John Hall Wheelock: The old house is full of ghosts, dear ghosts....
Victor Hugo: Half my life and my heart is dead.

Victor Hugo: Veni, Vidi, Vixi; I came, I saw, I lived


I've lived long enough now, since in my sorrows
I walk without finding an arm to help me,
since I scarcely laugh at the children around me,
since flowers don't cheer me up any more;
since in the springtime, when God makes nature celebrate,
I witness, joylessly, this splendid love;
since I am at the hour when a man flees the daylight,
alas, Crop_victor_hugo_and_lopoldine_bw and feels the secret sadness of everything;
since the serene hope in my soul is vanquished;
since in this season of perfumes and roses,
O my daughter! I aspire to the shadow where you are resting,
since my heart is dead-- I've lived long enough now.
I have not refused my task on earth.
My furrow? There it is. My sheaf? Here it is.
I have lived smiling, ever kinder,
upstanding, but leaning toward mystery.
I have done what I could; I have served, I have watched by night,
and I have often seen them laughing at my trouble.
I have been amazed to be an object of hatred,
having suffered much and worked much.
In this earthly prison where no wing can spread,
without complaining, bleeding, and falling on my hands,
gloomy, exhausted, mocked by human galley-slaves,
I have carried my link in the eternal chain.
Now, my eyelids are only half-open;
I don't turn around any more when they call me;
I am dazed and listless, like a man
who gets up before dawn and has not slept.
I don't even deign any more, in my somber sloth,
to answer the envious whose mouths hurt me.
O Lord! open the gates of night for me,
so I can go away and vanish!

    --Victor Hugo (1802-1885). His beloved daughter L
éopoldine had died accidentally, drowned at age 19..

J'ai bien assez vécu, puisque dans mes douleurs
Je marche sans trouver de bras qui me secourent,
Puisque je ris à peine aux enfants qui m'entourent,
Puisque je ne suis plus réjoui par les fleurs ;
Puisqu'au printemps, quand Dieu met la nature en fête,
J'assiste, esprit sans joie, à ce splendide amour ;
Puisque je suis à l'heure où l'homme fuit le jour,
Hélas ! et sent de tout la tristesse secrète ;
Puisque l'espoir serein dans mon âme est vaincu ;
Puisqu'en cette saison des parfums et des roses,
O ma fille ! j'aspire à l'ombre où tu reposes,
Puisque mon cœur est mort, j'ai bien assez vécu.
Je n'ai pas refusé ma tâche sur la terre.
Mon sillon ? Le voilà. Ma gerbe ? La voici.
J'ai vécu souriant, toujours plus adouci,
Debout, mais incliné du côté du mystère.
J'ai fait ce que j'ai pu ; j'ai servi, j'ai veillé,
Et j'ai vu bien souvent qu'on riait de ma peine.
Je me suis étonné d'être un objet de haine,
Ayant beaucoup souffert et beaucoup travaillé.
Dans ce bagne terrestre où ne s'ouvre aucune aile,
Sans me plaindre, saignant, et tombant sur les mains,
Morne, épuisé, raillé par les forçats humains,
J'ai porté mon chaînon de la chaîne éternelle.
Maintenant, mon regard ne s'ouvre qu'à demi ;
Je ne me tourne plus même quand on me nomme ;
Je suis plein de stupeur et d'ennui, comme un homme
Qui se lève avant l'aube et qui n'a pas dormi.
Je ne daigne plus même, en ma sombre paresse,
Répondre à l'envieux dont la bouche me nuit.
O Seigneur ! ouvrez-moi les portes de la nuit,
Afin que je m'en aille et que je disparaisse !


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This is the GREAT VICTOR HUGO i know. Merveilleux

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