XENEOROSSONGS
Co^TELio's Troubadours
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THE
BOOK OF FRENCH SONGS.
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Marie's dream.
SoKffs qf the Affections, p. 42.
THE
BOOK OF FRENCH SONGS^
TRANSLATED BY / J'^l
JOHN OXENFORD, Esq. OrS
TO WHICH IS ADDED
MISS COSTELLO'S EARLY FRENCH POETRY.
NEW YORK: SCRIBNER, WELFORD AND ARMSTRONG.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
The two works published together in this volume have long been popular with the reading Public. Together, they afford, we think, a good representation of the early and later song literature of France.
To Mr. Oxenford's "Book of French Songs," a few additional translations — the property of the Publishers — have been added : they are distinguished by initial letters.
In Miss CoSTELLo's " Specimens of the Early Poetry of France," the slight change has been made of transferring the " Song of Richard Coeur de Lion " from the Appendix to that which appears to be its due place in the body of the work. M. Michel's letter to Miss Costello on the "Trouveres" has been omitted; the subject of Trouba- dours and Trouveres having been discussed in the Intro- ductions to both works. One or two small notes in which there was some repetition have also been omitted. Both
viii EDITORS PREFACE.
these talented writers have passed from us : Mr. Oxenford quite recently.
John Oxenford was born in 1811, and was educated for the law, but preferred the profession of literature, and became a dramatic author. He was also theatrical critic to the " Times," and translated from the German the ** Auto- biography of Goethe," and from the French the " Songs " here published.
Miss Louisa Stuart Costello began her literary career early in life, by the publication of a volume of poems which attracted the notice of MoORE. They were followed by " Specimens of the Early Poetry of France," by which she first became generally known as a writer.
Miss Costello has written some very charming travels, fiction, biography, and many well-known songs. Few ballads have been more popular than her " Queen of my Soul." This accomplished woman died in April, 1870.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Where there is so abundant a song literature as that of France, a small volume like this cannot be free from sins of omission. Perhaps every reader may have in his mind some song that he will think ought to have had a place here, and that he will be surprised to find has been passed over. To all objections on the score of omission I can only answer by remarking, that where from a huge mass a very limited quantity is to be extracted, the work of selection must always bear an arbitrary appearance. However, I believe I am not going too far when I say that, in spite of the narrow compass of the collection, no class or style of song (fit for the
general reader) has been left unrepresented.
i
As the book is intended for reading, the rhythm of the
songs has not been in all cases so rigidly observed as it
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
would have been if the translations had been written to music. With few exceptions, however, the translations are in the same metre as the original.
To research I do not pretend. The bulky collection of MM. Dumersan and Noel Segur, together with the songs of Beranger, contained nearly all that was necessary for my purpose, and it is only for two or three songs of early date that I have gone to ' any other source. To MM. Dumersan and Segur I am also indebted for the matter of the Introduction.
In some cases I have given the original French of the songs. This is either where they have some peculiarity about them which can be scarcely represented in a trans- lation, or where, through circumstances, they have acquired the rank of historical " facts." For the latter reason, nearly all the Revolutionary Songs, and likewise those anony- mous songs that have almost become national property, are given in French.
I would conclude by expressing a hope, that this little unpretending volume will be only judged according to the fidelity with which the spirit of the originals has
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
been reproduced in my own language. I have endeavoured to give a type of every class of song, and I would not have it for a moment imagined, that where I have selected, I have always admired.
J. O.
CONTENTS.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Page
Ballad King Fbancis 1 2
Song Francois de Malherbes 4
Song Attributed to Henry IV 7
Song Marquis de Racan 9
I'll love thee Anonymous 10
The Avaricious Shepherdess Dufresny * n
Wishes Abb^ de Lattaignant 12
Song Jean Desmarets 14
The Rose-Bush De Leyre 13
Oh! Mamma Attributed to Rameau 16
I'll not show over-haste Duke de Nivernois 18
Poor Jacques Marchioness de Travanet 19
The Infidelities of Lisette B^rangek 21
The Storm Fabre d'Eglantine 26
I love thee! Ditto 27
The Rose Gentil Bernard 30
Love Chevalier de Boufflers 31
Cupid, Sentinel Chevalier de Cubi^re 32
The Love of Annette for Lubin Favart 33
My Normandy Fr^d^ric B6rat 34
The Portrait Anonymous 36
Elvira's Castle Wall Ditto 37
Mv Coat B^ranger 38
Emma's Tomb Parny 39
Reminiscences Chateaubriand 41
Marie's Dream G. Lemoine 42
The Rosebud Princesse de Salm 44
My Father's Cot Anonymous 45
The Woodland Flower Emile Barateau 46
Alfred's Tomb Anonymous 47
God protect you! , G. Lbmoinb 48
Marie Stuart Jean Pierre Claris Florian 49
The Swallow and the Exile Fougas S'
The Swallows Jean Pierre Claris Florian 53
The Knklu— A Dirge , Jouy - 54
xiii
CONTENTS,
SONCS OF THE AFFECTIONS (con.) Past
You LEFT US ONCE EmILE BaRATEAU 56
Lines to my Goddaughter BAranger 57
The Fall of the Leaf Emilb Barateau 58
The Turtle-Dove Emile Varin 59
I must forget Naudht 61
Her Name G. Lemoine 6a
Farewell Hoffman 63
Love me well E. Gola 64
The Mother at the Cradle Nettement 65
Mv Love is Dead ..: T. Gautier 66
The Castle Anonymons 68
Tender Regrets Andrieux 70
Leonorb Anonymous 72
The Ball ^ Louis Festeau 73
An Avowal Baralli 74
The Blacksmith G. Lemoink 75
Jealousy P. J. Charrin 77
The Parting E. Dugas 78
Madness Abel Poret de Morvan 79
Jenny the Sempstress Emile Barateau So
The last Fine Day of Autumn Esm^nard 84
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
The Marseillaise Rouget de Lisle 89
Roland at Roncsvallbs Ditto 94
"Ca Ira!" Anonymous 99
The Sentinel Brault X03
The Safety of France Adolphb S. Boy 104
La Carmagnole Anonymous 107
The Song of Departurb J. M. Ch^nier „ 112
Le Vengeur Anonymous 117
Song of Victory J. M. Ch^nier 120
The Vaesovienne Casimir Delavigne ; 124
The White Cockade B^ranger 129
Low-born Ditto 130
Jacques Ditto 131
Charles VII Ditto 133
The Awakening of thb People J. M. SouRicuftRBS 134
A Foreign Foe we Frenchmen hate Casimir & Germain Delavigne... 137
The Marquis de Carabas B^ranger 139
The Old Corporal Ditto 143
The Goddess Ditto 144
La Parisienne Casimir Delavigne 147
Thb Senator B^rancek , iSo
CONTENTS.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS (con.) Pa^e
The Girondins Dumas 153
The Field of Battle Emile Debreaux 155
The Coronation of Charles the Simple B^ranger 157
Oh, if my Lady now were by! Anonymous 159
The Gallant Troubadour Ditto 161
The Departure for Syria Laborde 163
The Cock of France Favart 165
The Sabre Emile Debreaux 166
Marlurook Anonymous 168
The Workmen's Song Pierre Dupont 173
Bayard Anonymous 176
Mary Stuart's Farewell B^ranger 178
BACCHANALIAN SONGS,
Apology for Cider Oliver Basselin 183
The true Toper MaItre Adam 185
Life Racan i88
The Epicurean Saurin 190
My Philosophy Dufresny 191
The New Epimenidbs Jacinthe LncLfeRE 192
The King of Yvetot B^ranger 193
The Good Silenus T. Dauphin 197
My Vine Pierre Dupont 200
The Happy End Laujon 201
Praise of Water Armand Gouff6 202
A Bacchanalian Delirium Charles H. Millevoye 203
EPICUREAN SONGS.
The Laws of the Table Panard ao6
My Vocation B^ranger 211
The Soap-Bubblh Alexis Dal^s 212
The Table DfoAUGiERS 214
Felix Summerday B^ranger 217
Song for Ever! J. A. Perchelet 220
The Bachelor's Lodging Joseph Pain 222
My Little Corner B^ranger 224
The Little Gargantua D£saugiers 225
The Beggars B6ranger 227
I'll be wise Anonymous 230
HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS.
The Hunchbacks Anonymous 235
The Cobbler's Daughter Taconet 236
King Dagobert Anonymous m
CONTENTS.
HUMOROUS AND SATIRICAL SONGS (con.) ra£t
The Canal of St. Martin Dipeutv and Cormon 243
Picture of Paris at Five in the Morning.. .DfeAUCiERS 245
Picture of Paris at Five in the Aktev.noo.v... Ditto 247
The Pillar of the C.\f£ Diuo 25a
The New-Year's Dav Ditto 256
Important Truths Armand Charlemagne 259
The O.xen Pierre Dupont 263
SPECIMENS OF THE EARLY POETRY OF FRANCE.
THE TROUBADOURS.
William, ninth Count of Poictiers 280
Lay, "Anew I tune my lute to love" 281
COMTBSSE DE DiE.
Elegy of Love sSa
William Adhemar.
"Oh! were I sure that all the lays" 384
"She will not always turn away" 285
Rambaud dAurenge.
"I should be blest! for in my dreams" 285
Bertrand de Born 286
"She cannot be mine! her star is too bright " 287
Geoffroi Rldel,
"Around, above, on every spray " 287
Bernard de Ventadour.
"When I behold her, sudden fear " 289
" No ! — joy can wake my soul no more" 290
Pierre Rogiers.
" WTio has not looked upon her brow" 290
Folquet de Marseilles.
" If I must fly thee, turn away" 291
Aubade (Author unknown), " Within our hawthorn bower how sweet" 393
Raimond de Miravals.
" I mitst be worthy of her love" 293
Song of Richard Cceur de Lion i.v his Captivity 293
Gaucelm Faidit.
Elegy on the Death of King Richard Coeur de Lion 396
Rambaud de Vaquieras.
" While thus I see the groves anew '' , , , , , .,„ 299
CONTENTS. xvU
Pagt
Elias Cairel.
"She's fairer than my dreams could frame" , 302
Count de la Marche.
" Fair precious gem ! when first least" 303
Phyrols.
"So full of pleasure is my pain" 303
William de Cabestaing.
"No, never since the fatal time" 304
Countess de Provence.
To her Husband 305
The Monk of Montaudon.
"I love the court by wit and worth adorned " , 306
Claire d'Anduze.
Lay, " They who may blame my tenderness " 308
Pierre Vidal.
"Ah ! if renown attend my name" 308
Arnaud Daniel 309
"When leaves and flowers are newly springing" 310
Boniface Calvo.
"She was so good, so pure, so fair" 311
THE TROUVERES.
Marie de France 313
Lay of Bisclaveret 316
The Lay of the Eglantine 324
Le ChAtelain de Coucv 329
Chanson IL, "My wand'ring thoughts awake," &c. 33°
La Dame de Favel.
Lai, "Still will I sing to soothe my heart" 33^
TiiiBAUT DE Champagne 333
Lay, On departing for the Holy Land 334
Translation of a Stanza 3SS
Song to excite to the Crusade 33^
Lay, "Another lay I breathe fc* thee " „,,.. 337
Thibaut de Blazon.
Chanson, " I am to blame ! why should I sing?" 338
Gace Brul^
"The birds in Brittany I hear" 339
/;
CONTENTS.
EARLY FRENCH POETS.
Pagf
Jean de Meun 343
LeCodiciUe 343
Roman de la Rose 343
Jean- Froissakt.
Triolet, " Take time while yet it is in view" 34S
Virelay, " Too long it seems ere I shall view " ...,. 345
Christine de Pise 347
Tenson, entitled Gieux a vendre 349
Rondel, "En esperant de mieulx avoir" 350
Rondel, " I live in hopes of better days" 3Si
Rondel, " Je ne sgay comment je dure" 351
Rondel, "I know not how my life I bear!" 3S2
Surla Mort de son P6re , 352
On the Death of her Father 353
Alain Ciiartier 353
"Ten seasons of a hapless exile's life" <-. 357
Part of La Belle Dame sans Merci ..,......, 359
'"Twas all the joy the world could give" , ' 360
Le Breviare dcs Nobles, Courtoisie 3^"
Amour 3^1
CiiARi.Es, Di'KE OF Orleans ^
On the Death of his Wife 3^7
"Take back, take back those treacherous sighs '' , 368
" I stood upon the w^ild sea-shore " , 368
"Thrice blessed is he by whom the art" 369
"Forgive me, love, if I have dared" 370
" My only love, my dearest, best " (supposed to be addressed to him by his Lady)... 37X
Answer, "I cannot love thee, for my heart" 37*
" She is fair, but fatal too" ., 37a
" Far from Love's dang'rous glances fly" 373
Lay, "'T is past I — oh, never speak again" •. 373
Lay, "Is she not passing fair" 374
Song of the Mouse 375
"Wilt thou be mine? dear love, reply " ..,..,..*. 37^
" Begone, begone ! away, away !" 37^
"Deep, deep within my heart concealed" 377
"Oh, let me, let me think in peace !" 377
"Oh! shall I ever know if all " 378
"Heaven! 'tis delight to see how fair" 378
" Heaven conduct thee, gentle thought I " 379
CONTENTS.
Page Clemence Isaure.
Plainte d Amour 380
"Fair season! childhood of tne year" 380
Francois Villon , 381
BaNade des Damesdu Temps Jndis 382
Jean Rbgnier.
"How many cite with airs of priJe'" , 383
Pierre Michault.
Morality 384
Guillaume Alexis 384
L'Avare , i.. 385
Martial dk Paris 385
ITie Advantages of Adversity 386
"Dear the felicity" 386
Lemaire de Belge.
Adieu of the Green Lover 388
Epitaph of the Green Lover 389
'Description oi the Paradise into which I'Amant ^'crd is conducted by Mercury 389
Jean Meschinot 394
"Princes, are ye of other clay ' , 395
On John, Duke of Burgundy 395
Jehan MoLiNEt , 396
William Cretin.
"Love is like A. fairj-'s favou?" , , 397
Jehak Marot.
" By evil tongues how many true and kind " ■. 398
"Oh! pve me death, or pity show" 399
Pierre Grincorb.
On Learning and Wealth 400
On Marriage , 4°°
Jacques Col»n,
Cupid Justified 4°*
Clement Makot 402
To Anne, whose absence he regrets 403
On the Statue of Venus sleeping ^ 404
On the Smile of Madame d'Albert 404
On the Queen of Navarre , 4°S
"This dear resemblance of thy lovely face" , 4°5
"My love, if I depart a day" 405
Du Depart de s'Amie , , n 4<'6
^—2
CONTENTS.
CLEMENT MAROT (con.) Page
' Huitain, " I am no more what I have been" 406
Epigramme a I'imitation de Martial 407
To Diane de Poictiers 407
A Anne, pour estre en sa grace 408
La Rhine de Navarre 409
On the Death of her Brother, Francis 1 4**
Francis the First.
Epitaph on Fran^oise de Foix 411
On Petrarch's Laura 411
Epitaph on Agnes Sorel 412
Madrigal, " O Love ! thy pain is more extreme " 412
To the Duchess d'Estampes 413
Hes'RV the Second.
To Diana of Poictiers 413
Mellin de St. Gelais.
Huitain, " Go, glowing sighs, my soul's expiring breath " 414
Quatrain, " Which is the best to choose I'd fain be told" 415
Sixain, On a little Lute 4^3
Louise Lab6 415
Sonnet XIV. 416
Elegy 417
Sonnet VII ,. 420
Isaac Habert.
The Fisherman's Song .....t. « A^^
Jacques Tahureau do Mans.
To Estienne Jodelle 422
Mary, Queen of Scots.
On the Death of her Husband, Francis 11 , 424
Joachim du Bellay.
Sonnet in a series entitled "L'Olive" .,,, ,., 426
Sonnet de "L'Olive" '. ^7
To Echo , 428
In "Olive," " Give back the gold that tints each curl " 428
The Furies against the Faithless ,, 429
Jean Antoine de BaIf.
The Calculation of Life 431
The Queen on the Death of Henry 11 432
" Each pursues as fancy guides " „ 43a
Epitaph on Rabelais , , 433
CONTENTS.
Page
Remy Bellkau 433
The Feathers 434
La Perle, from the "Loves of the Gems" 435
April, from "La Bergerie" 437
ESTIENNK JODELLH.
To Madame de Primadis , , 440
Jean Dorat.
To Catherine de Medicis, Regent , 441
Fkansois de Louvencourt de Vauchelles.
"I had not even time to say" 44a
Jacques Daw du Perron „ 442
" When she, who made my heart her prize" 443
Pierre de Ronsard 444
To his Lyre 446
From his "Loves," " Fifteen lovely childish springs" 448
Loves, " Eyes, which dispose my every glance at will " 449
Loves, " My sorrowing muse, no more complain " 449
To his Mistress's Dog 450
Epitaph de Marie 451
To Mary Stuart, Queen of Scotland 451, 453, 454
MOTIN.
"Why linger thus,— what heavy chain" 455
Maynard.
"Although thine eyes consume my soul" 457
Philippe Desportes.
Diane, "If stainless faith and funJuess tried" 458
Diane, livre L, " Je me laisse briiler," &c 459
"I perish with concealed desire" 4S9
Diane, "Ah, gentle couch ! if thou wert made ' 460
Jean Bertaut.
" Fortune, to me unkind" 461
Renaissance d'Amour 46*
Amadis Jamvn,
Callirfe, "Although when I depart" 4^3
Artemis, "Because each night we may behold " i. 4^3
D'Huxattime.
Le Repentirdu Repentir 4^4
Henry the Fourth.
£ong, "My charming Gabrielle" .,,,. 4^
De Por.CHfeRES.
Regrets sur un Depart 4^8
CONTENTS,
APPENDIX.
Marie pe France 471
Laie de !Mort de Tristan de Leonnois 47a
Allain Chartier 473
Mary, Queen of Scots 474
Note to page 441 475
INTRODUCTION,
France has always held a prominent position among nations as a land of song writers. In the middle ages no songster vied with the French Troubadour, and the nineteenth century can exhibit no lyrist, out of France, who has had an influence on the mass of his countrymen worthy to be compared with that exercised by Bdranger on the citizens of Paris. Song seems always the natural expression of a Frenchman's joy and sorrow, enthusiasm and contempt. The memory of Henry IV. still lives in song ; the battles of the Fronde w^ere fought as much with songs as witli bullets; the great Revolution has a song literature of its own, which becomes monotonous from its very copiousness; the victory of the allies over France has its rhymed record in songs of hate and defiance ; and the revolutions that have followed the Restora- tion have their representatives in songs of triumph and in the cynical strains of communism.
The origin of French song is traced by antiquarians as far back as the origin of the French monarchy, and it seems that a Latin song sung by the French in the year 600, to celebrate a victory gained over the Saxons, is still in existence, together with two others of the same period and in the same language, one of which has the peculiarity of a refrain or burden. After this date, to be sure, a gap ensues which extends over five centuries, but this gap may fairly be attributed not so much to a loss of the poetical gift on the part of the nation, as to a want of efficient means to pre- serve its fruits.
INTRODUCTION.
Towards the end of the eleventh century, not only do songs begin to reappear, but we begin to have accurate information respecting the writers. One Pierre de Blois became renowned for his gallant effusions, and the famous Abelard not only wrote songs, but is said to have sung them with a very agreeable voice. Early in the twelfth century the French tongue entirely supplanted the rhymed Latin, which preceded it as the language of song, and the tradition of this period seems to be still preserved in a number of childish ditties, which are sung at the present day, and which are usually associated with games having an indirect reference to the pursuits of a chivalric period.
It was at the commencement of the twelfth century that the French began to have a common language. Prior to that period the present language was written in Normandy, and some anti- quarians regard the Normans, not the Provengaux, as the patriarchs of French song. The Troubadours, who are traced by some to the days of Homer, while others fix their origin at the compara- tively recent date of ii6, reached their culminating point of glory in the earlier portion of the fourteenth century.
The Troubadour was a poet by profession ; his art was known as the ^^go.y saber" or "gay science," and while it was highly respected, was often exceedingly profitable. Rambaud de la Vacherie so highly pleased one of the Counts of Toulouse by his lyrical effusions, that the latter dubbed him a knight, took him to the crusades, and eventually made him governor of the city of Salonica ; and this is only one instance among many of the kind. The poet was always a musician, and for the most part composed his own airs ; but this is not saying much. Musical art was quite in its infancy, and the dull plain song, composed in notes of equal value, contrast strangely with the light and gallant themes of the poetry. Spring, flowers, birds, and of course ladies, are the themes . of these early songsters, and it is a fact worth recording that none but fair beauties were esteemed till the days of Charles IX., when brunettes came into fashion.
INTRODUCTION.
The fact that poetry was a profitable art by no means excluded its cultivation from the studies of persons of the highest rank. The Emperor Frederick I., who has left a madrigal composed in Provencal verse; the Emperor Frederick IL, Frederick III., King of Sicily, Alphonso I., King of Aragon, Richard Coeur de Lion, King of England, with a long list of petty princes and nobles, are all enumerated among the Troubadours,
In the year 1323 seven professors of the gay science founded an academy of poetry at Toulouse, to which they gave the name of the "Worthy and super-gay Company of Seven Toulouse Troubadours." Every Sunday they held private meetings in a garden, in which they recited and sang their compositions; and also a public meeting on the first of May — the favourite month of Troubadours and Minnesanger. A prize for the best composition was offered at a somewhat later period, and the victor in the poetical combat received a golden violet from the hands of the president, who proclaimed his triumph aloud. Two other flowers in silver were afterwards offered as inferior prizes. No less than one hundred and twenty French poets also flourished about and previous to this time, plentiful specimens of which will be found in the French collections of Troubadour literature.
The title of "father of French poetry" is usually awarded to Thibault, Count of Champagne,* whose songs are mostly in honour of Queen Blanche of Castile, mother of St. Louis. He receives this honour not so much on account of his antiquity as on account of his merit, the French critics deciding that the poets who pre- ceded him are not worthy of the name.
The interval between the close of the fourteenth cen'tury and the reign of Francis I,, which began in 1515, was not distinguished by literary productiveness. The wars between the rival parties of Armagnac and Burgundy, and the occupation of France by the English, were stem realities, which distracted the mind of the
'' See Miss Costello's " Specimens of the Early Poetry of France," following these Songs.
INTRODUCTION.
nation from fanciful pursuits. There were, however, some stars amid tlie darkness, and the bibUophiles of France still talk of Jean Froissart, Guillaume de Lorrds, Martial de Paris, Jean Lemaire, Guillaume Creton, Jean de Meuse, and Alain Chartier — especially the last — as respectable personages in the history of French poetry. A love of the beauties of nature in her tranquil moods, accompanied by a power of accumulating pleasant details, was the characteristic of the best poets of this epoch.
The origin of the word vaudeville, — Avhich once denoted a kind of song, but now denotes a dramatic piece, — is placed in this period. Olivier Basselin, a fuller of Vire in Normandy, who distinguished himself from his more refined and more pious pre- decessors, by chanting coarse jovial strains in praise, not of fair ladies or of saints, but of wine and cider, is supposed to be the inventor of the vau-dc-vire, — a word which has since been corrupted into vaudeville. It is questionable, however, whether this honour of originating the vauda'ille really belongs to him, and still more questionable whether his works have come down to posterity in the form in which he wrote them.
By the side of the vauda'ille, which was the song of mirth, flourished the ^' comjilainte" which was the strain of woe, and as there was no lack of sad events in the fifteenth century, the melancholy muse was never silent for want of a fitting subject.
Another poet of this time was Francois Corbeuil, commonly called Villon, who, according to Rabelais, was a protege of Edward IV. of England, and whose "ballads" are still preserved. These are marked in many instances by a coarse comical moral, and are said to have been studied with much profit by the famous La Fontaine.
Francis I. was himself a poet, and his age was an age of poetiy. The great events that occurred during his reign, and those of his next successors, were a constant source of inspiration to a series of poets, who were illustrious in their day, and whose songs fill many a collection now preserved in the National Library of
INTRODUCTION, xxvii
France. Among the most precious is a vellum manuscript, con- taining all the songs of Francis I. The great names in this age, which may be extended to the end of the sixteenth century, are those of Clement Marot, St Gelais, Du Bellay, Jodelle, Ronsard, Belleau, Passerat, and Baif, To the last of these is attributed the honour of being the first person who endeavoured to enrich the French with a national music of their own. He was the inventor of those ballets which formed so essential an amusement at the royal coinrts till the reign of Louis XIV., and which may be con- sidered, in some measure, the origin of the French opera.
The troubles of the League gave an impulse to song writing. Most of the songs had reference to the politics of the time ; but licentious (Jitties were also in vogue, and so far exceeded the bounds of propriety, that at an assembly of the States General, held at f ontainebleau, a project for checking a license which seemed so detrimental to morality was discussed. The most famous song writers of this period were Desportes and Bertaut. They were the immediate predecessors of Regnier and Malherbe, the latter of whom is usually considered the first classical writer of French poetry. King Henry IV., so illustrious as a sovereign, also takes a high place among the poets of his day ; and perhaps no song has retained general popularity for so long a time as the well-known "Charmante GabrieHe," which he addressed to his mistress, the famous Gabrielle d'Estre'es.
During the reign of Louis XIII. and the minority of Louis XIV., song took an eminently satirical turn, and the Cardinals Richelieu and Mazarin were constant objects of metrical attack. The Bacchanalian Song, which indeed has always occupied an important place in French lyrical poetry, from the days of Olivier Basselin to the present time, was also much cultivated ; and the Marquis de Racan, who was one of the earliest members of the French Academy, gained a reputation in this class of Hterature which is not yet extinct.
It should be observed that these poets for the most part
xxviU INTRODUCTION.
belonged, or at any rate were attached, to the higher class of society, with whom verse writing was an elegant amusement. However, shortly before Richelieu's death, two artisans, Adam Billaut of Nevers, and Olivier Massias of Angouleme, created a great sensation by their rhymes. The songs of the first of these, who is generally called Maitre Adam, are considered models of their kind, and obtained for the poet the honour of an introduc- tion to the King and Richelieu.
In the reign of Louis XIV., song, like every other branch of French literature, rose to a most flourishing condition; and so much was sung on every subject, that a history of the period could almost be constructed by a proper arrangement of ephemeral poems. An attempt to name the poets of this long and prolific reign would only produce a tedious list of authors, many of whom no longer live in the memory of the people. Among the poets of the King's minority we may mention Voiture, Scarron, and Bois Robert, who was esteemed the best song writer of his day, but whose productions are now little respected. A great but transient popularity was attained by the Baron de Blot, sumamed Blot- I'Esprit, who chiefly distinguished himself by satirizing Cardinal Mazarin, Dufresny and the Abbe de Lattaignant, whose songs were fashionable at the court of Louis XIV,, are celebrated even at the present day.
Songs, nominally pastoral, but really artificial in the highest degree, were in vogue at the time to which we are now referring ; and works of that Phyllis-and-Chloe school of poetry, which once deluged the lyrical world in England, are to be found in great abundance among the treasures of French song. All this sort of thing has long past away, and is deemed not antique, but old- fashioned. With Panard, a convivial poet who flourished durinsj the earlier half of the eighteenth century, begins that modem school of French lyrical poetry which still exists in full vigour, and he may fairly be called the poetical ancestor of Beranger,
During the minority of Louis XV., in which licentiousness was
INTRODUCTION.
carried to so great a height that the word Regency has almost become the symbol of general immorality, song attained the same freedom from moral restraint which was observable in actual life. All the lyric poets of the day were in the habit of meeting at the house of a tradesman named Gallet, who, together with Piron, Crebillon the Younger, and Collet, — all, as well as himself, poets of celebrity, — founded in 1733 a singing club entitled Les Diners dti Caveaic.
In the reign of Louis XVI. the gaiety of song had passed away * or, more properly speaking, gaiety, even where it did prevail, was tinged with ferocity. The famous Carmagnole, with which the Parisian mob insulted the unfortunate King and Queen during their imprisonment in the Temple, stands as a curious monument of ribald joviality by the side of those more sublime revolutionary songs, in which the aspirations of the French republicans are eloquently set forth ; and we have still specimens of comic poetry on the subject of the guillotine, written during the horrors of 1794. The poets whose songs we may term the classics of the Revolu- tion were Rouget de Lisle and Marie Joseph Ch^nier.
The proclamation of a sort of theatrical free-trade in 1792 led to the establishment of a particular theatre for the performance of those hght musical pieces, which are so familiar to every habitue of the French drama by the name of vaudeville. During the Con- sulate of Napoleon, song once more lost its solemn and ferocious character, and in 1804 the principal poets of the new theatre formed themselves into a club entitled Diners du Vaudeville. The fortunes of the theatre greatly regulated the fortunes of this society, for, according to a standing rule, composed in rhyme, no person could be admitted as a member who had not produced three pieces, two of which had escaped condemnation. Thus, as the number of successful authors increased, the dinner parties, which were held in the house of an actor named JuUiet, became larger.
This society, although it comprised tke best wits of the day,
INTRO DUCTON.
did not last long, and in 1806 Armand Gouffc and Capelle revived the old Caveau, founded by Gallet and his friends in 1733, giving it the name of the Caveau Moderns Many of the members of the extinct vaudrcille club joined the revived society, and the meetings were held once a month at the Rocher de Cancale, a restaurant celebrated at the time for fish dinners. The perpetual president was Laujon, a veteran bard and hon vivant, who sang of love and wine at the age of eighty-four, and died, it is said, humming a joyous tune ; and one of its brightest ornaments was Desaugiers, a song writer whose name is only second to that of Beranger himself, from whom at the same time he is perfectly distinct. During the ten years of its existence the Caveau Moaerne published an annual collection of its productions, for it must be borne in mind that the members of these vocal societies wrote songs on puq^ose to be sung at the meetings. In 18 15 it was dissolved, in consequence of the diversity of political opinion that prevailed at that period. It revived, indeed, in 1826, but its reputation did not revive with it. Beranger was one of the members of the Cauvcan Modcnte in its best days, but he did not attain his high celebrity till after 181 5, when he stood as the chief poetical opponent of the court and the aristocracy.
Vocal societies, emulous of the fame ot the Caveau Moderne, were founded in several French towns, and also in Paris itself, for the admission of persons who could not be received into the Caveau. The first of these minor Parisian societies was the Societe de Momus, rendered illustrious by the name of Emile Debreaux, one of the most popular poets that France ever produced. The example being once set, the formation of similar societies pro- ceeded ^vith such rapidity, that in 1836 their number in Paris and the hanlieue was estimated at four hundred and eighty-five. In 1832 the supremacy among these societies was held by the Gymnase Lyrique, which had been founded in 1824, and which, in imitation of the Caveau, published an annual volume of songs. This society was dissolved in 1841, and its great success was
INTRODUCTION.
shown by the fact that, in the very year of its dissohition, it was impossible to obtain a complete collection of its publications at any Parisian bookseller's.
The Revolution of July 1830 brought with it, not only a revival of the republican songs of the last century, but also several new compositions, the most famous of which were by the illustrious dramatist, Casimir Delavigne. For a while songs in a strain of enthusiastic nationality eclipsed every other kind of lyrical expres- sion, and the lighter themes, which had been so happily touched by the French poets for many ages, began to be disregarded, Beranger, who, before the Restoration, had sung the joys of a happy poverty, and since that event had been the constant scourge of the elder Bourbons, — Beranger, who had raised French song to a classical importance never before known, — even Beranger, who heartily sympathized with the Revolution of July, began to think that the " reign of song was over." The great poet, how- ever, was not only wrong in his belief, but in the year 1834 a new impulse was given to song by the formation of a society called La Lice Chansonniere^ which was open to the poets who could not afford to become members of the Caveaii or of the Gymnase Lyrique, where meetings were always celebrated by expensive banquets. The founder of this society was Charles Lepage, an eccentric poet, who sometimes earned a good liveli- hood by writing motto-verses for the vendors of bon-bons. Ac- cording to the rules of La Lice ChansoUniere, the meetings were held in piil^lic, every member had a right to sing a song, an annual collection of songs was published, and prizes were given to authors of the best works. Several of the most popular songs owe their origin to this society.
A new epoch in French song was created by the Revolution of 1848. The revolutionary songs of the last century were violently warlike and republican, but they were free from that communistic tendency which now so frequently accompanies the profession of republican sentiments. At the hend of the most modem school
INTRODUCTION.
of French lyric poets we must place the admirable Pierre Dupont, and for the most characteristic specimen of his tendency, point to that vigorous outpouring of stem discontent, — Le Chant des Ouvriers.
Here ends the history of song considered as complete in itself, and independent of the drama.
Suites of liji %^uixom*
This division is intended to comprise all that is understood by the French word " Romance," which would have been selected in preference to the above title, did it not suggest such a totally- different idea in the English language.
The subdivision which might be made of this large class of Lyrical Poems will be too plainly perceived, from the specimens themselves, to need any introductory remark.
BALLAD.
King Fkancis I. Bom 1494, died 1547.
As at my window — all alone —
1 stood about the break of day, Upon my left Aurora shone,
To guide Apollo on his way. Upon my right I could behold My love, who combed her locks of gold; I saw the lustre of her eyes,
And, as a glance on me she cast. Cried, "Gods, retire behind your skies.
Your brightness is by hers surpassed."
As gentle Phoebe, when at night She shines upon the earth below,
Pours forth such ovenvhelming light. All meaner orbs must faintly glow. 2
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Thus did my lady, on that day, EcUpse Apollo's brighter ray, Whereat he was so sore distrest
His face with clouds he overcast, And I exclaimed, "That course is best,—
Your brightness is by hers surpassed."
Then happiness my bosom cheered ;
But soon Apollo shone once more, And in my jealous rage I feared
He loved the fair one I adore. And was I WTong? — Nay, blame who can,— When jealous of each mortal man, The love of gods can I despise ?
I hope to conquer fear at last, By crying, "Keep behind your skies,
Ye gods, your lustre is surpassed ! "
OI^IGINAL.*
Etant seulet, aupres d'une fenestre, Par un matin, comme le jour poignoit, Je regardai I'Aurore h. main senestre, Qui h, Phoebus le chemin enseignoit, Et d'autre part, ma mie qui peignoit Son chef dore, et vis ses luisans yeux, Dont me jetta un trait si gracieux, Qu'k haute voix je fus contraint de dire: Dieux immortels, entrez dedans vos cieux; Car la beaute de cestd vous empire.
Comme Phcebd, quand ce bas lieu terrestre, Par sa clarte, de nuit illuminoit, Toute lueur demeuroit en sequestre : Car sa splendeur toutes autres minoit. Ainsi ma dame en son regard tenoit Tout obscurci le soleil radieux.
* The peculiarity, that every stanza has the same terminations, should not be overlooked, though it has not been adopted in the translation.
1—2
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Dont de depit, lui triste et soucieux, Sur les humains lors ne daigna plus luire; Par quoi, lui dis : Vous faites pour le mieux ', Car la beaute de ceste vous empire.
O que de joie en mon coeur sentis naistre, Quand j'apper9us que Phoebus retoumoit ! Car je craignois qu' amoureux voulust estre Du doux objet qui mon coeur detenoit. Avois-je tort? Non: car, s'il y venoit Quelque mortel, j'en serois soucieux. Devois-je pas doncques craindre les dieux, Et despriser, pour fuir un tel martire, En leur criant: Retournez dans vos cieux; Car la beaute de ceste vous empire.
SONG.
(Philis qui me voit le teint blhnc.)
Francois ds Malherbes. Born 1555, died 1628.
FniDfOis de Malherbes is regarded as the father of modem French poetry. Earlier writers are without the pale of classicality.
Phillis sees me pine away,
Sees my ravished senses stray, DouTi my cheeks the tear-drops creeping.
When she seeks the cause of pain,
Of her charms she is so vain That she thinks for her I'm weeping.
Sorry I should be, forsooth.
Did I vex her with the truth. Yet it surely is permitted
Just to point out her mistakes,
When herself the cause she makes Of a crime she ne'er committed.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
'T was a wondrous school, no doubt,
Where she found her beauty out. Which, she thinks, can triumph o'er me;
So that, deeming her divine,
I can languish, Aveep and pine, With so plain a truth before me.
Mine would be an easy case
If a happy resting-place In her den she could insure me;
Then for solace to my woe
Far I should not have to go, — E'en the vilest herbs might cure me.
'Tis from Glycera proceeds
Grief with which my bosom bleeds Beyond solace or assistance.
Glycera commands my fate.
As she pleases to dictate Death is near or at a distance.
Sure of ice that heart is made
Which no pity can invade. Even for a single minute;
But whatever faults I see.
In my soul still bideth she, — Room for thee is not within it.
ORIGINAL.
Philis qui me voit le teint bleme,
Les sens ravis de moi-meme, Et les yeux trempe's chaque jour,
Cherchant la cause de ma peine,
Se figure, tant elle est vaine, Qu'elle m'a donne de I'amour. ^,,-!^
Je suis marri que la colere
Me porte jusqu'k lui de'plaire; Mais pourquoi ne m'est-il permis
De lui dire qu'elle s'abuse,
Puisqu'k ma honte elle s'accuse De ce qu'elle n'a point commis?
SONGS OF THE AFpECTtONS.
En quelle ecole nompareille Auroit-elle appris la merveille
De si bien charmer ses appas, Que je pusse la trouver belle, Palir, transir, languir pour elle,
Et ne m'en appercevoir pas?
Oh qu'il me seroit desirable
Que je ne fusse miserable Que pour etre dans sa prison !
Mon mal ne m'etonneroit gueres,
Et les herbes les plus vulgaires M'en donneroient la gue'rison.
C'est de Glycere que procbdent
Tous les ennuis qui me possedent, Sans remede et sans reconfort :
Glycere fait mes destinees;
Et comme il lui plait, mes anndes Sent ou pres ou loin de la mort.
C'est bien un courage de glace, Ou la pitie n'a point de place,
Et que rien ne pent e'mouvoir;
Mais, quelque de'faut que j'y blame, Je ne puis I'oter de mon ame,
Non plus que vous y recevoir.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
SONG.
Attributed to King Henry IV. Bom 1553, died 161a
ORNING bright
Rise to sight,, Glad am I thy face to see; One I love, All above, Has a ruddy cheek like thee.
Fainter far
Roses are, Though \vith morning dew-drops bright,
Ne'er was fur
Soft hke her — Milk itself is not so white.
When she sings,
Soon she brings List'ners out from ev'ry cot,
Pensive swains
Hush their strains. All their sorrows are forgot.
She is fair,
Past compare. One small hand her waist can span.
Eyes of light —
Stars, though bright. Match those eyes you never can.
Hebe blest.
Once the best Food of gods before her placed;
When I sip
Her red lip I can still the nectar taste.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS,
ORIGINAL.
ViENS, Aurore,
Je t'implore, Je suis gai quand je te voi.
La bergere,
Qui m'est chere, Est vermeille comme toi.
De rosee
Arrosee, La rose a moins de fraicheur;
Une hermine
Est moins fine; Le lait a moins de blancheur.
Pour entendre
Sa voix tendre On deserte le hameau,
Et Tityre,
Qui soupire, *
Fait taire son chalumeau.
EUe est blonde,
Sans seconde; EUe a la taille a la main;
Sa prunelle
Etincelle Comme I'astre du matin.
D'ambroisie,
Bien choisie, Hebe la nourrit ^ partj
Et sa bouche,
Quand j'y touch e, Me parfume de nectar.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
SONG. (Cruel tyran de mes desirs.)
Marquis de Racan. Bom 1589, died 1670.
Honorat de Bueil, Marquis de Racan, was one of the most celebrated poets of the seventeenth century, and one of the first members of the French Academy.
'ESPECT, thou art a tyrant stem, And harsh indeed is thy decree, That with whatever pain I bum,
I must endure it quietly. Oh, let me to the rocks confess The secret of my heart's distress !
The silence of these woods is deep, My secret they will never tell;
Here constantly the echoes sleep, And here repose will ever dwell.
The zephyrs only can confess
The secret of my heart's distress.
These shady boughs, so thickly spread,
ConsoHng to my grief appear; The bitter tear-drops that I shed
Seem to receive a welcome here. Here, only here, I can confess The secret of my heart's distress.
Though passion urges me to speak Whene'er the lovely nymph is near.
She, who my heart can captive make. Then makes my tongue her fetters wear.
lo SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
To her I do not dare confess, E'en by a sigh, my heart's distress.
Her eyes seem not of mortal birth, Nought rivals their celestial fires.
The Maker of the heavens and earth In them His masterpiece admires;
Her beauty, — that, I will confess,
Is worthy of my heart's distress.
If kindly fortune will, at last,
ShoAv that I have not prayed in vain. If after many seasons past.
My love its rich reward shall gain, — Then to the rocks will I confess How lovers taste true happiness.
I'LL LOVE THEE.
Anonymous.
I'll love thee while the rosy-fingered dawn Heralds the day-god's coming reign of light ;
I '11 love thee while the goddess Flora's gifts Adorn fair bosoms with their blossoms bright.
I'll love thee whilst the swallows to their nests Return upon the breezes of the spring;
I'll love thee while the turtles of the wood Their mournful love-lays on the branches sing.
I '11 love thee while the tranquil wave reflects The light and colour of the summer heaven;
I'll love thee while great Nature's precious gifts To us and to the earth are yearly given.
I'll love thee while the shepherd trusts his dog. The faithful guardian of his fleecy care;
I '11 love thee while the butterfly delights
To hover o'er June's blossoms, sweet and fair.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
II
I '11 love thee while upon the flow'ry mead The happy lambkin finds a sweet repose ;
I 'II love thee — soul of my own life ! — until The zephyr ceases to adore the rose.
I '11 love thee while a spark of Love's bright torch Shall light the path of life with faintest ray;
Our soul was given us that we might love, And I will love thee till my dying day!
THE AVARICIOUS SHEPHERDESS. (L^Avaricieuse.)
DuFRESNv. Bom 1648, died 1724.
Charles Riviere Dufresny was not only a poet, but also a musician and draughtsman, and an architect of some renown in the reign of Louis XIV, It was, however, as a poet he was most famous ; and while he shone in light comedy, he is looked upon as the predecessor in many respects of the more celebrated Abbe Lattaignant
HiLLis, somewhat hard by nature,
Would not an advantage miss, She asked Damon — greedy creature ! — Thirty sheep for one small kiss.
Lovely Phillis, on the morrow, Cannot her advantage keep;
She gives Damon, to her sorrow, Thirty kisses for one sheep.
On the morrow, groA\Ti more tender, Phillis, ah ! has come to this, Thirty sheep she will surrender For a single loving kiss.
Now another day is over,
Damon sheep and dog might get For the kiss which he — the rover ! —
Gave for nothing to Lizette.
12 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
WISHES. (Les Souhaits.)
The Abb6 de Lattaignant. Bom 1690, died 1775.
Few writere have attained greater celebrity in their day than the Abbe Lattaignant, whose facility in writing and singing songs made him the delight of the fashionable circles in Paris tosvards the middle of the last century. This true specimen of the Abb^ Galant of former days turned devout in bis old age, and died in a monastic establishment.
Oh, my dearest I
Oh, my fairest ! For thy favour I implore.
I will be
True to thee, I will love thee evermore.
If I had an hundred hearts
Never should one stray from thee, If I had an hundred hearts Every one should feel thy darts. Oh, my dearest, &c.
If an hundred eyes were mine.
Thee alone those eyes would see; If an hundred eyes were mine Every one on thee would shine.
Oh, my dearest, &c.
If an hundred tongues I had,
They should speak of nought but thee; If an hundred tongues I had. All should talk of thee, like mad. Oh, my dearest, &c.
If I were a potent god
Then immortal thou shouldst be, If I were a potent god All should worship at thy nod.
Oh, my dearest, &c.
If five hundred souls you were You for her should rivals be,
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
If five hundred souls you wete All should love this beauty rare. Oh, my dearest, &c.
Had you reached your hundredth year- Young mth her would Nestor be, — Had you reached your hundredth year Spring through her would re-appear. Oh, my dearest, &c.
ORIGINAL.
Ma mie,
Ma douce amie, R^ponds k mes amours.
Fidele
A cette belle, Je I'aimerai toujours.
Si j 'avals cent coeurs,
lis ne seraient remplis que d'elle; Si j'avais cent coeurs, Aucun d'eux n'aimerait ailleurs. Ma mie, &c.
Si j'avais cent yeux.
Ills seraient tons fixe's sur elle; Si j'avais cent yeux, lis ne verraient qu'elle en tons lieux. Ma mie, &c.
Si j'avais cent voix,
EUes ne parleraient que d'elle; Si j'avais cent voix, Toutes rediraient k la fois: Ma mie, &c.
Si j'dtais un dieu,
Je voudrais la rendre immortelle ; Si j'dtais un dieu On I'adorerait en tout lieu. Ma mie, &c.
M
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Fussiez-vous cinq cents,
Vous seriez tous rivaux pr^s d'elle; Fussiez-vous cinq cents, Vous voudriez en etre amants. Ma mie, &c.
Eussiez-vous cent ans,
Nestor rajeunirait pour eile; Eussiez-vous cent ans, Vous retrouveriez le printemps. Ma mie, Ma douce amie, Reponds a mes amours. Fidele
A cette belle, Je I'aimerai toujours.
SONG. (Ah Dim ! que laflamme est cruelle.)
Jean Desmarets. Born 1595, died 1676.
Jean Desmarets occupies a conspicuous place in the annals of the Court of Louis XIII., on account of his share in the tragedies attributed to Cardinal Richelieu.
Heaven ! how cruel is the flame
Which Love has destined me to feel! I wait upon a fickle dame. And though she's false, I love her still.
More constant is the roving wind, More constant is the rolling sea ;
Proteus was apt to change, we find, — He never changed so oft as she.
On me she now bestows her grace. Love 's not enough, she will adore ; Now lets another take my place, And vows she ne'er saw me before.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 15
The other, boasting of my fall, Soon finds his exultation vain;
His bark is shattered by the squall, And I am safe in port again.*
I try all art's and nature's tricks, And all a lover's brain can plot,
Hoping this quicksilver to fix, Yet ne'er advance a single jot.
But whatsoever faults I see,
This is the grief I most deplore, —
I cannot set my spirit free. In spite of all, I must adore.
With jealous rage her door I spurn, And swear I never will go back;
But still I find my feet return. They will not leave the ancient track.
We quarrel now, and now forgive, — Mine is a \\Tetched case, no doubt;
I plainly see I cannot live Or with my tyrant or without.
THE ROSE-BUSH.
De Leyke. Died 1717. This romance is a French cradle-song — familiar to many generations.
I PLANTED it, I saw its birth,
This lovely rose-bush — whence at mom
The song of birds upon its boughs Is to my chamber window borne.
Ye joyous birds — a loving crowd — For pity, sing no more, I pray;
For my true love, who made me blest. Is gone to countries far away.
'* Compare Horace's Ode, Lib. L 5.
i6
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
For treasures of the rich New World
He flies from love, and death he braves;
With happiness secured in port,
Why should he seek it on the waves?
Ye swallows of the wandering wing, Whom every spring return we see —
Faithful, although ye wander far — Oh, bring my lover back to me !
OH! MAMMA. (Ah ! vous dirai-je, maman ?)
What young lady, who has taken half a dozen lessons on the piano, is unacquainted with the air of ' 'A h ! vous dirai-je, " which IS by some attributed to Rameau? The words, which are anonymous, are less generally known.
H, mamma, how can I tell
In my heart what torments dwell? Since I saw that handsome swain Eyeing me, could I refrain From this little wicked thought : — Without loving — life is nought?
Me into a bower he took, And with wreaths adorned my crook, Which of choicest flowers he made. Then, "My dear brunette," he said, "Flora's charms are less than thine, Ne'er was love to equal mine.
" Being /formed with charms like these, You should love and try to please; Made for love, say teachers sage, Is the spring-time of our age ; If a longer time we wait, We regret, when 'tis too late."
Then I felt the blushes start, Then a sigh betrayed my heart.
^ONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 17
Damon trained in Cupid's school Showed he was no simple fool;
I had fled, but he said " No "— Ne'er was maiden puzzled so.
Then I feigned to sink with dread, Then I from his clutches fled. But Mhen I was safe at last, Through my heart the question past, Mingling hope mth bitter pain : Shall I see his face again?
Shepherdesses, mark my words, Nothing love, beside your herds. Of the shepherds pray beware. If they look with tender air. If they tender thoughts reveal, Oh, what torment you may feel !
ORIGINAL.
Ah ! vous dirai-je, maman, Ce qui cause mon toumient? Depuis que j'ai vu Silvandre Me regarder d'un air tendre, Mon coeur dit k tout moment : Peut-on vivre sans amant ?
L'autre jour dans un bosquet, De fleurs il fit un bouquet,
II en para ma houlette,
Me disant: "Belle brunette, Flore est moins belle que toi, L'amour moins tendre que moi.
"Etant faite pour charmer, II faut plaire, il faut aimer, C'est au printemps de son age Qu'il est dit que Ton s'engage; Si vous tardez plus longtemps, On regrette ces moments."
iS
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Je rougis et, par malheur, Un soupir trahit mon coeur; Silvandre, en amant, habile, Ne joua pas I'imbecile : Je veux fuir, il ne veut pas : Jugez de mon embarras.
Je fis semblant d'avoir peur, Je m'echappai par bonheur; J'eus recours h. la retraite. Mais quelle peine secrete Se mele dans mon espoir, Si je ne puis le revoir.
Bergeres de ce hameau, N'aimez que votre troupeau, Un berger, prenez-y garde, S'il vous aime, vous regarde, Et s'exprime tendrement, Peut vous causer du tourment.
•^^s
I'LL NOT SHOW OVER-HASTE. (Je ne veux pas me press er.)
The Duke de NiveRnois.
OVE 's a foolish thing, no doubt,
Mother says so every day; Love we cannot do ^nthout. When we're handsome, young, and gay. Good mamma, when at my age, Youth's dehghts, no doubt, would taste ; I shall be, too, — I '11 engage, When my time comes, — won- drous sage, But I 'II not show over-haste.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 19
At the dance the other night,
CoHn on me cast an eye; I appeared embarrassed — quite,
Seemed as though I wished to fly. But my steps were very slow,
Hurry would have been misplaced, No disdain I A^ished to show. When the men torment us so —
We should fly, but not with haste.
Colin with his vows \nll come,
When the light of morning breaks ; When at night our flocks go home,
Colin still profession makes. Most indifferent I appear,
Though his words are to my taste, And my tender heart, I fear, I shall give it up, oh, dear !
But I'll not show over-haste.
I have seen how turtle-doves,
Though a tenderness they feel For their ardent feathered loves,
Show a firm resistance still. For my pattern I \nll take
Doves Anth so much prudence graced. Such their lovers ne'er forsake — Binding vows I, too, will make,
But I '11 not show over-haste.
POOR JACQUES. (Fauvre Jacques. )
MARCrilONESS DE TrAVANET.
This little song, which was quite the rage a few years before the first Revolt;tion, owed its origin to a circumstance which occurred while the " Petite Suisse," an artificial Swiss village, R-as constructed at the Little Trianon, for the amusement of Queen Marie Antoinette. .\. Swiss peasant-girl, who was brought from Switzerland with some cows to heighten the illusion, was observed to look melancholy, and the exclamation " Pauvre Jacques ! " showed that she was pining for a distant lover. The Queen was so touched by the girl's sorrow, that she sent for
2 — 2
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Jacques, and gave her a wedding portion : while the Marchioness de Travanet was moved lo write the song of " Paiivrc Jacques," to which she also composed the music.
Poor Jacques, when I was close to thee, No sense of want my fancy crossed;
But now thou livest far from me, I feel that all on earth is lost.
When thou my humble toil Avouldst share,
I felt ray daily labours light; Then every day appeared so fair;
But what can make the present bright?
I cannot bear the sun's bright ray, When on the furrowed plain it falls;
When through the shady wood I stray, All nature round my heart appals.
Poor Jacques, when I was close to thee, No sense of want my fancy crossed ;
But now thou livest far from me, I feel that all on earth is lost.
ORIGINAL,
Pauvre Jacques, quand j'etais pres de toi,
Je ne sentais pas ma misere; ]\Iais a present que tu vis loin de moi,
Je manque de tout sur la terre. {bis^
Quand tu venais partager mes travaux,
Je trouvais ma tache legere, T'en souvient-il? tous les jours etaient beaux;
Qui me rendra ce temps prospere? {bis.)
Quand le soleil brille sur nos gue'rets,
Je ne puis souflfrir la lumiere : Et quand je suis a I'ombre des forets,
J 'accuse la nature entibre. {bis)
Pauvre Jacques, quand j'etais pres de toi,
Je ne sentais pas ma misere;
Mais a present que tu vis loin de moi,
Je manque de tout sur la terre, {bis)
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
21
THE INFIDELITIES OF LISETTE. (Zes Infidelites de Lisette.)
B^RANGER. Bom 1780, died 1857.
Pierre Jean de B^ranger was bom at Paris in 1780, at the house of a tailor, his grandfather, who had the charge of his infancy. At the age of nine years he witnessed the taking of the Bastille, which made an indelible impression on his memory. Shortly afterwards he left Paris for Peronne, where he became apprentice in the printing establishment of M. Laisney, and the task of couiposing seems to have given him the first notions of li.eature. A primary school founded at Peronne, on the principles of Jean Jacques Rousseau, completed his youthful education ; and when he returned to Paris, at the age of sixteen, he began to wnte epic, dramatic, and religious poems, inspired by studies of Moliere and Chateaubriand. At the same time, however, while suffering the severest privations, he made several essays in that style of writing to which he owes his celebrity, and to this period of his life belong those Ij-rical expressions of a joyous poverty, of which./?<7»er Botttemps, Les Gtteux, and Le Vieil Habit may be cited as excellent specimens.
The poverty of Beranger proved at last too much for his patience, indomitable as this virtue appears in his effusions. In 1803, finding himself totally \vithout resources, he sent a number of his poems to Lucien Bonaparte, brother of the First Consul. Lucien was a patron of literature, and at once obtained for Beranger an allowance from the Institute. The fortunes of the poet now took a new turn, and in i8oq he obtained an appointment connected with the University, which he held for twelve years. His salary never exceeded 2,000 francs (;C8o), but as his habits were extremely simple, this was all he required, and his natural love of independence prevented him from soliciting promotion.
In 1813 he gained admission to the Cavean on the ftrength of two of his most popular songs, Les Gtteux and Les IttfideliUs de Lisette, and now distinguished himself above the rest of the
22 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
members by those inimitable songs, in which hearty good-humour and a frank spirit of inde- pendence almost compensate for very lax morality. As yet his principal themes of song were the joys of the bottle and the charms of the Grisette ; though he gave signs of his future political tendency by two of his most popular songs, Le Senatenr and Lc Roi d'Vvciot.
It was after the Restoration that he assumed that indignant tone, in which he endeavoured to stimulate the hatred of the masses against the Court, the aristocracy, and the foreigners who had brought back the Bourbons. Through the freedom of the songs which he now WTOte, he not only lost his situation, but was subjected to a heavy fine and three months' imprisonment. This punishment only served to increase his audacity. When the term of his imprisonment had expired, he again shone forth as the democratic poet /lar excellence, and the profanity of one of his songs (Le bon Dieu) furnishing a pretext for prosecution, he was again sent to prison in December, 1828, his term of confinement on this occasion being nine months.
The Revolution of July not only put an end to the persecutions of the poet, but opened a path to fortune. However, that love of independence, which is his noblest characteristic, would not allow him to accept any place even under a friendly government. He still continued to publish his songs, and even, when after the Revolution of 1848 he was elected a member of the Constituent Assembly by more than 200,000 votes, he resigned his honours as speedily as possible.
As a happy appearance of spontaneity constitutes one of the principal charms of Beranger's poems, the following remarks by M. Destigny, who has written a tolerably elaborate article on the poet in the " Nouvelle Biographie Universelle," will probably surprise those who imagine that easy reading is an indication of easy writing :
" Beranger produces nothing at the first impulse, or as the result of a happy inspiration. He broods over his thoughts, matures them, analyses them, and connects them before he casts them into the mould which is to give them their form. It is not until he has got the ensemble of his work that he arranges the separate parts, and polishes it with that scrupulous care and inimit- able tact which were employed by Benvenuto Cellini in the carving of a crown. Even in his most trifling songs it is impossible to discover a single useless epithet or forced expression. His style is clear, precise, and pure to a degree which sets all criticism at defiance."
The above biography may appear disproportionately long ; but it should be borne in mind that Beranger is the song-writer of France par excellefue, while many authors named in this collection are men distinguished as authors in other branches of literature. Moreover, there will be found frequent occasions to refer to the periods at which the different songs of Beranger were \vritten, for there is no poet whose words have a more intimate connection with his own worldly condition and the history of his country.
LiSETTE, who o'er my glass
Will, like a despot, reign, Compelling me — alas !
To beg a drop in vain. No chicken now am I,
Yet you my qiiantuin fix; When, dearest, did I try
To reckon up your tricks? Lisette, O my Lisette,
You're false — but let that pass — A health to the grisette; And to our love, Lisette,
I '11 fill another glass.
Young Lindor swaggers so,
Your cunning he defies; I own he whispers low,
But then he loudly sighg.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 23
Your kind regards for him
Already he has told, So fill up to the brim,
My dearest, lest I scold. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c.
Clitander — happy knave —
With him I found you out : The kisses that he gave
You took without a pout, And then repaid him more :
Base girl, remember this. And let my glass run o'er, —
A bumper for each kiss ! Lisette, O my Lisette, &c.
Mondor, who ribbons brings,
And knick-knacks which you prize. Has ventured on strange things
Before my very eyes; I've seen enough to make
A modest person blush; Another glass I'll take
These rogueries to hush. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c.
One evening to your door
I came with noiseless tread, A thief, who came before.
From out your window fled. I had, before that day,
Made that same rascal flee. Another bottle, pray.
Lest I too plainly see. Lisette, O my Lisette, &c.
Upon them every one
Your bounties you will heap, And those, with whom you've done.
You know I'm forced to keep.
24
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
So drink with them I will, You shall not balk my vein.
Pray be my mistress still,
Your friends shall still be mine.
Lisette, O my Lisette, &c.
ORIGINAL.
Lisette, dont I'empire
S'etend jusqu' h. mon vin, J'eprouve la martyre
I3'en demander en vain. Pour souffrir qu'^ mon age
Les coups me soient comptes, Ai-je compte, volage,
Tes infidelite's ? Lisette, ma Lisette,
Tu m'as trompe toujours; Mais vive la grisette ! Je veux, Lisette,
Boire h nos amours.
Lindor, par son audace,
Met ta ruse en defaut; II te parle h. voix basse,
II soupire tout haut. Du tendre espoir qu'il fonde
II m'instruisit d'abord. De peur que je n'en gronde,
Verse au moins jusqu' au bord, Lisette, ma Lisette, &c.
Avec I'heureux Clitandre
Lorsque je te surpris, Vous comptiez d'un air tendre
Les baisers qu'il t'a pris. • Ton humeur peu severe
En comptant les doubla; Remplis encor mon verre
Pour tous ces baisers-lL Lisette, ma Lisette, &c.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Mondor, qui toujours donne
Et rubans et bijoux, Devant moi te chiffonne
Sans te mettre en courroux. J'ai vu sa main bardie
S'egarer sur ton sein; Verse jusqu' h. la lie
Pour un si grand larcin. Lisette, ma Lisette, &:c.
Certain soir je pdnbtre
Dans ta chambre, et sans bruit, Je vois par la fenetre
Un voleur qui s'enfuit. Je I'avais, des la veille,
Fait fuir de ton boudoir. Ah ! qu'une autre bouteille
M'empeche de tout voir ! Lisette, ma Lisette, &c.
Tous, comble's de tes graces,
Mes amis sont les tiens; Et ceux dont tu te lasses,
C'est moi qui les souticns. Qu'avec ceux-la, traitresse,
La vin me soit permis : Sois toujours ma maitresse,
Et gardons nos amis. Lisette, ma Lisette, &c.
26
SOACS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
THE STORM. (LOrage.)
Fabre d'Eglantine. Bom 1755, guillotined 1794.
Few would recognize the sanguinary revolutionist Fabre d'Eglantine in this simple pastoral. He was also celebrated as a dramatist, and his comedy " Le Philinte de Moliere" is generally contained in collections of classical French plays.
THE Storm is gathering o'er thee,
The rain is falling fast, Quick, drive thy flock before thee,
And to my cottage haste; I hear the rain-drops patter,
As on the leaves they light; Now comes the thunder's clatter —
Now come the flashes bright.
The thunder is awaking,
Its voice is dra^^^ng near; Thy lover's right arm taking,
Come, hasten ^vithout fear. Another step, another, —
There stands my cottage home, My sister and my mother
To welcome us have come.
A welcome, mother, give me,
And thou, my sister, too; A bride I've brought, believe me,
To pass the night ^^^th you. My love, the fire will cheer thee.
Thy clothes will soon be dry. My sister will sit near thee,
And here thy sheep shall lie.
Sure never flock was fatter!
We'll give tliem all our care. And choicest straw we'll scatter
For this thy lambkin fair.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. vj
'Tis done; and now, my dearest, We'll take our seats by thee;
In stays how thou appearest ! My mother, only see.
Thy place for supper take, love.
Sit close beside me — so, For thee the log shall make, love,
A bright and cheerful glow. In vain the milk invites thee.
No appetite hast thou. The thunder still affrights thee,
Or thou art weary now.
Is't so? thy couch is this, dear.
Where thou till dawn shalt rest ; But let one loving kiss, dear,
Upon thy lips be pressed. And do not let thy cheek, love,
Be thus with blushes dyed; At noon thy sire I'll seek, love,
And claim thee for my bride.
I LOVE THEE!
Fabre d'Eglantine.
I LOVE thee, dear! I love thee, dear!
More than I e'er can tell thee, sweet! Although each time I draw my breath.
Those ardent words my lips repeat : Absent or present, far or near, " I love thee ! " are the words I sigh ; This only do I feel or speak.
Alone with thee, or others nigh.
To trace " I love " a hundred times, Can now alone my pen engage.
Of thee alone my song now rhymes : Reading — thou smilest from the page!
28 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
If Beauty greets my wandering glance, I strive thy look in hers to trace;
In portraits or in pictures rare, I only seek to find thy face.
In to^\Tl or country, wandering forth,
Or if within my home I keep. Thy sweet idea I caress —
It blends with my last thought in sleep. When I awake I see thy face,
Before the day-beams win my sight. And my heart faster flies to thee,
Than to mine eyes the morning light.
Absent, my spirit quits thee not;
Thy words unheard my soul divines; I count thy cares, thy gentle steps —
I guess the thought thy heart enshrines. Have I returned to thee once more?
Heavenly delirious joy is mine ! I breathe but love — and well thou knowest,
Dearest, that breath is only thine !
Thy heart 's mine all ! my wealth ! my law !-
To please thee every thought I give ! In thee — by thee — for thee alone
I breathe, and only seek to live ! What more can mortal language say? —
My treasure ! girl whom I adore ! — Gods ! that I love thee ! and desire
Only that I cotdd love thee more !
ORIGINAL.
JE T'AIME TANT.
Je t'aime tant, je t'aime tant : Je ne puis assez te le dire,
Et je le rep^e pourtant A chaque fois que je respire.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 29
Absent, present, de pres, de loin, Je t'aime est le mot que je trouve :
Seul, avec toi, devant temoin, Ou je le pense ou je le prouve.
Tracer j'c faime en cent fagons
Est le seul travail de ma plume; Je te chante dans mes chansons,
Je te lis dans chaque volume. Qu'une beaute m'offre ses traits,
Je te cherche sur son visage; Dans les tableaux, dans les portraits
Je veux demeler ton image.
En ville, aux champs, chez moi, dehors,
Ta douce image est caresse'e ; Elle se fond, quand je m'endors,
Avec ma derniere pensee; Quand je m'eveille je te vois
Avant d'avoir vu la lumiere, Et mon coeur est plus vite a toi
Que n'est le jour a ma paupiere.
Absent je ne te quitte pas ;
Tous tes discours je les devine. Je compte tes soins et tes pas;
Ce que tu sens, je I'imagine. Pres de toi suis-je de retour !
Je suis aux cieux, c'est un de'lire; Je ne respire que I'amour,
Et c'est ton souffle que j'aspire.
Ton coeur m'est tout, mon bien, ma loi;
Te plaire est toutc mon envie; Enfin, en toi, par toi, pour toi,
Je respire et tiens h. la vie. Ma bien-aimee, 6 mon tresor !
Qu'ajouterais-je k ce langage? Dieu ! que je t'aime ! Eh bien ! encor
Je voudrais t'aimer davantage.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
THE ROSE. (La Rose.)
Gektil Bernard. Born 1710, died 1775.
Pierre Joseph Bernard, complimented by Voltaire with the appellation of " Genlil," which has become a part of his name, gained an immense reputation by his light poetry in the reign of Louis XV., and was especially patronized by Madame de Pompadour. His long poem " L' Art d' Aimer," which created a great sensation when read in the fashionable circles of the day, sank in public opinion as soon as it was printed.
ENDER offspring of Aurora,
Zephyr's favourite, lovely Rose, Sovereign of the realms of Flora,
Haste thy beauties to disclose. Nay, alas! — what have I said? —
Stay awhile, — the very day That beholds thy charms displayed,
Also sees them fade away.
^ And a flower, newly blooming,
Is young Chloe, like to thee; Both are now with beauty glowing,
Short-lived both are doomed to be. From thy stalk at once come down.
Let her in thy hues be dressed; Of all flowers thou art the crown,
Also be the happiest.
On young Chloe's breast expiring.
Let it be thy throne and tomb, I no other lot desiring
Shall be jealous of thy doom. Teach her to give up her arms
To the god whose power is known; Singing thy expiring charms.
Let her learn to use her own.
ORIGINAL.
Tendre fruit des fleurs de I'A.urore, Objet des baisers du Ze'phyr,
Reine de I'empire de Flore, Hate-toi de t'epanouir.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 31
Que dis-je, helas, dififere encore,
Differe un moment k t'ouvrir, Le jour qui doit te faire eclore
Est celui qui doit te fle'trir. {bis.)
Palmire est une fleur nouvelle
Qui doit subir la meme loi; Rose, tu dois briller comme elle,
Elle doit passer comme toi. Descends de la tige epineuse,
Viens la parer de tes couleurs; Tu dois etre la plus heureuse,
Comme la plus belle des fleurs. {bis.)
Va, meurs sur le sein de Palmire,
Qu'il soit ton trone et ton tombeau, Jaloux de ton sort, je n'aspire
Qu' au bonheur d'un trepas si beau. Qu' enfin elle rende les armes
Au dieu qui forma nos liens, Et qu'en voyant perir tes charmes,
Elle apprerme %. jouir des siens. {bis.)
LOVE.
(L Amour.)
The Chevalier de Boufflkrs. Bora 1737, died 1815.
Stanislas, Chevalier de Boufflers, was one of the stars of the age of Louis XV., being celebrated in fashionable circles as the idol of the fair sex, and as a writer of that light poetry which was so much esteemed in his day. In the latter capacity he was one of the members of the Diners dii Caveaic. He also did good service of a more serious kind, as Governor of Senegal.
Young Love is a deceitful child,
My mother says to me. Although his aspect is so mild,
A very snake is he. But I am curious, after all, To know how one who is so small
So terrible can be.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
With pretty Cliloe, yesterday,
A swain I chanced to see: Such soft sweet words I heard him say,
Sincere he sure must be. A httle god I heard him name, And ah ! it was the very same
My mother named to me.
Now, just to find out what is meant,
And solve the mystery, Young Cohn, — 'tis my firm intent, —
Shall seek for Love with me. Though Love be ne'er so fierce and mid, We two for such a tiny child
A match will surely be.
CUPID, SENTINEL. {JJ Amour Sentinelled
The Chevalier de Cubi&re. Bom 1752, died 1820.
PORTING gaily with each other Through thegroves the Cupidsstrayed, And Cythera's queen, their mother.
Fondly watched them as they played. Suddenly they were united !
To one spot at once they flew, Chloe's lovely face invited
All the little sportive crew.
Some upon her forehead settled,
Others in her eyes would rest, Others, who were higher mettled,
In her tresses found a nest. Thus a picture v.'as invented,
Fitted to surprise and please,— Mighty Flora is presented
Covered v^dth a swarm of bees.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
33
One young Cupid, who was perching
Just upon her opened hp, Falling off— audacious urchin ! —
On her bosom chanced to slip. Then all thoughts of flight Avere over,
For he loved his place so well That he ceased to be a rover,
And remained a sentinel.
THE LOVE OF ANNETTE FOR LUBIN. (L Amour d'' Annette pour Lubin.)
Favart. Born 1710, died 1792.
Charles Sjirton Favart was one of the earliest poets of French comic opera, who still lives in the name given to the edifice of the Opera Comique at Paris. Aniiette et Lubin, an opera from which the above song is taken, was one of the most popular of his works.
HOUGH young, and yet untaught,
New feelings sway me now; This love I never sought; —
It came, I know not how. Unknown its name has been
Until this fatal day; — When we to love begin,
To love are we a prey?
Thine accents seem to touch My soul, as with a charm. Thy words I love so much,
They seem my heart to warm. Apart from thee I feel A blank through every day. Will nought this anguish heal — Nought drive this love away?
The flowers thy dear hand gives
With fond delight I wear; At eve thou pluck'st their leaves
To make me perfumes rare.
34
SOA^GS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Annette thou seek'st to please, Thy care she would repay;
But ah ! — what pains are these^ And what can heal them, pray?
MY NORMANDY.
FkJ^d^ric CArat. Bom 1810, died 1853.
Tlic air to the above words, which a few years ago was almost as popular in England as in France, was composed by the author, Frederic Berat.
When gloomy Winter takes his flight,
When all begins to bloom anew, And when the sun with softest light
Returns to deck our sky so blue;
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 35
And when the swallows we can see,
And when fresh green o'erspreads the earth,
I long for my own Normandy, For that's the land that gave me birth.
Among the glaciers I have been,
Where from the vale the chalet peers, The sky of Italy I've seen,
And Venice mth her gondoliers; And, leaving all, I've said, "To me
There is a land of greater Avorth ; Nought can excel my Normandy,
For that's the land that gave me birth."
The life of man a period knows
When every youthful dream must cease, When the tired soul desires repose,
And in remembrance finds its peace. When dull and cold my muse shall be.
And end her songs of love and mirth. Oh, then I'll seek my Normandy,
For that's the land that gave me birth.
ORIGINAL.
QuAND tout renait h. I'esperance,
Et que I'hiver fuit loin de nous. Sous le beau ciel de notre France,
Quand le soleil revient plus doux. Quand le nature est reverdie,
Quand I'hirondelle est de retour, J'aime k revoir ma Normandie,
C'est le pays qui m'a donne le jour.
J'ai vu les champs de I'Helv^tie,
Et ces chalets et ces glaciers. J'ai vu le ciel de I'ltalie,
Et Venise et ses gondoliers. En saluant chaque patrie,
Je me disais : Aucun sejour N'est plus beau que ma Normandie,
C'est le pays qui m'a donne le jour.
3—2
36 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
II est un age dans la vie Ou chaque reve doit finir,
Un age oh I'ame recueillie • A besoin de se souvenir.
Lorsque ma muse refroidie Aura fini ses chants d'amour,
J'irai revoir ma Normandie,
C'est le pays qui m'a donne le jour.
THE PORTRAIT. (Le Portrait.)
Anonymous. 1814.
Dear portrait of a form that I adore,
Dear pledge, which love was happy to obtain, What I have lost, oh, bring to me again !
In seeing thee I feel I live once more.
Here is her look, her frank and winning air; With her loved features so adorned thou art, That I can gladly press thee to my heart.
And think it is herself I'm pressing there.
But no; her living charms thou canst not show, Thou witness of my sorrows, mute and dead ; Recalling pleasures that, alas ! have fled.
Thou mak'st my tears, thou cruel portrait, flow.
Nay, of my hasty language I repent.
Pardon the ravings of my heart's distress; Dear portrait, though thou art not happiness,
Its image to my soul thou canst present.
ORIGINAL.
Portrait charmant, portrait de mon amie, Gage d'amour, par I'amour obtenu. Ah ! viens m'offrir le bien que j'ai perdu,
Te voir encore me rapelle a la vie. {pis.)
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
37
Oui, les voil^ ces traits, ces traits que j'aime;
Son doux regard, son maintien, sa candeur.
Lorsque ma main te presse sur mon coeur, Je crois encore la presser elle-meme.
Non, tu n'as pas pour moi les memes charmes, Muet temoin de mes tendres soupirs : En retragant nos fugitifs plaisirs,
Cruel portrait, tu fais couler mes larmes.
Pardonne-moi cet injuste langage,
Pardonne aux cris d^ ma vive douleur : Portrait charmant, tu n'es pas le bonheur,
Mais bien souvent tu m'en offres I'image. (Ms.)
ELVIRA'S CASTLE WALL. (Ze Chateau d'Elvire.)
Anonymous.
ENEATH Elvira's castle wall,
A troubadour, whose tuneful strings
Are moistened by the tears that fall,
Thus of his anguish sadly sings : "When at the tourney thou didst reign,
A queen all rivals far above, I felt indifference was vain, And then I first began to love.
"A harmless wish inspired my heart,
I merely longed thy form to see ;
Why wilt thou — cruel as thou art —
From my adoring glances flee } No law of thine I ever broke, Let my respect thy pity move; If once too heedlessly I spoke, 'Twas only once -I told my love.
38
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
" The torch of life is flickering fast,
And soon methinks 'twill cease to bum; A glance upon my tomb thou 'It cast,
My poor remains thou wilt not spurn. Thou 'it murmur in thy sweetest tone,
And echoes to soft answers move, — The troubadour beneath this stone
Loved once, and only once could love."
MY COAT.
(Mon Habit.)
B^RANGER.
This song belongs to the same period as Les Infidelitis de Lisette.
Y poor dear coat, be faithful to the end :
We both grow old ; ten years have gone, Through which my hand has brushed thee, ancient friend;
Not more could Socrates have done. If weakened to a threadbare state,
Thou still must suffer many a blow; E'en like thy master brave the storms of fate,
My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no!
I still can well remember the first day
I wore thee, — for my memory's strong; It was my birthday; and my comrades gay
Chanted thy glories in a song. Thy poverty might make me vain;
The friends who loved me long ago, Though thou art poor, will drink to thee again;
My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no!
This fine-drawn rent — its cause I ne'er forget, —
It beams upon my memory still; I feigned one night to fly from my Lisette,
And even now her grasp I feel.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 39
She tore thee, but she made more fast
My fetters, while she wronged me so; Then two whole days in mending thee she past :
My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no.
Ne'er drugged with musk and amber hast tliou been,
Like coats by vapid coxcombs worn; Ne'er in an antechamber wert thou seen
Insulted by the lordling's scorn. How wistfully all France has eyed
The hand that ribbons can bestow! The field-flower is thy button's only pride, —
My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no!
We shall not have those foolish days again
When our two destinies were one. Those days so fraught with, pleasure and with pain,
Those days of mingled rain and sun. I somehow think, my ancient friend,
Unto a coatless realm I go; Yet wait awhile, together we will end, —
My good old coat, we'll never part — oh, no!
EMMA'S TOMB. (Le Tombeau d'Emma.)
Parny. Bom 1742, died 1814.
The Chevalier Evariste de Parny, though his name is rendered infamous by the authorship of the obscene and blasphemous poem La Guerre des Dieux, holds a high rank amon<{ the poets of Beranger's youthful period. Beranger has honoured his memory with a song, and the elegance of his classical compositions has obtained for him the name of the "French TibuUus. "
Awake, my verse, sole comfort of my woe, And with my tears of sorrow freely flow.
My Emma's solitary tomb is here.
Within this resting-place her virtues sleep;
Like lightning, kindled but to disappear, /
Didst thou o'er earth, beloved Emma, sweep.
40 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
I saw death fling its sombre, sudden shade Over the sunny morning of tliy days: Thine eyes umvilHng seemed to quench their rays,
And slowly could I see their lustre fade.
The youthful throng, — that vain and empty crowd, Who on her will Uke worshippers would hang,
And hymn her beauty forth in praises loud, — Could see her die without a single pang.
When their dear benefactress they had lost. Not e'en the poor, to whom she was so kind, Within their hearts a single sigh could find,
With which to silence her complaining ghost.
Perfidious friendship, with its smiling face. Now laughs as loudly as it laughed before;
The dying image it could soon efface.
And for a passing hour its mourning wore.
Upon this earth thy memory liveth not. Thy tender constancy no more they prize. But from thy tomb they coldly turn their eyes;
Thy very name is by the world forgot.
Love, love alone is faithful to its grief, Not even Time can teach it to forget;
Within the shades of death it seeks relief. And finds incessant sighs to mourn thee yet
I come, ere morning breaks, my tears to shed. My pain grows more intense in day's full light, I weep amid the silence of the night.
And I am weeping still when night has fled.
Awake, my verse, sole comfort of my woe, And with my tears of sorrow freely flow.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
41
REMINISCENCES. (Les Souvenirs.)
Chateaubriand. Born 1769, died 1848.
The name of Francois Auguste, Viscount de Chateaubriand, needs no comment. It is not on his songs that his celebrity depends, but Les Souvenirs deserves a place in every collection of French poetry.
My childhood's home — that pleasant spot By me can never be forgot ! How happy, sister, then appeared Our country's lot.
0 France! to me be still endeared,
Be still revered.
Our mother's form remember'st thou? '
1 see her by the chimney now, Where oft she clasped us to her breast.
While on her brow Our lips the white locks fondly pressed; Then were we blessed !
42 SOA'GS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
And, sister, thou remember'st yet
The castle, which the stream would wet;
And that strange Moorish tower, so old,
Thou 'It not forget; How from its bell the deep sound rolled,
And day foretold.
Remember'st thou the lake's calm blue? The swallow brushed it as he flew — How with the reeds the breezes played;
The evening hue With which the waters bright were made,
In gold arrayed.
One image more — of all the best — The maid whom to my heart I pressed, As youthful lovers we would stray,
In moments blest, About the wood for ^\ild flowers gay —
Past, past away!
Oh! give my Helen back to me, — My mountain and my old oak-tree; I mourn their loss, I feel how drear
My hfe must be; But, France! to me thou ^^^lt appear
For ever dear.
MARIE'S DREAM. (Le Rhe de Marie.)
G. Lemoine. Bom 1786.
"And you would quit, Marie, Your mother dear. And Paris you would see, While she weeps here!
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 43
Yet stay awhile, oh, stay!
You need not go till morning breaks; Sleep here until the day
\\'ithin my arms my child awakes. 'Tis better, poor Marie,
To pause as yet; For all at Paris, they tell me,
Their God forget. Perchance, you may, my poor Marie, Your mother and your God forget."
The girl is sinking now
In dreams of bliss. Upon her mother's brow
She prints a kiss. But even while she sleeps,
The watchful mother still she hears, Who by her bedside weeps.
And softly whispers through her tears — **Tis better, poor Marie," &c.
She leaves her native home
With weeping eyes, To Paris she has come, — -
Oh, bright surprise! There all appears to trace
In lines of gold her future lot, And dazzling dreams efface
The image of her humble cot. "Tis better, poor Marie," &c.
Heaven, when two years have past,
Bids her return, To her Savoy at last
She comes — to mourn. "Therese, — oh, happy day! —
My brother too I see. — And Where's my mother, pray?" — "She died through losing thee."
44 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
At once the vision fled —
She sleeps no more : The watchful mother at her bed
Sits as before: She cries, "No Paris now for me," —
Her eyes with tears of joy are wet; "For then, perhaps, your poor Marie
Her home and mother might forget,'
THE ROSEBUD. (Le Bouton de Rose.)
Princesse dk Salm.
Bud of the rose! Happier than I thou mlt be ! For destined thou art to my Rose, And Rose is a blossom Uke thee —
Bud of the rose !
On the bosom of Rose Thou goest to die, happy flower ! If I were a bud of the rose. With joy I should die in an hour
On the bosom of Rose.
The bosom of Rose, Thy rival, sweet rosebud, may prove; Fret not, pretty bud of the rose, Nought equals in beauty or love
The bosom of Rose.
Bud of the rose. Adieu ! My Rose coming I see ! Ah ! if transmigration life knows, Ye gods ! I implore you, make me
A bud of the rose !
£d.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 45
ORIGINAL.
BouTON de rose ! Tu seras plus heureux que moi I Car je te destine a ma Rose, Et ma Rose est ainsi que toi —
Bouton de rose !
Au sein de Rose, Heureux bouton tu vas mourir ! Moi, si j'etais bouton de rose, Je ne mourrais que de plaisir —
Au sein de Rose.
Au sein de Rose, Tu pourras trouver un rival; Ne joute pas, bouton de rose Car en beaute rien n'est egal,
Au sein de Rose.
Bouton de rose, Adieu ! Rose vient, je la vois ! S'il est une metempsychose, Grands dieux ! par pitie, rendez moi
Bouton de rose !
MY FATHER'S COT. (JO humble toit de mon Pere.)
Anonymous.
Of palaces, temples, and trophies they boast. Which lovely Italia lifts up to the skies.
The work of a fairy we deem them almost, Their magical grandeur so dazzles the eyes;
But oh ! in my heart they can ne'er rank above
My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love.
46
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
They talk of the gardens of Araby Blest,
O'er which the bright sun ever scatters his hues,
Where earth in spring's garment for ever is dressed, And never its flowers and fruits can refuse;
But oh ! in my heart it can ne'er rank above
My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love.
Those countries which beauties so glorious adorn, — Those temples, — those flowers, — stir no envy in me.
Though cold is the country in which I was bom. We love there as well, and there Hfe is more free.
So hail to the North, — there is nought ranks above
My father's poor cot, where I learned how to love.
THE WOODLAND FLOWER. (Petite Flew des Bo is.)
Emile Barateav. Bom 1792.
I\I. Emile Earateau is one of the most prolific of modern song-writers, and La fettle Fletirdci Bois is one of the most jxjpular of his productions.
little woodland flower
^Vha always art concealed. Through forest and through field I Ve sought thee many an hour, That I might have the pow'r This simple truth to tell : Indeed, I love thee well. Thou little woodland flower.
Thy simple loveliness No gaudy colour shows, But yet true pleasure glows From thy white spotless dress. My lip I would incline Unto thy cup divine. Knowing that nought is there To cause a single tear. Thou little woodland flower, &c.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 47
Into a ray of flame
Our mutual love we bind, Then in my soul I find
Our pleasures are the' same. I love the birds that sing, The shade the branches fling, The golden-winged fly, As pleased he springs on high.
Each fair one seems to bear A name of pow'r divine. And such a charm is thine,
Thou mak'st me hold thee dear;
For thee I fondlv seek.
To thee my griefs I speak, And say, "Oh, come to me, And let me dote on thee."
Thou little woodland flower, &:c.
ALFRED'S TOMB. (Le Tomhcau d^ Alfred.)
Anonymous.
This song is evidently a sequel to Le Chateau d'Ehire (see p. 37), and was written to the
same air.
Night o'er the face of eartli was spread,
But still Elvira sleepless lay; While in soft whispers near her bed,
A voice complaining seemed to say: " It was thy coldness sealed my doom.
But death from thee was surely sweet; Three days will pass, and in his tomb
Thy slighted Alfred thou wit meet."
The morning now was bright and clear, But though the phantom shunned tlie day,
Elvira fancied she could hear The murmurs as they passed away.
48
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
She shrank from the impending doom, And trembling she would oft repeat, — "Three days wall pass, and in his tomb The slighted Alfred I shall meet."
A fever burning like q. flame
Upon Elvira's vitals preyed, And then a fearful vision came, —
She thought it called her — and obeyed. To hapless Alfred's tomb she went,
The clock struck twelve, — her tott'ring feet Failed, — she, the fair indifferent,
Has gone at last her love to meet.
GOD PROTECT YOU! (A la grace de Dieii.)
G. Lemoixe.
The songs bj' M. Gustave Lemoine have alxjut them a simple pathos which gives them a high rank among modem lyrical compositions. The sentiment they express is generally the regret felt by a rural inhabitant of the town for the pleasures of his native home. The resetted countiyis usually Bretagne ; though in this poem, which is dated 1856, the subject is that emigration from Savoy which is often a pathetic theme with French writers.
ow from our hills you must depart
And Avander through a world too wide, Torn from your tender mother's heart,
Who can no longer be your guide. Parisians, you our children keep
Bestowed on you by Heaven's hand, We poor Savoyard mothers weep, But send them from their native land. Saying, Adieu, adieu. May God above watch over you!
Should I ne'er see your face again ! — The hour has come, and you must go,
^^'hile your poor mother seeks in vain For strength her blessing to bestow.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 49
Oh, pray to God in foreign climes,
And He will all your labours bless, And on your mother think sometimes, — The thought will give you happiness. My child. Adieu, adieu, May God above watch over you!
Away the lowly exile went
To toil beneath another sky. The mother, on her form intent,
Followed the wand'rer with her eye; And when at last the form was gone,
Her grief through all its fetters broke, She wept aloud, — the lonely one, —
While still her child departing spoke :
My mother dear, Adieu,
May God above watch over you !
MARIE STUART.
Jean Pierre Claris Florian. Born 1755, died 1794.
In vain I mourn: these prison walls
Alone my mournful sighs repeat; Memory, that former bliss recalls,
Moje bitter makes the woe I meet. Beyond my prison bars I see
The sweet birds through the free air sweep. Singing their loves at liberty,
Whilst I in hated fetters weep.
Whatever fate may crush me here
(Unfortimate but not to blame), My heart A^ill meet Avithout a fear.
And to the future trust my fame. Perfidious — cruel — barb'rous foe !
Hatred shall dog thy coming years. While o'er the tomb where I lie low.
Pity will shed her tenderest tears.
50 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Ye dreary vaults— abode of fears
And home of silence, — ah ! how long
The captive's weary day appears, Spent weeping o'er a cruel ^\Tong!
I hear around my cell alway
The howling wind — the owlet's cry —
The bell's deep toll : to me they say, "Mary, thine hour strikes; thou must die!"
ORIGINAL.
En vain de ma douleur afifreuse
Ces murs sont les tristes echos; En songeant que je fus heureuse
Je ne fais qu'accroitre mes maux. A travers ces grilles terribles
Je vois les oiseaux dans les airs: lis chantent leurs amours paisibles,
Et moi je pleiure dans les fers!
Quel que soit le sort que m'accable,
Mon coeur saura le soutenir, Infortune'e, et non coupable,
Je prends pour juge I'avenir. Perfide et barbare ennemie,
On detestera tes fureurs, Et sur la tombe de Marie
La pitie versera des pleurs.
Voiites sombres, sejour d'alarmes,
Lieux au silence destines, Ah! qu'un jour passe dans les larmes
Est long pour les infortunes! Les vents sifflent, le hibou crie,
J'entends une cloche gemir, Tout dit \ la triste Marie:
Ton heure sonne, il faut mourir!
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
51
THE SWALLOW AND THE EXILE. (LHirondelle et le Proscrit.)
This beautiful song, which is dated 1819, is published with the name of Fougas as its author. However, according to MM. Dumersan and Segur, this is merely a nojii de guerre, under which a very celebrated poet is concealed.
HY, feathered wanderer, why
this hasty flight ? Come, swallow, rest awhile and perch by me: Why dost thou fly me thus when I invite ? Know'st not I am a foreigner like thee?
Perhaps, alas ! from thy dear native home A cruel fate has driven thee, like me.
Come, build thy nest beneath my window, Know'st not I am a traveller like thee?
come;
Both in this desert, Fate commands to dwell : Dear swallow, do not fear to rest by me:
If thou complainest, I complain as well; Know'st not I am an exile e'en like thee?
4 — 2
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
But when the spring returns with smile so sweet, Then my asylum thou wilt quit, and me;
Then wilt thou go, the Zephyr's land to greet; Alas, alas! 1 cannot fly like thee.
The country of thy birth thou then wilt find, The nest of thy first love; but as for me,
The chains of destiny so firmly bind, — To me belongs compassion, not to thee.
ORIGINAL.
PoURQUOi me fuir, passagere hirondelle, Ah ! viens fixer ton vol aupres de moi.
Pourquoi me fuir lorsque ma voix t'appelle, Ne suis-je pas etranger comme toi. {his.)
Peut-etre, helas! des lieux qui t'ont vu naitre, Un sort cruel te chasse ainsi que moi,
Viens deponer ton nid sous ma fenetre, Ne suis-je pas voyageur comme toi. {pis^
Dans ce desert, le destin nous rassemble, Va, ne crains pas de rester avec moi,
Si tu gemis, nous gemirons ensemble, Ne suis-je pas exile comme toi. (bis^
Quand le printems reviendra te sourire, Tu quitteras et mon asile et moi:
Tu voleras au pays du Zephire;
Ne puis-je, he'las! y voler comme toi. (pis^
Tu reverras ta premiere patrie,
Le premier nid de tes amours . . . et moi, Un sort cruel confine ici ma vie;
Ne suis-je pas plus k plaindre que toi? ibis.)
SONGS OF TH^ AFFECTIONS. 53
THE SWALLOWS.
(Les Hirondelks.)
Jean Pierre Claris Flokian.
How I love to see the swallows
At my window every year, For they bring the happy tidings Smiling spring is drawing near. "In the same nest," soft they whisper, "Happy love once more shall dwell; Only lovers who are faithful Tidings of the spring should tell."
When beneath the icy fingers
Of the first frosts fall the leaves, Swallows gather on the house-tops,
Singing as they quit the eaves, "Haste away, the sunshine's fading,
Cruel winds the snow will bring; Faithful love can know no winter;
Where it dwells is always spring."
If — unhappy! — one be taken
By a cruel infant's hand. Caged and parted from its lover —
Captive in the winter land; Soon you'll see it die of sorrow,
While its mate, still lingering nigh, Knows no further joy in sunshine.
But on the same day mil die.
Ed.
ORIGINAL.
Que j'aime ^ voir les hirondelles A ma fenetre tous les ans,
Venir m'apporter les nouvelles De I'approche du printemps.
54 SOATGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
"Le meme nid," me disent elles, "Va revoir les memes amours, Ce n'est qu'^ des amants fideles A vous annoncer les beaux jours."
Lorsque les premieres gele'es
Font tomber les feuilles du bois, Les hirondelles rassemblees, S'appellent toutes sur les toits; - -' "Partons, partons," se disent elles,
"Fuyons la neige et les autans. Point d'hiver pour les cceurs fideles, : lis sont toujours dans le printemps."
Si par malheur, dans le voyage,
Victime d'un cruel enfant, Une hirondelle mise en cage,
Ne peut rejoindre son amant; Vous voyez mourir I'hirondelle,
D'ennui, de douleur, d'amour, Tandis que son amant fidele
Pres de la meurt le meme jour.
THE KNELL.— A DIRGE. (Le Glas.)
Jouv. 1799 — 1846.
Night o'er the sky has spread her veil,
The storm with hollow roar draws near; Tn the stars' glimmer, cold and pale,
We read a sentence full of fear. Wliat feeble sound — O mother, tell ! —
Tolls 'neath our trees and does not cease? It is the monastery bell : —
Immortal spirit, pass in peace.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. $5
Perhaps, while life was a spring day,
Radiant with light below, above, A maiden's soul is called away
From all the charms of early love. While all caress her, she must die !
Must part from all, her life must cease; Sweet love and earthly hope must fly. —
Immortal spirit, pass in peace.
Or that sad bell may tell instead
A dying soldier's mournful tale, Who oft in glorious battle bled.
Yet dies within his native vale. Ah, Heaven ! his end from suffering shield :
My soldier-father's own decease Was in his home — not on the field. —
Immortal spirit, pass in peace.
Great God, what deathlike silence reigns !
I hear no more the solemn bell. That, telling us of mortal pains,
In dying murmurs faintly fell. Those eyes will shed no more the tear;
The birds' songs on the branches cease: Alas ! alas ! O mother dear. —
Immortal spirit, pass in peace.
ORIGINAL.
La nuit a de'ploye ses voiles :
L'orage s'avance en grondant; Sur le front jDale des etoiles
Se lit un arret menagant. Quel faible bruit vient, 6 ma mere,
Tinter sous nos arbres epais? C'est la cloche du monastere —
Ame immortelle, allez en paix.
Peut-etre au printemps de sa vie, Quand tout presageait de beaux jours,
Une vierge est-elle ravie
Aux charmes des premiers amours !
56 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Tout caressait son existence ;
II faut tout quitter pour jamais: L'Amour fuit avec FEspe'rance —
Ame immortelle, allez en paix.
Peut-etre cat airain qui sonne
En longs et tristes tintements, D'un soldat qu'e'pargna Bellone
Annonce les demiers instants. O ciel ! adoucis sa misere :
Mon pere, soldat et Frangais, Mourut aussi dans sa chaumiere —
Ame immortelle, allez en paix.
Grand Dieu ! quel funebre silence !
Je n'entends plus le son mourant Dont la triste et sombre eloquence
Vient de finir en murmurant. L'oiseau se tait sous la ramee :
Vos ycux se sont clos pour jamais; Helas ! ma mbre bien-aime'e —
Ame immortelle, allez en paix.
YOU LEFT US ONCE.
(De mon Village on ne voit plus Paris.)
E. Barateau. Song dated 1834.
You quitted us, now bitter tears you shed; Leaving a sad remembrance of the past, Your joys, like rapid moments, all have fled — The joys you fancied would for ever last.
Then come with me, sweet mourner, come.
Forgotten let thy sorrows be; Believe me, — from my village home This Paris we can never see.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
S7
And in your rustic go\vn once more appear, That necklace for your cross of silver leave;
Cease all these gaudy ornaments to wear, They will reproach you still, though I forgive.
Then come with me, sweet mourner, come, &c.
Oh, hasten with me to that happy spot, Where childhood's joys together we have known;
Come see my meadow green, my pleasant cot, — Come, — cottage, meadow, all shall be your own. Then come with me, sweet mourner, come, &c.
LINES TO MY GODDAUGHTER, AGED THREE MONTHS.
(Couplets d via Filleule.)
B^RANGER.
PRETTY godfather am I !
You doubtless think 'tis all a blunder; That such a choice should make you cry,
Indeed, my child, I do not wonder. A table spread with sweetmeats o'er
Would much improve me, I dare say; — Still, dearest godchild, weep no more,
For I may make you laugh some day.
Your name in friendship I bestow, For friends this post in friendship give me; I'm not a mighty lord — oh, no; Yet I'm a honest man, beUeve me. Before your eyes no glittering store
Of costly gifts can I display; — Still, dearest godchild, weep no more. For I may make you laugh some day.
Though even virtue is confined
By Fate's stem laws, which sore oppress her, Godma and I uill bear in mind
Our godchild's happiness — God bless her!
58 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
While wandering on this rugged shore, Good hearts should never feel dismay;
So, dearest godchild, weep no more, For I may make you iaugh some day.
Years hence, upon your wedding-day.
New store of songs you'll find me bringing, Unless I am where good CoUe
And stout Panard have left off singing. Yet 'twould be hard to die before
A feast where all will be so gay; — My dearest godchild, weep no more,
I'll make you laugh upon that day.
THE FALL OF THE LEAF. ^Lucy, oil la chute desfeuilles.)
Emile Barateav.
'TwAS at the time when summer flowers decay, And leaves fall trembling from the trees, That Lucy's mother, ill at ease, Thus heard her daughter, fondly dreaming, say: "Yes, dearest mother, I shall be his wife. And to his happiness devote my life, — And I am young, dear mother, you know well:'' But down, a-down, the sere leaves fell.
" Alas ! how distant seems the wedding-day. When I the ring of gold shall wear, And joyfully enwTeath my hair With those white orange-flowers that brides array. Then I, thy daughter, he, thy son, ^nll be United in one tenderness for thee: ♦ Together in such happiness we'll dwell:" But down, a-do\vn, the sere leaves fell.
"Then in the winter, mother, at the ball, 'Is she not lovely?' all will say: My mother, do not weep, I pray; I'm well, quite well, why let those tear-drops fall?
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
59
Yes, I am better — banish all thy fears, Indeed, indeed, there is no cause for tears; With certain hope I feel my bosom swell : " But down, a-down, the sere leaves fell.
A month had past, and autumn now was gone,
I saw a new-erected tomb
Which on the valley cast a gloom. And plainly read a name upon the stone — 'Twas Lucy's name. Think what her mother felt, When bowed by heavy grief in prayer she knelt. When heaven-turned eyes her anguish told too well,- Oh, then no more the sere leaves fell.
THE TURTLE-DOVE. (Za Tourterellc.)
Emile Varin.
M. Emile Varin was one of the writers for the Theatre du Vaudeville before it was burned down in 1836. The above song is dated 1844.
/^URTLE-DOVE,
Bird of love,
All thy efforts are in vain —
Here thou must remain. Though thy mngs thy prison beat, Echo only will repeat
Thy sighs and mine;
Here must I pine E'en as thou, sweet turtle-dove. Without love.
My gentle fav'rite, my companion dear, We want for nothing, and I tend thee well ; We love each other, yet our love is drear — Whit makes us thus a-weary, canst thou tell? Sprmg with his smile so bright We at our window see.
6o SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Our souls with new delight Cry, "Joy, we wait for thee."
Turtle-dove, &c.
The forest trees now put their foliage on,
The almond its new flower begins to wear; This genial sun could animate a stone : When all is joyous, why do we despair? Two hearts that are a prey
To flames that nought can still, When all around is gay. Access of torment feel.
Turtle-dove, &c
Thou peck'st my finger with thy pretty beak; Soft is thy plumage, mild that eye of thine. And graceful is thy many-coloured neck,
A thousand channs thou seemest to combine. Thou *rt vain, thou small coquette,
With pride I see thee swell, Thou seemest glad, but yet A flight would please thee well.
Turtle-dove, &c.
To pity's warning shall I give no ear,
Or do I dread that scolded I shall be? Away, away %vith such ignoble fear !
But then I feel the pain of losing thee. If once I ope thy door.
What pleasure wilt thou taste, How freely wilt thou soar. And to the greenwood haste !
Turtle-dove, &c.
Freedom ! — its joys thou canst anticipate ; For thee it is a life which love endears; To linger here alone is my sad fate; — Still be thou happy — leave me to my tears. What ! fly'st thou not beyond
The vacant willow-tree? No ! but with murmur fond, Thou comest back to me.
Turtle-dove, &c.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
6]
Thanks ! thanks ! thou wilt remain — oh, happiness !
With all my soul thy silken plumes I kiss; Come, give me fond caress for fond caress : To think that friendship can give joy like this ! Thou patient turtle-dove,
I '11 find for thee a mate, Whom thou may'st truly love, When I have — changed my state.
Turtle-dove, &c.
I MUST FORGET. (Faut roiiblier.)
Naudet. Born 1786. Date of song, 1816.
"I MUST forget him," said Colette,
"No shepherd could more faithless be; He leaves me for a vain coquette,
And vowed he would love none but me. Ye happy hours of love, adieu !
Ye false and cruel oaths, farewell ! That made me think his heart was true; Now nought shall in my memory dwdl— I must forget.
"I must forget him— yes, but how? 'Tis Colin speaks in all I see; 'Twas here he made his earliest vow Beneath the branches of this tree. 'Twas here he saw me every morn,
And here sometimes Avith ribbons fine He would my rustic crook adorn ; But now Colette alone must pine — I must forget.
"I must forget, I must forget,"
With heavy sighs she still would say, And to repeat it, poor Colette
Would rise before the break of day.
62
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
And through the day, with whisper soft, The one sad thought she would reveal,
And when she slept at night, she oft Amid her dreams would murmur still — "I must forget."
HER NAME.
(Son mm,)
G, Lemoine. Song dated 1836.
HE name of her whom I adore
Within my bosom I conceal, I guard it as a precious store.
And ne'er my happiness reveal.
Sacred from curious eyes I must
Preserve that name, my heart's delight; Vv'ith it no paper dare I trust.
That name on sand I may not wTite. The breeze I trust not, that might bear
To other ears a name so sweet; No echo must my secret hear,
For echoes would the name repeat. The name of her, &c.
My bosom with new thoughts it fires.
While whisp'ring in its softest tone; Though all my verses it inspires,
That name remains unsung alone. But yet that name, which nought can tell.
If she came near, — oh, sweet surprise !— You soon, I fear, would read it well,
For 'twould be written in my eyes. The name of her whom I adore.
Which such high rapture makes me feel. Although I guard it more and more.
Will from its prison sometimes steal.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
63
When some sweet flower to us is dear,
We fear that it will perish soon; That sacred name I would not bear
'Mid those who throng the light saloon. The treasure for myself I keep,
I breathe it at the break of day, I breathe it when I sink to sleep,
And feel it lull my soul away. The name of her whom I adore
I only to my heart reveal, I guard it as a precious store.
And ever will my joy conceal.
FAREWELL. (Ilfaiii quitter ce que f adore.)
Hoffman. Bom 1760, died 1828. He composed many operas ; the most celebrated is Les Rendezvous Bourgeois.
BID farewell to all that's dear,
With all my happiness I part; To-day I still can see thee near.
To-morrow tears thee from my heart. To-day my parting words receive.
And let us heal all wounds to-day; But let our love, while yet we live,
Ne'er from our memory pass away.
Oh ! do not all thine anguish show,
Give not fresh food to my despair; Thy tears unman me as they flow,
E'en my own grief I scarce can bear. But though our hearts forget to grieve,
And think no more of this sad day, Still let our love, while yet we live.
Ne'er from our memory pass away.
Some day, upon a distant shore, Of every hope and joy bereft,
64
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
The thought of her I now adore Will be the only solace left.
So, comfort I shall yet receive, While I repeat these words each day,
Our love, my dearest, while I live. Shall ne'er from memory pass away.
LOVE ME WELL. (Aime mot bien.)
£. GoLA. Song dated 1838.
H, love me, love me, I implore,
I have no faith but in thy heart ; Thou hast the balm to heal the sore, —
In mercy, love, that balm impart. One only stay on earth I feel,
The hope which makes my bosom swell. So, wouldst thou see me living still,
Oh, love me truly, — love me well.
Oh, love me, love me, — nought have I To cheer me in this world so drear ; No tender mothers heart is nigh, No sister, with a pitying tear. Friends, glory, prospects, — all are gone,
A hapless exile here I dwell : Nought have I, save thy love alone, Then love me truly, — love me well.
(
Oh, love me, love me, — to repay
Thy love, my life I'll dedicate, The thoughts of ev'ry passing day
To thee alone I'll consecrate. I '11 guard thee wth a parent's care,
Thy name shall by my mother's dwell, And Avith it rise in every prayer:
Oh, love me truly, — love me well.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 65
I '11 love thee as the bee the flower
In which the fragrant honey lies, As nightingales the evening hour,
And as the star adores the skies. A guardian angel, I'll watch o'er
Thy soul, and every harm repel; But in return I still implore,
Oh, love me truly, — love me well.
THE MOTHER AT THE CRADLE. (Pres d tin Berceaii.)
Nettement. . Born 1815. Song dated 1843.
The fisherman, aroused by morning's ray.
Hastes to observe the aspect of the day;
Hoping that Heaven will grant him breezes mild, —
Thus of thy prospects do I dream, dear child.
What fate, sweet angel, is awarded thee?
Wilt thou a man of peace or warrior be?
A holy priest, — the idol of a ball, —
A radiant poet, — statesman, — general?
But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast, Thou blue-eyed angel, rest, — oh, rest !
He's for a warrior born, his eyes proclaim, And I shall take proud pleasure in his fame; A simple soldier he will soon advance : He's now a general, — Marshal, now, of France. Where thickest is the fight he takes his place. Through raining bullets shines his radiant face; The foemen fly, — the victory is won, — Sound, trumpets, for the victor is my son 1 But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast. Thou future general, rest, — oh, rest !
But no ! too much 't would pain thy mother's heilf t If in war's dreadful game thou took'st a part; Oh, rather be the temple thy abode, While calmly flow thy days before thy God.
5
66
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Be thou the lamp, Ht with the altar's light, — The fragrant incense which the seraphs bright With their loud hymns to the Eternal bear; Be thou the very perfumed breath of prayer.
But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast,
Thou holy Levite, rest, — oh, rest !
Yet pardon, Lord, I err through love's excess, Slighting Thy wisdom in my tenderness; If I have sinned, oh, punish only me, — 'Tis I alone who wanted faith in Thee. A prayer, and nothing further, wilt thou deem Whate'er fond mothers at the cradle dream. Choose Thou his calling, — Thou who reign'st above, Thou art supreme in Avisdom as in love.
But meanwhile, on thy mother's breast
Rest peacefully, sweet angel, rest !
MY LOVE IS DEAD. (Ma belle Amie est morte.)
. T. Gautiek. Born iSoS.
It is scarcely necessary to state that M. Theophile Gautier is one of the most celebrated poets and wittiest fetiilletonistes of the present day.
he's gone, my lovely maid, And I am left to weep,
My heart and love are laid Within the grave so deep.
She came from heaven above, She there returns to dwell;
The angels took my love. But took not me as well.
The bird without a mate Still mourns the absent one,
To weep too is my fate. For all I loved is gone.
SONGS OF THE AFFFXTIONS. 67
My love, how fair thou wert, And oh! I loved thee so,
That I am sure my heart No more such love will know.
She's gone, my lovely maid, And I am left to weep,
My heart and love are laid Within the grave so deep.
ORIGINAL.
Ma belle amie est morte, Je pleurerai toujours : Dans la tombe elle emporte Mon ame {bis) et mes amours.
Dans le ciel, sans m'attendre,
Elle s'en retourna,
L'ange qui I'emmena
Ne voulut pas me prendre.
Ma belle, &c.
La colombe oubliee Pleure et songe h. I'absent. Mon ame pleure et sent Qu'elle est depareillee. Ma belle, &:c.
Ah ! comme elle etait belle, Et comme je I'aimais; Je n'aimerai jamais Une femme autant qu'elle.
Ma belle amie est morte,. Je pleurerai toujours : Dans la tombe elle emporte' Mon ame {bis) et mes amours;.
5—2
68 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
THE CASTLE. (Le Casicl.)
Anonymous. Thb song, without name and without date, seems to be universally known In France.
Within a castle, old and gray,
Young Hermann's infancy was past, While Nature, with her gentle sway,
To fair Amelia bound him fast. About the lonely spot they stayed ;
In peace was passed life's early mom; 'Twas here their forefathers were laid,
'Twas here their youthful love was bom.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 69
The voice of glory Hermann hears,
No more at home he must remain; The fair AmeHa, with her tears,
Attempts her hero to retain. But vainly has she wept and prayed, —
From that old castle he is torn — 'Twas there his forefathers were laid,
'Twas there his early love was bom.
Young Hermann lies upon the ground,
His valour's victim, soon he fell ; And from his lip escapes a sound —
The name of her he loves so well. He thinks his pains would be allayed,
He thinks his state were less forlorn, If carried where his sires were laid.
And where his youthful love was bom.
Once more Amelia's form is near;
He tries to speak, but vainly tries; He fondly clasps that hand so dear,
He lays it on his heart, — he dies ! Amelia sees his bright eye fade, ,
She is not destined long to mourn ; They both are with their fathers laid,
Aiid love expires where he was bom.
ORIGINAL.
Un castel d'antique structure
Vit I'enfance du jeune Hermand : Son coeur, guide par la nature,
Aimait Adele encore enfant; Tous deux, dans ces lieux solitaires,
Coulaient en paix leurs premiers jours; C'etait le tombeau de ses pbres,
Et le berceau de ses amours.
Mais bientot la gloire cruelle Appelle Hermand, il faut partir;
^o SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Par ses larmes, la tendre Adele Esp^re encor le retenir;
Inutiles pleurs et priferes,
Hermand renonce 5, ses beaux Jours;
II fuit le tombeau de ses pbres, Et le berceau de ses amours.
Aux combats, trahi par son zele,
Le brave Hermand est terrassd; Dans un soupir, le nom d'Ad^le
Echappe ^ son coeur oppresse, Ses peines seront moins ameres,
S'il peut seulement quelques jours Revoir le tombeau de ses peres,
Et le berceau de ses amours.
Arrivd prbs de son amie,
II veut parler, mais c'est en vain; II veut presser sa main cherie,
II la presse, helas ! il s'eteint. Adele ferme ses paupieres,
La douleur termine ses jours; Aussi le tombeau de leurs peres
Est le tombeau de leurs amours.
TENDER REGRETS.
(Tendres regrets.)
Andkieux, Born 1739, died 1833.
Smiling dreams of happy youth, Ah ! how quickly are you past !
Must intoxicating joy
Only for a moment last?
Happy age when all is bright. When each object gives us joy;
Inexpressible delight
Dawning still wthout alloy.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 71
Can we feel a second time
Love that does each thought enchain? Ashes may rekindled be,
But in flames ne'er burst again.
f Nothmg now can stir my heart,
From all passions it is free,
Yet there lives ^vithin my soul
An image and a memor\^
ORIGINAL. Air : Venus sur la iitolle verdure.
SoNGES riants de la jeunesse. Que vous nous quittez promptement ! Faut-il qu'une si douce ivresse Ne dure pas plus d'un moment?
Age heureux 011 tout semble aimable, Oil chaque objet offre un plaisir, Vif attrait, charme inexprimable, Le coeur s'dpuise h, te sentir.
Pourrait-il d'un feu qui devore Eprouver deux fois les effets? Des cendres s'e'chauffent encore, Mais ne se rallument jamais.
II n'est plus rien, rien qui m'enflamme Je languis triste et sans de'sirs; Mais il est au fond de mon amc Une image et des souveiiirs.
72
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
LEONORE,
( Eleanor e.)
Anonymous.
RUE, I adored thee yesterday,
For then my eyes were bandaged fast; But now my love has passed away,
False one, thou art unveiled at lastj Though, Leonore — though even yet
I feel thy beauty as before, And past delights perhaps regret,
I love thee, traitress, now no more.
There is a lustre in thy smile,
Grace is thy nature, not a task; The coldest heart thou canst beguile
Within thine influence to bask. Could she who claims affection now
Combine the charms that I deplore With her own truth ! — unmatched art thou,
And yet I love thee now no more.
Another soon will take my place,
And will thy chosen fav'rite be, Lured by thy sparkling Avit — thy grace;
He too will be deceived like me. Our love was a mistake, but still
I can be jealous, Leonore, And envious of thy victims feel, —
And yet I love thee now no more.
Perchance some day 'twill be our lot
In some secluded place to meet; And 'twill be pleasant — will it not? —
To tell of joys to memory sweet. And then perhaps new-waked desire
Will give me back my Leonore, And then my soul will be on fire, —
But yet I love thee now no more.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
73
THE BALL. (UBal) '■ -
Louis Festeau.
Few poets have produced a greater number of popular poems than M. Louis Festeau, who was one of the founders of the convivial society called Le Cymtiase Lyrique in 1824.
ND he is married, — faithless one !
And he this icy note can write; In such a cold, insulting tone,
Me to the ball he can invite ! I '11 go, arrayed in all my pride, . Although I feel my wound is deep, And cheerfully salute his bride, — Yet grant, 0 Heaven, I do not weep.
My carriage swiftly rolls along,
And I am trembling, — not with fear; At yonder door the light is strong. At last we stop, — then is it here? How brilliant is the crowd — how gay!
Here pleasure bids all anguish sleep; Yes, careless I will be, as they, — Still grant, O Heaven, I do not weep.
Now I behold him in the dance.
Of happiness his features speak; Now he approaches, — from his glance
Oh, let me hide my pallid cheek; And who is she, that girl so fair? —
Ay, I must pay her reverence deep; For her my lips a smile shall wear, —
So grant, O Heaven, I do not weep.
Then shall I join the dance ? — Oh, no !
My feet can scarce my will obey. Yet I am fair, — he told me so.
And looked so well with a bouquet.
74
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Now he regards me with a sneer: Madness I feel upon me creep;
No longer let me linger here, Far from the happy let me weep.
AN AVOWAL. ( Un Aveu.)
Baralli. Dated 1840.
,<^- H, do not refuse me, — I love thee, Mane, Than life thou'rt a hundred times dearer to me; My worship is that which we raise to the skies. I love thy clear voice, and thy brow ever fair, Thy modest apparel, thy light sunny hair, And the blue of thine eyes.
M Oh, give me that love, undivided and whole, ^ Which wakens with life, and expires with the soul. That true woman's love, and in turn I '11 adore : v^ And when passing years write their trace on thy brow, )' Those moments of joy, which enrapture us now, To thy heart I '11 restore.
And if thou 'It not love me, still let me, I
pray, Adore thy blue eye, and its pure, gentle ray ; Those features, which never can fade from the sight; And let me thy sweet eighteen summers combine To one flow'ry wreath, and thy forehead entwine With love and delight.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
75
THE BLACKSMITH. (Le Forgeron.)
G. Lemoine.
Y anvil, my anvil, thy big lusty voice Within my black dwelling can make me
rejoice : A fig for the strains in which lovers repine ! They never can equal that loud song of
thine."
Singing with incessant clamour
Bang, Bang, Bang — Roger all day used his hammer,
Clang, Clang, Clang. Nothing seemed his heart to touch. Round about they feared him much. And would quake at every note When they heard his brazen throat, " My anvil, my anvil," &c.
Once the anvil sounded mildly,
Clang, Clang, Clang — Roger's heart was beating wildly.
Bang, Bang, Bang — He had seen young Rosa pass, — Only fifteen was the lass ; Wooed her, won her, and next day Thus was heard the blacksmith's lay: ''My anvil, my anvil, pray soften thy voice, A sweet song of love should my Rosa rejoice; Within my black dwelling a star will she shine, And thou must subdue that wild ditty of thine."
Very naughty once was Rose,
Bang, Bang, Bang, — And the neighbours heard three blows,
Clang, Clang, Clang; Then there came a silence dread, — All thought Rosa must be dead,
76 SOJVGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Burst the door — the spouse unfeeling, Lo ! before his wife was kneeling. ''O Rosa, dear Rosa, pray list to my voice, — A blow from thy hand makes my bosom rejoice; Pray beat me all day; to this hard cheek of mine No silk is so soft as that white hand of thin:."
ORIGINAI
Enclume cherie, 6 mes seules amours, Bien fort, bien fort retentis toujours; Ta voix si jolie, en mon noir sejour, Rdsonne mieux qu'un doux chant d'amour. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. {quater.)
Chantant d'une voix sonore
En frappant pan ! pan ! pan ! Roger forgeait des Faurore,
Martelant, pan ! pan ! pan ! Le forgeron, fort peu sensible Passait partout pour si terrible, Qu'il faisait trembler le quartier, Lorsqu'il chantait k plein gosier. Enclume, che'rie, &c.
Sa forge allait un dimanche,
Doucement, pan ! pan ! pan ! Son coeur battait en revanche,
Violemment, pan ! pan ! pan ! C'est qu'il avait vu passer Rose, Fleur de quinze ans h. peine eclose, II met des gants, ofifre sa main, Et fredonne le lendemain : Enclume cherie, au nom de I'amour, Bien bas, bien bas, resonne le jour. Rose si jolie, dans mon noir sejour, Ve faire entendre un doux chant d'amour. La, la, la, &c.
Mais Rose un jour n'est pas bonne, A I'instant, pan ! pan ! pan !
Trois fois un soufflet resonne. On entend, pan ! pan ! pan !
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 77
Et puis silence ! on la croit morte ;
La garde vient, brise la porta,
Et trouve le feroce e'poux
Qui lui disait k deux genoux : Rose, je t'en prie, au nom des amours, Bats-moi, bats-moi, bats-moi tous les jours, Ta main si jolie sera toujours Plus douce que satin et velours. La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la. {qtiatcr)
JEALOUSY.
(Jalousies.)
p. J. Charrin. Bom 1784.
Yes, I am jealous, — wrongly, I confess; Myself more wretched far than thee I make. I have no cause to doubt thy tenderness, But yet my rivals constant fear awake
When at thy feet they kneel, And round thee with their adulation press,
Then horrors o'er me steal, I doubt thy faith, — 'tis jealousy I feel.
Yes, I am jealous: worshipped everywhere,
A host of eager suitors thou canst charm;
I fancy that my treasure they will tear
From my fond keeping, and I press thine arm, —
'Tis jealousy I feel : My soul is eaten up with anxious care;
Not e'en thy looks can heal My wounded heart, — 'tis jealousy I feel.
Yes, I am jealous: all that charms my sight Seems fashioned merely to disturb my rest. Caresses which relations claim as right, And friendship's harmless kisses, rack my breast;
'Tis jealousy I feel. Why should thy fondness other hearts delight,
And ever from me steal What is mine oa\ti? — 'tis jealousy I feel.
78
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Yes, I am jealous. — When thou art not near, I count the dreary moments as they fly; The time has past, — deprived of all that's dear, A prey to dreadful agonies am I.
'Tis jealousy I feel, That thou art ^^•ith some favoured one, I fear.
Oh, if my senses reel, Pray pardon me, — 'tis jealousy I feel.
Yes, I am jealous. — Deeply I abhor The world, whose pleasures give me no delight; I learned to hate, while learning to adore, — It only charmed me whilst thou mad'st it bright.
'Tis jealousy I feel. The world I would shut out for evermore. And in a cell thee and myself conceal;
'Tis jealousy I feel.
THE PARTING. (La Separation.)
E. DUGAS.
NE morning, when the daylight broke, —
A sign of grief to poor Lisette, To her own Alfred thus she spoke.
While with her tears her cheek was wet: " Oh, sir, I trust when every link
That bound us fast is rent by you. Of me in hate you ^nll not think, —
Another kiss, and then adieu.
*' Go, seek your family once more.
Let not my grief your heart distress ; When I was lowly bom and poor.
Could I aspire to happiness? Some wealthy maid will be your bride —
From pure affection I was true. Love, and not interest was my guide, —
Another kiss, and then adieu.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 79
"What tranquil pleasure did we feel
When from the noisy town we fled, And through the paths of Romainville
Our wandering steps by love were led; A canopy the foliage made,
And o'er our joys a curtain threw; But now our woods have lost their shade; —
Another kiss, and then adieu.
"This portrait which I saw you trace,
Oh, let it be my legacy; For when I look upon your face,
Revived the happy past will be. When age its snow has o'er me cast.
Still our first meeting I'll renew. Alfred — another kiss — the last —
Another kiss, and then adieu."
There is no doubt that the hero and heroine of the above romance are a pmr of those great favourites of modern French authors and artists — a student and a griscttc.
MADNESS. (La Folk.)
Abel Poret de Morvan.
Tra la la la — tra la la la — What is that sweet air?
Ah, yes, I recollect, — the band begins to play;
The dance will soon commence, those joyous notes would say.
How timid is his gait, as he approaches near!
A few soft tender words he whispers in my ear.
I think I must refuse — yet no reply I make, —
He takes my hand, alas ! — I plainly feel it shake;
Now trembles all my frame, — his piercing glances seem
To waken in my soul a wild and fev'rish dream.
Throughout the ball I thought of him — of him alone ! —
Tra la la la — Whence came those lively sounds?
Oh, yes, I recollect, — a fortnight now has past
Since through the bright saloon we whirled along so fast;
8o SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Oh, happiness supreme ! oh, joy above all joys ! "I love thee" — thus he says with softly murm'ring voice. No longer I resist — what feebleness is this? — Upon my burning brow he plants a burning kiss. Oh, never did I know existence till this hour, — The happiness of love, — the greatness of its power; And then I ceased to live, — my life was his alone.
Tra la la la — I cannot bear that sound.
Oh, yes, I recollect. It was a month — no more —
That I was happy, — yes — I ever since have wept.
That waltz — you hear it well; 'twas when they played it once
While he was in the dance, his fervent lips declared
He loved me. Yet he never never loved me, — no.
Oh, at these words my brain began to turn — to reel,
A fearful sense of pain pervaded all my soul.
I love this life of joy — the costly garb — the dance ! Alas, what agony it gives to think of him !
ORIGINAL.
Tra la la la, tra la la la, quel est done cet air? (bis) Ah ! oui, je me souviens, I'orchestre harmonieux Preludait vivement par ses accords joyeux.
II s'avanga vers moi, sa voix timide et tendre Murmura quelques mots que je ne pus entendre. Je voulais refuser, et je ne pus parler,
Et lui saisit ma main, je la sentis trembler;
Moi, je tremblais aussi, son long regard de flamme
En des pensers d'amour avait jete mon ame,
Et pendant tout le bal je ne pensai qu'^ lui ! {bis^
Tra la la {bis), d'oli me viennent ces sons? {pis)
Ah ! oui, je me souviens, quinze jours ecoules,
Le soir au bal brillant par la walse entraines;
O comble de bonheur, felicite supreme,
Sa bouche a mon oreille a murmurd : Je t'aime !
Et faible que j'e'tais, je ne pus resister,
Puis sur mon front brulant je sentis un baiser:
Ah ! seulement alors, je connus I'existence,
L'amour et son bonheur, sa force et sa puissance !
Et je ne vivais plus, car j'etais toute en lui ! (pis.)
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
8i
Tra la la la {bis), que ces sons me font mal ! {bis) Oh ! oui, je me souviens, je fus heureuse un mois, Et depuis ce moment je soupire toujours. Cette walse, ecoutez, c'est pendant sa duree Qu'il etait "k ses pieds, que sa bouche infidble Lui jurait qu'il I'aimait et ne m'aima jamais ! Je sentis ^ ces mots ma tete se briser; Un horrible tourment tortura tout mon etre ! Que j'aime les plaisirs, la parure et la danse ! Que je souffre, 6 mon dieu ! rien qu'en pensant ^ lui! (^/V) Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!
Madness is not nearly so favourite a topic with the French as with the English IjTists, nor \vill the above, which is dated 1833, sustain a comparison with the vigorous expressions of insanity to be found in the " Illustrated Book of English Songs." One peculiarity which is followed in the English version is worth observing, — namely, the fact that the last stanza is without rhyme. .So intimately is the notion of rhyme connected with that of poetry in French literature, that rhymeless metre serves as an indication of the last ravini»s of madness.
SOA'GS OF THE AFPECTTONS.
(Jenny rOuvrilre.)
Date of song, 1847,
LOSE to yon roof that humble window see, Where in the spring-time some few flowrets grow; Among those flow'rets soon a form will be, With flaxen hair, and cheeks with health that glow. Close to yon roof that humble window see. Where in the spring-time some few flow'rets grow ; Jenny, the sempstress, calls that garden hers, Jenny, on humble means content to live; Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers What God is pleased to give.
A little bird within that garden sings.
Its notes among the leaves you plainly hear ; To her such pleasure that loved warbling brings,
It serves, in dullest hours, her heart to cheer. A little bird within that garden sings,
Its notes among the leaves you plainly hear; Jenny, the sempstress, calls that songster hers,
Jenny, on humble means content to live; Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers
What God is pleased to give.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 83
Upon the poor she often will bestow
What she has ihardly earned — a mite of food, When mis'ry passes in the street below,
No hunger can she feel — she is so good. Upon the poor she often will bestow
What she has hardly earned — a mite of food; Jenny, the sempstress, calls this pleasure hers,
Jenny, on humble means content to live, Jenny, who might be wealthy, but prefers
What God is plefvsed to give,
ORIGINAL.
VoYEZ Ik-haut cette pauvre fenetre,
Ou du printemps se montrent quelques fleurs; Parmi ces fleurs vous verrez apparaitre
Une enfant blonde aux plus fraiches couleurs . Voyez Ik-haut cette pauvre fenetre,
Ou du printemps se montrent quelques fleurs . C'est le jardin de Jenny I'ouvriere,
Au coeur content, content de peu . . . EUe pourrait etre riche et prefere
Ce qui lui vient de Dieu ! {bis.)
Dans son jardin, sous la fleur parfumee,
Entendez-vous un oiseau familier? Quand elle est triste, oh ! cette voix aimee.
Par un doux chant suffit pour I'egayer ! . . . . Dans son jardin, sous la fleur parfumee,
Entendez-vous un oiseau familier? C'est le chanteur de Jenny I'ouvriere,
Au coeur content, content de peu .... Elle pourrait etre riche et prefere
Ce qui lui vient de Dieu.
Aux malheureux souvent elle abandonne Ce qu'elle gagne, helas ! un peu de pain !
Qu'un pauvre passe, et comme elle est si bonne. En le voyait elle n'aura plus faim.
6—2
84 SOA'GS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Aux malheureux souvent elle abandonne
Ce qu'elle gagne, helas ! un peu de pain ! C'est le bonheur de Jenny I'ouvriere !
Au coeur content, content de peu .... Elle pourrait etre riche et pref^re
Ce qui lui vient dc Dieu,
Ce qui lui vient de Dieu.
THE LAST FINE DAY OF AUTUMN. (Le dernier bean Jour d^Automnc.)
EsMi.NARD, Died i8ir,
Killed by being thrown from his carriage in Italy. Thi? gong was found amongst his papers, scattered on the ground.
Already the falling leaf
Is borne at the north wind's will ;
And, gilding the vale beneath, The withered flower lies still.
'Neath the oak is now no shade; In the grove no lovers stay,
I am greeting, ere it fade,
The last fine day.
The rays of an autumn sun
Scarcely warm the pale blue skies; The swallow's flight has begun, From our land it warbling flies. "Adieu, bright sky — green retreat,"
That parting song seems to say, "I go ; yet lingering greet
The last fine day."
See Age to the meadow pass,
To muse how the swift years fleet,
As he sees the withered grass Ben^ beneath his trembling feet.
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 85
Dreaming, now life is closing,
Of the joys long passed away; His lingering glance reposing
On the last fine day.
Though our life with flow'rs we strew,
Yet Time ^vill wither them all; Happy those who cull a few
Ere the winter shadows fall. Soon faded is youth's blithe cheer —
But a moment love will stay, — Our life has, like the year, Its last fine day.
Ed. ORIGINAL.
Deja la feuille de'tache'e
S'envole au gre de I'aquilon, De sa depouille dessechee
La fleur a jauni le vallon. Sous le chene il n'est plus d'ombrage
Au bosquet il n'est plus d'amour, Je vais saluer au visage,
Le dernier beau jour.
Les rayons d'un soleil d'automne,
A peine attiedissent les cieux, L'hirondelle nous abandonne
Et quitte en gazouillant ces lieux. Son joli chant semble nous dire, "Adieu, beau ciel, riant sejour, Je pars, et veux encore sourire,
Au dernier beau jour.''
Le vieillard vient dans la prairie,
Rever au declin de ses ans, En voyant cette herbe fletrie
Qui flechit sous ses pas tremblants. Songeant au bout de sa carriere,
Aux biens qui Font fui sans retour, II entr'ouvre encore sa paupiere, Au dernier beau jour.
86
SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS.
Semons de fleurs notre existence, Le temps saura bien les fldtrir !
Avant que notre hiver commence, Trop heureux qui sait les cucillir !
Bientot la jcunesse est fanee,
II n'est qu'un instant pour I'amour;
Notre vie r — ^"comme I'annee —
Son dernier beau jour.
PATRIOTIC SONGS. 87
|{eij0kti0narg mx)i ^^ixxoik Soit^s.
To avoid a multiplicity of heads, songs of a very different spirit are comprised in this division : some being animated by the senti- ment of ancient chivalry, some expressing a fanatical hatred of monarchs, or even social distinctions ; some satirizing the people in high places, some sympathizing with the glories of the imperial army. The subjects are at any rate so far alike, that they relate to man, not as a member of society, but as a citizen of the state, and express his feelings in that capacity either towards his rulers or the enemies of his country. If our collection were more ex- tensive, we should divide the whole mass of French national songs into two heads, — the chivalric and the revolutionary. In spite of republican ardour, the chivalric is still an important element in French lyric song, and neither the destroyers of the Bastile, nor the victors of the grand army, have entirely eclipsed the venera- tion for the ancient paladins.
As the interest of this division greatly depends on its historical importance, the literary merit of the songs has had less influence on the selection than in those divisions where reputed excellence and importance are convertible terms. Probably no song could be more detestable than the Carmagnole ; but as it was one of the "great facts" of its day, it has its place here, among more meritorious productions.
Here, more than elsewhere, we feel that some of our readers may complain of omissions. But they will perhaps bear in mind that we are not writing a lyrical history of the French Revolution, and also that there is a family likeness in many of the tyrant- imprecating strains that renders them insufferably tiresome when read in too large quantities.
88
THE MARStULLAlSE. (La Marseillaise.)
RoUGET DE Lisle. Born 1760, died 1836.
On the 30th July, 1792, the Marseillaises arrived at Paris, whither they had been invited by Barbaroux at the instance of Madame Roland. "The secret motive of their march," says M. de Lamartine, "was to intimidate the National Guard of Paris; to revive the energy of the Fauxbourgs ; and to be in the advanced guard of that camp of 20,000 men, which the Girondins had made the Assembly vote, to overrule the Feuillants, the Jacobins, the King, and the Assembly itself, with an army of the Departments composed entirely of their own creatures." The Marseillaises entered Paris by the Faubourg St. Antoine. and, singing the song which bears their name, proceeded to the Champs-Elysees, where a banquet was pre- pared for them.
The origin of the words and music of this famous song is thus described by M. de Lamartine : — "There was at this time a young officer of artillery in garrison at Strasburg. His name was Rouget de Lisle. He was born at Lons-le-Saulnier in the Jura, a countrj' of reveries and energy, as mountainous regions always are. This young man loved war as a soldier; the Revolution as a thinker. By his verses and his music he lightened the tediousness of the garri.son. Generally sought on acount of his double talent as a musician and a poet, he became a familiar visitor at the house of an Alsatian patriot, Dietrich, Mayor of Strasburg. The wife and daughters of Dietrich shared his enthusiasm for patriotism and the Revolution. They loved the young officer. They inspired his heart, his poetry, and his music ; and trust- ing to the early lispings of his genius, they were the first to execute his scarcely expressed thoughts.
"It was the winter of 1792, famine reigned at Strasburg, the Dietrich family were poor, and their table was frugal, but it was always hospitable to Rouget. One day, when there was nothing on the board but some ammunition bread and a few slices of ham, Dietrich, looking at De Lisle with melancholy calmness, said to him, ' Abundance is wanting at our banquet —
89
90 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SOAGS.
but what matters that when neither enthuaasm is wanting at our civic feasts, nor courage in the hearts of our soldiers ? I have still a bottle of wine left in my cellar : let it be brought up, and let us drink to liberty and to our countrj'. There will soon be a patriotic celebration at Strasburg ; may these last drops inspire De Lisle with one of those hymns which convey to the soul of the people the intoxication from whence they proceed.' The young girls applauded, brought in the wine, and filled the glasses of their aged father and the young officer until the liquor was exhausted. It was midnight. The night was cold. De Lisle was in a dreamy ' state ; his heart was touched ; his head was heated. The cold overpowered him, and he tottered into his lonely room slowly, seeking inspiration, now in his patriotic soul, now in his harpsichord ; sometimes composing the air before the words, sometimes the words before the air, and so combining them in his thoughts that he himself did not know whether the notes or the verses came first, and that it was impossible to separate the poetr>' from the music, or the sentiii^-:nt from the expression. He sang all, and set down nothing.
" Overpowered with this sublime inspiration, De I^isle went to sleep on the harpsichord, and did not wake until day. He recalled the song of the previous night with a difficulty like that with which we recall the impressions of a dream. He now set down the words and music, and ran with them to Dietrich, whom he found at work in the garden. The wife and daughters of the old patriot had not yet risen ; Dietrich awakened them, and invited some friends who were as passionately fond of music as himself, and were capable of executing De Lisle's com- position. His eldest daughter played the accompaniment, while Rouget sang. At the first stanza, all faces turned pale ; at the second, tears ran down every cheek ; and at the last, all the madness of enthusiasm broke forth. Dietrich, his wife, hLs daughters, and the young officer, fell weeping into each other's arms : the hymn of the country was found. It was destined, alas ! to be also the h>Tnn of terror. A few months afterwards the unfortunate Dietrich went to the scaffold to the sound of the ver>' notes which had their origin on his own hearth, in the heart of his friend, and in the voices of his children.
" The new song executed .some days after%vards at Strasburg flew from city to city, being played by all the public orchestras. Marseilles adopted it to be sung at the beginning and close of every session of its clubs. The Marseillaises spread it through France, singing it on their route, whence it .^cquired the name of T/ie Mnrscliiaisc. The old mother of De Lisle, who was a pious royalist, was horrified at hearing the echo of her .son's voice, and WTOte to him, ' \VTiat i.s this revolutionary- hymn which is sung about France by a horde of robbers, and with which our name is connected?' De Lisle himself, afterwards proscribed as a royalist, heard with a shudder his own song as he fled through a pass in the Upper Alps. ' What is the name of that hymn ?' he asked his guide. " The Marseillaise,' was the peasant's reply. It was then that he learnt the name of his own work. He was pursued by the enthusiasm which he had scattered behind him, and escaped death with difficulty. The weapon recoiled against the hand which had forged it ; the Revolution in its madness no longer recognized its own voice."
To explain the concluding part of the above e.xtract, it should be stated that Rouget de Lisle was imprisoned during the Reign of Terror, and liberated by the Revolution of the Thermidor.
Although the Marseillaise was the usual accompaniment of the numerous executions which took place during the terrible epoch of its composition, it is less sanguinary' in its tone than the other Revolutionarj' songs.
Come, children of your country, come,
New glory da\\Tis upon the world ; Our t)Tants, rushing to their doom,
Their bloody standard have unfurled; Already on our plains we hear
The murmurs of a savage horde;
They threaten with the murderous sword Your comrades and your children dear. Then up, and fonn your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
Those banded serfs — what would they have. By tyrant kings together brought?
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 91
Whom are those fetters to enslave
Which long ago their hands have wrought? You, Frenchmen, you they would enchain : Doth not the thought your bosoms fire? The ancient bondage they desire To force upon your necks again. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
Those marshalled foreigners — shall they
Make laws to reach the Frenchman's hearth? Shall hireling troops who fight for pay
Strike down our warriors to the earth? God ! shall we bow beneath the weight
Of hands that slavish fetters wear?
Shall ruthless despots once more dare To be the masters of our fate? Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
Then tremble, tyrants, — traitors all, — Ye whom both friends and foes despise ;
On you shall retribution fall,
Your crimes shall gain a worthy prize.
Each man opposes might to might; And when our youthful heroes die, Our France can well their place supply;
We're soldiers all with you to fight. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand ; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
Yet, generous warriors, still forbear
To deal on all your vengeful blows ; The train of hapless victims spare, —
Against their will they are our foes. But oh ! those despots stained with blood,
Those traitors leagued with base Bouillc,
Who make their native land their prey; — Death to the savage tiger-brood ! Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
92 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
And when our glorious sires are dead,
Their virtues we shall surely find When on the selfsame path we tread,
And track the fame they leave behind. Less to survive them we desire Than to partake their noble grave; The proud ambition we shall have To live for vengeance or expire. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand ; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
Come, love of country, guide us now,
Endow our vengeful arms with might, And, dearest Liberty, do thou
Aid thy defenders in the fight. Unto our flags let victor)',
Called by thy stirring accents, haste ; And may thy dying foes at last Thy triumph and our glory see. Then up, and form your ranks, the hireling foe withstand; March on, — his craven blood must fertilize the land.
ORIGINAL.
Allons, enfants de la patrie,
Le jour de gloire est arrive ;
Contre nous de la tyrannic
L'e'tendard sanglant est leve. (dis)
Entendez-vous dans ces campagnes
Mugir ces feroces soldats?
lis viennent, jusque dans nos bras.
Egorger vos fils, vos campagnes ! Aux armes ! citoyens, fonnez vos bataillons ; Marchons (i>is), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
Que veut cette horde d'esclaves,
De traitres, de rois conjures?
Pour qui ces ignobles entraves,
Ces fers des longtemps prepares? . . . (l^is)
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 93
Frangais, pour nous, ah ! quel outrage,
Quel transports il doit exciter !
C'est nous qu'on ose mediter
De rendre ^ I'antique esclavage? Aux amies ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
Quoi ! ces cohortes etrangbres
Feraient la loi dans nos foyers?
Quoi ! ces phalanges mercenaires
Terrasseraient nos fiers guerriers? {his)
Grand Dieu ! par des mains enchaine'es
Nos fronts sous le joug se ploieraient !
De vils despotes deviendraient
Les niaitres de nos destine'es ! Aux amies ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
Tremblez, tyrans, et vous perfides !
L'opprobre de tons les partis !
Tremblez ! vos projets parricides
Vont enfin recevoir leur prix 1 {bis)
Tout est soldat pour vous combattrc.
S'ils tombent nos jeunes hdros,
La France en produit de nouveaux,
Contre vous tout prets a se battre. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons ipis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
Francais, en guerriers magnanimes,
Portez ou retenez vos coups ;
Epargnez ces tristes victimes
A regret s'armant contre nous, ipis)
Mais ces despotes sanguinaires,
Mais les complices de Bouille,
Tons ces tigres qui, sans pitie,
Ddchirent le sein de leur mere ! . . . . Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
94 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Nous entrerons dans la carriere
Quand nos aines ne seront plus;
Nous y trouverons leur vertus. {bis)
Bien moins jaloux de leur survivre
Que de partager leur cercueil,
Nous aurons la sublime orgiieil
De les venger ou de les suivre. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis\ qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
Amour sacre de la patrie,
Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs;
Liberte, liberie cherie,
Combats avec tes defenseurs ! {bis)
Sous nos drapeaux que la victoire
Accoure a tes males accens !
Que tes ennemis expirants
Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire. Aux armes ! citoyens, formez vos bataillons ; Marchons {bis), qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons.
ROLAND AT RONCEVALLES. (Roland a Roncevaux.)
RoLGET DE Lisle.
Where do the hurrying people throng?
What is that noise which shakes the ground, AVhose echoes earth and air prolong? — Friends ! 't is of Mars the war-cry strong,
Of coming strife the mutt'ring sound — Herald of war and deadly \vrong.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
Behold the foemen's banners tower Our mountains and our plains above;
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 95
More numerous than the meadow-flower Gathers the evil nations' power
Over the smiHng land we love, Like wolves all ready to devour.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
What forces have the foemen here?
What numbers are there in the field ? — The man who holds his glory dear Could never breathe those words of fear,
For perils, glorious vict'ry yield ; 'Tis cowards ask "What number's near?"
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
Follow where'er my white plume leads — E'en as my flag — your guiding star —
'T will lead you on to gallant deeds ;
Ye know the prize for him who speeds Where Roland treads the path of war.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
Proud Paladins ! knights without fear ;
Thou, above all, brother-at-arms, Renaud, the flow'r of warriors — hear ! Try we who first the course will clear.
And to the foe bear war's alarms. Breaking their wall of shield and spear.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
Courage, brave hearts, they 're conquered quite I Their blows more slowly, feebly fall.
Their arms are weary of the fight;
Courage ! they can't resist our might; Broken their mighty squadrons all.
Their chiefs and soldiers sunk in night.
96 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
What Saracen is this we see
Who dares alone our hosts oppose,
Checking the course of destiny? —
'T is Altamor ; — ay, it is he I met 'midst Idumean foes;
Good fortune leads him now to me.
Let us for our country die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
Hear'st thou my bugle-call again,
Defying thee to mortal strife? Proud Altamor, know'st thou its strain? By this right hand thou shalt be slain ;
Or if thy lance should take my life, I 'U say my death was not in vain :
For my country I shall die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
The vict'ry's won! — the day's my own!
Oh, why, because my wound is deej). Do you, dear friends, my fate bemoan? The blood, in battle shed, alone
A warrior as his robe would keep. And hold it valour's signet-stone.
For my country I shall die ! The noblest fate for man beneath the sky.
ORIGINAL.
Ou courent ces peuples epars? Quel bruit a fait trembler la terre Et retentit de toutes parts? Amis, c'est le cri du dieu Mars, Le cri precurseur de la guerre, De la gloire et de ses hasards.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 97
MoLirons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Voyez-vous ces drapeaux floltants
Couvrir les plaines, les montagnes, Plus nombreux que la fleur des champs? Voyez-vous ces fiers mecre'ants
Se repandre dans nos campagnes Pareils k des loups ddvorants?
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Combien sont-ils? combien sont-ils?
Quel homme ennemi de sa gloire Peut demander combien sont-ils? Eh ! demande oU sont les perils,
C'est Ik qu'est aussi la victoire. Liches soldats, combien sont-ils?
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Suivez mon panache eclatant,
Frangais, ainsi que ma banni^re; Qu'il soit le point de ralliement ; Vous savez tous quel prix attend
Le brave qui dans la carriere Marche sur les pas de Roland.
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Fiers paladins, preux chevaliers,
Et toi surtout, mon frbre d'armes, Toi, Renaud, la fleur des guerriers, Voyons de nous qui les premiers,
Dans leurs rangs portant les alarmes, Rompront ce mur de boucliers.
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
7
98 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Courage, enfants ! ils sont vaincus : Leurs coups dejh. se ralentissent,
Leurs bras demeurent suspendus.
Courage, ils ne re'sistent plus. Leurs bataillons se de'sunissent :
Chefs et soldats sont e'perdus.
Mourons pour la patrie
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envle.
Quel est ce vaillant Sarrasin, Qui, seul, arretant notre armee,
Balance encore le destin?
C'est Altamor ! — c'est lui qu'en vain Je combattis dans I'ldumee,
Mon bonheur me I'amene enfin !
Mourons pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Entends-tu le bruit de mon cor?
Je te defie a toute outrance : M'entends-tu, superbe Altamor? Mon bras te donnera la mort,
Ou, si je tombe sous ta lance, Je m'ecrierai, fter de mon sort:
Je meurs pour la patrie ! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
Je suis vainqueur ! je suis vainqueur !
En voyant ma large blessure, Amis, pourquoi cette douleur? Le sang qui coule au champ d'honneur.
Du vrai guerrier c'est la parurej C'est le garant de la valeur.
Je meurs pour la patrie! C'est le sort le plus beau, le plus digne d'envie.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 99
«(JA IRA!"
It is needless to say that this song was one of the most popular of the revolutionary period. It was also one of the earliest, being composed in 1789, on the Champ de Mars, while pre- parations were made for the Fete de la Federation. The time of its origin was a time of hope, for the crimes of the Revolution had not yet been committed, and hence, though a tone of flippant disrespect towards old institutions prevails throughout the song, it is totally free from any expression of ferocity. The original name of the tune to which the words were written is Le Carillon National, and it is a remarkable circumstance that it was a great favourite with the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, who used to play it on the harpsichord. It is hoped that the difficulty of rendering this song will be considered, before a judgment is passed on the English version.
All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All will succeed, though malignants are strong; All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Thus says the people by day and by night.
Dismal will soon be our enemies' plight,
While Jubilate we sing with delight.
All will go right, — will go right, — will go right;
Singing aloud a joyous song,
We will shout with all our might ; All will go right, — will go right, — will go right; All will succeed, &c.
What Boileau said once the clergy to spite, Proved him a truly prophetical wight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go rights Taking the old Gospel-truth for their text — All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Our legislators will work it out quite; Bringing the proud from their insolent height. Making the lot of the lowly men bright ; Truth ev'ry soul shall illume with her light. Till superstition shall quickly take flight.
Frenchmen ne'er will be perplexed
Wholesome laws to keep in sight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All will succeed, &c.
All will go right, — will go right, — vrC\ go right, Pierrot and Margot sing at the guingiiette:
7—2
loo REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Good times approach, and rejoicings invite. Right was once only the nobleman's might ; As for the people, he screwed them down tight. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right; Now all the clergy are weeping for spite, For we have rescued the prey from the kite.
The sagacious Lafayette
Every wTong will put to flight : Ail will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All will succeed, &c.
Till will go right, — will go right, — will go right, While the Assembly sheds lustre so clear: All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, We'll stand on guard by the ray of their light. Falsehood no longer can dazzle our sight, For the good cause we are ready to fight : All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, All the Aristos are bursting with spite. We of the people are laughing outright.
We their struggles do not fear.
Right will triumph over might. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right. All will succeed, &c.
All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, Little and great the same feelings inspire. — None will prove false in so glorious a fight; Views may be crooked, but words will have might. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right, "Hither who will," we hear Freedom invite; And to her call we reply with delight. Fearing neither sword nor fire, France will keep her glory bright. All will go right, — will go right, — will go right. All will succeed, &c. —
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRtOTIC SONGS. loi
ORIGINAL
Ah ! 5a ira, 5a ira, ga ira,
Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete;
Ah ! ga ira, 9a ira, qo. ira,
Malgre les mutins, tout leussira.
Nos ennemis confus en restent \i, Et nous allons chanter alleluia. Ah ! 5a ira, ga ira, <;a ira.
En chantant une chansonnette,
Avec plaisir on dira : Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete : Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Malgre' les mutins, tout reussira.
Quand Boileau, jadis, du clerge parla,
Comme un prophe'te il predit cela.
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Suivant les maximes de I'Evangile;
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Du legislateur tout s'accomplira;
Celui qui s'eleve, on I'abaissera;
Et qui s'abaisse, on I'elevera,
Ah I 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete,
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Malgre les mutins, tout reussira.
Le vrai catechisme nous instruira Et I'affreux fanatisme s'eteindra;
Pour etre a la loi docile.
Tout Fran9ais s'exercera. Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repete ; Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Malgr^ les mutins, tout reussira.
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira ;
Pierrot et Margot chantent h. la guinguette,
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102 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Ah ! ^a ira, ca ira, ga ira.
Rejouissons-nous, le bon temps reviendra.
Le peuple Frangais jadis h. quia.
L'aristocrate dit : Mea culpa.
Ah ! ga ira, ca ira, ^a ira,
Le clerge regrette le bien qii'il a,
Par justice la nation I'auraj
Par le prudent Lafayette,
Tout trouble s'apaisera. Ah ! ^a ira, ga ira, 9a ira, &c.
Ah ! ga ira, 9a ira, ca ira,
Par les flambeaux de I'auguste assemblee,
Ah ! 9a ira, 5a ira, ga ira,
Le peuple arme toujours se gardera.
Le vrai d'avec le faux Ton connaitra,
Le citoyen pour le bien soutiendra.
Ah ! 5a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Quand l'aristocrate protestera,
Le bon citoyen au nez lui rira;
Sans avoir I'ame troublee, ■ Toujours le plus fort sera. Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira, Malgre les mutins, tout reussira.
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Petits comme grands sont soldats dans I'ame.
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Pendant la guerre, aucun ne trahira.
Avec coeur tout bon Frangais combattra;
S'il voit du louche, hardiment parlera.
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
La liberte' dit : Vienne qui voudra,
Le patriotisme lui re'pondra,
Sans craindre ni feu ni flammes,
Le Frangais toujours vaincra !
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Le peuple en ce jour sans cesse repbte;
Ah ! 9a ira, 9a ira, 9a ira,
Malgre les mutins, tout reussira.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. ioi
THE SENTINEL. (La Sentinelle.)
BraulT. Born 1782, died 1829.
The orb of night its peaceful splendour shed
In silvery, light upon the tents of France, And near the camp a handsome soldier lad Thus sang, — leaning upon his trusty lance : "Go, swiftly fly, thou joyous breeze, Bear my song to my native land; Say that for glory and for love
I keep watch on a foreign strand."
When on the night the foeman's watch-fires gleam,
The sentinel his guard in silence keeps, But sings — resting upon his trusty lance — To shorten night, when the camp saftly sleeps : "Go, swiftly fly, thou joyous breeze, Bear my song to my native land; Say that for glory and for love I keep watch on a foreign strand."
" The orb of day brings back the hour of strife,
When we must show the valour of brave France ; In victory perhaps to find our death. But if I fall beside my trusty lance, Still go, still go, thou gentle breeze.
To my native land swifdy fly; And say for glory and for love I have given my parting sigh."
ORIGINAL.
L'astre des nuits, de son paisible eclat
Langait les feux sur les tentes de France, Non loin du camp, un jeune et beau soldat Ainsi chantait, appuye sur sa lance : Allez, volez, zephyr joyeux,
Portez mes chants vers ma patrie,
Dites que je veille en ces lieux {bis)
Pour la gloire et pour mon amie.
104 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
A la lueur des feux des ennemis,
La sentinelle est placee en silence : Mais le Francais, pour abre'ger les nuits, Chante, appuye sur le fer de sa lance : Allez, volez, zephyr joyeux,
Portez mes chants vers ma patrie,
Dites que je veille en ces lieux (bis)
Pour la gloire et pour mon amie.
L'astre du jour rambne les combats,
Demain il faut signaler sa vaillance. Dans la victoire on trouve le tre'pas; Mais si je meurs k cote de ma lance, Allez encor, joyeux zephyr,
Allez, volez vers ma patrie, Dire que mon dernier soupir {bis) Fut pour la gloire et mon amie.
THE SAFETY OF FRANCE. (La Salut de la France.)
Adolphe S. Boy.
This song has the honour of being one of the earliest of the revolutionary period. The word "Empire" contrasts ludicrously enough w-ith the date of the production, 1791 ; but it has been sagaciously obser\'ed, that the seeming anachronism has merely arisen from the necessity of finding a rhyme to " conspire ; " so that " Empire" must be taken to mean state in general. Though there is nothing in the words, this song was not only one of the earliest, but also one of the most popular of the revolutionary epoch ; and the music, by Dalayrac, which was ap- rv '^^\\ ^^&^^4^^ propriated to it, though originally composed for an amatorj' ballad, ^W) ^^j/;^^?^^ entitled Vous qui dAmoJtreuse aventure,'b&(:^me.z.i?ivoxa\Vt
- "•^'v^S^-: ^^ /:\ /! f-"^ military march.
H, guard the Empire, slumber not, Let freedom be our sole desire ; Though despots may against us plot. Against their thrones can we con- spire. Fair Liberty ! may all pay homage
unto thee : Tremble, ye tyrants, now the venge- ful day is near. "Death, rather death than slaver}-," This is the motto Frenchmen bear.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 105
Let all combine our France to save,
For France alone the world sustains ; If once our country they enslave, All nations will be cast in chains. Fair Liberty! may all pay homage unto thee: Tremble, ye tyrants, now the vengeful day is near. " Death, rather death than slavery,'' This is the motto Frenchmen bear.
Thou, whom the love of freedom warms,
Come from the south of Europe, come; Our brother thou shalt be in amis, Though tyranny pollutes thy home. Fair Liberty ! may all assemble at thy name : Death to our tyrants, now thy vengeful day is near. All countries we would call the same. All French, who hold their freedom dear.
With ev'ry people, near and far, We own eternal brotherhood; Against all kings unceasing war. Till tyranny is drowned in blood. Fair Liberty ! may all assemble at thy name : Death to our tyrants, — now the vengeful day is near. France views all nations as the same To whom their liberty is dear.
ORIGINAL.
Veillons au salut de I'Empire,
Veillons au maintien de nos droits !
Si le despotisme conspire,
Conspirons la perte des rois ! Liberty {bis) que tout mortel te rende hommage. Tremblez, tyrans, vous allez expier vos forfaits !
Plutot la mort que I'esclavage !
C'est la devise des Fran^ais.
Du salut de notre patrie Depend celui de I'univers;
io6 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Si jamais elle est asservie,
Tons les peuples sont dans les fers. Liberie {bis) que tout mortel te rende hommage. Tremblez, tyrans, vous allez expier vos forfaits !
Plutot la mort que I'esclavage !
C'est la devise des Frangais.
Ennemis de la tyrannie,
Paraissez tous, armez vos bras,
Du fond de I'Europe avilie
Marchez avec nous aux combats. Liberte {bis) que ce nom sacre nous rallie ; Poursuivons les tyrans, punissons leurs forfaits !
Nous servons la meme patrie :
Les hommes libres sont Frangais.
Jurons union eternelle
Avec tous les peuples divers ;
Jurons une guerre mortelle
A tous les rois de I'univers. Liberie' (Ins) que ce nom sacre nous rallie. Poursuivons les tyrans, punissons leurs forfaits !
On ne voit plus qu'une patrie
Quand on a Tame d'un Frangais.
Kc^\
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 107
LA CARMAGNOLE.
We should not have inserted this detestable insult offered by a licentious mob to fallen greatness, if it were less often mentioned in connection with the events of the Revolution. It was composed in August, 1792, on the occasion of the incarceration of the royal family in the Temple, and became the usual accompaniment of massacres and orgies. Carmagnole is a fortified town in Piedmont, and it is not impossible that the air, and the dance which belongs to it, were brought from that country.
As an instance of the length to which sanguinary jesting was carried on in the terrible days of the Revolution, we may here opportunely quote a stanza from a song composed about two years alter the Car»ttr^/w/<r ;
" La guillotine est un bijou
Qui devient des plus a la mode,
J 'en veux une en bois d'acajou
Que je mettrai sur ma commode.
Je I'essaierai soir et matin
Four ne pas paraitre novice.
Si par malheur le lendemain
A mon tour j'etais de service.
Great Madame Veto* swore one day The folks of Paris she would slay:
* The nickname of Monsieur Veto was popularly given to Louis XV L on account of his refusal to sanction the decree against the non-juring priests.
lo8 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Our cannoniers so stout,
Soon put my lady out. We'll dance the Carmagnole:
Brothers, rejoice, — brothers, rejoice. We '11 dance the Carmagnole ;
Hail to the cannon's voice.
Great Monsieur Veto swore one day His country he would ne'er betray;
His promise he forgot,
So he shall go to pot.
We '11 dance the Carmagnole, &c.
The people, Marie Antoinette Thought on their nether ends to set ; She made a sad mistake, And chanced her nose to break.
We '11 dance the Carmagnole, &:c.
Her husband thought he was in luck, — He had not learned a Frenchman's pluck;
So, lusty Louis, so,
You'll to the Temple go.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c
The Swiss, too, had a great desire
Upon our brotherhood to fire ; But by the men of France They soon were taught to dance.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
When Madame saw the tower, no doubt, She gladly would have faced about ;
It turned her stomach proud
To find herself so cowed.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c
When Louis, who was once so big, Before him saw the workmen dig,
He said, — how hard his case "
To be in such a place.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &g*
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 109
All honest folks throughout the land Will by the patriot surely stand,
As brethren firmly bound,
While loud the cannons sound.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
All royalists throughout the land Will by the base Aristos stand ;
And they'll keep up the war.
Like cowards as they are.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
The gens-d'armes swear they'll firmly stand As guardians of their native land;
They heard the cannons sound.
And backward were not found.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
Come, friends, united we will be, Then we shall fear no enemy;
If any foes attack,
We'll gaily beat them back.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
A gallant sansculotte, am I, The friends of Louis I defy;
Long live the Marseillois,
The Bretons and the laws.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c.
The Faubourgs' valiant sansculotte, — Oh, never be his name forgot;
But jovially fill up
To him the other cup.
We'll dance the Carmagnole, &c,
ORIGINAL.
Madame Veto avait promis {bis)
De faire ^gorger tout Paris; ibis) ^'•,
no REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
Mais son coup a manque,
Grace k nos cannoniers. Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son ! vive le son ! Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!
Monsieur Veto avait promis {Ms) D'etre fidele a sa patrie \ {bis)
Mais il y a manque,
Ne faisons plus cartid
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Antoinette avait re'solu {bis)
De nous faire tomber sur * * * {l)is)
Mais son coup a manque,
EUe a le nez casse.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Son mari, se croyant vainqueur, {bis) Connaissait peu notre valeur. {bis)
Va, Louis, gros paour,
Du temple dans la tour.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Les Suisses avaient tous promis {bis) Qu'ils feraient feu sur nos amis ; {bis)
Mais comme ils ont saute,
Comme ils ont tous danse !
Chantons notre victoire, &c.
Quand Antoinette vit la tour, {bis) Elle voulut fair' demi-tour; {bis)
EUe avait mal au coeur
De se voir sans honneur.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Lorsque Louis vit fossoyer, {bis) A ceux qu'il voyait travailler, (bis)
II disait que pour peu
H etait dans ce lieu.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
'F.q
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. in
Le patriote a pour amis {bis)
Tous les bonnes gens du pays; {bis)
Mais ils se soutiendront
Tous au son du canon.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
L'aristocrate a pour amis {bis) Tous les royalistes k Paris; {bis)
II vous les soutiendront
Tout comm' de vrais poltrons.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c
La gendarm'rie avait promis {bis) Qu'elle soutiendrait la patrie; {bis) ,,,^ Mais ils n'ont pas manque
Au son du cannonie.
Pansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Amis, restons toujours unis, {bis) Ne craignons pas nos ennemis ; {bis)
S'ils viennent attaquer.
Nous les ferons sauter,
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c,
Oui, je suis sansculotte, moi, {bis) En depit des amis du roi, (bis)
Vivent les Marsellois,
Les Bre'tons et nos lois.
Dansons la Carmagnole, &c.
Oui, nous nous souviendrons toujours {bis) Des sansculottes des faubourgs, {bis)
A leur sante, buvons.
Vivent ces bons lurons ! Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son ! vive le son 1 Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!
113 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
THE SONG OF DEPARTURE. (Le Chant dti Depart.)
M. J. Ch£nier. Born 1764, died 1811.
Marie Joseph de Chenier was born in 1764, at Constantinople, where his father, a man of considerable literary celebrity, was Consul-General. He came at an early age to Paris, and produced several tragedies, which owed their success, in a great measure, to the pains which the author took to suit the revolutionary taste of the people. He was also one of the most celebrated writers of patriotic songs. In his latter days he devoted himself to the more sober employment of writing a history of French literature, and died in i8ii.
After the Marseillaise hymn the Chant dtt Depart was the most celebrated song of the French Revolution. It was written to be sung at a public festival, held on the nth of June, 1794, to celebrate the anniversary of the taking of the Bastile. The music, which is by Mehul, was composed, it is said, on the spur of the moment, amid the noise and bustle of a crowded saloon.
ICTORY, hymning loud, our path- way makes, While freedom guides our steps aright ; From north to south the mar- tial trumpet wakes To sound the moment for the fight. Tremble, ye enemies of France, Kings, who with blood have slaked your thirst ! The sovereign people see ad- vance To hurl ye to your grave accursed. Come, brethren, the Republic calls ;
For her our hearts and lives we give; For her a Frenchman gladly falls. For her alone he seeks to live.
A MOTHER.
See, from your mother's eyes no tear-drops flow, Far from our hearts we banish fears ;
We triumph when in freedom's cause ye go, — Only for tyrants' eyes are tears.
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 113
Warriors, we gave you life, 'tis true, But yours no more the gift can be;
Your lives are now your country's due, She is your mother more than we.
Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c.
TWO OLD MEN.
The old paternal sword becomes the brave,
Remember us 'mid battle's rage; And let the blood of tyrant and of slave
Honour the weapon blessed by age. Then to our humble cottage come,
With wounds and glory as your prize : When tyrants have received their doom,
Then, children, come to close our eyes. Come, brethren, the RepubUc calls, &c.
A CHILD.
We envy Viala's and Barra's lot;
Victors were they, though doomed to bleed : Weighed down by years, the coward liveth not;
Who dies for freedom, lives indeed. With you we would all dangers brave,
Lead us against our tyrants, then; None is a child except the slave.
While all republicans are men. Come, brethren, the RepubUc calls, &c.
A WIFE.
Husbands, rejoicing, seek the plain of death.
As patterns for all warriors shine; Flowers will we pluck to make the victor's wreath,
Our hands the laurel crown will twine. When, your blest manes to receive.
Fame shall her portals open fling; Still in our songs your names shall live,
From us shall your avengers spring. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c.
8
114 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
A YOUNG GIRL.
We, who know nought of Hymen's gentle fire,
But sisters of your heroes are, We bid you, citizens, if you desire
With us our destiny to share, Radiant with Hberty to come,
And glory purchased with your blood, The joyful record bringing home
Of universal brotherhood. Come, brethren, the RepubHc calls, &:c.
THREE WARRIORS.
Here, before God, upon our swords we swear
To all who crown this life with joy. To mothers, sisters, wives and children dear.
The foul oppressor to destroy. Into the black abyss of night
Hurled every guilty king shall be; France o'er the world shall spread the 'ight
Of endless peace and liberty. Come, brethren, the Republic calls, &c
ORIGINAL.
La victoire en chantant nous ouvre la barriere La liberty guide nos pas,
Et du Nord au Midi la trompette guerri^re A Sonne I'heure des combats. Tremblez, ennemies de la France Rois ivres de sang et d'orgueil ! Le peuple souverain s'avance : Tyrans, descendez au cercueil!
La r^publlque nous appelle, Sachons vaincre ou sachons perir: Un Fran^ais doit vivre pour elle, Pour elle un Fran^ais doit mourir!
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 115
UNE MERE DE FAMILLE.
De nos yeux matemels nc craignez pas les larmes;
Loin de nous de laches douleurs ! Nous devons triompher quand vous prenez les armes
Cest aux rois k verser des pleurs !
Nous vous avons donne la vie,
Guerriers ! elle n'est plus k vous ;
Tous vos jours sont 'k la patrie :
Elle est votre mere avant nous !
La republique nous appelle, &c.
DEUX VIELLARDS.
Que le fer paternel arme la main des braves !
Songez a nous, au champ de Mars ; Consacrez dans le sang des rois et des esclaves
Le fer beni par vos vieillards ;
Et rapportant sous la chaumiere
Des blessures et des vertus,
Venez fermer notre paupiere
Quand les tyrans ne seront plus !
La republique nous appelle, &c.
UN ENFANT.
De Barra, de Viala, sort nous fait envis :
lis sont morts, mais ils ont vaincu. Le lache accable d'ans n'a point connu la vie;
Qui meurt pour le peuple a vecu,
Vous etes vaillants, nous le sommes:
Guidez-nous contre les tyrans;
Les r^publicains sont des hommes,
Les esclaves sont des enfants !
La republique nous appelle, &c,
UN EPOUSE,
Partez, vaillants e'poux: les combats sont vos fetes;
Partez, modeles des guerriers. Nous cueillerons des fleurs pour enceindre vos tetes.
Nos mains tresseront des lauriers ;
ii6 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS
Et, si le temple de mdmoire S'ouvrait k vos manes vainqueurs, Nos voix chanteront votre gloire, Et nos flancs porteront vos vengeurs La r^publique nous appelle, &c.
UNE JEUNE FILLE.
Et nous, sosurs des heros, nous qui de l'h3ninenee
Ignorons les aimables noeuds, Si pour s'unir un jour a notre destinde,
Les citoyens forment des voeux,
Qu'ils reviennent dans nos murailles,
Beaux de gloire et de liberie
Et que leur sang, dans les battailles,
Ait coule pour I'egalite,
La republique nous appelle, &c.
TROIS GUERRIERS.
Sur le fer, devant Dieu, nous jurons a nos peres,
A nos epouses, a nos soeurs, A nos representants, k nos fils, a nos meres;
D'aneantir les oppresseurs :
En tous lieux, dans la nuit profonde,
Plongeant I'infame royaute,
Les Frangais donneront au monde
Et la paix et la liberte !
La republique nous appelle, &C;
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 117
LE VENGEUR.
There were few events during the period of the French Revolution which had a greater effect in kindling the enthusiasm of the people, or in inspiring the lyric poets of the period, than the self-sacrifice of the crew of the Vengtur. On the ist June, 1794, well known in English naval history as the "Glorious ist of June," Lord Howe, it is unnecessary to say, who commanded the Channel fleet, gained a decisive victory over the French. Six of the French ships were taken, but Le Vengeur, although reduced to a mere hulk, refused to sur- render, in spite of numerous solicitations ; and, discharging a last broadside at the English, sank in the waves while the crew shouted "Vive la Republique." The National Convention, who received intelligence of this event on the gth June, ordered that a model of Le Vengeur should be sutpended in the vault of the Pantheon, and that the names of the crew should be inscribed on a column. At the same time a medal was struck, with the inscription " Le triomphe du Vengeur."
The song, of which the following is a version, is by no means remarkable for poetical merit ; but it is too characteristic of the period to be omitted. It appears in the collection of MM. Demersan and Segur, without an author's name.
iLENCE no longer should we keep,
When she, who was our navy's pride, Has freely sunk into the deep, And England's cannonades defied. Muse, cast thy mourning -veil away, — Let new-plucked laurels deck thy
brow, Our losses are our glories now, With exultation we can say.
Gladly for freedom to e.xpire, And never to her foes to yield ; Such was our country's high desire, And proudly has it been fulfilled. To Roman annals, as the fount Of grandest virtue, do not go ; One Decius only can they show. While ours by hundreds we can count
Our sailors with the blood of slaves The ocean have already dyed ;
And now our vessels, o'er the waves, Laden \sath prizes gaily ride.
The Vaigeur, torn by many a wound, Close to the others cannot keep;
ii8 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS,
But far behind is forced to creep : The English squadron hems her round.
" Yield, cursed patriots that ye be ! "
Thus the assassins loudly cry. " Yield to a despot's bloodhounds ! — we Republicans would rather die. No, no, we are prepared to teach That 'tis your office to retire." The foe would parley, but our fire. Bursts forth and interrupts his speech.
The English chiefs are maddened all, That such resistance we can make;
And long upon their sailors call,
Their thirst for dread revenge to slake.
But yet, in spite of all their ire. Their lips confess the fatal truth, —
"These French are made of flint, forsooth,
And answer every touch with fire.''
The cannonade begins anew,
The English masts are overthrown. And widely o'er the waters strown, —
The foe it seems we shall subdue.
No ; to their rage is food supplied, For ample powder still is left : The Vaigair is of all bereft,
Except her glory and her pride.
Nought guards us from the leopard's jaws.
Our ammunition is nm out; After a. moment's anxious pause.
Arises honour's parting shout. All, — dying, — wounded, — take their place
Upon the deck, with hearts elate,
No man of France will hesitate Between destruction and disgrace,
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 119
Within each bosom valour dwells,
Though every one his danger knows ; The shattered flag with anger swells,
And the three-colour proudly shows. Now sparkles every eye again;
A hero is each dying man,
The notes of the expiring swan, They imitate in martial strain.
Of hope it were in vain to think,
But none their destiny deplore; The more they feel the vessel sink,
Their valour seems to rise the more. Still the Republic fills their souls;
Amid the waves they shout her name,
Which, wafted by a sea of flame, To Britain's court triumphant rolls.
A golden branch, for ever young, —
In ancient fable we are told, — ' Plucked by the guilty, newly sprung.
Still brighter glories to unfold. We '11 show the haughty British race
The Frenchman can such honour boast, —
That when one Vengetir we have lost. Another hastes to take her place.
What is this vessel, that appears
Impatient on the stocks to stay? Proud of the glorious name she bears, —
Her heritage, — she darts away. No adverse lot our hearts can tame,
Ye Britons, ye can plainly see ;
For, though the vessel new may be. The crew that mans her is the same.
I20 REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS.
SONG OF VICTORY. (Chant des Vidoires.)
J. M. Ch^nier.
Spain from her towns in terror flees, — Spain the haughty, — the jealous, — proud, — While before us the heights are bowed
Of her glorious Pyrenees.
Her inquisitors must atone
In Madrid, for their cruel past;
Their victims' fate shall be their own, And Justice claim her due at last. Glory to France ! vengeance for ^\Tong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Great Brutus' ashes let us wake !
O Gracchi ! from the tomb arise !
Let Liberty, in Rome who sighs, From Alpine heights her flight do\vn take ! Vanish, ye priests of evil fame !
Fly, pow'rless cohorts, ere too late : Camillus now is but a name.
And the true Gauls are at your gate. Glory to France ! vengeance for ^^Tong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Perfidious England ! Ocean grand
Does thy great power with groans confess ;
Thy sails the waters vast oppress, E'en as thy crimes oppress the land. Whilst our brave efforts break the might
Thine old despotic trident wields. To us shall Plenty take her flight
From young America's green fields. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Rise from old Ocean's deepest caves, O Vengeur's phantom ! smoking still,
REVOLUTIONARY AND PATRIOTIC SONGS. 121
And show how Frenchmens' iron will Conquered both English fire and waves. Whence come those shrill heartrending cries?
What sound magnanimous is this? The voices of the dead arise,
Singing of conquest from the abyss. Glory to France ! vengeance for A\Tong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Fleurus ! — fields worthy to be known, And kept in memory ! — a name Friendly to France's warlike fame,
And three times by her victories sown !
Fleurus ! from Tagus to the Rhine, From Var to Tiber be thou sung;
For from thy blood-stained shore divine The liberty of Europe sprung. Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Ostend, receive our hosts of war !
Haughty Namur, before us bow !
Ghent and Oudenard, yield ye now ! Charleroi and Mons, your gates unbar ! Brussels ! once more around thee falls
The light of liberty divine; Now, plaintive Liege, upon thy walls
Receive the tricolor ensign ! Glory to France ! vengeance for wrong she brings ! Live the Republic ! perish all earth's kings !
Kings leagued together ! — coward slaves ! Vile enemies of human kind ! Ye fly before the sword, we