Dear Diary,
Today is September 4, 1843. It's also is the worst day of my life. My eldest daughter & the one I adore the most drowned w/her recently married husband in the Seine River in Paris. The death of Leopoldine has caused me to stop my writing and go into the political business. I have some great speechs planned, but for my last poem it will be in honor of Leopoldine. I believe i will title it "Tomorrow at Daybreak." I have so much grief. I don't think I'll write another work of art for a decade. How will I be able to live life on? Lord only knows how my life will be tomorrow.
Sincerly,
Victor Hugo
Demain, dès l'aube Victor Hugo
Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.
Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.
Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Honfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.
"Tomorrow at Daybreak"
Tomorrow at daybreak, when the fields are pale
I will leave. You see, I know that you wait for me.
I will cross the forest, I will cross the hills
I cannot live far from you any longer.
I will walk, my eyes seeing only mind's visions
Seeing nothing else, hearing not a sound
Alone, unknown, back bowed, hands crossed
Sad, and the day for me will be like the night
Looking not at the golden night that falls
Nor the sails from far descending on Honfleur
And when I arrive, I will place upon your grave
A wreath of green holly and heather in bloom.
Translated by Valerie Smith