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I AM enceinte! Pierre is delighted and hoping for a son. Naturally I am pleased but also frightened, but I cannot acknowledge this. Although the pregnancy has just been confirmed, I have had my suspicions for some weeks, having missed my monthlies soon after my wedding. Then I was sick the last few mornings, as I was with baby Arnaud. I can only hope that my child, if it survives, will bring me the love I long for. The doctor calculates the birth will take place next April. I am still not in love with my husband, and I suspect he does not love me, but we rub along well enough. Pierre is an indifferent lover, and I do not enjoy our lovemaking. At least I can now say we should desist until after the baby is born and he can sleep in his dressing room. My marriage has not yet brought me the contentment and the companionship I crave and does not compensate for the loss of the work I so enjoyed, with the chance to spend time with M’sieur Hugo.
Today I spent time with Florence Rabey and we took one of our favourite walks along to the top of Hauteville and then, turning right, continuing uphill until we reached the leafy lanes leading to Millmount, the home of the artist Paul Naftel. It is a peaceful area and fit only for pedestrians, a perfect choice for two women on their own. I do admit to finding the company of women to be more comfortable than that of men. There is an ease to our conversations and we have so much more in common.
November 1869–February 1870
I am so happy! My friends are returned! And they are overjoyed to hear I am to have a child. M’dame is particularly concerned about my health, which touches me deeply. Charles and Alice are here and I find her delightful, and their two children Georges and Jeanne.
We went to supper last night, joining with the émigrés who have yet to return to France. From the talk around the table it may not be long now before the last of them return and I dread that time. I think even Pierre will regret it when M’sieur Hugo leaves as he makes much of our association with him. He says things like, ‘M’sieur Hugo said this to me the other day’ or ‘when I was at Hauteville House for supper’ when talking to friends or acquaintances, leaving me embarrassed for us both. I feel it is a sign of ill manners and I’m beginning to see a different, darker side to Pierre. It seems he had hoped for advancement at the College and it hasn’t materialised, meaning our income remains modest while he loves to spend. Possessing a fine house has made him act as if we are the equals of our superiors and he spends accordingly, particularly on good wine. We had an argument about this when we returned from Hauteville House last night and, although he was not violent towards me, he threw a glass on the floor and shouted abuse at me. I am becoming more fearful about the future.
March 1870
I am safely delivered of a beautiful son! I can hardly believe it is true. A miracle! He was born yesterday, a few weeks early so it was unexpected and I was afraid I would lose him as I did poor little Arnaud. Doctor Corbin and the midwife were on hand and kept assuring me all was well through the long, painful labour. I lost much blood and at one time wondered if I would live, but I have and am truly grateful. My son is healthy and a good weight considering he came early and I delight in stroking his soft, dark hair and holding his tiny hands. I can gaze at him for hours while he lies in his cot beside me. The only sadness is that Doctor Corbin has said I will not be able to conceive another child. But perhaps that is as well and I can devote all my love and time to this child. The doctor has told my husband this and Pierre, overjoyed to have a son, has not yet remarked on this. We have agreed to name him Victor, in honour of M’sieur Hugo.
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I HAVE RECEIVED WORD from M’sieur Hugo, congratulating me on the birth, and he has offered to be his godfather, in spite of his views on religion. M’dame Drouet has also sent round a letter, expressing her felicitations over my safe delivery, accompanied by a basket of fresh fruit for my enjoyment. Sophie is looking after me well and insists I stay in bed until I am fully recovered. I am only too happy to agree. Victor’s christening will be held at the Town church.
April 1870
Poor m’sieur is in mourning for his friend Hennett de Kesler, who has died (6th April) and is to be buried at Cimetière des Indépendants, where poor Emily is buried, and M’sieur Hugo will offer the oration. Those in exile are either dying or returning to France and I grow more fearful of the time when my friends decide to leave.
My son thrives as my marriage falters. In order to protect my privacy and the writing of this journal, I have had my desk moved up to Sophie’s room where Pierre would not care to go. She I can trust implicitly. My strength is returning and I was well enough for our son’s christening yesterday. Pierre makes much of baby Victor but spends as little time as possible with me, for which I’m glad. He seems bitter and he is out in the evenings, coming back smelling of liqueur.
July 1870
I am spending time with m’dame this morning, who loves to fuss over my son, and this afternoon I am invited to join the family at Hauteville House. These days M’sieur Hugo seems to like nothing better than to play with his grandchildren. He quite dotes on them and I’ve never seen him like this before, no longer the genius of words, but the grandfather happily on his knees with the children in the garden. He’s as attentive to little Victor, for which I am grateful and treasure spending time with him even though I am no longer his copyist.
19th July 1870
I was at Hauteville House this morning when news arrived saying France has declared war on Prussia. M’sieur commented, sadly, ‘It has pleased certain men to condemn a part of the human race to death.’ It is assumed the war will soon be over, thanks to France’s superior military, and troops will be marching on Berlin in a matter of days.
Late July 1870
The war is going badly for France and m’sieur has published a letter in our local paper, then taken up on the English mainland, addressed ‘To the Women of Guernsey’ and asking for bandages to be distributed equally between the French and German casualties. Some may wonder at this apparent lack of patriotism, but I feel it shows how much he cares for all humanity.
August 1870
France has lost Alsace and Lorraine and Louis Napoleon has proved to be a poor leader. I was at Hauteville House today and the family talked of leaving Guernsey and travelling to Brussels, with no mention of coming back. I am heartbroken, for both the fate of France and the imminent parting with M’sieur Hugo, his family and M’dame Drouet. Everyone is rushing around, packing trunks and M’sieur has packed away all his manuscripts in a large trunk to be deposited in the strong room of the Old Bank in the High Street. They are to leave on the 15th and it takes all my strength to act as if we are parting for a matter of months only. I cannot allow Pierre to know how deep are my feelings of grief at the prospect.
15th August
They are gone! They took the evening ship to Southampton and Pierre and I went to the harbour to see them off. I had already visited Hauteville House earlier, alone, to make my farewells to M’sieur Hugo and M’dame Drouet in private and tears flowed on all sides. We agreed to write to each other, the war permitting, and m’sieur generously gave me 1000 francs for my son, which I will keep safe for him.
‘Ah, ma petite! What a journey we have shared, n’est ce pas? You have been one of the bright joys of my exile and I’m sure we’ll meet again. Even if I do take up my old life in Paris, remember I have a home here and will want to visit it when I can.’
‘I look forward to that day, m’sieur.’
If it were not for my son I would be in a deep depression. In previous years I’ve always known they would return after their vacation, but now...All I can do is hug the memories to myself, replaying the precious times I’ve spent with M’sieur Hugo over the past eight years. Pierre is on the summer break from College and at the moment is in a good humour, suggesting we go to the beach tomorrow and take a picnic. I must learn to enjoy any good days I’m offered.
December 1870
I am in despair and afraid for the future. My husband’s moods have been gradually becoming darker and last night he punched and kicked me after drinking heavily during the evening. All I had said was perhaps he had had enough to drink when he went to open another bottle of wine and he lost his temper. Shocked and in pain I crawled up to bed and locked the door. He came up later and tried to come in but I told him to sleep in his dressing room. This morning he was all apologies and begged my forgiveness. My face is bruised and there are other bruises on my body. I am in no mood to forgive him. I told Sophie I had hit my head on the dressing table, but by the look on her face I don’t think she believed me. I feel I can no longer trust Pierre but I’m trapped, as are all married women. My hope is this won’t happen again, as he has promised.
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MARCH 1871
Terrible news from France! Poor Charles Hugo has died of a heart attack, brought about by his excessive eating and drinking. How sad for M’sieur Hugo! M’dame has written to me with the news, saying they were in Bordeaux when tragedy struck and the funeral was held in Paris, with a large turnout in respect for the father, not the son. She wrote:
‘We left Paris with some speed as it’s not safe there for us and journeyed to Brussels in order to settle Charles’s estate. What a shock for M’sieur Hugo! Charles had been living in expectation of his inheritance and had built up huge debts which have to be settled for the sake of Alice and the children. As you can imagine, ma chère, this has only added to his grief. We intend to stay here some months while Paris is still under siege...’
My thoughts are with the Hugo family in Brussels, particularly poor Alice and her children. I never had a high opinion of Charles, who seemed to rely too heavily on his father for an income rather than earn his own, unlike his brother Victor. M’dame didn’t mention a possible visit to Guernsey this year so I will have to be patient.
Pierre has been violent towards me again and has expressed remorse. But it means nothing. It is no way to live, but what choice do I have? As a married woman I have even forfeited the ownership of my own house.
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FEBRUARY 1872
M’sieur Hugo writes to say that his daughter Adèle has arrived in Paris from Barbados, in the company of a Barbadian, Mme Baa. It was quite a shock for him as there had been no word from her for some time. She apparently turned up on the doorstep of the family doctor who then alerted her father. I was so pleased as I read this, hoping they would now be united as a father and child should be. Alas, he went on to say Adèle was confused and agitated and did not recognise him and is to be sent to an expensive nursing home situated near the cemetery where M’dame Drouet’s daughter Claire is buried. So sad! He keeps busy with his writing and is preparing a new volume of poetry. Oh, what would I give to be by his side, copying the beautiful words that burst forth from his imagination! There isn’t a day goes by that I don’t think back to those happy days at Hauteville House. Each time I pass by while taking my son for an airing in the perambulator, I recall the first time I arrived to start my work. The house looks so sad shut up and with only a few staff in residence. My life now revolves around Victor, who will soon be two years old. A sturdy little chap, he always has a smile on his face and can brighten my gloomiest mood. As for Pierre – well, he does not improve in his behaviour towards me and I have learnt to keep out of his way when he has been drinking. Before he left Guernsey, Paul Stapfer had hinted to me that Pierre’s lack of advancement at the College was due to his heavy drinking, so he only has himself to blame. But it would be foolhardy to tell him so.
August 1872
Oh, joy! My friends have arrived from France! There is a full house as the party includes Alice and the children and Victor. A message was sent to me to call round and I took my son to see his godfather. I found both M’dame Drouet and M’sieur Hugo looking old and tired and his son Victor seemed quite ill. It appears they all hope the wonderful sea air will revive them. However, m’sieur was unhappy about the state of his house.
‘It’s a hovel. Everything is in tatters, the hangings are drooping, the gilt is falling off, the room I inhabit is a garret,’ he said, pacing around in the garden where we sat watching the children, including my son, running around squealing in delight. I had to agree the house did look in poor repair.
‘Will you be staying long this time, m’sieur?’ I asked, offering a piece of cake to my son who watched round-eyed as I cut a slice.
‘I think we will stay until next summer, though the family may return sooner. I’ve missed the ocean air and the peacefulness of the island compared to Paris, where there are too many demands on my time. I have a novel in mind and being back here will, I believe, offer both a chance to improve my health and many quiet hours in which to write.’
‘How wonderful. If you have the time, I would look forward to seeing more of you and m’dame while you’re here.’ My heart lifted at the thought of having my friends close again for so long.
He sat down beside me and picked up my hand.
‘Ma petite, I will always find time to be with you and little Victor. You are as a daughter to me and one of the delights of returning here is to see you again.’ His eyes bored into mine and he frowned. ‘I sense something’s not right with you. The light has gone from your eyes. Are you ill?’
I felt myself blush under his scrutiny.
‘No, I am well, thank you. Perhaps a little tired.’ How could I tell him the truth? That my husband beat me and was a drunkard? And we were constantly short of money. I would be too ashamed.
‘Hmm, well we must try to bring back the colour to your cheeks and the twinkle in your eyes. You can join us on our excursions and it will be like it used to be, yes?’ He patted my hand, smiling.
‘I would enjoy that, thank you.’ I raised a smile and our conversation was interrupted by Jeanne and Georges as they begged to be lifted onto his lap. He is such a devoted grandfather and I can see how much joy the children bring him. They will be the light of his old age, sorely needed after the heavy losses he has endured. As I hug my own Victor I wonder if I will be fortunate to experience the delights of being a grandmother. Although not yet thirty, I feel my body has aged beyond my years and am doubtful.