Le Dernier Jour d’un condamné in French, with English translation
Victor Hugo · 1829 · Chapter 1, ~390 words · level B2 · in English: The Last Day of a Condemned Man
A man sentenced to death writes down his last weeks, hour by hour, in his cell at Bicêtre. Hugo’s short novel against the death penalty, in 49 brief chapters.
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The first 400 words of the French text. Tap any sentence for its English translation, then any word for its meaning: that is what the app does on every page.
Voilà cinq semaines que j'habite avec cette pensée, toujours seul avec elle, toujours glacé de sa présence, toujours courbé sous son poids !
It has been five weeks that I have lived with this thought, always alone with it, always chilled by its presence, always bowed beneath its weight!
Autrefois, car il me semble qu'il y a plutôt des années que des semaines, j'étais un homme comme un autre homme. Chaque jour, chaque heure, chaque minute avait son idée. Mon esprit, jeune et riche, était plein de fantaisies. Il s'amusait à me les dérouler les unes après les autres, sans ordre et sans fin, brodant d'inépuisables arabesques cette rude et mince étoffe de la vie. C'étaient des jeunes filles, de splendides chapes d'évêque, des batailles gagnées, des théâtres pleins de bruit et de lumière, et puis encore des jeunes filles et de sombres promenades la nuit sous les larges bras des marronniers. C'était toujours fête dans mon imagination. Je pouvais penser à ce que je voulais, j'étais libre.
Formerly, for it seems to me it has been years rather than weeks, I was a man like any other man. Every day, every hour, every minute had its own idea. My mind, young and rich, was full of fancies. He amused himself by unrolling them for me one after another, without order or end, embroidering endless arabesques on this rough and thin fabric of life. They were young girls, splendid bishops' copes, won battles, theatres full of noise and light, and then again young girls and dark walks at night beneath the broad arms of the chestnut trees. It was always a festival in my imagination. I could think about whatever I wanted; I was free.
Maintenant je suis captif. Mon corps est aux fers dans un cachot, mon esprit est en prison dans une idée. Une horrible, une sanglante, une implacable idée ! Je n'ai plus qu'une pensée, qu'une conviction, qu'une certitude : condamné à mort !
Now I am a prisoner. My body is in chains in a dungeon, my mind is imprisoned in an idea. A horrible, a bloody, a relentless idea! I have only one thought, only one conviction, only one certainty: sentenced to death!
Quoi que je fasse, elle est toujours là, cette pensée infernale, comme un spectre de plomb à mes côtés, seule et jalouse, chassant toute distraction, face à face avec moi misérable, et me secouant de ses deux mains de glace quand je veux détourner la tête ou fermer les yeux. Elle se glisse sous toutes les formes où mon esprit voudrait la fuir, se mêle comme un refrain horrible à toutes les paroles qu'on m'adresse, se colle avec moi aux grilles hideuses de mon cachot ; m'obsède éveillé, épie mon sommeil convulsif, et reparaît dans mes rêves sous la forme d'un couteau.
Whatever I do, she is still here, this infernal thought, like a leaden specter at my side, alone and jealous, chasing away all distraction, face to face with me, wretched, and shaking me with her two icy hands when I want to turn my head or close my eyes. She slips under every form where my mind would want to flee her, mingles like a horrible refrain with every word addressed to me, sticks to me against the hideous bars of my cell; she haunts me awake, spies on my convulsive sleep, and reappears in my dreams in the form of a knife.
Je viens de m'éveiller en sursaut, poursuivi par elle et me disant : — Ah ! ce n'est qu'un rêve ! — Hé bien ! avant même que mes yeux lourds aient eu le temps de s'entr'ouvrir assez pour voir cette fatale pensée écrite dans l'horrible réalité qui m'entoure, sur la dalle mouillée et suante de ma cellule, dans les rayons pâles de ma lampe de nuit, dans la trame grossière de la toile de mes vêtements, sur la sombre figure du soldat de garde dont la giberne reluit à travers la grille du cachot, il me semble que déjà une voix a murmuré à mon oreille : — Condamné à mort !
I have just woken with a start, pursued by her, and saying to myself: "Ah! It's only a dream!" Well! Even before my heavy eyes have had time to half open enough to see this fatal thought written in the horrible reality that surrounds me, on the wet and sweaty flagstone of my cell, in the pale rays of my night lamp, in the coarse weave of the cloth of my clothes, on the dark face of the guard soldier whose cartridge box gleams through the grate of the cell, it seems to me that already a voice has murmured in my ear: "Condemned to death!"
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Add the whole book to your wishlistWords from this passage
20 words from the opening worth knowing for the rest of the book, with the meaning they have here.
| French | English |
|---|---|
| la semaine | week |
| habiter | to live |
| seul | alone |
| glacé | chilled |
| la présence | presence |
| courbé | bent, bowed |
| le poids | weight |
| sembler | to appear, to seem |
| l’année | year |
| l’homme | man |
| autre | other |
| le jour | day |
| l’heure | hour, time |
| l’idée | idea |
| l’esprit | mind |
| jeune | young |
| riche | rich |
| plein | full |
| la fantaisie | fantasy (here: fancies) |
| amuser | to amuse, to entertain |
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