As a child of adoption, this beautiful poem by Victor Hugo,” Moise sur le Nil”, touched my heart. I had not given much thought to this side of the story of Moses’ adoption when reading it before. However, Hugo tells of the sacrifice that Pharaoh’s daughter gave when rescuing Moses from the Nile, knowing that her father had decreed the death of first born sons in Egypt. As Hugo describes in his poem, as soon as Pharaoh’s daughter saw this abandoned Hebrew child, she had compassion and took him to raise as her own. Consequently, in addition to being raised in a loving home, Moses would be taught to speak and write the Egyptian language correctly and would later pen the first five books of the Bible. He would also have the chance to receive an education in arithmetic, geometry, and law which was also beneficial in helping him write the Mosaic law.
It was undeniably excruciating for his Mother, Miriam, to “give him up” so that he could have not only a better life, but any life at all under Pharaoh’s wrathful regime. Miriam’s unconditional love for her son also provided a great blessing to Pharaoh’s daughter as she loved, nurtured and claimed Moses as her adopted son. Hugo took this incredible story ((see Exodus 2:5-10; Acts 7:21; Hebrews 11:24) of a mother’s love, by will and by birth, and gave verse to God’s providential plan to save His people from hatred, bigotry and fear through his Servant Moses. This story also touches home to me as a product of a birth mother who “gave me up” so that I could have a better life and my adopted Mother who loved me, a little girl from an unknown origin, and prepared the way for God to use me as His Servant.
I hope you enjoy this poignant poem. The first part is the original by Victor Hugo followed by my translation into English.
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I. Moise sur le Nil Ode, par Victor Hugo
« Mes soeurs, l’onde est plus fraîche aux premiers feux du jour !
Venez : le moissonneur repose en son séjour ;
La rive est solitaire encore ;
Memphis élève à peine un murmure confus ;
Et nos chastes plaisirs, sous ces bosquets touffus,
N’ont d’autre témoin que l’aurore.
« Au palais de mon père on voit briller les arts ;
Mais ces bords pleins de fleurs charment plus mes regards
Qu’un bassin d’or ou de porphyre ;
Ces chants aériens sont mes concerts chéris ;
Je préfère aux parfums qu’on brûle en nos lambris
Le souffle embaumé du zéphire !
« Venez : l’onde est si calme et le ciel est si pur !
Laissez sur ces buissons flotter les plis d’azur
De vos ceintures transparentes ;
Détachez ma couronne et ces voiles jaloux ;
Car je veux aujourd’hui folâtrer avec vous,
Au sein des vagues murmurantes.
« Hâtons-nous… Mais parmi les brouillards du matin,
Que vois-je ? — Regardez à l’horizon lointain…
Ne craignez rien, filles timides !
C’est sans doute, par l’onde entraîné vers les mers,
Le tronc d’un vieux palmier qui, du fond des déserts,
Vient visiter les Pyramides.
« Que dis-je ? Si j’en crois mes regards indécis,
C’est la barque d’Hermès ou la conque d’Isis,
Que pousse une brise légère.
Mais non ; c’est un esquif où, dans un doux repos,
J’aperçois un enfant qui dort au sein des flots,
Comme on dort au sein de sa mère.
« Il sommeille ; et, de loin, à voir son lit flottant,
On croirait voir voguer sur le fleuve inconstant
Le nid d’une blanche colombe.
Dans sa couche enfantine il erre au gré du vent ;
L’eau le balance, il dort, et le gouffre mouvant
Semble le bercer dans sa tombe !
« Il s’éveille : accourez, ô vierges de Memphis !
Il crie… Ah ! quelle mère a pu livrer son fils
Au caprice des flots mobiles ?
Il tend les bras ; les eaux grondent de toute part.
Hélas ! contre la mort il n’a d’autre rempart
Qu’un berceau de roseaux fragiles.
« Sauvons-le… – C’est peut-être un enfant d’Israël.
Mon père les proscrit ; mon père est bien cruel
De proscrire ainsi l’innocence !
Faible enfant ! ses malheurs ont ému mon amour,
Je veux être sa mère : il me devra le jour,
S’il ne me doit pas la naissance. »
Ainsi parlait Iphis, l’espoir d’un roi puissant,
Alors qu’aux bords du Nil son cortège innocent
Suivait sa course vagabonde ;
Et ces jeunes beautés qu’elle effaçait encor,
Quand la Fille des Rois quittait ses voiles d’or,
Croyaient voir la Fille de l’Onde.
Sous ses pieds délicats déjà le flot frémit.
Tremblante, la pitié vers l’enfant qui gémit
La guide en sa marche craintive ;
Elle a saisi l’esquif ! Fière de ce doux poids,
L’orgueil sur son beau front, pour la première fois,
Se mêle à la pudeur naïve.
Bientôt, divisant l’onde et brisant les roseaux,
Elle apporte à pas lents l’enfant sauvé des eaux
Sur le bord de l’arène humide ;
Et ses sœurs tour à tour, au front du nouveau-né,
Offrant leur doux sourire à son œil étonné,
Déposaient un baiser timide !
Accours, toi qui, de loin, dans un doute cruel,
Suivais des yeux ton fils sur qui veillait le ciel ;
Viens ici comme une étrangère ;
Ne crains rien : en pressant Moïse entre tes bras,
Tes pleurs et tes transports ne te trahiront pas,
Car Iphis n’est pas encor mère !
Alors, tandis qu’heureuse et d’un pas triomphant,
La vierge au roi farouche amenait l’humble enfant,
Baigné des larmes maternelles,
On entendait en chœur, dans les cieux étoilés,
Des anges, devant Dieu de leurs ailes voilés,
Chanter les lyres éternelles.
« Ne gémis plus, Jacob, sur la terre d’exil ;
Ne mêle plus tes pleurs aux flots impurs du Nil :
Le Jourdain va t’ouvrir ses rives.
Le jour enfin approche où vers les champs promis
Gessen verra s’enfuir, malgré leurs ennemis,
Les tribus si longtemps captives.
C’est l’élu du Sina, c’est le roi des fléaux,
Qu’une vierge sauve de l’onde.
Mortels, vous dont l’orgueil méconnaît l’Éternel,
Fléchissez : un berceau va sauver Israël,
Un berceau doit sauver le monde ! »
II. My Translation: “Moses On the Nile”
« My Sisters, the water is freshest in the first ray of day!
Come: the reaper rests in his abode;
The river bank is lonely still;
Memphis rises just, a confused murmur;
And our chaste pleasures, under these thick groves,
Have no other witness than the dawn.
« In my father’s palace one sees the brilliant arts;
But this river side is filled with more charms to see
Than a basin of gold or of porphyre;
These heavenly songs are beloved concerts to me;
Of the perfumes that one burns in our walls,
I prefer the embalmed breath of the zéphir
« Come : the breeze is so calm and the sky is so pure !
Leave your transparent gowns on the folds
Of these blue, floating bushes;
Detach my crown and these jealous veils;
For I want today to frolic with you,
Within the hazy murmurings.
« Let us hasten…But among the mists of the morn,
What do I see? Look at the horizon…
Do you not believe timid maidens!
It is without doubt, by the deep breeze towards the seas,
The ancient palm tree which, from the desert’s edge,
Comes to visit the Pyramides
« What do I say ? If I believe my uncertain eyes
It is the boat of Hermès or the shell of Isis,
Pushing gently in the breeze.
But no; it is a skiff where, in the calm repose,
I perceive an infant sweetly sleeping,
As one sleeps on the breast of its mother.
« He sleeps ; and, now closely, I see his floating bed,
Drifting on the whimsical river stream,
The nest of a white dove.
In his infant bed he roves at the will of the wind;
The balance of the water, he sleeps, and the moving gulf
Appears to rock in his tomb.
« He wakes : hasten, ô maidens of Memphis!
He cries…Ah! what mother has given away her son
To the capricious, mobile waves?
He stretches out his arms: the water murmurs around him.
Hélas! against death is no other fortress
Which one is soothed by fragile reeds.
« We must save him… He is perhaps an infant from Israel.
My father prohibits them; my father is very cruel
To prohibit the innocent as well!
Poor child! his misfortune has drawn my love,
I want to be his mother: he will have me this day,
Even if not by birth.”
Thus Iphis spoke, the hope of a royal power,
Her innocent procession following her
Along the meandering course of the Nile;
And these young beauties, whom she still eclipsed,
Witnessed the daughter of the King give up her veils of gold,
To become the “Daughter of the Wave”. (Venus)
Under her delicate feet already the waters trembling.
The gentle pity towards the enfant
Guided her timid walk;
She took the skiff! Proud of this gentle burden,
The pride on her beautiful face, for the first time,
Mixed with her naive modesty.
Soon, through the dividing wave and the breaking reeds
She slowly brings the child saved from the waters
Onto the edge of the humid sands:
And her sisters, one after the other, on the forehead of the newborn,
Offering their gentle smile to his astonished eye,
Depositing a gentle kiss!
Make haste, you who, from afar in cruel doubt,
Following your son with eyes who watched the sky;
Coming here as a stranger;
Fear not: Moses by pressing your arms,
Your tears and your transport will not betray you,
For Iphis is still not your Mother!
Therefore, while more happy than triumphant,
The virgin to the fierce king brought the humble infant,
Bathed in maternal tears,
One hearing in chorus, in the celestial heavens,
Angels, before God on their veiled wings,
Sing the eternal lyres.
« Do not moan any longer, Jacob, in the land of exile ;
Do not mix your tears any longer in the impure streams of the Nile:
Jordan will open up for you its banks.
The day finally approaches where towards the promised fields
Gessen will flee, despite their enemies,
The tribes captive for so long.
« Under the guise of an infant abandoned on the waves,
Is the elected Sina, the king of the plagues,
A virgin saved from the wave.
Mortals, you whose pride ignores Jehovah,
Bow down: a cradle will save Israel,
A cradle must save the world!”
Copyright 2016 by Robyn Lowrie. May be quoted in part or full only with attribution to Robyn Lowrie (www.frenchquest.com)
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