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Today, travelers who arrive by ferry, from either England, Jersey or France, share this same first glimpse of the port, with its gently bobbing fishing boats and orderly rows of houses stacked along hills. Hugo settled in one of these residences at the top of town, a rambling villa called Hauteville House, surrounded by family and a band of fellow exiles. He installed Juliette Drouet, his mistress of decades, in a modest home down the street.

Already a celebrated writer at the time of his exile, Hugo was drawn to the Channel Islands because of their proximity to France and independent governance. (Though the islands have been linked to Britain for almost 1,000 years, a 1204 charter still guarantees their autonomy.) For Hugo, who spoke no English - "When England wants to chat with me, let her learn my language," he said with typical grandiosity - the French and Guernsey patois spoken by the island's Norman descendents were essential to his comfort.

Today, locals speak English more than any other language, but the warmth of their hospitality remains undimmed. "It's such a small island, everyone knows everyone - in a nice way," said Mark Pontin, the proprietor of the Ship and Crown, a local pub where Juliette Drouet first stayed when she arrived on Guernsey. "Most locals know the stories about Victor Hugo, and people have plenty of time to talk about the history of the island."

In his mid-50s when he arrived in Guernsey, Hugo believed that his "present refuge" would eventually become his "probable tomb." Fueled by these morbid fears - amplified, no doubt, by his remote isolation - he embarked on a staggeringly prolific literary output, as well as his most tangible work of art, the decoration of his home, Hauteville House.

In 1927, Hugo's granddaughter, Jeanne, and great-grandchildren, Jean, Marguerite and François, donated the property to the city of Paris, which maintains it as a museum, open from April to September. Stepping into the house, which brims with objets d'art and swaths of tapestry, is like entering Hugo's imagination, filled with hidden symbolism, defiant declarations and winks of humor. "The house is like a journey," said Cédric Bail, a conservation assistant who led my guided tour last summer.

Hugo spent almost six years decorating the house, scouring the island's junk shops for functional items that he repurposed into decorative elements. Under his keen eye, dozens of carved wooden sea chests were joined into a towering mantelpiece, and curved Regency chair backs became ornamental window frames. Small faces and words - "bits of propaganda," Mr. Bail said - are carved into the wall paneling: A sign over the dining room door reads, "Exilium vita est" ("Life is an exile").

Suffused with a dark oppressiveness that Mr. Bail likened to that of a prison, the lower rooms gave way to light as we ascended the stairs. At the top of the house, a glass conservatory, shockingly bright, housed Hugo's primary domain: a spartan bedroom - where the notorious philanderer slept flanked by maidservants' beds - and an office with views that stretch across the Channel. Perched here in the "lookout," as he called it, Hugo wrote while standing at a foldout desk and gazing at the islands of Sark and Herm, and, in the hazy distance, his beloved France.

After mornings of work, Hugo spent his afternoons on brisk walks exploring the island. His hale figure was such a familiar sight that a statue in a nearby park, Candie Gardens, depicts him midstride, the wind catching his cloak. I toured some of Hugo's haunts with a Gill Girard, a guide (and the sister of Mr. Pontin, the pub owner), who shared rich local tales while whisking me around in her car. She stopped to show me the Creux ès Faïes ("cave of fairies" in Guernsey French), a Neolithic-era burial chamber that fascinated Hugo. At Pleinmont Point, on the southwestern corner of the island, our eyes strained through the fog to see a lonely house that might have inspired a scene in his "Toilers of the Sea." Today, massive cement bunkers mar the view - built during World War II, they are an unyielding reminder of the German occupation - but the craggy lines of Hugo's beloved "ravaged, exposed" coast remain.

On my final afternoon, a fine rain dampened the skies. Undeterred, I set off to retrace Hugo's favorite walk, a one-hour hike south from St. Peter Port along coastal cliffs. Dark woods closed in above me and the occasional drop of icy rain fell on my neck, but as I scrambled along the path, all distractions were swept away by the roar of the sea, which filled my ears even though I couldn't see it. I rounded a corner and Fermain Bay appeared below, the jewel-toned waters glowing through the mist. Hugo came to this sheltered cove, which is still accessible only by foot, to swim and sit and watch the rising tide. Surrounded by his thoughts, he found a kind of peace.

Hugo was prepared to die without setting foot again in France, declaring, "I will share exile and liberty to the very end." In 1870, however, the Second Empire fell, and a triumphant Hugo returned to Paris, though he visited Guernsey again three times before his death in 1885.

And yet Guernsey's influence on Hugo is evident - not just in "Toilers of the Sea," but in the sheer volume of the work he produced there. The island's untamed seclusion was at once a burden and a gift, and the ambitious writer freely embraced both aspects. "A month's work here is worth a year in Paris," he confided in a letter to the writer Auguste Vacquerie. "This is why I sentence myself to exile."
HAUNTS AND HOTELS Getting There and Getting Around
Guernsey can be reached by daily ferry service operated by Condor Ferries ( www.condorferries.co.uk). The trip takes about three hours from Weymouth or Poole on the southern English coast (£60, about $95 at $1.58 to the pound, round trip), or two hours from St.-Malo, France (65 euros, $84 at $1.30 to the euro, round trip). Aurigny ( aurigny.com) and Flybe ( flybe.com) airlines offer daily flights to Guernsey from London Gatwick and nine other airports in Britain. Guernsey's bus network serves all of the island's major attractions.

(Note: Guernsey issues its own currency, pegged to the British pound.)
What to See

Hauteville House (38 Hauteville, St. Peter Port; 44-1481-721-911; victorhugo.gg) is open from April to September, Monday to Saturday. Visits available only by guided tour; reservations required. Admission is £6.

Gill Girard (44-1-481-252-403; gillgirardtourguide.com; £6) leads guided walks and bus tours of the island on a variety of themes including Victor Hugo, as well as the Guernsey-set novel "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society."

The island has a 28-mile network of clifftop footpaths that follow the rugged coast. Maps are available at the Guernsey Information Center (44-1481-723-552; visitguernsey.com).
Where to Stay

Steps away from Hauteville House, the Pandora Hotel (Hauteville, St. Peter Port; 44-1481-720-971; pandorahotel.co.uk; from £47), where Hugo's mistress Juliette Drouet lived, offers flowery, salmon-pink rooms that are comfortable, if a little shabby.

Old Government House (St, Ann's Place, St. Peter Port; 44-1481-724-921; theoghhotel.com; from £125), a former governor's mansion, offers luxurious rooms in the center of town.

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Today, travelers who arrive by ferry, from either England, Jersey or France, share this same first glimpse of the port, with its gently bobbing fishing boats and orderly rows of houses stacked along hills. Hugo settled in one of these residences at the top of town, a rambling villa called Hauteville House, surrounded by family and a band of fellow exiles.

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Exil - Victor HUGO - Les grands poèmes classiques - Poésie française - Tous les poèmes - Tous les poètes

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Poème: Exil, Victor HUGO. Poésie Française est à la fois une anthologie de la poésie classique, du moyen-âge au début du XXème siècle, et également un espace de visibilité pour l'internaute, amateur éclairé ou professionnel qui désire y publier ses oeuvres à titre gratuit.

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Table of Contents

What did Victor Hugo write?

How did Victor Hugo influence others?

What is Victor Hugo remembered for?

Read a brief summary of this topic

Victor Hugo, in full Victor-Marie Hugo, (born February 26, 1802, Besançon, France-died May 22, 1885, Paris), poet, novelist, and dramatist who was the most important of the French Romantic writers. Though regarded in France as one of that country's greatest poets, he is better known abroad for such novels as Notre-Dame de Paris (1831) and Les Misérables (1862).

Early years (1802-30)

Victor was the third son of Joseph-Léopold-Sigisbert Hugo, a major and, later, general in Napoleon's army. His childhood was coloured by his father's constant traveling with the imperial army and by the disagreements that soon alienated his parents from one another. His mother's royalism and his father's loyalty to successive governments-the Convention, the Empire, the Restoration-reflected their deeper incompatibility. It was a chaotic time for Victor, continually uprooted from Paris to set out for Elba or Naples or Madrid, yet always returning to Paris with his mother, whose royalist opinions he initially adopted. The fall of the empire gave him, from 1815 to 1818, a time of uninterrupted study at the Pension Cordier and the Lycée Louis-le-Grand, after which he graduated from the law faculty at Paris, where his studies seem to have been purposeless and irregular. Memories of his life as a poor student later inspired the figure of Marius in his novel Les Misérables.

From 1816, at least, Hugo had conceived ambitions other than the law. He was already filling notebooks with verses, translations-particularly from Virgil-two tragedies, a play, and elegies. Encouraged by his mother, Hugo founded a review, the Conservateur Littéraire (1819-21), in which his own articles on the poets Alphonse de Lamartine and André de Chénier stand out. His mother died in 1821, and a year later Victor married a childhood friend, Adèle Foucher, with whom he had five children. In that same year he published his first book of poems, Odes et poésies diverses, whose royalist sentiments earned him a pension from Louis XVIII. Behind Hugo's concern for classical form and his political inspiration, it is possible to recognize in these poems a personal voice and his own particular vein of fantasy.

In 1823 he published his first novel, Han d'Islande, which in 1825 appeared in an English translation as Hans of Iceland. The journalist Charles Nodier was enthusiastic about it and drew Hugo into the group of friends, all devotees of Romanticism, who met regularly at the Bibliothèque de L'Arsenal. While frequenting this literary circle, which was called the Cénacle, Hugo shared in launching a new review of moderate tendencies, the Muse Française (1823-24). In 1824 he published a new verse collection, Nouvelles Odes, and followed it two years later with an exotic romance, Bug-Jargal (Eng. trans. The Slave King). In 1826 he also published Odes et ballades, an enlarged edition of his previously printed verse, the latest of these poems being brilliant variations on the fashionable Romantic modes of mirth and terror. The youthful vigour of these poems was also characteristic of another collection, Les Orientales (1829), which appealed to the Romantic taste for Oriental local colour. In these poems Hugo, while skillfully employing a great variety of metres in his verse and using ardent and brilliant imagery, was also gradually shedding the legitimist royalism of his youth. It may be noted, too, that "Le Feu du ciel," a visionary poem, forecast those he was to write 25 years later. The fusion of the contemporary with the apocalyptic was always a particular mark of Hugo's genius.

Hugo emerged as a true Romantic, however, with the publication in 1827 of his verse drama Cromwell. The subject of this play, with its near-contemporary overtones, is that of a national leader risen from the people who seeks to be crowned king. But the play's reputation rested largely on the long, elaborate preface, in which Hugo proposed a doctrine of Romanticism that for all its intellectual moderation was extremely provocative. He demanded a verse drama in which the contradictions of human existence-good and evil, beauty and ugliness, tears and laughter-would be resolved by the inclusion of both tragic and comic elements in a single play. Such a type of drama would abandon the formal rules of classical tragedy for the freedom and truth to be found in the plays of William Shakespeare. Cromwell itself, though immensely long and almost impossible to stage, was written in verse of great force and originality. In fact, the preface to Cromwell, as an important statement of the tenets of Romanticism, has proved far more important than the play itself.

Success (1830-51)

The defense of freedom and the cult of an idealized Napoleon in such poems as the ode "À la Colonne" and "Lui" brought Hugo into touch with the liberal group of writers on the newspaper Le Globe, and his move toward liberalism was strengthened by the French king Charles X's restrictions on the liberty of the press as well as by the censor's prohibiting the stage performance of his play Marion de Lorme (1829), which portrays the character of Louis XIII unfavourably. Hugo immediately retorted with Hernani, the first performance of which, on February 25, 1830, gained victory for the young Romantics over the Classicists in what came to be known as the battle of Hernani. In this play Hugo extolled the Romantic hero in the form of a noble outlaw at war with society, dedicated to a passionate love and driven on by inexorable fate. The actual impact of the play owed less to the plot than to the sound and beat of the verse, which was softened only in the elegiac passages spoken by Hernani and Doña Sol.

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While Hugo had derived his early renown from his plays, he gained wider fame in 1831 with his historical novel Notre-Dame de Paris (Eng. trans. The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), an evocation of life in medieval Paris during the reign of Louis XI. The novel condemns a society that, in the persons of Frollo the archdeacon and Phoebus the soldier, heaps misery on the hunchback Quasimodo and the gypsy girl Esmeralda. The theme touched the public consciousness more deeply than had that of his previous novel, Le Dernier Jour d'un condamné (1829; The Last Days of a Condemned), the story of a condemned man's last day, in which Hugo launched a humanitarian protest against the death penalty. While Notre-Dame was being written, Louis-Philippe, a constitutional king, had been brought to power by the July Revolution. Hugo composed a poem in honour of this event, Dicté aprés juillet 1830. It was a forerunner of much of his political verse.

Four books of poems came from Hugo in the period of the July Monarchy: Les Feuilles d'automne (1831; "Autumn Leaves"), intimate and personal in inspiration; Les Chants du crépuscule (1835; Songs of Twilight), overtly political; Les Voix intérieures (1837; "Inner Voices"), both personal and philosophical; and Les Rayons et les ombres (1840; "Sunlight and Shadows"), in which the poet, renewing these different themes, indulges his gift for colour and picturesque detail. But Hugo was not content merely to express personal emotions; he wanted to be what he called the "sonorous echo" of his time. In his verse political and philosophical problems were integrated with the religious and social disquiet of the period; one poem evoked the misery of the workers, another praised the efficacy of prayer. He addressed many poems to the glory of Napoleon, though he shared with his contemporaries the reversion to republican ideals. Hugo restated the problems of his century and the great and eternal human questions, and he spoke with a warmhearted eloquence and reasonableness that moved people's souls.

So intense was Hugo's creative activity during these years that he also continued to pour out plays. There were two motives for this: first, he needed a platform for his political and social ideas, and, second, he wished to write parts for a young and beautiful actress, Juliette Drouet, with whom he had begun a liaison in 1833. Juliette had little talent and soon renounced the stage in order to devote herself exclusively to him, becoming the discreet and faithful companion she was to remain until her death in 1883. The first of these plays was another verse drama, Le Roi s'amuse (1832; Eng. trans. The King's Fool), set in Renaissance France and depicting the frivolous love affairs of Francis I while revealing the noble character of his court jester. This play was at first banned but was later used by Giuseppe Verdi as the libretto of his opera Rigoletto. Three prose plays followed: Lucrèce Borgia and Marie Tudor in 1833 and Angelo, tyran de Padoue ("Angelo, Tyrant of Padua") in 1835. Ruy Blas, a play in verse, appeared in 1838 and was followed by Les Burgraves in 1843.

Hugo's literary achievement was recognized in 1841 by his election, after three unsuccessful attempts, to the French Academy and by his nomination in 1845 to the Chamber of Peers. From this time he almost ceased to publish, partly because of the demands of society and political life but also as a result of personal loss: his daughter Léopoldine, recently married, was accidentally drowned with her husband in September 1843. Hugo's intense grief found some mitigation in poems that later appeared in Les Contemplations, a volume that he divided into "Autrefois" and "Aujourd'hui," the moment of his daughter's death being the mark between yesterday and today. He found relief above all in working on a new novel, which became Les Misérables, published in 1862 after work on it had been set aside for a time and then resumed.

With the Revolution of 1848, Hugo was elected a deputy for Paris in the Constituent Assembly and later in the Legislative Assembly. He supported the successful candidacy of Prince Louis-Napoléon for the presidency that year. The more the president evolved toward an authoritarianism of the right, however, the more Hugo moved toward the assembly's left. When in December 1851 a coup d'état took place, which eventually resulted in the Second Empire under Napoleon III, Hugo made one attempt at resistance and then fled to Brussels.

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Victor Hugo | Biography, Books, Poems, & Facts

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Victor Hugo, in full Victor-Marie Hugo, (born February 26, 1802, Besançon, France-died May 22, 1885, Paris), poet, novelist, and dramatist who was the most important of the French Romantic writers. Though regarded in France as one of that country's greatest poets, he is better known abroad for such novels as Notre-Dame de Paris (1831) and Les Misérables (1862).

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The Toilers of the Sea, a novel dedicated to the island of Guernsey (1866)

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The Toilers of the Sea, a novel dedicated to the island of Guernsey (1866)

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Domaine Public - projet Gutenberg

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Exilé sur l'île anglo-normande de Jersey, l'écrivain y composa ses plus beaux vers. Abonnez-vous à notre chaîne par ici : https://www.youtube.com/user/ARTE Et venez découvrir d'autres voyages : arte.tv/invitationauvoyage Retrouvez également l'émission sur les réseaux sociaux : - Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/arteinvitationauvoyage/ - Instagram : arte_invitation

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The letters of Victor Hugo : from exile, and after the fall of the empire" 

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The letters of Victor Hugo : from exile, and after the fall of the empire" 

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THE LETTERS OF
VICTOR HUGO



THE LETTERS OF



VICTOR HUGO



FROM EXILE, AND AFTER THE
FALL OF THE EMPIRE



EDITED BY

PAUL MEURICE




BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY



Copyright, 1898,
BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

Ml rights reserved.



The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton and Company.



NOTE.

IN this translation of the second volume of the
Letters of Victor Hugo some letters of minor interest
have been omitted, and a few notes have been given
in addition to those supplied by the French editor.



CONTENTS.



PAGE

I. LETTERS TO VARIOUS PERSONS. JOURNEY ON THE RHINE 1
II. THE COUP D'ETAT. LETTERS FROM BRUSSELS . . .55

III. LETTERS FROM EXILE 115

IV. AFTER THE FALL OF THE EMPIRE .... 235



THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



I. LETTERS TO VARIOUS PERSONS. JOURNEY ON
THE RHINE.

1836-1851. : ! ,, > .



I.

To MLLE. LOUISE BERTIN, at Les Roches.

MONT SAINT-MICHEL, 27th June, 1836.

I AM writing to you, mademoiselle, from Mont Saint-
Michel, which is really the most beautiful spot in the
world, next to Bievre, of course. Les Roches is
lovely and charming ; a great advantage it possesses
over the forbidding mass of dungeons, towers, and
rocks which bears the name of Mont Saint-Michel.

It would not be easy to write from a more awe-
inspiring place to a more delightful one. At this
moment I am hemmed in by the sea which surrounds
the mount. It must be horrible in winter, with its
hurricanes, tempests, and shipwrecks. It is grand, all
the same.

What a strange place Mont Saint-Michel is ! Around,

as far as the eye can reach, infinite space, the blue

horizon of the sea, the green horizon of the land,

clouds, air, liberty, birds in full flight, ships with all

VOL. n. 1



2 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

sails set, and then all at once, on the top of an old
wall above our heads, through a barred window, the
pale face of a prisoner. I have never felt so strongly
as here the cruel antithesis which man sometimes makes
with nature.

You can have none of these sad thoughts. You are
happy over there; happy with your excellent father,
your kind relations ; happy in the view of your beau-
tiful valley from your window ; happy in the prospect
pf your great .success.

.* I shfl'lJ; ib'e 'jA Paris between the 10th and 15th of
ie ;at your disposal, and ready for Notre-

ctm'e? 'a' 'poof plaster statue of which I can see from
the casement of my room, perched in a beautiful trefoil
niche of the fifteenth century.

n.

To Louis DE MAYNARD, at Martinique.

2m May, 1837.

We are still expecting you. Your kind and charm-
ing letter told us you were soon returning ; we were
all looking forward to it, and you have not yet ar-
rived !

We want you badly here; we want you for our-
selves, because we love you, and for my part because
your generous and loyal friendship was one of the real
joys of my life ; then we want you for your own sake,
because here, I am sure, you would write us a fine book.
We want you for the ideas which you would promote
for art, which has so few followers like yourself ; we
want you because a noble, honest face like yours, erect

1 La Esmeralda, for which Mile. Berlin was composing the music.



TO LOUIS DE MAYNARD. 3

amid so many drooping and sidelong glances, rests the
eye and consoles the heart.

At any rate, I hope you are doing something over
there. Make up for your absence by some fine work,
your natural product. Instead of the great human
stage which you had here, you have the grand spectacle
of nature ; instead of the strife of ideas, you have the
placid harmony of things ; if you have less of the
world, you have more sunshine. As for me, I continue
my task, waters much troubled, as you know, by the
stones thrown into them ; I work, I study, I have
three plays in my head, you shall see one some of
these days, and then occasionally I write poetry.

Our politics are still mean and petty, you remember ;
they have not improved since you left us. Small men
working at a small idea, very little busy about nothing.

Altogether, there are times when I envy you, you
a poet exiled in a sunny land, an exile which Ovid
would have loved, in that beautiful Martinique which
you have described so admirably.

My fraternal love to you.

in.

To A WORKINGMAN AND POET.

PARIS, 3d October, 1837.

Be proud of your title of workman. We are all
workmen, God included, and in your case the brain
works still more than the hands.

The generous class to which you belong has a great
future in store for it, but it must give the fruit time to
ripen. This class, so noble and so useful, should eschew
what makes little and seek what makes great ; it should



4 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

try to discover reasons for love rather than pretexts for
\ hatred ; it should learn to respect women and children ;
it should read and study in its leisure moments ; it
should develop its intelligence, and it will achieve suc-
cess. I have said in one of my works : The day when
the people 'becomes intelligent, it will rule. In other
words, civilization is the paramount thing. Sometimes
it rules through one man, as with the popes ; sometimes
through more than one, as with the senates; some-
times through all, as will be the case with the people.
Patience, therefore. Let us understand what exists,
to be worthy of existence some day. Let the people
work, for we all work. Let it love us, for we love it.
Let it not disturb the young plant, barely sown, if it
wishes to enjoy shade and fruit in the future.

I am sure that all these ideas are yours as well.
Impress them on the people, of which your intelligence
makes you one of the natural leaders. Instead of sim-
ply thanking you for your excellent verses, so flattering
to me, I have indulged in this serious conversation.
You will, I imagine, accept it as I offer it, as a token
of sympathy and esteem.

IV.

To VICTOR PAVIE.

28th November, 1837.

You are quite right to continue to think a little of
your friends in the Place Royale. You are loved here,
loved, do you understand ? and with all our hearts.
You know, my dear Pa vie, that friendship is a religion
to me. And besides, who can be a better friend than
you ? My wife and I often say this to each other in the



TO LAMARTINE. 5

winter evenings, when we think of the many false faces
which have betrayed us. A friend such as you are is a
good and noble thing.

Here I am troubled by worries, legal business, 1 law-
yers, and annoyances of every description. You must
have seen something of this 'in the papers ; but what
they do not tell you is that my thoughts are very often
with you amidst all the whirl.

David has given you my bust. I congratulate it ; it
will henceforth be present at your intimate conversation
and family talks ; I envy it.

Amid the tumult which my enemies raise around me,
I have built up a little sanctuary into which I gaze
unceasingly. In it are my wife and my children, the
sweet and happy side of my existence.

Do come and see us this winter. Bring Theodore ;
bring your good father. I do not say, Bring your wife,
for when I am speaking to you I naturally include her.

v.

To LAMARTINE.

14th May, 1838.

You have written a grand poem, my friend. La
chute d'un ange is one of your most majestic creations.
What will be the edifice, if these are only the bas-reliefs !
Never has the breath of nature more deeply penetrated
and more amply inspired a work of art, from the base
to the summit, and in its minutest details.

I thank you for the happy hours which I have just
spent closeted with your genius. I fancy that I have
an ear for your voice. Consequently my admiration for

1 Lawsuit with the Comedie Franfaise.



6 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

you comes not only from my soul, but from my heart ;
for with a poet like you, to create is to charm, and with
a listener like me, to admire is to love.
Yours ex imo pectore.

VI.

To M. VEDEL, Manager of the Comedie Frangaise.

MONTMIRAIL, 20^ August, 1838.

DEAR SIR, According to the terms of the judg-
ment given in the suit between me and the Comedie
Fran$aise, and confirmed by decree, the Comedie was
to play Angela a certain number of times between the
20th of November, 1837, and the 20th of April, 1838,
under a penalty of fifty francs damages for every day of
delay. At the present date, August the 20th, the num-
ber of performances has not been completed, and the
result is that at this moment the Comedie Franpaise
is indebted to me in the sum of eighteen thousand
francs. However, I see no reason for altering the
decision which led me to remit the sum of two thousand
four hundred francs owing to me by the Comedie for
delays in the representation of Marion de Lorme. I
am even delighted to have this further opportunity of
personally acknowledging the amiability and good taste
of which you have given me more than one proof in
our recent intercourse. I must add that I am glad to
be able to convey my thanks also to those actors of the
Comedie Fran$aise who have assisted me with so much
zeal and talent. Be so good then, dear sir, as to inform
the Comedie that I give it a free and full discharge of
the sum of eighteen thousand francs which it now owes
me. VICTOR HUGO.



TO M. ETCHEVERRY.



VII.

To M. ETCHEVERBY, at the Ecoles newspaper office.

27th February, 1839.

... I read your Gazette des Ecoles with great in-
terest. In this paper, as in everything that comes from
the rising generation, there is something noble and
honest which expands the heart.

Courage, gentlemen, courage ! you belong to the
generation which owns the future. You wih 1 do great
things. In politics you wih 1 finish the rough sketches ;
in literature you will carry on the work. For a long
time past in all my writings I have striven to hasten
the day when social questions will be substituted for
political ones ; when, between the party of reaction and
that of revolution, there will arise the party of civiliza-
tion. That day will be yours ; that party will consist
of you.

In spite of all that is said, the age in which we live
is a grand one. At no other time have art and thought
soared so high. On all sides there are great begin-
nings of everything. Congratulate yourselves, for you
will have many a sacred task to accomplish. As for
me, I view the innumerable questions which are rising
in every quarter without anxiety, f or I Jpresee_J;he
genius of the coming age, and I know that you will
have plenty of solutions to offer.



8 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

VIII.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

Tuesday, 27th August, 1839.

I have finished my third act, 1 dearest. It is almost
as long as the first, so that my play is already as long
as an ordinary one.

I am feeling so unwell, and the loneliness of the
house is so unbearable to me, that I am going away.
I shall write my last act when I return. It will be no
loss, for I am worn out with fatigue, and if I were to
go on working now I believe I should fall ill. When
I come back I shall be set up again, and I shall finish
it in a week. So all is for the best.

I hope you have had a good and pleasant journey.
I fancy I can see you comfortably settled in my kind
friend Vacquerie's house. Take a good rest, my Adele,
enjoy yourself, and tell all my little darlings to have
plenty of fun, and to be very happy. I am always
thinking of you all, and I pray God to keep you
happy.

I hope, also, that Charles and Toto are working hard,
as they are bound to do, as befits those who have gained
a prize.

Kiss my beloved Didine, my good little Dede, my
dear little Toto, and my dear old Charlie, and my fond-
est love to yourself. I love you.

Your own VICTOR.

1 Of the play Les Jumeaux, which was never finished.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 9

IX.

To JULES LACROix. 1

Uth April, 1840.

You are perfectly right, dear poet ; make the trans-
lation homogeneous. In the French language there is
a great gulf between prose and poetry ; in English
there is hardly any difference. It is a splendid privi-
lege of the great literary languages Greek, Latin,
and French that they possess a prose. English has
not this privilege. There is no prose in English. The
genius of the two languages is, therefore, completely
different in this respect. What Shakespeare was able
to do in English he would certainly not have done in
French. So obey your excellent poetical instinct ; do
in French what Shakespeare would have done, what
Corneille and Moliere have done, write homogeneous
pieces.

That is my advice. And, next, I am devotedly at-
tached to you.



To MME. VICTOR HUGO, at Saint-Prix.

PARIS, 31st July, 1840.

I send you a very good piece of news, dearest, as
quickly as possible. Charles 2 has gained the first prize
for an essay in the open competition. M. Jauffret gave
it out this morning before all his class in the college.

1 Jules Lacroix, who translated several of Shakespeare's plays into
French verse, had asked Victor Hugo if it would be better to translate
Shakespeare entirely into Alexandrine verse, or to mix up prose and verse
as in the English text.

2 Charles Hugo, eldest sou of the poet.



10 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

When he came to Charles's name the whole class burst
forth ; there were three rounds of applause. The dear
boy is very happy. I have seen him twice to-day, as
well as M. Poirson l and M. Jauffret. Are you not also
delighted ? Kiss our dear little girls for me. I love
you fondly, my Adele.

Here is the letter I received from M. Poirson :

I wish to congratulate you to-day, dear sir, and to
sympathize with your paternal joy and pride. There
have been many more glorious and more intoxicating
moments in your life, but can there have been a hap-
pier one ? A. POIRSON.

XI.

To MMTC. VICTOR HUGO, at Saint-Prix.

PARIS, 29th August, noon [1840].

I am off in a few minutes, dear Adele, and I am
writing to you as I promised. I am in low spirits. I
love you dearly, darling, and at this moment I wish
you could know how tenderly I think of you all, my
beloved ones.

I am going via Soissons, as I did last year. I notice
that it is always easier to get places for the North than
for the South.

Tell my Charles and my Toto that I shall be very
pleased with them if they work hard.

I will write to you from my first stopping-place. My
fondest love to you all, my Didine, my Dede, my little
prizemen, and my kindest regards to your dear father.

Love me, my Adele, and think a little of me.

1 Headmaster of the College Charlemagne.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 11

XII.

To THE SAME.

NAMUR, 2d September, 1840.

I am at Namur, dearest, and I am sending you the
first pages of my diary. In future I will send it you
in this form, for in this way I shall be able to keep
apart, as you wish, what concerns the journey and
what concerns us. It will therefore be a diary l pure
and simple, to which I will always add a letter to
you. I am starting for Liege, and from there I go to
Cologne.

I think of you all very tenderly, and of you, my
Adele. I hope you are all well at Saint-Prix, and that
the fine air and lovely country are doing your dear
father as much good as ever.

I beg my dear children and you to write me really
nice long letters. I need them more than ever when I
am traveling. Nature is charming, but family affec-
tion is still more so.

Do not let any one but members of the family read
this diary of mine. I shall be delighted if it amuses
and interests you and your father a little. If by chance
there is any one not of the family at Saint-Prix, even
an intimate friend, I beg you not to let him read the
diary. I have already pointed out to you the danger
of so doing. Good-by, dearest ; my very best love to
you all, my dear ones ; I think only of you.

1 This diary was intended to form, and eventually did form, the book
called Le Rhin.



12 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XIII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

ST. GOAR, 15^ September, 1840.

I am continuing my journey up the Rhine slowly, as
you see, dearest. Here is the continuation of my diary.
I try to see everything, so as to have a complete and
distinct idea of this beautiful country.

I cannot remember the date of Marie de Medici's
death, nor that of Rubens' birth. Your father is sure
to know them. Ask him to fill in the spaces I have
left blank. If he were with me, which would be a
delight to me, I should not leave any.

I have made a sketch of Andernach for my little
Didine, but it is too large to go into a letter. It would
have to be folded. I am keeping it in my album to
give you in Paris, my darling Didine. I have left
Andernach, and am now at St. Goar, a wonderful
place, of which I will send you a drawing of some sort.

I travel slowly because I must do so, and yet I am
sorry to do so, for I long to reach Mayence, where your
letters are awaiting me, my dearest Adele, my darling
children ; I hope they will bring me only what is sweet
and good. I am always thinking tenderly of you ; you
are with me everywhere, in my expeditions and in my
work.

Good-by, dearest ; good-by, my Adele. Think of me
and love me. I will soon write again. Go on writing
to Mayence. I will write to you all from Mayence,
for I hope you will all have written to me. Fondest
love to you, and also to your kind father. Kisses for
you, dearest, for you, my Didine, for you, my Charles,



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 13

to you both, my Toto and Dede. You must all think
of your father, who loves you so dearly.

XIV.

To THE SAME. ;

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE, 2,5th September, 1840.

I think, dearest, you must have already received the
first twelve pages of my diary. I am now sending you
the next installment, hoping greatly that it may interest
you all a little. I am at Aix-la-Chapelle, and I leave
for Cologne to-morrow. From there I intend to go up
the Rhine as far as possible. In a few days I will send
you the account of my journey from Liege to Aix-la-
Chapelle. Tell Didine 1 to follow me on the map. I
hope to get good news of you all at Mayence, for I
want it badly. It seems an age since I left you all,
and I feel quite sad when I recall my poor Toto's tear-
ful face on old Bontemps' doorstep.

Work well, my dear children. My Charlie, remem-
ber you are now among the clever boys of the fifth
form. You also, Toto, will soon begin your school
life; you must do it with credit. Play well, too.
Write me long letters, all of you, mind, my beloved
ones, my dear little Dede included. I hope her
chicken, her pigeon, her kid, her cat, and her rabbit
will not keep her from writing to her papa. I beg she
will work well, and be very obedient to her sister, who
is a sensible girl. I do not mean by this that Dede is
not a good child. I hope her dear kind mamma is
pleased with her.

Tell your father, my Adele, that I miss him every

1 Ldopoldine, Victor Hugo's eldest daughter.



14 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

moment in this charming journey, in which everything
would interest him ; I have no books with me and have
to rely on my memory only, and all his knowledge
would be of such great help to me who have so little.

And then I miss you all as well, and should like to
have you close to me, dear faces which I kiss and which
I love.

xv.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BINGEN, 28th September, 1840.

Good-morning, my darling Adele; my fondest love
to you. I am now at Bingen. To-morrow I shall be
at Mayence and I shall get your letters; I shall get
letters from all of you, my beloved ones. It will be
like seeing you all again. I am quite joyful. You
and the others must write to Treves in future. If time
allows, I think of writing the same work on the Moselle,
a beautiful and little known river, that I am now finish-
ing on the Rhine.

" On the 14th of September M. Jules Janin, au-
thor, and M. Victor Hugo, id., passed through Bin-
gen," the names are entered there in the visitors'
book of the Victoria Hotel, by Jules Janin himself,
whose handwriting I think I recognized. M. Victor
Hugo, the landlord informs me, did not look very like
his portraits, and had mustaches. The two gentlemen
were in high spirits, and had three charming ladies
with them. They made all the excursions in the neigh-
borhood. Their arrival upset the whole town. They
were very good fellows, however. The landlord asked
me if I knew them. I said yes, slightly, but only by
name. Now strangers are shown their names written



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 15

in the visitors' book. It has made quite a stir in the
little Roman town of Bingen, which, however, was once
visited by Charlemagne. As for me, I travel quite in-
cognito and unrecognized, and I am glad of it.

I hope to find nice letters from everybody at May-
ence, and to hear that you are all well, and that the
holidays, which, alas ! are drawing to a close, have been
well spent in much pleasure and a little work.

My darling Dede, just now I hear a little girl of
your age chattering in the room next mine, who re-
minds me of you, dear child. Be very good to your
mother, your sister, and your brother, and your daddy
will love you very much.

My Didine, my Charles, my To to, I will write to
each of you from Mayence, where I shall find all your
letters. I send you all a thousand kisses, as well as to
your dear mother, my children, my joy, my life. Think
of me, and pray for me night and morning. You are
continually in my thoughts.

My kind regards to your good father. I hope all
my scribblings amuse and interest him, and that he will
correct me when necessary.

One more kiss for you, dearest. You see there is
room for it.

XVI.
To THE SAME.

MAYENCE, 1st October, 1840.

I ought to scold you, dearest, for having written me
such a short letter. But as it was gentle and loving, I
forgive you this time, on condition that it does not
occur again, and that you will at any rate write me a
good long letter to Treves. You ought to understand



16 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

that, after an absence which already seems very long
to me, I want to hear a little of what is going on in
Paris, or at all events at Saint-Prix. So write to me
everything you hear about everything that you know
will interest me. I believe some of our friends go to
see you at Saint-Prix. Eepeat to me what they tell
you. Here are letters for all the children, for Julie,
and for your good father. It was a great pleasure to
me to hear that Julie was quite well.

Have you seen Mme. Menessier-Nodier ? Have you
even written to her ? Have you asked her to the
house ? Do not forget, dearest, to pay some attentions
in that quarter; they are friends of seventeen years'
standing.

I am going to see Mannheim, Heidelberg, and Frank-
fort ; then, if the weather holds up, I shall come down
the Rhine and follow the course of the Moselle, as I
have already told you. My next letter will bring you
the continuation of my diary.

Here are a lot of drawings for the children. I have
tried to divide them equally. Each child has an equal
share of my heart.

I have been to Bingen, Rudesheim, the famous Rat
Tower. Just now I am exploring Mayence, a most
interesting place. This journey will have been of great
use to me, and, I hope, to you all.

In conclusion, dearest, I remind you once more how
much I hope to find at least one nice long letter from
you at Treves. Tell me if my diary interests you.
You know that you and my beloved children are the
sole object of my work in this world. Some day I
shall leave you all the edifice that I shall have built.



TO TOTO. 17

I hope that my name will be a tower of strength to my
children.

So write to me soon and often, my darling Adele.
I shall love you the more.

Your dear old HUSBAND.

XVII.

To TOTO.

MAYENCE, 1st October, 1840.

Here, my dear little Toto, is a sketch I have done
for you. I am sending it directly after having read
your nice dear little letter. A month hence, my dar-
ling, you will see your father again, and that will be as
happy a day for him as for you.

When this letter reaches you, your holidays will be
nearly at an end. You and my Charlie will both be
returning to school, and, I trust, with renewed courage
and fresh strength. All my hopes and all my happi-
ness are centred in you, my dear ones. Your dear
mother tells me she is satisfied with all of you. Make
her as happy as she deserves, she who loves you so
much, and who, like me, thinks only of you and your
happiness in this world.

The child is father to the man ; never forget this, my
little Toto ; be an industrious scholar, and I answer for
it that you will one day be what is called a man, vir.

All the details you give me of your games and work
have greatly interested me. When you have received
this letter, write me a few lines to Treves, and tell me
a great deal more about yourself, your brother, and your
sisters, and everything at home. This enables me to
share in your pleasures, your amusements, your daily
VOL. n. 2



18 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

life ; and I imagine that I am among you all, my dar-
ling children.

I am delighted to hear that all the animals belonging
to my little shepherdess Dede are quite well, and that
you have finished your house of leaves and branches.
Tell Dede that she must write me rather a longer letter
than the first.

As for me, my Toto, you will see, if you read my
letters to your mother, that I am working, and that
even in my holidays I try not to waste my time. I see
beautiful countries, I study very novel and very curious
things, but they are not worth your kisses and ca-
resses, nor a couple of hours spent among you all at
Saint-Prix.

So, my dear little Toto, go back to school bravely,
work well, write to me, please your mother and your
masters, and remember I am hardly a moment without
thinking of you. Nothing of what I see diverts my
mind from you, my children. All that I am and all
that I do in this world is for you.

I love you, I love you dearly, my little Toto.

XVIII.

To B^BANGEB.

MAYENCE, 4th October, 1840.

I am at Mayence, a place which has been French,
which will become French again one day, which still
is so in heart and mind, and will be until it is marked
thus on the map by the red or blue line of the frontier.
Just now I was at my window overlooking the Rhine.
I was listening vaguely to the noise of the water-mills
moored to the old sunken piles of Charlemagne's



TO BERANGEK. 19

bridge, and thinking of the great things which Na-
poleon did here, when from a neighboring window a
woman's voice, a sweet voice, wafted me snatches of
the charming lines :

" J'aime qu'un russe soit russe,
Et qu'un anglais soit anglais ;
Si Ton est prussien en Prusse,
En France, soyons frangais.

Mes amis ! mes amis !
Soyons de notre pays !

Qui s'e'criait a Pavie

Tout est perdu f ors 1'honneur ?

Consolons par ce mot-la
Ceux que le nombre accabla."

These noble lines of yours, heard in this way and
in this spot, touched me deeply. I send you the frag-
ments as they were borne to me on the breeze. They
brought tears to my eyes, and I felt irresistibly im-
pelled to write to you. My heart was sad in a. place
where a Frenchman ought not to be a foreigner ; where

o J

a white soldier and a blue soldier, i. e., Austria and
Prussia, mount guard in front of the citadel defended
in '94 by our people in Mayence, and enlarged by
Napoleon in 1807. Your lines have gladdened my
heart. This song of a woman is the protest of a whole
people. I thought you would like to know that the
Rhine reechoes with your voice, and that the town of
Frauenlob sings the songs of Beranger.

I am only passing through Mayence, but I am taking
a deep impression away with me. I owe this to you,



20 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

and I thank you for it. Dear great poet, I am your
devoted admirer.

XIX.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

HEIDELBERG, 9th October, 1840.

Here, dearest, is another large installment of my
diary. I am afraid I may be obliged to give it up ;
for what with traveling, or seeing buildings, or studying
in libraries in the daytime, I can write only at night.
Sometimes I spend the whole night over it, and my
eyes suffer in consequence. Still, as I fancy it inter-
ests your father, and amuses you all a little, I shall
do my best to go on with it. Besides, it is a useful
work, inasmuch as a number of local things, which are
in danger of being lost or obliterated, are recorded in
it for the first time. Well, I shall try to make my
eyes serve me, though I cannot be very sure of them.
Your father will find in this letter some unpublished
details of the coronation of the emperors at Frankfort,
which I fancy he will think curious.

I have calculated that you ought to have received
my last letters on Sunday. That day my thoughts
were constantly with you all, my beloved ones. Those
of you who did not care for their drawings have only
to tell me so, and I will make them others in Paris.

I hope, dearest, that all is still going on well. The
rumors of war which penetrate here do not, I think,
reach Saint-Prix.

By this time you will have lost Charlie and Toto.
The dear children have doubtless gone back to M.
Jauffret. You must impress on them from me, dear-
est, that I expect them to persevere in their studies.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 21

I shall set to work, too, on my return. It is im-
portant that this winter should be a productive and
fruitful one for me, and I hope we shall both succeed
in making it so, you by economy and I by work.

In about three weeks I shall see you all again. It
will be a happy day for me, and for you also I hope,
my Adele.

My darling Adele, my beloved Didine, remember that
I expect to find several letters from you both at Treves,
and that I must have them. And from you too, my
little Dede. If Charlie and Toto can write to me, in
spite of their lessons, they will give their papa a great
deal of pleasure. I hope, also, to get a letter from your
good father, to whom I send my kindest regards. We
shall soon meet again, my darlings. A thousand kisses
to you all.

XX.

To THE SAME.

STOCKART, 19th October, 1840.

I am writing to you, dearest, in the midst of the
grandest storm imaginable. I am in the Black Forest,
and I am going to see Schaffhausen to complete my
Ehine tour. I inclose the beginning of a letter to
Boulanger, 1 whose address I have forgotten. You may
all read it at Saint-Prix, if you like ; after that, put the
sheets in an envelope and send them to Louis.

It is rainy in the Moselle country, so I have given
up going there. I shall return to Heidelberg to see
the interior of the Black Forest; and from there I
shall come straight into France by Forbach. Write

* An artist of merit, a friend of Victor Hugo.



22 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

to me now (and pray do so, dearest, as soon as you
have received this) a nice little letter to Forbach, poste
restante (France). I wrote to the post-office at Treves
to have all your letters sent on there. I shall find
them as I pass through.

In a few days you will receive the conclusion of
the letter to Boulanger. That will serve as a sort of
continuation of my diary for Heidelberg, which is a
delightful spot.

I live in the thoughts of you all, and in hopes that
everything is going on well at Saint-Prix. I hope you
are in good health, and that my dear children give
you no trouble.

Just now I am passing through a lovely country.
Before long, perhaps, it will be devastated by war.
When I see a ruin I observe it carefully. Perhaps it
will be used as a military position, and in another year
I should not be able to recognize it.

My eyes still give me trouble ; but I spare them.
I must do so, for they will have to work this winter.

A few more days, and then I shall embrace you, my
Adele. I hope by the 1st of November I shall have
that happiness.

Please write me a long letter to Forbach, and give
me the latest news of you all. If you only knew how
I long for it ! Farewell, my beloved ; that is to say,
good-by for the present only.

When you see them, kiss my two dear little school-
boys, Charlie and Toto, for me.



TO SAVINIEN LAPOINTE. 23

XXI.

To CHATEAUBRIAND.

December, 1840.

Five and twenty years have passed, and there remain
only great things and two great men, Napoleon and
Chateaubriand. Permit me to lay these lines 1 at your
feet. You have long ago made peace with the illustri-
ous shade who inspired them.

Let me offer them to you as a fresh token of my old
and profound admiration.

XXII.

To SAVINIEN LAPOINTE. 2

March, 1841.

DEAR SIR, If your lines were only beautiful, I
might perhaps be less moved by them, but they are
noble ones. I am more than charmed, I am touched.
Continue your twofold office, your task as a workman,
and your mission as a thinker. You speak to the peo-
ple as one of themselves, others address them from an
elevation ; your eloquence is not the least efficacious ;
your lot is a good one, believe me.

Courage, then, and patience ! Courage for the great
sorrows of life, and patience for the small ones. And
then when you have laboriously accomplished your
daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.

I believe in God, and I believe in humanity. God
sets a goal at the end of every path. All we have to
do is to advance.

1 Le retour de Vempereur.

2 Savinien Lapointe was a shoemaker and a poet.



24 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Always follow the grave and mysterious monitions
of your conscience. I have said in one of my works,
and I think it more than ever : The poet has the care
of souls. In the profound darkness which still en-
velops so many minds, men like you among the people
are the torches which light the work of others. En-
deavor to increase unceasingly the quantity and the
purity of your light.

XXIII.

To CHARLES DE LACRETELLE.

PARIS, Wth June, 1841.

I have just left, my venerable friend, the first private
meeting of the Academy at which I have been present,
and I find your letter on my return. I will not delay
a moment in answering it. It charms me as everything
does which comes from you. You know how to impart
your feelings to your style. Everything you write has
a fragrance of the soul.

I am glad that my speech * is so highly thought of
at Bel- Air. It represents simply the honest convictions
of a man who has no personal interest in the questions
of the day, who is devoted above all things to civiliza-
tion, to thought, and to his country. To have found
an echo in your heart is glory for me.

Go on, my dear good colleague, love those who love
you, and write for those who understand you.

1 His speech on the occasion of his reception by the Academy.



TO ALPHONSE KARR. 25

xxrv.

To ALPHONSE KARR.

20^ June, 1841.

MY DEAR ALPHONSE KARR, 1 You are poetry in-
carnate which complains of a poet and is right.

I, on my side, am not wrong. I have something of
the poet, but a great deal of the soldier. As you
remark so wittily, Salvandy's speech was emptied over
my head, but after all, I have got the seat ! and you
are there too, and so are all my ideas and yours.

After all, the Academy has been a great institution,
and can and should become so again, thanks to all the
thoughtful and promising men of whom I am but the
henchman, thanks to the real poets and the genuine
writers. It contains, even at the present moment,
worthy men who love you and who will welcome you ;
Academies, like everything else, will belong to the
coming generation.

In the mean while, I am the living gap by which
these ideas enter to-day, and through which these men
will pass to-morrow.

That, I can imagine, is of small importance to you
just now, who are living face to face with the ocean,
with nature, and with God ; but fall back towards us a
little ; turn your thoughts from great Etretat to little
Paris ; don't you think that we must be somewhat tired
of being governed in literature by M. Eoger, and in
politics by M. Fulchiron ?

I too love you, and most sincerely, for you have a
noble heart and a noble mind.

1 In Les Guepes Alphonse Karr had blamed Victor Hugo for wishing
to get into the Academy.



26 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Scold Gatayes for me ; he has been of infinite service
to me, and now neglects me, ungrateful man !

xxv.

To PIERRE VIN^ARD.

2d July, 1841.

DEAR SIR, As you do me the honor of sending
me your article, 1 I take it as a letter, and answer it. I
did not say " la populace ; " I said " les populaces"
This plural is of importance : there is a gilded populace
as well as a ragged one ; there is a populace in drawing-
rooms as well as in the streets.

In every stratum of society, the working, the think-
ing, the helpful element, that which aspires to good-
ness, justice, and truth, constitutes the people ; that
which is sunk in voluntary stagnation, which is igno-
rant from laziness, which does wrong willingly, is the
populace.

In the upper ranks, selfishness and idleness ; in the
lower ones, envy and sloth, that is the life of the
populace ; and, I repeat it, there is a populace in the
upper ranks as well as the lower ones. I therefore said
that we must love the people ; a more severe moralist
might perhaps have added, and hate the populace. I
confined myself to despising it.

But, dear sir, I do not despise the complaint of a
sterling and honest man, even when it is ill-founded;
I try to enlighten him ; it is a sacred duty for me.
You see that I endeavor to discharge it.

1 The subject of the article was Victor Hugo's speech on his reception
into the Academy.



TO THE KEEPER OF THE ARCHIVES ISRAELITES. 27

XXVI.

To THE KEEPER OF THE ARCHIVES ISRAELITES. 1

SAINT-MANDE, 11$ June, 1843.

You have misunderstood me, dear sir, and I greatly
regret it, for it would be a real grief to me to have
pained a man like you, of so much worth, learning, and
character. The dramatic poet is also a historian, and
he can no more alter history than human nature. Now
the thirteenth century is a period of twilight ; it has
deep shadows, very little light, violence, crime, innumer-
able superstitions, and great barbarousness, everywhere.
The Jews were barbarous, so were the Christians ; the
Christians were the oppressors, the Jews were the
oppressed; the Jews retaliated. What else could be
expected ? It is the natural action of every compressed
spring and oppressed people. The Jews therefore re-
venged themselves in secret; legend or history, the
story of the little Saint-Werner child proves it. Rumor,
however, was worse than the truth ; popular report
exaggerated the facts ; hatred invented and slandered,
as it always does ; this is probable, indeed, certain,
but what is to be done ? One must describe periods as
they were : they were superstitious, credulous, ignorant,
barbarous ; one must follow their superstitions, their
credulity, their ignorance, their barbarousness. The
poet cannot help it; he simply says : It is the thirteenth
century, and this hint should be enough.

Is that equivalent to saying that in the present day
Jews kill and eat little children ? Why, dear sir, in

1 About the play of Les Bur graves, in which there is mention of a child
which the Jews are supposed to have stolen to kill on their Sabbath.



28 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

these days Jews like you are full of learning and en-
lightenment, and Christians like me are full of esteem
and regard for Jews like you. So extend your forgive-
ness to Les Burgraves, dear sir, and accept my sincere
regards.

XXVII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO, at Havre.

PARIS, Tuesday, 18th July, 1843.

I did right, dearest, in leaving Havre last Monday,
for the bills were already overdue, and I had great
difficulty in getting my money. I was obliged to put
off my departure, and I spent a week in most tiresome
negotiations. At last I have succeeded, and I am free
to start, which I shall do at once.

None the less I am truly sad when I think of the
week which I might have spent with you, my beloved
Adele, in the midst of my dear little colony at Havre,
and which I was obliged to sacrifice to this paltry sum
of six or seven hundred francs. The small annoyances
of life are often real troubles. And this is one of
them.

I was so happy all that day I spent at Havre ! so
completely and perfectly happy ! I saw you all full
of beauty, life, joy, and health ! * I felt I was loved
in that radiant circle. You looked your very best, and
were kind, sweet, and charming to me. My warmest
thanks to you for it.

I have been seeing Charlie almost every day this
week. I shall see him again shortly. He is just now
in for his examination (Latin prose), which he entered

1 Victor Hugo was never to see his daughter Ldopoldine again; she
was drowned at Villequier, while he was traveling.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 29

as head of his class. I am very pleased with him. We
spent Sunday together at Mme. de Villeneuve's, who
was delightful, and spoke of you in the warmest and
most feeling manner. It was the fete of Maisons.
Charles enjoyed it very much. I was sad amid all this
enjoyment. I could not help comparing this Sunday
with the last, and thinking how sweet, happy, and full
that one was.

In a month Charlie will be at your side; in two
months I shall be with you all. I wish these two
months were over. But I really need this journey.
Good-by, my darling Adele ; I will let you know soon
where to write to me.

XXVIII.

To THE SAME.

COGNAC, 2d September, 1843.

I am sending you a few lines, dearest, in great haste.
For the last week I have been traveling night and day
without stopping or taking any rest. I have left the
Pyrenees, I have been to Tarbes, Auch, Agen, Ber-
gerac, Perigueux, Angouleme, Jarnac, and I am going
to Saintes, then to La Rochelle, where I hope to find
nice letters from you and from the others, my dear
ones. I am writing to you alone this time, for my
eyes are sore from the dust and glare of the roads ; and
besides, I know what I write to you is for all, you
are the mother. So this letter is for everybody, as it
is for you.

At Luz I received a nice little letter from my darling
Didine. 1 As usual, it was full of love and happiness.

1 She died on the 4th of September.



30 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

And I also got one from dear old Charlie. This year
has not come up to our hopes and his work ; he must
pluck up fresh courage for next year. People of spirit
may be eclipsed for a time, but cannot disappear alto-
gether ! So you must come to the front again, do
you see, dear Charlie. In the mean while, enjoy your-
self. And you too, my darling Toto, and you, my little
pet Dede. School-time is approaching ; make the most
of the holidays.

I shall be with you shortly. In about a fortnight
I shall be embracing you all, and we shall be together
again. I will tell you all my adventures. You will
tell me, as you used to do when you all four sat to-
gether on my knees, all your thoughts, your joys, your
wishes. My Toto will ask me a hundred questions, and
I will give him twice as many answers. Take care of
yourself, Toto.

Dearest, as I am returning so soon, my letters will
not be so frequent ; do not be surprised at this. Writ-
ing is but a poor substitute ; what I want is to embrace
you and have you all.

So good-by for the present only, my beloved ones.

XXIX.

To MLLE. LOUISE BERTIN, at Les Roches.

SAUMUR, IQth September, 1843.

DEAR MADEMOISELLE LOUISE, I am suffering, I
am heart-broken ; my turn has come, you see. I feel
I must write to you, you who loved her 1 like a
second mother ; you know, too, how fond she was
of you.

1 His daughter Ldopoldine.



TO MLLE. LOUISE BERTIN. 31

Yesterday I had just taken a long hot walk over the
marshes ; I was tired and thirsty ; I came into a village
called, I think, Subise, and went into a cafe. They
brought me a glass of beer and a paper, the Siecle. I
read the news. It was thus that I learnt that the best
part of my life and of my affections was dead.

I loved that poor child more than words can tell.
You remember how charming she was. She was the
sweetest, the most winning of creatures.

God, in what have I offended thee ? She was
too fortunate ; she had everything : beauty, intelligence,
youth, love. This perfect happiness made me tremble ;
I put up with my separation from her in order that
something might be lacking to her. There should
always be a cloud. This one was not enough. God
will not allow us to have paradise on earth. He has
taken her back. Oh, my poor darling ! to think I
shall never see her again.

Forgive me; I write to you in despair. But it is
some comfort to me. You are so kind, you have such
a lofty character, you will understand me, I am sure.
I am fondly attached to you, and when I suffer. I fly
to you.

1 shall arrive in Paris almost at the same time as this
letter. My poor wife and children sadly need me.

My kindest regards to you,

VICTOR HUGO.

My love to kind Armand. May God keep him, and
may he never suffer as I do now.



32 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XXX.

To LOUIS BOULANGER.

SAUMUR, Wth September, [1843].

DEAR Louis, I began a long letter to you, and
I am sending you a few lines. You will understand.
I write to you in the depths of despair. You are my
friend, and I must make you share this grief with me.,
God has taken away the very light of our life and or
our home. Oh, my poor child, my poor darling, she
was too happy. I was right, then, in my thoughts
which so often dwelt on her, to be frightened at so
much happiness. Dear Louis, love me. I am hurry-
ing to Paris, but I wanted to write to you. Alas ! I
am broken-hearted.

XXXI.

To VICTOR PAYEE.

PARIS, 17th September, [1843].

I no longer live, my dear friend, I no longer think ;
I suffer ; my eyes are fixed on heaven ; I wait.

What beautiful and touching things you say to
me ! Hearts like yours understand everything be-
cause they contain everything. Alas ! what an angel
I have lost !

Be happy ! be blest ! My blessing must be accept-
able to God, for in his kingdom the poor are rich and
the wretched great.

My fondest love to you.



TO EDOUARD THIERRY. 33

XXXII.

To ALPHONSE KARR,* at Sainte-Adresse.

PARIS, 18th September, 1843.

You have drawn tears from me at this dreadful
time ; you have harrowed me and relieved me ; thanks,
dear, noble Alphonse Karr. You have a great heart ;
you have spoken appropriately of her and of him. My
poor dear child ! Can you realize that I shall never see
her again ?

XXXIII.

To EDOUARD THIERRY.

23d September, 1843.

We have both received a blow almost at the same
time, you in the loss of your brother, I in that of
my daughter. What can you say to me, and what
can I say to you ? Let us weep together, let us hope
together. Death has its revelations, the great sor-
rows which open the heart open the mind as well ;
light comes to us with our grief. As for me, I have
faith ; I believe in a future life. How could I do
otherwise ? My daughter was a soul ; I saw this soul;
I touched it, so to speak. It was with me for eighteen
years ; my eyes are still full of its radiance ; even in
this world she visibly belonged to the life above. I
suffer as you do ; hope as I do.

1 Alphonse Karr had hurried from Sainte-Adresse to Villequier, and
had written a touching account of the death of Ldopoldiue and her hus-
band, Charles Vacquerie, in Les Guepes.

VOL. II. 3



34 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

xxxrv.

To CHARLES DE LACRETELLE.

PARIS, 9th July, 1844.

Your excellent letter, my dear and venerable friend,
has done me more good than I can tell you. In the
deep melancholy in which I am plunged, the contem-
plation of an old man's soul, beautiful, strong, and
serene as yours, is a great help to bearing my life.
It is comforting and useful to us younger men, who are
afflicted and tried by Providence, to let our thoughts
rest on your white hairs, on your mature wisdom.
You, too, have lived, struggled, and suffered. Where
I have wounds, you have scars. Now you are calm,
contented, resigned, and happy, and you gaze mildly at
the majestic region whence come all the rays which
give light to our eyes, and all the misfortunes which
illumine our souls. For nothing is more true than that
misfortune brings understanding. How many things
have I seen in myself and outside myself since my
sorrow ! The highest hopes spring from the deepest
griefs. Let us thank God for having given us the
right to suffer, since it brings with it the right to hope.

As for you, my good and venerable friend, you are
happy already, even in this world. Your beautiful and
noble old age participates in the joys promised to the
elect. What can a blessed eternity give you better
than the noble and charming wife who loves and ad-
mires you, than the gentle, amiable, and noble children
whom you make happy, and who make you happy?
God is just. He has begun your Paradise on earth ;
for you death will be a continuation of it.



TO THEOPHILE GAUTIER. 35

XXXV.

To VICTOR PAviE. 1

[November, 1844.]

Alas ! what a sad echo your heart awakens in mine !
Like me, you are face to face with the great sorrow of
your life. To see one's flower wither, one's future
destroyed, one's hopes turned into despair ! Alas ! I
could not have wished such a thing for my worst
enemy ! why does Providence send this anguish to one
of my best and dearest friends? Let us repeat the
grand words : In a better land !

My respects to the poor mother. V.

XXXVI.

To THEOPHILE GAUTIER.

[1845.]

Do you remember, my friend, what an outcry there
was when it was toward the end of the Restoration
some one you know took it into his head one fine
day, in some paper or other, and apropos of some dis-
cussion or other on art in the Middle Ages, to put
forth, in the presence of all the shaven chins of France
and Europe, a clear, explicit, and formal profession of
faith, without ambiguity or reserve, in favor of the
beard ?

God, he said, if my memory serves me, God wished
to make, and has made, the head of man beautiful. He
raised the forehead to give room for the intelligence ;
He kindled the glance under the arch of the eyebrow,

1 On the death of his young daughter, Elizabeth Pavie.



36 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

as a lamp shining in the deep and mysterious cavern
of thought ; He placed pride, disdain, and passion in
the open and mobile nostril, grace in the expressive
and smiling mouth, dignity in the transparent and
calm cheeks, serenity and reflection in the prominent
and well-cut chin ; and on the whole countenance He
stamped the serenity and strength of a nature which
knows and understands itself. But this head of man,
of Adam, which God has made beautiful, society tends
to make ugly. Society, civilization, the whole group
of complicated and necessary phenomena due to the
healthy and normal labor of the mind and to the aber-
rations of moral liberty, leave their mark on the human
face. The calculations of interest take the place of
the speculations of the intellect ; when the inmate
dwindles in size the house shrinks; so the brow be-
comes narrow and low. When interest has superseded
intelligence, pride disappears, the nostril contracts ; the
eye grows dull, the pupil remains, but the expres-
sion is gone ; the glass is there, but not the lamp.
The nose is crushed, becomes flat or prominent, and
has a tendency to get farther from the mouth as in
the animal, a distressing sign of stupidity. A number
of infirmities and complaints incidental to civilization
and unknown in a state of nature for animals never
have anything the matter with their jaws attack the
mouth, wither the lips, blacken the teeth, and poison
the breath. The eye has just lost its expression, the
mouth loses its smile. Finally, the chin becomes shape-
less and retires into the background ; for in the line of
the human profile the chin follows the fortunes of the
forehead, of which it is, at the bottom of the face, the



TO THEOPHILE GAUTIEK 37

expressive complement, advancing when the forehead is
developed, retreating when it contracts, a melan-
choly and humiliating transformation which inevitably
goes on from generation to generation. But God had
foreseen this transformation. This ugliness, bred of
civilization, which in course of time overlays the beauty
of the natural man, God wished from the beginning to
palliate and hide, and for that purpose He gave to
man, the very day on which He created him, that
splendid mask of folly ,^ the beardj What a number
of things, in fact, are concealed by the beard, to the
great advantage of the human face : the sunken cheeks,
the retreating chin, the faded lips, the contracted nos-
trils, the distance from the nose to the mouth, the
toothless gums, the smile which has lost its charm.
Substitute for all these horrors, some of which are
plagues and others ridiculous, a rich and splendid
growth which frames and fills out the face by continu-
ing the hair of the head, and mark the effect. Equi-
librium is reestablished, beauty returns. The moral is
that a man's head must indeed be beautiful, modeled
by intelligence and illumined by thought, to be beauti-
ful without a beard ; that a human face must indeed
be ugly, irredeemably disfigured by pettiness and vul-
garity, to be ugly with a beard. Therefore, let your
beards grow, all ye who are ugly and who wish to be
handsome I

When the writer in question had penned these bold
and memorable words, like the brave and gallant man
that he is, he did not retreat ; he did not flinch. An-
other man, foreseeing, as he foresaw it, the storm about



38 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

to break over his head, might, perhaps, have preferred
repose to glory, and thrown the pages into the fire.
He, seeing them written, thought they were to the
point and worth publishing, and like an honest man
who takes a serious step, he signed them. But, what-
ever may have been his expectation, the event sur-
passed it. The matter was even more serious than he
had supposed. You shoot at a sparrow, and kill a
partridge. He imagined he had only made a profession
of faith. He had issued a proclamation. When this
audacious and shameless declaration appeared, you rec-
ollect, my friend, what a grand hubbub there was !
what a frightful battle ! what a glorious row ! what a
magnificent uproar ! The war of the chins against the
beards broke out. For twelve long months the noise
in the papers was deafening.

Every question the Greek question, the Balkans
question, the Neapolitan question, the Eastern ques-
tion, the Spanish question disappeared in a flood of
pamphlets and articles, under the beard question. A
few young artists, painters, sculptors, and musicians,
intrepid and intelligent pioneers of every idea, had the
courage to put the theory into practice, and left off
shaving. Then came a fresh deluge of prose, verse,
satire, ballads, couplets, and caricatures. The rain
turned into hail. When the bearded ones passed by
on the boulevards or the street crossings, women turned
away their heads, old men raised their eyes to heaven,
the street urchins hooted the man with a beard. There
were pen-duels and sword-duels. Fighting exasperated
the combatants ; their bile rose, and for the space of
a whole year they sneezed epigrams, as Piron says.



TO THEOPHILE GAUTIER. 39

Providence was severely taken to task for having in-
vented beards. The man adorned with this appendage
was called a goat. The beard was declared to be ugly,
foolish, dirty, filthy, foul, repulsive, ridiculous, unpa-
triotic, Jewish, frightful, abominable, hideous, and,
what was then the ne plus ultra of abuse, romantic 1^

All the diseases of the scalp were raked up,
the plica of the Poles, the leprosy of the Hebrews, the
mentagra of the Komans. It was said that with the
beard the variety of the human physiognomy would
disappear ; that all faces would be alike ; that there
would be only four types of head left, the dark, the
fair, the gray, and the red ; that when this came to
pass man would be hideous in the eyes of woman, and
that Adam with a beard would be so ill-favored that
Eve would not look at him. It was said that a really
handsome man would never have recourse to this ex-
pedient of hiding half of his face, and that the only
really fine heads were those which could do without a
beard. It was said that never would one of the great
rulers of the world, with his Roman profile, laurel-girt
brow, deep-set eyes, and imperial cheeks, have dreamed
of hiding his projecting chin, with its severe and pen-
sive beauty, under a mass of hair; and that every
emperor, from Caesar down to Napoleon, had shaved
his chin.

From the outset the shrill-voiced and venerable
school which upholds " sound doctrines," " taste," the
" grand age," " the tender Racine," etc., etc., etc., had
intervened in the dispute. It had pronounced the \
beard 'romantic ; it declared the shaven chin classic. \
After a year of rage and fury, it proclaimed its victory



40 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

by asserting in a triumphant and absolute manner that
never would France, never would " the most intelli-
gent people in the world," adopt the odious fashion of
letting the beard grow.

Fifteen years have passed. The same thing has
happened which always befalls the victories of the
classic school. Nowadays everybody in France wears
a beard.

Everybody, except, perhaps, the man who started
this grand quarrel and achieved this great success.

XXXVII.

To THE EDITOR or THE PHARE DE LA LOIRE.

1845.

You think I am a rich man, dear sir? Listen to
this. I have been working for twenty-eight years, for
I began when I was fifteen. During those twenty-
eight years I have earned about five hundred thousand
francs by my pen. I inherited nothing from my father ;
my stepmother and the lawyers kept what there was.
I might have brought an action, but against whom ?
Against a person who bore my father's name. I pre-
ferred to submit to spoliation. For eight and twenty
years I have not rested for two consecutive months.
I have educated my four children. M.Villemain offered
me scholarships for my sons, and the St. Denis school
for my daughters. I refused, as I was in a position to
educate my children at my own expense, and I did not
wish to saddle the State with what I could pay myself.

To-day, of these five hundred thousand francs there
remain three hundred thousand. These three hundred
thousand francs I have invested, capitalized, as they



TO ARSENE HOUSSAYE. 41

say, and I do not touch them, for I have worked too
hard to live to be old, and I do not want my wife and
children to receive pensions when I am dead. I live
on the interest. I still write, which increases my income
a little, and I support eleven persons, all liabilities
and charges included. Add eighty-three francs a month
as member of the Institute, which I was forgetting.
I owe no one anything. I have never made a traffic
of anything. I spend a little in charity, as much as
I can. Those around me want for nothing. As for
myself, I wear overcoats which cost twenty-five francs,
I wear my hats rather too long, I work without a fire
in winter, and I go to the Chamber 1 on foot.

I am grateful, however. I have always possessed the
two blessings without which I could not live, a tran-
quil conscience and complete independence.

XXXVIII.

To ABS^E HOUSSAYE.

6th February, 1847.

Madame Victor Hugo has told me of the terrible
blow which has just befallen you. My dear poet, I
send you, as well as the poor mother, my warmest and
deepest sympathy. I know too well what suffering is
to be able to console. You have lost the angel of the
house, the flower, the joy, the sweet spring of life !
Alas ! I have experienced the same calamity. You
will issue from it as I have done ; life falls into its old
groove because God wills it.

We are the slaves of destiny and thought. We go

1 Victor Hugo had been raised to the Chambre des Pairs by Louis \
Philippe on the 13th of April, 1845.



42 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

hither and thither, we work, we even smile ; but, what-
ever we do, there is always a sad and sombre thing in
the heart, the memory of the departed child. God
help you, dear poet ! I can only give you my hand,
and bow my head to your affliction as to my own.

XXXIX.

To LAMARTINE.

24ft March, 1847.

Incedo per ignes. All that I have read of your
book 1 is magnificent. Here at last is the Revolution
treated by a historian on a footing of equality. You
apprehend these giants ; you grasp these huge events
with ideas which are on a par with them. They are
immense ; but you are great.

Occasionally, however, for the good of the just and
holy popular cause which we love and which we both
serve, I could wish that you were more severe. You
are so strong that you can be, you are so noble that
you ought to be. But I am dazzled with the book, and
delighted with its success.

XL.

To THE SAME.

Sunday, 27ft February, [1848]. 2

DEAR AND ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND, I had gone to
greet you in the public square while you came to my
house to shake me by the hand. I return you your
greeting.

You are doing great things. The abolition of capital
punishment, this signal lesson given by a joewlj born

1 Histoire des Girondins. ^ * After the Revolution of 1848.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 43

Republic to the old time-honored monarchies, is a
grand achievement.

I applaud with hands and heart.

You have the genius of the poet, the genius of the
writer, the genius of the orator ; you have wisdom and
courage. You are a great man.

I admire you and love you.

XLI.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

24tfi June, [1848]/''
FROM THE ASSEMBLY, 2 8 o'clock in the morning.

DEAREST, I spent the night at the Assembly, await-
ing events. This morning, at six, I tried to join you
and embrace you all in the Place Royale. I managed
to get as far as the Hotel de Ville by way of the quay,
through a few volleys of musketry. I spoke to General
Duvivier, and pushed on to the entrance of the Rue
Saint-Antoine. Here, on the Place Baudoyer, there
were barricades guarded by troops of the line. Shots
were being exchanged. The officers implored me not
to go further, and a representative who came up pointed
out to me that if I did so I ran the risk of falling into
the hands of the insurgents, who might perhaps keep
me as a hostage, which would embarrass the Assembly.
I turned back, in great distress, and very anxious about
my dear Place Royale. All the National Guards, and
a professor at the Charlemagne College who was on
the barricade, assured me that the Place Royale was

1 The first day of the insurrection.

2 Victor Hugo had been elected a member of the Assemblee Constitu-
ante on the 4th of June, 1848.



44 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

quiet. I Lope that by this evening the road will be
free, and that you will see me again ; my thoughts are
with you all.

What a terrible thing ! and how sad to think that
all this blood shed on both sides is that of brave and
generous men ! Tell Charles not to run too many
risks. Let him do his duty, as I do mine, but avoid
all imprudence.

We are sitting permanently ; the Assembly will re-
sume work in a few minutes.

XLII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

2,5th June, [1848], a quarter to nine.

Here is the news. The situation is serious. To-
day's fighting will be fiercer than yesterday's. The
number of the insurgents has increased. Troops from
the suburbs and fresh regiments have arrived. All the
National Guards within a radius of sixty leagues are on
the move and coming to defend Paris.

It is thought, however, that the events of to-day will
be decisive. But what a sad ending for so many hon-
est fellows killed on both sides !

Bixio was shot in the chest yesterday, and Domes
in the groin. Both are dying. Clement Thomas and
Bedeau are wounded. And then so many worthy
National Guards ! And the poor misguided workmen !
We have just decreed that the Republic shall provide
for the widows and orphans.

Do not be anxious, dearest. All will be well. Calm
my Dede. I embrace you all with a sad heart.



TO CHARLES DE LACRETELLE. 45

XLIII.

To THE SAME.

[26$ June, 1848. 1 ]

DEAREST, I am in terrible anxiety. Where are
you? What has become of you? For two days I have
been prowling day and night in your neighborhood
without being able to get to you. I am tortured by
suspense. Send me one line, just to say you are all
safe and well. I can hardly breathe. Give me full
accounts of everybody.

I have been here for the last four and twenty hours
with a mandate of order, peace, and conciliation. 2 God
is helping and will help us. France will be saved.

Above all, be easy on my account. I am well,
though worn out with fatigue.

XLIV.

To CHARLES DE LACRETELLE.

FROM THE ASSEMBLY, 1st July, 1848.

We are all safe and sound, my dear old friend. God
did not want my life, for I gladly risked it to arrest
this disastrous effusion of French blood. I write to
you in haste from the vortex called the Assembly. My
wife sends her best love to yours. We are moving
to-day. In future write to me at No. 5, Rue d'Isly.
My kindest regards to yourself.

1 Written in pencil.

2 Victor Hugo was one of the commissioners appointed by the Assem-
bly on the 24th of June to make known to the population of Paris the
steps which had been taken. On the 24th and 25th of June he had been
at the barricades, haranguing the insurgents.



46 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XLV.

To ULRIC GUTTINGUEE.

FROM THE ASSEMBLY, Wth July, 1848.

DEAR ULRIC, we are out of the fray, but still in the
uproar. I think of you among your trees and flowers,
and I write to you. You witness the tempests of the
ocean ; I see storms of another kind, and I envy you.

But let us take heart. It is impossible that civiliza-
tion should collapse, but humanity must make an effort.
The wound is deep and dangerous, but who dare say to
the Supreme Healer, Thou canst not cure it ?

For my part, I hope. I hoped during the insurrec-
tion, under a storm of bullets ; I continued to hope,
when I knew my family was in the power of the insur-
gents. I trusted in God. Not a shot touched me, not
one of my family came to harm.

Dear poet, dear thinker, it is not necessary to teach
charity, love, and faith to you. I am only repeating
your own maxims. Yes, the new preachers of pillage
I and robbery are execrable, Vmt flm people is g-n^rl

Oh ! how I long to be near you, amid nature, with
my family, with yours ! Alas ! I am grinding here at
the fatal revolutionary mill. I shall perhaps be among
the first to be crushed by it, but I wish it to crush a
heart full of confidence and love. V.

XLVI.

To LAMABTINE.

July, 1848.

MY ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND, You have treated my
son as I should have treated yours. You spontaneously



TO CHARLES DE LACRETELLE. 47

placed him near your person, you made him one of
your private secretaries, and you loaded him with all
the kindness your great heart could dictate. I thank
you most warmly. The time which he spent with you
will be one of the proudest moments of his life.

On leaving office, you offered to make my son an
attache to the Brazilian Legation. I now learn that
the execution of your plan has met with an unexpected
obstacle, and that M. Bastide, the Minister for For-
eign Affairs, has democratic scruples about me and
demurs to my name. Allow me to put an end to this
hesitation in the only suitable way possible. I am
writing to the Minister for Foreign Affairs to-day to*
beg him not to appoint my son.

My son is returning to the Minister at the same time
his nomination for diplomatic employment. He will
keep what was most precious about it in his eyes, the
recollection of having received it from you.

I press your hand, dear Lamartine, and I renew the
assurance of my profound admiration and long-stand-
ing friendship.

XL VII.

To CHARLES DE LACRETELLE.

FROM THE ASSEMBLY, 13th February, [1849].

You look on affairs, my venerable friend, with the
clear and quiet glance of minds accustomed to contem-
plation and reflection. Men like you begin by judg-
ing and end by loving. As he grows old the historian
softens and becomes a philosopher. Even your severity
bears the stamp of kindness. You do not condemn
things because you understand men.

But this placid serenity in no way detracts from



48 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

your warm-heartedness, and when our errors and follies
deserve reprobation, your censure weighs all the more
heavily on bad men because it proceeds from an in-
dulgent mind.

The history which we are making does not deserve
a historian like you. So I congratulate you on spend-
ing your life quietly at home in meditation and the
composition of poetry. But send me, who am in the
fight, a word of encouragement from time to time.
The battle is not yet over. We who are in the thick
of the fray still need strength and determination. As
for me, my heart is divided between fear and hope.
I have profound faith in the future of civilization and
of France, but I do not hide from myself what the
storm may bring. We may founder, as we may reach
the land ; I believe in two possibilities : a fearful ship-
wreck, a splendid port. May God conduct us ! but let
us help God.

XLVIII.

To GUSTAVE D'ElCHTAL.

26th Octobe^ 1849.

The ideas which are in your mind are in mine too.
I even go further. But is it possible in these days to
say everything at once ? When the flame is low, too
much oil puts out the lamp. There are things which
must not be mentioned, gleams of light which must be
veiled, prospects which must be concealed, future reali-
ties which would be chimeras for the present age.
Man cannot bear nudity in any form, the nudity of the
future no more than any other. This luminous nudity
would dazzle him. The reason is that he long ago lost,
and is only slowly recovering, the feeling for and the
love of the ideal.



TO HENRI DE LACRETELLE. 49

We must all labor to restore him this feeling for and
love of the jdeal^ We must not despair ; quite the
reverse. We have already lifted a corner of the veil
in the JPeace Congress, i I tried to raise another in the
debate on Rome. Little" by little light breaks in, and,
thanks to the courageous efforts of those who think,
our _aga, at first so incredulous and ironical, begins
to get accustomed to the brightness of the future.

You belong to those who decipher this great un-
known, which is dark for the weak and radiant for the
strong. You belong to those who affirm and hope.
I rejoice to feel, like you, full of faith, that is, full of
love. The ultra-Catholics of our day have no faith,
and the proof of it is that they are full of hatred.
Their eyes are blinded, and their hearts are turned to
stone. Let us pity them, and let us pray to God that
the great destinies of mankind may be accomplished
soon enough to make them, in spite of themselves,
happy and confident.

XLIX.

To HENRI DE LACRETELLE.

FROM THE ASSEMBLY, 1 3d fune, 1850.

Thanks, dear poet. What a good comforting mes-
sage you sent me ! The contest is keen, the enemy
is full of ardor, hatred is bellowing its loudest, but
how sweet is your greeting in the midst of the tumult !
At this moment, while I am writing to you, I hear the
bark of the Right ; my thoughts go out to yours
through all this uproar, and I seem to feel the gentle
influence of your serenity.

1 The Assemblee Legislative, to which Victor Hugo had been elected in
1849.

VOL. n. 4



50 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

How blest you are among your flowers and trees,
with the conversation of your good father, with the
smiles of your charming wife ! You have nature,
poetry, love, happiness. We have the spectacle of rage
in the Senate, and disgrace in the laws. How mean
and petty is the moment through which we are passing.
Happily, the age is great.

Write us some fine verses, send me some noble let-
ters, and love me.

L.

To MlCHELET. 1

Saturday, 29^ March, 1851.

I was deeply pained on Thursday, my dear and elo-
quent colleague, pained to hear such things said from
the tribune, and pained to be unable to reply to them.
An indisposition which I could not overcome kept me
glued to my seat.
/ Freedom of thought has been gagged in your per-
son, freedom of conscience has been cashiered in that
of M. Jacques ; philosophy, reason, history, law, the
three great centuries of emancipation, the sixteenth, the
seventeenth, and the eighteenth, have been gainsaid ;
the nineteenth has been defied ; all this was cheered by
the party which commands a majority, all this was up-
held, explained, commented on, glorified, for the space
of two hours, by one M. Giraud, who is, I am told,
your colleague and mine at the Institut ; all this was
said and done by the Minister who represents educa-
tion in France, in the tribune which instructs the
world ! I left the Chamber ashamed and indignant.

1 Michelet's course of lectures at the College de France had been sus-
pended by the Government.



TO MME. CHAPMAN. 51

I send you my protest ; I should like to send it to
all the noble and generous youths who love and ad-
mire you.

I congratulate you on being persecuted for the holy
cause of the French Revolution and the human mind.

LI.
To MRS. MARIA CHAPMAN.

12th May, 1851.

MADAM, You are good enough to believe that a
word from me, in this sacred cause of emancipation,
may have some influence on the great American people
whom I love so deeply, and whose destinies are, in my
opinion, linked to the mission of France. You wish
me to make my voice heard. I do it at once, and will
do so on every occasion.

I have hardly anything to add to your letter. I
could indorse every line of it. Continue your sacred
task. All great minds and good hearts are on your
side.

I agree with you that it is impossible that the United
States of America should not, within a certain time,
before long, give up slavery. Slavery in such a
country ! Was there ever such a monstrous contradic-
tion ? It is barbarism installed in the very heart of a
society the whole of which is the affirmation of civiliza-
tion. Liberty in chains, blasphemy proceeding from
the altar, the negro's fetters riveted to the pedestal of
Washington's statue ! It is unheard of. I go further :
it is impossible. It is a phenomenon which will disap-
pear of itself. The light of the nineteenth century is
sufficient to dissolve it.




52 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

What ! slavery legalized in the illustrious nation
which for the last sixty years has demonstrated pro-
gress by its advance and liberty by its prosperity !
Slavery in the United States ! It is the duty of this
great republic to set this bad example no longer. It
is a disgrace, and she is not one of those that hang
the head ! It is not for young nations to harbor
slavery when old ones are discarding it. What ! slavery
is to quit Turkey and remain in America ! The pashas
are turning it out, and the country of Franklin is to
adopt it ! No, a thousand times no !
/ There is an inflexible logic which develops more or
' less slowly, which fashions, which rectifies after a
mysterious pattern of which great minds have a glimpse
and which is the ideal of civilization mankind, facts,
laws, manners, peoples ; or, to express it better, under
human institutions there are divine ones. Let all gen-
erous hearts take courage !

The United States must either give up slavery or
give up liberty ! They will not give up liberty ! They
must either give up slavery or the gospel. They will
not give up the gospel !

Accept, madam, with my warmest adhesion to the
cause, the homage of my respect.

LII.

To MONSIEUR PARTARRIEU-LAFOSSE, President of the Assize

Court.

5th June, 1851.

MONSIEUR LE PRESIDENT, My son Charles Hugo
has been cited to appear before the Assize Court of
which you are the presiding judge, on Tuesday, the



i



TO ANGELO BROFFERIO. 53

10th of June, on a charge of having failed in the re-
spect due to the laws, in an article 1 on the execution
of the condemned criminal Montcharmont. 2

My son desires to be defended by me, and I wish to
defend him.

In accordance with section 295 of the Code of Crim-
inal Procedure I apply to you for permission to do so.

Receive the assurance of my distinguished consider-
ation.

LIII.

i
To ANGELO BROFFERIO.

PARIS, 7th August, 1851.

DEAR AND ELOQUENT COLLEAGUE, I have been a
long while answering your letter ; but you know what
a stormy time we have gone through. Last month the
Eepublic, liberty, progress, all the principles and truths
of the nineteenth century were called in question. For
a whole week I had to stand in this great breach and
repulse the furious assault of the past on the present
and the future.

With God's help we have conquered. The old
parties have beat a retreat, and the Revolution has
gained all the ground which they have lost. You
know all this good news already, but it is a pleasure to
me to tell it to you again, to you, Brofferio, who carry
the standard of the people and of liberty so high aloft
and so proudly in thes^^li^ent of PjejjjqiQB^

1 The article was signed by Charles Hugo and published in the Evene-
ment, the newspaper founded by Victor Hugo in 1848. Victor Hugo
defended his son, and made a speech against capital punishment. The
jury found Charles Hugo guilty, and the court sentenced him to six
months' imprisonment and to pay a fine of 500 francs.

2 A poacher, who had killed two gendarmes and a forester.



54 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Dear colleague, for we are colleagues ; besides the
mandate of our countries we have the mandate of hu- j *~
manity, dear and eloquent colleague, I thank you for
the courage with which you inspire me, I congratulate
you on the progress which you are achieving, and I
press your two hands in mine.



II. THE COUP D'ETAT. LETTERS FEOM BRUSSELS.

1851-1852.



[THE coup d'6tat of the 2d of December breaks out.
In the morning of that day Victor Hugo leaves his
house in the Eue de la Tour d'Auvergne and joins the
representatives of the Left for the twelve days' struggle
related in L'Histoire d'un crime.

On the 4th, communications are still uninterrupted.
He sends Mme. Victor Hugo the following note in
pencil.]

i.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

[Wi December, 1851.]

DEAREST, I spent the night with an excellent
friend of the Davidal family, M. de la Roellerie.
Thank them warmly on my behalf. Yesterday evening
I presided over the meeting of the Left. Nothing is
hopeless. I am starting this morning for the Faubourg
Saint-Antoine.

In God's keeping !

[Madame Victor Hugo was left without news for
several days. Subsequently she received, through an
indirect channel, under the name of Madame Riviere,
the two following letters.]



56 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

II.

Sunday, 7th December, [1851].

MY DEAR FRIEND, M. Riviere was obliged to leave
without bidding you good-by. He requests me to let
you know this. He intends, however, to write to you
himself as soon as he has a moment to spare, and it will
be a pleasure to him to express all that he feels for you.

As he was unable to find the portress when he was
leaving, he begs you to be so good as to give her from
him a gratuity of five francs, which Mme. Riviere will
repay you the first time you see her. Kindly tell Mme.
Riviere that her husband is well, that he sends her, as
well as his daughter and his sons, his fondest love, and
that he will write to them all soon.

M. Riviere sends you his kindest regards.

ALBERT DURAND.

M. Riviere begs you to show this letter to his wife.

in.

Monday, Sth December, [1851].

MY DEAR FRIEND, M. Riviere is in good health,
but he found so much to do on his arrival that he
cannot write to you yet.

He bids me do it in his stead, requesting you at the
same time to let his wife and children know. In the
present state of affairs a little more time will be required
for business to revive ; everything, however, may come
right eventually.

Tell Mme. and Mile. Riviere that M. Riviere sends
them his best love and hopes to see them soon.

Your friend, ALBERT DURAND.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 57

rv.

To " MADAME RIVIERE " (MME. VICTOR HUGO).

BRUSSELS, 12th December, [1851]. 7 A. M.

A line in haste, dearest. I am here. It was no
easy matter. Write to me at the following address :
M. Lanvin, Bruxelles, poste restante.

If you have any. letters for me, keep them all, and
do not give them to any one. I will let you know how
you can send them to me later on.

I hope that you have seen our dear children again.
Send me detailed news. Take good care of all my
papers. What has happened at home ?

My keys will be delivered to you. You will find the
securities in a portfolio on the red box in my lacquered
wardrobe (your father's). Take great care of them.

Collect and take the utmost care of everything in
the chest at the side of my bed. They are diaries,
the only copies I have. In the covered chest near my
table there are some things of great value. I com-
mend them to you.

What I commend to you above all is to be of good
heart. I know that you have a lofty, strong nature.
Tell my beloved children that my heart is with them.
Tell my little Adele that I do not want her to get pale
or thin. Let her be calm. The future belongs to the
good.

My warmest greetings to our friends, to Auguste,
to Meurice, 1 to his charming wife. I close this letter
at once, so that it may reach you to-day.

1 Auguste Vacquerie and Paul Meurice were, at this moment, in the
Conciergerie prison with Charles and Francois- Victor Hugo.



58 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

V.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.
BRUSSELS, Sunday, l&th [December, 1851]. 3 P. M.

I open your letter, dearest, and answer it at once.
Do not be uneasy. The drawings l are in safety. /
have them with me here, and so I shall be able to go
on with my work. I had put them into another port-
manteau. I took them with me when I left Paris.

For twelve days I have been betwixt life and death,
but I have not had a moment's uneasiness. I have
been satisfied with myself. And then I know that I
have done my duty, and that I have done it thoroughly.
That is a source of satisfaction. I met with complete
devotion from those around me. Sometimes my life
was at the mercy of ten persons at once. A word might
have ruined me, but it was never spoken.

I owe an immense deal to M. and Mme. de M ,

whom I mentioned to you. It was they who saved me
at the most critical moment. Pay a very friendly visit

to Mme. de M . She lives near you, at No. 2, Rue

Navarin. Some day I will tell you all that they did

for me. In the mean while you cannot show yourself

too grateful to them. It was all the more meritorious

I on their part because they are in the other camp, and

the service they rendered me might have seriously

\ compromised them. Give them credit for all this, and

| be very nice to Mme. de M and her husband, who

is the best of men. The mere sight of him will make
you like him. He is another Abel. 2

1 By drawings Victor Hugo meant his manuscripts.
fl Abel Hugo, the poet's son.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 59

Send me detailed news of my dear children, of my
daughter, who must have suffered much. Tell them
all to write to me. The poor boys must have been
very uncomfortable in prison, owing to the crowding.
Has any fresh severity been practiced on them ? Write
to me about it. I know that you go to see them every
day. Do you still dine with our dear colony ? l

I am putting up here at the Hotel de la Porte-Verte,
room No. 9. I have for neighbor a worthy and cour-
ageous refugee representative, Versigny. He has room
No. 4. Our doors are close to each other. I lead the
life of an anchorite. I have a tiny bed, two straw-
bottomed chairs, and no fire. My total expenses amount
to three francs a day, everything included. Versigny
lives as I do.

Tell my Charles that he must become quite a man.
In the days when I carrie^ niy life in my hand I
thought of him. He might at any moment have be-
come the head of the family, the support of you all.
He must think of this.

Live sparingly. Make the money which I left you
last a long time. I have venough in prospect to get
on here for some months.

Yesterday I saw the Minister of the Interior, M. Ch.
Rogier, who paid me a visit in the Rue Jean-Goujon
twenty years ago. When I came in I said to him
laughingly, " I have come to return your visit."

He was very cordial. I told him that I had a duty,
to write the history of what has happened, at once and
while it was fresh. As actor, eye-witness, and judge,
I am the historian for it. That I could not accept

1 The four prisoners in the Conciergerie.



60 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

any condition as to residence. That they might expel
me if they chose. That, however, I should only publish
this historical work on condition of its not aggravat-
ing the condition of my sons, who are in the man's
power at this moment. He might torture them, in
fact.

Let me know your views. If anything from my pen
can in any way inconvenience them, I will be silent.
In that case I will confine myself to finishing my
book Les Miseres here. Who knows, perhaps this was
the only chance of finishing it. We must never accuse
or judge Providence. What a blessing, for instance,
that my sons were in prison during the events of the
3d and the 4th !

M. Rogier told me that if I published this work now
my presence might be a serious embarrassment to Bel-
gium, a small state with a powerful and overbearing
neighbor. I said : " In that case, if I decide to publish
it, I will go to London."

We parted good friends. He offered me some shirts.
I certainly need some. I have no clothes nor linen.
Take my empty portmanteau and put my things in it,
my new stocking trousers, my trousers that are not
new, my old gray ones, my coat, my big frogged sur-
tout, the hood of which you will find on the carved
bench, and my new shoes. Besides the pair at
home, I ordered another of Kuhn, my bootmaker, in
the Rue de Valois, three weeks ago. Get them and
pay for them (eighteen francs), and put them in the
portmanteau.

Padlock the trunk. I will let you know later on
how you are to send it to me.



TO MME. VICTOK HUGO. 61

Perhaps it will be advisable for you to come here
for a few days, to settle a number of matters of im-
portance, which it is impossible to write about. If you
agree, we will discuss it in our next letters.

I must close ; the post is going. I seem to have
forgotten a great many things. Dearest, I know that
you have been full of courage and dignity in these
terrible days. Go on as you have begun. You win
the respect of all. Let me know about Victor's and
A dele's health. As for Charles, he is made of iron.

Give them all my best love, and press the generous
hands of Auguste and of Paul Meurice.

My fondest love to you. Do not forget the visit to
the M 's.

VI.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.
BRUSSELS, Sunday morning, 28th December, [1851].

Dumas is going to Paris, and undertakes to deliver
this letter to you. Dearest, I hope that you are all
well there. I shall, perhaps, find some of your letters
at the post to-day, and it will be a great joy to me in
my solitude. There is nothing new here. Yesterday
morning, however, I had a visit from two gendarmes.
They laid their hands on me a little ; very civilly
though. They just conducted me to the procureur du
roi. They went so far as to march me to the police,
to give an explanation of my forged passport. The
whole thing ended by quasi apologies on their part, by
a laugh from me, and good-evening. The Opposition
papers here wanted to make a fuss about it. I thought
this unnecessary. At heart this government is afraid
of the man of the coup d'etat, and we must not find



62 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

fault with it for worrying the refugees a little. I for-
give them, but the proceedings are none the less very
Belgian, very welche, as Voltaire says.

Perhaps it will be feasible to make some arrange-
ment here by which the Belgian booksellers would
agree not to pirate the book. It is a great idea.
Overtures have been made to me. We shall see what
will come of it.

I am working hard at those notes. 1 What a pity
that it cannot be published in that form ! Well, we
shall see what can be done in that direction, too.

Love me, all of you, Charles, Victor, Auguste,
Paul Meurice, my four sons, as I call them. I hope
that all these dear prisoners are well. Tell my be-
loved Adele to write me a nice little letter, as she did
the other day.

Dumas urges me to close my letter. I embrace you
all, and I look forward to the day when I shall no
longer do it on paper.

VII.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Tuesday, SQth December, [1851].

First and foremost, dearest, do not be uneasy. Mme.
Faillet brought me your letter this morning to my inn ;
but Dumas must have delivered you mine yesterday.
By this time you must know what has taken place. A
slight annoyance, nothing more, and at the present
moment I believe it is completely at an end. Moreover,
everybody here shows me the warmest sympathy. It

1 The history of the 2d of December, which Victor Hugo had decided
to write on his arrival.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 63

comes from all sides and all parties at once. This
morning, when I was lunching at the table I have
spoken of, M. de Perseval, the leader of the democratic
opposition in the Belgian Chamber, and M. Deschamps,
the leader of the Catholic opposition, were sitting near
me. Both of them made me a cordial offer of their
services. M. Deschamps, who has been minister twice,
spoke to me about that little passport affair, and told
me that he would intervene in case of need ; but that I
might consider myself as defended by every one here. \
He said to me : " There are many who hate you, but )
everybody honors you."

I believe, in fact, that for the moment I can remain
here in perfect safety. In any event, set your mind at
rest : England is only a step from here.

Yes, we must consider about the furniture. But,
while taking precautions, we must not give way to panic.
They will think twice before they confiscate my furni-
ture, my rights as an author, and my allowance from
the Institute. That would do them more harm than
me. So calm yourself, dearest, while keeping a good
lookout, however.

I am more popular here than I thought. Yesterday, \
at a printers' dinner, they drank the health of the three j
men who personify the struggle against despotism, /
Mazzini, Kossuth, Victor Hugo.

I have only space for a couple of lines more. Fond-
est love to you all. Charlie, Victor, Adele, I kiss you
on your six cheeks. Write to me.






64 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

VIII.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 31sZ December, [1851].

DEAREST, M. Bourlon, who will give you this
letter, is the editor of the Moniteur, of Belgium. Give
him your warmest reception. He is a very distin-
guished man, with a mind above the common, and a
noble heart. He is at one with all our ideas ; and
his wife, who is witty and charming, also resembles you
in enthusiasm and belief in the future and progress.

I send you an article of the Messager des Chambres
here on the incident which had alarmed you. This
will set your mind quite at rest. In spite of this little
matter, I am perfectly satisfied with the reception given
to me here.

To-day the year closes on a great ordeal for us all,
our two sons in prison and me in exile. That is
hard, but good. A little frost improves the crop. As
for me, I thank God.

To-morrow, New Year's Day, I shall not be there to
embrace you all, my loved ones. But I shall think of
you. All my feelings will go out towards you. I shall
be in Paris, in the Conciergerie. Talk about me at
this family and prison dinner, which I am so sorry to
miss ; I fancy I shall hear you.

Thank you for the journal which you are keeping
for me. I believe it will be very useful, for you see a
side of things which escapes me.

Thank Beranger, and send my compliments to Ber-
ry er. I shall be delighted to read what B Granger said.

Here I have abundance of information. I am almost



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 65

as much surrounded as in Paris. This morning I had
a gathering of old representatives and ex-ministers in
my den of the Porte-Verte, where I still am.

A confidential letter from Louis Blanc has been
brought me. They are going to start a weekly paper
in London in French. The committee will consist of
three Frenchmen, three Germans, and three Italians.
I am to be one of the three Frenchmen, with Louis
Blanc and Pierre Leroux. What do you say to that ?
We might make a great fight against the Bonaparte.
But I am afraid that it will recoil on our poor dear
prisoners. Let me know your views on this point.
But be very careful in speaking about it to anybody.
Secrecy is demanded of me.

Schoelcher arrived this evening, disguised as a priest.
I have not seen him yet. The other night I was asleep,
and was awakened. It was de Flotte, coming into my
room with an advocate from Ghent. He had shaved
off his beard. I did not know him. I like de Flotte
very much. He is a worthy fellow and a thinker.
We talked together for part of the night. Like me,
he is full of courage and faith in God.

I embrace you tenderly, my poor dear wife and my
beloved children. My fondest love to you. Good-by
for the present, Charles. Dearest, give Auguste and
Paul Meurice a warm shake of the hand. Give my
respects to Mme. Paul Meurice. What a happy time
you must all still have together in that prison ! How

I should like to be with you and with them !
VOL. n. 5



66 THE LETTERS OP VICTOR HUGO.

IX.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 5th January, 1852.

I have received all the letters of my dear children,
and all yours ; and the longer they are, the more they
please me. So don't be afraid of writing volumes.

You can in case of need, and for non-confidential
matters, write to me direct to M. Lanvin, 16 Place de
THotel de Ville. I have taken up my abode there
to-day, and have told my landlord that if any one asks
for M. Lanvin or for M. Victor Hugo, he is inquiring
for me. So I am living there in my two characters.

When Charles arrives he will find me in this vast
hall, with three windows looking on the splendid square
of the Hotel de Ville. I have hired (for a mere trifle)
the indispensable furniture, a bed, a table, etc., and a
good stove. I work there in comfort and feel at home
there. If I come across an old carpet for fifteen francs,
I shall be perfectly happy.

If I were to send you all the loving things that I
have in my heart, it is I who would write you volumes.
How can you imagine that I have any mistrust, I who
feel that you are such a noble, steadfast, and loving
support to me ! Withdraw that ugly word. I take
precautions, that is all, and I take them in the interest
of you all.

You see and feel yourself that my prudence was not
carried too far, and that it was justified by the result.
Let my sons bear in mind this axiom of my life : it is
prudence which gives the right to be courageous.

I send you the letter which Louis Blanc has written



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 67

me. Kead it yourself and give it to the inmates of the
Conciergerie to read. You can return it to me by an
early opportunity. Louis Blanc is pressing me for an
answer, yes or no. What do you all say ? What do
Meurice and Auguste think, and Charles and Victor ?
It might be of use. Besides, it would be some work
ready to hand for Charles. It seems that the capital is
found in England. But would there not be a disad-
vantage in confounding me, even in appearance only,
with Louis Blanc and Pierre Leroux? That would
deprive me of the isolation of my present position,
would connect me with the past of other people, and
consequently involve my future in complications which
are foreign to me ; it would rob me of some of the
purity which I now possess, having never had a hand
in anything, never been in power, never put forward
theories nor made mistakes, but simply held the stand-
ard when it was raised, and risked my lif e on the days
of battle.

All is going on well here. Some of the refugees are
in low spirits (among them Schoelcher, who, however,
behaved in a heroic way), but I cheer them up. This
morning there were some lines about me by a student
in the Sancho (the Charivari of Brussels). I decline
invitations to dinner and little ovations in family cir-
cles. I require my time for work. I have never felt
more light-hearted or more pleased with myself. The
events in Paris suit me. They reach an ideal point,
in atrocity as well as grotesqueness. There are crea-
tures like Troplong, like Dupin, whom I cannot help
admiring. I like complete men. These wretches are
perfect specimens. They attain the climax of infamy.



68 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

I admire this. Bonaparte is well surrounded. I hear
that on the sous his eagle will have its head under its
wing ; good. As for the 7,500,000 votes, even if there
were more noughts, I should despise all this rubbish.

My dear, good, brave souls, you are my joy ; I em-
brace you.

x.

To ANDK& VAN HAssELT. 1

BRUSSELS, 6$ January, 1852.

It is not I who am banished, dear sir, but liberty ; it
is not I whom am exiled, but France. France an out-
cast from truth, from justice, from greatness, is France
in exile and a stranger to herself. Let us pity her and
love her more than ever.

/ do not suffer. I look and wait. I have fought,
I have done my duty ; I am vanquished, but happy.
A conscience at rest is like a clear sky within one's
self.

Soon I shall have my family with me, and I shall
wait quietly for God to restore me my country. But I
will only have her free.

Ex imo corde.

XI.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Thursday, 8th January, [1852].

I write to you from my room on the Grande Place,
with bright sunshine and the grand Hotel de Ville
before me. Yesterday I inspected the interior of the
Hotel de Ville with the Burgomaster of Brussels, M. de
Brouckere, who is most courteously showing me over
the town. I continue to be the object of a number of

1 A Belgian writer and poet.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 69

attentions here. The Maupas of Brussels, a certain
Baron Hody, who sent me the gendarmes last month,
has just been obliged to resign. My affair had some-
thing to do with his discomfiture.

We are told here that Xavier Duvieu, Kiviere the
advocate, and Hippolyte Magen the bookseller, have
been transported to Cayenne. This morning I had
a visit from the ex-constituant Laussedat, whose pro-
perty has been attached. Horrors are still going on in
France. As for Belgium, do not be the least uneasy.
The Ministers and the Burgomaster are profuse in cor-
dial assurances. So do not be afraid. I am a sort of
centre here. My hall for my room is a hall is
never empty. Sometimes there are thirty people in
it, and I have only two chairs ! I shall, however, make
an effort to exclude visitors ; for if I let in a crowd of
intruders, my time will be taken up, and I need it more
than ever. I am working hard at my book on the 2d
of December. The Belgian papers call Bonaparte
Napoleon le Petit So I shall have given names to
the two phases of the reactionary movement, Les Bur-
graves and Napoleon le Petit. This is an achieve-
ment at all events, in default of something better.

I embrace you, my good and noble wife. Your
letters inspire me with faith and strength. Tell my
dear little daughter and all the dear children in the
Conciergerie to write to me.

I am still expecting Charles at the end of the month.

Be careful of what you say.



70 TH LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Sunday, llth January, [1852].

You know by this time that I am banished by the
Bonaparte, that is to say, expelled, this is the word
which the fellow uses. Yesterday I was at Schoel-
cher's ; Charras arrived, and we all three had a talk.
Charras was telling us about his arrest, his imprison-
ment, his release, and things of the other world, when
Labrousse dropped in and said to me : " You^are ban-
ished, with sixty-eight representatives of the people^ as
socialist leaders. . . . I have seen the decree. Your
name caught my eye and I was looking for you to tell
you of it." " I hope that my name is in the list, too,"
said Charras. " And mine as well ! " said Schoelcher.
Whereupon we continued our conversation.

This, however, ought to reassure you a little as re-
gards Belgium. He cannot decently arrest us imme-
diately after the date of our expulsion. I am well
aware that he does not care a fig for decency. But all
the same he will not put forth his hand beyond the
frontier to seize us just now. A few months hence,
I dare say. But he has plenty to do at the present
moment. So set your mind at rest.

I am living, as you know, in the Grande Place. The
Burgomaster of Brussels came to see me. I said to
him : " Do you know that people say in Paris that the
Bonaparte will have me arrested here and carried off
at night in my lodging by police agents ? " M. de
Brouckere (the Burgomaster) shrugged his shoulders
and replied : " All you will have to do is to break a



TO PAUL MEURICE. 71

pane of glass and call for help. The Hotel de Ville is
close by. There are three sentinels. You will be well
defended, never fear ! "

I am working hard at the narrative of the 2d of
December. Every day materials reach me. The facts
which I have are incredible. J^wiUJbe history, and
will read like a romance. Evidently the



devoured in Europe. When shall I be able to pub-
lish it ? At present I do not know.

I have so much to do that I cannot write as many
letters to you all as I should like. I should spend my
life in writing to you ! I seem to be talking to you,
my beloved ones. My pen travels at random. The
writing is illegible, but what does that matter !

A subscription is being got up here, among us exiles,
for the poorest of us. I asked Schoelcher if there was
a maximum. He said fifteen francs, and I gave him
that sum.

Dearest, I fill up the space left with fond love to you
all. Write to me, all of you, and at length.

XIII.
To PAUL MEURICE.

BRUSSELS, Sunday, llth January, 1852.

MY DEAR FRIEND, My wife has already told you
how pleased I was with your letter, and how much I
was indebted to you for the details about the 2d of
December. Go on sending me everything that you can
collect. I am writing a formidable and curious book,
which will begin with the facts and end with ideas.

Never was there a finer opportunity or a more inex-
haustible subject. I shall treat the Bonaparte in proper



72 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

fashion. I will see to the fellow's historical future. I
will hand him down to posterity by the ears.

Give my respects to your noble wife, and accept a
warm shake of the hand for yourself.

XIV.

To THE MEMBERS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY.

BRUSSELS, 15th January, 1852.

MY DEAR COLLEAGUES, The political malefactor,
whose government lies heavy on France at this mo-
ment, has thought fit to issue a decree of expulsion in
which he has included me.

My crime is as follows :

I have done my duty.

I have, by every available means, including armed
resistance, defended the Constitution proceeding from
universal suffrage, the Kepublic, and the law against
the treachery of the 2d of December.

Those who are banished are forbidden, by order of
the coup d'etat, to reenter France on pain of trans-
portation to Cayenne, that is to say, on pain of death.

In this state of affairs, in face of the brute force
which is triumphant, and against which I renew my in-
dignant protests from my place of exile, I am unable
to take part in the election to the Academy which will
be held on the 22d of January, and I beg you, my dear
colleagues, to accept, with the expression of my regret,
the assurance of my heartfelt cordiality and my high
consideration.

VICTOR HUGO,
Representative of the People.



TO VAN HASSELT. 73

XV.

To ANDRIS VAN HASSELT.

16th January, 1852.

You overwhelm me, my dear colleague ; more than
that, you stock me with furniture. You send me a
sofa to Brussels, me who cannot even give you a seat
in the Academy in Paris. I regret it for our sake, for
the luckless Forty. The French Academy would be a
little less welche if it were to elect a few Belgians
like you.

All we can do now is to pity her : the poor Academy
looks quite foolish over there. Three exiles ! She has
not had such a time since 1815. Then it was Louis
XVIII. who expelled the other Napoleon, the Great,
from the Academy of Sciences.

As for me, I recline luxuriously on your excellent
sofa and read your admirable books. ingratitude
of man ! I begin to look with scorn on my portman-
teau, which I had raised to the dignity of sofa, and
which you have deprived of its employment. It is all
up, I am transformed from a Spartan into a sybarite.
I shall soon come and pay my respects to Mme. van
Hasselt and shake you by the hand.

XVI.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Saturday, 17th January, [1852]. ^

I have only a minute, dearest wife. I send this by
Schoelcher's servant, an old woman who has the cour-
age of ten men, and who has proved it. She will tell
you her history. Everything is going on fairly well



74 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

here. All the Liberal press is on our side, and warmly.
I send you some extracts from it about my banishment.
A number of papers ^throughout Belgium have re-
pwntecT my sipteech ojp47 on the return of the Bona-
partes. It jteedtrges a great effect here. I am glad to
think that Charles is coming, and that I shall see him
in a fortnight. I am convinced that he will prove him-
self a man here.

I shall probably manage to build a literary citadel,
from which we shall bombard the Bonaparte. If not
at Brussels, then at Jersey. Hetzel has been to see
me. He has a plan similar to mine. Again, Belgium
will turn towards us, I think, to protect its bookselling
trade. I send you two pages of a pamphlet. Bead
it, and give it to the inmates of the Conciergerie to
read. It is a symptom. Hetzel told me yesterday
that a book with the title, Le Deux Decembre, par
Victor Hugo, would command a sale of at least
200,000 copies.

When we are all four free, we may do some work
| together. ISJEJvenement, why not ? A political propa-
ganda at London, a literary one at Brussels, that is my
plan ; two centres, and our flame feeding them both.

To bring the matter to a successful issue, I must
live like a Stoic and a poor man, and say to them all :
I have no need of money ; I can wait, you see. A
man in want of money is at the mercy of speculators,
and is lost. Look at Dumas. I have a pallet, a table,
and a couple of chairs. I work all day, and I live
at the rate of 1200 francs a year. They feel that I
am strong, and I am overwhelmed with offers. When
we have settled something, you will join me, and we



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 75

will make the whole family comfortable again. I want
you to be all happy and pleased, you, my wife, and
you, my dear daughter, all of you in fact.

I think that Meurice, Auguste, Charles, and Victor
might write a history of the period from February,
'48, down to the 2d of December, together.

Distribute the work among yourselves. Each will
do his share here. We will work at the same table,
with the same inkstand, and the same thoughts. I
send you all, in the Tour d'Auvergne and La Con-
ciergerie, the fond love of a happy exile.

I will reply to ah 1 of you by the next post. In the
mean while write me, all of you, long letters. Dearest,
do not forget to fill up the sheets well.

By the way, I have seen the filth which he calls his
Constitution !

XVII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Monday, 19^ January, [1852].

This is only a line, which will reach you by the
post. Poor Charles will be sad at leaving you ; liberty
here is not equal to his prison. But it will be a great
happiness to me to see him; let this console him.
As for Victor, a kiss for him on his two cheeks ; and
you too, dear little daughter ; do not be jealous. But
how brave and courageous Victor is ! He writes me
the calmest, the firmest, the serenest letters imaginable,
with seven months of imprisonment before him !
Well done, dear child. You see that I anticipated
your thoughts in calling myself " the happy exile "
in my last letter.



76 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

All kinds of attentions are showered on me here.
There is no " people " at present in Belgium ; only a
bourgeoisie. It hated us democrats before it knew
us. The Jesuit papers, which abound here, had made
bogies of us. Now these worthy men look on us with
respect. They are furious at my banishment, which I
take quite easily. The other day a city magistrate
was reading me the paper in the restaurant. All at
once he cried out, JEJxpulsion ! and gave the table a
blow with his fist which broke his jug of beer. Just
now I was taking my early cup of chocolate, as usual,
at the Cafe des Mille Colonnes. A young man comes
up to me and says : " I am a painter, sir, and I have
come to ask a favor of you." " What is it ? " " The
permission to sketch, from your room, the view of the
Grande Place, and to offer you the picture." And he
added : " There are only two names in the world,
Kossuth and Victor Hugo."

Similar scenes occur every day. I shall be obliged,
on account of this, to breakfast at another cafe. I
attract a crowd there, and that bothers me.

The burgomaster comes to see me occasionally. The
other day he said to me : "I am at your disposal.
What can I do for you ? " " One thing." What
is it ? " " Not whitewash the front of your Hotel de
Ville." " But it looks better white." " No, it is better
black." " Well, you are an authority. I promise you
that the front shall not be whitewashed. But is there
anything I can do for yourself ? " " One thing."
" What is it ? " " Blacken the belfry." (They have
restored it, not badly, but it is white.) " Goodness !
blacken the belfry ! but it looks better white." " No,



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 77

it is better black." " Very well ; I will speak to the
town councilors, and it shall be done. I will tell them
it is for you."

This note is only a line, by the way. Continue to
write me long letters. Alas ! when shall we all be
together again ? Oh, if only a good proscription could
drive you all out of France !

Love to my Adele. Greetings to Auguste and Paul
Meurice.

XVIII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

Tuesday, 27th January, [1852].

To-morrow Charles will leave the Conciergerie.
Dearest, it will be a great blow to you to lose him and
a great joy to me to have him. I want him on his
return home to find this letter from me, which will tell
him that I am expecting him to come as soon as he can.

This is my mode of life and will be his here : I leave
No. 16 at the end of the month, and move to No. 27
in the same Grande Place. There we shall have two
bedrooms, one with a fireplace and a south aspect.
The latter is large and we can work together in it. I
propose to take it myself. If, however, Charles, who
feels the cold, would like the room with a fire for get-
ting up in the morning, I will let him have it for the
rest of the winter and move into it myself in the spring,
if we are still at Brussels. I have taken these rooms
at No. 27 from the 1st of February. As for expendi-
ture, it must be most strictly limited, as the future is
more than doubtful, and resources which are seemingly
safest may fail us altogether or for a time. I live on
100 francs a month. Here is the daily estimate :



78 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Rent 1 fr. 00

Breakfast (a cup of chocolate) . . . . f r. 50

Dinner . 1 f r. 25

Firing f r. 25

3fr. 00

That makes 90 francs for myself. The balance (10
francs) is for washing, tips, etc. Charles and I will
therefore spend 200 francs a month between us. In
this way we shall go on working until some arrange-
ment is made here or in London. Once a market for
our writings is assured, we shall be able to add to our
own and the general comfort. In seven months, dear-
est, you will all join us. By that time the situation
will have become clearer. We shall have settled some-
thing. I shall have sold all or part of my manuscripts
or my reprints, and we shall all be able to found, some-
where or other, in some beautiful and safe spot, a
happy colony.

Talking of that, Brofferio has written me a charm-
ing letter asking me to come to Piedmont and offering
me a villa on the Lago Maggiore. So cheer up. And
when I speak of aZ/, of course I mean my four sons.
Meurice and Auguste belong to the family.

I write this in haste, dearest. To-morrow, or the
day after at latest, Mme. K., who is spending a few
days here, will bring you another letter, and letters
for Auguste, for Paul Meurice, for my Victor, for
my darling daughter, and for Charles, if he has not
arrived here. Let me know the day and hour of his
arrival.

Send me my portfolio and my albums of sketches by
Charles. Before sending them, let Paul Meurice, Au-



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 79

guste, and Mme. Bouclier each choose a sketch from the
albums.

Dearest mamma, in a couple of days you will get a
longer letter. I think it is best to sublet, and I will
explain to you what I consider feasible. In the mean
while continue to be radiant. Melanie's remark is
stupid and worthy of her. Yes, be radiant. We are
passing through a useful and splendid period of adver-
sity. Everything that is happening is of use, to France
as a lesson, to our children as an ordeal, to us both as
a bond of love and a hallowing of our life.

I approve beforehand of all that you do and ah 1 that
you say. I know that you have a wise mind and a
great heart. You could not have given Villemain a
better answer. He is a friend, however, and I will
write to him.

One more word for you all. I love you dearly.

XIX.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.
BRUSSELS, Wednesday, 28th January, [1852].

I begin, dearest, by thanking you for everything.
This letter will be brought to you by Madame de Kis-
seleff. I spent a most pleasant evening at her house
yesterday. She invited me to meet Girardin, whom, in
fact, I had not seen. "We had called on each other
without meeting. Girardin said to me : " Finish your
book quickly, if you want it to appear before the end of
this regime." I found him, however, in certain respects,
skeptical and Bonapartist. He said to me : " Mme. de
Girardin is as red as you are. She is furious, and she
talks of ' the bandit ' like you." He believes that the



80 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Bonaparte will fall in three months, unless he goes to
war, which Persigny will urge him to do. In that
case Belgium, he said, would be invaded at the end of
March. It would be necessary to seek a place of safety
before that.

There has been a ^disposition to expel me from here.
The Belgian ministry stood its ground, and was shaken
by it. Kead what I write to Victor on this subject.
By the way, you must all read all the letters which I
address to each. It is the same letter that I continue,
and, as I suppose that you all read it, I do not repeat
facts. It is also necessary to be very prudent at the
Conciergerie. Read my letters, and speak of them
only among yourselves. Be on your guard against the
police, always at hand and on the lookout. You
must be more watched now than ever.

All that you tell me of the effect of the spoliation
decree is wonderfully true and just. That epitome of
every crime, the Second of December, has produced less
impression on the bourgeois, whether shopkeeper or
banker, than this confiscation. 1 To meddle with the
law is a trifle ; to lay hands on a family is everything.
The poor bourgeoisie has its heart in its breeches'
pocket. It is improving a little, however, they say, and
the Liberal opposition is reappearing. This is a good
sign ; and what I admire is the courage of the women.
Everywhere the women are raising their heads before
the men. I applaud them with all my heart.

Now let us talk of Charles. He is coming here.
He must work, or die of ennui and vacuity. But at
what ? There are no paying papers, and besides the

1 The confiscation of the property of the Orleans family.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 81

Belgian government would not allow a French writer
to make use of the liberty of the press here. What is
to be done? What useful work is there for him?
Here is what has occurred to me : in the first place,
what I have already written to Charles, the four to
write a history of the last four years with the help
of the Evenement collection, and distribute the work
among themselves before Charles leaves ; Charles would
do his share here, and the book would sell very well, in
a finished state ; this is the way things are managed
in Belgium.

Secondly, why should Charles not see Houssaye and
Gautier before he starts ? He might send them from
here non-political letters on Belgium for the Revue
de Paris, which he would do admirably. It seems to
me that he might make a hundred francs or so a month
in this way. I would keep him, and that would give
him pocket-money.

Think this over ; hold a consultation in the great
council of the Conciergerie. Let Charles take the
advice of our two dear burgraves, Auguste Vacquerie
and Paul Meurice.

Thank Beranger for me. As for Villemain, I am
grateful to him for everything. I am grateful to him
for having made the offer to you, and to you for hav-
ing refused it. Dearest, I am delighted to find you so
completely at one with me.

I send you all my heart, my thought, my life. I

send you, you specially, my fondest love.
VOL. n. 6



82 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XX.

To ANGELO BROFFERIO.

BRUSSELS, 2d February, 1852.
MY ELOQUENT AND DEAR COLLEAGUE, I thank

you from the bottom of my heart. As orator, you
answered me from your tribune ; as exile, you bid me
welcome.

I was glad of your sympathy as a politician and a
citizen ; I am proud of the offer of hospitality which
you make me with such dignity, which I should accept
with such pleasure.

I do not know what Providence has in store for
me ; imperious public duties have a greater call on me
than ever. It may be necessary for me not to leave the
frontier nearest to Paris. Brussels and London are
posts of combat. The writer must now take the place
of the speaker ; I shall continue with the pen the war
which I waged against despots with my voice. It js
the Bonaparte, the Bonaparte alone, whom I must now
grapple with ; to do this I may have to remain here or
go to London. But depend on it that the day when I
can leave Belgium or England, it will be for Turin. I
shall be delighted to grasp you by the hand. What a
number of things you combine in yourself ! You are
Italy, that is to say, glory ; you are Piedmont, that is to
say, liberty ; you are Brofferio, that is to say, eloquence.
Yes, I certainly shall go and see you before long, and
see your villa on the Lago Maggiore ; I shall visit you,
to find all that I love, blue sky, sunshine, untrammeled
thought, fraternal hospitality, nature, poetry, friend-
ship. When my second son has come out of prison, I



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 83

shall be able to realize this dream and gather my family
around your fireside.

We shah 1 speak of France, now, alas ! resembling
Italy, fallen and great ; we shall speak of the inevitable
future, of the assured triumph, of the last necessary
war, of the great federal Continental parliament, in
which I shah 1 perhaps have the supreme joy of sitting
by your side.

XXI.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

Saturday, 14th February, [1852].

Do not say, dearest, that I have no time to read.
Write me nice long letters, I beg of you. Do not get
out of the sweet habit of having long talks with me on
paper. Your letter, which is so short, reached us yes-
terday evening, Friday. We had not had any for ten
days after Charles's arrival. I have very little time for
writing. I get up at eight (I wake up Charles, who
generally stays in bed in spite of this), and then I set
to work. I go on working up to twelve ; then comes
breakfast. Up to three I have visitors. At three, I
begin work again. At five, dinner. Digestion (a stroll
or a visit) up to ten o'clock. At ten I come home and
work till twelve. At twelve I make my bed and retire
to rest. I make my bed for the following reason : the
sheets are about the size of napkins and the blankets
no bigger than table-covers. I have been obliged to
invent a plan of arranging them so as to have my feet
covered, and every night I make my bed. Charles
sleeps through it all.

I promised our dear Paul Meurice a drawing. The
one out of the small album does not count. By the



84 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

side of my bed, in front of the looking-glass, behind
the lacquered box with a small lid, there is a large
well-executed sketch representing two castles, of which
one is in the distance. Have a white margin of about
three inches put round it, and give it to Paul Meurice
from me. Thank him for his charming letter. Tell
Auguste, who writes to me, as he always does, a
letter full of profound observations, tell Meurice and
Victor, that I will write them the lines they want. The
least I can do for them is to send them a few stanzas
in their imprisonment.

Charles is very kind and nice. He makes up to me
a little for the separation from you all. The difficult
thing is to make him work. Up to the present I have
only been able to get out of him a few pages, very
well done, however, on what took place in the Con-
ciergerie. Tell our three prisoners to put down their
reminiscences and those of the others, and to send me
all the facts that they can.

I return to Charles. Pending L'histoire des quatre
annees, which Hetzel thinks an excellent thing and
likely to sell well, I told him to write a book on his six
months' imprisonment and our journey to Lille. La
Conciergerie et les Caves would be a good, interesting
volume. He promises to do it, he is as gentle as a
lamb, but he does not begin. I do not complain, for I
don't want you to scold him. I work enough for all.
Only I am afraid that time will be wasted. The years
fly by and habits are formed.

The other night he had gone out and I was at work.
At twelve o'clock a knock at the door. " Come in."
" Monsieur," says the landlady, " has your son a



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 85

key?" (of the street door). " No, he has not." "Then
I will wait up for him." "No, don't do that." "What
then ? " " You go to bed. I will come down into
your shop [the entrance is a tobacco shop] ; I can write
just as well at your counter as at my table, and I will
sit up for him."

I went down to the counter, perched myself on the
shopwoman's high stool, and wrote there. At three in
the morning Charles came in, and was astounded to
find me scribbling at the counter and sitting up for
him. I did not reproach him, but since then he has
never come in later than twelve.

As regards my negotiations .with the booksellers,
people in Belgium are afraid, and a free book-trade in
this country, even for purely literary works, is im-
possible at the present moment. The success which I
thought within my grasp eludes me. So we must wait
for a time. Hetzel is going to London and will try to
get it done there. Ah 1 this makes it necessary for us
to adhere strictly to our economical life of exiles, living
on three francs a day. However, I give Charles a little
pocket-money occasionally. It all goes in smoke.

Just now there was a knock at my door. I left off
my letter. It was the manager of the Varietes, M.
Carpier, who had come from Paris, he said, on purpose
to see me. He asked me, with many entreaties and
offers, to write a play for Frederic, Don Cesar. He
said a great deal about Auguste, whose eminent success
as a dramatist he foresees. He seemed to me an in-
telligent man. He told me that Maupas had uttered a
cry of delight at the idea of a play from me, fancying,
no doubt, that literature would take me away from poli-



86 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

tics. I told him that I would see about it after the
publication of my book, but that I could only break
silence now by a slap in the face to the coup d'etat.
He offered to bring his company to rehearse at Brussels
or in London, wherever I might be. I am to see him
again.

Farewell for the present, dear, dearest wife. My
love to Dede, and a great deal to yourself.

XXII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 22d February, [1852].

I begin by telling you that you are a noble and ad-
mirable woman. Your letters bring tears to my eyes.
Everything is in them, dignity, strength, simplicity,
courage, reason, serenity, tenderness. When you dis-
cuss politics you do it well, your judgment is good and
your remarks to the point. When you discuss busi-
ness and family matters, you show your large, kind
heart. How, then, can you imagine that I have a
shadow of an arriere-pensee with you, or with any
one ? What have I to hide from you, from you
above all people ?

My life will bear the closest scrutiny and so will my
inmost thoughts. You do not like to speak to me
about money matters. I can quite understand it. We
are poor, and we must try to pass with credit through
an ordeal which may come to an end soon, but which
may last long. I wear out my old shoes and my old
clothes ; that is easy enough. You have to bear priva-
tions, pain, penury even ; that is not so easy because
you are a wife and mother, but you do it gladly and



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 87

nobly. How, then, could I mistrust you ? About what
and for what reason ? Is not everything which I have
yours ? Do not say your money, say our money. I
am the administrator, that is all. As soon as I see my
poor sons working as I do, as soon as I find a market
and a publisher somewhere, at Brussels or in London,
no matter where, provided it is in a free country, as
soon as I have sold a manuscript, then I will hold my
hand and make the whole family more comfortable. In
the mean while, we must suffer a little. As for me, it
is your sufferings which pain me and not my own.

All this accounts for my strictness in the matter of
expenditure. Our income is not yet assured, and at
present does not cover our expenses. That will come,
but is not the case yet. How can you see any distrust
in that ? It is merely cautiousness, such as I have
with regard to myself. You know well that all my life
through I have begun privations and economies with
myself. Dearest, I am ready to make over our whole
fortune to you ; can you doubt it ? I would only say
to you : Be careful. One fine day I may fail you, and
we must try to have the capital intact after I am gone.

The dignity of your character even requires it. I
want you always to be independent of everybody.
Live as you have always lived, whether with me or
without me, proudly, worthily, looking down upon gov-
ernments, men, and things, and not caring for or need-
ing protection. That is the future which I should like
for you and for the children. This is the reason, I
repeat it, of my present strictness.

I see from the answer which Charles gives you and
which he has shown me that you scolded him a little in



88 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

your letter. Do not scold him. I want to see him
pleased and happy by my side, and if he will not work,
how can we help it ? Some day or other, I hope, rea-
son will come, something will tempt him, and he will
set to work. In the mean while I try to make him
happy. I do not reproach him, I give him complete
liberty, and I do what I can to make him like living
with me. I am sorry that he does not tell you any-
thing of this in his letter. Some day my children will
know all that I have been to them.

My book is getting on. I could finish it in a week
(working at night), if necessary. But I do not see any
need for hurry. Every day I receive fresh information
which obliges me to write parts of it over again. This
is a great nuisance. I am not afraid of work, but
I dislike work that is thrown away. I am not sure
whether I shall add the events in the provinces to
those in Paris. That might make it long and monot-
onous. Besides, Paris alone decides everything, and
entirely decided the Second of December, as usual.
Probably I shall only give a summary of the most in-
teresting events in the provinces, just enough to show
up the fiction of the alleged excesses. And then I
think it is better, both for the propaganda and for the
sale, that the book should be in one volume.

As regards the paper, 1 as at present advised, I agree
with Auguste. Nothing can be done under this law.
If a literary paper could be made a success, we might
think about it, however. Politics would be confined
to facts, and a splendid literary opposition would be

1 A proposal had been made to republish the Evenement in a literary
form.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 89

started. But would this be permitted ? Consult among
yourselves. You are nearer the scene of action.

Talking of good politics and good literature, here is
a noble letter :

MONSIEUR, As I do not admit your right to plun-
der my family, I cannot admit your right to assign me
an allowance in the name of France. I refuse the
dowry. HELEKE D' ORLEANS.

Charles will tell you that I took him to Louvain. I
had a great reception there. The librarian was waiting
for me at the library, the director of the Academy at
the Academy, the city magistrate at the Hotel de Ville.
I was presented with a medal. The cure was not wait-
ing for me at the church. I went there, however.

O '

The town was all agog. The students of the Univer-
sity followed me in the streets at a distance. One of
them wrote to me as follows : " We did not cheer you
for fear of offending our poor little government."

Dearest, I am finishing this at ten o'clock at night.
I am going to send it to Serriere, who starts to-morrow
morning. Several representatives Yvan, Labrousse,
Barthelemy are with me who are talking of you, and
who send you their respects. I will write to Abel and
to Beranger. I will write to my Victor and my brave
and charming little Adele. I say " little," although
she is as big as you, but I still see her a tiny little
thing, and saying, Papa e i.

Thank Meurice for his kind and interesting letter,
and embrace all my inmates of the Conciergerie. Love
to you, to you all.



90 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



XXIII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

25^ February, [1852].

I have spent the day with Marc Dufraisse, he dic-
tating to me, and I writing. In this way I have
scribbled twenty closely written pages without realizing
it, the result of which is, dearest, that I am worn out
this evening. I wanted to write to all my Conciergerie,
I wanted to write to my darling A dele, and I have
hardly time to send you a dozen lines. The big packet
must be for next time.

Yesterday I invited Girardin to dinner, and we
talked together very cordially. He told me of an arti-
cle of Gautier's which touches me. Thank Gautier for
me. Girardin said that it was charming, and promised
to send it me, as well as one by Janin. So you must
thank Janin, too. I am sure that thanks coming from
you will please him still more than if they came from
me. I have just read a good paragraph in the Eman-
cipation, a Jesuit and Bonapartist paper here. I tran-
scribe it for you. The subject is the Corps Legisla-
tif:

The elections are perfectly free. Yet a paper which should
venture to suggest the name of Victor Hugo or of Charras to the
electors would inevitably be suspended.

This is delightful. Here is what the Messager des
Chambres says on the same subject :

What the ministry of the interior concedes ostensibly, freedom
of voting, the police has orders to withdraw. Thus in the Faubourg
Saint-Antoine several workmen, heads of families, have been threat-



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 91

ened with a prosecution for clandestine printing, for having
printed, with one of the small lithographic presses which every
tradesman possesses, tickets with the name of Victor Hugo.

Of all the exiles, the illustrious poet is the one for whom M.
Bonaparte has the most hatred : it is personal animosity, enhanced
by the constantly increasing popularity of the poet. Detested in
aristocratic and middle-class circles before the coup d'etat, M.
Hugo has regained all the ground lost in them. He is now consid-
ered one of the most energetic champions of law and liberty.

Shrove Tuesday here is very frolicsome, and rather
farcical. From my room on the Grande Place I could
see the centre of the masquerades. My window was
a box for the play. The Flemings have a sleepy look
all the year through. On Shrove Tuesday there comes
an access of gayety which makes them wild. They are
very funny in this state. They get five at a time into
the same blouse, with enormous hats on, and dance
together. They smear their faces, cover themselves
with flour, paint themselves black, red, and yellow ; it
is killing. Yesterday the Grande Place was full of
scenes from Teniers and Callots. And then deafening
blasts from trumpets all the night. Under my window
I read the following notice : Societe des Crocodiles.
Dernier grand bal.

My book is getting on. I am pleased with it. I
read some friends a few pages, which produced a
great effect. I believe that it will be a signal victory
of intelligence over brute force, inkstand against
cannon. The inkstand will smash the cannon.

I feel that I am liked by everybody here. The bur-
gomaster and the town councilors are most attentive.
I believe that I rule the town a little. Really, all these
Belgians are very nice. They say that they hate the



92 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

French. At heart they have a great respect for them.
/ am quite fond of the worthy Belgians.

My darling daughter, play my air Brama from time
to time, and think of me while doing so. Tell your
dear mother to write me a long letter, and set her the
example. My Victor, do you do the same. Send me
plenty of big sheets from everybody, beginning with
yourself. I long to read your letters, and to embrace
you all.

Love to Auguste and Meurice. Have you given
Meurice the large sketch with the two castles ?

XXIV.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

Friday, 27th February, [1852].

M. Coste, of the Evenement, will take you this note.
Dearest, he is fortunate : he will see you and all the
others.

I have been rather unwell lately. Always at work,
going out very little, hardly taking any exercise, I who
used to be such a great walker ; this made me feel out
of sorts. I was feverish for a few days, but it is gone
now.

Charles and I still get on nicely and quietly together.
If he would only set to work seriously and of his own
accord, I should be almost happy here, if the word
" happy " can be used when you are not here, my
beloved, noble wife ; when you are not here, my dear
children ; when you are absent, you who are the joy of
my life !

We live with our eyes turned toward Paris, awaiting
your letters, dearest ; awaiting a big packet from the



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 93

Conciergerie. It is raining ; the weather is cold ; it is
Lent ; we feel lonely. We sadly want a ray of sun-
shine. It depends on you to send it us.

Tell Victor, tell Auguste, tell M. and Mme. Paul
Meurice that Charles and I are constantly talking of
them. Yesterday, at the exiles' table, Charles recited
some lines of Auguste's which set the whole colony in
a roar. It was the story of Madame Revel replaced by
Philippe-le-BeL You probably know it.

Embrace them all for me, even the men, and es-
pecially the women.

This is only a line to bid you good-morning, a
small interruption in my work. Give my Victor-Toto
and my Adele-Dede two kisses for me.

xxv.

To THE SAME.

BRUSSELS, 17th March, [1852].

Charles was getting into idle ways, and wasting his
time. On the other hand, he said he wanted gloves,
cabs, pocket-money, etc. I have made an arrangement
with him. I am to give him fifty francs a month for
his personal expenses, and he is to get up in the morn-
ing at eight, as I do, and work in my room until eleven.
On the strength of these three hours I am to let him
off work for the rest of the day. He accepted with
enthusiasm ; he got up and worked the first and the
second day ; but he is falling off already. Yesterday
he worked for half an hour, and to-day not at all. I
scolded him a little. At first he protested, in his usual
way ; then he understood, and I hope that from to-
morrow he will be regular. These fifty francs a month



94 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

will inconvenience me, but I had rather he did not get
into debt, and that he worked a little. You approve
what I have done, I hope? Oh, how I wish I had
you with me, and how I want you here to keep him
up to the mark ! Do not scold him for it, however.
Perhaps he will really set to work now. Behave as if
I had told you nothing about it.

His tastes lie in the direction of small plays, light
poetry, of facile and sterile things. I try to check this,
and to direct his mind towards serious work, calculated
to promote his views and be of service to him in the
future. I insist on his writing his book on the Con-
ciergerie. Do you speak to him about it, too.

As for me, you can picture my life. It is still the
same. I get up at eight ; work ; breakfast at eleven,
we have got beyond chocolate, Charles preferred a
cutlet ; visitors up to three ; work till five ; table d'hote
dinner, with Charles, Dumas, Noel Parfait, Bancel, etc.,
up to ten ; from ten to twelve work. I dine out some-
times, but not often. There is a nice rich old Polish
lady here, Mme. de Laska, who is very fond of
Charles. I have dined there once. Last week I met
Girardin, Quinet, and Dumas, when dining with a pub-
lisher here, M. Muquardt. The Brussels publishers
are afraid of my book on the Second of December.
I shall evidently be obliged to publish it in London.
The important point, however, is to do it. It will cer-
tainly be published, how, or by whom, does not
matter.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 95

XXVI.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, IQth March, [1852].

Dearest, you will have received through Mme. Noel
Parfait a letter for M. Duboy, advocate of the court
of appeal. It is of great importance to get the reply
to this letter as soon as possible. The following will
explain.

I want details of what took place at the High Court
on the Second of December for my book. Marc Du-
fraisse has written to M. Duboy, whom he knows, for
these details. Try to get a reply from M. Duboy. Send
to his house. Perhaps it would not be advisable to
tell him that the information is for me. That might
be an excuse for not communicating it.

Since I wrote to you, Charles has taken to work again
a little. Press him in the same direction as I do : a
solid, serious book, with the stamp of exile on it, and
making it impossible for any one to say that he has
learned nothing from his imprisonment.

He is in great request here. He is very nice, and
that accounts for it. I advise him to be dignified
and serious, even with women. No levity, no debts,
and work before play. He agrees to everything, and I
will try to make him practice it. But I sadly need you
to help me. Write to him always from this point of
view, without ever scolding him.

Yesterday I saw Girardin, and we had a good long
talk. He is publishing a socialist book here to-morrow,
and starts for Paris the same day. I do not think that
all you have heard of him is true. I found him very



96 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

satisfactory yesterday ; I said to him : " Go to Paris
as little as possible, remain there as little as possible,
be as much of an exile as possible."

He thanked me and made rather an interesting re-
mark. He said to me : " You have been the dart.
You flew an immense distance in an incredibly short
space of time, and you buried yourself so deep in de-
mocracy that no power on earth will be able to pull
you out of it."

If you see Mme. de Girardin, congratulate her from
me on her courage and her moral grandeur.

Dearest, do not forget that I must have a dozen or
so good pages next time. All your letters are full of
beauty and strength. If I needed energy, they would
give it me. Let us be of good hope. All is well when
the head is well, and we have never had a clearer or
better idea of our position than now.

Kiss my Victor, kiss my A dele, and tell them to kiss
you. I shall seem to be among you. My love to Paul
Meurice and Auguste Vacquerie. My kind regards
to Mme. Paul.

XXVII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Monday, 22d March, [1852].

Good-morning, dear mamma. This is only a hasty
line to tell you that we are well and to send you
Dumas' article, which is so nice for you. Write and
thank him. He will be much touched by it.

M. Carpier, the manager of the Varietes, is here
again, " to see me," he still says. I repeated the cate-
gorical statement which I had already made him, that
it was impossible for me to write anything for the



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 97

theatre, and especially a comedy, before I had per-
formed a political act and published my book. He
said : " But after your book has come out they will
prohibit your piece." " Very possibly/' I rejoined,
" but it is my duty." He told me, by the way, that
the Elysee was much alarmed about my book, and that
Romieu had spoken to him of it with anxiety. Good !
He wants Charles to write a play for him. Provided
Charles writes it in verse, so as to dispel all idea of a
light piece, and provided also he has published or
finished his Conciergerie beforehand, I quite approve,
and I urge him to do it.

Hetzel says that a line from me to Desnoyers would
open the columns of the Siecle to Charles. I will send
it you. Charles might send the Siecle non-political
letters on Brussels. Let me know your views.

I am up to the neck in my cesspool of the Second
of December. As soon as I have emptied it, I shall
cleanse the wings of my mind and publish some poetry.

XXVIII.

To THE SAME.

Friday, 26th March, [1852].

Charles will explain, dearest, why our letters are so
hurried. However, if my letters are short, they are
frequent, and besides, you know how I work. Really,
you owe me a page for every line of mine.

I should like to be able to write to you at length, for
I have a piece of news to tell you. A few days ago,
I received a visit from an Imperialist, an old friend
of mine, and a friend of Louis Bonaparte. He was on
his way through Brussels, he said, and did not like to



VOL. n.



98 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

leave without shaking me by the hand. He said that
Louis Bonaparte was grieved at the fatality which
separates us.

" It is not fatality/' I said, " it is crime. And his
crime is a gulf." He resumed : " He is well aware
of the obligations under which the family is to you.
He hesitated for five days before putting your name
on the proscription list." " Ah ! " I said with a
laugh, " he would have preferred putting me on the
roll of the Senate, eh ? Well, tell him this, that the
roll of the Senate is the proscription list. To be an
outcast from France is only a misfortune. To be an
outcast from honor is real misery."

The worthy man will be a Senator one of these days.
He took his departure.

XXIX.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Sik April, [1852].

More impromptu notes, dearest. Our dear good
Deschanel, who will bring you this, is starting for Paris
in an hour. Eeceive him as one of our best friends, as
he is. I saw by a few lines from Paul in the Inde-
pendance (thank Paul from me) that you had taken
steps, and to some purpose, about the silly rumors
spread by the Elysee on the subject of my solicited
return. I had replied at once here by the follow-
ing :

Several papers announce that M. Victor Hugo has been author-
ized to return to France. It is difficult to account for such a re-
port. M. Hugo formerly procured for M. Bonaparte permission to
return to France. He has no need to solicit it from him to-day.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 99

Now you know all about my dialogue with the
Ely see. I hope that this will silence him.

Dearest mamma, I spent such a nice evening yester-
day. Alexandre Dumas has arrived, we dined together,
and spoke about you. He told me again how every
one loves and respects you, and I told him that every
one is quite right.

You will have seen Hetzel. He will have spoken to
you about my book, and pointed out to you the diffi-
culties in the way of publishing it. These obstacles
will disappear. M. Trouve-Chauvel, the ex-Minister of
Finance, came to see me just now. I think he will
go to London and see to the publication of my book.
There were three ex-Ministers of 1848 in my room,
Charras, Freslon, and Trouve-Chauvel. I read them a
few pages of my manuscript. The effect was good.
Trouve-Chauvel said : " The book will be an event and
a monument."

Have you seen this story ?

M. Villemain having been obliged to go to the Elyse'e on some
matter relating to the French Academy, M. Bonaparte said to him
in rather a sour tone : " Monsieur Villemain, the French Academy
won't make friends with me ; it is not like the Academy of Sciences,
which has given me three Senators." " The French Academy is
more fortunate," replied M. Villemain, "it has given you three



This exhausts my budget of news for to-day. But
my heart is full. I could go on writing to you on that
subject indefinitely. Charles has gone out, but I send
you his fond love as well as mine, and also to Dede and
Toto. I am very weary of Toto's imprisonment. If
he is as weary of my exile, it will be a joyful day when



100 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

we meet again. I have heard of Paul Meurice's great
success. Congratulate him and embrace him for me.
My warmest regards to Auguste.



\



To MTVTK. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, Uth April, [1852].

Dearest mamma, I send you a line for Paul Meu-
rice. His success l has been a great pleasure to us here.
We drank his health ; tell him that.

I have twice had a visit which I cannot describe at
length, but which I will tell you about on the happy
day when we meet again. It was from the physician
of the Orleans family, M. Gueneau de Mussy. Al-
though he denied it, it seemed to me that he had a
mission. He is a superior man, however, and was very
nice in every way. He told me that the Orleans family
had never forgotten that I was the last person who pro-
claimed the Regency on the 24th of February in the
Place de la Bastille, when all their friends were con-
cealing themselves and disappearing. He told me that
the Duchess of Orleans said of me in a tone of grief :
"What ! is it possible that he is not our friend!"

I spoke to him warmly of the Orleans princes, and
in particular with great respect and profound sympathy
of the Duchess of Orleans. But I ended by saying :
" However, I belong for good and all to the Republic."
I think he must have understood.

The weather has been very fine here for some days,
but I cannot take advantage of it, working almost all
day. At this moment I have splendid sunshine on this

1 The drama Benvenuto Cellini.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 101

letter, and my window is wide open. The only thing
which tires me is that I am frequently obliged to rewrite
parts of my book, owing to the receipt of fresh infor-
mation. Oh ! how well I understand the remark of
the abbe Vertot : Mon siege estfait ! l

My affection of the larynx has almost disappeared ;
a dull, settled pain in the heart has come in its place.
They tell me that I ought to take exercise and work
less, and this is the very thing I cannot do. I must
hope for the best !

We think here that all is going on satisfactorily in
Paris. I rather distrust our judgment as exiles, and
I try not to flatter myself. After all, let Providence
do as it thinks fit. I have ten years of exile at the ser-
vice of the Republic.

Dearest, nothing can be nobler, more dignified, or
better than your letters. Their only fault is that they
are sometimes short. So write to me at length and
often.

xxxi. ,/'

To THE SAME. *> , > A , , 5-V V 5 ^ ; '* : "

BRUSSELS, 19th April, [1852].

Dearest, I answer your letter at once. I am very
pleased with my Toto. Impress this on him and kiss
him for me on both cheeks. Everybody congratulates

1 An allusion to an anecdote well known in France. The abbe* Vertot
was a writer of the eighteenth century, the historian of the Order of Malta.
He had asked a friend for some documents relating to a very important
siege sustained by Malta. The documents were a long time in coming,
but at last the friend brought them ; they were authentic and of great
importance. " Too late," cried the abbe* Vertot. "Mon siege estfait ! " (I
have finished the history of the siege 1) The remark has become prover-
bial in France.



102 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

me warmly about him. People stop me in the street to
say : You have a son who is worthy of you. Only he
must understand that dignite oblige. He must go on
as he has begun, and he and Charles must take life
seriously. Everything that you write to me on this
point is profoundly just and true. Do you hear, Vic-
tor ? Trust your mother and follow her advice.

So I am going to see you all again, and we shall
resume our happy family life. This fills us with joy
here. But we must make our plans rapidly and at
once.

If I sell my book in England, as seems more and
more probable, I shall leave Belgium in a fortnight or
three weeks. It would perhaps be unadvisable for you
to come and settle here, take an apartment, etc., for
such a short time. In that case this is my idea : as
soon as my book is sold, I would go to London and
from there straight to Jersey. Jersey is a very pretty
'island belonging Jo England, seventeen leagues from
tie 'coast '-bf'Frake'e. Living is comfortable and cheap
'$&?&; : r AlJ^the 6xilep say that it is very nice. I would
try to find, arid profcably should find, an apartment in
Jersey, perhaps a small house, with a sea-view and
southern aspect, and why not? a garden. We
would settle ourselves in Jersey as comfortably as pos-
sible, and the Bonaparte might last as long as he
liked, it would be all the same to us. We could go
to London in the winter and spend the summer in
Jersey. French is spoken in Jersey, which is impor-
tant, as none of us know English.

I may add that our friends would join us. We
should have a spare room for Auguste, a floor for M.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 103

and Mme. Paul Meurice, and from there we could
work together at the Moniteur universel des peuples,
of which I am now laying the foundations with M.
Trouve-Chauvel. He starts for London to-morrow,
with notes dictated by me. He is enthusiastic ahout
my idea of a triple publication in London, Brussels,
and New York, and of a Journal des peuples edited
by Kossuth, Mazzini, etc., and myself. I think we
shall do great things. But all this obliges us to leave
Belgium. I am sorry, for it is a nice country and
would have been very pleasant in the summer. Just
now we are troubled with cold.

Let me know what you think of all this, dearest
mamma. If you prefer to come at once, do not hesi-
tate to say so. I shall make no objection, never fear !
If you think it advisable to adopt my plan, discuss it
with Dede and Toto, and write to me about it.

In any event, I will do what you wish, what you all
wish, my beloved ones.

My pain in the heart is better. Fond love to you
and the children. Consult Auguste about my plan.
My warmest regards to him and to Meurice.

XXXII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 30th April, [1852].

Dearest, the day before yesterday, as Lamoriciere was
leaving my room, Bixio arrived and gave me your
letter.

You scold me for the shortness of my letters, and I
thank you for scolding me ; but I do not deserve it.
I write incessantly ; the farther I get, the greater the



104 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

mass of material. It is now clear that there will be
two volumes. In the morning I write the book ; after
twelve o'clock I get up the case, take down evidence,
listen to witnesses, etc. In the evening I work at the
book again. I have not even time for an hour's walk
in the day ; barely half an hour, after dinner, and
besides, it is very cold in the evening. You see that
when I write, two pages from me is more meritorious
than ten from any one else. However, I delight in
talking to you.

Charles has set to work, and, I hope, in earnest. He
will write and we shall send you before long the first
letter to the Siecle. It is rather a difficult thing to do.
To avoid politics at a time like this and to manage to
be interesting is no easy matter. But I am sure that
Charles will get through it admirably.

Dearest, if the non-settlement of my affairs in London
should entail a longer stay here, we would take steps at
once, and you should join us immediately. We are as
anxious to have you as you are to have us. Our life
here is all broken up, and we long to have a home
again, the only real happiness for exiles.

I have not much space left, and will fill it with affec-
tionate messages. I embrace you and Dede and Vic-
tor. Tell Victor that Charles is working. Now, then,
a race between Victor and Charles ! I embrace you
once more. Our warmest regards to Vacquerie, and
to Meurice, whose Benvenuto delights me.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 105

XXXIII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 12th May, 9 P. M., [1852].

Dearest, your letter has reached me. Although I do
not reproach myself, for my whole time is spent in
unremitting labor, I am sorry to think that you have
been a fortnight without letters, and that you are in
low spirits. I want you to get two letters, one after
another. Charles, who has worked hard all the week,
has gone to the theatre this evening to see Mme. Guyon
act, and I am staying at home to write to you.

I have not yet seen the man from London. I was
expecting him yesterday, and I still expect him. I am
afraid, sad to say, that even in England there is no
such thing as a free press, and that they shrink from
publishing my book. This is between ourselves, for
you must not mention this hitch to any one. The peo-
ple at the Elysee would be delighted to hear of it, and
would try to throw more difficulties in the way. In
that case my mind is made up : I shall publish the book
at my own expense, no matter how.

By this time you will have received Charles's article.
It is very remarkable, and will, I think, be much no-
ticed. As soon as the first article is inserted, I am
sure that Charles will work, and that is a great
point.

My dear wife, my dear little daughter, my Victor,
how I miss you ! I am often very sad here. I long
for the time when we shall all meet. I should like to
see a smile on the sweet face of my Adele-Dede. Do
you know, my Dede, that it will soon be six months



106 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

six months since I saw you ! And you, my Victor,
make your mother happy till I come.

I take refuge from all my sad thoughts in work,
work in the morning, work in the day, work at night.
But all this toil is another source of sadness, an austere
task of punishment and of justice.

When we are together, I shall write some verses, I
shall publish a big volume of poetry. I shall rejoice
in it, and I think we shall have a charming time.
Would that it had arrived already !

Mme. Guyon has brought me a very noble letter
from Janin. Thank him if you meet him. Tell our
dear Theophile, too, how touched I am at reading my
name in his fine articles.

xxxiv.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 30th May, [1852].

I answer you without delay, dearest, and you will
get this letter to-morrow morning. I send it direct,
so as not to lose time. All the plans you have made
are excellent. Go on ; it is impossible to do better.
Dearest, I am distressed to think that you are alone
over there, and that you have to provide for so many
things all at once. But I too, you know, am hard at
work ; I do not waste a minute.

Charles had a letter from Victor yesterday. The
poor child has some trouble ; you will know what it is.
He asks me to take him in here. We wrote to him to
come directly. I imagine he will arrive on Tuesday
morning. We will try to occupy him and console him.
But you will be still more lonely. That makes me all



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 107

the more anxious to hasten the time when we shall all
be together, a happy time, you will see !

My beloved, this letter is nothing but business from
beginning to end. I have hardly been able to tell you
a word of what I feel. I could not do without you,
do you understand? You have been great and ad-
mirable throughout all these trials. Do not doubt for
a moment, either of the present or of the future. You
will see what a happy little group we shall be in Jersey.
Charles and I send our fondest love to you. If there
is any delay about Jersey, you must come and join us
at Brussels. Tell Victor that his room (your room) is
ready.

Dearest wife and daughter, I love you. You are my
delight and my joy.

My warmest regards to Paul Meurice. Has Au-
guste come back?

XXXV.

To THE SAME.

BRUSSELS, 1st July, [1852].

A line in haste, dearest. Having no messenger, I
send it by post. This very day a volume of mine has
gone to press in London. No one has dared to buy
the manuscript ; it is being printed, that is all they
have ventured to do in England.

It will appear on the 25th of July, and will be called
Napoleon le Petit. It is about the size of Le Dernier
Jour d 9 un Condamne.

I wrote this book after you left us. 1 I shall publish

1 Mme. Victor Hugo had spent a few days in Brussels at the beginning
of June.



108 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

the history of the Second of December later. Being
obliged to postpone it, I did not want Bonaparte to
profit by the delay. I hope that you will all like No-
poleon le Petit. It is one of my best things. I wrote
it in a month, working almost night and day.

The great business in London is going on satisfac-
torily. The capitalist has been found, but he wants
to confine himself to literature. They are afraid of
democracy in England.

Charles is writing his novel, and working hard. I
am very pleased at this.

Do not mention Napoleon le Petit to any one, ex-
cept Auguste and Paul Meurice ; and beg them to say
nothing about it. It must fall like a bombshell.

I have a great many things to say to you, but the
post is going. Farewell for the present. I love you all.

XXXVI.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

BRUSSELS, 13^ July, [1852].

Yesterday there was an incident. A deputation of
exiles begged me not to leave Brussels. I replied :
"It does not rest with me; I shall be expelled." "Wait
till you are expelled/' was the reply. I said to them :
" But if we make a scandal of it, which may be a useful
political step, there will be joint responsibility ; you
will, perhaps, all be expelled." " Well, we will follow
you, and rally round you again in Jersey. If you
leave, the exiles in Belgium lose their leader. The
party, which is now in Brussels, will be shifted to Lon-
don. You are the centre. In Jersey you will be iso-
lated. Stick to us until you are expelled." I told them



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 109

that I was quite at their service ; and I begged them
to reflect, for a general expulsion would be against the
interests of many, especially the poorer ones. They are
going to consult together again, and will come back.

My departure from here is none the less certain,
for the Lehon ministry will certainly expel me, but,
being no longer voluntary, it will be delayed for a
few days.

You will have heard that in the papers here and in
Germany I have been made senator, prince, and grand
eagle of the Legion of Honor, with an allowance of
two millions, in return for which Napoleon le Petit is
to remain unpublished. I shrugged my shoulders.
Then they talked about an amnesty.

Charles is finishing his novel. He read me the first
chapters, which are admirably done. It is very re-
markable, as regards both style and matter. I have no
doubt whatever of its success, and I think you will
be pleased.

XXXVII.

To THE SAME.

25th July, Sunday morning, [1852].

The printer has just left me, dearest. The book
will appear on Wednesday or Thursday at the latest.
You must start, therefore, as soon as you receive this.
Go straight to Jersey, to Saint-Helier, which is the
principal town. There must be good hotels there.
You will take up your abode there, and await us.
Charles has not finished his book, but is determined to
start with me. I expect we shall be in Jersey by Friday
or Saturday at the latest, as we intend to rush through
London.



110 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Dearest, before the week is over, I hope we shall see
each other and be together again. It will be a real
happiness, the first after these seven months of exile.
My dear little Dede, how glad I shall be to embrace
you.

A number of incidents have happened and are still
happening, and a violent Bonapartist storm will burst
over the book. This is a matter of course. I will tell
you the details when we meet.

You must have spent a happy week at Villequier.
A portion of my heart lies buried there. Dearest, you
went to see Didine's and Charles's grave ; you prayed
for yourself and for me, did you not ?

As one must be prepared for everything, and inci-
dents may delay us, do not be uneasy if we should
not arrive in Jersey by the end of the week. I firmly
believe, however, that we shall.

My fellow-exiles did not want me to go. Three
deputations came to see me about it. I explained to
them that my forced (inevitable) expulsion would mean
honor for me and loss of prestige for them. They
withdrew their objections, but I am glad to see that
they are sorry to lose me, and that all of them, or
nearly all, love me, and would be ready to rally round
me. I know what I want, and I want only what is
right.

I hope that I shall find Auguste in Jersey, and am
delighted to hear what you tell me of the intended visit
of Paul Meurice and his charming wife. We shall per-
haps have some quiet days there, in spite of the tumult
that is raised around my name.

Ponsard has been to see me. Janin has been, and



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. Ill

he shed tears when he embraced me. I believe I shall
leave a good impression here, and that my memory will
be respected.

I have only space left to send my fondest love to you
and my Dede.

XXXVIII.

To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

LONDON, 2d August, [1852].

Here we are in London, dearest. I am writing in
great haste. Charles and I left Brussels the day be-
fore yesterday ; my fellow-exiles had given me a fare-
well dinner the evening before. The following day
several of them, among others Madier-Montjau and
Deschanel, escorted me to Antwerp ; there our fellow-
refugees in Antwerp were awaiting me ; they gave me
a reception, and a banquet was arranged at which I
took the chair. Yesterday the Belgian democrats of
Antwerp entertained me at a grand luncheon to which
they invited all the exiles.

Just as we were sitting down, a number of represen-
tatives and refugees from all parts of Belgium arrived
to bid me farewell, among them Charras, Parfait, Ver-
signy, Brives, Valentin, Etienne Arago, etc., Agricol
Perdiguier, Gaston Dussoubs, Buvignier, Labrousse,
Besse, etc., had already come to Antwerp for the same
purpose, and a lot of exiled writers and journalists,
Leroy, Courmeaux, Arsene Meunier.

Bocage came expressly from Paris. The whole jour-
ney was one long ovation.

When I left, Madier-Montjau addressed me in a
really fine speech, which came from the heart. I spoke
pretty well in reply. Then came speeches from the



112 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

writers, from the representatives, from the Belgians,
among them Cappellemans, whom you saw at Paul's and
who made some touching remarks. When I embarked
for London on the Ravensbourne at three o'clock, the
quay was covered with an enormous crowd, the women
were waving their handkerchiefs, the men were shout-
ing, Vive Victor Hugo. I had tears in my eyes, and
so had Charles. I replied, Vive la Repiiblique, which
produced a still louder burst of cheering.

At that moment came a pelting shower of rain,
which, however, did not disperse them. All remained
on the quay as long as the steamer was in sight. Alex-
andre Dumas' white waistcoat could be distinguished
in the middle of them, Alexandre Dumas was kind
and charming up to the last minute. He insisted on
being the last to embrace me. I cannot tell you how
deeply all this manifestation touched me. I saw with
joy that I had sowed some good seed.

Madier-Montjau and Charras begged me, on behalf
of all our fellow-exiles in Belgium, to see Mazzini,
Ledru-Rollin, and Kossuth here, to settle the interests of
European democracy with them. They said : " Speak
as our leader." This will keep me in London till
Wednesday. So expect us in Jersey on Thursday or
Friday.

I hope that you are fairly comfortable there, and that
before long you will be quite so. Charles is develop-
ing amid all this ; he is going ahead in a thoroughly
manly fashion.

If Auguste is with you in Jersey, it will be a great
pleasure to me to embrace him. I wrote to Victor to
be there by the 5th, and I count on it. We shall then
be the old happy group.



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 113

My book will not appear till Thursday. There have
been delays enjoined by prudence which I will explain
to you. I am going to give the first five hundred
francs which it will bring in to the exiles' fund.

I embrace you, my dearest wife. I embrace my
Dede, whom I have not seen for eight months. Alas,
yes, it will be eight months to-morrow. What happi-
ness ! To meet again !
VOL. n. 8



III. LETTERS FROM EXILE.

1852-1870.



I.

To M. LUTHEBEAU, at Brussels.

JERSEY, I5th August, 1852.

HERE we are, my dear friend^in a deHghtful spot ;
everything is lovely and charming. You pass from a
wood to a group of rocks, from a garden to a reef,
from a meadow to the sea. The inhabitants are well
disposed towards refugees. You can see France from
the coast.

I shall write soon to my excellent colleague Yvan.
He ought to look us up in Jersey. We would spend a
year there and then go to Madeira or Teneriffe to-
gether. After which M. Bonaparte would fall and all
of us would return to France singing a final chorus.
Tell him of this plan.

To-morrow I move with my family into a pretty little
house which I have taken, near the sea. My address
now will be : St. Luke's, 3 Marine Terrace. But there
is no need to put an address. All letters directed
simply to Jersey reach me.



116 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

II.

To ANDRE VAN HASSELT.

JERSEY, 15th August, 1852.

I am enveloped in poetry, dear poet, amid rocks,
meadows, roses, clouds, and the sea, and naturally my
thoughts turn to you.

What fine lines you would write if you were here !
They spring as it were of themselves from this splendid
scenery. When the view is not grand, it is lovely.

To-morrow I take up my abode in a little den near
the sea, which the newspapers of the island describe as
a " superb house on the Azette shore." It is a cottage,
but the ocean lies at its foot.

We talk about you among ourselves ; my wife and
my daughter read your fine works, which I brought
them. Charles and I tell them of our expeditions to
Louvain, to Hal, in your company. We miss you ; we
long to have you.

About ten or twelve miles from here there is a huge
rock, an island called Sark. It is a sort of fairy palace
full of marvels. A man named Ludder or Lupper has
just bought the manorial rights of it for 6000. Here
is one of those cases in which poets envy millionaires.
I should like to buy such an island and give it to Mme.
van Hasselt. She would be obliged to come there.
We should have your pleasant talk, dear poet. And I
should still be the richer of the two.



TO ALPHONSE ESQUIROS. 117

in.

To ALPHONSE ESQUIROS.

MARINE TERRACE, 5th March, 1853.

Are you still in Belgium ? Are you still at Nivelles ?
I write to you at random. My thoughts often turn to
you. You must feel it. Your letter of the end of
December moved me deeply. It seemed to me like a
greeting from our youth, with a tenderness refined by
exile.

You are one of the men whom I love the most and
the best. You have all the great beliefs in the future
and in progress. You are a poet as well as an orator,
with enthusiasm for truth in your mind, and a ray of
the future in your eyes. Grow greater and greater ;
cultivate more and more your sympathy, your tender-
ness, and your firmness. Let us one and all, militant
minds and consciences weighed down with this age of
struggle and transformation, accept the great law which
presses on us without crushing us ; let us hold our-
selves ready for the future evolutions of events and
things ; let us belong to the people now and prepare
for belonging to humanity in the future.

I write all this as my mind runs on, at random, as it
comes to me, somewhat as the ocean flings its waves,
its weeds, and its breezes. Come and look at our Jer-
sey sea, if you go to Portugal this spring. I am as-
sured, and I can well believe it, that Jersey is a para-
dise in April. It is melancholy and gloomy in winter,
but the summer makes up for this. Come to us, dear
poet, with April, with the dawn, with the spring, with
the songs of the birds.



118 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

I have spent my winter in writing some sombre lines.
They will be called Chdtiments. You can guess the
subject. You will read them one of these days.
Napoleon le Petit being in prose was only half of the
work. The wretch was roasted on one side only ; I
turn him over on the gridiron.

Oh, my dear comrade in thought and in action, let
us not lose heart. Let us persist, let us struggle on,
let us redouble our efforts, let us persevere in the war
against unrighteousness, hatred, and darkness.

IV.
To ANDR^ VAN HASSELT.

MARINE TERRACE, llth May, 1853.

It will be a year to-morrow, dear poet, you recollect
and I do not forget, since we went to Hal together ;
it was raining a little, but we did not notice the cloudy
sky and we did not feel the cold wind as we listened to
your talk. We went to see the marvels of ancient art
together, we bought the Catholic knickknacks and the
pictures of miracles sold at the church door, and Charles
and I shocked you a little by laughing at the miracles
inside. I believe, heaven help me, that I managed, like
a demagogue that I am, to count the stone balls which
the black virgin received so opportunely in her apron.

Now I am far away ; I see no miracle but the con-
tinuance of the hideous reign of crime and fear. The
beautiful church and the charming poet are no longer
there, but I think of you, and through space, over sea,
sky, cloud, wind, and tempest, I send you my thoughts.

I also send you a picture of myself and one of
Charles, done by my other son Victor. The door be-



TO NOEL PARFAIT. 119

hind us is the small door of our tiny house. In these
three square inches you have the exile and his cottage.

What you do not have, what could not be contained
in such a small space, what I cannot send you, for
words are powerless to express feelings, is my deep and
tender friendship for you. I divide it in two and lay
one half at the feet of your charming wife.

You have read fragments of the speech. 1 I send
you the whole of it. Do not be distressed, but rejoice
that the victims preach magnanimity to the persecutors.
It is a noble sight, and worthy of your mind.

v.

To NOEL PARFAIT.

MARINE TERRACE, 29th October, [1853].

What has become of you? What has become of
Brussels ? What has become of the Boulevard Water-
loo ? As for Dumas, we hear of him. Every morning
we get a sparkling page which tells us that the kind
heart and the great mind are well. Your last letter
delighted us, dear exile ; it was a delicious little private
diary, resembling your smile. Charles said : " C'est
Parfait." And we all repeated the pun with which
Providence has connected you.

You had, about two months ago, a delightful evening
fete. The Presse related it to us from the Indepen-
dance Beige (article signed with a capital D, and written
by a charming fellow called Deschanel) ; then the said
fete came back to us from New York quite fresh through
the RepublicaMi) from California through the Messager
of San Francisco, from Bio Janeiro through the Cor-

1 A speech over the grave of a refugee.



120 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

reio National, and from Quebec through the Moniteur
Canadien. Tell Dumas, so that he inay see that his
fetes are as successful as his books. Tell Deschanel,
too, who will not be sorry to have been reprinted by
the four points of the compass.

The equinox is blowing with force here ; but it makes
no difference, we live in profound calm. The skies
weep ; the sea howls among the rocks ; the wind roars
like a wild beast ; the trees writhe on the hills ; Nature
rages around me. I look her full in the face, and say
to her : What right have you to complain, Nature ; you
who are in your abode, while I who have been driven
from my country and my home, I smile ! There is my
dialogue with the north wind and the rain. Make use
of it in your turn as opportunity offers.

The book * I have told you about is at last going to
appear. When you see all my dear friends, Charras,
Deschanel, Place, Laussedat, Labrousse, Madier, our
brave and eloquent Madier, greet them for me.

VI.

pT] To MLLE. LOUISE BERTIN.

[1853.]

Remain the great mind that I have known.

Remain the same great heart and great soul.

The success of the moment is nothing. Justice and
truth are everything.

You are capable of comprehending the grandeur of
the struggle of right against crime ; of the idea against
brute force ; of the thinker against the dictator ; of the
moral atom against material iniquity. You are capable

1 Zes Chdtiments.



TO EMILE DESCHANEL. 121

of comprehending this ; you do comprehend it, I am
certain. Do not write in such a way as to inspire
doubts of it.

Yes, we suffer.

We suffer and we smile.

If these men did not suffer, where would their merit
be? If they did not smile, where would be their
grandeur ?

Remain yourself. Cherish the proud isolation of
your mind. That certain men should surround ycfu is
intelligible ; but that they should influence you, no,
never ! Do not permit it. You are too high for that.
It is the triumph of small minds to mount on the
shoulders of superior minds. Do not allow them these
familiarities. . . .

Do not, with your virile intelligence, sink into the
monarchist trifling. Look at the real future. Your
eyes are strong enough to gaze steadfastly at that
sun. . . .

VII.

To EMILE DESCHANEL, at Brussels.
MARINE TERRACE, Sunday, llth December, [1853].

Will you still object? Am I right in calling you
my poet ? Do you know that your lines are superb ?
The close is marked by an energy qui vous sacre brun,
ou meme noir. " Sacrebrun " will, perhaps, make you
say " sacrebleu." But what do I care ? Swear, if you
like. Your lines delighted us. Charles claps his hands,
Toto drums with his feet, Vacquerie embraces you.

The Jersey papers quote from every part of the
book, 1 and are full of it ; and, oddly enough, the Eng-

1 Les Chatiments.



122 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

lish papers themselves quote it in French. They say
that the lines are untranslatable, which made an English
lady here ask the other day if they were obscene. I
replied : Not a doubt of it ; the Bonaparte is in every
line.

How I should like to be among you again, if it
were only for an hour. Do you still dine at the Aigle ?
Do you remember Charles's tirades against the white
asparagus ? and that excellent faro ! l and our pleasant
talks ! and our hearty laughter ! And our long dis-
course on the soul and on God, which we put off to
another day, which has never come ! And your course
of lectures, as the climax of all ! I can see you now
at the end of the large room, which was not large
enough, seated in your chair with the light on you,
gentle, pleasing, modest, applauded, charming, sur-
rounded by a crowd of men whose hands clap, and by
pretty women whose hearts beat. . . . My mind goes
back to those days as it does to my native land.

Here, in winter, everything is sombre, dark, violent,
terrible, tempestuous, severe. The rain pours down
my window-pane like a stream of silver ; all nature
plunges with frenzy into the tumult, and I have little
to do but to storm like the wind and roar like the sea.

When you see our convalescent Hetzel, who makes
his pallor an excuse for his laziness, tell him to write
to me. Say bravo to Dumas from me for two delightful
numbers of the Mousquetaire, which have reached my
den. And you, think of me ; write me a nice long
letter, marked by that charming feeling, that exquisite
style, that profound and gentle mind, which is ap-
plauded at Brussels and loved in Jersey.

1 The beer drunk at the Aigle.



TO VILLEMAIK 123

VIII.

To VlLLEMAIN.

IQth March, 1854.

. . . No, my friend, I have no personal complaint to
make. I thank God for all that He has been pleased
to do with me, for the ordeal which I undergo, for the
desolation amid which I meditate. I welcome adver-
sity, welcome injustice, welcome hatred, welcome cal-
umny, which creeps into the exile's life like the worm
into the sepulchre. If all these things which the world
has agreed to call misfortune, and which I bear, add a
single grain to the sum total of human progress, I
bless destiny.

Do you know what Jersey is ? Take a map of the
Archipelago and look out Lemnos. There you have
Jersey. By the most capricious chance imaginable,
God has made the same island twice over ; He has
given one to the Greeks, the other to the Celts. Jer-
sey, placed on the top of Lemnos, would fit it almost
exactly.

It is from there that I write to you ; not from the
island where the lightning is made, but from the island
where it is expected. For sooner or later upon such
things and such men the thunderbolt must surely
fall. . . .

IX.

To DAVID D' ANGERS.

MARINE TERRACE, 26$ April, 1854.

DEAR GREAT DAVID, I have received your kind
and noble letter, with the interesting page which it



124 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

contained. I am glad that you liked the book. 1 Dear
friend, envy me, all of you, envy me ; my exile is good,
and I thank destiny for it. In these days, I do not
know if proscription means suffering, but I know that
it means honor. my sculptor, one day you put a
wreath on my head, and I said to you : Why ? You
foresaw my proscription.

Talking of this, I am sending you that masterpiece,
and I intrust it to your care. I have no home, the
bust is expelled like the man. Open your door to it.
I hope that one of these days, soon perhaps, I shall
come and fetch it. In the mean while, keep it for me.

And keep your brave and generous friendship for
me. I press your hand, poet in marble.

x.

To EMILE DESCHANEL, at Brussels.

MARINE TERRACE, Sunday, 28th May, [1854].

Now you are happy, dear gentle poet ; and, al-
though the rain and the wind are descending on my
head, although the mist has spread a gray covering
over the sky and the sea, although in my garden, which
is invaded by my neighbor's poultry-yard, I see only
geese and not a single bird, although these horrible
geese are at this very moment engaged in rooting up
and eating seven shillings' worth of French beans which
I sowed last week, in the midst of all this unpleas-
antness and all these calamities I feel your happiness
bringing me warmth and smiling at me from a dis-
tance, and my heart is full of joy.

As soon as you have received and read this letter,

1 Les Chdtiments.



TO EMILE DESCHANEL. 125

take your charming wife on your knee and say to her :
Somewhere in the world, in a remote spot, far away
from here, there lives a sort of morose old creature, a
dreamer of dreams, a dealer of blows to the right and
to the left, an owl who is the sworn enemy of coun-
terfeit eagles ; this gentleman thanks you, madam.
Your wife will say : And for what ? You will reply :
For my happiness.

Yes, madam (I resume), I thank you for loving this
kind heart, this charming mind, this un trammeled
thinker, this generous poet ; I thank you for having
discovered all his worth, and for having said to your-
self : Nothing is lacking to him ; he is an exile.

Your letter, dear poet, reached us that very Tuesday,
the 23d. I said to myself : It is impossible to go
and dine there. And so to make up for it I drank,
we all drank, your health. My wife sends her love to
yours.

It is very nice of you to have remembered me when
you were finishing your course of lectures. They will
be resumed in the Grande Place. How I should like to
be at No. 16 again ! But alas ! Napoleon the Little
has driven me out of Brussels. Up to now this is his
only exploit. And who knows if I shall not be one of
those who will drive him out of Paris ?

I will conclude with this pleasant idea and with a
kiss on both cheeks, i. e., one on yours and one on
Mme Deschanel's. V. H.

Make haste, make haste with the little promised
Deschanel !



126 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XI.

To ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

MARINE TERRACE, Vlih November, 1854.

MY DEAR DUMAS, A friend has cut four lines out
of a number of your Mousquetaire and sent me them.
In these four lines you have managed to put two great
things, your mind and your heart.

I thank you for dedicating your drama La Con-
science to me. My solitude had some claim to this
remembrance. The dedication, so noble and so touch-
ing, makes me feel as if I were home again. It is a
delight to me to think that I am in Paris now, and con-
nected with a success of Alexandre Dumas. I am told
that the success is great and the work profound. They
resemble my friendship for you.

Dear comrade in action, great and glorious colleague,
I embrace you.

XII.

To MME. DE GIRARDDT.

MARINE TERRACE, Wi January, 1855.

The year 1855 has had a daybreak for us, your
letter. It came full of radiance, like the dawn, and,
like the dawn, with some tears. In reading it I seemed
to see your beautiful tranquil face which resembles hope.
All Marine Terrace was illumined for a moment as by
a flash of joy. . . .

/ am in no hurry, for I am much more concerned
with the morrow than with to-day. The morrow should
be formidable, destructive, reparative, and always just.
That is the ideal. Will it be attained ? All that God
does is good ; but when He works through man, the



TO MME. DE GIRARDIST. 127

tool sometimes goes wrong and plays tricks in spite
of the workman. Let us hope, however, and prepare.
The Republican party is ripening slowly, in exile, in
proscription, in defeat, in trial. There must be a little
sunshine in adversity, since it is the latter which makes
the crop grow and fills the ear of corn in the mind of
man.

I am therefore in no hurry, I am sad ; it pains me
to wait, but I wait, and I find that waiting is good.
What preoccupies me, I say it once more, is the enor-
mous revolutionary continuation which God is now
bringing on the stage behind the Bonaparte screen ;
I kick holes in this screen, but I do not wish God to
remove it before the appointed time.^1 You are right,
however, the end is visible even now : 1855 can have
no other issue than 1812 ; Balaklava is the same as
Beresina ; the little N. will fall like the great one in
Russia. Only the Restoration will be called Revolu-
tion. Your name is JVIadame de Stael as well as Ma-
dame de Girardin ; you are not Delphine for nothing,
and, with the charming indifference of a heavenly
luminary, you shed your rays upon the cesspool.

You have all the success that you wish for ; yes-
terday in Moliere's house, to-day in M. Scribe's. 1 It
suits you to raise vaudeville to the rank of comedy, and
you do it, and Paris applauds, and Jersey recommends
Guyot to pocket a good round sum in author's dues,
which will perhaps bring the muse to this Carpentras
of the ocean. For you half promise it to us ; do not
forget this detail, I beg. In the mean while our Carpen-

1 La joie fait peur, at the Comedie Fran$aise, and Le chapeau d'un
horloger, at the Gymnase.



128 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

tras gives balls, at which your flowers produce a great
effect. Your bouquet and my daughter danced to-
gether, the one wearing the other, and quite astonished
the English, whose taste for pleasure has not yet been
destroyed by the Crimea. I am told that Paris is not
so frolicsome, and I can understand it. Disgrace is
even sadder than misfortune.

For the rest, a belief in the speedy fall of M. B. is
in the air ; I hear it from all sides. Charles said just
now as he was smoking his cigar : " 1855 sera une



annee ceuvee" 1



I talked about you yesterday with Leflo, who ad-
mires and adores you, a complaint he has caught from
Marine Terrace. As he often comes to see me, this
leads to his letters being opened in Paris, and some
time ago the prefect of police is said to have sent one
to the Minister of War, who showed it to Number III.,
who read it, and said : " Why, Victor Hugo has made
a Ked of Leflo." Leflo repeated the remark to me ; I
congratulated him on it.

Ten months hence you will have the Contempla-
tions. 2 Send me your new success. You will find
inclosed in this the speech you mention, which has
made a stir in England and has drawn down upon me
a threat in Parliament, to which I have rejoined. I
send you my rejoinder in this envelope.

The tables 3 do in fact tell us some surprising things.
How I should like to talk with you, and kiss your

1 Literally, a year with eggs : a year big with promise for the future.

2 The volume of poetry which Victor Hugo was then writing.

8 Table-turning, which Mme. de Girardin had introduced into Jersey,
and which was greatly interesting the inmates of Marine Terrace just at
this time.



TO EMILE DESCHANEL. 129

hands, your feet, or your wings ! Did Paul Meurice
tell you that a whole quasi-cosmogonical system, hatched
by me and half committed to paper for twenty years,
had been confirmed by the tables with splendid ampli-
fications? We live in a mysterious landscape which v
opens out new prospects, and we think of you, to whom \
we owe this glimpse into another world.

The tables enjoin on us silence and secrecy. You
will therefore find nothing from them in the Contem-
plations, with the exception of two details, of great
importance, it is true, for which I have asked permis-
sion (I underline these words), and which I will indi-
cate by a note.

XIII.

To EMILE DESCHANEL, at Brussels.

MARINE TERRACE, 14$ January, 1855.

I am working almost night and day, I am sailing in
a sea of poetry, I am faint with excess of light ; hence
my silence, dear poet, but I love you.

Your reproaches are just, charming, and unjust. I
think of you very often. On Wednesday evening^ I
fancy that I have a little more leisure than on others ;
and then my flesh says to my spirit, How stupid you
are ! it is too far to go to his lecture this evening.

You are my neighbor, however ; you are now splen-
didly lodged in the Grande Place where I made my
nest for seven months, between the lofty belfry full of
memories of the Duke of Alba and the inkstand out of
which issued Napoleon le Petit. Do you remember ?
You used to come in the mornings ; Charras sat in one
corner, Lamoriciere in another, smoking Charles's pipe ;

Charles and Hetzel on the sofa which served me for a
VOL. n. 9



130 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

bed ; and with the sunshine streaming into my broad
window, I read you a page or two of the book. What
hearty shakes of the hand we gave each other after-
wards !

Now all has assumed other colors, rosy for you,
sombre for me. You are married to success, to happi-
ness, to a charming wife, to an enamored public, to
applause, to smiles ; / have wedded the sea, the hurri-
cane, a vast sandy shore, sadness, and the starry canopy
of heaven.

I wish you a happy New Year, madam, with two
countries and two men, Belgium plus France, and your
husband plus a son. Write to me, dear friend, break
in upon my reveries with that merry, unaffected laugh
of yours that I like so much. We expect the little
Franco-Belgian at the appointed time. We know that
you take good aim.

I accept your two kisses and send you four in return,
one on each cheek. V. H.

Tell my excellent friend Hetzel that I am rowing
hard in his direction. The Contemplations will be
an exceptional book. If ever there was a mirror of the
soul, it will be this.

XIV.

To MLLE. MARIE Huao 1 (S<EUR SAINTE-MARIE- JOSEPH).

JERSEY, 22d July, [1855].

I thank you for your present, dear child. Your
little painting is charming ; the pink color is like your

1 A young relative of the poet, who took the veil when her husband
died a year after their marriage.



TO MLLE. MARIE HUGO. 131

face and the dove like your soul ; it is almost a
painting of yourself that I have, pending the arrival of
the other. You have promised it, and I am anxious
to have it.

The lines which you sent us this spring were very
graceful ; there were some very sweet and happy stan-
zas on you especially. Tell this from me to the writer
of them, who must be charming if she is like her
poetry.

Dear child, so you are about to accomplish the
solemn act of leaving the world. You too are going
into exile ; you will do it out of faith as I have done
it out of duty. One sacrifice can understand another.
Therefore it is from the depths of my heart that I ask
for your prayers and send you my blessing.

I should have liked to see you once more on that
last day for family meetings of which you tell me.
God does not permit us this happiness ; He has his
ways. Let us be resigned. I will send the angel whom
I have above to visit you. All that you are doing for
your brother is good ; I recognize in it your devoted,
noble heart. Dear child, you and I are in the sweet
and austere path of renunciation ; we are nearer to
each other than you imagine. Your serenity comes to
me as a reflection of my own. Love, believe, pray ; be
blessed.



132 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XV.

To MlCHELET.

MARINE TERRACE, 2Ath July, 1855.

You have received the same blow as I have. To-
day death pays a sudden visit to your house as it did
to mine twelve years ago. You have lost your child,
your daughter, your darling, and you are in tears. I
shed the same tears as you, and that is all that I
can offer to your sorrow. great mind, you are
now bleeding from the heart. It is only the heart
which really bleeds. All other sufferings are nothing
in comparison. To lose one's child is real misfor-
tune. There is no such desolation or exile in lif e as
this.

I say nothing to a soul like yours. You, who will
be one of the founders of the earthly kingdom, you
cannot doubt of the heavenly kingdom. Lbe]i^vft in
God because I believe in man. The acorn proves to
me the oak, the ray the star ; that is your symbol, and
mine. We shall meet those who are dear to us here-
after ; your daughter is now by the side of mine ;
henceforth these angels smile on us and illumine us ;
and even without your knowing it there are more
gleams of light within you. This brightness comes
from death. Dear and glorious fighter of the human
fight, poor father, I embrace you.

VICTOR HUGO.

I have just read some admirable pages of yours.
But is this a time to speak to you of glory ? Yes, for
your glory is " a soldier of God," and is ever in at-



TO MME. VICTOR HUGO. 133

tendance on human thought. Let your labors, which
are your crown, be your consolation.

XVI.

To GEORGE SAND.

4to August, 1855.

I hear that a calamity has befallen you. You have
lost a little child. You are suffering.

Will you allow one who admires you and loves you
to take your hand in his and to teh 1 you that you have
all his sympathy? Your grief is mine, for the same
reason that makes your success my happiness. Great
soul, I suffer in you.

I believe in angels; I have some in heaven, I have
some on earth. Your little darling is now a sweet
winged soul, hovering o'er your illustrious head. There
is no death. All is life, love, light, or waiting for the
light. I offer you my tender respect. I regard you
with sincere affection.

XVII.
To MME. VICTOR HUGO.

GUERNSEY, 1 3 P. M., [1855].

Here we are on land, dearest, not without some toss-
ing. The sea was rough, the wind boisterous, the rain
chilly, the fog thick. Jersey is not so much as a cloud
even ; it has disappeared ; there is nothing on the hori-
zon. I seem to be in a state of suspended animation ;
when you are all here, life will begin again.

1 Victor Hugo, having been expelled from Jersey for siding with the
other refugees, had sought shelter in Guernsey, and preceded his family
there.



134 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

The reception was good ; there was a crowd on the
quay, silent, but sympathetic, apparently so at least ;
all took off their hats as I passed.

I have a grand view before me as I write. Even
in the rain and fog the approach to Guernsey is splen-
did. Victor was greatly struck by it. It is a regu-
lar old Norman port with hardly anything English
about it.

The consul with a white tie on (the Laurent of this
place) was present when I landed. Somebody told me
that he raised his hat like the others when I passed.

It seems that the local authorities have said that we
shall be unmolested here, provided we do not create
any difficulties. We are looked on as malefactors.
But volcanoes are not to be extinguished with pails of
water.

XVIII.

To MESSRS. THOMAS GREGSON and JOSEPH COWEN, of New-
castle, Members of the Foreign Affairs Committee.

GUERNSEY, HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 25th November, 1855.

Dear fellow-countrymen of the great fatherland of
Europe, I have received from the hands of our brave
co-religionist Harney the communication which you
have been so good as to address to me on behalf of
your committee and of the meeting held at Newcastle.
I thank you, as well as your friends, for it, in my own
name and in that of my fellow-combatants and fellow-
exiles.

It was impossible that the expulsion from Jersey,
that this proscription of the proscribed, should not
excite public indignation in England. England is a
great and generous nation, which throbs with all the



TO FRANZ STEVENS. 135

living forces of progress ; she understands that liberty
means light. But what has just been done in Jersey
is a night attack ; it is an invasion of darkness ; it is
an armed assault by despotism on the old free Consti-
tution of Great Britain ; it is a coup d'etat insolently
launched by the Empire in the heart of England. The
expulsion was carried out on the 2d of November ; that
is an anachronism, it should have taken place on the
2d of December.

Pray tell my friends of the committee, and your
friends of the meeting, how much we were touched
by their noble and energetic manifestation. Such acts
may serve as a warning and a check to those of your
rulers who are perhaps, at this moment, meditating a
fresh attack on the old honor of England, through the
shameful Alien Bill.

Demonstrations like yours, like those which have just
taken place in London, like those which are in prepara-
tion at Glasgow, consecrate, draw closer, and cement,
not the idle, spurious, baneful, effete alliance between
the present English cabinet and the Bonapartist empire,
but the true, necessary, eternal alliance between the
free people of England and the free people of France.

XIX.

To FRANZ STEVENS, at Brussels.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, Wth April, 1856.

Your name, so young and yet assured of fame, has
a sort of radiance for me. The first time I heard it
I was arriving in Brussels ; it was the 13th or 14th of
December, 1851 ; some lines were placed in my hands ;
my name was at the head, yours at the foot. These



136 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

lines the first that you wrote, I believe revealed at
that early stage all that was in your heart. You arose
on the threshold of your native land to greet the man
who had no other refuge but the great fatherland
which is called exile ; and you offered the refugee the
hospitality of poets, which is more to be depended on
than that of kings. This was a fine beginning. It
has brought you good fortune. From that day on-
ward your poetical gift has grown, and to-day it is my
turn to bid you welcome on the threshold of that other
land of refuge, art. Five years ago you nobly con-
nected my name with lines which were a wreath of
laurels ; allow me to-day to tell you in prose that I love
you.

You are not a Belgian poet, you are a French poet.
You have the grace, the brilliance, the life, the origi-
nality in details, the felicity of expression, the ease, the
freedom of movement, the proud bearing of the French
writer. The union of Belgium with France is thus
accomplished by writers and poets. You are one of
those who generously fling between the two nations
the splendid connecting-link of style, of poetry, of the
winged strophe, of the idea.

You and I belong to different political regions.
You, at this moment, are where I have been. Perhaps
your mature age will reach the point where I am now,
including proscription, which I hope may be your lot.
You deserve it ; for whatever the formal disagreement
which separates us, you want all that we do, we the
champions of the right ; you wish for enlightenment,
truth, progress, the interment of the past, the advent
of the future ; you wish to see the end of misery, of



TO FRANZ STEVENS. 137

ignorance, of perdition, of servitude, of darkness ; you
desire, under the sole authority of God, the sovereign
ego in the free individual. This is the kernel of your
ideas ; the outer husk will fall from it.

You and I, therefore, are the same man ; we touch
each other ; you are what I was in the past, I am what
you will be one day. You are to me the mirror of
what I was ; look at me and think of your future.

Within a given time your reason will accomplish the
first task, and your conscience the second ; and, after
all, it is better that corrections should be effected by
them. What these inner workers bring about and
rectify is always the best part of us. I content myself
with applauding, with crying bravo to your beautiful
and noble lines ; with encouraging your brave and
energetic mind ; yes, bravo and courage ! I am not a
French writer welcoming a Belgian poet. I do not
belong to the former nation, and you do not belong to
the latter ; for me, in politics there are only men, and
in poetry poets ; and whatever standpoint I adopt, I
can only see in you a brother.

I write this to you somewhat promiscuously, some-
what at random. Try to realize the state of my mind
in the splendid solitude in which I live, perched as it
were on the summit of a rock, with all the grandeur
of the waves and the sky before me. I dwell in this
immense dream of the ocean. I am gradually becom-
ing a somnambulist of the sea; and in face of all
these stupendous phenomena and all this vast living
thought in which I lose myself, I end by being only a
sort of witness of God.

It is from this never-ending contemplation that I



138 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

arise to write to you. Therefore take my letter as it is,
take my thoughts as they come, somewhat discon-
nected, somewhat disarranged by all this gigantic oscil-
lation of the infinite. What is fixed and steadfast is
the soul in presence of God, and conscience in pre-
sence of truth ; and also and I will end by this
the profound sympathy with which young men like you
inspire me.

xx.

To VlLLEMAEKT.

m May, 1856.

I read your letter with emotion. We start almost
from two opposite poles in art, but grief has given us
a great trysting-place in truth, and I am not surprised
that we should meet. You refresh your mind that
delicately chased Greek goblet at the sacred limpid
springs from which human thought filters and falls
drop by drop throughout the ages. / am in the wil-
derness, alone with the sea and with grief, drinking
from the hollow of my hand. Your drop of water is a
pearl, mine is a tear.

But you, too, have wept ; you, too, have suffered ;
you, too, are bleeding. Hence the deep sympathy be-
tween us ; deeper than we are ourselves aware of, and
which is as it were revealed to us at certain moments.
You have read Horror, Dolor? and you have recog-
nized the distant sound of the bell which all sufferers
and thinkers hear in the night.

Dear friend, I often think of you. Exile has not
only detached me from France, it has almost detached
me from the earth ; and there are moments when I

1 Two pieces in the Contemplations.



TO LOUIS BOULANGER. 139

feel as if I were dead, and when I seem to be already
living the great sublime life beyond the tomb. It is
then that my thoughts revert to all those whom I have
loved in this world below. . . .

XXI.

To LOUIS BOULANGER.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2M May, [1856].

What a precious possession, dear Louis, is the endur-
ing warmth of old friendships ! Your letter seemed to
bring back my youth. Je nous ai revus, this jar-
gon just expresses my thoughts, in the glorious days
of the Orientales, when we were two passers-by on the
plain of Vaugirard, two watchers of the sun setting
behind the dome of the Invalides, two brothers, you
the dazzling painter of Mazeppa, I the dreamer predes-
tined to strife and exile.

You are happy now ; you say so in your letter. I
feel it and I love you.

You have read that book, and you know my feelings
by it. I know yours by the way you speak to me of it.
I should now like to make the acquaintance of your
wife ; I am sure she is noble and charming. In my
eyes you shine as it were in a soft halo ; you seem to
me to have kept your youth. And I, from the depths
of the vast darkening twilight which enfolds me, send
you and her, dear Louis, my fondest and tenderest
greeting.



140 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XXII.

To BABTH^LEMY ENFANTIN.

GUERNSEY, 7th June, 1856.

I thank you, dear and great thinker; your letter
touches and charms me. You are one of the seers of
the universe. You are one of those men in whom
humanity is stirring, and with whom I feel a profound
sympathy.

The ideal is the real. Like you, I live with my
eyes fixed on a vision. I do my best so far as my
strength will allow to help mankind, that hapless crowd
of brothers we have there who are walking in darkness,
and I endeavor, bound to the chain myself, to aid my
fellow-travelers, by my example as a man in the pre-
sent, and by my writings as a poet in the future.

Within due limits, my sympathy embraces all cre-
ated beings. I see your point of view, and I accept it,
and I think you will also accept mine. Let us work
towards the light. Let us create unbounded love.

In those two books, Dieu and La Fin de Satan, you
may be sure that I shall not pass over woman ; I shall
go even further, just as I shall go beyond the things
of this world. These two works are almost finished ;
nevertheless, I want to leave an interval between them
and the Contemplations. I should like, if God gives
me some measure of strength, to carry the crowd to
certain altitudes ; yet I am well aware that there is
little air there which it can breathe. I therefore wish
it to rest awhile before I make it attempt a fresh ascent.

Alas ! I am of very little account, but my heart is
filled with deep love for liberty, which is man, and for



TO GEORGE SAND. 141

truth, which is God. You have this twofold love as
well as I ; it is the life of your lofty mind ; and it is
a pleasure to me to greet you as a friend.

XXIII.

To GEORGE SAND. <

15th June, 1856.

Guernsey should be called Tibur, Ferney, or Port
Koyal, to be able to send a fitting reply to Nohant.
But Guernsey is only a poor rock, lost in the seas and
in the darkness, bathed by the spray which leaves on
the lips a salt taste of tears, with no merit but its cliffs
and the patience with which it bears the burden of the
infinite. The little sombre island is proud of the ray
of sunshine which comes to it from Nohant, the birth-
place of beautiful and charming books. Alas ! sorrow
is everywhere, the grave is everywhere, but the light is
where you are ! I thank Heaven if my book has been
able to touch your grief without wounding it, and if it
has been vouchsafed to me to me who am sad myself
to bring some balm to the anguish of your large
heart, great thinker, poor mother !

VICTOR HUGO.

XXIV.

To THE SAME.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 30th June, 1856.

You have every gift; the greatness of your mind
is only equaled by the greatness of your heart. I
have just been reading your splendid article on the
Contemplations, that criticism which is poetry, that
flow of thought, of life, and of tenderness, that philoso-
phy, that reasoning, that gentleness, that powerful and



142 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

striking exposition, those gems which drop from a pen
of light. What is there for me to say? To thank
you is almost stupid ; I would rather congratulate you.
You are a serene nature ; you are proud because you
are high-minded ; you speak of this book l with a calm
simplicity, and so genuine as to be almost haughty,
when one compares it with the wretched clevernesses of
so many other minds. I said of you to my children
one morning at breakfast, this is our autour de la
table, that in the world of thought you were the
greatest of women, perhaps even of all time. . . .

You are a dweller on the heights, and you are accus-
tomed to eyries ; I have only a den. But I should like
you to come and see it; let me roll away the great
stone at the entrance and bid you enter.

To drop metaphor and in plain prose (how can I
venture to use this epithet to you who write such grand
prose?), with the proceeds of the first two editions of
the Contemplations I have just bought a hovel here ;
I am going to improve it and add to it ; and there will
then be a decent room for you ; will you make up your
mind to come ? It will be about next spring ; you see
I give you a long notice. It is a way of making it
almost impossible for you to refuse. You will be in
my house what you are in your own, that is to say,
free. The house shall have the name " Liberty ; " it
will be called Liberty House. It is the custom in
England to give houses names. As you perhaps know,
my family and I live in the most simple manner, and
in this respect Guernsey can join hands with Nohant.
Think over it, you have nearly a year before you, and

1 George Sand had written several articles on the Contemplations.



TO GEORGE SAND. 143

come to us. If you only knew how sincerely I mean
this invitation ! You will walk in my garden, a very
small one ; do not expect your vast plains. There is
so much sea and sky here that one hardly needs a bit
of earth.

My wife has already invited you : you half promised
her to come ; complete the promise to me. It will give
us a pleasure on which we shall live till we see you.
You will write a splendid book here and date it from
Guernsey ; be kind to this poor old rock and confer on
it this distinction. I have marked it with a period of
ordeal, do you mark it with one of glory.

One thing pleases me, and that is that my book Dieu
(three parts finished) anticipates your ideas. It seems
as if you must have read it when you wrote that letter
from Louise which concludes your admirable articles.
The end full of light, that is what I desire and you
desire, and the good Theodore himself (I know many
such) will be satisfied.

You are an esprit ; consequently I say to you famil-
iarly, Thanks. And you are a woman, which gives
me the right to kneel before you and respectfully to
kiss your hand.

xxv.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2d October, 1856.

It is a joy to me to think that your great mind
turns now and again towards mine ; and when I find
my name in your noble articles, it seems as if they were
open letters from you to me. I should think myself
an ungrateful being if I did not reply to them. How-



144 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

ever, you do not need thanks or applause. In this
age, when almost every one is more or less insincere,
you have the proud, simple bearing of a genuine char-
acter. In my solitude this communion of our souls, I
may almost say of our hearts, makes me silently and
profoundly happy. I feel as if I were linked to you
in the contemplation of truth and the acceptance of
sorrow ; and I hail your serene and impressive testimony
in favor of progress. Whoever despairs of man de-
spairs of God, that is to say, does not believe in Him.
And all religions in the present day are atheistical ; all
curse the light, that is to say, the very dawn of the
heavenly countenance. You have faith because you
are great. I thank you, I admire you, and, allow me
to add, I love you.

XXVI.

To THE STUDENTS OF PAKIS.

1856.

Young and courageous fellow-citizens, your noble
and cordial letter has reached me in my solitude, and
has touched me deeply. I have very little time to my-
self ; exile is no sinecure, as you are aware ; and I take
the first opportunity at my disposal to reply to you and
to thank you. Courage, and persevere.

The eyes of the future rest on such as you. Among
the signatures to the valuable letter which I receive, I
see some which represent talent, others which represent
example ; all represent generosity, intelligence, and
moral worth. Your trials are beginning early ; rejoice
in it. Your sufferings nobly borne place you at the
head of your generation. Be always worthy of direct-



TO EDMOND ABOUT. 145

ing it. Let nothing unsettle or discourage you. The
future is certain. Wait for it amid the affliction and
darkness of the present moment as one waits for the
dawn in the night, with quiet and perfect faith. Work
and advance ; think, and you will discover ; struggle,
and you will conquer.

I greet you all as I would my brothers or my chil-
dren.

XXVII.

To EDMOND ABOUT.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 23d December, [1856].

Exile has but little leisure, and it is only here in
the sort of temporary lull which always foUows a re-
newal of persecution, that I have at last been able to
read your two fine and charming volumes, Tolla and
La Grece. My sons, your old school-fellows, have often
mentioned you to me. You have achieved all that they
prophesied of you, and I congratulate you with all my
heart. You are gifted, you are successful, you are
young ; your responsibility for others is beginning.

An outlaw is a sort of dead man ; he can almost give
advice from beyond the grave. Be faithful to all those
great ideas of liberty and progress which are the very
breath of the future for all humanity, for the people
as well as for the genius.

Despise all that is not true. gre^j :L just 1 ..^fl4.'b ft ^ 1 J t i^ 11 ^-
Your nature is an enlightened one. I need only say
to you : Be true to yourself.

Take courage, then. You are entering bravely and
successfully into the future.

VOL. II. 10



146 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XXVIII.

To ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

HAUTE VILLE HOUSE, 8th March, 1857.

DEAR DUMAS, The Belgian newspapers bring me,
with all the splendid comments which you deserve, the
letter which you have just written to the director of the
Theatre Franqais.

Great hearts are like great suns. They contain their
own light and warmth. You have no need, therefore,
of praise ; you do not even need thanks ; but I must
tell you that I love you more every day, not only
because you are one of the marvels of the age, but
also because you are one of its consolations.

I thank you.

But pray come here ; you know you promised to do
so. Come and receive the greetings of all who sur-
round me, and who will not gather round you less loyally
than round me.

Your brother.

XXIX.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 12th April, 1857.

Daniella is a great book and a beautiful book ; allow
me to tell you so. I do not touch on the political side
of the work, for the only things that I could write about
Italy could not be read in France, and would probably
prevent my letter from reaching you. I am speaking
to you, to you the artist, about the work of art. As
for all the great aspirations towards liberty and pro-
gress, they are necessarily part of your nature ; and a



TO ARSEKE HOUSSAYE. 147

poetical genius like yours is always on the side of the
future. The revolution is light, and what are you but
a torch ?

I look on Daniella as a profound study of all the
aspects of the heart. It is masterly because it is
womanly. You have put into this book all that femi-
nine delicacy which, blended with your masculine power,
makes up your strong and charming individuality. As
a painter I would stand up for all the old ruins of
Italy against you ; and in particular for that dazzling
and imposing Campagna of Rome which I saw as a
child, and which has remained in my mind and become
impressed on my vision as if I had beheld a mixture of
sunshine and death. But what does this matter to you?
You continue your course full of light and inspiration ;
you scatter around you brilliant, generous, cruel, gentle,
tender, haughty, smiling, consoling pages, and you know
that, after all, the sympathies of every reader are with
you as a writer, just as all minds are fascinated by your
intellect.

So accept my homage with that of the rest. My
house is nearly finished, and humbly hopes to receive
you ; and I respectfully kiss your hand.

XXX.

To ARSENE HOUSSAYE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 16$ January, 1858.

Your letter, my dear poet, has just reached me
through our Brussels friend. It touches me deeply.
You have, like me, your beloved grave, your dear spirit,
your never healing wound. Between our souls is the
great link of a common sorrow. When the blow fell



148 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

on you, I thought of you, I recalled that charming
woman, now a spirit. Alas ! to lose those we love is
the only real sorrow ; all the rest is nothing ; I have
said so in the book of which you speak in such high
terms.

Take courage ; you have all the great consolations of
poetry and art, and who should hope more than the
poet ? Hecho de esperar, as Calderon says.

XXXI.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 28th May, 1858.

Do you ever happen to think of me a little ? I fancy
it must be so, for I glide so gently and naturally into
thoughts of you.

I have just been reading Les beaux messieurs de
Bois-Dore, and every time I read one of your books
my heart expands with joy. I delight in all'the strength,
in all the grace, in the beautiful style, in the lofty mind,
in the charming discoveries on every page, in feeling
the throbs of the powerful philosophy underneath the
caressing poetry, and in finding such a great man in a
woman. Permit me to tell you that my sympathies are
entirely yours.

My house is still but a hovel ; it has been taken
possession of by worthy Guernsey workmen, who, be-
lieving that I am grand, think themselves justified in
making a little money out of " the rich French gentle-
man," and in prolonging the work and the profit. I
imagine, however, that it will be finished one day ; and
that then, perhaps, in some time or other, you will take
a fancy to come to it, and consecrate a small corner of



TO JULES SIMON. 149

it by your presence and your memory. What do you
say to that illusion ?

What a treasure illusions are ! I love them, but I
love realities still more, and a woman like you is a
glorious reality in an age. Write, console, instruct,
continue your grand work ; live amongst us with the
indulgent serenity of great affronted souls,

XXXII.

To JULES SIMON.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 25th June, [1859].

Your fine book La Liberte has been a long time in
reaching me, and I have spent a long time in reading
it and meditating on it. Do not be surprised, then, at
my slowness in thanking you for it ; I do not apologize
for this ; the delay is of small importance : works like
yours can afford to wait, because they will last.

It is almost a code that you have written ; from one
end to the other there is a genuine breath of legisla-
tion.

It has often happened to me in reading your works
to feel the kind of surprise and delight that one ex-
periences on finding one's own thoughts admirably
expressed by another person. Your chapter on pro-
perty, in particular, is one of the profoundest and most
telling parts of your book. It is a great gift, and
you possess it, to be able to enforce irrefutable theories
by a captivating style. These two volumes, in which
history is so powerfully appealed to in support of phi-
losophy and facts in support of ideals, will rank as a
great work. You have selected the right moment for
defending liberty ; there is no better time than the
darkness for glorifying the light.



150 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XXXIII.

To AD^ILE HUGO, in London.

21st July, 1859.

You are wrong, dear child ; a smile and a kiss from
you are more precious to me than all the flowers here
below and all the light from above. I long to see your
mother and you again ; my birthday is a sad affair
nowadays : last year illness and this year absence.

However, if you both return in good health, I shall
think that all is for the best. But you have chosen a
bad time for your trip ; I hear on all sides that London
is infected and poisoned by the Thames in the summer ;
the papers are full of horrid details of the cleansing
process which has been necessarily suspended. So make
haste and get out of that fever-den.

All is well at Hauteville. Charles is resting, Lux l
reflecting, Toto 2 grinding away, Chougna 3 meditating,
I am working, the garden perfumes the air. I assure
you we have roses coming into bloom which look as if
they would outlast the Palmerston Ministry, and that
we too have a first-rate concert, gratis, of waves, of
breezes, and of birds. Beethoven's is the only music I
could listen to after that which I have here.

I hope, dear child, that you too will get to like it
some day, and that, with your fine feeling for melody
and harmony, you will not always be insensible to the
great symphony of God.

My garden is the dress circle at that opera. Come
back to it, my beloved daughter, with your dear mother,
as soon as possible. I embrace you both tenderly.

1 Charles Hugo's dog. fl Francois Hugo. 8 Victor Hugo's dog.



TO VILLEMAIN. 151

XXXIV.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 21s August, 1859.

Will you allow me to remind you that I am still
your slave? It is in my nature to persist, and at any
rate it is not in my admiration and tender respect for
you that I could fail. Do not therefore put down my
long intervals of silence to f orgetf ulness.

I work and meditate in my solitude, and I think of
the noble minds who, like you, fan the flame of the
great Vestal called the Idea in France. Yes, you have
the ideal within you; pour it forth, pour it on the
hapless multitude of to-day steeped in materialism and
brutality ; discharge your august function of priestess,
and you will earn my heartfelt thanks.

As I am writing to you, I will not conclude with-
out inclosing some lines which I cannot publish in
France, and which you will readily understand, on the
last piece of insolence of this wretched reussisseur. 1

When will you come to illumine my darkness ?
Dear and great mind, I love and venerate you.

XXXV.

To VILLEMAIN.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 17th November, 1859.

DEAR FRIEND, Do you know what exile means ?
It means waiting for six months to hear words uttered
by you, who are one of the illustrious speakers of the
age. A friend from Paris came to see me yesterday.

1 The amnesty proposal of 1859, rejected by a number of exiles with
Victor Hugo at their head.



152 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

He had the happy idea of putting into his trunk your
book on Pindar, and since yesterday I have done nothing
but read that excellent and profound work. I bathe
in Pindar and in you as in a life-giving stream. You
translate Pindar as you feel him, as you interpret him,
powerfully, and when I say Pindar, I include ^schy-
lus, Sophocles, Aristophanes, Horace, all those divine
genuine poets. Their spirit has completely saturated
yours. Your prose does not clip those grand wings.

The reason is that with the noblest instincts and the
most steadfast courage you combine the flame of enthu-
siasm. Your book is a history in which at times one
feels the throb of poetry. The last few pages are a
splendid ode to the future.

I do not perhaps agree with you on every point, but
that is of small importance. I regard your book as I
do you, with profound esteem. An occasional greet-
ing from you, in the Chamber, or at the Academy, or
by the fireside, is one of the pleasures of my native
land which I miss the most.

In two passages of your fine book you allude to me
with a sort of tender emotion which goes to my heart. I
thank you. I have been resting in you for the last few
hours as in a haven of the mind. I need these periods
of rest sometimes in my solitude, in face of the ocean,
amid this sombre scenery which has a supreme attrac-
tion for me, and which draws me toward the dazzling
apparitions of the infinite. Sometimes I spend the
whole night meditating on my fate, before the great
deep, and at times all I can do is to exclaim : Stars !
stars ! stars !

Your book is one of those which gently produces a



TO ALEXASTDRE DUMAS. 153

change of ecstasy. Instead of the sea-eagle, I watched
Pindar soar. I listened as you narrated and with
what exalted eloquence ! the history of enthusiasm,
that is to say, of human genius. And in the way in
which you pronounce that lofty and enchanting word,
" Liberty," I recognized the very echo of my soul.
I press your two hands in mine, my illustrious friend.

XXXVI.

To ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, llth December, 1859.

It is you, dear Dumas, whom I must congratulate
on your son's last success l and on all his successes.
How truly admirable and delightful ! the father par-
taking of the fame of the son, the son sharing in the
glory of the father.

Yes, you are indeed a pere prodigue ; you have
given him everything, striking situations, ardent pas-
sion, lifelike dialogue, sparkling style ; and at the same
time a miracle quite simple in art you have kept
everything; you have made him rich without impov-
erishing yourself.

And he, on his side, manages to be original, while
remaining your son ; he is you and he is himself. Pray
embrace him for me.

I also, anch' io, have sons who make me happy (and,
I add in a whisper, proud, for we fathers are obliged to
be modest about our children), and it is as a proud
father that I congratulate you, the glorious one. But
let this be said discreetly and between ourselves.

So you are starting. If I were Horace, how I would

1 Alluding to the performance of Le pere prodigue.



154 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

sing to Virgil's ship ! You are going to the land of
the sun, to Italy, to Greece, to Egypt; you will sail
on sapphire waters, you will behold the smiling sea.
/ remain in the gloomy one. My Ocean envies your
Mediterranean. Go, be radiant, be great, and come
back. Te referent fluctus !

Your friend.

XXXVII.

To GEORGE SAND.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 20th December, 1859.

I thank you for your delightful and grand words.
You speak to me of the Legende des siecles in terms
of which Homer would be proud. I am pleased that
this book has arrested your bright steadfast gaze for a
few moments.

Just now I am overwhelmed with grief. They have
killed John Brown. The murder took place on the 2d
of December. The promised respite was an infamous
device for lulling popular indignation. And it is a
republic which has done this ! What sinister folly it
is to be an owner of men ; and see what it leads to !
Here is a free nation putting to death a liberator !
Alas ! my heart is indeed sad. The crimes of kings
one can understand : a king's crime has nothing ab-
normal about it; but crimes committed by a people
are intolerable to the thinker.

I am reading your admirable letter over again with
delight and consolation. You too have your trials.
For me, who often gaze at you, they enhance the sweet
and lofty calm of your countenance.

I respect and admire you.



TO THECEL. 155

XXXVIII.
To HENRI DE LACRETELLE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 1th February, 1860.

There is no consolation, dear poet, for grief such as
yours. Alas ! that charming woman, that flower of
your youth, that dawn of your life, that luminous
vision of our past, has really gone ! She was a sweet
apparition, she is now a spirit. We are born to lose
all that is best here below. It is seventeen years ago
that an angel I had, my daughter, departed; but I
have her still ; I cannot see her, but I feel her in my
life, and I await her when I die. You too now turn
your thoughts in this direction. It is the law of life.
We must die successively in all those whom we love, to
live again in them hereafter.

You have all the great and serious interests of
poetry and art ; your noble mind will heal the wounds
of your broken heart.

Courage, dear poet. I press your hand tenderly.

XXXIX.

To THECEL, of the Independence Beige.

February, 1860.

I have just read a delightful article of yours, bril-
liant and serious at the same time, on George Sand's
tales of rural life. I commend you heartily, and I
thank you for having praised George Sand, especially
at the present moment. There is an unsatisfactory
tendency just now to disparage her great reputation
and eminent talents. The first symptoms of this some-
what virulent epidemic appeared several years ago.



156 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

True, no one understands and admits more readily
than I do the lofty and serious criticism to which ^Es-
chylus, Isaiah, Dante, and Shakespeare themselves have
to submit, and which has the same rights over the spots
in Homer as the astronomer has over the spots on the
sun ; but the fierceness of literary hatreds, the rancor
of men against a woman, and even assize court rhetoric
directed against a high-minded and illustrious writer,
these I do resent ; they surprise and offend me deeply.

George Sand is a luminous heart, a beautiful charac-
ter, a generous combatant on the side of progress, a
light of our age ; she is a far more genuine and power-
ful philosopher than certain good people who enjoy
more or less notoriety just at the present moment.
And yet this thinker, this poet, this woman, is the vic-
tim of a sort of blind and unjust reaction ! I repeat
the word reaction, for it has several meanings, and
includes everything.

For my part, I have never felt more disposed to
honor George Sand than now when she is being in-
sulted.

XL.

To CHAMPFLEUBT.

HAUTEVILLE Housp, 18th March, 1860.

I hasten to answer your affectionate letter. The
undertaking you have in hand, successfully carried out
by a man like you, cannot but promote the intellectual
movement now in progress.

Art is not perfectible ; that constitutes its greatness,
and that is the source of its eternity (I use this word
of course in the human sense). ^Eschylus remains
^Eschylus, even after Shakespeare; Homer remains



TO M. HEURTELOU 157

Homer, even after Dante ; Phidias remains Phidias,
even after Michael Angelo. Only the appearance of
Shakespeares, of Dantes, and of Michael Angelos is not
limited ; the constellations of yesterday do not block
the path of the constellations of the morrow ; and for
a good reason, because the infinite cannot be crowded.
So forward ! there is room for all. We cannot sur-
pass geniuses, but we may equal them. God, who has
created the human brain, is inexhaustible and fills it
with bright luminaries.

As long ago as 1830 I said, rejecting all appellations
which are transitory and which characterize nothing:
The literature of the nineteenth century will have but
one name ; it will be called democratic literature. It
will have but one aim : the increase of human enlight-
enment through the combined action of the real and
the ideal,

The novel is almost a conquest of modern art ; the
novel is one of the forces of progress and one of the
resources of human genius in this great nineteenth
century ; and you, by the precision as well as the ele-
vation of your mind, are one of the masters of it.

XLI.

To M. HEURTELOU, editor of the Progres at Port-au-Prince
(Haiti).

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 31st March, 1860.

Your letter touches me. You are a noble specimen
of that colored race which has been so long oppressed
and misunderstood. From one end of the earth to the
other the same flame burns in man, and you are one of
those who prove it. Was there more than one Adam ?



158 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Philosophers may discuss the question, but what is cer-
tain is that there is but one God. As there is but one
Father, we are all brothers. It was for this truth that
John Brown died ; it is for this truth that I fight.
You thank me for it, and I cannot tell you how much
your noble words move me. There is neither black
nor white in the world, there are spirits only ; you are
one of them. All souls are white before God.

I love your country, your race, your liberty, your
republic. Your beautiful island has an attraction just
now for free spirits ; she has just set a great example :
she has crushed despotism.

She will help us to crush slavery. For slavery will
disappear. What the Southern States have just killed
is not John Brown, but slavery.

Henceforth the American Union may be looked on
as broken up. I deeply regret it, but it is a foregone
conclusion. Between the North and the South there is
the gibbet of John Brown.

Joint responsibility is no longer possible. The bur-
den of such a crime cannot be borne by two persons.
Continue your task, you and your worthy fellow-citi-
zens. Haiti is now a centre of light. It is a grand
thing that among the torches of progress which light
the path of mankind, one should be seen in the hands
of the negro.

Your brother.



TO THE RIBEYROLLES COMMITTEE. 159

XLII.

To THE MEMBERS OF THE COMMITTEE for erecting a monument
to Ribeyrolles, at Rio-de-Janeiro.

4th November, 1860.

GENTLEMEN, Ribeyrolles sought a home with you,
and he wrote a fine book about you, a book worthy of
your noble nation, of your illustrious history, of your
beautiful country. He noted with enthusiastic sym-
pathy your more and more enlightened advance in the
direction of progress. He has done fraternal justice to
you in the name of democracy and civilization. Many
pages of his book are like marble tablets on which your
glory is written, on which your future is predicted. He
died at this task, he died an exile, he died poor ; you
Brazilians owed him a debt ; you have decided to repay
it in a splendid fashion.

Ribeyrolles had erected a monument to Brazil ; Bra-
zil raises a memorial to Ribeyrolles. All honor to you !
To receive in this way, and to make such a return, is
doubly admirable.

You desire an epitaph for his tomb, and it is to me
that you apply; you ask for my signature on the monu-
ment. I am deeply sensible of the honor you do me.
I thank you for it.

From the dawn of history, two sorts of men have
led mankind : the oppressors and the liberators. The
former sway it for evil, the latter for good. Of all
liberators the thinker is the most effective ; his action
is never violent; the mildest of powers, and conse-
quently the greatest, is the mind. The mind inflicts
deadly blows on evil. Thinkers emancipate the human



160 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

race. They suffer, but they triumph ; they accomplish
the salvation of others by the sacrifice of themselves.
They may die in exile ; but no matter, their ideal sur-
vives them, and continues after their death the work of
liberty they began during their life.

Charles Kibeyrolles was a liberator.

The emancipation of all peoples and of all men,
that was his aim. Humanity free, the nations brothers,
that was his sole ambition.

This rooted idea, which was destined to end in his
exile and his glory, is what I have tried to set forth
in the six lines which I send you, and which you can
engrave on his tomb if you think fit.

For my part, I rejoice in the appeal which you
make to me. I respond to it with alacrity. You are
noble men, yours is a generous nation; you possess the
double advantage of a virgin soil and an ancient race ;
you are linked to the great historical past of the civiliz-
ing continent; you mingle the light of Europe with
the sun of America. It is in the name of France that
I honor you.

Ribeyrolles had done this before me. He had greeted
you with all his eloquence ; he commended you, and he
loved you. You honor his memory, and you do well.
It is the great brotherhood of mankind asserting itself ;
it is the meeting of two worlds around the bier of an
exile ; it is Brazil shaking hands with France across the
ocean.

Accept my thanks ! Ribeyrolles, in fact, belongs to
you as he does to us ; such men are common property ;
even their exile has the merit of bringing into relief
this universal brotherhood ; and when despots rob them



TO M. CHENAY. 161

of their native land, it is a grand thing that peoples
should give them a tomb.

I greet you and I am your brother.

VICTOR HUGO.

X CHARLES RLBEYROLLES.

II accepta 1'exil ; il aima les souffrances ;
Intre'pide, il voulut toutes les delivrances ;
II servit tons les droits par toutes les vertus ;
Car I'ide'e est un glaive et 1'ame est une force,

Et la plume de Wilberforce
Sort du meme fourreau que le fer de Brutus.

XLIII.

To M. CHENAY.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 21st January, 1861.

DEAR MONSIEUR CHENAY, You expressed a wish
to engrave my drawing of John Brown, 1 and now you
desire to publish it ; I consent, and I add that I think it
desirable.

John Brown is a hero and a martyr. His death was
a crime. His gibbet is a cross. You remember that I
wrote at the foot of the drawing : Pro Christo, sicut
Christus.

When in December, 1859, I predicted to America
with deep sorrow the rupture of the Union as a conse-
quence of the murder of John Brown, I did not think
that the event would follow so quickly on my words.
At the present moment all that was in John Brown's
scaffold is issuing from it ; the latent fatalities of a
year ago are now visible, and from henceforth the rup-

1 Victor Hugo had made a large and splendid drawing represent-
ing John Brown on the gallows, with the inscription, Pro Christo, sicut
Christus.

VOL. n. 11



162 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

ture of the American Union, a great calamity, is to be
dreaded ; but the abolition of slavery, an immense step
in advance, to be hoped for.

Let us then once more call the attention of all to the
gibbet of Charlestown, as a lesson, and as the point of
departure of these grave events.

My drawing, which your fine talent has reproduced
with such striking fidelity, has no value but in its name
of John Brown, a name which must be continually
repeated, to the republicans of America, to remind
them of their duty, to the slaves, to summon them to
freedom.

XLIV.

To M. CRMIEUX.

BBAINE-L' ALLEN, 28th May, 1861.

DEAR FRIEND, I have received your letter of the
25th of March ; but it did not reach me till to-day, the
28th of May. On the 25th of March, I left Guernsey,
being unwell and in search of change of air ; for the
last two months I have been moving from one town to
another, enjoying the pleasures of convalescence, and it
is only to-day that I had the joy of reading your kind
and charming letter. It touches me deeply. You are
not only a man of eloquence and power, you are a good
man. Vir bonus . . . and all the rest of the defini-
tion. I can hardly express to you how dear you are to
me, how fond we all are of you. I, your client, and
my son Charles, your other client, are always talking
of you. No one is more eloquent than you ; no one
has a loftier soul. This is natural, however ; it is the
soul which inspires the voice.

I am quite well again. I shall return to my rock



TO THE ITALIAN MANAGING COMMITTEE. 163

very soon. If ever some good star were to bring you
there, oh, my dear visitor, how glad I should be to re-
ceive you in my poor abode ! It would be a red-letter
day for all the refugees, and you would gladden our
exile as you console the fatherland.

Lay at your daughter's feet the autograph she is good
enough to ask for. I was a long time thinking over a
phrase to write at the foot of this portrait, which should
express everything of which Mademoiselle Cremieux is
entitled to be proud, and at last I found it. Here
it is :

To the daughter of Cremieux.

I press your hand, my noble and generous friend.

XLV.

To MESSRS. GIUSEPPE PALMERI, LUIGI PORTA, SAVERIO FRISCIA,
Members of the Italian Managing Committee, at Palermo.

BRUSSELS, 21st June, 1861.

GENTLEMEN, In your eloquent letter, which touches
me deeply, you inform me that my name has just been
inscribed on the list of the Association for Italian Unity
by the spontaneous and unanimous decision of the
whole society.

I accept with pleasure the place which you offer me
among you. As far as my duty to democracy will
allow I shall warmly second your efforts. You thank
me in a grand fashion for the little I have done ; such
thanks are a reward.

Members of the Italian Committee, your undertaking
is a sacred one. The restoration of a great people is
more than a restoration, it is a resurrection. All the
forces of progress converge on the aim which you pur-



164 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

sue, and assist you. In founding Italy, you are not
laboring solely for your own country, but for the world.
United Italy is necessary to civilization.

The great Europe of the future is already beginning
to take shape. The tendency of peoples is to group
themselves in races, as a preliminary to grouping them-
selves in continents. These are the two phases of civ-
ilization which are logically linked together, the one
leading up to the other : first national unity, then
continental union. These two steps in advance will be
the achievement of the nineteenth century ; it has
already nearly accomplished the first, it will not come
to a close without having accomplished the second.

A time will come when frontiers will cease to exist.
All wars will disappear in the fraternity of races. That
will be the great day of the human fatherland.

Pending the realization of these sublime changes of
the future, continue, persevere, advance; let all men of
intelligence and feeling do the duty of the moment ;
let each nation demand its unity, the necessary contri-
bution of each people to the great federal compact of
the future ; let a lofty political philosophy inspire and
transform diplomacy itself ; let whoever mutilates or
diminishes a people be outlawed by humanity. Let us
all be fellow-countrymen in progress, and let us all re-
peat, from the European as well as from the Italian
point of view : Italy must have Venice and Rome, for
without Venice and Rome there can be no Italy, and
without Italy there can be no Europe.



TO EMILE DE GIRARDIN. 165



XLVI. n

To EMILE DE GIRARDIN.

LONDON, 16^ August, [1861].

I am in London, staying at an inn ; a newspaper has
just been brought me, the Presse ; I find in it your
name, which I am always looking for, and my name,
which you are fond of writing. You are right ; if we
could have a free discussion in public, we should soon
agree ; you are a follower of the radical and I of the
ideal. Well, the root is the idea.

But it is no use your being Girardin and Voltaire
being Voltaire ; both Voltaire and Girardin are obliged
to make concessions, and must always, to obtain permis-
sion to speak, be scattering the word king here and
there in their most logical and most unanswerable argu-
ments, as Spinoza scatters the word Christianity. Well,
in philosophical radicalism the word Christianity is
only a drop ; in political radicalism the word king is
only a drop ; but a drop of arsenic, mixed with the
best beverage in the world, makes it difficult to digest.

When the day comes for you to be free, your grand
logic will burst forth in all its fullness, and will bring
out the accuracy of your profound mind. On that day
we shall evidently, I imagine, be agreed on almost all
points. In the mean while, you are obliged to accept
the men of the Empire, and the Empire within certain
limits, just as Orpheus accepts Cerberus in order to pass
him ; and you throw them your noble style as a sop.
They will let you pass, but you will return alone, and
they will not let you bring back the Eurydice called
Liberty. A serpent has stung her in the heel, and a
demon guards her in the sepulchre.



166 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

All the same, I am glad to have a talk with you.
You are in my eyes one of the great servants of pro-
gress, of truth, of logic, and of liberty ; our differences
are only reasons why we should try to understand each
other thoroughly.

XLVII.

To GEORGE SAND.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 18th February, 1862.

Where are you ? Where will this letter find you ?
At Nohant or in Paris ? Do you sometimes think of
a distant friend whom you have never seen, and who is
sincerely and deeply attached to you ? All the good,
great, and beautiful things that you have done for all
in this age you, a woman, with your tenderness,
you, a sage, with your love make me one of your
debtors, and amid the immensities which surround me,
ocean, sky, stars, nature, humanity, storms, revolutions,
I call to you and I think of you, and my spirit says to
yours : Come.

I am overwhelmed with work and business, and in
this predicament, with which you are familiar, when
one has not a moment to one's self, a letter to write
seems an aggravation ; but it is a rest to write to you.

Your glory is one of those which shine with mild
rays. The contemplation of a light such as yours is
a joy to the soul.

When shall we be able to converse, and see each
other, and tell each other all that we have to say?
Alas ! France seems to be receding from me ; I only
wish Guernsey could move nearer to you.

It seems to me that, if you liked, you are prophet
enough to make the mountain come to you.



TO GEORGE SAND. 167

I kiss your hand, and I thank it and congratulate it
on having written so many beautiful works.

XLVIII.
To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 6$ May, [1862].

Your letter has made me sad. Imagine what a pain-
ful surprise it was to me. I had fancied that this
book 1 would bring us still nearer to each other, and
now I find that it estranges us, that it almost disunites
us. I should be angry with the book if I were not
convinced of its perfect sincerity.

Evidently one of us is wrong. Is it you ? Is it I ?
As your outspokenness encourages mine, allow me to
tell you that I think it is you.

I had dreamed that you, the great George Sand,
would understand my heart as I understand yours. At
any rate, living a solitary life, face to face with my in-
tention and alone with my conscience, I am sure, if not
of my achievement, at all events of my purpose ; I am
sure of my heart, which is the slave of justice, of the
ideal, of reason, of all that is great, generous, beautiful,
and true, of yourself.

XLIX.

To THE SAME.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 18th May, [1862].

It is nice to be wounded by goddesses when one is
healed by them. Thank you for your two exquisite
and kind letters. Those who cannot be charming are

1 The first part of Les Miserdbles. George Sand had given a qualified
approval only to the saintly Abbe* Myriel.



168 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

not great, and you prove this, for you are charming.
Your greatness converts itself at will into grace, and
it is in this way that it shows itself. . . . You who have
strength, possess charm as well.

Do not be afraid of my becoming too much of a
Christian. I believe in Christ as I do in Socrates, and
in God more than in myself. I am more certain of
the existence of God than of my own. If you go on
with the book, read the part called Parenthese; your
anxiety about this imaginary apprehension of yours
will be dispelled.

Let us change the subject to you. Now you are
happy into the bargain. Your son, who has something
of your genius, is going to be married. Be successful
in Paris and happy at Nohant. Live in an atmosphere
of glory; that is a fitting lot for you. I kiss your
hands, and I thank you for your adorable letters. I
perceive that I am in love with you. Luckily I am an
old man !

L.

To LAMARTINE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 24th June, lS6$.

MY ILLUSTRIOUS FRIEND, If to be an idealist is
to be a radical, then I am one. Yes, from every point
of view, I understand, I desire, and I hail improve-
ment ; le mieuXy though condemned in the proverb, is
not the ennemi du bien, for that would be equivalent
to saying that it is the friend of evil. Yes, a society
which tolerates misery, a religion which admits hell,
a humanity which admits war, appear to me to be a
society, a religion, and a humanity of a lower order ;
and it is towards the society, the humanity, and the



TO LAMARTINE. 169

religion of a higher world that I aspire : society with-
out kings, humanity without frontiers, religion without
sacred books. Yes, I combat the priest who sells lies
and the judge who administers injustice. To univer-
salize property (which is the reverse of abolishing it)
by getting rid of parasitism, i. e., to achieve the follow-
ing object, every man an owner_ol_ property and no
man master, that is my idea of true social and political
economy. To sum up, as far as a man can will it, I
would destroy human fatality, condemn slavery, ban-
ish misery, enlighten ignorance, cure disease, illumine
darkness, and detest hatred.

These are my principles, and that is why I wrote Les
Miser ables.

*^In my view Les Miserdbles is simply a book with
fraternity for its starting-point and progress for its
goal.

Now judge me. Literary disputes between persons
who have received a literary education are ridiculous,
but political and social discussion between poets, that
is to say between philosophers, is serious and fruitful.
Evidently your aims are the same as mine, to a great
extent at least ; only perhaps you would like to see the
transition made still more gentle. For my part, while
putting aside all idea of violence and reprisals, I con-
fess that, seeing so much suffering, I am in favor of
the shortest way.

Dear Lamartine, long ago, in 1820, the first lispings
of my youthful muse were a cry of enthusiasm at the
dazzling rise of your genius on the world. Those lines
are in my published works and I love them ; they are
there with many others which glorify your splendid



170 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

gifts. To-day you think it is your turn to speak of me,
and I am proud of it. We have loved each other for
forty years, and we are still alive ; you would not wish
to spoil this past or the future, I am sure. Do what
you will with my book and with me. Nothing but
light can come from your hands.

Your old friend, VICTOR HUGO.

LI.
To OCTAVE LACKOIX.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 30$ June, 1862.

DEAR SIR, I readily answer your letter, for I
recognize in you a valiant combatant for truth and
right, and I greet a noble mind.

After having, like you, fought against the Second of
December, I was banished from France. I wrote Napo-
leon le Petit at Brussels ; I had to leave Belgium. I
went to Jersey, and there fought for three years against
the common enemy ; the English government was sub-
jected to the same pressure as the Belgian government,
and I had to leave Jersey. I have been in Guernsey for
seven years. I have bought a house here, which gives
me the right of citizenship and protects my person ; here
I am safe from a fourth expulsion. However, I am
bound to say that Jersey two years ago, and Belgium
a year ago, spontaneously reopened their doors to me.

I live near the sea in a house built sixty years ago
by an English privateer and called Hauteville House.
I, a representative of the people and an exiled soldier
of the French Republic, pay droit de poulage every
year to the Queen of England, sovereign lady of the
Channel Islands, as Duchess of Normandy and my



1 71

. -L I A

feudal suzerain. This is one of the curious results of
exile.

I live a retired life here, with my wife, my daughter,
and my two sons, Charles and Francois. A few exiles
have joined me, and we make a family party. Every
Tuesday I give a dinner to fifteen little children, chosen
from among the most poverty-stricken of the island,
and my family and I wait on them ; I try by this
means to give this feudal country an idea of equality
and fraternity. Every now and then a friend crosses
the sea and pays me a visit. These are our gala-days.
I have some dogs, some birds, some flowers. I hope
next year to have a small carriage and a horse. My
pecuniary circumstances, which had been brought to a
very low ebb by the coup d'etat, have been somewhat
improved by my book Les Miserables. I get up early,
I go to bed early, I work all day, I walk by the sea, I
have a sort of natural armchair in a rock for writing at
a beautiful spot called Firmain Bay; I do not read the
seven hundred and forty articles published against me
during the last three months (and counted by my pub-
lishers) in the Catholic newspapers of Belgium, Italy,
Austria, and Spain. I am very fond of the worthy,
hard-working little people among whom I live, and I
think they are rather fond of me, too. I do not smoke,
I eat roast beef like an Englishman, and I drink beer
like a German ; which does not prevent the Espana, a
clerical newspaper of Madrid, from asserting that Vic-
tor Hugo does not exist, and that the real author of
Les Miser ables is called Satan.

Here, dear sir, you have nearly all the details for
which you ask me. Allow me to complete them by a
cordial shake of the hand.



172 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LII.

To PAUL DE SAINT-VICTOR.

2d October, 1862.

I have just read your first article on Les Miserables.
I thank you. For the last fourteen years, you have
been writing, page by page and day by day, one of the
great books of the age, the history of contemporary
art confronted with the ideal. This serene comparison
is the triumph of your luminous mind. Thought, poe-
try, philosophy, painting, and sculpture, you light up
all with the splendid reflection of that vision of the
beautiful which is within you.

And the charm of your soul is that it is a heart. In
your artistic and philosophic teaching one feels the pro-
found emotion of justice and of truth. With JEschy-
lus you are Greek, with Dante you are Italian, and,
above all, you are human. This makes you the pro-
found thinker and the great writer whom I admire.

You know that not a line of yours escapes me. I
read your works with the tender assiduity of a kindred
spirit. At each stroke you hit the mark, and for many
a year I have been following you with my eyes, and
admiring you as one shaft after another from your
inexhaustible quiver flies into the targets of the true
and the beautiful.

To-day I am proud of the work which you link with
mine. You inlay my wall with marble bas-reliefs.
After reading the admirable article, in which every
word has the profundity of the idea and the transpar-
ency of truth, I ought to have controlled my feelings,
and held my peace until the series was finished and I




TO MICHELET. 173

could give you my impression of it as a whole. In
future I will do so, but I was unable to do it on this
occasion.

You forgive me, do you not ?

Dear and great thinker, I press your hand.

LIII.

To MICHELET.
HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2d December, 1862.

I finished reading La Sorciere this morning, dear
and great philosopher. I thank you for having written
this fine work. In it you have depicted truth in all its
aspects, of which, perhaps, the grandest is pity. You
are not satisfied with convincing, you must touch your
readers. This book is one of your great triumphs.

I love everything in it : the lifelike style, which
suffers with the martyr ; the thought, which resembles
an expansion of the soul in the infinite ; the large
heart, the knowledge blended with emotion ; the de-
scription, or rather the intuition of nature, from which
issues the imposing figure of a sort of demon-god, who
draws smiles and tears.

The hermit thanks you for having sent him this
tender, deep, and poignant book. He is a melancholy
dreamer, often sadly overwhelmed by the contemplation
and the haunting thought of all the suffering in the
world ; but when his hand feels the pressure of yours,
a ray of light seems to pass before his eyes.



174 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LIV.

To EMILE DE GIRARDIN.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2d April, 1863.

The noise made by you people who are still in the
world reaches my solitude late, but it does reach it
eventually.

I learn that at a banquet of the Presse you had the
splendid courage to evoke the absent, and that, in a
toast of the noblest eloquence, you associated my name
with that of liberty.

Liberty will not return under the present regime. It
is afraid of her, and it is right ; liberty has a good
memory, and no cohabitation is possible between her
and this government, born of sudden crime, the coup
d'etat, and upheld by a continuous crime, despotism.
I do not share your hopes, and on the other hand my
hopes might seem illusions to you ; but we are agreed,
you and I, in our devotion to progress and to that irre-
ducible liberty, the vanquished of to-day, the victor of
to-morrow.

LV.

To THE MEMBERS OF THE DEMOCRATIC CLUB OF PISA.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 3d April, 1863.

MY ITALIAN BROTHERS, Your eloquent and noble
letter goes to my heart. I accept with alacrity the
place which you offer me among you. Italy united
and free is my wish, as it is yours. To liberate Italy is
to add to civilization.

This very day, Friday the 3d of April, it is eighteen
hundred and sixty-three years since Jesus Christ died
upon the Cross. He did not die at Home. He died



TO LAMARTINE. 175

at Jerusalem. It would seem that the Popes have for-
gotten this, since they have seated themselves on the
summit of the Capitol without seeing that their place
is at the foot of Calvary. Christianity is less august
crowned in the Vatican than kneeling at Golgotha.
A triple crown of earthly gratification and pride is a
strange substitute for the crown of thorns.

Since the Popes harden their hearts, since they de-
spise Jerusalem, since they usurp Rome, Italy too will
harden her heart. Italy will resume possession of
Rome, as a matter of right and duty. She will resume
possession of Rome, as she will resume possession of
Venice. The Pope, like the CaBsar, is a foreign sov-
ereign.

LVI.

To IjAMABTINE. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 23d May, 1863.

DEAR LAMARTINE, A great blow has befallen you ;
I must bring my heart close to yours. I venerated her
whom you loved.

Your lofty spirit sees beyond the horizon ; you have
a distinct vision of the future life. There is no need
to say " hope " to you. You are one of those who
know.

She is still your companion ; invisible, but present.
You have lost the wife, but not the soul. Dear friend,
let us live in the dead.

1 On the death of his wife.



176 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LVII.

To GEORGE SAND.

TROVES, 26^ August, 1863.

Forgive this dreadful hotel paper. I am traveling,
and I write to you on the first table that comes handy.
I am at Treves, surrounded by all kinds of beautiful
things, and how is it possible not to think of you ? I
have read the noble, charming, and cordial article which
you have written on Mme. Victor Hugo's book. 1 It
seems to me that henceforth the book is by you both ;
you countersign it, you magnify it by your glory.
That is an illusion of the heart. Allow me to indulge
in it.

You do not know how much I admire you. I take
every opportunity of telling you so, and I thank you
for giving me this one. There was, and perhaps there
still is, something or other between you and me. But
it has disappeared, or will disappear. The main thing
for me is that I love you and understand you. You
have a unique and exalted glory. You are the great
woman of your age.

LVIII.

To THE MINISTER OF THE REPUBLIC OF COLOMBIA. 2

HAUTE VILLE HOUSE, 12th October, 1863.

I cannot tell you how much your communication
touches me. I have devoted my life to progress, and
the starting-point of progress in the world is the invio-
lability of human life. The corollaries of this principle
are the end of war and the abolition of the scaffold.

1 Victor Hugo raconte par un temoin de sa vie.

a He had sent Victor Hugo a copy of the Constitution of Colombia.



GENERAL GARIBALDI TO VICTOR HUGO. 177

The end of war and the abolition of the scaffold
mean the suppression of the sword. The sword sup-
pressed, despotism will vanish. It loses both its object
and its means of existence.

You send me, on behalf of your free republic, a
copy of your constitution. Your constitution abolishes
capital punishment, and you are good enough to credit
me with a share in this splendid reform. I thank the
Republic of the United States of Colombia with deep
emotion. In abolishing capital punishment it sets an
admirable example. It takes two steps, the one in the
direction of happiness, the other in the direction of
glory. The high-road lies open. Let America advance,
Europe will follow her.

Transmit, dear sir, my acknowledgments to your
noble and free fellow-citizens, and receive the assurance
of my high consideration.

LIX.

GENERAL GARIBALDI to VICTOR HUGO, at Hauteville House.

CAPRERA, 25th November, 1863.

DEAR VICTOR HUGO, I was sure of your coopera-
tion, you must be sure of my gratitude.

What you say is right, and I should like to have the
million of souls which would enable me to dispense with
the million of guns ; I should like to see the universal
agreement which would make war useless. Like you,
I await with confidence the regeneration of peoples.
But to realize truth without suffering, and to tread
the triumphal path of justice without besprinkling it
with human blood, is an ideal which has hitherto been
sought in vain.

VOL. U. 12



178



THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



It is for you, who are the torch-bearer, to point out
a less cruel way ; it is for us to follow you.

Your friend for life,

GARIBALDI.



LX.

To GENERAL GARIBALDI, at Caprera.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 20th December, 1863.

DEAR GARIBALDI, We both of us have faith, and
our faith is identical.

The regeneration of the nations is infallible. For
my part, I have a profound conviction that, when the
time has come, not much blood will be shed. The Eu-
rope of the peoples fara da se. Revolutions, even the
most successful and the most necessary ones, bring
their responsibility, and you, like me, are one of those
who dread their having to bear the tremendous weight
of one drop of blood too much. No bloodshed at all
would be the ideal ; and why not the ideal ? When
the ideal is reached in man, and you alone are sufficient
to prove that this is possible, why should it not be
reached in things ?

Hatred decreases in proportion as the moral standard
rises. Let us endeavor, then, to raise that standard.
Emancipation by means of thought, revolution through
civilization, that is our aim, yours as well as mine.
And when the last fight has to be fought, there need
be no anxiety, it will be beautiful, generous, and great ;
it will be as gentle as a fight possibly can be. The
problem is in a way solved by your presence.

Dear friend, I press your illustrious hand.

VICTOR HUGO.



TO LOUIS BLANC. 179

LXI.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 28$ March, 1864.

I hear that you have returned to Nohant. That is
where my applause likes to go in search of you. It is
natural that one solitude should write to another. In
your splendid triumph in Paris my voice would have
been nothing ; it is always of very little account in the
blaze of fame which surrounds you ; but it seems to me
that down in the country, in the midst of your fields
and your trees, you will hear it better.

My pleasures are but few ; your success is one of
them, and one of the best. You give our age an op-
portunity for being just. I thank you for being great
and I thank you for being admired. In a gloomy
period such as ours, your glory is a consolation.

LXII.

To Louis BLANC.

HAUTEVTLLE HOUSE, 31st March, 1864.

MY DEAR Louis BLANC, In the book which I am
about to publish, 1 and in which I refer incidentally,
and in high terms, to the committee, 2 I express myself
against the idea of a subscription. A subscription is
the ordinary accompaniment of this sort of manifes-
tation. But for Shakespeare we want more than the
ordinary. I think that the least which should be done
for him is the vote of a great public monument by Act
of Parliament.

1 William Shakespeare.

2 The committee formed in England for erecting a statue to Shake-
speare.



180 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

This, in my judgment, is the direction which the ac-
tion of the committee should take. Having expressed
this opinion, which is about to be published, can I take
part in the subscription ? Can I write one thing and
do another ?

If it were a case which concerned the conscience, the
immediate answer would be No. The present case
admits of less strictness. Nevertheless, would there
not be some inconsistency ? You are on the spot, you
have a near view of things ; you combine ability with
discrimination ; allow me to appeal to you.

If you think that my book does not prevent me from
subscribing, you can at once put me down for five
pounds, and my son Francois Victor also for five
pounds. If you think there is any drawback in my
appearing to change my mind, and that I ought to
hold aloof, I will do so.

My friendship asks permission to abide by the deci-
sion of yours.

LXIII.
To GENERAL GARIBALDI. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 24$ April, 1864.

I did not ask you to come, because you would have
come, and, however great might have been my joy at
welcoming you you, the real hero ! whatever hap-
piness I might have had in receiving you in my house,
I knew that you were better employed, and a man has
not the right to take you from a people. Guernsey
salutes Caprera and perhaps will visit it some day. In
the mean while, let us love each other.

1 Garibaldi was then in London receiving a triumphal reception from
the English.



TO CHARLES HUGO. 181

The English people presents a noble spectacle at this
moment. Be the guest of England after having been
the liberator of Italy ; that is a grand thing. The
man who is applauded is followed. Your triumph in
England is a victory for liberty. The old Europe of
the Holy Alliance is afraid of it.

The truth is that these cheers are a precursor of the
deliverance.

XIV.
To CHARLES HUGO.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, [1864].

Your letter does not reply to the cry which came
from the depths of my heart : Return !

We all miss you here, and I more than any one, as
you are well aware. But I used the word " return "
in every sense. I did not mean only return by the rail-
way, I meant return by the heart ; do not put an end
only to the material separation which has so long parted
us, put an end to the mental separation as well. You
have caused me great pain, my poor dear child, but I
forgive you because I love you, and when one loves,
there is one thing which is impossible, and that is not
to forgive.

Yes, my whole heart turns toward you and longs for
yours. Return ! return ! Alas ! while you are suffer-
ing at a distance, we are suffering too ; you know my
last tortures ; that does not prevent me from being
torn asunder by yours. You see, I was right ; every-
thing is happening as I predicted.

Ah, my God ! to think of you so far away, so sad !
What a crowd of troubles all at once ! Return ! re-
turn ! I can say and think nothing else.



182 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LXV.

To MR. TENNANT, Glamorgan, Wales.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 15th May, 1864.

DEAR MR. TENNANT, Before writing the book to
which you draw my attention, you had done the f ollow-
ing things.

You had poor laborers around you. You lent them
thirty acres of your best land. You divided these
thirty acres into allotments. Each allotment was large
enough for two cottages and two good gardens. And
you said to the poor people around you : Here is land
for any one who wants it. The alignment must be
followed, not more than two cottages can be built on
one allotment ; the rent of each allotment is a guinea
a year, and I will give you a lease of a thousand years.
In a few weeks all the allotments were taken up, hun-
dreds of landowners were created, the scheme grew as
time went on, and the result at the present day is a
small town in Wales, in Glamorganshire, the town of
Skewen. Every landowner in Skewen is a voter, i. e., a
citizen. You have made more than a town, you have
made a city.

This is not all. You dug at your own expense a
canal thirty feet deep and nine miles long, navigable
for the largest vessels, and leading to the sea. The
seaport is called Port Tennant.

A town called into being, a canal dug, a port built,
is pretty well.

That, at any rate, is a good preface.

I am now reading your book, or rather I am having
it read to me, for I do not know English.



TO MR. TENNANT. 183

I am more radical than you, as you are aware. You
deal tenderly with parasitism ; I would sweep it away.
But, apart from this exception, I accept your book.
Many of the expedients indicated by you are very in-
genious, very elaborate, very efficacious, and are sup-
ported by principles. You sketch out, in sincere and
powerful language, a juster apportionment of social
burdens, a more normal distribution of territory, a more
loyal civilization than ours, a better Europe. One day
a better humanity will be your ideal. When that day
comes you will understand everything ; you will fight
parasitism instead of regulating it ; you will adopt, with
all the energy of your upright character, and as an
absolute and necessary starting-point of progress, gra-
tuitous and compulsory education. Then you will be
quite logical, that is, on the way to the whole truth.
Then your mind will be complete, and your books will
be irrefutable.

In the mean while I content myself with all the
excellent, just, true, and cordial things for the people
in your book. The people suffers ; let us love it. I
do not say this to you, the founder of towns; I say it to
every one. Let us love each other. One day in a sen-
tence, I forget where, I had written the word aimer ;
the compositor put aider. I accepted this misprint.
Let us love each other, and let us help each other.
Let the rich love and help the poor ; let the poor love
and help the rich. All have need of all.



184 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LXVI.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 17th May, 1864.

It is clear that being so great, you must be charming.
Grace is a form of power. You prove this in all your
works ; you prove it in the exquisite and superb pages
which I have just read. A friend has sent them to me.
From henceforth he is more my friend.

I read what you have said, I read this grand and
noble letter ; it is written about me, and it seems to
be addressed to me. I am deeply moved. What an
inspiration of genius to have worked nature into the
book ; to talk of your lif e in the country in the same
breath as art and science ; to let the rustling of leaves
and the twittering of birds be heard here and there
amid the grand things which you say. Dante dictates
one page, Virgil another. It is enchantment combined
with strength. Ah, Circe ! ah, George Sand !

I am very glad to have written that book, since it
pleases you. So you like me a little ? Really ? Well,
that was one of my ambitions.

I am very ambitious. I should like to see you. That
again is a dream of mine. What a lovely portrait you
have sent me ! What beauty, dignity, and grave sweet-
ness ! Do not be afraid ; I am an old fellow, and here
is my portrait which proves it. I should like to be
somewhere in the world, in a remote spot, at Nohant,
or Guernsey, or Caprera, with Garibaldi and you ; we
should understand each other. It seems to me that we
are three good specimens of this age. It is a thousand
pities that I cannot go to Nohant. They tell me that



TO GEORGE SAND. 185

I am a voluntary exile. Parbleu ! that is what keeps
me here. If I had only Cayenne to fear, I should go
to France whenever I liked.

Your letter converses. At the same time it is in-
structive, it is musical, it is meditative. The whole face
of nature is reflected in a line of yours like the firma-
ment in a drop of dew. You have vistas into the
infinite, into life, mankind, the animal world, the soul.
That is great. When a philosopher is combined with
a woman, nothing can be more admirable. The deeper
aspects are treated as well as the lighter ones. I am
one of those who hold that the heart should think.
You are that heart. Harmonious conversation is the
conversation that I like ; we should have it together, I
fancy; our points of contact are numerous. Now I
am boasting ; smile and forgive me.

You will never grow old. You are ineffably gra-
cious. While Paris applauds and adores you, you con-
struct a little retreat in the depths of the country for
yourself alone, and you fashion a shady nook in your
glory. There are nests for souls as well as for birds.
At this moment your soul is in its nest. Be as happy
as you are great.

I close my letter in order to read yours again. I am
told that there are people who envy my book. I do
not doubt it ; I am one of them ; it has traveled with
you, I am jealous of it.

I kneel before you and I kiss your hands.



186 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LXVII.

To ALEXANDRE DUMAS.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 16th June, [1865].

DEAR DUMAS, I have just read your letter in
the Presse. I read it without surprise. Nothing in
the way of bravery astonishes me from you; and in the
way of cowardice nothing astonishes me from these
people. You are the light ; the Empire is the dark-
ness ; it hates you, that is simple enough ; it wants to
extinguish you, that is not so simple. It will have its
trouble for nothing. The shadow which it will cast
upon you will only enhance your brightness.

A glorious incident for you, altogether, and honora-
ble for me, and one on which I congratulate our old
friendship.

LXVIII.

To GEORGE SAND.

BRUSSELS, 1th October, 1865.

I have been away and traveling about all the summer.
I am passing through Brussels for the marriage of my
son Charles, and am on the way back to my rock in
mid ocean. Paul Meurice has been speaking to me of
you, and I feel the need of writing to you. Will you
allow me to tell you that I am devotedly attached to
you ? There are moments in life when sympathy,
deeper and tenderer than ever, mingles with the ad-
miration inspired by a great mind. That is the feeling
which I send you ; that is the sort of respect which I
lay at your feet.



TO THEODORE DE BANVILLE. 187

LXIX.

To THEODORE DE BANVILLE.

CASTLE GARY, 25th October, [1865].

You answer my little familiar letters with splendid
public replies. I have just read in the Presse your
grand prologue to the Chansons des Hues et des Bois.
It is the nightingale heralding the lark.

Since you are good enough to take a liking to this
book beforehand, perhaps that will induce me to pub-
lish it. Your wish, dear poet, is a command to the
muse.

Nevertheless, the sky is sadly overcast for committing
this tiny bark to the winds and waves. I have my
doubts.

I saw in the papers that I had been away from
Guernsey two months ; it should have been three
months, and I am not back yet. I have been wander-
ing about here and there, as near as possible to the
French frontier. I have been in the museums and
among the mountains. I have often thought of you,
dear poet, in presence of the grandeur of nature and
the eternity of art. Nature and art are yours ; you
have the double lyre.

Yes, dear Banville, you are one of the fountain-
heads of poetry in our time ; and that is a glory, for
never has a great epoch had a more lofty poetry. In
that firmament, which is often dark but always pro-
found, you will rank among the stars of the first magni-
tude. You are an Aldebaran of art.



188 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LXX.

To GEORGE SAND.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 28th November, 1865.
You have just written me an admirable letter in the
Avenir national. This article repays me for my book. 1
You are one of the great minds of France and of the
world, and, what is the most beautiful thing in exist-
ence, a mind made up of heart. It is the heart, the
large heart, which speaks in all that you utter, urbi et
orbi. Having every tenderness, you have the right to
promulgate every truth. There is something sublime
and touching in witnessing the reappearance, in our
century of doubt and strife, of the priestess in the
imposing figure of George Sand. At their best, your
ideas are heroic, because they are inspired by goodness.
Hence your power. What you say of life, of death, of
the grave, of the great gamut of souls on the lyre
of the infinite, of the never-ending ascents, of the radi-
ant transfigurations, all this, which you bring before
our eyes and into our thoughts, is true and pure, cour-
ageous to say, necessary to hear. A few minds, in
our day, obtain notoriety by means of negation ; affir-
mation is left to the great souls. You have the right
to the Yes. Use it. Use it for yourself and for all.
God has one proof among men, genius. You exist,
therefore He exists. I look on a profession of affirma-
tion as a service rendered to the human race, and
when it is written by you, it has a double light, glory
added to truth. You are sad, consoler ! That
enhances your greatness. Permit me to tell you that I
am deeply moved.

1 Les chansons des rues et des bois.



TO PAUL DE SAINT-VICTOR. 189

LXXI.

To PAUL DE SALNT- VICTOR.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, KM December, 1865.

Solitude would be irksome without communion with
great minds. I seek them in the past, and they reply
to me ; I call them in the present, and they reply to
me there too. My books are the letters which I write
to them. You have just acknowledged receipt of Les
chansons des rues et des bois.

You have read this book, and you speak of it in
grand terms. You have the gift of defining art,in a
line and of writing a poem in a page. Your criticism
creates a picture, and there is a philosophy in your
eloquence. This is the rule, however ; there is no
exception to it ; splendor implies profundity.

This law is found in nature as well as in art. It
breaks forth in the sun and is reflected in Homer. In
my life on this rock amid the mist and the storm, my
mind has gradually become detached from everything
except the great manifestations of the conscience and
the intellect. I have never indulged in hatred, and I
am no longer moved by anger. I look only on the
bright side of human nature ; I grow wrathful only
against absolute evil, pitying those who do it or think
it. I have a profound faith in progress. Eclipses are
intervals of obscuration, and how can I doubt of the
return of liberty when each day that I wake I witness
the return of light ?

You, in this age which is too much inclined toward
matter, are a dispenser of the ideal. You render us
the immense service of making us understand the soul



190 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

of the universe, demonstrated by the masterpieces of
art as well as by the marvels of the creation. You are
one of the luminaries of the true and the beautiful.
Every time that my name drops from your pen, I fancy
that I hear a rustle of glory.

LXXII.

To THE GONFALONIERE OF FLORENCE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 1st February, 1866.

SIR, To receive from the Gonfalpniere of Florence,
in the name of Italy, the jubilee medal of Dante, is an
immense honor, and I am deeply touched by it. In
your eyes my name is synonymous with France, and
you say as much in grand terms. Yes, in me, as in all
Frenchmen, there is something of the spirit of France,
and this spirit of France is in favor of enlightenment,
progress, peace, and liberty, and this spirit of France
desires the greatness of all peoples, and this spirit of
France has a sister in the spirit of Italy.

LXXIII.

To MME. RATTAZZI.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 21th February, 1866.

Alas ! madam, I appeal to your noble and charming
heart and to your generous mind : after the crime com-
mitted against Italy at Mentana, not by France, but
by the odious French government, I can only raise my
voice in Italy to demand Kome and hail the republic.
You will understand me, and you will approve of what
I do.

VICTOR HUGO.



TO HENRI DE PENE. 191

LXXIV.

To HENBI DE PENE, Manager of the Gaulois.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 27th February, 1866.
MY HONORABLE AND DEAR OLD FRIEND, I am

much touched by your excellent letter. It is a pleasure
to me to renew our friendly relations of former days.
Your offers are the most splendid that have ever been
made to a writer. I acknowledge your magnificence ;
but artistic considerations are paramount in my eyes,
and even the half a million of francs which you offer
me cannot overcome my scruples as an artist. I am
convinced that Les travailleurs de la mer cannot be
cut up into feuilletons. This mode of publication, ex-
cellent in itself and one which I am far from condemn-
ing, may perhaps suit Quatrevingt-treize, the book at
which I am working just now.

Your letter and telegram reached me only yesterday.
Our dear mutual friend Paul Meurice will explain to
you the isolation of Guernsey. I live a retired, serious
life here.

You will understand my reasons for declining your
superb and handsomely made offers, and you will thank
me for them. They spring entirely from my con-
science. It is the latter which, however much I may
regret it, forces me to turn my eyes away modestly from
the half million. Les travailleurs de la mer is to
appear in book form. When it is published, I am sure
you will agree with me.

My warmest thanks for your cordial proposal.
Allow me to put something of the future in the greet-
ing which I send you.




192 ) THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



LXXV.

To PAUL DE SAINT-VICTOR.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 4*A April, 1866.

It would be worth while writing a book simply to get
an article 1 from you. brother of my mind, I greet
you and I thank you. When the building is finished,
it is you who plant the banner of light on the summit.
You add one creation to another ; you are the great
interpreter ; you write the poem on the poem, the
answer to the Sphinx, the cry from the great deep.
This grand criticism of yours is also a great phi-
losophy; it flashes across our age like a trail of light
through the darkness. You are one of the rescuers
of the ideal. This distinction will attach to your name.

What escapes from the sea does not escape from
woman ; that is the subject of the book, and how you
have understood it ! And how you make others under-
stand it ! To be loved, Gilliatt does everything, Ebe-
nezer nothing, and Ebenezer is the one who is loved.
Ebenezer has spiritual and physical beauty, and with
this twofold prestige, he has only to appear in order
to triumph. Gilliatt too has this double beauty, but
overlaid with the mask of frightful labor. His very
greatness causes his defeat.

I am indulging in a conversation with you. I have
just read your article, and it seems to me like a dialogue
begun. When shall I see you ? When will it be my
lot to press the hand which has written so many superb
and profound things, and which makes a masterpiece of
criticism !

1 Saint- Victor's article on Les travailleurs de la mer.



TO LOUIS BOULANGER. 193

Bear in mind that you are one of the props of the
solitary poet. A page written by you is like a cordial.
Between you and me there is a sort of mysterious inter-
course of the soul. You say to me : Courage ! and I
say to you : Thanks !

I seem to see my two poles marked out by you in
your two articles on Les chansons des rues et des bois
and Les travailleurs de la mer. Nothing escapes your
powerful mind. You illumine the whole length and
breadth of a work, and your star, after having lighted
up the summit, reappears in the depths below.

LXXVI.

To Louis BOULANGER.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 9th April, 1866.

I am not absent, dear Louis, since I still keep my
place in your heart.

Your letter charms and moves me ; there is a flavor
of our youth in it. You still keep that youth. A
little child should have a young father, and your child
is six years old. This dawning life blends sweetly with
your own, and you have the radiance of it. Be happy.
I constantly have before me, in my poor exile's abode,
several powerful and striking works signed Louis Bou-
langer. I look at them and I meditate. Where are the
roses of last year ? You are still my beloved painter,
the companion that I miss, one of those sweet brothers
of the beginning, still more precious and more dear at

the end.

VOL. n. 13



194 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

LXXVII.

To MARC FOURNTER.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 18th April, 1866.

MY DEAR COLLEAGUE, I am touched by your
obliging proposal. I recognize in it the talented writer
as well as the artist-manager. I hasten to reply to you.
To enable the drama l which I have written this winter
to be acted, a state of liberty would be necessary which
in France is granted to no one, and to me least of all.
I am therefore compelled to put it off. The drama,
however, is written for the stage, and entirely adapted
for scenic effect. But, while quite playable from an
artistic point of view, it is less so from the point of
view of the censure. I prefer to wait, and my play will
appear when liberty returns.

If, at that time, you are still good enough to remem-
ber me, we shall be able to resume this interrupted
negotiation. The Porte-Saint-Martin theatre, which
you so kindly call " my theatre," is dear to me, and
there is no stage on which I should be more glad to
reappear.

Accept, my dear and worthy colleague, with the ex-
pression of my present regret, the assurance of my
warm regard.

LXXVIII.

To M. CUVILLIER-FLEURY.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 30th April, 1866.

MY DEAR COLLEAGUE, I feel, in every way, so
utterly absent from the Academy that I cannot but be

1 Torquemada.



TO M. LACAUSSADE. 195

touched whenever one of my colleagues is kind enough
to make believe that I still belong to it. Exile has
created the Academician in partibus ; I am that Aca-
demician. But exile has not been able to rob me of
my old memories and my old friendships. You know,
my dear and worthy colleague, the place which you
have in them.

There are, and I regret it, many points of disagree-
ment between us ; but we are agreed in this, that we
both have conscience for our guide and liberty for our
goal.

Conscience, liberty ; all the dignity of life resides in
those two words. We can, therefore, in the Academy
and everywhere else, exchange a cordial shake of the
hand.

LXXIX.

To M. LACAUSSADE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 30$ May, 1866.

I knew and highly appreciated the poet in you ; you
now reveal to me the critic. One is worthy of the
other. One feels that you are familiar with high art.
I have just read your fine and thoughtful article on
my lyric poetry. I am charmed, touched, and at times
moved to delight, by the lofty, philosophical, and ar-
tistic qualities you display in these few pages.

You possess the two qualities without which no mind
is complete, that is to say, sympathy with your age
and taste for all time ; you understand the nineteenth
century and you understand the ideal. Hence your
power as a critic and your penetration as an artist.

Taste is much talked about in these days, and those



196 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

who talk the most about it are the people who have the
least of it; they are engrossed in a local transitory
taste, French taste in the seventeenth century, and
they cannot appreciate what I have just called taste for
all time.

Thus, in the name of Boileau they polish Horace,
and in the name of Kacine they deny JEschylus. To
bring literature back from this spurious taste to the
genuine taste, which embraces Aristophanes and Shake-
speare, Dante and Moliere, is the function of a mind
such as yours. Function is equivalent to mission, and
mission means the same as duty.

Continue your great work on the lines of the ideal.
I thank you for myself, and I applaud you for all.

LXXX.

To MlCHELET.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 27th May, [1866].

. . . Your Louis XV. is one of your finest works.
This king was rotting in his grave. You appeared on
the scene as the resuscitator. You said to the corpse :
Stand up ! and you put within it its horrible soul.
Now it moves, and it makes one shudder. And along
with the reign, you have portrayed the age, the one
petty, the other great. The miasma of the past and
the breath of the future are in your book; hence its
warning and its encouragement, hence its lesson.

I thank you ; I am only a witness of the nineteenth
century. I will say 'this for myself, that I understand
all the works of this great age, in which your place is
such an exalted one. The sympathy which I feel for
my time, and for the men of my time, constitutes all



TO THEODORE DE BANVILLE. 197

my pride and almost all my joy. Dear historian, dear
philosopher, I press your hand, and I hail your luminous
spirit.

LXXXI.

To THEODORE DE BANVILLE.

BRUSSELS, 11 fh July, [1866].

I have just read Gringoire. You have written an
exquisite work, intensely sad and intensely gay, like all
true comedy. It is the sob of the poet mingling with
the laugh of the philosopher. It is human destiny
emphasized by ideal art. Your Louis XI. makes one
shudder and smile ; and what a charming figure of a
woman between that spectre, the king, and that shadow,
the poet ! Your two ballads are beautiful and touch-
ing. I thank you, dear poet, for all the services which
you render to the ideal. Go on giving me the pleasure
of seeing you succeed. Thanks for my name side by
side with yours.

LXXXII.

To THE SAME.

BRUSSELS, 8tk August, [1866].

Oh, my dear poet, what beautiful things, and what
charming things ! Not a page but sparkles ; not a word
which does not sing and think, for to sing is to think.
The Hymn is the Word. I have it, your book, this
living water, so dear to the heart of the wretched.
I drink of it, for I have suffered, and my mouth is
dry. I am thirsty. Honor to you, poets, irrigui
fontes !

You yourself are one of the purest and most ex-
quisite of these springs ; your drops of water are pearls,



198 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

and your pearls are tears, and your tears are my joy.
Of such stuff is the poet. It is with his grief that he
consoles. One touches one's wound and is healed. The
grand poetry of the nineteenth century, daughter of
the Revolution and of eternal liberty, encircles your
head with one of its finest wreaths.

I embrace you, sweet poet of poets, ideal exile,
friend of the Dantes and the Homers. You have every
fault of the swan ; you sing as he does, but you will

not die.

LXXXIII.

To GEORGE SAJST>.

BRUSSELS, 14$ August, 1866.

The echo of your fame still reaches me, although
having become a chronic recluse (which results in a sort
of deafness), I know nothing of what is going on. The
idea of your story, Un Don Juan de village, is a lofty
and profound one, like all that comes from your great
mind. The unchangeableness of the perennial essence
of human nature ; the heart everywhere the same ; the
corruption of the town accentuated by the roughness
of the country ; vice growing in the fields as well as on
the pavement ; a peasant Don Juan, all this bears
the stamp of that great truth which is also great origi-
nality. And this vice tamed by love, this tiger on the
back of which leaps the winged child, gentlest and
strongest of beast-tamers, here again is greatness in-
stinct with charm, greatness worthy of you.

I offer you my humble tribute of admiration.



TO MME. CHENAY. 199

LXXXIV.

To FRANCIS COPPEE.

CHAUDFONTAINE, 29*A August, [1866].
MY YOUNG AND CHARMING FELLOW-POET, 1 have

just arrived from Zealand, and your letter reaches me
at Chaudfontaine. Yes, yes, yes ; I wish to see you,
you and your two exceUent holiday companions. To
press the hand of three poets, to commune with three
esprits, is for me, an old recluse, a valuable opportu-
nity, and I do not want to miss it. Only I shall not be
at Brussels till the 15th.

We shall talk of you, of your fine book Le reliquaire,
of art, of the ideal, of all that we desire, of all that
we love. We shall mingle mind with mind, and your
youth will bring me joy, and my old age will invite you
to calm.

You will all three come, will you not, and dine with
me at Brussels on the 15th ?

LXXXV.

To MME. CnENAY. 1

CHAUDFONTAINE, 3d September, [1866].

We received your letters safely, dear Julie. Just
now my wife can neither read nor write, but we are
around her, and we do duty for her eyes. I brought
her here because the country is a sort of green curtain.
The summer, a furnace everywhere, is a vapor-bath here.
One is not roasted ; one is melted. It is a milder pro-
cess. This steamy warmth and cool shade suit my wife.
She has a whole forest for a screen.

1 Mme. Victor Hugo's sister.



200 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

We shall be in Brussels about the 10th of Septem-
ber, and, if the equinox does not object too strongly,
I hope to be in Guernsey by the end of September, if
not earlier. It is high time for me to set to work again.
We are all well here. As for me, my nightly spasms
have been troubling me a little again, but I do not men-
tion them to my family, as it would make them anxious,
and there is no cause for anxiety. A little timely fric-
tion makes the symptoms disappear. I send you love
from all who are mentioned in your letters, plus a pretty
little smile from Master George. Victor is at Spa. I
kiss you on both your cheeks, dear Julie.

LXXXVI.

To PAUL DE SAINT- VICTOR.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 20th January, 1867.

What a happy thought to put these articles together
in one volume ! Splendid articles, grand volume, hand-
ful of stars ! Your brilliant mind gives out an illumi-
nation. I thank you for this brightness. There is need
of it ; the night is upon us.

But, as you know, I am one of those who are not
troubled by the night. I am sure of the morrow ; in
truth, I do not believe in the night nor in death. I
believe only in the dawn.

I often wander along my paths by the seashore,
pensive, thinking of France, contemplating the horizon
without and the ideal within me. I sometimes take a
book. I have my breviaries. You have just given me
one.

The occasional mention of my name by your noble
pen gives me the illusion of glory. Old and solitary,



TO MME. OCTAVE GIRAUD. 201

I open my hands before the fire of your thought and
warm myself at your luminous mind.
Tuus ex imo.

LXXXVII.

To MME. OCTAVE GIRAUD.

1867.

MADAM, You ask me, in terms which touch me
deeply, to help you with your reminiscences of your
husband. I can and I ought to do so. I am anxious
to give the testimony which you demand from me.
Yet it may be objected that I have never spoken to
M. Octave Giraud, or had his manuscript in my hands.
That is true, I never saw the man, but I know the
mind ; I never read the book, but I know the idea.

Besides, this idea, to a certain extent, comes from
me. One day M. Giraud did me the honor to consult me.
He had sent me some of his writings ; I was aware of
his knowledge, his intelligence, his travels, his studies
in the Antilles, his fine poetic gift, his value as a writer,
his significance as a philosopher. He said to me :
What ought I to do ? I replied : Write the history
of the black race.

The black race, what a subject! Till now the
white man only has spoken. The white man is the
master ; the time has come for allowing the slave to
speak. The white man is the tormentor ; the time has
come for hearing the victim. From the earliest ages,
on this globe which is still so full of darkness, two
faces confront each other and look dismally at each
other, the white and the black face. One represents
civilization, the other barbarism, barbarism in two
forms : willful barbarism, i. e., savagery, and barbarism



202 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

under compulsion, i. e., slavery. One of these calami-
ties comes from nature, the other from civilization.
And here, let us proclaim it and denounce it, is the
.crime of the white man.

For six thousand years Cain has held the field. The
)lack man is subjected to frightful violence at the hands
of his brother. He suffers that long martyrdom called
servitude. He is killed in his intelligence, in his will,
n his soul. The human form which drags a chain is
>ut a semblance. The slave may live, but the man is
dead. What remains, what survives, is the brute, a
beast of burden as long as it obeys, a wild beast when

revolts.

The whole history of the white man, the only one
which has existed hitherto, is an enormous mass of
facts, of doings, of struggles, of advances, of catas-
trophes, of revolutions, of movements in every diree*
tion, of which the black man is the melancholy caryatid.
Slavery is the monstrous fact in history.

Underneath our civilization, such as it is, with its
magnificent deformities, its splendors, its trophies, its
triumphs, its flourishes of trumpets, its rejoicings, a cry
is heard. This cry rises from under our fetes. We
hear it through the marble of our temples and palaces.
This cry is slavery. What a mission and what a task,
to write the history of this cry !

The proletariate in Europe, quite a different and no
less vast a question, is connected by some of its ramifi-
cations with slavery. But the human problem in Europe
is complicated by the social question, which imparts to
it a tremendous originality. It is the tragic new-born
child of modern fatality. In Africa, in Asia, in Amer-



TO MME. OCTAVE GIRAUD. 203

ica, the situation, though not less heart-rending, is more
simple. Color stamps its unity on the outcast and on
the vanquished. The great funereal type is the negro.
The slave has the same countenance as the darkness.

To dispel this fatal darkness is the supreme effort
of civilization. We are on the brink of this victory.
America is well-nigh delivered from slavery. I have
said it more than once, and I like to indulge in the
hopeful thought, the time is drawing near when man
will be free. What are two colors under the same
sun ! what are two different shades, if on the pale face
and on the dark face there is the same morning light,
fraternity !

Beneath all exteriors the soul is white.

The resurrection of the slave in liberty ! deliverance !
reconciliation of Cain and Abel !

That is the history to be written. The Black Kace
is the title ; the subject is slavery.

M. Giraud was worthy of this great undertaking.
To thoroughly sift and exhaustively scrutinize the ma-
terial it was necessary to have studied the slave and
slavery on the spot. M. Giraud had a considerable
advantage ; he had seen with his eyes. The slave had
said to him : Vide pedes, vide manus. Slavery is the
wound in the side of humanity. M. Giraud has put his
finger in that wound.

He took this book in hand; he almost completed it.
A short respite from death, and he would have finished
it. How melancholy are these interruptions !

Such as it is, his work is considerable. The frag-
ments which have been published in the newspapers,
and which are known to all, have placed the history and



204 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

the writer on a high pedestal. This poignant story has
the pathetic interest of a drama. There is no more
painful struggle, no more tragic contest. The whole
question at issue between the white man and the black
man is there. M. Giraud gives it to us with the cor-
roborating proofs. It is the brief against slavery made
up and almost completed. Now let us decide the case.
iThe sentence has been pronounced, we may say, by the
conscience of the world, and slavery is condemned, and
slavery is dead.

LXXXVIII.

To ALBERT CAiSE. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2,0th March, 1867.

. . . The point raised by the anonymous writer to
whom you refer admits of the simplest explanation.
These matters are of very slight importance, but what
is certain is that you are right, and that the anonymous
writer is not wrong.

The relationship to the Bishop of Ptolemais is a tra-
dition in my family. I never knew more than what my
father told me about it. M. Buzy, formerly a notary
at Epinal, sent me some documents of his own accord,
which are among my papers.

Personally I do not attach any importance to gene-
alogical questions. The man is what he is ; his value
is what he has done. Beyond this, all that is added
to or taken from him is nothing. Hence my absolute
contempt for genealogies.

1 M. Albert Caise had published a genealogy of Victor Hugo, in which
he assigned him the arms of the Hugos of Lorraine. An anonymous
writer discussed this in the Figaro, asking where Hugo, Bishop of Ptole-
mais, was to be placed in the genealogy.



TO THE MICKIEWICZ COMMITTEE. 205

The Hugos from whom I am descended are, I believe,
a younger and possibly illegitimate branch, which had
come down in the world through poverty and misery.
A Hugo was a breaker-up of boats on the Moselle.
Mme. de Graffigny ( Franc, oise Hugo, wife of the cham-
berlain of Lorraine) addressed him as " my cousin."
The " wise and witty anonymous writer " is right ; there
were a shoemaker and a bishop, beggars and prelates,
in my family. This is more or less the case with
everybody. There are very curious instances of it in
the Channel Islands (see Les travailleurs de la mer,
Tangrouille).

In other words, I am not a Tangroville, I am a
Tangrouille. I have no objection. If I could choose
my forbears, I would rather have a hard-working cobbler
for an ancestor than a lazy king.

LXXXIX.

To GEORGE SAND. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 21s* April, [1867].
Yes, I suffer; yes, I hope. Your child has been
restored to you, mine will return ; I believe it, I know
it. Your tender and lofty letter would give me faith, if
I did not possess it. great soul, I take refuge in
you. The words which fall from your pinnacle of
glory are sweet as light itself.
Thanks.

xo.
To THE COMMITTEE FOR ERECTING A MONUMENT TO MICKIEWICZ.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, GUERNSEY, 17th May, 1867.
I am asked to say a few words over this illustrious
grave. . . .

1 After the death of Charles Hugo's first child.



206 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

To speak of Mickiewicz is to speak of all that is
beautiful, just, and true ; it is to speak of the right of
which he was the champion, of the duty of which he
was the hero, of the liberty of which he was the apostle,
of the deliverance of which he is the forerunner.

Mickiewicz evoked all the ancient virtues which have
in them a rejuvenating power ; he was a priest of the
ideal ; his art is the great art ; his poetry is instinct
with the mighty breath of the sacred forests. And he
understood humanity as well as nature; through his
hymn to the infinite runs the holy throb of revolu-
tion. Banished, proscribed, vanquished, he proudly
flung to the four corners of the earth the lofty claims
of the fatherland. The reveille of peoples is the genius
which sounds it ; of old it was the prophet, now it is
the poet ; and Mickiewicz is one of the clarions of the
future.

There is life in such,a grave.

Immortality is in the poet, resurrection is in the
citizen.

One day the United Peoples of Europe will say to
Poland : Arise ! and his great soul will come forth
from this tomb.

Yes, Poland, that sublime spirit, lies there with the
poet. Hail to Mickiewicz ! Hail to the noble sleeper
who will awake ! He hears me, I know it, and he
understands me. He and I are two absent ones. If,
in my isolation and in my gloom, I have no crown to
bestow in the name of glory, I have the right to frater-
nize with a spirit in the name of misfortune. I am
not the voice of France, but I am the cry of exile.



TO M. CHAMPFLEURY. 207

XCI.

To CHAMPFLEURT.

BRUSSELS, 5th August, 1867.

MY DEAR COLLEAGUE, Wanderers and absentees
miss a great deal. Living in Guernsey, traveling to
Brussels, crossing the sea twice, all this accounts for
my not reading your Belle Paule, which was published
in May, until July.

I come to the point at once. I like the book. I like
it because it is true and profound, because it despises
petty artifices, because it goes straight to the great goal
of art, the creation of types by means of observation
and intuition, because it is written in a charming style,
because it is dedicated to me and composed for all,
an extension which doubles the honor of the dedica-
tion. Yes, for all. A day will come when, thanks to
the universal character of education, thanks to the
advent of broad daylight in men's minds, works of art
will be essentially popular. The people has at bottom
a refined taste. It likes poets, it demands the ideal,
it prefers a heavenly luminary to a Chinese lantern.
Writers of your stamp have a lofty function to dis-
charge towards it. Vulgar is not the same as popular.
And not being vulgar is a reason for being popular.
There is a fine apprehension and a stern will in the
people. That is also the basis of the artist. So con-
tinue. Success supplies the inducement, talent creates
the obligation.

Your story is life and truth from one end to the
other. It is what you have observed, what you have
seen ; it is real ; at the same time, nature is everywhere
set off by art ; hence, a book !



208 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



XCII.

To M. CHASSAGNAC, Grand Commander of the Rite Ecossais in

Louisiana.

BRUSSELS, 16$ August, 1867.

You are right, dear sir ; although not a Freemason
in name, I am one in heart. My Freemasonry is loftier
than yours, it is humanity.

You wish, in your nobility of mind and heart, to
admit black men into your ranks, and you are right ;
I wish for the peaceful transformation of the prince
into the man, and of the king into the citizen. Time is
required for this. Be it so ; God has no lack of it.

In the mean while, not being able to associate with
the princes whom you admit, I am prohibited from join-
ing you. But I appreciate your lofty aim and your
splendid fraternity, symbol of the great fraternity of
the future.

I thank you for having informed me of the great and
serious step in advance which you have just taken ; the
admission of black men among you is the beginning of
equality, which the exclusion of princes will complete.

xcm.

To THE REVOLUTIONARY COMMITTEE OF PORTO Rico.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 24$ November, 1867.

The Republic of Porto Rico has fought bravely foi
its liberty. The revolutionary committee acquaints me
of this, and I thank it for doing so. Spain turn<
out of America! that is the great aim; that is th<
great duty for Americans. Cuba free like St. Do-
mingo. I applaud all these great efforts.



TO THEODORE DE BANVILLE. 209

The liberty of the world is made up of the liberty of
each people.

xciv.

To ALFRED SiRVEN. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 8th December, 1867.

Of all prisons, the one which I know the best is exile.
I have been turning in that cage for nearly sixteen
years.

I know Sainte-Pelagie from the outside only. As a
child, I played in the Jardin des Plantes. I used to go
to the top of the maze, and I saw a large flat roof, on
which was a sentry-box, and a soldier strolling up and
down, with a gun in his hand. My mother said to me :
" It is a prison ! "

A prison can be very large. A flat thing, on which
a soldier walks about, describes the Europe of to-day.

Later on, I heard about the interior of Sainte-Pelagie
from two old friends of mine, Beranger and Lamennais.
Beranger wrote to me shortly before his death : " I
began with imprisonment, and you end with exile."
And I replied to him : " All is for the best ! Let us
hope ! The future is a dawn."

xcv.
To THEODORE DE BANVILLE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 20th December, [1867],
You are an exquisite poet and a charming friend.
Do not be afraid, the variations of the magnetic needle
called fashion are meaningless ; they govern only the
Scribe drama and Feuillet literature. Where you are,
is taste ; where you are, is art.

1 In reply to a request for information about the prison of Sainte-
P&agie.

VOL. n. 14



210 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Your exquisite, your beautiful odes in the Charivari
appeal to La voix de Guernesey. Here it is. You
will find it in a separate envelope. My echo answers
you:

" Echo n'est plus un son qui dans Tart retentisse,
C'est une voix qui dit : Droit, Liberte, Justice."

I have corrected for you, in the copy which I am
sending, a wrong rhyme, ennemis, amis, which is in
Voltaire, which quite condemns it. This rhyme comes
from a mistake of the copyist, who substituted an
erased line for the right one. Give me absolution.

Who on earth could have told you that I never put
the names of my friends in my verses ? Some day you
may find out the contrary to your cost. You may take
this threat as a promise.

Is there no chance of your coming to see my ocean?
Just now it is terrible, but sublime. If you are not
afraid of its wrath, come and spend a month or two
with me. You will have a poor lodging, but will be
well taken care of.

xcvi.

To ALFRED ASSELINE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 22d December, 1867.

MY DEAR ALFRED, I have received your charming
letter, and have looked carefully in the pockets of the
pair of trousers. Kesult, nothing ! nothing ! nothing !
(Desmousseaux de Civre *). It is as empty as the noddle
of an Academician. I am like Margaret of Savoy, a
widow before the wedding. I am lamenting my loss.

It is probable that in packing the trousers they

1 A deputy in the reign of Louis Philippe, who addressed Guizot as
follows : " Qu'avez-vous fait ? Rien ! rien ! rien ! A






TO FRANCOIS COPPEE. 211

dropped the little case, which was in the fob. Do have
a good search made.

But the case alone is not enough for me ; we want
your wife and you. Can't you manage to come to
Guernsey for a time ? Unfortunately I have no suit-
able apartment for Mme. Asseline, but a place at table
morning and evening, castanece molles, this is what I
offer you.

Give my respects to your wife into the bargain, and
be jealous.

12 p. M. Latest news. As I was about to close
this letter the post arrived, and a little box with a
stamp is brought me ; it is the case ! I open it and
am lost in admiration. Nothing could be more charm-
ing. It is a perfect gem. It is historical and fanciful.
Thanks, dear poet, for this pretty thing.

Very latest. A lot of people in my house for the
poor children's Christmas entertainment. A number
of charming women. Your delightful case has been
handed round. Universal admiration. Strange to say,
it has not been stolen.

XCVII.

To FRAN9OIS COPPEE.

HAUTE VILLE HOUSE, 5th January, [1868].

Just as I was sending you my angry poetry, you
were forwarding me your charming poetry. La voix
de Guernesey met your sweet idyl of the soldier and
the servant girl on the road. My lightning crossed
your sunbeam.



212



THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



Power of the poet ! Here are the private soldier
and the nursemaid transfigured. They will no longer
be laughed at. What an elegy you have managed to
extract from these hitherto grotesque figures. Melan-
cholia. We always have to revert to the great alle-
gorical bat of Albert Diirer. Melancholy is our back-
ground. Life is enacted in front ; God is behind.
Let us hope.

Will you forward the inclosed to M. Paul Verlaine,
your friend and mine ?

xcvm.

To TH^OPHILE GATJTIER.

HAUTEVILLK HOUSE, 29th April, 1868.

DEAR TH^OPHILE, I have just read your splendid
article on La legende des siecles. I am more than
touched by it ; I am deeply moved. So sweet voices
still reach me in my solitude. Our youthful attach-
ment has become an old friendship. The great gulf
between us does not prevent your glance from seeking
mine and my hand from pressing yours. You give me
one of your wreaths, you who have the right to all.
As a poet, you are a spokesman of the ideal; as a
critic, you are a spokesman of glory.

Why has a kurel grown on this spot? Because
Petrarch once spoke there.

What was said of Petrarch will be said of you.

Where your criticism casts its seed, the laurel will
spring up.



TO AUGUSTE VACQUERIE. 213

XCIX.

To MME. CHENAY.

BRUSSELS, 27th August, 7 A. M., [1868].

MY POOR JULIE, Your sister is dead. This be-
loved creature has left us.

On the 24th she was in perfect health, she was
driving about Brussels with us in excellent spirits.
The day before yesterday, the 25th, she had an attack ;
yesterday, the 26th, Dr. Allix, who had been sum-
moned by telegraph, arrived. There was a consulta-
tion of the doctors ; in the evening, a little hope ; this
morning, at half past six, she passed away. I am
broken-heartedo God will receive this gentle and lofty
soul into light. She now has wings. We are in tears.
I am overwhelmed with grief.

I send you my fond love, my dearest sister, as do all
of us. Alas ! your tears will flow as well as ours.

c.

To AUGUSTE VACQUERIE.

1st September, 1868.

You are admirable as you always are, and you have
done everything well. Thank your family, which so
many pleasing and painful points of contact have made
mine as well. I have had five sleepless nights ; my eyes
are all sore. Meurice's exquisite letter has relieved
them by making my tears flow. All that you mention
shall be done. Glory will soon be yours ; that will con-
sole me. I am deeply attached to you.

As soon as you have received this letter, go and press
your lips to the three graves for me.



214 THE LETTERS .OF VICTOR HUGO.

CI.

To PAUL MEURICE.

BRUSSELS, 1st September, [1868].

Meurice, my gentle and noble friend, I have read
your touching farewell to the dear lost one, and my
tears break forth afresh. They had stopped and were
choking me.

You make me weep. Thanks.

on.

To VICTOR PAVTE.

3d September, [1868].

I am broken-hearted ; I feel that you still love me
a little ; I hear your voice as the voice of my past and
of my youth, a sweet and solemn appeal. I am old.
I shall soon go to join the great soul which has just
departed.

cm.

To THEODORE DE BANTILLE.

3d September, [1868].

DEAR, GENTLE POET, You know how to give fit-
ting and lofty consolation. I suffer, and your message
makes me feel that I am loved, and that I still live.

civ.

To G. MARGIN, Editor of the Phare de la Loire.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, ISth November, 1868.

MY DEAR COLLEAGUE, Do you really want the
information ? Here is the truth about my supposed
income of 78,000 francs. I am quite ready to talk
about my affairs to a friend like you.



TO G. MARGIN. 215

After all the losses entailed by exile, the following
was my position at the end of August last, when j&e
accounts to which your correspondent refers were sent
in. I have :

Francs.

Istly in Belgium, 300 shares in the National Bank,

fluctuating income, at most 35,000

2dly in England, I shall have next April (investment
of proceeds of my recent works) in English consols,
425,000 francs, income 12,500

3dly in France, allowance from the Institute . . . 1,000

4thly Hauteville House ; lodging, no income ; I pay
rent at Brussels.

48,500

In consequence of family arrangements which have
had to be made I have to pay out of these 48,500 a
yearly sum of 29,500

In addition to this I spend every year, on various
charitable objects, especially on a small charitable
institution for children which I have started, about
(minimum) 7,000

36,500

which, subtracted from the 48,500, leave me an income
of my own of 12,000 francs ; as I have children, I
consider myself entitled to a life interest only.

All this is confidential and does not require publicity,
for nothing in this little statement can interest the
public. But I am anxious to give information to a
high-minded and sympathetic man like you; when
opportunity offers, you will remember this letter, and
when you see me calumniated, you will know the truth.
That is enough for me. In public I prefer silence on
such matters.



216 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

One word more. Your correspondent is right if he
meant that I had an income o 78,000 francs (and even
more) out of the receipts from my plays ; this is per-
fectly true, only my plays are not acted now. All this
between ourselves.

cv.

To FRANQOIS MORAND, Judge at Boulogne-sur-Mer.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 22d November, 1868.

I answer your question, dear sir, for you are witty,
learned, and charming (I refer here to literature only).
No, I did not know L'Arlequin of Le Sage, and I have
been delighted to make acquaintance with it through
you. The resemblances which you point out to me are
very real. The result for me is the inward satisfaction,
because my conscience confirms it, of having fortui-
tously used the same expressions as the great writer
who created Gil Bias.

May I tell you of another coincidence of which I
was still more proud ? It was in 1823. Lamennais,
who had been my confessor (which of us two perverted
the other ?), came to see me one morning. I was writ-
ing some lines which I had just composed. Lamen-
nais looked over my shoulder and read the following :

" Ephdmere histrion qui salt son role a peine,
Chaque homme ivre d'audace ou palpitant d'effroi,
Sous le say on du patre ou la robe du roi,
Vient passer, a son tour, son heure sur la scene."

" Hullo ! " he said, " do you know English ? " I
replied : " No " (I do not know English even now).
And I added : " Why ? " " Because," replied Lamen-
nais, " you have just written a line of Shakespeare."



TO FRANCOIS MORAND. 217

"Bah!" "Have you read Shakespeare?" "No,
I don't want to read Le Tourneur." " Well," said
Lamennais (my ex-confessor, who knew that I was
speaking the truth), " you are both authors of the line.
You have hit on the same idea as Shakespeare." And
he quoted a line from Macbeth, with the same compari-
son as mine and almost the same words : each man in
turn spends his hour upon the stage. 1

Now decide, my dear judge.

A word about a more serious matter in your com-
munication.

I had as little to do with M. Granier de Cassagnac's
article (1833) on Alexandre Dumas as yourself. Head
the declaration of M. Bertin the elder, in the Journal
des Deb at s. Bead the declaration of M. Granier de
Cassagnac, which he would confirm even to-day, I am
sure, although we are as wide apart as the poles.

Do you want my word of honor about this ? I give
it to you. If you knew me well, you would not
need it.

And I press your hand, and I thank you for having
made me acqiiainted with Le Sage's Serendib and
L'Arlequin. In politics, I would take exception to you;
but in literary matters I accept you, my most amiable
judge, my courteous colleague.

1 " Life 's but a walking shadow ; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage."






218 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

CVI.

To M. D'ALTON-SH^E.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 8th December, 1868.

I look on your Memoirs, my dear d' Alt on, as mes-
sages from your noble mind. Once more thanks, and
once more bravo to these hearty and sturdy pages.

On the fortifications of Paris my view is as follows :
/ would not have built them, but I would not destroy
them. They should not be pulled down till the mor-
row of the day when Europe will be proclaimed a
republic in its parliament, sitting in the meeting-place
of the Federation of Paris. Then all barriers will fall
and all hearts will open. You, my dear d' Alton, will
belong to that parliament ; I, too, perhaps, if I am
not dead.

I have a long-standing and deep sympathy with
you. You are a citizen with a gentleman's pride and a
nobleman's dignity. Your mind is lofty because it is
free. You are fraternal with all, and in your old age,
if need be, paternal. You commend yourself to my
exile. You and I are the only two republican peers.
I feel as if you were a sort of brother to me. I am
your senior in age only ; for you had understood and
wished for the Kepublic before me. My belated logic
reached it some time after yours. Armand Carrel had
a good deal to do with this delay. If it were worth
while to make a reproach out of it, the responsibility
would lie with him.

I reply to your question. I heard of my appoint-
ment to the peerage on the 16th of April, 1845.
Twenty years before, to a day, I had heard, almost in



TO JULES CLAKETIE. 219

the same way, that I was decorated. I note this only
because Lamartine and I were made members of the
Legion of Honor on the same day (16th of April,
1825), no one else being appointed at the time.

cvn.

To JULES CLAKETIE. 1

31st December, 1868.

... It is eZ Puente de los Contrdbandistas. I saw
it in the Pyrenees, when I was a child. The Smug-
glers' Bridge was a terrible thing. It was used as a
bridge by smugglers and as a gallows by justice. They
were hung to the beams. That did not prevent them
from continuing to pass over it. The bridge was also
described as follows :

ON MARCHE DESSUS,
ON DAN8E DESSOU8.

I quoted, in the Dernier jour d'un condamnfi, the
melancholy lines :

" Je lui f erai donner la danse
Oil il n'y a pas de plancher."

This dismal dance is what I am sending you. For-
give me. It is repulsive, but useful. The execution-
ers must have their work brought under their noses.
So let us show up the horrors of the past.

The present is not much more attractive. But what
a Morrow you will have, you who are young ! / shall
be dead.

1 Sending him a drawing.



220 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

CVIII.

To MME. RATTAZZI.

1st January, 1869.

What can I say? I am dazzled, intoxicated, over-
whelmed. Your tender friendship gives me a glimpse
of paradise, and I cannot enter it ; I am bound and
sentenced by my own line.

" Revenir sur ses pas k la porte du ciel ! "

I wrote that and I am under its orders. This winter
they thought I was very ill ; the doctors told me that I
must make a rapid journey across France and go to
Nice. I replied : I have made an oath, I cannot put
foot in France ; I would sooner die first ! But it is
much easier to die than to resist you. When I think
that she is there, facing me, she who unites all, she
who combines beauty, grace, courage, commanding
and bewitching intelligence, brilliant acquirements, deep
poetry, and that she says to me : Come ! and in such
affecting and enchanting terms ! oh ! not to obey,
not to come, not to hasten to the spot, not to trample
on the frontier, were it red-hot iron, and on the oath,
were it writ in brass, do you know, madam, that that
is a superhuman effort, and that I am almost prostrated
by it ! What ! it is you who send me this flower ! it is
you who have written these lines ! they were composed
by you, they are destined for me, on your lips plays
that angelic smile in which I fancy I see the birth of
a star. That heavenly smile will welcome me. And
I stay where I am ! Alas ! try to fathom the depth
of this regret. What a stern thing sometimes is duty !
I wrote this :



TO MME. RATTAZZI. 221

" Et s'il n'en reste qu'tm, je serai celui-la ! "

France is closed to me, and France, when you are
not there, is the fatherland, and when you are there, is
paradise.

You write to me also these words, which issue from
your heart like a ray of light : " I shall not feel quite
settled in Paris, and glad to be there, until you are
there, too. What nice talks we shall have ! And how
softly and poetically the time will glide by." I read
these adorable lines, these still more adorable plans,
over and over again, and my hand trembles. Does
your youth reflect on my years ? Am I ^Eschylus, to
be the chosen friend, as you say, in spite of my gray
hairs, of queen Khodope, of the dazzling Rhodope, who
was alike the genius and the sovereign of Acragas, and
who was of the blood of Zeus as you are of the blood
of Napoleon ? She preferred the aged ^Eschylus, who,
like her, was a genius, to the young Hieron, who was
a sovereign like her. But I, am I ^Eschylus, and would
it not be better that you should not see me again ?

This letter which I am writing distresses me deeply,
but I feel that it will not vex you, that it will even
please you. I -know your lofty character too well to
doubt for a moment of your approval of my painful
sacrifice. A bitter sacrifice ! but you are capable of
understanding as well as of inspiring every act of hero-
ism, and I declare, I am a hero to-day, to-day for the
first time. Resist you, great Heavens ! all that I have
done hitherto is as nothing compared with what I am
doing now ; but since you are my friend, since your
regard has a place in my life, I ought to remain worthy
of this celestial friendship.



222 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

To hide myself, to creep into France, even for the
purpose of seeing you, of obeying you, to crouch un-
easily under the eye of the police, to lower myself in
the sight of your cousin and your persecutor, even for
the sake of basking once more in your sunlight, of
entering into your heaven, this I must not do. You
are my best friend, nay brave friend, you are attached
to me, therefore you approve my decision.

I keep your letter indelibly engraven on my heart.
I was away when it arrived, and I have just found it on
my return, and I write to you in deep emotion, for I
fancy that it is your angelic soul which has just exhaled
from the flower to which I have pressed my lips.

cix.

To M. COELLOPOITLO.

12th January, [1869].

Your eloquent letter has touched me deeply. Yes,
you are right in counting upon me as a writer and as a
citizen. The little that I am and the little that I can
do is at the service of your noble cause.

The cause of Crete is that of Greece, and the cause

Greece is that of Europe. These connections escape
the notice of kings and are nevertheless the height of
logic. Diplomacy is simply the stratagems of princes
against the logic of God. But in the end God prevails.
God and right are synonymous.

I am but a single voice, stubborn, but lost in the
triumphal tumult of reigning iniquity. What matter !
listened to or not, I shall go on. You tell me that
Crete asks me for what Spain has asked of me. Alas !
I can but utter a cry. For Crete I have already done
so ; I will do it again.



TO FRANCOIS COPPEE. 223

I belong to Greece as much as to France. I am
ready to give my stanzas for Greece like Tyrtseus, and
my blood like Byron. Your sacred country has my
deepest love. I think of Athens as one thinks of the
sun.

ex.

To FRANQOIS COFFEE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 30th January, 1869.

You send me your work, but public rumor had
already told me of your success. It was more than an
echo of rejoicing, it was an echo of glory. Paris has
hailed you a poet. My dear and charming colleague, I
have read your Passant. I am delighted. It is excel-
lent versification, strong and tender thought, the total
effect exquisite.

You have harmoniously brought the moon into the
landscape and melancholy into the poem, an atmo-
sphere which makes the thinker meditate.

To write a work like this is admirable ; to achieve
such a success is perfect. Our generous youth has
understood you. You are a priest of the true and
great art; the rising generation applauds you, and I
cry out to you, Thanks ! and to them, Bravo !

CXI.

To MME. CESSIAT DE LAMARTEsrE. 1

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 10th March, 1869.

Since the year 1821 I have been warmly attached to
Lamartine. This friendship of fifty years now under-
goes the momentary eclipse of death. I did not like,
just at first, to intrude on your sorrow with my sym-

1 On the death of Lamartine.



224 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

pathy ; but at the present moment you will allow me,
will you not, to communicate to you to you who were
connected with him by blood, who loved him and were
loved by him my profound grief. Every form of
glory, from popularity to immortality, belongs to Lamar-
tine, luminous poet, powerful and immortal orator. He
seems dead to us, he is not really so. Lamartine has
not ceased to give forth his light. Henceforth he
shines with a twofold radiance : in our literature as a
genius, and in the great unknown life as a star.

cxn.

To VICTORIEN SARDOU.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 31s/ March, [1869].

MY DEAR COLLEAGUE, You have written my son
Charles a letter which touches and moves me. In the
blaze of your dazzling success, you bestow a thought on
a recluse, twice banished, yesterday exiled from France,
to-day exiled from the stage. I thank you from the
bottom of my heart.

Your triumphant work, Patrie, rekindles lofty senti-
ments and proud thoughts, and you, at any rate, are
entitled to say to the spectators whose republicanism
you have just reinvigorated : Plaudite cives !

CXIII.

To MME. CHENAT.

LONDON, Sunday the 23d [May, 1869].

MY DEAR LITTLE SISTER, Your letters are as nice
as yourself. I am a lazy old brute, which accounts
for my not having duly replied to you. To-day I do
better than this, I am on my way home. However, a



TO SWINBURNE. 225

strong southwesterly gale is blowing, and we shall not
be able to land in Guernsey till the 26th (Wednes-
day).

You may prepare for that occasion the various tri-
umphal arches you have in stock, the addresses, the
keys of Hauteville on a massive golden salver, the pro-
found obeisances of the cat and her kitten, and the
Latin verses which I beg you to write in my honor.

I hope the wind will go down. The crossing from
Ostend, very good for the first four hours, was awful
at the end. I kiss you on your two nice cheeks.

CX1V.

To SWINBURNE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 14th July, [1869].
The great date.

DEAR AND CORDIAL POET, I was deeply touched
by your letter and your article.

You are right : you, Byron, and Shelley, three aris-
tocrats, three republicans. And I, it is from aristo-
cracy that I have risen to democracy, it is from the
peerage that I have arrived at the Republic, as one
passes from a river to the ocean. These are striking
phenomena. Nothing is so significant as these victories
of the truth.

Thanks, ex imo corde, for your splendid article
on my book. 1 What lofty philosophy, what profound
intuition you have ! In the great critic, one feels the
great poet.

VICTOR HUGO.

1 L'homme qui rit.
VOL. H. 15



226 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

CXV.

To L. HUGONNET.

BRUSSELS, 24th August, 1869.

I have been very slow, dear sir, in replying to you.
It is not my fault. I live in a vortex, a strange thing
for a recluse. No leisure. Not a moment to myself.
But I was anxious to read your paper ; it is excellent.
Yes, you are right, France is for Africa what England
is for Asia, a bad guardian. To teach barbarism the
rudiments of civilization is the duty and the right of
older peoples. This right and this duty are not better
understood by the French government than by the Eng-
lish government. Hence your complaints, in which I
join.

When the Kepublic returns, justice will return. The
real light of France will shine in Africa. Let us hope.
Let us wait. Let us struggle on.

You are a young and noble mind. Your generation,
somewhat belated, will end by doing great things, in
which you will share. I congratulate you beforehand,
/shall be dead. I shall bequeath to you all my spirit.

CXVI.

To FRAxgois COPPEE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 10th January, 1870.

MY YOUNG AND DEAR FELLOW-POET, I have re-
ceived, from you I believe, your fine poem Les for-
gerons. Qua philosopher and democrat, I am unable
to accept the standpoint ; but qua poet, I applaud, to-
gether with the delighted public, all these firm, vigor-
ous, and pathetic lines.



TO EDGAR QUINET. 227

Go on with your great successes; you will end, I
hope, by turning altogether, like myself, towards the
people. The truth lies in that direction.

As for beauty, you know where to find it.

CXVII.

To HENRI KOCHEFORT.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 10$ February, 1870.

I have written to you several times ; I doubt whether
my letters have reached you. I make this one small
so that it may arrive at its destination. Being after
the image of the Empire, it will pass unobserved, I
hope.

You are now in prison ; I congratulate the Kevolu-
tion. Your popularity is as unbounded as your talent
and your courage. All that you have foretold is com-
ing to pass. Henceforth you are one of the forces of
the future.

I am, as ever, your sincere friend, and I press your
hand, dear prisoner, dear conqueror.

CXVIII.

To EDGAR QUINET.

26th February, 1870.

Old age is the age of adding up, for thoughts as well
as for years, for the mind as well as for life. Only the
total of years is overwhelming, the total of thoughts
is sustaining. Hence the result that, while the body
decays, the mind expands. There is a sort of dawn
within it.

This mysterious rejuvenation, of which, like you, I
am aware, this doubling of the moral and intellectual



228 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

forces while the material force is sinking, this growth
in decay, what a magnificent proof it is of the soul !
The enfeebled cerebral matter gives forth a more vig-
orous thought. Of the two beings, the one organic,
the other essential, which make up the man, the first
crumbles away, the second breaks its bonds. The mind
sees the grave and feels the spring. It creates up to
the last moment sublime promise of the great un-
known life which it is about to enter. Its span aug-
ments. The process resembles an unfolding of the
wings.

CXIX.

To PAUL VERLAINE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 16U April, 1870.

No one is a poet if he is not so in both kinds, which
are Force and Grace. I have always fancied that this
was the meaning of the twin peaks of Parnassus. You
are capable, my young fellow-poet, of flitting from one
summit to the other. After Les fetes galantes, a
charming book, you will give us Les vaincus, a sturdy
book.

Your noble mind is full of promise. Emotion, tears,
sympathy, this is the point which your young and lofty
talent will reach, after so much admirable poetry. To
be inspired is a fine thing ; to be moved is great.

You know that I told you your fortune at Brussels
and said that this would be your future. You are one
of the first, one of the most attractive, one of the
strongest, in the new sacred legion of poets which I
hail and which I love, I the dreamy old dweller in the
wilderness.

What a number of delicate and ingenious things in



TO PAUL MEURICE. 229

that pretty little book, Les fetes galantes ! " These
shells of the seashore ! " What a gem the last line
is ! I send you my best wishes for success, and a cor-
dial shake of the hand.

VICTOR HUGO.
exx.

To M. D'ALTON-SHEE.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 2d August, 1870.

MY DEAR D' ALTON, I quite agree with you. A
solution must be found. At a given moment civiliza-
tion, with revolution for its mouthpiece, must stop the
combatants. I wish to see France have the Rhine, be-
cause it is necessary to form, both materially and intel-
lectually, as strong a French group as possible, to make
head against the German group in the parliament of
the United States of Europe, and impose the French
language on the European federation.

The United States of Europe speaking German
would mean a delay of three hundred years. A delay,
that is to say, a step backward. When I see you, I
will develop this idea. But nothing through Bona-
parte ! nothing from this frightful war !

cxxi.

To PAUL MEURICE.

BRUSSELS, I9th August, 1870.

DEAR MEURICE, I am sending you this telegram :
" I am returning as a national guard of Paris. I shall
arrive on the 21st of August." But I am told that
you will not get it, so I write to you as well. Your
letter arrived at Guernsey after I had left, and reached
me here to-day at two o'clock. We went at once,



230 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

Charles and I, to the Foreign Office. I declared that I
did not recognize the French Empire, that I submitted,
by constraint and under compulsion, to the abusive
formality of the passport, and I gave my name. There-
upon they sent for the minister, who was not at the
office. His immediate substitute, with a rosette in his
buttonhole, came instead, was very polite, and asked my
leave to begin by saluting the great poet of the cen-
tury. I replied with courtesy to the man of the world,
and I repeated my protest with firmness to the official
by calling on him to deliver me a passport.

He hesitated. I said : I wish to be nothing more in
France than one of the national guard. He bowed.
Charles said : And so do I. He promised us passports,
but asked my permission not to send them till this
evening. That is how matters stand.

You approve of what I have done, do you not ? I
want to return to* France, to return to Paris, openly,
simply, as a national guard, with my two sons at my
side. I shall enroll myself in the district where I take
up my abode, and I shall go to the ramparts with my
rifle on my shoulder.

All this without prejudice to my duty in other re-
spects. I want no share of power, but I want my full
share of danger.

My gentle and intrepid friend, what happiness to do
one's duty by your side !



TO PAUL MEURICE. 231

CXXII.
To PAUL MEURICE.

BRUSSELS, 26th August, 1870.

DEAR MEURICE, We are on the lookout ; the
refugees are conferring together ; the situation, which
was clear, is becoming obscure. No news from out-
side. The two marshals, MacMahon and Bazaine, jeal-
ous, perhaps, of one another, looking for and not find-
ing each other, and MacMahon putting the emperor
back into the saddle. As for the Prussians, hesitating
advance, slow progress ; fear of the trap laid for them ;
to sum up, nothing decisive as yet. In France, unsat-
isfactory symptoms; the Empress reappearing on the
scene ; the Right raising their heads ; Baroche, Rouher,
and Persigny back again ; Trochu ridiculed by the
Bonapartist papers, and losing prestige. Probable
jealousy, too, in that quarter; Palikao hates Trochu.
The Republican papers are not 'coming out again. A
coup d'etat is even talked of as probable.

It is evident that a decisive battle, victory or defeat,
Jena or Rosbach, will clear the ground. France is
entitled to victory ; the Empire ought to fall. Which
will God choose ?

I shall not make up my mind until the situation
clears. In case of a Rosbach, I shall go to Paris at
once, for the danger may be great, and I feel that I
belong alike to Europe and to Paris. To protect Paris
with a living rampart will be the duty of all. In case
of a Bonapartist victory and a coup d'etat, I shall
gather my family around me at Hauteville House ; that
is to say, that I offer you as well as Auguste hospi-
tality there. In the mean while ... we wait.



232 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

CXXIII.

To PAUL MEURICE.

BRUSSELS, 1st September, 1870.

They tell me not to wear myself out ; to keep myself
for the decisive moment ; but will this decisive mo-
ment come ? Your noble, tender letter has just reached
me, and moves me deeply. You end with a question.
I cannot intrust my reply to the post, but Jules Claretie
will give it you by word of mouth. He has been here
since yesterday; he lunched and dined with me. On
his return to Paris he will tell you what I said. I like,
and so do you, this young fellow who has such fine
qualities of mind and heart. He will repeat my words
to you. You will see how far I am ready, but I intend
to go to Paris only in one contingency and for one
object, heroic indeed, Paris summoning the Revolution
to the rescue. In that case I shall come ; otherwise I
stay here. 1

Undoubtedly I have confidence in the final result.
I have never believed in France more than at the pre-
sent moment. She will accomplish her mission, the con-
tinental republic, and then dissolve in it. From this
war can only come the end of all wars, and out of this
fearful clash of monarchies can only spring the United
States of Europe. You will see them ; I shall not.
Why ? Because I predicted them. I was the first to
utter, on the 17th of July, 1851 (amid cries of de-
rision), this phrase : The United States of Europe.
Therefore I shall be shut out from them. Never did a
Moses see the promised land.

1 Victor Hugo left Brussels for Paris on the 5th of September, just
after the Republic had been proclaimed.



TO PAUL MEURICE. 233

At the present moment to be a democrat is to be a
patriot ; to defend Paris is to defend the world. Homo
sum ; I defend Paris.

Your letter brought tears to my eyes. How you
love me and how I love you ! V.

Charles, Claretie, and Frederic are just starting for
Virton. Fighting is going on near there, at Carign
They are going to see what they can of the



IV. AFTER THE FALL OF THE EMPIRE.

1870-1882.



I.

To GENERAL TROCHU.

PARIS, 25th September, 1870.

GENERAL, An old man is of small account, but
example is something. I wish to go where there is
danger, and to go unarmed. I am told that a permit
signed by you is necessary. I beg you to send it me.
Faithfully yours,

VICTOR HUGO.

n.

To PAUL MEURICE.

BORDEAUX, 18th February, 1871.

DEAR MEURICE, This is my first spare moment,
and I devote it to you, to Mme. Meurice, and to Au-
guste Vacquerie. Ah, how I miss you all ! My heart
misses you, my conscience misses you, my mind misses
you. Never have I felt the want of you so much as
just now when you are no longer with me.

I am not sure if this letter will reach you. The
vagaries of the Prussians are as difficult to foresee as
to set bounds to. Here we are at last. A trying jour-
ney. Victor has written and told you about it. We
arrived on the 14th at two o'clock ; no rooms to be



236 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

had ; all the hotels full. At ten o'clock at night we
did not know where we should sleep. At last we have
a roof over our heads, and even kindly hosts.

Now, between you and me, the situation is frightful.
The Chamber is beyond belief ; we are a minority of
50 to 700. It is 1815 added to 1851 (alas ! the same
figures, with a slight change in their order). They
began by refusing to listen to Garibaldi, who took his
departure. We think Louis Blanc, Schoelcher, and
I that we, too, shall come to that at last.

There will probably be nothing to fall back on in
face of the crushing majorities in prospect but a whole-
sale resignation of the Left, supported by reasons. This
would rankle in the Assembly, and probably be its death-
blow. We have a meeting of the Left every evening.
Louis Blanc and I make tremendous efforts to form it
into a group. A great deal of unanimity and strict
discipline would enable us, perhaps, to make a fight of
it. But shall we obtain this unanimity ? Not a single
paper on our side. We are in the air ; no point of
support. The Rappel, if published here, would be of
immense service. One of you ought to come. The
situation must be seen to be understood. In Paris you
have no idea of it.

How far off are the delightful days spent in your
hospitable house ! The bombs were bursting over my
head, but I was near your heart.

19th February.

I add a few lines in haste. You know that the
people of Bordeaux gave me a splendid ovation the day
after my arrival. Fifty thousand men on the Grande



TO PAUL MEURICE. 237

Place shouted : Vive Victor Hugo ! The next day the
Assembly lined the square with infantry, cavalry, and
artillery. As I had cried, Vive la Repiiblique ! and as
fifty thousand voices had repeated the cry, the Assem-
bly trembled. It declared itself insulted and threat-
ened. However, I have not raised any objection. I
reserve myself for the decisive moment.

This view is shared by the meeting of the Left,
which includes Louis Blanc, Schoelcher, Joigneaux,
Martin-Bernard, Langlois, Lockroy, Gent, Brisson, etc.,
and which has elected me its chairman. Yesterday
very important questions were discussed : the future
Thiers-Bismarck treaty, the unheard-of intolerance of
the Assembly, the probability of a wholesale resigna-
tion. The Assembly is believed capable of refusing to
hear any speaker from the Left on the treaty of peace.
Needless to say, I shall do all that is required of me
in that matter.

This morning the president of the national club of
Bordeaux came to place its rooms at my disposal. The
sympathy with me in the town is very great. I am
popular in the street and unpopular in the Assembly.
Good. And I embrace you.

in.

PREFECT to PAUL MEURICE, 18, Rue de Valois, Paris.

BORDEAUX, llth March, 1871, 12.55 A. M.
M. Victor Hugo sends you the following telegram :
Terrible calamity. Charles died this evening, the
13th. Apoplectic seizure. Victor must return im-
mediately.



238 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

IV.
To PAUL MEURICE and AUGUSTE VACQTJERIE.

14th March, 1871.

DEAR FRIENDS, I cannot see, my eyes are full of
tears as I write ; I can hear Alice's sobs. My heart is
shattered. Charles is dead.

Yesterday morning we had breakfasted cheerfully
together with Louis Blanc and Victor. I was giving a
farewell dinner at eight o'clock that evening to several
friends in the Lanta restaurant. Charles took a cab to
drive there, giving orders to stop at a cafe which he
mentioned. He was alone in the cab. On reaching
the cafe the driver opened the door of the cab and
found Charles dead. He had been seized with a sudden
congestion followed by hemorrhage. The poor corpse
was brought back to us, and I covered it with kisses.

For some weeks Charles had not been well. The
bronchitis which he caught doing duty as artilleryman
during the siege of Paris had become worse. We
meant to go to Arcachon to set him up. He would
have drunk pine water. We were looking forward to
spending a week or two together there. All this has
come to an end.

Our dear old Charles, so kindly, so gentle, with such
a lofty mind and such great ability, is gone. I am
overwhelmed.

I sent you a telegram. By the time these few lines
reach you, I imagine Victor will be on his way back
to Bordeaux. I intend to take Charles with me and
lay him with my father in Paris, or with his mother at
Villequier.

Love me.



TO PAUL MEURICE. 239

V.

To PAUL MEURICE.
VIANDEN (LUXEMBURG), Friday, 19$ June, 1871.

Your letter ! your liberty ! We had a flash of de-
light. All our little circle suddenly beamed with joy
in our deep mourning for ourselves and for the father-
land. Oh ! yes, come quick. We have so much to
talk about. Victor is on an excursion, but will come
back for you. We shall all be together again, at Vian-
den, where every step I take reminds me of you ; the
exile could think of nothing but the prisoner. What
happiness to see you again !

I have been hard at work. It has all increased in
a sinister fashion. I think it will make up a volume.
Paris combattant is now inadequate. The book will
be called L'annee terrible. It will begin with Turba,
and, after going through the fall of the empire and
the story of the two sieges, will end with the present
catastrophe, out of which I shall bring a prophecy of
light.

Yes, we think it would be well to publish the Rappel
again at once. Come, my dear and tender counselor.
Veni, spiritus ! Mme. Meurice has behaved admi-
rably ; of course she has ! My humblest respects to
her. How delighted I shall be to see her ! All of
us here embrace you with effusion. Great mind, large
heart, gentle brother and kind master, I love you.

Yes, I did right in protesting, and I stopped the
cowardly retreat of the Belgian government at once.
It now admits the vanquished ones. This is why I
have written of it (in my final letter) : It expelled me,



240 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

"but it obeyed me. Have you read that letter ? How
much I have to tell you !

I embrace you over and over again. Come !

VI.

To MONSIEUR DE SEGUB, BISHOP.

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE, 17 th September, 1872.

SIR, I was not aware of your existence.

I am informed to-day that you do exist, and even
that you are a bishop.

I believe it.

You have had the goodness" to write the following
lines about me, which have been communicated to
me: '

" Victor Hugo, the great, the austere Victor Hugo, the magnifi-
cent poet of the democracy and of the universal republic, is also a
poor man afflicted with a yearly income of more than three hun-
dred thousand francs [underlined in the text] ; some go so far as
to say five hundred thousand [underlined in the text]. His infa-
mous book Les Miserables brought him in five hundred thousand
francs at one stroke. People always forget to mention the charity
which his large humanitarian heart doubtless compels him to bestow
on his dear clients of the working classes. He is said to be as
stingy and selfish as he is boastful."

Then follow two pages in the same strain on Ledru-
Rollin, who is called " an old Croesus ; " on Rochefort,
who was caught at Meaux with a lot of 'bank-notes in
the lining of his clothes ; on Garibaldi, whom you call
" Garibaldi-pacha," who makes war without fighting,
whose army consisted of fifteen thousand "bandits as
brave as mice, and who ran away carrying off our
millions, etc., etc.

I shall not waste my time in telling you, sir, that in



TO DUKE ALBERT DE BROGLIE. 241

the ten lines quoted above there are as many lies as
there are words. You know it already. I confine my-
self to noticing a literary criticism in the passage, the
epithet " infamous " applied to Les Miser ables.

In Les Miser ables there is a bishop who is good,
sincere, humble, brotherly, endowed with wit as well as
kindness, and who unites every virtue to his sacred of-
fice. I suppose that is why Les Miser ables is an infa-
mous book. From which it must be inferred that Les
Miserables would be an admirable book if the bishop
were a malignant slanderer, an insulter, a tasteless and
vulgar writer, a low scribbler of the basest kind, a cir-
culator of police-court scandal, a croziered and mitred
liar.

Would the second bishop be more true to life than
the first ?

This question concerns you, sir. You are a better
judge of bishops than I am.

VII.
To DUKE ALBERT DE BROGLIE.

AUTEUIL, YlLLA MONTMORENCY, 8$ August, 1873.

MY DEAR DUKE AND HONORABLE COLLEAGUE, It
is to the member of the French Academy that I write.
A step of the gravest importance is on the point of
being taken. One of the most famous writers of the
day, M. Henri Rochefort, condemned for a political
offense, is, so they say, to be transported to New Cale-
donia. All who know M. Henri Rochefort can testify
that his very delicate constitution will not stand this
transportation, and that he will either succumb to the

long and trying voyage, or be killed by homesickness.
VOL. n. 16



242 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

M. Henri Rochefort is a father of a family, and leaves
three children behind him, one a girl of seventeen.

The sentence passed on M. Henri Rochefort affects
his liberty only, the mode of carrying it out threatens
his life.

Why Noumea ? The Sainte-Marguerite islands would
be enough. The sentence does not require Noumea.
By detention on the Sainte-Marguerite islands, the sen-
tence would be executed and not aggravated. Trans-
portation to New Caledonia is an exaggeration of the
penalty inflicted on M. Henri Rochefort. The penalty
is commuted into a sentence of death. I call your at-
tention to this novel species of commutation.

The day when France hears that the grave has opened
to receive this brilliant and courageous man will be a
day of mourning for her.

A writer is concerned, and an original and uncom-
mon one. You are a Minister and an Academician ;
your two duties agree here and assist one another.
You would share the responsibility of the catastrophe
which is foreseen and foretold ; you can and you ought
to interfere ; you would honor yourself by taking this
generous initiative, and, apart from all political opinions
and passions, in the name of letters, to which you and
I belong, I ask you, my dear colleague, to protect M.
Henri Rochefort at this critical moment, and to prevent
a departure which would mean his death.



TO GEORGE SAND. 243

VIII.

To JULES CLARETIE.

BRUSSELS, 31st August, [1873].

I thank you for having enabled me to read your fine
article on the war, and your patriotic and stirring book.
A breath of progress animates your generous mind. A
striking drama is that and nothing more; if exalted
ideas on man and society are woven into it, it becomes
a great work.

You are capable of combating the reaction encour-
aged by the Empire, and reappearing to-day, in litera-
ture as well as in politics, under such pseudonyms as
good order, good taste, etc., which are lies. . . .

The words underlined were recently written by me,
and have made all the absolutist papers, French, Bel-
gian, and English, grind their teeth with rage, a success
which encourages me and will encourage you as well.

Go on. You have a brave heart as well as a charm-
ing mind. You have courage and talent ; that is to
say, the ladder for mounting to the attack, and the
sword for forcing your way into the fortress.

IX.

To GEORGE SAND. 1

1st January, [1874].

I am overwhelmed, but not prostrated. Your words
stir my heart. You are like an elder sister to me.
Those who have suffered know how to console. You
prove it, you who are so strong and so gentle.

1 After the death of Francois- Victor Hugo.



244 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.



To ALPHONSE KABR.

PARIS, 8th January, 1874.

I am touched by the kind words you write to me.
Never having wronged you, I could not account for the
hostility of which I heard sometimes. It was bound to
disappear. There was evidently a misunderstanding.
To-day we are friends again. I am glad of it, if such
a word can be used in the midst of a grief like mine.

I am now going through one of the most painful
ordeals of my life. On this occasion, you advise me to
give up politics. Alas ! what I ought to give up, and
what I am giving up, is everything.

What you style " politics " has always appeared some-
what vague to me. For my part, I have endeavored,
to the best of my ability, to bring the moral and the
human question into what is called politics. From a
moral point of view, I fought against Louis Bonaparte ;
from a human point of view, I raised my voice on be-
half of the oppressed of all countries and of all parties.
I think I have done well. My conscience tells me I
am right. If the future were to prove me wrong, I
should be sorry for the future.

Dear old friend, great sorrows are the meeting-place
of kind hearts. My hand presses yours.



TO GEORGE SAND. 245

XI.

To MLLE. LOUISE BERTIN, Quai Conti.

16th January, 1874.

MADEMOISELLE, You were kind to these poor dear
things, and they were veiy fond of you. Now the
darkness has fallen. All is gone. 1

Receive the assurance of my respect.

VICTOR HUGO.

XII.

To GEORGE SAND.

PARIS, Wth June, 1875.

You dedicate that beautiful book Valentine tq me !
How can I express my emotion ?

As a creator of masterpieces, you are the first among
women ; you have this unique position, you are the
first woman, from the point of view of art, not only of
our time, but of all time ; you are the most powerful
and the most charming writer that has been vouchsafed
to your sex. You are an honor to your sex and to our
country. Allow me to bow the knee before you, and
to kiss the hand which has written so many exquisite
and noble books.

Your books are of the kind which give light and
warmth ; just now we are threatened with an unac-
countable increase of darkness ; radiance such as yours
is necessary ; you set a good example. I love our age
and I feel that it has need of light. I thank you for
being such a lofty soul.

1 Of Victor Hugo's four children three, Le'opoldine, Charles, and
Francois- Victor, were dead, and the fourth, Adele, had gone out of her
mind.



246 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

XIII.

To THE COMMITTEE FOB ERECTING A STATUE TO LAMARTINE.

PARIS, 23d January, 1876.

France witnessed the appearance of a great poet in
1820, and of a great citizen in 1848.

This poet, this citizen, this great man is Lamartine.
I subscribe to his statue.

XIV.

To THE FREEMASONS OF LYONS.

PARIS, 15th April, 1877.

An eloquent appeal has been addressed to me. I
reply to it.

My friends among the Freemasons of Lyons are right
in counting on me. The philosopher is a fighter, the
thinker is a combatant ; but the former fights for fra-
ternity, the latter for peace. As for me, the day when
I cease to struggle I shah 1 have ceased to live.

Governments, which are all monarchical at the pre-
sent moment, have brought us, the peoples, into the
following predicament, misery at home and war
abroad. On the one side the workman without work,
on the other the soldier starting for the battlefield.
Hence the problem to be solved, a problem which
forces itself on the thinking mind and which contains
the whole future of civilization : to make work for the
workman, and to take it away from the soldier ; in
other words, to substitute the work of life for the work
of death.

The innumerable questions which rise tragically
around us are all, at bottom, the same question. It



TO ALFRED TENNYSON. 247

would seem as if a mysterious need of reciprocal par-
don were in the air. One is tempted to exclaim : Let
us forgive one another. To forgive is to love. Gov-
ernments which wage war, and governments which do
not pardon, are all guilty of the same crime ; want of
clemency is a form of war, battles are executions. To
make peace is to show mercy to mothers; to show
mercy is to make peace among men. Let us not weary,
then, of holding high aloft this double standard amid
the wrath and the tumult : Kepublic abroad ! amnesty
at home !

xv.

To LECONTE DE LISLE.

9th June, 1877.
MY EMINENT AND DEAR COLLEAGUE, I have Voted

for you three times, I would have done so ten times.

Continue your noble labors, and publish your lofty
works, which are one of the glories of our age.

In the presence of men like you, an Academy, and
especially the French Academy, should think of this :
that they have no need of it, and that it cannot do
without them.

XVI.

To ALFRED TENNYSON. 1

PARIS, June, 1877.

I read your splendid lines with emotion. It is a
reflection of glory that you send me. How should I
not love England, which produces men like you ! the
England of Wilberforce, the England of Milton and
of Newton ! the England of Shakespeare !

1 Tennyson had published a sonnet to Victor Hugo in the Nineteenth
Century.



248 THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO.

France and England are a single nation to me, as
truth and liberty are a single light. I believe in the
human unity as I believe in the divine unity.

XVII.

To THE MEMBERS OF THE FREE AND UNSECTARIAN CONGRESS
OP EDUCATION.

PARIS, 16th October, 1879.

MY DEAR FELLOW-CITIZENS, You offer me your
honorary presidentship. I accept it. I shall not be
able to attend your meetings, I fear, but I ardently
desire the triumph of your ideas, which are mine as
weU.

The rising generation is the future. You instruct
it, so you prepare the future.

This preparation is useful, this instruction is neces-
sary. To create the youth of to-day is to make the
man of to-morrow. The man of to-morrow is the uni-
versal Republic. The Republic means union, unity,
harmony, light, work producing well-being, the sup-
pression of conflicts between man and man and between
nation and nation, the end of inhuman exploitation, the
abolition of the law of death and the establishment of
the law of life.

Citizens, these thoughts are in your minds, and I am
but the mouthpiece of them ; the time of the terrible
and sanguinary necessities of revolution has gone by ;
for what remains to be done the inflexible law of
progress is sufficient. Besides, let us set our minds at
rest; everything is on our side in the great battles
which remain to be fought, battles the evident necessity
of which does not disturb the peace of mind of the



TO THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA. 249

thinker; battles in which revolutionary energy will
equal monarchical desperation ; battles in which force
allied with right will overthrow violence allied with
usurpation; splendid, glorious, enthusiastic, decisive
battles, the issue of which is not doubtful, and which
will be the Tolbiacums, the Hastingses, and the Auster-
litzes of the democracy.

Citizens, the period for the dissolution of the old
world has arrived. The ancient despotisms are con-
demned by the law of Providence ; time, the grave-
digger, working away in the dark, casts the earth over
them ; each day as it falls thrusts them further back
into nothingness.

The Republic is the future !

XVIII.

To THE EMPEROR OF AUSTRIA.

12th December, 1882.

I have received, in the course of two days, eleven
telegraphic messages from the universities and the
academies of Italy. All of them plead for the life of
a condemned man.

The Emperor of Austria has a pardon to grant at
this moment.

Let him sign this pardon ; it will be a great act.



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Full text of "The letters of Victor Hugo : from exile, and after the fall of the empire"

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THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO THE LETTERS OF VICTOR HUGO FROM EXILE, AND AFTER THE FALL OF THE EMPIRE EDITED BY PAUL MEURICE BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY Copyright, 1898, BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. Ml rights reserved. The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.

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Covering the period from his youth to his exile, the first part of the exhibition illustrates the breadth and the diversity of his creative activity.

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Covering the period from his youth to his exile, the first part of the exhibition illustrates the breadth and the diversity of his creative activity.

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Bibliothèque nationnale de France - Victor Hugo - The Ocean-Man

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Ce site du Ministère de la culture, présente Victor Hugo à travers ses grands combats politiques, toujours d'actualité deux siècles plus tard. De nombreux documents d'archives originaux, regroupés et présentés sous forme de thématiques, illustrent les engagements et événements marquants de la vie du poète et de ses proches.

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L’exil de Victor Hugoaux îles Anglo-Normandes

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L’exil de Victor Hugoaux îles Anglo-Normandes

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L'exil de Victor Hugo aux les Anglo-Normandes

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Dans les les de Guernesey et de Jersey, il existe plusieurs tablissements et lieux en hommage au clbre crivain franais Victor Hugo (1802-1885), que ce soit des restaurants, htels, auberges, muses, rues, etc. Il faut se rappeler que le clbre pote vcut presque vingt ans dans les les Anglo-Normandes.

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Emission de France Culture

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Jacques-Firmin Lanvin, ouvrier imprimeur. Voici l'identité sous laquelle, muni d'un faux passeport, Victor Hugo s'expatriait il y a presque 160 ans. De Bruxelles à Guernesey, son exil aura duré presque deux décennies.
> Du 19 au 22 décembre, Les Nouveaux chemins de la connaissance opèrent un retour sur cette période hugolienne extrêmement féconde : - Eloge du génie dans William Shakespeare , le 19 déc. - Hauteville house, Hugo en sa demeure, le 20 déc. - L'exil insulaire ou Les Travailleurs de la mer , le 21 déc. - Des Contemplations à Quatrevingt-treize , le 22 déc.
Les raisons d'un exil

Victor Hugo, élu député à l'Assemblée l'année précédente, y prononce son célèbre discours sur la misère où il appelle de ses vœ ux une politique sociale plus audacieuse. Sa harangue, qui fleure la subversion, soulève une nuée de violentes protestations à droite. Alors que l'écrivain avait soutenu la candidature de Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte à la présidence de la République en 1848, il tient à présent le neveu de Napoléon Ier pour un tyran, et le fait savoir.

Ainsi, en juillet 1851, à la tribune de la Chambre, il s'oppose avec virulence à la tentative d'une réforme de la Constitution qui permettrait la rééligibilité du président : " Quoi ! Après Auguste, Augustule ! Quoi, parce que nous avons eu Napoléon le Grand, il faut que nous ayons Napoléon le Petit ! ".

Le 2 décembre 1851 est marqué par le coup d'Etat de Louis-Napoléon Bonaparte qui se proclame empereur sous le nom de Napoléon III. C'est la fin de la Deuxième République et le début de l'exil d'Hugo.
Bruxelles et Jersey, les débuts de l'exil
Celui-ci commence véritablement le soir du 11 décembre : alors que le poète est recherché pour avoir tenté, en vain, d'organiser la résistance en soulevant les masses populaires parisiennes (25 000 francs de récompense sont promis à qui le capturera), il anticipe son expatriation officielle et gagne Bruxelles en train. Il y passera huit mois et y rédigera Histoire d'un crime , une charge contre le coup d'Etat et son auteur qui ne sera publiée qu'en 1877, ainsi qu'un pamphlet, Napoléon le Petit , dans lequel il cherche à démolir le mythe construit autour de la figure de l'empereur, dont il fut lui-même dupe et serviteur. " C'est beau d'avoir des héros, mais c'est un grand luxe. Les poètes coûtent moins cher ", écrira-t-il dans son William Shakespeare, en 1864.

Début janvier, Napoléon III fait expulser Hugo, par décret, mais c'est en août, seulement, que ce dernier arrive à Jersey avec son épouse, Adèle, ses enfants, ainsi que sa maîtresse, Juliette Drouet, qui les suit discrètement de loin. Il restera dix-neuf ans et neuf mois dans les Iles anglo-normandes, jusqu'à la chute de Bonaparte en 1870. En juillet 1852, alors qu'il est à Jersey, Hugo écrit à son épouse à propos de l'exil : " Il faut y travailler ou périr d'ennui et de néant ". En effet, leur isolement est d'autant plus difficile à accepter que leur vie mondaine avait précédemment été brillante.

Finalement, loin de succomber à l'ennui, Hugo se révélera dans toute sa splendeur d'écrivain et de poète durant ces années d'expatriation, y rédigeant nombre de ses œuvres maîtresses : " La proscription fit de lui ce qu'il y devint parce que l'exil fut pour lui le lieu d'un ancrage personnel plus profond, d'une position politique plus juste, d'un accomplissement littéraire. ", affirme Guy Rosa, dans la préface du texte d'Hugo Ce que c'est que l'exil .
Photo © RF/ A. Van Reeth, T. Ghrenassia. Entre 1855 et 1876, Victor Hugo s'attache à dépeindre l'humanité dans sa grande fresque poétique et visionnaire, La Légende des siècles .
Période spirite
Victor Hugo tombe véritablement sous le charme des archipels de la Manche. A Jersey, il habite à Marine Terrace , une grande maison isolée en bord de mer, près d'un cimetière. Dans ce décor empreint de surnaturel, avec sa famille et quelques proches, Hugo est initié au spiritisme par Delphine de Girardin. Cette pratique venue des Etats-Unis est alors très en vogue dans les cercles mondains.

Mais les séances de tables tournantes en famille, qui étaient devenues quasi quotidiennes, s'interrompront brutalement à Guernesey en octobre 1855 après que l'un des participants, Jules Allix, a sombré dans la folie. Il était temps ! Victor Hugo commençait lui-même à se croire prophète, se targuant d'avoir été élu pour guider l'humanité.

La BnF conserve aujourd'hui encore quelques traces écrites de cette période spirite, les " révélations de la Table " ayant été consignées dans quatre cahiers dont deux ont été retrouvés et rendus publics de manière posthume en 1923. Car à l'époque, Hugo répugnait à les publier : " Ce livre, au lieu d'être accueilli par le respect et la foi du genre humain, serait accueilli par un immense éclat de rire."

Les landes de Jersey, puis celles de Guernesey où le poète s'établira à partir d'octobre 1853, la mer et ses fureurs... ce paysage, au-delà de ces petites histoires de guéridon, exalte la spiritualité de l'écrivain : " Arbres, roseaux, rochers, tout vit ! Tout est plein d'âmes ! ", s'émerveille-t-il.
Guernesey, quinze années prolixes
Mais aussi : " L'exil ne m'a pas seulement détaché de la France, il m'a presque détaché de la terre, et il y a des instants où je me sens comme mort et où il me semble que je vis déjà de la grande et sublime vie ultérieure. "

Dans Libération , le 11-12-2008, Edouard Launet note : " Jamais n'est apparue aussi nettement l'image d'un Hugo au bord de l'infini, tutoyant les dieux et les géants de la littérature (Dante, Shakespeare, Chateaubriand, etc.), rédigeant des œuvres visionnaires comme les Châtiments et les Contemplations, narguant depuis son rocher l'empereur Napoléon III (...) "

A Jersey, tout accaparé qu'il soit par sa fascination pour le spiritisme, Hugo n'en oublie pas moins ses engagements politiques. Il prend ainsi parti pour un journal contestataire distribué aux exilés, L'Homme , qui avait critiqué la reine Victoria. Alors que l'éditeur du journal est expulsé, Hugo demande au gouverneur de connaître le même sort et quitte l'île où il aura résidé à peine plus d'un an.

Chassé de Jersey, le poète s'établit alors à Guernesey fin octobre 1853. Quelques années plus tard, le succès des Contemplations lui permet d'acheter une ancienne demeure de corsaire, Hauteville House , située près du port de Saint-Pierre. Hugo l'aménage de façon inouïe, emplissant les pièces de meubles, de miroirs... et y apposant partout l'initiale de son prénom. Charles, son fils, décrit ces lieux comme étant " un véritable autographe de trois étages... un poème en plusieurs chambres. "

C'est la première fois que Victor Hugo devient propriétaire : " N'ayant plus la patrie, je veux avoir le toit ."
Engagements politiques et humanitaires " Quand la liberté rentrera, je rentrerai "
L'écrivain restera quinze ans dans cet archipel, y rédigeant une grande partie de son œuvre. C'est debout, depuis une cristal room assez sobre par rapport au reste de l'habitation, que Victor Hugo écrit. Une grande baie vitrée lui offre une vue sur le jardin et la mer. À l'horizon, l'île de Serck et, par temps dégagé, les côtes françaises...

Sous sa plume naît alors William Shakespeare en 1864, un manifeste pour le romantisme qui s'intéresse à la notion de génie, mais aussi ses quatre grands romans, Les Misérables en 1862, Les Travailleurs de la mer en 1866 (roman guernesiais où Hugo s'identifie au marin naufragé), L'Homme qui rit en 1869 et enfin, Quatrevingt-treize en 1874.

Tout au long de sa période d'exil, Hugo se montre très généreux vis à vis des habitants de Guernesey : dons d'argent, de vêtements, de nourriture, etc. A partir de 1862, il invite même à sa table, de manière hebdomadaire des dizaines d'enfants pauvres de l'île.

En plus de ses grands travaux d'écriture, il rédige des textes engagés, à portée générale : pour l'émancipation des femmes, l'abolition de la peine de mort, la défense des Mexicains contre l'invasion française etc. Hugo réalise également de nombreux dessins faisant la part belle au fantasque et à l'imaginaire .

Ce faisant, le poète reste résolument et plus que jamais antibonapartiste, républicain et démocrate, au point de refuser la grâce impériale en août 1859 : " A l'exil subi succède, après le refus de l'amnistie ( ...), l'exil volontaire. Le poète a compris tout l'enjeu symbolique du défi lancé à Napoléon III. Son entourage accepte de plus en plus difficilement la vie à Guernesey (...) Le maître, lui, construit à la fois sa statue et ses chefs d'œuvre. " (Robert Kopp, L'Histoire, 01.10.2009).

C'est seulement en 1870, alors que Napoléon III part à son tour en exil en Angleterre suite à sa défaite face à la Prusse, que Victor Hugo revient en France.

En 1875, à Paris, il écrit Ce que c'est que l'exil , texte où il revient sur ces presque deux décennies. Le recul lui permet d'analyser subtilement le statut d'exilé et de revendiquer le droit à la parole et à la liberté pour chacun. Plus que jamais, il y apparaît comme l'homme libre et hors de tout cadre. Le poète entouré d'océan.

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Jacques-Firmin Lanvin, ouvrier imprimeur. Voici l'identité sous laquelle, muni d'un faux passeport, Victor Hugo s'expatriait il y a presque 160 ans. De Bruxelles à Guernesey, son exil aura duré presque deux décennies. > Du 19 au 22 décembre, Les Nouveaux chemins de la connaissance opèrent un retour sur cette période hugolienne extrêmement féconde : - Eloge du génie dans William Shakespeare , le 19 déc.

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Analyse de photos de Victor Hugo en exil.

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Victor Hugo sur la grève d'Azette

Charles HUGO (1826 - 1871)

Victor Hugo sur le rocher des Proscrits

Charles HUGO (1826 - 1871)

Affiche de vente aux enchères publiques du mobilier de Victor Hugo.

Titre : Victor Hugo sur la grève d'Azette
Auteur : Charles HUGO (1826 - 1871)
Date de création : 1852

Date représentée :

Dimensions : Hauteur 93 - Largeur 70

Technique et autres indications : Papier salé

Lieu de Conservation : Musée d'Orsay site web

Contact copyright : © Photo RMN-Grand Palais - H. Lewandowski site web

Référence de l'image : 98-001973 / RMN42192 98-001973

Victor Hugo sur la grève d'Azette

Victor Hugo sur le rocher des Proscrits

Titre : Affiche de vente aux enchères publiques du mobilier de Victor Hugo.

Date de création : 1852

Date représentée : 1852

Dimensions : Hauteur 0 - Largeur 0

Lieu de Conservation : Archives de Paris site web

Contact copyright : © Archives de Paris site web

Référence de l'image : D 42 E3 27

Affiche de vente aux enchères publiques du mobilier de Victor Hugo.

Hugo en exil

http://www.histoire-image.org/etudes/hugo-exil

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Le proscrit
Dramaturge, romancier, poète, Victor Hugo est devenu un monstre sacré de la littérature française. Au cours du XIX e siècle son insatiable activité littéraire se fait de plus en plus l'écho de son engagement politique. Connu d'abord comme le chef de fil des romantiques, il reste fidèle à ses idéaux royalistes jusqu'au milieu de la Restauration. Mais la censure qu'exerce Charles X sur la presse comme sur les œuvres littéraires le fait évoluer vers le libéralisme. Quelques mois après la première d'Hernani, pièce autorisée mais dépréciée par les tenants du régime, il soutient la révolution de 1830. Le peu d'écho rencontré par Les Burgraves et la mort de sa fille Léopoldine en 1843 le détournent un temps de la création au profit de l'activité politique. Devenu républicain, il est élu député en 1848 et siège à l'Assemblée constituante et à l'Assemblée législative. Hugo bascule alors à gauche et s'oppose au coup d'État de Louis Napoléon Bonaparte du 2 décembre 1851 en tentant d'organiser la résistance. En vain.

Opposant farouche à Napoléon III il doit s'exiler à Bruxelles pour fuir la répression qui s'abat sur les républicains : 26 000 arrestations, 9 500 personnes déportées à Cayenne et en Algérie et 1 500 expulsions (dont 66 députés). Son fils Charles le rejoint dans son exil, à sa sortie de prison, à la fin janvier 1852. Mais aussi longtemps que Victor Hugo ne publie pas d'ouvrages, voire de pamphlets contre le régime de Napoléon III, sa femme Adèle et sa fille peuvent parfaitement demeurer à Paris. Le Prince-Président laisse jouer Marion de Lorme à la Comédie française. Il assiste même à une représentation où il applaudit ostensiblement. En prenant la décision d'écrire d'abord L'histoire d'un crime (qu'il n'achève pas alors) puis Napoléon-le-Petit (dont le titre est plus qu'une provocation) Victor Hugo fait de lui-même un proscrit. Fin mai 1852, Adèle Hugo vient discuter à Bruxelles des dispositions à prendre. La famille Hugo décide de vendre tout son mobilier, pour se réunir à Jersey avant la parution, en août 1852, de Napoléon-le-Petit.

L'affiche de la vente fait un certain bruit dans Paris. Il y a foule lors de l'exposition du mobilier. Outre la bibliothèque, une collection de tableaux (flamands) et de dessins (romantiques), on est frappé par la profusion d'objets de toutes origines et destinés à tous les usages, qui anticipent sur l'ameublement et les bricolages extravagants de Hauteville House (Guernesey). Cette vente n'a pas eu lieu comme certains l'ont cru parce que Victor Hugo était ruiné. Elle a mis une dernière touche au portrait de celui qui campe alors sa posture d'exilé. C'est une manifestation publique de son refus de la situation politique, en même temps que la préparation de l'exil de sa famille.

Hugo choisit l'île de Jersey, terre francophone et libérale, où, entouré de ses proches et de quelques autres proscrits, il continue de manifester son opposition au régime en publiant à Bruxelles le pamphlet Napoléon le Petit (1852) puis des vers " vengeurs " au titre explicite, Les Châtiments (1853).

Photos de l'exil
L'exil est vécu comme une injustice, un deuil traversé de crises de découragement. Pourtant, les longues années hors de France s'avèrent propices à la création. Le contact avec la nature sauvage et le spectacle de l'océan inspirent à Hugo une poésie engagée, Les Châtiments, puis apaisée, Les Contemplations (1856). D'emblée, Hugo projette d'assortir ses œuvres de portraits afin d'entretenir sa légende, à un moment où son existence bascule dans l'Histoire. A l'époque, la technique du daguerréotype[ 1] ne permet la reproduction que par le biais de la lithographie, procédé jugé " lourd " par Hugo qui va lui préférer la photographie naissante[ 2]. Il pressent les possibilités artistiques de cette découverte et fait installer un atelier dans sa maison de Jersey. Initié à cette technique par le républicain Edmond Bacot, Charles, le fils d'Hugo, devient le principal exécutant du projet paternel.
C'est Hugo père qui met en scène les photographies, choisit les sites et les poses. Son œil averti compose, à la manière d'un peintre, des vues qui apparaissent comme les illustrations des vers composés au même moment.
Victor Hugo sur la grève d'Azette (1852-1853)
Hugo tient d'abord à se rappeler au souvenir des Français en tant que résistant, fidèle défenseurs des idéaux républicains de 1848 et rejetant toute compromission (amnistié en 1859, il refusera de rentrer en France). À cette fin, il prend place sur la grève d'Azette, comme encerclé par la mer, les bras croisés et le regard fixé sur l'horizon. L'assurance de la pose, la stabilité de la composition dont il apparaît comme le " pivot " subtilement désaxé, renvoient à la conclusion d'" Ultima Verba[ 3] " :
Et s'il n'en reste qu'un, je serai celui-là !

Victor Hugo sur le rocher des Proscrits (1853)
Hugo se veut aussi visionnaire et démiurge. Dans cette photographie qu'il appréciait particulièrement, des diagonales mènent le regard au-delà du promontoire dont la silhouette du poète constitue le sommet, découvrant dans les deux tiers de l'image une étendue vaste, ouverte sur l'infini, où alternent harmonieusement des bandes sombres et claires. Exaltée, la figure du poète apparaît, face à l'univers, la seule capable d'entrer en communication avec la nature et avec Dieu, ce qu'évoquent les vers de " Stella[ 4] ":
Et pendant qu'à longs plis l'ombre levait son voile,
J'entendis une voix qui venait de l'étoile
Et qui disait...

Le rôle du poète
Les photographies de Jersey s'avèrent d'une grande force. À l'époque, aucun artiste, qu'il soit peintre ou photographe, ne rivalise avec Hugo dans l'art de se représenter. La maîtrise des clairs-obscurs et l'expressivité des poses rompent avec les représentations traditionnelles, beaucoup plus académiques. Hugo a su tirer parti du caractère direct et de la force poétique de la photographie pour imposer son image du poète en exil. Fidèle à la conception romantique, il en fait un prophète des temps modernes, prêt à recevoir la révélation, juché sur le rocher des Proscrits tel Moïse sur le Sinaï. Le poète est également celui qui éclaire les peuples par la parole, ici la poésie dont le lyrisme s'accorde avec celui des photographies. Ainsi Hugo a-t-il lui-même et consciemment façonné son propre mythe. Dans les décennies suivantes, illustrateurs et caricaturistes réutiliseront l'image de Hugo sur son " piédestal ", véritable statue vivante. Cette représentation est en phase avec les attentes de la société du XIX e siècle, comme le montrent les funérailles du poète en 1885 et la place qu'il prendra dans l'école de la III e République.

Paul Bénichou, Le Temps des prophètes, Paris, Gallimard, 1977.
Sophie GROSSIORD, Victor Hugo, " et s'il n'en reste qu'un... ", Paris, Gallimard, coll. " Découvertes ", 1998.
Victor HUGO, Les Châtiments, rééd. Paris, Hachette, 1998.
Adèle HUGO, Le Journal d'Adèle Hugo, Paris, Lettres modernes, Minard, 1968-1984.
Adèle HUGO, Victor Hugo raconté par Adèle Hugo, Paris, Plon, 1985.
Hubert JUIN, Victor Hugo, tome II " 1844-1870 ", Paris, Flammarion, 1992.
Catalogue de l'exposition La Gloire de Victor Hugo (Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, 1985-1986), Paris, RMN, 1985.
Catalogue de l'exposition En collaboration avec le soleil.
Victor Hugo, photographies de l'exil, Paris, Musée d'Orsay - Maison de Victor Hugo, 1998.

1. Daguerréotype : procédé mis au point par Daguerre en 1838, consistant à fixer l'image sur une plaque métallique. Le daguerréotype permet l'obtention d'un positif direct mais unique.

2. Photographie : procédé mis au point par Fox-Talbot en 1839 et introduite officiellement en France en 1847. Elle permet l'impression de multiples épreuves positives à partir d'un seul négatif sur papier ou sur verre.

3. " Ultima Verba ", Jersey, 2 décembre 1853, est le poème qui clôt Les Châtiments.

4. " Stella ", Jersey, 31 août 1853, in Les Châtiments.

Stéphanie CABANNE, " Hugo en exil ", Histoire par l'image [en ligne], consulté le 10 Mai 2017. URL : http://www.histoire-image.org/etudes/hugo-exil

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Le proscrit Dramaturge, romancier, poète, Victor Hugo est devenu un monstre sacré de la littérature française. Au cours du XIX e siècle son insatiable activité littéraire se fait de plus en plus l'écho de son engagement politique. Connu d'abord comme le chef de fil des romantiques, il reste fidèle à ses idéaux royalistes jusqu'au milieu de la Restauration.

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Ce site du Ministère de la culture, présente Victor Hugo à travers ses grands combats politiques, toujours d'actualité deux siècles plus tard. De nombreux documents d'archives originaux, regroupés et présentés sous forme de thématiques, illustrent les engagements et événements marquants de la vie du poète et de ses proches.

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Ce site du Ministère de la culture, présente Victor Hugo à travers ses grands combats politiques, toujours d'actualité deux siècles plus tard. De nombreux documents d'archives originaux, regroupés et présentés sous forme de thématiques, illustrent les engagements et événements marquants de la vie du poète et de ses proches.

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Atelier de Villedieu

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Cornille-Havard fond les cloches de Notre-Dame

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Pour son 850e anniversaire, la célèbre cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris a décidé de doter ses tours d'une sonnerie identique à celle d'avant la Révolution. Elle a choisi la Fonderie Cornille-Havard, à Villedieu-les-Poêles, pour fabriquer ses huit nouvelles cloches. Retour sur un des temps forts de leur fabrication, quand la fusion du métal rencontre celle de savoir-faire ancestraux.

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Workshop of Notre Dame Cathedral bells

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Villedieu-les-Poêles carries the Government sponsored label "Ville et metiers d'Art" in recognition of its grand artisanal tradition of copper working since the Middle Ages; The production of kitchen utensils, brassware, cauldrons... the "City of Copper and Pewter" was created in the 11th century by the Knights Hospitaller of Saint-John-of-Jerusalem.

Five sites dedicated to handcrafts

Villedieu-les-Poêles is one of the essential stops for artisanal tourism in Normandy and La Manche. Fruit of a history of copper and metal working dating back to the Middle Ages, Villedieu is an important place to visit. L'Atelier du Cuivre (the copper workshop), la Maison de l'Etain, (House of Pewter), le Musée de la Poeslerie (Museum of copper pots and pans), la Fonderie des Cloches (Bell foundry) honour through their know-how this Arts and Crafts Town. Woodworking, cabinet-making and lace-making also occupy an important place in the local economy. The Museum of Norman Furniture and the lace workshop (Maison de la Dentelière), bear witness to the wealth of these ancient activities.

Villedieu-les-Poêles: first Commandery of the Knights of Malta

Every four years an important delegation from the Sovereign Order of the Knights of Malta participates in the ceremonies of the Grand Sacre (Great Rites) at Villedieu-les-Poêles. The next time this event will take place will be in 2016!
Inhabitants of Villedieu-les-Poeles are called 'Theopolitains' or "Sourdins", (deaf or hard of hearing). The term 'sourdin' is linked to the ancient activity of pots and pans making, when the constant and repetitive hammering of copper would eventually render the workmen deaf.
Special event: Every year, events are organised during "Arts and Crafts Days" to show ancient local traditions.

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Villedieu-les-Poêles carries the Government sponsored label "Ville et metiers d'Art" in recognition of its grand artisanal tradition of copper working since the Middle Ages; The production of kitchen utensils, brassware, cauldrons... the "City of Copper and Pewter" was created in the 11th century by the Knights Hospitaller of Saint-John-of-Jerusalem.

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Mont Saint-Michel - the pride of Normandy - stands amid the waves at high tide in the Bay, listed World Heritage by Unesco.

The abbey, known as the Wonder of the West, towers over the Bay, dazzling visitors by her beauty.

The abbey of Mont Saint-Michel

The Wonder of the West opens its doors for a traditional or theme tour of its different rooms and intimate cloister. This masterpiece of medieval architecture is a recognised symbol of the expertise of 13th Century builders who erected two sets of three-level buildings on the rocky peak.

The Bay of Mont Saint-Michel

The Bay of Mont Saint-Michel, between Cancale and Granville, occupies some 500 km². It is the scene for the highest tides in Europe, with an exceptional tidal range (difference between the highest and lowest point of the water) which can reach 15 meters during spring tides. The Bay also offers a great diversity of natural environments and thus constitutes the largest expanse of salt meadows and polders in France.

Fauna and Flora

This great variety encourages the emergence and development of many plant and animal species. A third of the Breton flora thrives among the mudflats, in freshwater and saltwater marshes, groves, dunes, rocky coasts, deep waters, polders and rivers.

> There are over 130 species of birds in the Bay, which is a favoured breeding ground for gulls and sparrows. It is also a moulting area for the black scoter, a stopover for some migratory birds and a refuge for the wigeon or the bean goose when the weather is particularly cold.
> In the sea, honeycomb worms, have built large-scale reef areas: "Le Banc des Hermelles" is the most extensive animal "bio-construction" in Europe, its surface area reaching more than 100 hectares.
> About a hundred different fish species populate the waters of the Bay, a true nursery for the sole, the ray, the seabream, and the seabass, .... The waters of the bay are also visited by migratory fish such as the salmon or the eel.

The abundance of fish benefits predators such as dolphins or seals which thrive in the Bay.

Pilgrim or simple visitor, you can enjoy a guided walk across the bay of Mont Saint-Michel, feet in the sand. Accompanied by licensed guides, you shall tread the grazing land, walk along Tombelaine inhabited by many birds, cross rivers, you will "sink" in quicksand ... until you reach Mont Saint-Michel.
A unique opportunity to understand the restoration of the maritime character of Mont Saint-Michel!

In 2015, Mont Saint-Michel becomes an island once again!

After twenty years of studies and works, this exceptional monument has regained its status of island. The opportunity to (re) discover the abbey, also known as Wonder of the West, and the bay listed World Heritage by UNESCO.

With the recent dismantling of the old causeway, the scenery evolves with every tide, leaving nature take its course once again.
Thanks to the dam (open in 2009), which regulates the waters of the Couesnon and the sea, sediments are dispersed far into the sea. Hydraulic machinery has also been installed on either side of the dam to accelerate the process.

The "footbridge", which opened in 2015, and the esplanade, complete the package which aim is to restore the maritime character of Mont Saint-Michel.
At the heart of the parking area, a Tourist Information Centre (TIC) offers different exhibitions and events around these major works as well as many other services.

How to reach the Mont Saint-Michel ?

From that point, you can choose your means of transportation to reach the Mont Saint-Michel:
- On foot, (about 50 minutes). Several routes are available, allowing pedestrians to admire the Bay and the Mont
- On board a motorized shuttle, in 12 minutes. A model of innovation accessible to all!
- On board the "Maringote", a horse-drawn shuttle, in 25 minutes. Pulled by two draft horses, the shuttle travels on the new causeway.

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Mont Saint-Michel - the pride of Normandy - stands amid the waves at high tide in the Bay, listed World Heritage by Unesco. The abbey, known as the Wonder of the West, towers over the Bay, dazzling visitors by her beauty.

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Granville "Monaco of the North" "The pirate city" reconverted as seaside resort

From 1450, ships from and around Granville fished for cod off Newfoundland. Through the centuries, Granville became an important cod port, like its Breton neighbour Saint-Malo.

Home-port of the "Marité"

Notably, Granville is the home-port of the 'Marite', the last wood-built Newfoundlander. Witness to the great fishing fleets off the banks of Newfoundland, 'le Marite' has found its home-port in Granville. After having served as a coaster, as a pleasure-boat and even as a television studio for the programme "Thalassa", the old rigged wooden ship had been undergoing restoration since 2006. Work began at Cherbourg, continued at Saint-Vaast and was completed at Granville in June 2012.

Corsairs city

Under Louis XIV, Granville, then a dynamic port swarming with sailors, furnished a number of corsairs for royal service and 15 Admirals including Pleville Le Pelley, the "Wooden Legged Corsair".

The Upper Town

A detour to the old town is a must when visiting Granville ! Sheltered by ramparts, you will find elegant private residences, the Richard Anacréon Modern Art Museum and a museum dedicated to the Old town of Granville (musée du Vieux Granville). From the historical centre, take a stroll to the Roc, where you can visit the aquarium Le Roc des Harmonies and the Semaphore.

Granville, seaside resort

Granville became a popular seaside resort in Normandy, at the end of the 19th Century. It is pleasant to stay there and to be lulled by that ambiance uniquely found in ports, but with a touch of elegance brought by holiday makers from the city.

The archipelago of Chausey is the insular quarter of Granville, and the pride of its inhabitants! The island, with its idyllic landscapes is only an hour off the coast of Granville. Landing there is a pure delight... Set off to Chausey, and enjoy a visit to the beautiful sandy beaches. Paradise!

First French harbour for shell fishing

Granville is the leading French shell fishing harbour for whelks, scallops, clams, dog cockles, cuttlefish and sea bream. Stop off in Granville and treat yourself to a mouth-watering seafood platter.

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Granville "Monaco of the North" "The pirate city" reconverted as seaside resort From 1450, ships from and around Granville fished for cod off Newfoundland. Through the centuries, Granville became an important cod port, like its Breton neighbour Saint-Malo. Notably, Granville is the home-port of the 'Marite', the last wood-built Newfoundlander.

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A magical island

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A magical island topped by a gravity-defying medieval monastery, the Mont-Saint-Michel counts among France's most stunning sights. For centuries one of Europe's major pilgrimage destinations, this holy mount is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as is its breathtaking bay.

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The Mont-Saint-Michel - Abbey, mount, tides, hotels, bay - Near St Malo, Brittany - Normandy Tourism, France

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A magical island topped by a gravity-defying medieval monastery, the Mont-Saint-Michel counts among France's most stunning sights. For centuries one of Europe's major pilgrimage destinations, this holy mount is now a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as is its breathtaking bay.

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discover the multiple highlights of our town : its captivating history of the Knights of Malta, the exceptional architecture of its historic monuments, its courtyard workshops, its cobbled passageways, its artisanal history, its anecdotes... During the Second World War, Villedieu was spared being bombed. Because of this you will discover a town blessed with an ancient heritage little known and unique in Normandy. Its habitat is a little island grouped around 35 medieval courtyard workshops, the ancient heart of copper-smithing

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Le Mont Saint-Michel, la baie nourricière

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Comme son titre l'indique, ce n'est pas le mont Saint-Michel qui est l'objet de ce document mais l'écosystème qui l'entoure. La spécificité géologique et biologique de la baie est explorée puis reliée aux activités humaines qui y sont pratiquées : moules de bouchot, crevettes, poissons pris au piège dans les pêcheries traditionnelles et agneaux de prés salés sont au menu !

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Maisons de Victor Hugo | Paris - Guernesey

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The apartment which Victor Hugo rented from 1832 to 1848 at 6 Place Royale (now Place des Vosges) is currently laid out in such a way as to take you through his life, evoking his writing through furniture, objects and works of art that belonged to him or that he created himself.

This room is evocative of the family atmosphere, the places where Victor Hugo spent his childhood and youth, through to the time of his first literary success. The family portraits were mostly by relatives or friends, the brothers Eugène and Achille Devéria or his sister-in-law Julie Duvidal de Montferrier, a talented pupil of Baron Gérard, and Madame Adèle Hugo herself.

Hung with red damask, this lounge evokes the atmosphere of an apartment which, in Victor Hugo's time, was a place given over to literature, art and politics around the figurehead of the Romantic Movement. Among the visitors were Théophile Gautier, Lamartine, Dumas, Mérimée, David d'Angers... On the walls are works of art which were once hung in the large lounge. These include family portraits by Louis Boulanger and Auguste de Châtillon, a marble bust of the poet by David d'Angers and a canvas depicting the story of Inez de Castro, a gift from the Duke and Duchess of Orléans to the master of the house.

In this room and the following one, we enter the period of exile in Guernsey. The room demonstrates a little-known facet of Victor Hugo's genius, his talent as a "decorator" which only the museum is able to show, through the decor and furniture designed for the house of Juliette Drouet, Hauteville Fairy.
Bought by Paul Meurice from Juliette's nephew in order to be donated to the museum, this decor was installed, with the help of Asian art merchant Siegfried Bing, as a "Chinese Lounge" and separated from the Gothic-inspired furniture in the dining room and bedroom of the Guernsey home. These Chinese-style panels were designed by Hugo in 1863-1864 and painted with the help of Tom Gore, a craftsman who was already employed at the Hauteville House worksite. They form the backdrop for the porcelain that covers the walls and shelves. The poet's imagination comes to the fore with fantasy and humour, peppered with intimate allusions to his beloved: the monograms VH and JD are to be found throughout the decor.
To complete the collection there is the table offered to Juliette on which he wrote the first series of The Legend of the Ages in 1859, with a dedication written on the table-top itself.
The Table with Four Inkwells (Lamartine, Dumas, Sand and Hugo), assembled by Victor Hugo, was destined for a charity auction with proceeds going to children living in poverty in Guernsey.

A fondness for Gothic furniture which was already evident in the apartment in the Place Royale is again demonstrated in the furnishings at Hauteville House and Hauteville Fairy. Hugo, often accompanied by Juliette or his sons, engaged in a "hunt for old chests" from Guernsey at the time that he was buying furniture from the Haute Epoque or Renaissance periods. Hugo had them dismantled and then reassembled according to his fancy or his decorative requirements, in accordance with his designs, with the work carried out by a team of Guernsey carpenters headed by Mauger. Thus a door became a table, chests become sideboards or benches, coils of thread became candle holders and table legs became columns, giving the furniture a Gothic look.

This room and part of the next is now devoted to the display of "pocket-sized" exhibits, each on a given theme or news item. The public can thus view works from collections (such as drawings, photographs, engravings, manuscripts, prints, etc.) that, for reasons of conservation, are not permanently exhibited.

This room, which was once the writer's study, now showcases works evoking Victor Hugo's glory after his return from exile. These include his portrait by Léon Bonnat, which has become an iconic image. The portrait of his grandchildren, Georges and Jeanne, brings to mind The Art of Being a Grandfather, while the moving image of Juliette Drouet a few months before her death, a work by Bastien-Lepage, recalls the end of a life marked by mourning. The Heroic Bust by Rodin seems to cast Hugo in immortality.

Thanks to the generosity of his grandchildren Georges and Jeanne, Victor Hugo's bedroom at 130 Avenue d'Eylau, where he spent the last years of his life (1878 to 1885), has been faithfully recreated. Among the furniture items are gifts that the writer and public figure received for his 80th birthday: The Republic by Clésinger, and a Sèvres vase given by Jules Ferry on behalf of the government. Also displayed is the famous raised desk at which Hugo would write standing up. It was in this bed that Victor Hugo died on 22 May 1885.

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The apartment which Victor Hugo rented from 1832 to 1848 at 6 Place Royale (now Place des Vosges) is currently laid out in such a way as to take you through his life, evoking his writing through furniture, objects and works of art that belonged to him or that he created himself.

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Mont St Michel and its bay

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Mont-Saint-Michel and its Bay (UNESCO/NHK)

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Perched on a rocky islet in the midst of vast sandbanks exposed to powerful tides between Normandy and Brittany stand the 'Wonder of the West', a Gothic-style Benedictine abbey dedicated to the archangel St Michael, and the village that grew up in the shadow of its great walls.

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V.Hugo dans la Manche : étape à Granville

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V.Hugo dans la Manche : étape à Granville

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Victor Hugo dans la Manche (1836) - Wikimanche

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victor-hugo.info, poeme de Victor Hugo : a granville, en 1836

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Voici juin. Le moineau raille Dans les champs les amoureux ; Le rossignol de muraille Chante dans son nid pierreux. Les herbes et les branchages, Pleins de soupirs et d'abois, Font de charmants rabâchages Dans la profondeur des bois. La grive et la tourterelle Prolongent, dans les nids sourds, La ravissante querelle Des baisers et des amours.

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En effet, le romancier et poète français Victor Hugo a passé 15 ans en exil à Guernesey entre 1855 et 1870, et l'île a inspiré plusieurs de ses chefs-d'œuvre, notamment Les Misérables et Les Travailleurs de la mer.

Hugo est tombé sous le charme de Guernesey et sa maison sur l'ile, Hauteville House, donne au public la chance de découvrir son cadre de vie, et de visiter le lieu où il a composé certains de ses plus célèbres romans et poèmes.

Son cabinet de travail, la " chambre de cristal " est au troisième et dernier étage de cette maison éclectique et a une vue panoramique sur la capitale de St Peter Port, sans cesse changeante, sur la mer et au loin sur sa patrie, la France.

Mais ce n'est pas seulement dans cette maison unique au cœur de l'île que vous pouvez emboîter le pas à l'un des écrivains les plus controversés et les plus fascinants de son époque.

Vous pouvez par exemple vous baigner là où il nageait dans l'eau claire de la baie de Havelet, emprunter son sentier favori le long de la côte jusqu'à la baie de Fermain ou encore aller vous promener jusqu'à l'une des plus jolies baies de l'île, Moulin Huet. Marchez jusqu'au bout du promontoire à tous vents de Pleinmont, qui donne une vue époustouflante sur le phare de Hanois, puis continuez en suivant la côte ouest sur toute sa longueur pour arriver à Port Soif, une partie du littoral de l'île que le romancier affectionnait particulièrement et qui l'a beaucoup inspiré.

Il n'est pas difficile de voir pourquoi Hugo était captivé par ces îles. On se souvient de Victor Hugo pour son œuvre, mais sa vie privée était tout aussi fascinante.

Il avait épousé son amie d'enfance, Adèle Foucher, et ils eurent cinq enfants, mais il eut aussi de nombreuses maîtresses au cours de sa vie, notamment l'actrice française Juliette Drouet.

Elle est devenue sa secrétaire et sa compagne de voyage, et cette relation a duré 50 ans. Elle a sacrifié sa carrière pour suivre l'amour de sa vie à Guernesey où Hugo et sa famille vivaient en exil. Cette femme est souvent mentionnée dans la biographie de Victor Hugo, et des milliers de lettres échangées entre eux ont été enregistrées.

On dit qu'ils se rencontraient en secret au sommet de Victoria Tower. Bâtie pour commémorer la visite de la reine Victoria et du prince Albert sur l'île, cette tour donne une vue exceptionnelle sur St Peter Port. Si vous regardez bien, vous trouverez peut-être leurs initiales, VH et JD, gravées quelque part sur la face intérieure des murs en granite.

Hugo a entamé, terminé ou publié la majorité de ses œuvres les plus célèbres durant son séjour ici, notamment Les Contemplations (1856), Les Misérables (1862), La Légende des siècles (1877), William Shakespeare (1864), Les Chansons des rues et des bois (1865), Les Travailleurs de la mer (1866), L'Homme qui rit (1869), et Quatre-Vingt-Treize (1874)

HAUTEVILLE HOUSE

La Ville de Paris assure l'entretien des deux maisons où Victor Hugo a vécu le plus longtemps : l'Hôtel de Rohan-Guéménée sur la place des Vosges à Paris, où il a loué un appartement de 280 mètres carrés au deuxième étage pendant 16 ans (de 1832 à 1848) et Hauteville House sur l'île de Guernesey, où il a vécu en exil pendant 15 ans (de 1856 à 1870).

En 1851 le poète banni a quitté la France pour un exil qui allait durer 19 ans. D'abord chassé de Belgique puis de Jersey, Hugo est enfin arrivé à Guernesey en 1855.

Le 16 mai 1856, grâce au produit de la vente de son recueil de poèmes Les Contemplations, Victor Hugo achète Hauteville House à Guernesey, une grande maison blanche avec un jardin dominant la mer. Collectionneur enthousiaste de meubles d'occasion et de bric-à-brac, il ramène une profusion de coffres, crédences, tapis, miroirs, couverts, figurines et objets divers de ses excursions sur l'île. Il applique son imagination sans bornes à la transformation de la maison, passant des mois à superviser de grands travaux " sur un modèle médiéval " qui donnent à la demeure une force intérieure et un certain mystère, et en ont fait un lieu unique. Hugo a vécu à Hauteville House jusqu'en 1870, date de son retour en France après la chute du Second Empire, mais il est revenu y passer un an en 1872-73, une semaine en 1875 et quatre mois en 1878.

En mars 1927, l'année du centenaire du mouvement Romantique, les descendants de l'écrivain, Jeanne, Jean, Marguerite et François, offert la maison en donation à la Ville de Paris.

Hauteville House a été préservée telle que l'écrivain l'a laissée. Le génie créatif de Victor Hugo se reflète dans l'incroyable richesse de la décoration. Pour citer Charles Hugo, la maison est un " Autographe à trois étages, un poème en plusieurs chambres ".
Hauteville House a un superbe jardin, qui est inclus dans la visite de la maison

GUERNESEY VUE PAR VICTOR HUGO

Victor Hugo a été immédiatement captivé par Guernesey et frappé par la sévérité de ses falaises et la douceur des paysages à l'intérieur des terres. Il appréciait à la fois " le souffle de l'océan " et " le souffle des fleurs ". Il décida d'exprimer sa gratitude envers l'île dans la dédicace de son célèbre roman, Les Travailleurs de la mer, " Je dédie ce livre au rocher d'hospitalité et de liberté, à ce coin de vieille terre normande où vit le noble petit peuple de la mer, à l'île de Guernesey, sévère et douce... "

Hugo décrivit les îles Anglo-normandes comme des " fragments de France tombés dans la mer et ramassés par l'Angleterre ". C'est cette fusion de culture française et britannique qui rend Guernesey unique, et son patrimoine, ses paysages et ses habitants ont laissé une impression durable à l'auteur. Tous ceux qui retracent ses pas partiront aussi inspirés que le grand auteur il y a plus de 150 ans.

Le blogger de voyage très suivi Gareth Huw Davies s'est rendu à Guernesey pour en savoir plus sur la période que Victor Hugo passa sur l'île. Pour en savoir plus, suivez ce lien : Blog de Gareth Huw Davies. Hauteville House et Guernesey figurent également dans un reportage voyage publié dans The Telegraph Online.

PROMENADES GUIDÉES SUR LES TRACES DE VICTOR HUGO

Trois guides pédestres locaux agréés proposent des itinéraires sur le thème du séjour de Victor Hugo à Guernesey.
Marchez dans les pas de Victor Hugo
Profitez de cette promenade dans les rues de St Peter Port durant laquelle le guide vous décrira l'exil de Victor Hugo sur l'île. Le circuit se termine devant l'incroyable maison de l'auteur à Hauteville, où il a terminé son chef d'œuvre, Les Misérables. Ce circuit est organisé par le guide agréé (Gold) Gill Girard.

Cliquez ici pour obtenir d'autres informations sur ce circuit pédestre, qui fait partie du Festival 2016 du patrimoine des îles Anglo-normandes.
Ma liaison avec Victor Hugo
Victor Hugo a résidé à Guernesey de 1855 à 1870. Ce circuit pédestre à St Peter Port retrace ses pas et vous fait découvrir l'auteur, sa personnalité, ses influences et ses relations.
Contactez Carla Bauer au +44 7781 127422 ou au +44 1481 723276. Ou bien par e-mail. Débute au Centre d'informations de Guernesey et se termine à Hauteville House.
L'exil de Victor Hugo à Guernesey
Promenade guidée en français ou en anglais, organisée par Agnès Perry, qui couvre l'histoire et les monuments de St Peter Port au 19e siècle.
Contactez Agnès au +44 7781 443321 ou par e-mail

Pour obtenir un complément d'informations, contactez le centre d'informations de Guernesey

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En effet, le romancier et poète français Victor Hugo a passé 15 ans en exil à Guernesey entre 1855 et 1870, et l'île a inspiré plusieurs de ses chefs-d'œuvre, notamment Les Misérables et Les Travailleurs de la mer.

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BBC - Guernsey - Places - Hauteville House

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Most famous as the home of French poet, dramatist and novelist Victor Hugo, we took a look around Hauteville House with one of the tour guides.

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Victor Hugo's life in exile

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La vie de Victor Hugo en exil - Colloque

It is often a surprise to Guernsey folk that the French writer, exiled in St. Peter Port in the middle of the 19th Century is so highly thought of by the rest of the world. The Festival has gathered four of the most highly regarded Hugo scholars to speak in a day-long seminar.
Gérard Pouchain will describe how Hugo was considered and cartooned during his exile in Guernsey and the links between his life and work.
Jean-Marc Hovasse will speak on Hugo's life and work in exile based upon the extensive research he has recently carried out for his monumental biography.
Professor Florence Naugrette will describe Hugo through the eyes of his Mistress, Juliette Drouet. Florence is studying their relationship from over 20,000 letters written by Juliette.
Gérard Audinet, as Director of the Hugo Houses in Paris and Guernsey, is uniquely able to describe the current work carried out by Hugo scholars.
The presentations will be followed by a Question & Answer session. Coffee and Tea will be served in the morning and afternoon intervals included in the Delegate fee.

A self service hot and cold buffet lunch will be available but must be booked in advance. There will be wine and juice bars for rapid service. All drinks must be paid upon purchase.

EVENT INFO

Saturday 2 April 2016 | 09:30 - 12:30 & 14:00 - 17:00
Les Cotils, St Peter Port | Admission: Delegates: £12. Buffet Lunch: £12.00.

BUY TICKETS HERE.

Quatre académiques discutent la vie et les oeuvres de Victor Hugo. C'est souvent une surprise pour les gens de Guernesey que l' écrivain français, exilé à St Peter Port au milieu du 19ème siècle, est si hautement considéré par le reste du monde. Le Festival a invité quatre des académiques les plus réputés pour parler de lui à un séminaire qui durera une journée.
Gérard Pouchain décrira comment Victor Hugo était considéré et caricaturé pendant ses années d'exil à Guernesey et les liens entre sa vie et ses oeuvres.
Jean-Marc Hovasse parlera de la vie et de l'oeuvre de Victor Hugo en exil. L'audience profitera du travail herculéen de M. Hovasse, auteur d'une biographie monumentale de Hugo.
Le Professeur Florence Naugrette décrira la vie de Victor Hugo à travers le regard de sa maîtresse Juliette Drouet, sa compagne d'exil, sur la base de plus de vingt mille lettres qu'elle lui a écrites.
Gérard Audinet, Directeur des Maisons de Victor Hugo de Paris et de Guernesey, est merveilleusement equipé pour évaluer les recherches hugoliennes contemporaines.

Du café ou du thé seront servis dans les intervalles de la matinée et de l'après-midi et sont inclus dans les frais d'inscription.
Au déjeuner, un buffet self-service chaud et froid sera disponible mais devra être réservé à l'avance. Il y aura un service bar rapide pour vin et jus de fruits. Toutes les boissons devront être payées sur place.
La présentation sera suivie d'une séance de questions-réponses.

EVENT INFO

Saturday 2 April 2016 | 09:30 - 12:30 & 14:00 - 17:00
Les Cotils, St Peter Port | Admission: Delegates: £12. Buffet Lunch: £12.00. BUY TICKETS NOW.

BUY TICKETS HERE.

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The life of Victor Hugo in exile - Seminar

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It is often a surprise to Guernsey folk that the French writer, exiled in St. Peter Port in the middle of the 19th Century is so highly thought of by the rest of the world. The Festival has gathered four of the most highly regarded Hugo scholars to speak in a day-long seminar.

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Observations and reminiscences from author Theodora Teeling, from The Star, May 4, 1880. Mrs. Bartle Teeling (née Theodora Louisa Lane Clarke) was born in Guernsey in 1851, the only child of the Rev. Thomas Clarke, Rector of Woodeaton, Oxford, and Louisa Lane, scientist and author of topographical and historical works on the Channel Islands, including contributions to MacCulloch's . Theodora 'spent her childhood in Woodeaton, Oxford, where her father was rector. On his death his widow returned with their only child to Guernsey,' in 1865. They lived at L'Hyvreuse Lodge in St Peter Port. In Guernsey her mother Louisa 'became a centre of literary and scientific interest and mental activity as student and writer of natural history, etc., and author of several scientific manuals.'¹ In 1879 Theodora married Bartle Teeling (1848-1921), Captain in the Rifle Brigade, Secretary (1872) of the Catholic Union of Ireland, and Private Chamberlain to the Pope. She died in 1906. Theodora dates her reminiscences to 1867 ('12 years since'), when she would have been aged 16, and to 1878, only two years before she wrote this piece. She would have been 27 years old. The first scene, however, if she has not conflated two Christmases, must date to 1864 or before, as she includes Hugo's son, François-Victor, in it: or it was indeed 1867, and she has misidentified the men she saw; or she has embellished the truth a little.

Some years ago-from 1856 down to the fatal time of Sedan and Bazeilles, of Strasbourg and Metz, of war, disaster, and failure, which has been called, only too truly, L'Année Terrible -a little rock-bound island off the coast of France, English in name, Norman by law and lineage, held, in impatient exile, one of this century's greatest poets.

Visitors to the quiet spot, wandering along its narrow quays, or threading their way amongst a crowd of battered and dirty carriages, worn old vehicles, which jolted out their last days as omnibuses, plying between the microscopic township of St Peters-port and St Sampsons, were often called upon by their guides to look upwards a the quaint, irregular, foreign-looking hill-slope, covered with houses and terraced gardens, and crowned with waving trees, to where, among a row of tall, well-built mansions, one stood distinguished from the rest by a curious, square kind of glass-house or conservatory on its roof. 'That is Victor Hugo's house,' their cicerone would tell them. And not unfrequently the poet himself might be seen, in that quaint 'belvedere,' or glass-room, where he always wrote, leaning from the open window, and looking straight before him out to sea, across the rippling, blue water, and the little boats dancing on it below, away beyond the long purple-cliffed island of Serk, to where a faint coast-line melted into sky in the far instance.

'What is he looking at?' said one form among a little group of tourists who stood watching the motionless dark figure as he gazed.

'France,' was the answer, 'France. The land whence he is exiled, the land of his fathers, and of his people, and of his child's grave.' Then in lower tones, as though to himself, the speaker continued, in the poet's own words:

'Oh! N'exilons personne! Oh! L'exil est impie!
Cette grande figure dans sa cage accroupie,
Ployée, et les genoux aux dents !'

Years have passed since then. Paris has fallen, and the lonely figure which they saw that day, 'watching for the dawn of liberty and home,' no longer keeps sad vigil in a strange land, but has returned to the bustle of public life, and re-entered in triumph that Paris which, nineteen years ago, he quitted in secrecy and haste, as a proscribed exile.

His island home stands empty now; yet it is sometimes revisited by the poet during summer vacations, when, tired out by noisy debates and crowded salons, successions of dinner parties, and open house to all who seek him, he comes for rest and seclusion from the world. The house itself has been made a place of pilgrimage by many an ardent admirer from England to France, who tread with almost awe the tiny, carpeted study where Marius and Gilliatt, Jean Valjean and the saintly bishop, Josiane and Cosette, have come into being; and truly the place is worth a visit, so strong an impress of himself has the owner left upon it.

Let us climb the somewhat steep, uninteresting-looking street, the 'Hauteville,' or high town, which crowns the hill. Its houses command on one side a magnificent view, which was probably the poet's reason for choosing so unromantic a spot wherein to dream out his exile.

You enter the dingy, green gates before the house, and passing in by the hall door, find yourself in what was once a mere ordinary house of no special beauty or antiquity, but which has been transformed into the quaintest of dwelling-places; thick, sombre, dusty-looking carpeting lines the stairs, balustrades, and walls; the light over the door is intercepted by the ingenious device of a quantity of green bottle-ends let in pane-wise, producing a unique and not unpleasing effect, while you turn to grope your way upstairs with uncertain and muffled tread, lighted only by an open door in the distance, leading out upon the green sward of the terraced garden.

'Mais Monsieur veut voir la salle à manger, n'est-ce pas?' said the neat-handed Phillis who acts as cicerone, flinging open another door opposite.

You follow her into a room, duly furnished with dining-table and chairs, the walls lined with blue-and-white tiles, plates, and rare bits of pottery well soldered in. They were so arranged long before the present mania for china display was known in London drawing-rooms, and caused a vast amount of astonishment among the aborigines when first exhibited some twenty years ago. The fireplace is also constructed of tiles, in the form of a double, raised letter H, making the initials of 'Hauteville House.' Round two sides of the room run long, covered oak sediliae, which serve as sideboards at dinner-time; and at the head of the table, between two windows, stands a high-backed, carved chair, with the Hugo arms inlaid, and their haughty motto: Ego Hugo. You notice a strong iron chain stretched across the seat, and ask the reason. 'Monsieur, c'est la chaise des ancêtres.' M Hugo 'believes that the spirits of his ancestors occupy this chair, and thus are constantly present with him.'

We repress an involuntary smile, and turn away, noting, as we pass through the door, Exilium vita est. Above, a small coloured statuette of the Madonna, even the fancifully chained chair, which seems to embody a certain craving after some intercourse with the invisible world:

'Is there never a chink in the world above
Where they listen for words from below?'

Bring a sense of sadness as one lingers there, so we pass out, through other rooms, all hung with tapestry, and fitted with valuable old oak carving, upstairs to the 'grande salle,' or drawing-room, on the first floor.

This is a double room, known as the 'salle rouge,' and the 'salle bleue,' from the respective colourings of its upholstery, both hung with gorgeous tapestries which once adorned the royal palace of Fontaine bleu, when Queen Christine of Sweden inhabited it, and saw Monaldeschi slain at her feet. On either side of the fireplace are four gigantic gilt statues for bearing torches; and they also are of historic interest, for they formed part of the state barge of the Doges of Venice, in medieval times, when they came forth in splendour, amid great rejoicing, and cast their ring in to the sea, and espouse with it Venice, Queen of the Adriatic. An inlaid table near, once belonged to Charles II of England, and beyond, in the further room, stands a small table, holding a gigantic and unwieldy-looking block of wood which, as you cicerone will tell you, is 'of inestimable value.' It is indeed a literary curiosity of no small interest. Some years ago the late Madame Hugo, being asked for a contribution to a local bazaar, promised 'an inkstand' as her donation. She wrote to the three great contemporary French writers, George Sand, Alexander Dumas, and Lamartine-and asked each to give her an old ink-bottle or pen which they had actually used during the composition of some of their works. All complied with her request, and the result is here. A solid, square block of dark-stained wood, with little drawers at each corner, inside which are framed, under glass, the autograph replies of each contributor. Lamartine sends a dainty little red and gold Venetian glass pot-'Offert par Lamartine au 'maître de la plume;' and Madame George Sand, an old wooden travelling inkstand, significant of her many voyages, with the following letter:

'Chère Madame,-J'ai cherché depuis deux jours un encrier qui ne m'eut pas été donne par quelque trop chère personne et je n'ai rien trouvé qu'un affreux petit morceau de bois qui me serve en voyage. Je le trouve si laid que j'y joins un briquet de poche, qui n'est pas plus beau, mais qui me sert habituellement, et comme c'est là ce que vous voulez, au moins votre véracité est bien à couvert.

J'ai été bien heureux de vous voir et de pouvoir, à présent, vous dire à vous-même que je vous aime. Soyez l'interprète de ma gratitude et de mon dévouement auprès de votre illustre compagnon. GEORGE SAND.

Bluff Alexandre Dumas characteristically contributes one of the ordinary penny stone inkbottles with a penny school-pen to match, saying of them that,

Je certifie que ceci est l'encrier avec lequel j'ai écrit mes quinze ou vingt derniers volumes. ALEXANDRE DUMAS, Paris, 10 Avril, 1860.

He counts his volumes as other men count chapters-by the dozen; and one might write on this ink-bottle what M Victor Hugo once wrote on one of his own, 'Ce qu'il y a dans une bouteille d'encre!' There is a certain air Gascon about the certificate, which is Dumas all over, and we venture to predict that in future years this corner will not be the least precious one of Mme Victor Hugo's happy inspiration.

M Hugo himself gives an ordinary small leaden inkstand, with a pretty little note attached, very gracefully worded.

Je n'ai point choisi cet encrier, le hasard l'a mis dans ma main, et je m'en suis servi pendant plusieurs mois; puisqu'on me demande pour une bonne œuvre, je le donne volontiers. VICTOR HUGO

The whole fourfold inkstand thus arranged, was duly offered for sale at the bazaar at the price of 2,500 francs, (£100), but one cannot much wonder that it remained unsold. M Hugo therefore bought it in, and it remained in his possession. Perhaps some fifty years hence, it will be worth two or three times as much, and be a valuable heirloom in the family.

Other rooms on the same floor are private apartments, not usually shown to strangers; but we may without indiscretion mention one sad little corner of the late Mme Hugo's apartment, where, in a glass-fronted cupboard, which the mother's eyes often fell upon, perchance, in waking hours, are folded rich brocades and dainty laces, time-stained, and one discoloured with sea-water. These are the dresses worn by Léopoldine, M Hugo's eldest and best beloved child-the one on her marriage with M Charles Vacquerie, the other in which, only six months later, her body was washed on shore by the smiling, sunny gardens of Caudebec. The young bride and bridegroom, then living at Villequier, on the banks of the Seine, hired a pleasure-boat one day to sail down to Caudebec and lunch with friends a the chateau. They went, and after some happy hours spent among trees and flowers by the river side, and sounds of gay laughter under the old grey walls of the château, they, with two others, set sail to return. Perhaps an uncautious movement overturned the tiny bark; or a treacherous gust of wind caught her sail; certain it is that before nightfall four bodies were washed ashore, with convulsed, clinging hands, which had tried in vain to catch the overturned boat, and then gone down together.

On the next floor a large, light room, handsomely furnished with light oak, is called 'la galerie de chêne;' and in the magnificent carved bedstead it was proposed that Garibaldi should sleep, when M Hugo invited him here as a guest after Mentana. He never came; bu the room is still called by his name, and we believe no meaner (?) personage has been suffered to occupy it. Some exquisitely-carved sediliae, once belonging to Chartres cathedral, form part of the furniture, together with rare mirrors, old cabinets, and other treasures.

Then we climb up, higher and higher, even to the roof, and enter the poet's sanctum. This is composed of two tiny rooms, lined all over with carpet to keep out the sound, and with long, low couches, usually piled with books and papers while the inner one is fitted with a narrow sofa-bed, which the poet used, in younger days, to occupy occasionally, when in need of absolute retirement. From thence he could, at any moment, step out upon the glass-enclosed roof, and revel in the splendid panorama unrolled before him. A steep sloe of houses over which you look down to the sea-shore; a long-armed double harbour, crowded with shipping of various kinds; mail steamers from England, Jersey, and France; colliers laden with coals from the north; dainty yachts from the Isle of Wight in plenty, putting in for provisions or shelter; graceful chasse-marées from French ports, bringing their weekly freight of poultry and eggs; great three-masted ships driven in, perchance, by stress of weather; and tiny sailing or rowing boats by the dozen, everywhere. Then, across a narrow, rock-strewn channel, lie two small hilly, barren islands-Herm and Jethou. Beyond them, again, the lovely island of Sark, whose purple cliffs stretch out in long, undulating lines, lit up in marvellous beauty by every setting sun. To the left, Alderney shows, a faint mound of blue in the distance, and by her side the white beacon of the Casket Rocks, where, long ago, 'the bark that held a prince went down;' and then, to the right, Jersey, with the long, low coast of France, visible on clear days, between.

And now let us suppose for a brief while that you are, as was the writer long ago, 'un ami de la maison,' with privileges to enter when these great dusty deserted salles were peopled with living, moving forms. Two glimpses we will take; one of Hauteville House some twelve years since-the other in later years.

It is four o'clock on a winter's afternoon, somewhere near Christmas time. The long dining table in the 'salle à manger' is piled with cakes, mince-pies, and oranges, and surrounded by about twenty little children, varying in age from perhaps seven to twelve years, who, having eaten a grand Christmas dinner of roast beef and plum pudding in true English fashion, are now awaiting, round-eyed and solemn, for a grand postscrip to the feast in the shape of 'le dessert.' They rise demurely, and bob little courtesies as the door opens, and a party of ladies and gentlemen enter, headed by the master of the house, a man of middle stature, with robust and well-knit form, slightly stooping shoulders as becomes a student, hair and beard alike whitening with age and thought, a noble forehead, and kindly dark eyes glancing under bushy brows. He returns their salutations with easy, courtly grace, moving slowly across the room; then standing with his back against the fireplace, some one brings him a glass of wine. Raising it, he speaks a few gracious, simple words to the children, wishing them happiness and health in the coming new year; and then each child receives a tiny glass of wine, and they proceed to attack the pile of cakes and oranges before them.

By-and-by the whole party proceed to the adjoining billiard-room, where the 'board of green cloth' is covered with piles of warm clothing, and in the midst a glorious, dazzling Christmas-tree! Here the ladies of the household are busy, detaching toys from the branches, handing warm clothing to the poorest-looking, and laughingly attempting a word or two in English to the little guests as they do so. There is Madame Hugo pushing back the still profuse ringlets of grey hair which hang down on either side of her face after the fashion of her youth, shading the somewhat highly-coloured cheeks and sallow, but broad and thoughtful forehead, the full, curved lips, and pleasant smile. 'Women should always show their foreheads,' M Hugo repeats; 'it is the noblest part of their faces.' And so his wife and daughters put back their hair, as now la petite Jeanne learns to toss away her sunny curls and stroke back the fashionable looks, 'à la chien,' when she most wants to please her grandfather.

Then there is an old gentleman, rather deformed and unwieldy in person, certainly not beautiful to look upon, always by the poet's side. He is one of the exiles, faithful friend and follower of the master, singing his praises and doing him homage all day long; earning a scanty livelihood, like many another emigré of former days, by giving French lessons among the English families of the place, his whole text and lesson books the works of Victor Hugo in prose or verse. Just now he brings forward one of his pupils, a shy young lady of about fifteen, whose last bit of work has been shown to and criticised by the master himself.

'Votre paraphrase était très bien, Mademoiselle, je l'ai lu avec attention.' And the girl falls back, smiling and blushing, as M Hugo passes on to a younger child, one of his friend's pet pupils, and smilingly brings her a present form the Christmas tree, in the shape of a piece of music with an inscription by his own hand. 'Mademoiselle est musicienne, n'est-ce pas? You must sing this for me.' A song of liberty.

Among the group of gentlemen in the background is another pale-faced, stooping, half-deformed looking man, talking eagerly in whispers to his tall, handsome, dark-bearded brother. They are M Hugo's two sons, Charles and François; the elder, a violent Republican, editor of the Rappel, and friend to Rochefort and his kin, among the leading sprits of youth in Paris; the younger a translator of Shakespeare, content to move among quieter paths of literature; both destined ere long to have quitted their several lines and passed, the one in shuddering haste and dread loneliness, the other from a lingering sick bed, into another life than this.

For eight years, from 1862 until 1870, did these little gatherings take place year by year. Their origin was as follows: M Hugo, writing of 'les gamins de Paris' and the 'misérables' of the world, felt great pity for the children of the poor. His wife visited regularly amongst them, working clothes and distributing help in their houses; and it occurred to him that of by some means these hungry children could receive, regularly, a meat dinner twice a week, much disease, weakness, and suffering would be spared to the poor families; and that regular meals given to a few, were better than occasional charity offered to many. So he chose twenty children from among the very poorest, ascertained their need, and gave them a dinner twice a week throughout the year, with the Christmas fete over and above. His idea has since been carried out, in London and elsewhere, most successfully, under the title, we believe, of 'dinners for poor children;' but it should not be forgotten that he may fairly claim to be the originator of the charity.

Our second glimpse shall be in summer time, of the year 1878. The great windows of the Salle Rouge are open, leading out to a broad balcony overlooking the sea, and some of the dinner-guests, lately risen from the table, lean pensively over the iron balustrades to watch the rippling sea under the moonlight, and the twinkling harbour-lights shining below.

Within, a family group gather round the master as before - but what a change! Not one of the familiar faces of ten years since now remain. Wife, sons, friends, all passed into the silent grave! And in their stead two young, fresh faces, daintily beribboned forms, with parisienne in every line of them, sit working by the inlaid table. They are Charles Hugo's widow, remarried to a Député of the Left, M Lockroy, who is chatting with M le Secrétaire in a corner; and her friend and guest, Madame Menard-Dorian. The two grandchildren, Georges and Jeanne, are playing cache-cache in the shadows of the salle bleue with Madame Ménard's only child while ma tantine, as they call the late Madame Hugo's sister, Madame Chenay, flits to and fro, pouring out tea for the whole party.

M Hugo himself sits a little apart, beside the fireplace, in a great gilded arm-chair, exchanging an occasional word or two with his neighbour, Madame Drouet, am old lady who may still almost be called beautiful, with her soft, gracious face and abundant gray hair piled high above the placid forehead. She is said to have saved the poet's life, or, at the least, his liberty, when, after the coup d'état, she conveyed him, concealed in her carriage, safely through and out of Paris - into exile.

But the poet's face is sad tonight, and his eyes wander wistfully into the shadows as if seeking for some memory of the past, while his daughter's bright chatter fails to evoke interest or reply. She notices this, and called her children to her. 'Georges, Jeanne, come and dance for grand father!'

They rush in laughing, little Jeanne springing upon her grandfather's knees, and covering himn with kisses. Then in a second the table is pushed away, Madame Lockroy sits down ot the piano, the bright little aunt comes forward to act dancing mistress, and the three children waltz and pirouette, perform dainty little minuets with exquisite precision and solemnity; Georges always calm and grave, with his pale, immovable, chiselled features and large dark eyes fixed intently on the ground, hardly smiling, hardly even playing like a child, and so princely in his bearing that one hardly dares treat him as one; while his little sister, with her clear gray-blue dancing eyes, long golden-brown curls, and merry face, frisks about, shrieking with laughter and playing all manner of tricks - breaking off suddenly in the midst of a waltz to rush up to her grandfather and fling her arms about his neck, then whirl back crying to her mother to play on 'Vite, vite, plus vite encore!' Then pouncing upon the famous old grey-hound 'Sénat,' who, all conscious of his own immortality (for he, too, is a well-known character as 'le chien de Victor Hugo'), is sleeping quietly under the table, she drags him into a dance by his collar, on which you may read the motto,

Je voudrais qu'au logis on me ramenât,
Mon état, chien, mon maître, Hugo, mon nom, 'Sénat.'

To which name, by-the-by, one of the guests present gravely takes exception, as savouring of too little reverence towards the august body of which his master is a distinguished member!

But it is time to say good-night, and the music stops. The dreamers come in from their balcony, the 'bonne' knocks a the door, and with a sigh of childish regret for the happy moments passed, the three children go round to take their leave. 'Bonsoir,' little Mademoiselle Ménard who can answer you in your own tongue and say 'Good-night' in English; Georges could doubtless 'give you good even' in the Latin tongue, for he is studying it with his professor; but he will say nothing-only lay his tiny soft hand on yours, and look up with those great melancholy eyes, until his sister pushes him away, flinging her arms round you and holding up her face for a kiss. 'Bonsoir, petite Jeanne! Good-night! Good-night!'

[This pleasant paper would interest us and our readers more deeply if the subject of it had made better use of his genius and had followed to the end in the higher inspiration of some of his early Odes et Ballades.- Ed. I.M.]

¹ Mrs. Lane Clarke was a strong Protestant, but her daughter ... after years of anxious thought and deep but solitary research, for she had not a single Catholic acquaintance, was received into the Church. Shortly after her conversion, while she was still under twenty-one, she made her first essay in literature, at the request of Father Lockhart, in the Lamp, of which he was editor.' [ The Sacred Heart Review, Volume 19, Number 1, 1902.]

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Victor Hugo and Guernsey: Victor Hugo in exile

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Observations and reminiscences from author Theodora Teeling, from The Star, May 4, 1880. Mrs. Bartle Teeling (née Theodora Louisa Lane Clarke) was born in Guernsey in 1851, the only child of the Rev. Thomas Clarke, Rector of Woodeaton, Oxford, and Louisa Lane, scientist and author of topographical and historical works on the Channel Islands, including contributions to MacCulloch's .

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Not everyone starts their day with two raw eggs washed down with a cup of cold coffee and an icy strip-down wash in full view of their neighbours. But then, not everyone lived life like Victor Hugo did.

The 19th-century French poet, playwright and novelist was an arch- republican during the time of Napoleon III. Because of his outspoken political views he was exiled from his homeland. He fetched up in Jersey in 1852, and moved on to Guernsey in 1855. He spent 15 highly productive years there, the island's "severe yet gentle" beauty inspiring him to write Toilers Of The Sea.

Hugo didn't have the most auspicious arrival: his unfinished manuscript of Les Misérables was almost swept overboard into the choppy Channel following his stormy crossing from Jersey. But during his time on Guernsey he roamed the clifftops and bays, strolled the cobbled streets of the capital, St Peter Port, and browsed in the antiques shops. As a result, the island lists more than 40 points of interest to Hugo enthusiasts, and a guided walk of St Peter Port is good way to tick off a fair few of them.

My guide, Gill Girard, leads me from a medieval harbour where Hugo first arrived and into deserted, cobbled backstreets in the Old Quarter. This is where the writer had his hair cut daily. Before reaching Hugo's imposing Victorian home, we pause at a more modest property several doors down.

The terraced house at number 20 was home to Juliette Drouet, Hugo's long-term mistress, who joined him in Guernsey following his exile.

"His wife, Adele, knew all about it. There was a mutual understanding," says Girard. "The couple would communicate to each other by tying coloured hankies to the railings outside their homes: white if they'd slept well; black if they hadn't."

Hugo's three-storey Hauteville House, easily the grandest on the street, is now owned by the City of Paris. We are shown into the hallway, which is surprisingly dark and oppressive. A creaky wooden staircase spirals out of view; heavy doors and intricately carved wooden panels line the walls.

According to Girard, the property, with its secret doors and bold interiors, was designed to intrigue and challenge visitors, reflecting Hugo's view that knowledge leads one into the light. His glass, rooftop lookout, reached via the third-floor library, allows a column of sunlight to illuminate the length of the staircase. A simple, drop-down table in his study is the place where Hugo put the finishing touches to Les Misérables. This room was a haven; he would sleep, write and (much to the dismay of his neighbours) wash up here, savouring sea views over the neighbouring Channel islands of Sark, Herm and, on a clear day, France. He likened his house to "a seagull's nest high above the immense foam of the waves".

Later, I retrace Hugo's footsteps on a walk he described as a "spectacle full of enchantment". Having worked all morning, the author would often spend an afternoon on the pebble beach at Fermain Bay.

The coastal trail weaves its way along towering granite cliffs before descending into a hushed, lilac landscape of bluebell woodland. Before long, Fermain Bay appears far below, surrounded by lush trees clinging to the cliffs that jut out into the sea. A solitary boat rocks amid the blue water, which fizzles over the large, grey pebbles where Hugo would read his mail and write love letters to Drouet in between taking dips in the Channel.

The next day I stroll along the succession of long, sandy bays around Port Soif on the north coast. It was here - somewhere - that Hugo made the ultimate purchase: his very own island. The exact location of his rocky atoll is a mystery, but Hugo's private getaway is known to be one of the many nutmeg-brown isles along this shore that are accessible only at low tide. Necker Island it isn't - but the coast is striking nevertheless. Surfers brave the biting waters as families walk among the rolling caramel sand dunes that border the beach, seaweed strewn across it like emerald ribbons.

Hugo became utterly consumed by the "wild and picturesque" nature of this part of the island, often identifying strange shapes in the rocks - his "lion and camel" can be found at Cobo Bay.

Back in St Peter Port, I let myself into another must-visit spot. Ask nicely at the Guernsey Museum and you are loaned a long, iron key to Victoria Tower.

I climb the twisting stairs to the top for views over the city, sea and countryside. Hugo and his lover stole precious moments here. Like lovesick teenagers, they were said to have carved their initials somewhere in the tower, though no one has ever found them.

Travel essentials: Guernsey

Getting there

* Sail from Weymouth, Poole and Portsmouth to Guernsey with Condor Ferries (0845 609 1024; condorferries.co.uk).

* The writer travelled with Aurigny Air Services (01481 822886; aurigny.com ), which flies from Gatwick, Stansted, East Midlands and Manchester. Flybe (0871 700 2000; flybe.com ) has links from Belfast City, Birmingham, Edinburgh, Exeter, Manchester, Gatwick, Newcastle, Norwich and Southampton - the last of which is also served by Blue Islands (08456 20 21 22; blueislands.com ).

Staying there

* Doubles at Bella Luce (01481 238764; bellalucehotel.com) start from £130 per night.

Visiting there

* Local guide Gill Girard (07781 104094; gillgirardtourguide.com) leads 90-minute Victor Hugo walks for £5.

More information

* Guernsey Tourist Board: 01481 723552; visitguernsey.com

Reuse content

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Trail of the unexpected: Victor Hugo's Guernsey

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Not everyone starts their day with two raw eggs washed down with a cup of cold coffee and an icy strip-down wash in full view of their neighbours. But then, not everyone lived life like Victor Hugo did. The 19th-century French poet, playwright and novelist was an arch- republican during the time of Napoleon III.

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Ces commerces qui racontent le Granville d'antan 

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Ces commerces qui racontent le Granville d'antan 

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Victor Hugo Biography - life, family, childhood, children, name, story, death, wife, school

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Victor Marie Vicomte Hugo was born in Besançon, France, on February 26, 1802, to Joseph Leopold Sigisbert Hugo and Sophie Trebuchet. He and his two older brothers, Abel and Eugène, lived with their mother in Paris, France, while their father, a general and the governor of the Italian province of Avellino, lived in Italy.