The Orphans' New Year, Poem by Arthur Rimbaud

Poem by Arthur Rimbaud Collection PoetryThemes ChildhoodPeriod 19th century

The room is full of shadow; vaguely one can hear
The sad and gentle whispering of two children.
Their brows bend down, still heavy-laden with a dream,
Beneath the long white curtain trembling as it lifts…
– Outside the birds draw near, shivering with cold;
Their wings grow numb beneath the gray of the skies;
And the New Year, following in a misty train,
Letting the folds of her snowy gown trail behind,
Smiles with tears, and sings while shivering…

Now the little children, beneath the floating curtain,
Speak low as one does in a dark night.
They listen, pensive, like a distant murmur…
They often start at the clear golden voice
Of the morning bell, which strikes and strikes again
Its metallic refrain in its globe of glass…
– Then the room is icy… one sees trailing on the ground,
Scattered around the beds, mourning garments.
The harsh winter wind that laments at the threshold
Breathes its morose breath through the house!
One feels, in all of this, that something is missing…
– Is there then no mother for these little children,
No mother with a cool smile, with triumphant looks?
Has she then forgotten, in the evening, alone and bent,
To stir a flame from the raked-out ashes,
To pile on them the wool and eiderdown
Before leaving them, crying out: forgive me.
Did she not foresee the morning cold,
Nor shut the threshold well against the winter wind?…
– A mother’s dream is the warm carpet,
It is the cottony nest where children, nestled,
Like beautiful birds rocked by the branches,
Sleep their sweet sleep full of white visions!…
– And there – it is like a nest without feathers, without warmth,
Where the little ones are cold, do not sleep, are afraid;
A nest that the bitter wind must have frozen…

III

Your heart has understood: – these children are without a mother.
No more mother in the home! – and the father is far away!…
– An old servant, then, has taken care of them.
The little ones are all alone in the frozen house;
Orphans of four years, behold, in their thoughts
Awakens, by degrees, a laughing memory…
It is like a rosary told over in prayer:
– Ah! what a beautiful morning, that morning of New Year’s gifts!
Each one, during the night, had dreamed of his own
In some strange dream where one saw toys,
Candies dressed in gold, glittering jewels,
Whirling, dancing in a resounding dance,
Then fleeing beneath the curtains, then appearing again!
One woke in the morning, one rose joyfully,
Mouth watering, rubbing one’s eyes…
One went, hair tangled on one’s head,
Eyes all radiant, as on great feast days,
And little bare feet brushing the floor,
Gently touching at the parents’ doors…
One entered!… Then the wishes… in one’s nightshirt,
Repeated kisses, and permitted gaiety!

Ah! it was so charming, those words said so many times!
– But how changed it is, the home of former days:
A great fire crackled, bright, in the fireplace,
The whole old room was illuminated;
And the vermilion reflections, coming from the great hearth,
Loved to swirl upon the varnished furniture…
– The cupboard was without keys!… without keys, the great cupboard!
One often looked at its brown and black door…
Without keys!… it was strange!… one dreamed many times
Of the mysteries sleeping between its wooden sides,
And one thought one heard, deep in the lock,
Gaping, a distant sound, a vague and joyful murmur…
– The parents’ room is quite empty today.
No vermilion reflection has shone beneath the door;
There are no parents, no hearth, no keys taken:
Hence, no kisses, no sweet surprises!
Oh! how sad New Year’s Day will be for them!
– And, all pensive, while from their great blue eyes,
Silently falls a bitter tear,
They murmur: “When will our mother return?”

Now the little ones doze sadly:
You would say, seeing them, that they weep in their sleep,
So swollen are their eyes and their breathing so labored!
The very little children have hearts so sensitive!
– But the angel of cradles comes to wipe their eyes,
And into this heavy sleep puts a joyful dream,
A dream so joyful, that their half-closed lips,
Smiling, seemed to murmur something…
– They dream that, leaning over their little round arm,
Gentle gesture of awakening, they move their brows forward,
And their vague gaze settles all around them…
They believe themselves asleep in a pink paradise…
In the hearth full of flashes the fire sings gaily…
Through the window one sees far off a beautiful blue sky;
Nature awakens and grows drunk on rays…
The earth, half-naked, happy to live again,
Has shivers of joy at the kisses of the sun…
And in the old home everything is warm and vermilion.
The dark garments no longer litter the ground,
The wind beneath the threshold has finally fallen silent…
One would say a fairy had passed through it all!…
– The children, all joyful, have let out two cries… There,
Near the maternal bed, beneath a beautiful pink ray,
There, on the great carpet, something shines…
They are silver medallions, black and white,
Of mother-of-pearl and jet with sparkling reflections;
Small black frames, glass wreaths,
Having three words engraved in gold: “TO OUR MOTHER!”

Arthur Rimbaud

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-the-orphans-new-year-arthur-rimbaud/