‘The Bridge’: A Poem by Victor Hugo, Translated by Joy Nevin Axelson

The Bridge

by Victor Hugo (1802-1885)
translated from French by Joy Nevin Axelson

Shadows before me. An abyss without light,
without shores or summits, with no end in sight.
So mournful, immense, so vast, without movement.
I was lost in its infinite depths so silent.
Deep down, through impassable veils of the grieved,
like a somber star, faintly, God I perceived.
“Oh, my soul!” I exclaimed. A vast precipice,
without rims, base, or walls, this dismal abyss!
How to cross darkest night to reach the Divine?
It would take a great bridge of unending design.
But none could construct it. What horror! What dread!
Lament! A pale ghost appeared over my head.
On the phantom, I cast a quick glance of alarm.
I saw that the shade had a teardrop-shaped form.
His virgin’s visage and soft, childlike hands
resembled wild lilies that whiteness defends.
From his outstretched palms, luminescence arose.
He showed me the chasm where all dust must go,
so dark, so arcane, that no echoes reply.
He said, “I can build such a bridge if you’d like.”
I lifted my gaze to this stranger, so fair.
I asked him his name. He replied, “I am Prayer.”

Translator’s Note: “Le Pont” by Victor Hugo is from the poetry collection Les Contemplations written in December 1852 and published in 1856.

French Original

Le Pont

J’avais devant les yeux les ténèbres. L’abîme
Qui n’a pas de rivage et qui n’a pas de cime,
Était là, morne, immense ; et rien n’y remuait.
Je me sentais perdu dans l’infini muet.
Au fond, à travers l’ombre, impénétrable voile,
On apercevait Dieu comme une sombre étoile.
Je m’écriai : — Mon âme, ô mon âme ! il faudrait,
Pour traverser ce gouffre où nul bord n’apparaît,
Et pour qu’en cette nuit jusqu’à ton Dieu tu marches,
Bâtir un pont géant sur des millions d’arches.
Qui le pourra jamais ! Personne ! ô deuil ! effroi !
Pleure ! — Un fantôme blanc se dressa devant moi
Pendant que je jetai sur l’ombre un œil d’alarme,
Et ce fantôme avait la forme d’une larme ;
C’était un front de vierge avec des mains d’enfant ;
Il ressemblait au lys que la blancheur défend ;
Ses mains en se joignant faisaient de la lumière.
Il me montra l’abîme où va toute poussière,
Si profond, que jamais un écho n’y répond ;
Et me dit : — Si tu veux je bâtirai le pont.
Vers ce pâle inconnu je levai ma paupière.
— Quel est ton nom ? lui dis-je. Il me dit : — La prière.

Joy Nevin Axelson is the author of several published poems, devotionals, and articles. Her work has been featured in Kosmeo, Solid Food Press, Foreshadow Magazine, the Penwood Review, the Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary magazine, Pure Slush, and Lutheran Digest. She holds a BA and an MA in French. In addition to being an author, she is the translation coordinator for GlobalFingerprints, the EFCA’s child sponsorship branch. Her translations of training materials are used at 12 international sites. Her website is www.joynevinaxelson.weebly.com.