While the grapeshot red spittles
Whistle all day through blue-sky infinity;
While, near the King who mocks at them,
Scarlet or green battalions crumble all together in the fire;
While a dreadful madness grinds,
And makes a smoking heap of a hundred thousand men;
— Poor dead! In the summer, in the grass, in your joy,
Nature! O! You who saintlily made these men!... —
— There is a God, who laughs at damask altar-cloths,
At incense, at great gold chalices;
Who dozes off at hosannas lullaby,
And wakes up, when the mothers, crouched
In anguish, and crying beneath their old black bonnets,
Give Him a big coin tied up in their handkerchief!
1870 was a transitional year for the 16 years old young man:
“... In two years, may be one, I will be in Paris.”
It's during that year - rich in events - that Rimbaud wrote his poem le mal (The Evil), published in Le Cahier de Douai. It is still of actuality...
Locate Arthur Rimbaud in history.