Victor Hugo continued – Demain, des l’Aube. Great French writers.

After I had finished yesterday’s item about Victor Hugo, I thought I should have included his lovely poem, written just after Leopoldine died. The translation is my own – I daresay there is an official translation somewhere – with apologies to all concerned. (There should be a grave accent on that e in the title – è – for scholars of French who are screeching at me, but not for love nor money can I persuade the “insert symbol” whatsit to obey me …) Anyway, a heart-wrenching poem:-

Demain, dès l’aube, à l’heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m’attends.
J’irai par la forêt, j’irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l’or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j’arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.

Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside is white,

I will leave. You see, I know that you are waiting for me.

I will go via the forest. I will go via the mountain.

I cannot live far from you for long.

I will walk with my eyes fixed on my thoughts

Without seeing anything else, without hearing a sound,

Alone, unknown, my back bent, my hands crossed,

Sad, and for me day will be like night.

I will watch neither the gold of the falling evening,

Nor the sails in the distance going towards Harfleur*,

And when I arrive I will put on your tomb

A bunch of green holly and heather in flower.