The Untrusted Allegory

 

by Brett Rutherford

Adapted from Victor Hugo, l’Annee Terrible, “January 1871”

XII

But, once again I ask, just who delivered
this Paris, part Sparta and part Rome,
to this miserable man? To whom
did we turn to be guided thus? Who, then,
made such a mélange of terrible destinies?

When the dire need was to escape the gulf,
and to emerge from the chaos that looms
as well as the chaos we already endure,
to dissipate the night, to rise above
the deep clouds perceived in the abyss,
to pour out the dawn from infinite obscurity,
then we no longer place our trust in the Four,
those Geniuses we call Audacity, Humanity,
Will, and Freedom, whose chariot of clarity
they pull across the heavens, and whom
we always assumed to be at hand to guide us.

O France! Instead we take as guide, auxiliary
some new unfortunate, obscurely led,
someone assuredly faithful, but very slow —
having the night behind him, that much said! —
whose prime instinct would be not moving
at all, and who, feeling the space around him
with an unsure hand, holds out a bowl,
not with a plan of tactics, but for the alms of chance!

It is time to put the black shadow to flight
and open this proud door, Victory.
Is this a case of mistaken identity?

This humble little passenger seems scarcely able
to steer the chariot, let along to guard and guide us.
Is she able to plunge on through the azure sky
and to escape the shocks, dodge the furies,
endure the jeers, swat off the slingshots,
not falling dizzy in winds, and through the clouds,
able to avoid the pitfall, the cliff, the reef,
Can this one, gloomy and winded,
oblivious as a mole, donkey-practical,
ever complete this enormous, hovering team?

What is this? In the hour that France is in danger,
we ask these for proud spirits to act as horses,
pulling the huge war chariot and its rider,
against the waves and winds that break all sails,
monsters whose manes are mixed with the stars,
and who follow, breathless the North Wind’s
violent and clotted storm-clouds. We say:

This show of force, whether real
or allegorical, is not enough. The need
for reinforcements is upon us. See
the immense precipice before your chariot!
See the shadow that must be crossed?
We are mad — we doubt you.
Before the black nadir and the blood-ruddy zenith
we send forth the daring horses of the sun
with a seeing-eye dog before them!

Note: This poem is another attempt to shake up Trochu, the leader of the Paris defense. The surrender of Paris was imminent, so placing a timid character in the chariot of Victory, and suggesting he needed not only supernatural help, but also a seeing-eye dog, is a stern rebuke. The artist who illustrated the poem missed the satirical point and placed a formidable Victory in the chariot.