|
THE DEATHBED OF VICTOR HUGO. Victor Hugo Museum. |
A DEDICATION BY VICTOR HUGO TO JULIETTE DROUET. The writing reads thus: “A la Juliette de Victor Hugo, plus charmante et plus aimée que la Juliette de Shakespeare.” The original belongs to M. Louis Barthou. |
Villequier,
Friday and Saturday mornings, September 12th and 13th, 1879.
A double letter, my beloved; to-day’s and yesterday’s, which, for want of paper, pens and ink, I was not able to send you at the proper time, in spite of the inexhaustible fount of my love. This morning being better provided, I can let myself go in the happiness of being with you in the house of your respected friends,[119] enjoying their tender and devoted hospitality. I am proud and yet shy of sharing it with you; proud, because I think myself worthy, shy because I do not know how to thank them or to prove my gratitude. Fortunately the honour and pleasure of your presence is reward enough for those you esteem, and from whom you accept this filial friendship, admiration, and devotion. I express myself badly, but you are accustomed to grasp my meaning, in spite of the lapses of my pen; so I never worry about the confusion of my scribbles, and I end them imperturbably, as I begin them, by the sacred words: I love you. I did not venture to ask your permission yesterday to accompany you on your pious pilgrimage,[120] but I add the prayers I addressed to God and your dear dead, to the sacrifice I was forced to make to appearances. If you allow me, I shall go before we leave Villequier, and kneel beside those venerated tombs, to offer under the open sky my profound respect and eternal benediction. I shall only do it if you consent, for I should not like to offend against good taste by the outward manifestation of the sentiment I cherish in my heart for your dear dead relations. I know you slept well—thanks evidently to the calm and happy life your friends provide for you in their circle, for which I thank and bless them from the bottom of my heart. I do not know whether the weather will be favourable to-day for the excursion we planned; it is foggy so far, but whatever be the state of the barometer, I am disposed to be quite happy if you are, and to adore you without conditions of any kind. By the way, how are you going to evade the attentions of the mayor and corporation of Le Hâvre without hurting the feelings of the poor workmen who implore you to go amongst them while you are in their neighbourhood? It is not an easy problem to solve. Luckily nothing is a difficulty to you—nor to me either when there is any question of loving you with all my might from one end of life to the other!
J.
Paris,
Monday, 7 a.m., May 30th, 1880.
How beautiful, how grand, how divine!!! I have just finished that glorious reading, and am electrified by the elixir of your ardent poetry; my fainting soul clings to your mighty wings, to arrest its fall from the starry heights in which you plane, to the profound abyss of my ignorance. I was afraid I might disturb your sleep by the rustling of the leaves as I cut and devoured them greedily, never noticing that night was turning into day. Finally, fearing to be caught by you, I dragged myself unwillingly to bed at three o’clock, and have now already been up an hour, in triumphant health, rejuvenated by the virility of the thoughts your inexhaustible genius pours forth without intermission before a dazzled and grateful humanity. My hand shakes from my inward tremor, and it is with difficulty that I finish this poor little cry of admiration. Even my voice, if I tried to speak at this moment, could hardly stammer out my adoration. I am in the throes of a kind of delirium which would be painful, were it not as exquisite as the divine love which overflows from my heart.
J.