Colette (2018) - full transcript

Colette is pushed by her husband to write novels under his name. Upon their success, she fights to make her talents known, challenging gender norms.

Subtitles by explosiveskull

Gabrielle?

Gabrielle, wake up.

No, let me sleep.

Come on, Gabrielle.

- What time is it?

- Seven o'clock.

Willy's coming today.

Well.

At least it was an entertainment.

It takes so long to get here.

And how is Paris

these days, Willy?

It's a hotbed.

It's electric.

It's heaving with artists

and poets and writers,

all seeking to say

something profound.

Most of them are too young,

of course, or too crazed,

but still, they generate

a certain life force.

We were going in to see

a play, weren't we?

- Yes, La Tosca.

- Ah.

Yes. No, I...

I was at the opening.

I wouldn't bother,

to be frank.

I mean, Sarah Bernhardt does her best.

She always does.

But it's melodramatic

in extremis.

- Maybe I'll go, make up my own mind.

- Well, of course.

But do remember, if a book bores

you, you can throw it away.

If a painting is too garish,

then you can close your eyes.

But bad theater,

it's like dentistry.

You're compelled to stay in your

chair, having your skull drilled

until the entire

grisly procedure is over.

Good point, Willy.

Painful business.

Oh, I almost forgot.

- A small gift.

- Thank you.

You turn it upside down.

Pretty.

Good-bye.

Sido, I'm going

for a walk.

Change your dress first.

- I'll stay on the path.

- Change it.

Darling,

we're going to go in.

He's a good man.

He has a reputation, yes.

But there comes a time in a

man's life to settle down.

Have you finished the letter

to his father?

I keep starting.

But I can't seem

to finish it.

A girl without a dowry, that just

doesn't happen in their circles.

Hmm. They call it off.

The world won't end.

Sido.

He clearly adores her.

He's visited

four times this year.

I'm worried that

he won't understand her.

- Would anyone be good enough for you?

- Can I go now?

Just take this with you and fill

it up with some blackberries.

I'm going to make a tart tomorrow.

Don't be late back!

I won't.

- Where are you?

- Over here.

Your hair

is a phenomenon.

In the village, they call me

"the girl with the hair."

I'm sure they do.

I should think you're quite

famous here in your village.

How much time

do we have?

About 40 minutes.

But I have to

walk to the station.

Gabrielle, I can't tell you

how happy I am.

So am I.

I adore you.

Dear Willy,

As I walked home by the river, the

light shining through the trees,

my heart filled with

a kind of delicious pride.

After all, you know all

those fine women of Paris,

so I must have something.

I want to wake up next to you,

know that the day is ours,

that life is ours

for the taking.

We will be so entire

and so happy, my love.

Breathe in, ma'am.

There we go.

Ready yet?

No, not yet.

What do you think,

Matilde?

It's pretty, ma'am.

We should try to get there

before it ends.

- Where's your new dress?

- Oh, I couldn't breathe in it. It felt ridiculous.

But that cost me 267 francs.

Don't you like it?

Well, I know you like it.

We'll get it adjusted.

- What is it?

- I think it's toothpaste.

Let's have a look.

There. Perfect.

Let's go in.

Willy.

It's monstrous.

I can't look at it.

Don't worry, my dear.

It's only temporary.

There's Willy. Willy, Eiffel's tower.

Are you for or against?

Oh, I'm for it, if a little

jealous of this giant erection

in the heart of our capital

belonging to somebody else.

How are you, Count?

- I'm well, thank you.

- Ah. You rogue, Willy.

I see you've brought us

an orphaned relative?

- Hmm.

- A secret love child.

Very good, very good.

No, may I introduce to you my

wife, Gabrielle Sidonie Colette.

- Pleased to meet you.

- Delighted.

Well, astonished,

actually.

You, my dear, have caught

the slipperiest of eels.

Now, now, Arman.

- How does one do that?

- I'm not sure.

Where are you from,

you sweet thing?

Saint-Sauveur-en-Puisaye.

- It's in Burgundy.

- Ah.

Is that where

you got your dress?

- Have you relocated, Willy?

- Not yet, Count, not yet.

Ignore him. How on earth

did you two meet?

Our fathers served together

in the army.

Willy married!

The wild days are done, eh?

On the contrary, the wild

days have just begun.

Ah! Willy.

Thank God you're back.

- That short story.

- Veber, may I introduce to you my wife.

- What?

- Gabrielle.

Very pleased to meet you.

It's due on Tuesday, and you've not

given me the slightest clue...

Right. Just amuse yourself

for a moment, Gabrielle.

It's simple.

It's an 800-word sketch.

You poor thing.

You want the earth

and the grass, don't you?

That's

gardenia, isn't it?

Well, what is it? It's

calla lilies, isn't it?

So, what did you

think of the salon?

I liked the tortoise.

I thought he was as bored as I was.

I suspect you were more

intimidated than bored.

No.

I thought they were all...

shallow and pretentious.

No. Come on.

You're reading them wrongly.

It's not so much pretension

as exaggeration.

The ideal is to be authentic

but larger than life.

To present a personality

with a capital "P."

You could do it too.

Country girl charm.

Did that woman

have a capital "P"?

- Which one?

- The one you were talking to in the red dress.

Nicole D'Allier?

Come on, that was...

that was just flirtation.

- It meant nothing.

- Well, then, why do it?

Because that's what one

does to pass the time,

stave off boredom.

Come on.

Forget about them.

Have you heard the news?

Willy is married.

Happily married.

And he's going home with his beautiful

bride, who he loves very much.

- Good morning, Monsieur Veber.

- Morning, Matilde.

- Hello, Veber.

- Gabrielle.

- It's cold out there today.

- I wouldn't know. I'm under house arrest.

Schwob's already in there.

Thank you.

All the humor and vivacity descends

into a dreadful operatic swamp.

It releases the very toxins

of man's soul,

leaving the audience

nauseous and pale,

like they've just eaten

a bad oyster.

That's a bit extreme. I actually thought

the ending was rather touching.

No middle ground. Don't soft-peddle it.

Just kill it.

- Veber.

- Willy.

Schwob.

So add those embellishments and

file it with The Echo by 6:00.

Will do.

The factory's on fire.

We're on fire.

I have this remarkable idea.

Or at least I think it could be.

- All right, what is it?

- I'm going to launch a novel.

- A novel?

- Yeah, we have stories by Willy.

We have music reviews by Willy.

Now we have Willy's first novel.

It'll have enough literature

for the highbrows

and enough filth for the great

unwashed, or vice versa.

And who's going to

write this novel?

You are.

Are you writing

for him too?

Mm-hmm.

He's made you one

of his ghosts already?

Just letters.

You're fastidious.

Exacting.

A lot of crossing out,

you mean.

Well, yes.

Willy copies them out

so they're in his handwriting.

No one has handwriting

like Monsieur Willy.

We first meet her,

Monna.

She's being held aloft on the

shoulders of her admirers.

She's 18, she's gorgeous,

she's dangerous,

she's from the streets, she devours

men, she never wears a corset.

And then him,

our hero, Renaud,

he's a writer,

he's a genius.

He's captivated by her.

She seduces him

in her shabby rooms.

They have five entire days

of carnal ecstasy,

after which she has

this incredible hold on him.

She instinctively understands

his basest desires.

And we wonder,

will he ever escape?

Will he ever get back to his wholesome

friends and his burgeoning career?

Or will he be dragged down

by her toxic embrace,

forget about his writing, and just

wallow in the sexual quagmire?

It's brilliant.

It will be.

Come on, tell me. How

long do you think it will take?

- Two or three months.

- No, no, no, no.

Weeks, Veber.

It has to be weeks.

- Write for four hours at a time.

- All right, all right.

Good-bye, Gabrielle.

If I get stuck,

I'll come back to you.

Yes, yes,

but write, and fast.

Let's get some money

coming in.

Yes, yes, yes.

Oh, God. Chaos.

Chaos! Working in these conditions.

It's utter chaos.

You married a literary entrepreneur.

It's a phenomenal disaster.

You've married a country girl

without a penny to her name.

We're doomed, aren't we?

It's perfect.

But how about, um...

Uh, the contract you sent me is eminently fair,

but for one tiny shortcoming... the money.

Pump it up

before you prick it.

Get more of a pop that way.

Willy!

Intimacy in all its savage

abandon, my darling.

I have meetings later. Let's

meet at La Mascotte at 9:00.

No. No, make it 10:00.

He said, "Don't worry, I've got some cream for that."

Thank you, Madame D'Arsay.

No, you're lying.

That's 571, Lotte,

for one month.

Well, do you want me

to look cheap?

Yeah. But for that money I can get

laid five times a day by a prostitute.

Oh, my dear.

You've come to...

to fetch me?

She's not

a disreputable woman.

They've even written

a play about her.

It was a shit play,

but nevertheless.

- Who the hell wrote that letter?

- I don't care who wrote it.

Look, Gabrielle, she's no rival to you.

I promise.

Look, I'll never sleep

with her again.

But you have to understand,

this is what men do.

We're the weaker sex. We don't have your

strength. We're slave to our urges.

- And here in the city, it's perfectly acceptable to...

- Nonsense!

I don't accept it. You've been

lying to me all this time.

I wait for you all day long

and I never ask you for anything

because you say

we have no money.

But it's true.

We have no money.

Because you spend it all

on her!

- I really don't.

- And then...

And then, when you get into bed

and I touch you, and I kiss you,

and you say

you're too tired...

- No, no.

- I've been unattentive. I'm sorry.

- I'll make amends.

- Don't you dare touch me.

Gabrielle, I...

I gave up my inheritance

for you!

- My bloody freedom!

- Go to hell!

Oh, no. Ants.

Ah, there must be

some honeydew.

It feels sticky.

Hmm. The white flies

must have got to it.

Sucked out all the juice.

We need some ladybirds.

Hmm. Or a spider.

Got a big one

dangling in my room.

I'll catch her and put

her to work out here.

Did you ever feel like you

were playing a part, Sido?

In what way?

As a wife.

Or a mother.

Like you were just

going through with it.

Sometimes, as a wife.

Never as a mother.

Is he good to you,

Gabri?

What is it, my love?

It's just... nothing

is how I imagined it.

Oh. Come here.

My little kitten.

No one can take away

who you are.

No one.

You're too strong

for that.

You always have been.

Just trust no one

but yourself.

I know.

So what's he done

to upset you?

Nothing.

Nothing. It's just

new, that's all.

I must get used to

marriage.

Better to make marriage

get used to you.

- Are you happy to be here?

- Yes.

It makes the city

seem even more foul.

Did you miss me at all?

No, not really.

Well, life is awful

without you.

It's just dead. I... I don't

feel like myself at all.

Everything just seems

utterly pointless.

Can't even write

anymore.

You mean more to me than all the

women of Paris put together.

Have you sampled them all?

Please don't mock me.

You're very happy

to mock everybody else.

It's true,

but it's just...

Look, it's just horseshit. Words

are deceptive little bastards.

But if you trace mine

to their source,

to my bruised

and aching heart...

Well, I wouldn't credit that

as the organ of origin.

I can read you like the top

line of an optician's chart.

That's brilliant.

Did you make that up?

Just tell me what you

want, Gabrielle.

I'll do anything.

I know who you are, Willy.

Maybe I knew it all along.

But I want you not to lie to me.

I won't. Never again. I promise.

I want to be part of things.

I don't want to be treated

like some little wife at home.

I want to know

what's going on.

You will.

You'll be part

of everything.

Do you promise?

Promise.

When we get back to Paris,

I'll even buy you a dog.

I would love that.

Look, it's so beautiful.

- Luce and I used to swim here after school.

- You did?

She was your best friend,

wasn't she?

Yes. We got up to

all kinds of trouble together.

What was she like?

She was sweet, but she

was also very annoying.

How? In what way?

She was clumsy,

more than anything.

One day in winter,

when the first snow started,

I made a compact little snowball and

smuggled it into the classroom.

As Mademoiselle Terrain was

writing on the blackboard,

I'd take a little nibble of the snow and

then I'd pass it along to the next person,

who'd pass it along again.

- Oh, it's freezing.

- Here, get in.

I'm like a pot-bellied stove.

It finally got to Luce,

who dropped it.

So we both got detention.

- She'd do anything to be close to me.

- I'll bet she would.

You're so witty

and clever.

Get out! Both of you!

This is harassment!

Willy, come on.

You're not being fair.

This is the third time I've

had to come here and ask you for it!

- Then stop bloody coming here and asking.

- I am close to being evicted!

You owe me 400 francs. You said you'd

get the advance from Ollendorff.

- And I will, by Friday.

- You said exactly the same thing last week.

A factory needs to pay

its workers, Willy.

Well, then, why don't you go on strike?

Or get another job.

Get some other bloody idiot

to hire you.

I'll have your money

by Friday.

- You'd better bloody have it.

- Such an ass.

- Damn you!

- We'll be back on Friday.

They'd never get a job

on their own.

I lend them my name,

my reputation.

I take all the risk,

and there's still no money.

- We need more output.

- Well, you could get another writer.

And pay them with what? We're not

even making a thousand this month.

I've got 300 from The Echo,

425 from the latest vamp novel,

and just 250

from the music reviews.

- It doesn't even cover the outgoings.

- How can we spend so much money?

The mortgage, Matilde,

restaurants...

You always pick up the bill, Willy,

no matter how many people join us.

- It's expected of me.

- And the races? And the casino?

What do you want me to do? Live

like a monk? Or a peasant?

No, I'm just saying

we could economize.

You.

- You could write.

- What?

Those stories you told me

of Saint-Sauveur last year.

- My school stories?

- Yes. That could be Willy's next novel.

Well, try it anyway, but try it now.

Start immediately. Aim for four hours

at a time. The wolves are at the door!

My name is Claudine.

I live in Montigny.

I was born there in 1873.

I shall probably not die there.

Why aren't you sleeping?

- I've only just stopped writing.

- Really?

Oh, dear.

- Did you manage four hours?

- Twice that, at least.

You didn't.

You must be a natural.

I've changed a few things...

for the story.

I think it might ruffle

a few feathers back home.

Oh, don't worry

about the facts.

You can change events,

add a character.

Just adapt it

to the times.

All people really want

is the feeling,

the emotion, the great

sweep of narrative.

So you mean I can write

whatever I want?

Of course.

No one will dispute it.

And if they do,

"It's the hand that holds the

pen that writes history."

You're not in the mood?

I'm as weary

as a bear in winter.

Save it for the book.

These are the copses,

where bushes spitefully

catch your face as you pass.

Those are full of sun and

strawberries and lilies-of-the-valley

and... snakes.

I've shuddered there

with choking terror

at the sight of those smooth, cold

bodies gliding in front of my feet.

I feel so much alone there,

my eyes lost far away

amongst the trees

in the green,

mysterious daylight

that is at once deliciously

peaceful and a little unnerving

because of the loneliness

and the vague darkness.

Well, here we are.

You did it.

- I take my hat off to you.

- And?

It's beautiful. I spent the

whole day in Saint-Sauveur.

- You don't like it.

- I do like it.

- Truth?

- Yes.

Yes, they're...

they're really charming.

Sorry, I need to...

I need to take a piss.

What else?

Nothing. It's a...

It's a truly

wonderful depiction.

And?

And...

we won't be able

to get it published.

That's the shame of it.

What's wrong with it?

Honestly?

So I'll treat you like any other writer

I'm giving a report to, shall I?

- Yes.

- Except that I love you.

I adore you.

Should be clear about that.

Just... Just say it.

There's nothing driving it.

There's no plot.

A novel by Willy grips you from

chapter one, whereas yours...

There's

too many adjectives.

And some of the characters

are interesting,

but... it's too cloying.

It's too feminine.

- Well, that's a waste of bloody time.

- Not if you enjoyed it.

I wrote it for you!

♪ Down by the salley gardens ♪

♪ My love and I did meet ♪

♪ She passed

The salley gardens ♪

♪ With little snow-white feet ♪

♪ She bid me take love easy ♪

♪ As the leaves

Grow on the tree ♪

♪ But I

Being young and foolish ♪

♪ With her would not agree ♪

Wague's mesmerizing,

isn't he?

He's the king of the cantomime.

Let's get a drink.

Thank you, Geraud.

- Cheers.

- Cheers.

- How's it going with your book?

- It's gone.

- I tried, but it wasn't any good.

- I can't believe it.

Willy hated it.

I don't care.

- I don't need to leave my mark on the world.

- Hmm.

- Have you always written, Schwob?

- I didn't really have a choice.

It was simply there.

- Does it make you happy?

- Oh, God, no.

I do it to prevent me

from going mad.

But sometimes, occasionally,

it will transport me.

- Hello, Schwob.

- Hello, Gaston.

Good to see you.

Jeanne,

may I present Colette?

Madame.

I think we've been introduced,

but I don't remember that name.

It's new,

in a manner of speaking.

Well, then I shall think of

this as our first meeting.

It is so easy.

On. Off.

No more sooty candles.

Yes, maybe they'll put it

in my building one day.

So much safer too, even if the

light is a little unkind.

Nonsense.

Will you excuse me, Arman?

Yes, so, I thought it

was much better than last time.

Let me see your palm.

Oh, how interesting.

You have a long life line.

And a very strong

head line here.

- And your... your love line splits into three.

- Oh.

- What on earth could that mean?

- Who knows?

So many intersecting lines.

I have the hands

of a man. Look.

- Ah.

- See?

You've a touch

of Hermes, Colette.

There's something androgynous about you.

- Willy, you ogre, how are you?

- Gaston, Jeanne.

We have been greatly enjoying

the company of Colette,

now that she's no longer hiding

her light under a bushel.

Quoting the good book,

Gaston?

You may remember a little verse

about coveting other men's wives.

And you may remember one about not trying

to remove a speck from your brother's eye

with a log in your own.

Touché, Gaston. Your wits

are improving... somewhat.

Ah, we'd better go now,

darling.

We should go now.

- Bye.

- Good-bye.

His first play

was absolute rubbish,

but his mother runs a salon, so,

of course, it was a huge success

and he was praised to the skies

for his brilliant writing

and his sublime talent.

Unctuous prick.

He was after you.

He's not the type,

and they just got married.

Yeah, well, they're no longer on

honeymoon, I assure you, my dear.

- Your jealousy is misplaced.

- How so?

It was the wife

I found interesting.

Jeanne?

Yes.

What would you think

of that?

Well, that's...

that's a different case.

It is?

Perhaps.

Good morning, ma'am. I need to speak

to the gentleman of the house.

- What is it?

- Monsieur Henri Gauthier-Villars.

Is he in?

- You can speak to me about whatever it is.

- Sorry, ma'am.

- Ah. Sir.

- What is it?

I have a repossession order for two

armchairs, one armoire, one oak desk.

- Let me see the court papers.

- Here you are.

All in order?

Come on.

- Willy!

- It's just bits of wood.

- The armoire's in the bedroom.

- With my clothes in it.

You empty it out.

I'll see to the desk.

Oh, be careful.

You ready?

Yes. Take it away.

So here, it's, like, "It's

a lovely spring morning."

You know,

liven it up a bit.

How about, "Perhaps it's the season.

It's glorious.

The sap is rising

almost indecently."

And then, yeah, here,

the scene with Luce.

I've written, "She brushed

up against me suggestively,

her blue eyes half closed

and her mouth half open."

A little louche.

Louche sells, trust me. We need

more spice, less literature.

I know what men want.

So do the publishers.

- Do you really think they'll take it?

- Yes.

- Ollendorff will go nuts for it.

- As you did on first reading?

Never mind about that. Come on. We've

got to work. Work, work, work.

"Claudine is a girl from a small

village, yet she is all of us.

Feisty, opinionated,

selfish, and sensual..."

Ooh!

"She astounds us

with her moxie, her desires,

and her crimes."

Oh!

"It took an extraordinary man to

define this modern young woman."

Willy, your book

will change the world.

- To Claudine!

- To Claudine!

Claudine!

All of Paris is saying

your husband is a genius.

- And what do you say?

- He is.

If that book

is anything to go by.

Look at him.

I haven't seen him that

happy in a long time.

Well, I have to say, Willy, we've never had

one fly off the shelves like this before.

Quite a phenomenon.

Everyone's talking about it.

And do you know

who's buying it?

- Young women.

- Really?

I thought that...

That's interesting.

We've also been having inquiries

about theatrical rights.

- Any thoughts?

- Of course.

The theater's

the next logical step.

With as large a stage

as possible.

It's the theater-going public

who will make you rich, Willy.

Maybe even as rich as you one

day, my dear Ollendorff.

What size of print run?

Perhaps 30,000 units.

I'm waiting to see what sort of

advances the booksellers have got.

What return

will that yield?

About three francs per unit.

So, yes, it's a tidy sum.

Madame Willy.

- An honor.

- Pleasure to meet you.

Listen, Claudine at School is

heading for her third printing.

Excellent.

I believe Willy based Claudine

in part on your school days.

Yes, I think I had a little

something to contribute.

Well, I'm very glad your experiences

have borne such wonderful fruit.

Very nice to meet you,

madame.

- Gare de Lyon, please.

- Where are we going?

You'll find out.

Hup.

Is something wrong?

Well, wh-what

do you think is wrong?

What?

Finally

we have a success,

and then you imply that I'm

not the true author of it.

- No, I didn't.

- We're holding dynamite here.

We've created something

really powerful,

and if it goes off

at the wrong time,

then it could blow

our bloody heads off.

Ollendorff is

your publisher, Willy.

Yeah, well, Schwob

also said something.

- Schwob is part of the factory.

- People love to talk.

They praise you to your face. Then the moment

you turn around there's knives in your back.

I understand the mentality here.

You don't.

Well, I understand it well enough to

write a book that's the toast of Paris.

Oh, well, why don't you... Go and

just shout it on the streets then.

Tell everybody.

Roll up for the massacre.

I'm sorry.

I'm... I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Perhaps I overreacted.

Anyway, I...

I have a surprise for you.

What is it?

Well, then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?

So what's that one?

Lime.

And that one?

It's a Douglas fir.

How about that one?

Chestnut.

It's a weeping chestnut.

I don't know why

you're so keen on nature.

Animals are vile

to each other.

Animals are honest at least.

They never lie.

Yes, my dear. Well, that's

because they don't speak.

Look at that.

Mmm. It's beautiful.

I wonder

who lives there.

I'm thirsty. Let's see

if they'll stand us a drink.

Willy,

they might shoot us.

Look, wait.

They might be upstairs.

Or deaf.

- Deafened by all this country silence!

- Shh.

I thought

I heard something.

Kiss me.

- Willy, someone might come.

- Good.

Put your hand

in my pocket.

- There's something there for you.

- Willy.

What?

Allow me.

What do you think?

I don't know what I think.

- Whose house is it?

- It's for you.

My love. My heart.

Lest Paris

should drive you mad.

- What?

- It's yours.

You're always talking about how

much you miss the countryside.

I don't believe it.

Somewhere for you

to write and be alone.

So...

where did you get

the money?

I got an advance

from Ollendorff.

- 25,000 francs.

- For what?

For the next book.

- Claudine in Paris.

- Willy, I-I...

- I can't write another Claudine.

- Just write about us.

Our lives. Our friends. Change

the names and make gossip.

- No, Willy, it...

- Let's talk about the details later.

So, do you like it?

It's indescribable.

No such word.

A good writer should be able to

describe anything no matter what.

Is this it?

Your total output

for all these weeks?

I've been doing the house.

All the repairs,

the painting, the tiling.

Planting the garden.

Bugger the garden.

We have a deadline.

Well, it's actually quite difficult

to write out here... alone.

And I don't want to write

another Claudine.

Are you out of your mind? Do you

realize how rare this moment is?

When people

are begging for more?

Here, come with me.

What would the headmaster do if

Claudine had not done her homework?

Willy, don't be silly.

What would he do?

Make her do lines. Put her over

his knee and tan her hide.

Correct.

I'll start tomorrow.

Willy.

- Write!

- Willy, let me out!

You will do as I say.

I'll return in four hours.

- I expect to see some pages.

- Willy!

Willy, come on.

This isn't funny.

Willy!

Willy, you bastard!

You arrogant bastard!

Let me out!

Willy!

Open the door!

Let me out!

Oh, thank you so much.

Ho-ho! Ho-ho!

Colette

and Willy are here.

So they are.

Don't stare.

- Sorry.

- Here?

Yes. Perfect.

Thank you.

Mmm. It's delicious.

Mmm.

Tell me,

how many people

in this park right now

do you think are reading

Claudine in Paris?

- I don't know.

- I'd say at least three-quarters.

And the rest of them

will soon catch up.

What comes here?

Monsieur Willy.

Madame Colette.

- I have a note for you.

- Thank you very much.

Mrs. Raoul Duval.

Oh, Georgie Raoul Duval?

- Yes.

- Wonderful.

Please thank your mistress

and say we accept the invitation

and look forward

to her delightful company.

- Thank you.

- I will.

- Who is she?

- Ah, she's an American.

She's a wayward debutante

from Louisiana

who married a munitions

magnate three times her age.

They sound dull.

He is,

but she's anything but.

We don't have to go

if you don't want to.

No, let's go.

That's so funny.

Did he really say that?

Of course he did.

He's such a colossal snob.

Then Madame de Caillavet happened to mention

that he was only a baron, not a marquise.

"Forgive me, madam,"

he replied,

"but I'm also the duke of

Anjou, the bishop of Coutances,

the prince of Joinville,

of Orléans, and the Dunes.

None of which is of the

slightest importance here."

Oh, look.

There.

That's better.

- Oh, is the evening over already?

- Thank you, monsieur.

I can't bear it.

Oh, Lily, tell the coachman

to go and ready the carriage.

Of course.

Well?

I'm sorry, ma'am, but, Monsieur Willy,

may I have your autograph, please?

Of course you can.

Here, I'll even do

a picture for you.

- There you are.

- Thank you so much.

- And yours too, Madame Colette.

- Oh, come now.

No, of course. Spirit

should always be rewarded.

Thank you.

- Good night, my dear.

- Good night.

Well,

I live at 74 Rue Goethe if you'd

like to stop by for a nightcap.

I think I'd better retire

for the night.

Oh. Are you sure now?

- Willy?

- We'll play again soon, my dear.

Yes, I hope so, before

my bore of a husband returns.

Well, au revoir.

Au revoir.

You don't want to go?

Well, the invitation

was clearly meant for you.

- Should I?

- Yes, of course.

You don't mind?

Well, it would be hypocritical

of me if I did, wouldn't it?

You can comfort yourself knowing

that I will be at home lying in bed,

thinking of the two of you

in the fondest way possible.

Come on in.

It's a nice place.

Thank you. It's my

little pied-à-terre.

Frederick's not so keen

on the art nouveau pieces,

but I love nature...

and women.

I can see.

I remember in Claudine at School when all

the girls go swimming together at night.

Night is the best time

for a swim.

When I was a girl, I was told that all

the lakes in Louisiana have alligators,

so I never went for a midnight

swim, but I regret it.

When you raise your eyelids,

it's as if you are taking off

all my clothes.

Don't look away.

Look at me.

Look at me looking at you.

You have

the most beautiful teeth.

Like an alligator.

Morning, my dear.

Have you fed Toby Chien?

Oh, I forgot.

I thought Matilde does that.

So how was last night?

Interesting.

What happened?

What do you think

happened?

Ah. Well, don't tell me.

I'll, uh...

I'll wait to read about it, when Claudine

develops tender feelings towards a lady friend.

- I'm not writing about it.

- You must. It's prime material.

No.

Will you see her again?

Possibly.

One moment, my darlin'.

- Oh.

- Wonderful. You're... You're here.

I...

I was just passing by.

Yes?

Well, um...

You'd better come in.

How's the writing going?

It's slow and painful.

- How was your meeting at the bank?

- It was good.

Yeah, it was good.

She's expecting you.

Off to the bank.

Georgie,

I know you're in there!

Georgie, open up!

Colette,

I was taking a nap.

- Where is he?

- Who?

Colette, what are

you talking about?

Blue cigar

smoke hung in the air.

I marched in and looked

straight in the face of Renaud.

He recoiled, saying, "It was wicked of me.

I'm sorry."

Rezi was there.

Of course she was there...

"Of course she was there,

hurriedly dressing herself.

I shall always remember her

lily-white face decomposing,

as if it were dying

right under my gaze."

It's good.

I know.

I'd suggest you change the line where Renaud

says, "It was wicked of me to do it,"

but I know you won't.

And what do you think that Renaud

would say in those circumstances?

I don't know. Something like, "Why,

my dear, we were waiting for you."

- I don't think she'd believe him.

- Of course not.

But don't you think

she's being hypocritical?

I mean, it's acceptable for

Claudine to sleep with Rezi,

but she doesn't want Renaud

to do the same.

Not behind her back,

no.

The betrayal came

when Renaud lied to her.

Renaud, who swore he

would always be honest.

Well, perhaps he wanted

to tell her, but he was...

frightened

of her volcanic jealousy.

Well, then, he was a

coward as well as a liar.

You're very harsh on him.

If not me,

who else?

And Renaud

would never be jealous

if, for example,

Claudine went off with a

young man for a change.

He would find that

unacceptable.

Oh.

- Infidelity for Renaud is a matter of gender?

- Yes, it is.

Huh.

How long have you known?

About a month.

Well, I must say, I'm impressed by

the way you've handled yourself.

A younger Claudine

would have thrown a fit.

I'm planning on killing

Renaud off in the next one.

What? No, you can't.

No, please, don't.

The hand that holds

the pen writes history.

My husband,

he's just... pure rage.

He wanted to challenge Willy

to a duel.

What?

I put him off. Hopefully

it won't come to that.

You've read it, yes?

I have.

How worried should I be?

It's not blatantly obvious

who is who.

- The names have been changed.

- I don't believe you.

Everyone's chattering about it, saying

it will be salacious in the extreme.

I know that you have no time

for me since our separation,

and I know

I behaved badly.

But I'm begging you.

Ask Willy to change it

before publication.

Please, Colette.

One woman to another.

I can't.

You'd let me suffer?

It isn't just Willy,

Georgie.

It... It's...

It's the book itself.

Willy thinks

it's a work of art.

You had your chance

to be decent,

but now it will be left to

my husband to settle it.

Ollendorff has agreed to a lump sum for

the destruction of the entire print run.

What?

You can't do that.

He's already accepted.

That sly bastard.

You can't. You just can't.

Well, we have,

and that's how it is.

- You duplicitous bitch.

- I had a good teacher.

And like

a true French heroine,

our daughter Claudine

was burnt at the stake.

I said it would be a hot book.

The thing is,

Ollendorff signed the deal,

but he neglected to mention that

he does not own the copyright.

- Because I do.

- Unbelievable.

So it was simply a question of

trotting along to the next publisher,

collecting

a second advance,

and the printing presses are

hard at work as we speak.

How do you two do it?

- I think we got very lucky.

- Not at all. We are with the times.

That cuckolded millionaire and his

voracious wife didn't stand a chance.

We've got the wind under our

wings, and I have a little plan

to turn Claudine into the most popular

girl in France, if not the entire world.

She will literally be

a household name.

My name is Claudine.

I live in Montigny.

I was born there in 1884.

- She's not bad.

- I shall probably not die there.

- Montigny is a village, not a town.

- She's terrible.

Its streets, thank

heaven, are not paved.

Yes, you're right.

Th-Thank you very much.

My name is Claudine.

I live in Montigny.

I was born there

in 1884.

I shall probably not

die there.

Montigny is a village,

not a town.

Monsieur Willy. I am the real Claudine.

- And you are...?

- Me?

- My name is Polaire.

- Polaire?

Polaire.

Pride of Algiers.

Look at her.

I mean, look at her.

She's...

She instinctively

knows the role.

- She talks about the book as if it was a religion.

- Yes.

She's a Sister of Perpetual Claudine.

It's strange.

She's started copying my

gestures and mannerisms.

- Really?

- Do you think I could act?

You? No.

It'd be a criminal waste.

Waste of what?

This bobbed haircut. I've never

seen anything like it. Have you?

I always imagined Claudine

with long hair.

Well, that was 19th-century Claudine.

This is now.

Look good on you,

actually.

Very fetching.

Just think of it. You and

Polaire, the Claudine twins.

- What?

- Yeah. It'd be a publicity gold mine.

- Paris would be all atwitter.

- No. Not in a thousand years.

Evening.

Colette.

You look ravishing.

Thank you.

My name is Claudine.

I live in Montigny.

I was born there

in 1884.

I shall probably not

die there.

Of all my novels, this was the one

that would translate to the theater.

I have to give it to you, Willy.

It's a huge success.

But now you're such a celebrity, you'll

become even more insufferable than ever.

That's the plan, Veber. That's the plan.

Oh, he is a tease.

Can you believe

this crowd?

Look. Everyone's here. Look.

There's the marquise de Belbeuf.

Or Missy, as she's known. She only

shows up for very special occasions.

A woman?

Descended from Empress

Josephine on one side,

the czar of Russia

on the other.

That's how she gets away with

the trousers, even in public.

Fascinating.

Stunning.

Subtle as ever.

Monsieur Willy.

- How was it?

- You were magnificent.

You were perfection.

Thank you, Monsieur Willy.

Colette?

You are her.

The living Claudine.

Polaire,

alight here on my knee.

Tetette, you too.

- Willy...

- Come here.

Behold

the Claudine trinity.

The father, the mother

and the daughter.

Look over here, please.

Claudine, she is a Midas minx,

her smile mysterious

like a sphinx.

She walks, she talks,

she even thinks.

Claudine,

Claudine, Claudine!

Claudine's a

girl who knows no bounds,

a fox that can't be

caught by hounds.

Exploding star

that makes no sound!

Claudine, Claudine, Claudine!

- Who is this girl in my heart?

- Claudine!

- Who has been right from the start?

- Claudine!

- Who is a bit of a tart?

- Claudine, Claudine, Claudine!

Claudine!

- Who is the girl I admire?

- Claudine!

- Who is the queen of desire?

- Claudine!

Who has set Paris

on fire?

Claudine, Claudine,

Claudine, Claudine!

- Who's wearing a schoolgirl's smock?

- Claudine!

- Who's causing a hell of a shock?

- Claudine!

Who's working

all round the clock?

Claudine, Claudine, Claudine, Claudine,

Claudine, Claudine, Claudine, Claudine!

And when...

in a dream...

I find myself

next to Claudine

and her magical eyes,

forgetting

all other music...

but the laughter

of her voice.

Claudine!

Claudine!

Bravo.

Hello, Toby Chien.

Hello.

Hello.

I'm exhausted.

Oh, me too.

More steps

every time.

But what a night.

We have Paris in the

palm of our hands.

- Willy.

- Yes, my dear?

I wondered

if tonight we might...

It would help me.

Mmm.

My love.

My Claudine.

Congratulations,

by the way.

It seems Claudines

are everywhere these days.

Yes. There's even been a Claudine

murderess in Marseilles.

She slit

her husband's throat.

Good for her.

But seriously, you've

done something important.

You've invented

a type.

Willy has, you mean.

I mean you have.

All those young girls between girlhood and

womanhood, you've given them a voice.

You should

own up to it.

Somebody told you?

I didn't need

to be told.

Meeting you is enough.

It's true.

I wrote them.

It's just...

I know.

I hope the path we

walked today was merely the beginning.

I see your face, Missy...

strong, vulnerable.

I've never met

anyone like you.

Polite yet direct.

Reserved yet brave.

A true gentle man.

Willy Gauthier-Villars'

residence.

He's busy at the moment.

- Can I take a message?

- It's the Soumaintrain.

Reminds me

of Saint-Sauveur.

Mmm. Oh, yes.

It's delicious.

- When do you go on tour?

- Mmm.

A few weeks.

Some real fleapits too.

It'll be hell.

- Why do you do it?

- He might have some time on Thursday.

I'm addicted. I love every

single dive and wastrel.

You should

come with us.

- Can't do cantomime.

- This isn't cantomime.

This is a new kind

of pantomime.

- I'll put you down for a half an hour.

- Pure action.

The right gesture

is worth a thousand words.

And how do you spell that?

Excuse me.

- Yes?

- Is Monsieur Willy at home?

I was hoping

he could sign my book.

Héon? Another one.

This way,

please.

Tell me

more about pantomime.

Oh, well, it's something I've been

talking about with Christian.

Just an idea right now. We're

thinking of calling it Flesh.

Go on in.

- Monsieur Willy.

- I am he.

Hello.

Could you sign this?

It's my favorite book.

Hmm. Thank you.

To whom

should I inscribe it?

My name is Meg.

I am the real Claudine.

- How old are you?

- I'm older than I look.

I'm 23.

Well, I'm younger

than I look. I'm 46.

I don't mind.

Whoa!

- Right ahead!

- There it is!

- Come here, Toby.

- Toby, bring the ball.

Can you bring it back? Go, Toby!

Meg's very sweet,

isn't she?

A little overeager,

but there you are.

Reminds me of you

ten years ago.

Nothing like.

But she is very sweet.

- Come on, come on!

- Come on, come on!

What do you think

of Missy?

- Toby, come!

- She's very pleasant.

But she perplexes me.

I'm...

Words are either masculine or feminine, but

there's no... there's no word for Missy.

Oh, I could think of

one or two.

Well, you do seem content,

for once.

Isn't there

something missing?

What do you mean?

Are you ready, Willy?

Yes, I'm ready.

My name is Claudine.

I live in Montigny.

I was born there

in 1884.

That's right.

I shall probably not

die there.

Forty-seven.

Forty-eight.

Forty-nine.

Come on.

Fifty.

Well done.

You were married once, weren't you?

Yes.

It was awful.

We don't talk anymore, except

through the auspices of lawyers.

He's embarrassed by me.

If he was married to me,

what does that say about him?

It must have been

very hard for you.

- Putting on trousers, I mean.

- No.

It was entirely natural.

I was

a rather awkward child,

if you can imagine me

in pigtails and a dress.

I never felt like I belonged,

and then one day I tried on my brother's

school uniform, and that was it.

I knew I was home

for the first time.

I've come a long way

since then.

Of course, it's far easier for

me than for a woman of no means,

but I wanted to show

that it can be done.

What about you?

- What about me?

- Well, I dress as a man.

Willy dresses you

as a schoolgirl.

Thank you.

I do know what's going on, you know.

I'm in on the joke.

I don't doubt it

for a second, but...

but are you happy?

Is anyone happy?

Willy is demanding, yes,

but...

he also gives me

a lot of freedom.

It is a long leash

he keeps you on,

but it's a leash

nevertheless.

And perhaps

you enjoy that.

- Do you think that's terribly wrong?

- No.

It's entirely

your business, but...

Never mind.

But what?

I wonder if there

will come a time...

when you must decide,

are you Claudine

or are you Colette?

- Hello, Héon.

- Hello, Colette.

What kind of a mood

is he in?

The usual, but worse.

- Hello there.

- Oh, my word.

- What are you wearing?

- They're Missy's.

My dear, I'm surprised you

weren't arrested or beaten up.

You know

the new Claudine book?

Yes.

Why don't we publish it

under both our names?

That's out of the question.

Ollendorff

would never agree to it.

Ollendorff or you?

Tetette, do you really want to kill the

goose that's laying the golden Claudines?

There's very little risk,

surely.

Claudine's established.

And... most people know.

Or they suspect.

Nobody knows.

Unless you've been crowing about

it to your lady man friend.

- Don't insult Missy.

- Oh, dear.

She's stripping you of your sense of

humor as well as your common sense.

- That's not fair, Willy.

- Look, we can't risk it.

Especially not with our present finances.

We're completely broke.

We're always broke, and yet you gamble

and fill this place with your antiques.

I bought those from bankrupts

from a debtors' auction.

The car. The racehorse

that went lame.

And you, with your funny clothes and your

hats and the exorbitant mortgage on...

- I need my name on the book.

- No. Willy is a brand.

- And, in any case, women writers don't sell.

- You bastard.

You fat, smug, lazy,

selfish bastard.

This is utter nonsense. If you felt so strongly,

you should never have agreed to it all.

Goddamn you, Willy.

Without the progenitor,

there would be no Claudine.

And prepare.

Breathe.

Remember

how the cat breathes.

More animal.

- Ready?

- Yes.

Let's get to work.

And...

And...

Are you going to write

today?

No.

Rehearsing with Wague

later.

Well, don't you think

you ought to?

I should start

locking you up again.

I would scream

the house down.

Look, it's a charming

hobby, Tetette, but...

you're not exactly

Sarah Bernhardt.

So if you can't pull

it off as high art,

you're gonna end up doing the bloody music

halls, and that would be scandalous.

Since when have you considered

scandal to be a bad thing?

That's true.

What does Missy think?

He's all for it. He comes along with

me to Wague's studio all the time.

God, how depressing.

Does she have absolutely no

life of her own whatsoever?

He does the movements with me.

He's rather good.

Do you know, Wague thinks that I'll be

ready to go on the stage in a few weeks.

What do you think, Matilde?

I have to agree with Monsieur Willy, ma'am.

It's not very ladylike.

Thought you were on my side.

So you and the marquise prance around the

studio as potty, mimetic lovers, do you?

Does Missy share your

ambition to go on the stage?

No. He's far too shy.

I've had an idea. It'll be

called The Dream of Egypt.

Paris will never have

seen anything like it.

A scandalous sensation starring Madame

Colette Willy and the Marquise de Belbeuf.

In a common-or-garden

music hall.

Can you imagine? It'll be

a full house every night.

We do perfectly well

with the cancan.

I've seen it half empty

on a weeknight.

- You can vouch for the marquise?

- It's in the bag.

We can even use the Belbeuf

family crest on the poster.

- The press will go wild.

- Maybe so, Willy.

- Do you have backers?

- Only need one.

Myself.

You're that confident?

- That's a lot of capital.

- Yes.

Yes, I am.

Meg.

You look

beautiful.

All of our friends

are here.

Yes.

Some of Missy's former husband's

friends are here too.

Here.

Thank you.

- Bravo!

- Boo!

This is a disgrace!

Bravo!

Well done, Colette!

Well done!

Degenerate! Degenerate!

What the hell do you think you're playing

at, you uncultured sack of shit?

You're one of them,

aren't you?

Madame Colette, what are your

impressions after tonight?

My "impressions"?

I'm disgusted.

The people who threw things

tonight are cowards,

and the only reason I didn't get a footstool

in the face is because I dodged it.

Let it go, Colette.

There were some gentlemen

who came for a fight.

We must ignore them

and go on.

So you intend

to continue?

- Yes!

- No!

Those people don't

frighten me at all.

Look.

Am I trembling?

I will continue to pursue

this because I want to,

and if Paris won't have

me, then so be it.

I'll go elsewhere

to make a living.

- Amen.

- Amen.

Your father was an old soldier.

A good, solid man.

He was.

Was.

I, um...

I saw our creditors

yesterday.

It's horrific. We lost

everything at the Moulin Rouge.

- Not today, Willy.

- Colette.

We need to sell

the country house.

- No.

- We have no choice.

No.

No, Willy.

You can't do that.

Well, morally, yes,

I need your permission.

But... legally,

well, the house is in my name.

What do you think?

You need to divorce

him, Gabri, and soon.

Sido, please.

You ask for a full audit of his accounts.

Willy is a mess.

A drinker. A gambler. He's

a broken man, Gabrielle.

Don't say that.

He'll hold you back.

Gabri, you have to

use your own gifts.

You know, just...

write something new

under your own name.

Writing's a nightmare.

All the hours I spent with

him breathing down my neck.

The turn of the key in the lock.

The ache in my fingers.

- I'm done with it.

- Oh, no, Gabrielle, just...

I'm going on tour, Sido, with

Wague, for the next six months.

The contracts are being drawn up now.

We're doing a new piece.

- Get out of it. You have to.

- I'm going to do it.

What did I miss?

Women. Knives.

All very Greek.

Montmarault!

Bravo!

- Bravo!

- Bravo!

Bravo!

Tell me something.

The sole rights to the

Claudines, Ollendorff.

What would you give me

for them?

Are you serious?

All of them?

Yes.

The sole rights

in perpetuity?

Make me an offer.

We had a cancellation in Limoges next

week, so I've got four days off.

Will you be coming

back to Paris?

No.

I have to pack up the house

at Besançon.

- Will he be there?

- Missy. I've had a long day.

- Can we just...?

- Of course.

I'm sorry.

You know...

you don't have to worry

about Willy.

You don't even need to earn your own

money or stay in places like this.

I could arrange

everything.

Too much of my life

has been arranged.

And I like

earning my own money.

I love you.

That's all.

Thank you.

That's not the traditional

response, but I'll take it.

For now.

You know, I've been thinking about

this new craze for moving pictures.

Do you think we could adapt

Claudine for a cine-play?

God, do you never stop?

We could write a completely fresh story.

Claudine by the Sea.

No. Adapt one

of the old ones.

Perhaps.

Catch.

Oh, yes.

How sad.

I've missed you.

- No, you haven't.

- Of course I have.

Your ambiguous smile, your lightning

intelligence, your capricious joys.

Even your brief

but violent furies.

How's the book going

with Meg?

Terribly.

All spice

and no literature.

She's not you.

She never will be.

What are we doing, Willy?

Are we finished?

I don't know.

You can't.

- Why can't I?

- Because I love you.

Because you're the only

woman I could ever love.

And because you're at your most

brilliant when you're with me.

Am I?

Yes.

You know you are.

You still need

your headmaster.

Come in.

May I get in with you,

Gabri?

Yes.

Get in.

Can't sleep.

Too quiet.

Listen.

Silence. It's

terrifying, isn't it?

No. I love it.

Of course you do,

country girl.

Is everything

all right?

There's something

weighing on my mind.

What?

I don't sleep with Meg

anymore.

I mean, we sleep, but...

I can't...

Doesn't matter.

It does.

Matters very much.

Bravo!

Bravo!

- Colette, how was yours tonight?

- Not bad.

- And are you going out after?

- Maybe.

Madame Willy.

- Ooh-la-la.

- Monsieur Ollendorff. Hello.

I'm here in Lille

on some family business,

and I was delighted when I found

out you were here with the play.

- Oh. Well, it's very kind of you to come and see it.

- Quite a spectacle.

I was thinking if you were free, I'd like

to take you and the marquise to dinner.

Thank you. I'm always

up for a free feed.

Especially

in such august company.

Mmm, it's the very least

I can do for you, Colette,

after all the money

you've made for me.

And will continue to make.

I wish I'd been able to give

Willy a better settlement.

But one can only pay

what one can afford.

I'm not quite sure

I understand.

For the Claudines.

The rights to the Claudines.

Willy sold you

the Claudines?

Yes. All of them.

- He sold you the Claudines?

- Absolutely.

I'm sorry.

I thought he...

How much did he get

for them?

I am most insulted by

the implication of your letter.

We have transacted business

for five years...

Tetette.

I need to speak to you

alone.

I'll see you later.

Willy. Colette.

- What is it?

- Five thousand francs.

Don't be melodramatic. I was

trying to keep the house for you.

- I gave you the house.

- We still owed the bank.

You could have sold Veber's

novels, some of your other trash.

You just did it to stick the knife in me.

Didn't you?

Didn't you?

I wouldn't have got anything for

Veber's, or Schwob's, or anyone else's.

- Now, please, calm down.

- Why? Why should I calm down?

Oh, you hurt and you hurt

and you hurt,

and you think that by saying

"I'm a man, that's what men do,"

you clear it all away.

What you did was not just

hateful, it was stupid.

Now we'll have no say

over our books,

and we'll never make

another penny from them.

- We can write some more.

- No, never. Never again. Never!

You're overreacting. This was

purely a business decision.

Isn't that what our whole

marriage has been?

Wasn't I the best

investment you ever made?

No dowry, but my God, she

can write for her keep!

If you were an investment, you

were a highly speculative one.

I paid you back

a thousand times.

Please, just stop it! Just

stop talking about money!

You were my ideal,

my love, my obsession.

You killed our child,

Willy.

Those books...

they were all we had.

And now they're gone and

there's no chance of repair.

- My darling, Claudine was only...

- Don't.

Don't tell me

what Claudine was.

I am the real Claudine.

Everything I thought and

felt went into those books.

They were me.

My childhood,

my memories, my opinions.

Everything.

And when I think of

the hours I spent alone,

slaving away for you,

churning out scenes

just to try and please you,

I am so ashamed of myself

for that.

And yet I knew

and you knew...

that I was bound

to do it.

You found me

when I knew nothing.

You molded me to your own

designs, to your desires.

And you thought that

I could never break free.

Well, you're wrong.

Claudine is dead now. She's gone.

You betrayed her.

And I...

I have outgrown her.

Please.

Please, I...

I was so s...

I was stupid. I...

I panicked. I...

- Please forgive me.

- Good-bye, Willy.

No, Gabrielle.

Gabrielle, please, no.

Gabrielle!

My love, stop.

I forbid you!

That was my note.

That's mine.

And that's mine.

That's mine.

It was a collaboration.

She really has a nerve.

And these prove it.

Would you do me a favor,

Héon?

Will you destroy these,

please?

- Are you sure?

- Definitely.

Burn them.

Incinerate them.

All right, Willy.

I'm going out.

Shit.

- Thirty minutes to curtain up.

- Thanks, Wague.

After two years

of music hall and theater,

I'm still the same,

face to face

with that painted mentor

who gazes at me from the other

side of the looking glass

with deep-set eyes under lids

smeared with purplish greasepaint.

I know she is

going to speak to me.

She is going to say, "Is that you

there all alone under that ceiling,

booming and vibrating

under the feet of the dancers?

Why are you there all alone?

And why not somewhere else?"

Yes, this is

the dangerous, lucid hour.

Now, whenever I despair,

I no longer expect my end,

but some bit of luck,

some commonplace

little miracle which,

like a glittering link,

will mend again

the necklace of my days.

Colette!

Colette! Colette! Colette!

Colette! Colette! Colette! Colette! Colette!

Colette! Colette! Colette! Colette!

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