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texte 1
The death of Leopoldine, Hugo’s daughter, drowned in 1843, divides les Con-
templations into two main parts: “Autrefois” and “Aujourd’hui”. Written in
1847, this poem allows Hugo to meet his missing child, eternally present in his
memory.
Tomorrow, at dawn, at the moment when the land whitens, I will leave. You
see, I know that you are waiting for me. I will go through the forest, I will go
across mountains. I cannot stay away from you any longer.
I will walk eyes xed on my thoughts, Without seeing anything outside, without
hearing a noise, Alone, unknown, back hunched, hands crossed, Sorrowed, as
the day for me is like the night.
I will watch neither the evening gold fall, Nor the faraway sails descending upon
Hareur. And when I arrive, I will put on your grave A bouquet of green holly
and heather in bloom.
texte 2
The Plague is rst of all the chronicle of a struggle: that of the inhabitants of
Oran faced with the absurdity of their situation, locked up in a city where the
plague is becoming more and more frightening every day. In this excerpt, the
plague reaches its climax and no one thinks of denying its existence. From now
on, everyone must act, as they can, to ward o the disease.
Thus week by week the prisoners of plague put up what ght they could. Some,
like Rambert, even contrived to fancy they were still behaving as free men and
had the power of choice. But actually it would have been truer to say that by
this time, mid-August, the plague had swallowed up everything and everyone.
No longer were there individual destinies; only a collective destiny, made of
plague and the emotions shared by all. Strongest of these emotions was the
sense of exile and of deprivation, with all the crosscurrents of revolt and fear
set up by these. That is why the narrator thinks this moment, registering the
climax of the summer heat and the disease, the best for describing, on general
lines and by way of illustration, the excesses of the living, burials of the dead,
and the plight of parted lovers.
It was at this time that a high wind rose and blew for several days through the
plague-stricken city. Wind is particularly dreaded by the inhabitants of Oran,
since the plateau on which the town is built presents no natural obstacle, and
it can sweep our streets with unimpeded violence. During the months when not
a drop of rain had refreshed the town, a gray crust had formed on everything,
and this aked o under the wind, disintegrating into dust-clouds. What with
the dust and scraps of paper whirled against people’s legs, the streets grew
emptier. Those few who went out could be seen hurrying along, bent forward,
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