libera che non ha bisogno di mariti e/o amanti e vive con la cagnetta e qualche amico. Al sesso allude (e illude il caro Max) ma sarà per un'altra volta.
Non invecchia benissimo la scrittura di Colette, mentre i suoi temi ahimè sono sempre lì a ricordarci che nelle equazioni sentimentali non ci sono mai soluzioni certe.
May 6, 2022
I went into this not really knowing what to expect but The Vagabond is a beautifully written novel about Renee- a woman in her early 30's who is divorced from her abusive, philandering husband and now works as a performer. Most of the novel follows her gaining a new admirer who wants more commitment than she may be willing to offer.
I kind of ended up loving this. It's a fascinating window into female life in early 1900's France and we see Renee experience the pull of romance and desire, while also factoring in the way that marriage would constrain her life and remove some of her agency. It's a nuanced exploration of how women can want opposing things, gendered expectations in marriage, and the impact of aging on perceived desirability of women versus men.
It's clear that Colette's own life probably influenced much of this book, which makes it all the more interesting hearing about Renee's early marriage. The novel is fast-paced and a quick read, definitely worth a look.
I kind of ended up loving this. It's a fascinating window into female life in early 1900's France and we see Renee experience the pull of romance and desire, while also factoring in the way that marriage would constrain her life and remove some of her agency. It's a nuanced exploration of how women can want opposing things, gendered expectations in marriage, and the impact of aging on perceived desirability of women versus men.
It's clear that Colette's own life probably influenced much of this book, which makes it all the more interesting hearing about Renee's early marriage. The novel is fast-paced and a quick read, definitely worth a look.
June 23, 2024
Plutôt un 6 sur 5 !
March 10, 2009
'Cheri' and 'The Last of Cheri' are two of my favorite books and I thought it was about time I read more of Colette, and 'The Vagabond' didn't disappoint. It's hard to believe this was written in 1910 because the truth of what she writes is still so relevant today - a divorced woman struggling between the choice of a new love and her work, which allows her to be independent at last. Will she give up her job that enables her to provide for herself and do the things she wants, though the hours are long and the work difficult, for what? Having already experienced love gone wrong she is skeptical of loving someone again but is quickly reminded of how wonderful it can be. On one side is a good man who does love her and would allow her to live comfortably forever, and on the other is the pride of having her own life and her own work but being alone. Colette does an excellent job of making the reader, at different times, want both of these lives for her. No matter what she decides you are happy for what she's chosen, sad for what she's given up and glad that it doesn't always have to be like that.
January 26, 2018
Beautifully written but not at all what I expected. I guess that I was thinking it would be something like Gigi; instead, it is the painfully melancholy story of a woman so wounded by her failed marriage that she is struggling to suppress all emotional attachments.
January 6, 2017
Colette dit je et parle au présent, quand elle écrit Renée.
Renée est artiste de music-hall pour mieux être libre, libre de son premier mari, libre amoureusement et financièrement. Mais saura-t-elle garder cette indépendance, après sa rencontre avec Maxime, un riche héritier qui s'éprend d'elle ?
A travers un texte simple et direct, parfois fragile et d'autres fois travaillé, Colette parle de l'indépendance de la femme, tout en décrivant son monde de music-hall, peuplé d'acrobates aux visages fardés, et bordé de froufrous. L'écriture nous emmène, sans plan et sans schéma, comme dans un journal intime, captivante et inattendue.
Certains passages sont mémorables, j'aime celui-ci sur la perception du lesbianisme, à la fois datée et très belle :
"A quoi bon lui expliquer ?... Deux femmes enlacées ne seront jamais pour lui qu'un groupe polisson, et non l'image mélancolique et touchante de deux faiblesses, peut-être réfugiées aux bras l'une de l'autre pour y dormir, y pleurer, fuir l'homme souvent méchant, et goûter, mieux que tout plaisir, l'amer bonheur de se sentir pareilles, infimes, oubliées... A quoi bon écrire, et plaider, et discuter ?... Mon voluptueux ami ne comprend que l'amour..." p. 252
Renée est artiste de music-hall pour mieux être libre, libre de son premier mari, libre amoureusement et financièrement. Mais saura-t-elle garder cette indépendance, après sa rencontre avec Maxime, un riche héritier qui s'éprend d'elle ?
A travers un texte simple et direct, parfois fragile et d'autres fois travaillé, Colette parle de l'indépendance de la femme, tout en décrivant son monde de music-hall, peuplé d'acrobates aux visages fardés, et bordé de froufrous. L'écriture nous emmène, sans plan et sans schéma, comme dans un journal intime, captivante et inattendue.
Certains passages sont mémorables, j'aime celui-ci sur la perception du lesbianisme, à la fois datée et très belle :
"A quoi bon lui expliquer ?... Deux femmes enlacées ne seront jamais pour lui qu'un groupe polisson, et non l'image mélancolique et touchante de deux faiblesses, peut-être réfugiées aux bras l'une de l'autre pour y dormir, y pleurer, fuir l'homme souvent méchant, et goûter, mieux que tout plaisir, l'amer bonheur de se sentir pareilles, infimes, oubliées... A quoi bon écrire, et plaider, et discuter ?... Mon voluptueux ami ne comprend que l'amour..." p. 252
July 15, 2010
A glittering stream of diamonds came from Colette's pen to create this novel. It would have been sheer pleasure to read this just for the language alone, and I regret not reviving my French skills to read it in the original language. I had both admiration and affection for the protagonist, Renee, an "older" divorcee, making her way alone in the world as a cabaret performer, who meets a wealthy, respectable admirer who becomes her suitor. Renee cannot be too different from the author herself, intelligent, appreciating herself and her own company even as she can be critical of her shortcomings and very clear-eyed about her history and her place in the world. It is left to the reader to make a final assessment of Renee based on how she handles what the world throws at her - but I think she would make just the best dinner party guest.
November 20, 2025
Le livre qui m'a réconciliée avec Colette je dirais. C'était génial, parfait peut-être même. Il s'agit d'un livre où nous suivons une femme divorcée qui ne veut plus jamais ouvrir son cœur, elle se l'est promis suite à sa première expérience désastreuse où elle a fini par claquer la porte et ne plus jamais revenir, mais elle est en même temps envahie par la solitude, la peur d'être seule et finir seule. Et mourir seule. Colette nous fait vivre les débats intérieurs de cette femme qui est parfois tentée de laisser un nouvel homme entrer dans sa vie, qui se demande si c'est vraiment de l'amour ou juste de l'attirance physique augmentée par un potentiel avenir accompagnée et non plus seule. Même s'il fait le forceur et qu'elle est déterminée à être seule et indépendante (quoiqu'elle en doute une fois venu le moment où elle se retrouve face à elle-même dans son logement), elle vacille parfois dans ses décisions et se laisse entraîner dans la possibilité d'être à nouveau en couple. Ceci étant dit, même à l'apogée de cette relation, elle est constamment empreinte de doutes et se rend compte qu'elle ne veut plus être la servante de quelqu'un qui supposément l'aime, qui lui retirerait sa liberté. Je ne dis pas ça habituellement pour les autres livres de Colette que j'ai lus, mais j'ai trouvé que presque tous les dialogues nous disaient des choses importantes, sous couverture de discussions banales de la vie quotidienne et du train-train habituel. Autre chose que j'ai énormément apprécié dans ce livre et qu'on voit très rarement en littérature (et dans les discussions sur le sujet en général) : la liaison évidente mais subtile entre la peur d'être seul et la peur de la mort !!
April 14, 2021
O fato desse livro ter sido escrito em 1910 só o deixa mais incrível, porque MEU DEUS ele nunca foi tão atual!
February 24, 2014
First off, I am bias towards this book, as any reader would be who finds a character too like-minded, too closely resembling her own set of cirsumstances. That being said, once the bond is created it then becomes a personal betrayal when the internal monologue is not the one the reader would have when their self-like character confronts the world.
What does any of this have to do with "The Vagabond?" Well, to be frank, the internal monologue didn't stray too far off from what I would of thought in those circumstances, actually what I did think in those circumstances. Writers are often told to write what they know, Colete certainly did. Fortunately what she knew was also fascinating, and bold considering the era.
But social relevance aside, the writing itself is rich with sensory detail, even the furniture of her Bohemian apartment takes on a personality that haunts our dear Renee in the later chapters. The life of the music hall performer is also infused with details that only a pro would know. The smells, tastes, colors, and scenes of an artist's everyday existence are related with a tenderness that enchants the reader. Colete is careful to remind us that this life has value, order, and gives Renee an independence and pride that she cannot find anywhere else: not in the arms of a lover, or the company of a friend.
What does any of this have to do with "The Vagabond?" Well, to be frank, the internal monologue didn't stray too far off from what I would of thought in those circumstances, actually what I did think in those circumstances. Writers are often told to write what they know, Colete certainly did. Fortunately what she knew was also fascinating, and bold considering the era.
But social relevance aside, the writing itself is rich with sensory detail, even the furniture of her Bohemian apartment takes on a personality that haunts our dear Renee in the later chapters. The life of the music hall performer is also infused with details that only a pro would know. The smells, tastes, colors, and scenes of an artist's everyday existence are related with a tenderness that enchants the reader. Colete is careful to remind us that this life has value, order, and gives Renee an independence and pride that she cannot find anywhere else: not in the arms of a lover, or the company of a friend.
January 30, 2016
É diferente do que eu esperava, ao menos a descrição que vi em certos lugares torna a protagonista muito menos pudica do que de fato ela é, mas mesmo com uma impressão errada de se colocar a liberdade acima do temor que ela de fato sente, é uma boa obra à frente de seu tempo que aplaca a irritante lenda de que tudo que uma mulher de fato quer é um homem.
January 20, 2026
Parigi, primi del Novecento. Dopo un matrimonio soffocante e un coraggioso divorzio, Renée Néré si ritrova sola, libera e povera. Per sopravvivere, calca le scene dei music-hall, trasformando il palcoscenico nel suo regno e il corpo nello strumento di una nuova, faticosa autonomia. Barcamenandosi tra colleghi ambigui e spasimanti invadenti, Renée si racconta in queste pagine tinte di cipria e inchiostro con una voce orgogliosa, lucida come una lama. Assieme a lei la cagnolina Fossette, unica, inseparabile compagna.
Quando Maxime, un ricco ammiratore, le offre sicurezza e amore, Renée si trova di fronte alla prova più difficile: barattare la libertà tanto duramente conquistata per le comodità di una gabbia dorata?
Pubblicato a puntate nel 1910 e ispirato alla vita dell’autrice, La vagabonda è uno dei capolavori della maturità di Colette. Un romanzo intelligente, di formazione e resistenza, che continua a parlare al cuore di chi non ha paura di scegliere la propria vita.
Chi è veramente “la vagabonda”? Possiamo rispondere in vari modi alla questione, che si pone già a partire dal titolo del romanzo, dove una parola usata di solito come aggettivo viene trasformata in un destino.
Una volta aperto il libro, fin dalle righe iniziali, scritte in prima persona, scopriremo che la vagabonda è anzitutto la narratrice di se stessa. È colei che fa esistere la storia perché è lei a gestire il discorso, e perdipiù a collocarsi dentro la vicenda. Ma la vagabonda è anche una sorella d’anima di Claudine, la mitica protagonista del ciclo in quattro volumi originariamente firmato soltanto dal marito di Colette, Willy, da cui la scrittrice divorzia definitivamente proprio nel 1910, l’anno di pubblicazione della Vagabonda. Anche nei romanzi di Claudine la protagonista, che sarebbe diventata la ragazzina più leggendaria di Francia, usava la prima persona; in più, all’inizio del libro che apre la tetralogia (Claudine a scuola, uscito nel 1900), nella descrizione dei boschi dove ha trascorso l’infanzia, Claudine adoperava proprio l’immagine dell’erranza: «J’ai vécu dans ces bois dix années de vagabondages éperdus, de conquêtes et de découvertes». Questa nuova creatura d’invenzione che viene al mondo nel 1910 è dunque un essere felice e ibrido, fatto di tante donne possibili e tutte da scoprire. Per lei Julia Kristeva ha usato una formidabile espressione, quando ha definito la vagabonda una «sorella solare delle isteriche». È proprio così, in effetti, e tra l’altro con una coincidenza di date significativa: L’interpretazione dei sogni (uscito nel 1899 con data 1900) ha la stessa età del personaggio di Claudine. Nel medesimo momento in cui la psicanalisi scopriva se stessa attraverso le isteriche e consegnava al mondo il mito di una femminilità scomposta, ma nel senso di “notturna”, fragile, nervosa, patologizzata, insicura, chiusa (o internata) e, in estrema sintesi, inferiore agli uomini, ecco invece arrivare in scena anche la mima, l’attrice spiantata e spesso disperatamente sola, ma indipendente e solare, per l’appunto: una donna che poteva essere e dire qualcosa di completamente diverso, dando vita a un immaginario, un vocabolario e un modo di considerarsi – persino di spogliarsi – altrettanto nuovi.
Tutto questo in un certo senso è mostrato già nella prima pagina della Vagabonda, che comincia con la voce di un’artista che prende a raccontarsi prima di andare in scena, incon- trando il proprio riflesso nello specchio («questa consigliera tutta truccata che mi guarda dall’altro lato dello specchio […] Mi guarda a lungo, e so che parlerà… Mi dirà: “Sei proprio tu, qui davanti?”»). È un inizio dentro un inizio: portentoso, per la modernità e originalità dei significati. Il cinema del Novecento, per esempio, sfrutterà molte volte la situazione metanarrativa del personaggio in camerino o in stanza che parla rivolgendosi alla propria immagine – valga, a titolo di esempio, la scena indimenticabile di Maddalena (Anna Magnani) che si trucca e si parla allo specchio in Bellissima di Visconti (1951).
La protagonista della Vagabonda ha un nome eloquente, perché si chiama Renée Néré, un nome e un cognome che sono quasi anagramma l’uno dell’altro, fatti di suoni che sembrano danzare rispecchiandosi reciprocamente. Ma, soprattutto, Renée in francese si pronuncia come «rinata». La protagonista è una maschera che si guarda, però è anche una persona nuova, che cerca un volto diverso, altro rispetto all’unica e identica immagine femminile (sempre dai capelli biondi) che il marito pittore dipinge da vent’anni, rivelandoci, nella monotonia di questa ripetizione, una totale incapacità di vedere realmente le donne. La vagabonda, insieme all’artista in costume di scena, è la donna che rinasce attraverso la scrittura e il racconto di sé, perché è così, guardandosi, che potrà vedere e riconoscere i suoi più autentici bisogni. Il romanzo è dunque la storia di una vita nuova, che parte dal momento in cui Renée ha deciso di lasciare il marito che la tradiva continuamente (p. 55-56). Ascoltando il suo racconto, seguiamo e viviamo una parabola di rinascita scandita in tre parti. All’età di trentatré anni compiuti («non sono più una giovane donna»), dopo un brutto divorzio, Renée Néré è una letterata finita male, che per «continuare a vivere», cioè per mantenersi, ha imparato a esibirsi come mima e ballerina nei caffè-concerto di Parigi. Abita in un palazzo pieno di «signore sole», in compagnia di Fossette, una vanitosa bulldog francese nera vendutale da un collega ballerino. Ha smesso di scrivere, per assenza di denaro e di soddisfazione. Questa prima parte è dedicata alla ricostruzione di un sé fortemente segnato dal trauma del divorzio. Qualcosa però comincia a cambiare dopo l’incontro con Maxime Dufferein-Chautel, un ammiratore bello, ricco, della sua stessa età – anche se lei si sente più adulta e matura –, che vorrebbe sposarla (mentre intanto regala a Fossette collari di pelle rossa con borchie dorate). Piano piano questa liaison incrina il partito preso di una vita futura solitaria e indipendente. Le illusioni dell’amore e di abitudini affettive sempre più simili a schemi di coppia cominciano a delinearsi – siamo ancora nella seconda parte – come uno spazio di proiezioni vitali da riscoprire con curiosità e spirito di sperimentazione, soprattutto da quando Renée intravede, dietro i modi eleganti da gentiluomo del suo corteggiatore, un’anima di campagna, un amante dei boschi che la rimette in contatto con la propria infanzia. Nonostante ciò, proprio quando stava decidendo di lasciarsi andare e innamorarsi, ecco che la vagabonda, senza chiedere il consenso a nessuno, accetta di partire per una tournée di quaranta giorni a centocinquanta franchi, promettendo a Maxime che al ritorno potranno stare insieme per sempre. Malgrado la vita faticosa (e vitalmente “zingara”) raccontata nella terza parte, quando impiega il tempo a lavorare senza orari, scrivendo lettere piene di nostalgia, dormendo male e mangiando peggio, trasferendosi da un teatro e da un café-chantant all’altro, Renée, al rientro dal viaggio, è attratta dalla proposta di una nuova tournée in America Latina. Costretta a decidere tra la storia d’amore e il suo lavoro, capisce di non voler rinunciare di nuovo alla sua vita «vagabonda» e all’indipendenza per consegnarsi a un uomo. Così interrompe la relazione con Maxime. A questo punto della storia, dunque, la vagabonda è diventata anche colei che simbolicamente e letteralmente si pone fuori: da una casa unica (piena di mobili «stregati» cioè abitati da un passato doloroso), dalla prospettiva del matrimonio, dalla possibilità di una nuova unione con un marito che, pur essendo diverso, diventerebbe in ogni caso un padrone, e persino dall’Europa. Renée continua a rinascere – lo ha fatto in ciascuna delle tre parti del romanzo – mettendosi oltre il perimetro simbolico delle aspettative altrui. Continua ostinatamente a voler andare in scena come soggetto imprevisto: per non farsi prendere e per seguitare a vivere di testa propria, come una ragazzina che corre tra i boschi, senza divieti né permessi.
Quando Maxime, un ricco ammiratore, le offre sicurezza e amore, Renée si trova di fronte alla prova più difficile: barattare la libertà tanto duramente conquistata per le comodità di una gabbia dorata?
Pubblicato a puntate nel 1910 e ispirato alla vita dell’autrice, La vagabonda è uno dei capolavori della maturità di Colette. Un romanzo intelligente, di formazione e resistenza, che continua a parlare al cuore di chi non ha paura di scegliere la propria vita.
Chi è veramente “la vagabonda”? Possiamo rispondere in vari modi alla questione, che si pone già a partire dal titolo del romanzo, dove una parola usata di solito come aggettivo viene trasformata in un destino.
Una volta aperto il libro, fin dalle righe iniziali, scritte in prima persona, scopriremo che la vagabonda è anzitutto la narratrice di se stessa. È colei che fa esistere la storia perché è lei a gestire il discorso, e perdipiù a collocarsi dentro la vicenda. Ma la vagabonda è anche una sorella d’anima di Claudine, la mitica protagonista del ciclo in quattro volumi originariamente firmato soltanto dal marito di Colette, Willy, da cui la scrittrice divorzia definitivamente proprio nel 1910, l’anno di pubblicazione della Vagabonda. Anche nei romanzi di Claudine la protagonista, che sarebbe diventata la ragazzina più leggendaria di Francia, usava la prima persona; in più, all’inizio del libro che apre la tetralogia (Claudine a scuola, uscito nel 1900), nella descrizione dei boschi dove ha trascorso l’infanzia, Claudine adoperava proprio l’immagine dell’erranza: «J’ai vécu dans ces bois dix années de vagabondages éperdus, de conquêtes et de découvertes». Questa nuova creatura d’invenzione che viene al mondo nel 1910 è dunque un essere felice e ibrido, fatto di tante donne possibili e tutte da scoprire. Per lei Julia Kristeva ha usato una formidabile espressione, quando ha definito la vagabonda una «sorella solare delle isteriche». È proprio così, in effetti, e tra l’altro con una coincidenza di date significativa: L’interpretazione dei sogni (uscito nel 1899 con data 1900) ha la stessa età del personaggio di Claudine. Nel medesimo momento in cui la psicanalisi scopriva se stessa attraverso le isteriche e consegnava al mondo il mito di una femminilità scomposta, ma nel senso di “notturna”, fragile, nervosa, patologizzata, insicura, chiusa (o internata) e, in estrema sintesi, inferiore agli uomini, ecco invece arrivare in scena anche la mima, l’attrice spiantata e spesso disperatamente sola, ma indipendente e solare, per l’appunto: una donna che poteva essere e dire qualcosa di completamente diverso, dando vita a un immaginario, un vocabolario e un modo di considerarsi – persino di spogliarsi – altrettanto nuovi.
Tutto questo in un certo senso è mostrato già nella prima pagina della Vagabonda, che comincia con la voce di un’artista che prende a raccontarsi prima di andare in scena, incon- trando il proprio riflesso nello specchio («questa consigliera tutta truccata che mi guarda dall’altro lato dello specchio […] Mi guarda a lungo, e so che parlerà… Mi dirà: “Sei proprio tu, qui davanti?”»). È un inizio dentro un inizio: portentoso, per la modernità e originalità dei significati. Il cinema del Novecento, per esempio, sfrutterà molte volte la situazione metanarrativa del personaggio in camerino o in stanza che parla rivolgendosi alla propria immagine – valga, a titolo di esempio, la scena indimenticabile di Maddalena (Anna Magnani) che si trucca e si parla allo specchio in Bellissima di Visconti (1951).
La protagonista della Vagabonda ha un nome eloquente, perché si chiama Renée Néré, un nome e un cognome che sono quasi anagramma l’uno dell’altro, fatti di suoni che sembrano danzare rispecchiandosi reciprocamente. Ma, soprattutto, Renée in francese si pronuncia come «rinata». La protagonista è una maschera che si guarda, però è anche una persona nuova, che cerca un volto diverso, altro rispetto all’unica e identica immagine femminile (sempre dai capelli biondi) che il marito pittore dipinge da vent’anni, rivelandoci, nella monotonia di questa ripetizione, una totale incapacità di vedere realmente le donne. La vagabonda, insieme all’artista in costume di scena, è la donna che rinasce attraverso la scrittura e il racconto di sé, perché è così, guardandosi, che potrà vedere e riconoscere i suoi più autentici bisogni. Il romanzo è dunque la storia di una vita nuova, che parte dal momento in cui Renée ha deciso di lasciare il marito che la tradiva continuamente (p. 55-56). Ascoltando il suo racconto, seguiamo e viviamo una parabola di rinascita scandita in tre parti. All’età di trentatré anni compiuti («non sono più una giovane donna»), dopo un brutto divorzio, Renée Néré è una letterata finita male, che per «continuare a vivere», cioè per mantenersi, ha imparato a esibirsi come mima e ballerina nei caffè-concerto di Parigi. Abita in un palazzo pieno di «signore sole», in compagnia di Fossette, una vanitosa bulldog francese nera vendutale da un collega ballerino. Ha smesso di scrivere, per assenza di denaro e di soddisfazione. Questa prima parte è dedicata alla ricostruzione di un sé fortemente segnato dal trauma del divorzio. Qualcosa però comincia a cambiare dopo l’incontro con Maxime Dufferein-Chautel, un ammiratore bello, ricco, della sua stessa età – anche se lei si sente più adulta e matura –, che vorrebbe sposarla (mentre intanto regala a Fossette collari di pelle rossa con borchie dorate). Piano piano questa liaison incrina il partito preso di una vita futura solitaria e indipendente. Le illusioni dell’amore e di abitudini affettive sempre più simili a schemi di coppia cominciano a delinearsi – siamo ancora nella seconda parte – come uno spazio di proiezioni vitali da riscoprire con curiosità e spirito di sperimentazione, soprattutto da quando Renée intravede, dietro i modi eleganti da gentiluomo del suo corteggiatore, un’anima di campagna, un amante dei boschi che la rimette in contatto con la propria infanzia. Nonostante ciò, proprio quando stava decidendo di lasciarsi andare e innamorarsi, ecco che la vagabonda, senza chiedere il consenso a nessuno, accetta di partire per una tournée di quaranta giorni a centocinquanta franchi, promettendo a Maxime che al ritorno potranno stare insieme per sempre. Malgrado la vita faticosa (e vitalmente “zingara”) raccontata nella terza parte, quando impiega il tempo a lavorare senza orari, scrivendo lettere piene di nostalgia, dormendo male e mangiando peggio, trasferendosi da un teatro e da un café-chantant all’altro, Renée, al rientro dal viaggio, è attratta dalla proposta di una nuova tournée in America Latina. Costretta a decidere tra la storia d’amore e il suo lavoro, capisce di non voler rinunciare di nuovo alla sua vita «vagabonda» e all’indipendenza per consegnarsi a un uomo. Così interrompe la relazione con Maxime. A questo punto della storia, dunque, la vagabonda è diventata anche colei che simbolicamente e letteralmente si pone fuori: da una casa unica (piena di mobili «stregati» cioè abitati da un passato doloroso), dalla prospettiva del matrimonio, dalla possibilità di una nuova unione con un marito che, pur essendo diverso, diventerebbe in ogni caso un padrone, e persino dall’Europa. Renée continua a rinascere – lo ha fatto in ciascuna delle tre parti del romanzo – mettendosi oltre il perimetro simbolico delle aspettative altrui. Continua ostinatamente a voler andare in scena come soggetto imprevisto: per non farsi prendere e per seguitare a vivere di testa propria, come una ragazzina che corre tra i boschi, senza divieti né permessi.
November 26, 2021
Story of an emancipated woman, but very subtil presentation. Good atmospheric description of the cabaret world around the turn of the century. Sometimes a bit too much introspection: especially the 2nd half of part 1 and the start of part 2 seem rather superfluous.
September 8, 2023
This is one of those Colette’s that’ll break you open. It’s all so very adult and lived-in and exists somewhere all of us over a certain age have doubtlessly experienced.
I’ve never come across her writing better than here. Her escalating inner monologue steadily climbs, inexorably; all pantomimic corkscrew AARGH toward the same goddamn chickenshit thing I would do too.
“Little dead Colette/baby, you’re much too sad.”
And with that, I ruin both our author and the perfection of Prince with a single slash of my penknife.
They both did the splits on us, each to their own interior rhythms destined to stop at the exact nano-beat of heartbreak. Just a choked hi-hat ZIP—and gone.
I’ve never come across her writing better than here. Her escalating inner monologue steadily climbs, inexorably; all pantomimic corkscrew AARGH toward the same goddamn chickenshit thing I would do too.
“Little dead Colette/baby, you’re much too sad.”
And with that, I ruin both our author and the perfection of Prince with a single slash of my penknife.
They both did the splits on us, each to their own interior rhythms destined to stop at the exact nano-beat of heartbreak. Just a choked hi-hat ZIP—and gone.
August 14, 2022
Colette'ten Dişi Kedi ve Cicim'i okumuştum ama Colette hakkında karar vermem için bu kitabı okumam gerekiyormuş. 1 haftadır Jean Rhys'in kırılgan, dibe sürüklenen ve alkolik kadın karakterlerini okurken uzun zamandır kitaplıkta bekleyen Avare Kadın'a başladım ve ilerleyen sayfalarda içimden aynı hisler geçti. Acaba aynı öyküyü mü dinleyeceğim? Aşka tutulan işini kaybeden meyhane diplerinde hayatı sonlanan yalnız biri hakkında onlarca sayfa. Öyle değilmiş.
1900'lerin başları. 33 yaşında, Fossette adında köpeğiyle yaşayan, Paris'te bir gece kulübünde sahne alan Renée Nere'nin hikayesini ilk ağızdan dinliyoruz. Özellikle kitabın ilk yarısı bu şekilde, Cabaret filmindeki kulübün arka sahnesi gibi ve okuması çok zevkli. Bir gün Renée iş peşinde koşup kirasını ödemeye, hayatını idame etmeye çalışırken karşısına Maxime adında bir mirasyedi çıkar. Karşısına çıkar derken Maxime, Renée'nin dikkatini çekmek için çılgınca çabalar. Renee aşık mıdır, tüm ipleri salıp aşık olmalı mıdır? Aşka gerçekten ihtiyacı var mıdır? Renée'nin çevresindeki hikayeleri, görüşlerini dinlerken tüm bir kitap boyunca bu ikilemi yaşıyoruz.
Paris'in Altın Çağları'ndan, 1. Dünya Savaşı'ndan önce, Proust'un cilt cilt anılarından, Virginia Woolf'un bilinç akışlarından önce Colette Renée'nin hikayesini zamanın ruhunu fazla ayrıntıya entelektüel iç sese boğamadan dünyaya fırlatmış. Bu kitaba dair duyduğum hayranlıklardan biri bu basım yılı 1910.
Renée'nin Maxime için son sayfalarda yazdıklarını uzun zaman unutamam. Alnının teriyle ayakta kalmaya çalışan Renée, zenginliğinin kaynağının nereden geldiği belli olmayan, işsiz Maxime için şöyle bir cümle yazıyor, vurucu paragraflardan sadece biri:
''Sen iyi yüreklisin, en temiz niyetlerle beni mutlu etmek istiyordun, çünkü beni her şeyden yoksun, yapayalnız görmüştün. Ama yoksul bir kadının gururunu hesaba katmadın. Yeryüzünün en güzel ülkelerini, senin sevdalı bakışlarında küçülmüş olarak görmeyi reddediyorum''
Kendi kendine yeterlilik. Birinin sevgisine, merhametine ihtiyaç duymadan varolacağına dair inanış.
Avare Kadın, umarım daha fazla okunur ve Can Yayınları sahaflara hapsolmuş bu klasiği daha iyi bir çeviri ve sunumla basıma sunar.
1900'lerin başları. 33 yaşında, Fossette adında köpeğiyle yaşayan, Paris'te bir gece kulübünde sahne alan Renée Nere'nin hikayesini ilk ağızdan dinliyoruz. Özellikle kitabın ilk yarısı bu şekilde, Cabaret filmindeki kulübün arka sahnesi gibi ve okuması çok zevkli. Bir gün Renée iş peşinde koşup kirasını ödemeye, hayatını idame etmeye çalışırken karşısına Maxime adında bir mirasyedi çıkar. Karşısına çıkar derken Maxime, Renée'nin dikkatini çekmek için çılgınca çabalar. Renee aşık mıdır, tüm ipleri salıp aşık olmalı mıdır? Aşka gerçekten ihtiyacı var mıdır? Renée'nin çevresindeki hikayeleri, görüşlerini dinlerken tüm bir kitap boyunca bu ikilemi yaşıyoruz.
Paris'in Altın Çağları'ndan, 1. Dünya Savaşı'ndan önce, Proust'un cilt cilt anılarından, Virginia Woolf'un bilinç akışlarından önce Colette Renée'nin hikayesini zamanın ruhunu fazla ayrıntıya entelektüel iç sese boğamadan dünyaya fırlatmış. Bu kitaba dair duyduğum hayranlıklardan biri bu basım yılı 1910.
Renée'nin Maxime için son sayfalarda yazdıklarını uzun zaman unutamam. Alnının teriyle ayakta kalmaya çalışan Renée, zenginliğinin kaynağının nereden geldiği belli olmayan, işsiz Maxime için şöyle bir cümle yazıyor, vurucu paragraflardan sadece biri:
''Sen iyi yüreklisin, en temiz niyetlerle beni mutlu etmek istiyordun, çünkü beni her şeyden yoksun, yapayalnız görmüştün. Ama yoksul bir kadının gururunu hesaba katmadın. Yeryüzünün en güzel ülkelerini, senin sevdalı bakışlarında küçülmüş olarak görmeyi reddediyorum''
Kendi kendine yeterlilik. Birinin sevgisine, merhametine ihtiyaç duymadan varolacağına dair inanış.
Avare Kadın, umarım daha fazla okunur ve Can Yayınları sahaflara hapsolmuş bu klasiği daha iyi bir çeviri ve sunumla basıma sunar.
February 9, 2011
i read the original English translation, by Charlotte Remfry Kidd, which may have made a difference. I could not help seeing the main character, Renee, as a woman damaged by her first marriage, damaged so deeply that she could not trust in love again. For me, it is as if she was choosing between her fears of being alone and her fears of being with some one else, which is not exactly the "love vs. freedom" choice that other readers have called it. Her actions ultimately wound her faithful lover in turn -- won't this replicate the cycle, amputating his own ability to love and trust another woman later? I don't agree that "Only happiness can give life its value." I'd say love gives life deeper meaning than happiness does. (What is the word she uses in French? Joie? Bonheur?) It is also interesting to know that Colette made a different decision in life than she had her character decide. Does Colette's experience make regret the engine for this plot? All these thoughts temper my reaction to the novel. I wanted to adore it as a feminist classic, and it's certainly ahead of its time in sensibility, with a rich, rapturous voice. But Renee's selfishness and cynicism keeps me wary. I'd like to read the Cheri novels (ideally read them in French) and see if I feel the same way about them or not -- i.e., is it Renee or Colette that put me off?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 4, 2023
Largely autobiographical, Colette’s novel, The Vagabond, speaks to early stage feminism and women’s struggle to thrive in the early 20th century patriarchy. The Vagabond follows Rénée, a 33 year old woman who recently divorced her abusive, cheating husband. For the first time in years, she is gloriously alone, independent, and free. She is a passionate performer, lives alone, travels frequently, and supports herself financially. When an admirer, Maxime, enters her life, she is hesitant and turned off by him despite his wealth and appeal. His unrelenting advances are annoying, frustrating, and yet slowly she falls into his grasp, coming very close to being in love with him but fails to let herself completely fall. Something holds her back from loving again, and while starting a new tour with her performing group, she is determined to come to a conclusive decision, to be with Maxime, become a wife again, settle for a love that’s almost enough but not quite; or return to her independence, her career, her passions. Colette is unbelievably generous with her words, so poetic and melodic, constantly gifting me sentences to linger on because they’re so beautiful.
February 22, 2017
I was expecting this to be a bit like Age of Innocence, and I guess it is, thematically. But it's also feels a bit like Virginia Woolf. That's a problem because I've never been a big fan of her writing.
In addition to a stream-of-consciousness style, it's also written rather colloquially with lots and lots of sentence fragments and at least half a dozen ellipses per page.
Three's something off-putting about the prose. All the ellipses and sentence fragments don't quite scan in English - the sentence fragments don't flow naturally in English, nor do the pauses implied by the ellipses seem to fall in a logical spot. I wonder if this is a translation issue? Perhaps these fragments and pauses that look so awkward on the page here would sound a lot smoother if read aloud in the original French.
As a side note, I don't really care for either stream-of-consciousness nor colloquial writing, so I think this was doomed from the start - no matter how smooth the translation would have been.
In addition to a stream-of-consciousness style, it's also written rather colloquially with lots and lots of sentence fragments and at least half a dozen ellipses per page.
Three's something off-putting about the prose. All the ellipses and sentence fragments don't quite scan in English - the sentence fragments don't flow naturally in English, nor do the pauses implied by the ellipses seem to fall in a logical spot. I wonder if this is a translation issue? Perhaps these fragments and pauses that look so awkward on the page here would sound a lot smoother if read aloud in the original French.
As a side note, I don't really care for either stream-of-consciousness nor colloquial writing, so I think this was doomed from the start - no matter how smooth the translation would have been.
April 5, 2020
I loved it again ,read it long ago i am rereading my old favorites now- the Irish writers the English and the French.Colette has been a favorite since i was a young teen-so there is some comfort reading her works ,this one is about a character(herself) traveling with vaudeville troupe in France to all the provinces,her descriptions of her fellow dancers ,singers and actors is so great and the coarse behavior of the audiences as well. She was fearless and reckless for a woman of that time but took care of herself as she went of course with time for love affairs .I especially love her long train rides through France what she saw ,the countryside in bloom,and her fellow passengers -beautiful writing.
August 2, 2011
30 years ago, in my twenties, I read this and felt I had a serious kindred spirit. Since then I have learned French if just to read it again in it's original language.
July 4, 2021
To write is to pour one's innermost self passionately upon the tempting paper, at such frantic speed that sometimes one's hand struggles and rebels, overdriven by the impatient god who guides it — and to find, next day, in place of the golden bough that bloomed miraculously in that dazzling hour, a withered bramble and a stunted flower.
To write is the joy and torment of the idle. Oh to write! From time to time I feel a need, sharp as thirst in summer, to note and to describe. And then I take up my pen again and attempt the perilous and elusive task of seizing and pinning down, under its flexible double-pointed jib, the many-hued, fugitive, thrilling adjective.… The attack does not last long; it is but the itching of an old scar.
This was so nicely put, but unfortunately, I didn't really have a good time reading this book.
2.5
April 28, 2025
"Mais, mon amour, si je n'espère plus qu'en toi seul, n'est-ce pas déjà désespérer à moitié ?
July 4, 2021
Let‘s preface this review by this: i am so so sorry, ella.
Oh, how i hated this. i only finished it because i am fucking physically unable to dnf a book. but oh boy. let my try to put into words what i feel about this.
This is like most period dramas for me: it’s aesthetically pleasing but the plot jumps between boring and infuriating. i know this is a book so the aesthetically pleasing aspect might be weird, but i do kinda like that early 1900 parisienne aesthetics from time to time.
At first, my main problem was that i was bored but everything changed when the fire nation in the form of a dude named Maxime Dufferein-Chautel attacked. And that’s when it all went downhill. It has been a while since i managed to detest a character in a book as intensely as i detested Maxime and that was before he said that Renée probably tastes like „fresh mussels“ and i swear to mcfucking god, that paragraph? that was the worst thing i had to read with my own two eyes and i have read my fair share of terrible fanfiction on wattpad in 2011 and i spent years in the snk fandom. kids, i’m an ace lesbian. i do not want to read about the straights™️. and i do not want to read about them making out and COMPARING THE TASTE OF SOMEONES PRIVATE PARTS TO SEAFOOD. And now, let’s talk about Maxime as a person. A possessive, disgusting rich manchild who’s personality is loving Renée and honestly? Mainly loving his own imagination of her than her as an actual personality. Does he care for her besides his wish to possess her? His wish to make her his own and have her stop working at the Varieté? And i did have to throw up a little when they talked about how her having his child would bind her to him (What did that remind me of? Carl from Tove Ditlevsen‘s Dependency! Big fucking yikes but interesting parallel!). Actually everything between them making out for the first time and Renée realising she does not want to be with him anymore was just a big rolling my eyes out of my head, audibly groaning and also throwing up a little fest.
And Hamond? I was rooting for you at first, you know? But then you take Renée‘s monologue about how marriage is for women (gosh i hate the straights but i hate the patriarchy even more) and go „oh but doesn’t ~loving him~ make that bareable?“. YIKES FOREVER.
So the good parts of this book where actually this rant decrying men using their wives as their personal maid, secretary and mother-replacement, that one mention of „adieu notre petite table“ from Manon by Massenet and the fact that she basically ghosted him at the end. Oh also Margot was delightful. She can stay. And so can Fosette and Brague. Everyone else? Fuck off.
I should have known that this book would break Ella‘s streak of choosing books that i absolutely adore for our book club when a character appears who shares the name with my stepmother who has a… let’s say… „special“ personality (Sorry Blandine it’s not your fault you share the name with her, if you were named something else you would have made it to the „list of characters that can stay“.)
Anyways, i haven’t actively hated a book this much since reading that stupid „historic“ thriller my former colleague borrowed me because i mentioned i liked medical history and was about people treating people with mental illness awfully and like things. You know what both of these books have in common? Set in Paris around 1900. Fuck the french i guess.
Oh, how i hated this. i only finished it because i am fucking physically unable to dnf a book. but oh boy. let my try to put into words what i feel about this.
This is like most period dramas for me: it’s aesthetically pleasing but the plot jumps between boring and infuriating. i know this is a book so the aesthetically pleasing aspect might be weird, but i do kinda like that early 1900 parisienne aesthetics from time to time.
At first, my main problem was that i was bored but everything changed when the fire nation in the form of a dude named Maxime Dufferein-Chautel attacked. And that’s when it all went downhill. It has been a while since i managed to detest a character in a book as intensely as i detested Maxime and that was before he said that Renée probably tastes like „fresh mussels“ and i swear to mcfucking god, that paragraph? that was the worst thing i had to read with my own two eyes and i have read my fair share of terrible fanfiction on wattpad in 2011 and i spent years in the snk fandom. kids, i’m an ace lesbian. i do not want to read about the straights™️. and i do not want to read about them making out and COMPARING THE TASTE OF SOMEONES PRIVATE PARTS TO SEAFOOD. And now, let’s talk about Maxime as a person. A possessive, disgusting rich manchild who’s personality is loving Renée and honestly? Mainly loving his own imagination of her than her as an actual personality. Does he care for her besides his wish to possess her? His wish to make her his own and have her stop working at the Varieté? And i did have to throw up a little when they talked about how her having his child would bind her to him (What did that remind me of? Carl from Tove Ditlevsen‘s Dependency! Big fucking yikes but interesting parallel!). Actually everything between them making out for the first time and Renée realising she does not want to be with him anymore was just a big rolling my eyes out of my head, audibly groaning and also throwing up a little fest.
And Hamond? I was rooting for you at first, you know? But then you take Renée‘s monologue about how marriage is for women (gosh i hate the straights but i hate the patriarchy even more) and go „oh but doesn’t ~loving him~ make that bareable?“. YIKES FOREVER.
So the good parts of this book where actually this rant decrying men using their wives as their personal maid, secretary and mother-replacement, that one mention of „adieu notre petite table“ from Manon by Massenet and the fact that she basically ghosted him at the end. Oh also Margot was delightful. She can stay. And so can Fosette and Brague. Everyone else? Fuck off.
I should have known that this book would break Ella‘s streak of choosing books that i absolutely adore for our book club when a character appears who shares the name with my stepmother who has a… let’s say… „special“ personality (Sorry Blandine it’s not your fault you share the name with her, if you were named something else you would have made it to the „list of characters that can stay“.)
Anyways, i haven’t actively hated a book this much since reading that stupid „historic“ thriller my former colleague borrowed me because i mentioned i liked medical history and was about people treating people with mental illness awfully and like things. You know what both of these books have in common? Set in Paris around 1900. Fuck the french i guess.
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