..■^.,. w^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // d partir de Tangle sup6rieure gauche, de gauche d droite et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images ndcess^ire. Le diagramme suivant illustre la m6thode : 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ^% -^--pi^e^) yr//y///'^-^u///J, ^^^/^A<^/ A ^Jk §^r? Songs from B^ranger TRANSLATED IN THE ORIGINAL METRES BY CRAVEN LANGbTROfH BHTTS NEW YORK FREDERICK A STOKES & bKOlHER 1888 >/ i Copyright, 1888, By Frederick A. Stokes & Brother. I TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN, Unto the wide-viewed en tic, Just and wise. Whose word ennobles merit, and whose praise Is his, who strongly grasps the toilsome bays,— Unto the poet, whose regardful eyes Vivify truth, and beauty, and emprise,— Unto the man of action, prompt and true, I yield this grateful tribute, as is due To a clear star set in song's hallowed skies, lie, like my poet, loves a joyous strain ; Yet oft 'tis dashed with tears of tender grace ; He is as wealthy-hearted; like warm rain In April, his songs cheer in every place Where they are known; starved feelings bloom again. And wintered souls unmask a smiling face. i^ »■ " -■., ,-. •, t . ' " '-■'■■ Vv k ' • . ■ »• 'J »- „■; - V ■ " {, L llMliilBiiiillliliili iMi ■ttiii^Miiiiiu CONTENTS. Preface , Memoir . The King of Yvetot Le roi d* Yvetot Charles VII. . . Charles VII. . The Beggars . Les gueux The Two Grenadiers Les deux grenadiers . Light-hearted Dick . Roger Bontemps PAOB 15 27 27 *** 31 34 34 39 39 44 44 CONTENTS, The Gauls and Franks . Les Gai 1 98 • 98 My Vocation . ■ » • • • lOl Ma vocation m 1 • • f lOI My Republic . • • • • 104 Ma r/publique . > < » • . 104 The Swallows . Les hirondelles • • • • • • . 107 . 107 Winter . Lhiver • • • • • • • no . no CONTENTS. The Hunter and the Milkmaid Le chasseur et la laitUre The Fifty Crowns . Les cinquante ^cus . The Young Muse . La jeune muse Farewell to the Country Adieu de la campagne The Carrier Pigeon Le pigeon mcssager . The Sylphide . Le sylphide The Tailor and the Fairy Le tailleur et ha, fie My Boat . Ma nacelle The Court Poet La Poete d^ Cour PAGE 114 114 117 117 121 121 124 124 128 128 132 132 135 135 139 143 Mjat CONTENTS. 9 FACB The Birthday 147 L * Anniversaire • . 147 The Imaginary Voyage • . 149 Le voyage imaginaire • . 149 Lafayette in America • . 153 Lafayette en Amirique • . 152 The Good Old Dame • . 155 La bonne vieille 1 . 155 Louis XL > . 158 Louis XI, 1 . 15S The Prisoner's Fireside . 1 163 Le feu du prisonnier 1 163 The Goddess . . \ 1 166 La d/esse .... 1 166 The Fourteenth of July . • 169 Le quatorze Juillet . « 169 The Song of the Cossack • 173 Le chant du Cosaque « « 173 J» CONTENTS. Fifty Years Cinquante ans , The Refusal Le re/us , How Fair is She ! Qu^elle est jolie / The Restoration of Song Le restoration de chanson Let 's Haste ! . Hatous-nous ! . Advice to the Belgians . Conseil aux Beiges , 9 • 9 • • Recollections of Childhood Souvenirs d'en/ance The Old Vagabond Le vieux vagabond . The Gipsies Les hghemiens , FAGB 176 176 179 179 182 182 184 184 189 189 193 193 196 196 200 200 203 203 I. "'4 CONTENTS. ■XX PAOB The People's Reminiscences .... 208 Les souvenirs du peuple . . 203 Poniatowski . 213 Foniatoivski . . 213 The Old Corporal , . 217 Le vieux corporal , . 217 The Garret . . 222 Le grenier . 222 The Smugglers . 225 Les contrabandiers , . 225 Good-Night 1 . . 233 Bon-soir ! . 233 My Tomb . 236 Mon tombeau . . 236 My Coat . . 239 Mon habit . 239 The Poor Woman . 242 La pauvre femme . 242 .1 xa CONTENTS. The Wandering Jew Le yuif errant Farewell Song! Adieu chanson I L Envoi . , pagj: 245 V 245 250 250 254 i\ 3 PREFACE. ' '■'■ •-'"'>' i.V. 1 In presenting a new translation of the songs of Beranger to the English-speaking public, the trans- lator deems no apology necessary, in spite of the many excellent renderings of certain of the chansons which have already been published in English verse. '; He was actuated principally by the wish to add his / tribute to, and to a certain extent to identify himself with, the master-spirit of modem song. He fancied he might, by paying stricter attention than had been done heretofore to the melody of the author, his varying metres and refrains, approach more nearly to the spirit of the original than had perhaps been achieved in any extended way by former translations. ' A writer of song above all others requires the most ^ painstaking exactness in his translator. A change of metre changes the whole character of such a com- t^ position. We would hardly recognize a song of Burns or Shakspeare or Moore altered to another .% f I I 14 PREFACE. measure in a foreign tongue. In fact it would not be in reality a song of either of these poets however faithfully the thought 01 imagery might be retained. Remembering this, the translator has aimed at giv- ing a representative number of the famous Chansons de Beranger in as faithful a following of the metres of the original as he deemed admissible. The trans- lations of Young, Oxenford, Brough, Tonybee, and others have been compared and examined, though with the exception of Mr. Young's, no extensive translation had formerly been attempted. English lovers of Beranger may miss in this collection one or two of their peculiar favorites, yet where so much excellence abounds it would be impossible to satisfy all without translating the whole of the songs. The translator has included in this selection nearly all of the lyrics which are commonly recog- nized as the most famous examples of Beranger's Muse. C. L. B. MEMOIR. In the year 1780, nine years before the fall of the Bastile, there was born at Paris, in the humble abode of a poor tailor, the subject of this brief sketch. No flowers, as he himself tells us in graceful verse, were laid by fate in the cradle of the infant Bcranger. He was early deserted by his parents, the remembrance of whose neglect of the duties of affection touched his sensitive heart in after years, and he was left to the care of a poor and pious aunt, living in the town of Peronne, who supplied to him the maternal protec- tion due to his tender years. Like an eaglet in a dove-cote, the nascent genius of the vivacious child must often have fluttered the propriety of his well- meaning, simple-minded aunt. There is an anecdote of these early days in example, the earliest one which we have of his youth. His aunt, according to her pious custom, had sprinkled holy water about the house, when on a sudden a thunder-storm arose, x6 ' MEMOIR. and the little Jean Pierre, then five or six years old, was struck by a flash of lightning and quite seriously injured. His only reply to the solicitations of his alarmed relative, foreshows the future satirist. ** Well ! what is the good of thy holy water?" It were a pleasant task, if here admissible, to dwell upon the unfolding of the mind of the precocious child, as he eagerly devoured such literary works as the stern canons of his aunt allowed. We may be certain that many volumes of fabliaux and histories, dramas and epic poems, romances and ballads, had left their impress upon his youthful imagination before his ad- vent to the real world of experience. He must have been well acquainted, even at this early age, with the translations of some of the most noted poets of antiquity, for his earliest verse is as purely classical in spirit as that of his later years. It was not till he was eighteen, however, that the genius of Beranger flow- ed into song. Up to this time, he had been "mew- ing his mighty youth " during the days of his early avocations, the inn boy, printer, clerk (gar5on d'au- berge, imprimeur, commis), stages of his developing manhood. His first lessons in verse were given him ^Sl MEMOIR. by M. Lalsney, the printer with whom he worked for a short time at Peronne, and who encouraged the bright, eager youth in literary pursuits. Once start- ed on her life mission, the muse of B^ranger never slumbered. Year after year were sent forth to the world those beautiful, winged couriers of song, adorned with every grace of diction and movement, pulsating with every breath of popular inspiration. B^ranger never read the classics in the original, yet like Keats he imbibed through the imperfect medium of current translations, the perfect tone, the exact and graceful flow of the Greek style. His verse, in fact, is artistically perfect both in form and spirit, star- like in its symmetry of sparkling and beautiful light. By a perusal of his songs we see the whole panorama of his life. The affection of friends, such friends as Hugo, Lamartine, Gautier, and St. Beuve, has left touching memorials of his sparkling and glowing wit, of his graceful and tender fancy, of his open and generous soul. His loves, his friendships, his praises and laments for his beloved France, his hatred of tyranny and injustice, his sympathy with every form of common life, which are inimitably Of MEMOIR. pictured for us in his charming songs, are not the artistic posings of a sentimental genius. They are color lights of the soul, crowned with the white flame of inspired thought. ** Mes chansons c'est moi," he says in his autobiography, and who "will doubt it as he reads those beautifully rhythmic verses, palpitating with the emotions of the heart. Amid the seething and jarring volcanic forces of the day, Bourbon ist, Bonapartist, Orleanist, and Republican, these song voices, buoyed upon their wings of wit and satire, of tenderness and joy, arc heard above the clamor of party strife, clear as a silver bell, their notes floating above the heads of men, and vibrating deep in their hearts. They all breathe the sturdy independence of their creator's character, held through a life of pov- erty bordering upon indigence, held in spite of the most tempting bribes to ambition or love of ease, in the stress of worldly loss and imprisonment. Beran- ger forfeited his modest clerkship under the govern- ment because he would not condescend to clothe his opinions of the ruling powers in the garb of self-in- terest. In vain did the vengeance of the court twice fall upon him. Behind the bolts of La Force his MEMOIR. voice grew still more defiant, and his passionate love of freedom burst forth in such sublime lyrics as the " Fourteenth of July," and '* Farewell to the Coun- try." All France was moved by the lofty partiotism, the touching pathos of this matchless singer, who like the caged linnet, sang all the more superbly be- hind the bars of his dungeon. But, idolized as he was by the people, the government of Charles X. dared not long deprive so popular a subject of his liberty, and at last he enjoyed full immunity from its persecutions. But the effect of his songs became as great as their popularity. More and more poign- ant fell their stinging satire against the court, till they culminated in such scathing irony as the *' Cor- onation of Charles the Simple," and the *' Advice to the Belgians." At length, among the j^iers of the populace, they drove the unhappy monarch from his throne. It is said, too, that in his glowing tributes to the first Napoleon, he aroused such sympathy for the fallen fortunes of the Bonapartes, that the coup d'etat of Napoleon the Third became possible. Never did a purely literary influence so mould the course of events. This little bald-headed song- «p 30 MEMOIR. writer, with his shabby coat and his stipend of a few hundred francs a year, was worth a dozen armies to the popular cause. One effort of his muse was more potent than a score of proclamations of the court of Versailles. Though on the whole friendly to the new Bonapartist rigime^ no enticements of Louis Napoleon could draw the people's favorite singer into active support of the government. Be- ranger held proudly aloof from place or pension, choosing to spend his few remaining years in sim- ple, dignified retirement, surrounded by faithful friends and the loving admiration of his country. Well might B^ranger in the decline of life, take for- mal leave of his admiring audience, with dignified and complacent grace rehearsing the achievements wrought by his song. In his quiet retreat at Passy in the evening of his days, he still continued, however, to charm the world with verse, at last, as he himself sang of the love-poet Parny, his contemporary, dying upon his lyre, that wondrous vehicle of song which to the end gave neither discord nor uncertain sound, of which no hand has been able to perpetuate the spell. _ , MEMOIR. Thus the songs of B^ranger are inseparably linked with the most eventful annals of France, perhaps of modern civilization. Through them the spirits of a buried past are clothed to our imaginations in their fiesh and blood reality. They come before us like the people we meet in the street, strange of manner and costume it may be, but none the less real and human. For in them is not only embodied a person- ality, but a nation ; not only the microcosm of a life, but the macrocosm of a society. For this writer, more distinctively than any other that we know of in history, identified himself with the genius of his age and nation. This is his most perfect claim to the perpetuation of his fame. Beranger was in himself the France of its great transition period. More dis- tinctively even than Bums or Horace, he expresses the very life of his time. As a deep-bosomed moun- tain lake mirrors every glow of heaven, every shad- ow of earth, in its translucent depths, so every aspira- tion of the genius of the Revolution, in its changing fluxes of popular sentiment, found its accompanying reflection in his songs. And through them all, like »s MEMOIR. a sweet minor chord running through the volume of a mighty symphony, the man himself, incorruptible, warm-hearted, generous, tender, loving, frank, effer- vescing with Gallic piquancy and wit, a master of every range of expression between the poles of feel- ing, — is revealed. His songs are an autobiography in verse. He delights to tell all about himself, not with the studied self-consciousness of a Rousseau or a Gibbon, but with the graceful abandon of a child. He has no finesse or reserve, nor cares to have. Even in his songs to prcteiided mistresses he is Be- ranger and no one elr.c. He is as genuine and orig- inal as Burns ; but he has more of rapier-like wit and classic grace than the Scot, more delicate fancy and refined bonhommie. Beranger turned even pover- ty into an alluring grace. There was no repining in that sunny nature, save that youth does not last for- ever, that beauty will pall at last upon the heart. But when youth and love forsook him, he clasped his arm around his goddess. Friendship, and sipped his wine with all the grace of yore. If he had no Lisctte near, he could be tender and witty over the most commonplace of subjects. An inspiration MEMOIR. seizes him, and his old coat serves him for a theme. Nothing came amiss to this laughing philosopher, this pensive Mercury of the boulevards. One of his finest songs is in praise of the garret of his youth. He is himself the Roger Bontemps of his song. No man perhaps with less of worldly goods enjoyed life more. But though an Epicurean by nature, yet he was a Spartan in principle, a self-sacrificing pa- triot, a champion of the people, his people, whom through all the vicissitudes of his fortunes, despite all the flatteries and threats of the great, he never forsook. In him the sapling of a true democracy flowered into song. And song in its highest excel- lence must touch the masses. It is then the most potent thing on earth, — a rainbow-winged Ariel fly- ing over land and sea and bewitching men's hearts. Such are the songs of Beranger. In his hands the Chanson of the Troubadours be- came p.t times a terrible satiric weapon, which struck often as potently as the axe of the executioner. At times it rises in its power of invective to the sublim- ity of a Pindaric ode. His wit is as polished and adorned as the blade of Excaliber, its edge is as fti MEMOIR. trenchant and keen. Unless it is Horace, we knov; of no poet who wields his satiric weapon with such Saladin-like grace and spirit. Juvenal, Churchill, Pope, and Dryden are heavy-armed crusaders, but this light-horsed Arab outrivals them all. Whether it be in pinning an epigram to the skirts of a great man, or blasting with a lightning flash of invective the pinchbeck titles of a corrupt administration, there is the same union of strength and dexterity, the same unrivalled taste in the use of metaphor and graceful sardonic humor. Dazzled as he was by the glamour of the first Emperor's splendid achievements, he was far-seeing enough, to note their tendency to subvert the liberties of popular government. And when all Europe was bowing before the Conqueror of Auster- litz and Jena, he still dared reprove the lawless am- bition of Napoleon. He was at once the gentlest and most dauntless of human beings. That charming combination of wonderful tenderness and Olympian wrath, which we so admire in Bums, we see also in him. In truth, he is the singer par excellence, for he touches every mood with the same easy grace, with the same perfection of melody. itfita w% MEMOIR. as To his countrymen, his songs are conservators of faiths and joys. To the world they are advocates J for sympathy toward his disappointed yet ever as- piring race, for kindliness toward those who most deserve our kindness, to whom he himself was ever kind and charitable— the poor and the distressed. Ct L>. 8. UL THE KING OF YVETOT. Le roi d* Yvetot. May, 1813. [This extremely popular sonj;^ satirized the ambitious de- signs and warlike propensities of the first Napoleon.] A KING once lived of Yvetot, Though little known his name, Rose late, to bed did early go, Slept well, nor cared for fame. '' • And Jenny clapped, his crown instead, A cotton night-cap on his head, • 'Tis said. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a good little king, hurrah I Hurrah ! J i aS THE KING OF WE TOT. He ate four meals a day inside His palace thatched with straw ; And pace by pace, an ass astride, His kingdom travelling saw. Plain, jovial, thinking good, agog. He 'd but for guard, as forth he *d jog, A dog ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a good little king, hurrah ! Hurrah ! But one onerous taste had he, His thirst was somewhat vif ; For though his people happy be. Of course a king must live. For table he directly got. From every puncheon taxed, a pot By lot. Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha! What a good little king, hurrah ! Hurrah ! Ill I II THE KING OF WE TOT. 99 Since maidens of good birth were glad To bow to his desire, His folk a hundred reasons had To call the king their sire. He 'd bring to butts his train-bands crack Each quarter day, the bull's-eye's black To whack ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a good little king, hurrah ! 'I Hurrah ! He ne'er enlarged his proper states, With all at peace abode ; He was your model, potentates ! For pleasure was his code. Till death his people's love he kept ; They ne'er, till in the tomb he slept, Had wept ! Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a good little king, hurrah ! Hurrah ! J. Ik :i fo THE KING OF YVETOT. They keep the portrait, painted fine, Of that right-worthy prince ; It hangs a famous tavern sign In that good land long since. As oft a fete they drink once more, The crowd still shouts the wine-shop door Before, Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ha ! ha ! ha ! ha ! What a good little king, hurrah ! Hurrah ! CHARLES VII. Charles VII, A GNES commands, I seek the fight : Ye pleasures, soft repose, adieu ! I have, to vcnge my crown and right, My God, my love, my heroes true. English, the name of my fair dame Shall through your ranks a terror pour ; With her I did forget my fame ; My honor Agnes doth restore. In sports of idle courtly day, I, Frenchman, King, no danger towards. Did little heed my country lay A prey to strangers' chains and swords. n CHARLES VII. » M A word, one word from my fair dame, With blush of shame I 'm crimsoned o'er With her I did forget my fame ; My honor Agnes doth restore. My blood, if blood can victory take, All, Agnes, all I *11 let it free ! But no ! for love and glory's sake Must Charles a living victor be. I must prevail, my peerless dame, Thy crest and colors glow once more ! With her I did forget my fame ; My honor Agnes doth restore. Dunois, La Tremouille, Saintrailles ! Ah, Frenchmen ! what a happy day When I my fair one crowned shall hail With twenty laurels won in fray ! ^^lll^^^^^^_--|__lgllg-|l CHARLES VII. 33 You, rapture, I, an honored name, Earn, Frenchmen, paying her devoir ; With her I did forget my fame ; My honor Agnes doth restore. 1' ! ^i 'I ■ ' 1 . ■ 1 ■;;;!: i •■ih' ; ll ' :| I fi J II 1 I i THE BEGGARS. Les gueux^ 1813. T T O ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; True love too they show The beggars, ho ! Now let us sing the merit Of beggar men so bold ; We must avenge with spirit Good men who nothing hold. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; I. ••^' .^-..-.-^,.-,,=,,,,,==,^^,,^ .„— THE BEGGARS, n True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! Yes, happiness is easy, E'en on the breast of want : So says the Book, so please ye Note me and my gay chant. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! Want ever dwells a roamer Parnassus on, they say ; What comforts had old Homer? A scrip and staff alway. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; F^^fW 36 THE BEGGARS. True love too they show. The beggars ho ! Ye, who misfortune clinches, Know, heroes not a few, Oft, when the fine boot pinches, Regret the wooden shoe. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! Pomps wondered at and shouted, To great ones exile bring ; Diogenes once flouted. From tub, a conquering king. Ho ! the beggars, he ! They all happy go ; THE BEGGARS. 37 True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! You see a palace gleaming, Yet enntti groans e'en there. One may on straw be dreaming, And feast off tables bare. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; True love too they show. The beggars, ho I What God with flowers is it Doth strew this bed in glee ? 'Tis Love returns to vi^it My smiling poverty. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; n |i THE BEGGARS. True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! Friendship, we mourned as flitting, Quits not this land of mine : She 's twixt two soldiers sitting, Tippling the tavern wine. Ho ! the beggars, ho ! They all happy go ; True love too they show. The beggars, ho ! ill .1 THE TWO GRENADIERS. Les deux grenadiers. April, 1S14. FIRST GRENADIER. o UR post 's forgotten in the round ; 'Tis midnight, James, at the chateau. SECOND GRENADIER. Once more for Italy we 're bound, To-morrow, good-bye, Fontainebleau ! FIRST GREN/IDIER. By heaven ! which also I give thanks, The skies of Elba brightly glow. m m THE TIVO GRENADIERS, SECOND GRENADIER. Should Utmost Russia see our ranks, Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! TOGETHER. Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go I With an old soldier go ! SECOND GRENADIER. Ah ! how fast came our defeats ! Where *s Moscow, Wilna, and Berlin ? I think I see on our bayonets Still gleam the flames of the Kremlin. And lost by those in treachery skilled. Even Paris scarcely cost a blow ! We had our cartridge-boxes filled ! Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! A Ml THE TWO GRENADIERS. 4X FIRST GRENADIER. He abdicates, says one and all ; What is the meaning of that word — Is 't the republic they recall ? SECOND GRENADIER. No, they 've a king once more restored. I think, had he crowns hundred-fold, The emperor would all bestow ; He once in alms gave crowns of gold. Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! FIRST GRENADIER. One light upon the window mapped, Shines faintly forth from the chateau. "* SECOND GRENADIER. Their noses in their mantles wrapped, The noble lacqueys fleeing go. 4« THE TWO GRENADIERS. The gold lace stripped from their costumes, To the new chief they 're bowing low ; They sell him the dead eagle's plumes ; Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! FIRST GRENADIER. / Our marshals, comrades in the wars, They too have left us, gorged with gold ; SECOND GRENADIER. Our blood has bought them all their stars ; Thank heaven ! our veins yet something hold. What ! Glory was their foster-mother, In person led them on the foe, And they desert their foster-father ! Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! FIRST GRENADIER. I, after twenty years of wars, Had thought to beg for some reprieve. tl I THE TWO GRENADIERS, 43 SECOND GRENADIER. I, almost covered o'er with scars, The colors wished at last to leave. But when the beaker 's running dry, We '11 not be base and break it,— no ! Wife, children, native land, good-bye ! Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! TOGETHER. Old grenadiers, with an old soldier go ! With an old soldier go ! LIGHT-HEARTED DICK. Roger Bontemps, January, 1814. 'T^O give them heart of grace, 'Twas in times forlorn, Unto a bilious race Light-hearted Dick was bom. He chose to live obscure, To scorn the splenetic ; " Still gay ! " the motto sure Of Light-hearted Dick. n i!! Hat, by his father worn Once in days renowned, LIGHT-HEARTED DICK, 45 Dick doth still adorn, Rose and ivy bound. Friend of twenty years, Cloak both coarse and thick, *' Still gay ! " often wears Big Light-hearted Dick. He owned within his hut A table, bed, and rug ; He had his cards and flute ; God somehow filled his jug. A girl's face on the wall, A trunk, not in 't a stick, •• Still gay ! " these the all Of Light-hearted Dick, Children of the town Little plays he 'd show ; He had much renown Ticklish tales to know. 46 LIGHT-HEARTED DICK. Dance, and song-book lore, Though at nought else quick, *' Still gay ! " such he bore, Our Light-hearted Dick, ii;!' ! i I 1 ' He no grape ilite Drank, — but canton wine ; He chose his Marguerite Before all ladies fine. Tenderness and joy Filled each instant quick ; ** Still gay ! " such employ Had Light-hearted Dick. " I trust," to Heaven said he. Thy goodness, Father dear I 41 Of my philosophy Pardon the good cheer ; May 't still be spring and fair. When out is burned life's wick, LIGHT-HEARTED DICK, 47 Still gay ! " this is the prayer Of Light-hearted Dick. Ye poor of envious soul, Ye rich, with greedy care, ' Ye, who on chariots roll In vain from woes ye bear, Ye, who 've lost maybe The glow of titles thick, " Still gay ! " your teacher see In Light-hearted Dick ! THE GAULS AND FRANKS. Les Gaulois et Francois, January, 1814. i!! [Beranger wrote this noble appeal while Napoleon was vainly attempting to arrest the march of the allied armies on Paris.] f~^ AILY ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm ! Advance ! Hope of France ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Onward ! Onward ! Gauls and Franks ! Blindly following Attila's call, The barbarous horde Onward poured. THE GAULS AND FRANKS, 49 Comes a second time to fall, Conquered on the fields of Gaul ! Gaily 1 gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm I Advance ! Hope of France J Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Onward ! Onward ! Gauls and Franks ! Leaving his morasses cold, The Cossack, In bivouac, Dreams, through faith in English gold, Revel in our halls to hold ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm ! Advance 1 Hope of France ! Gaily 1 gaily ! close our ranks I Onward 1 Onward ! Gauls and Franks I 50 TFfE GAULS AND FRANKS. Shivering Russians, starved and numb- All below One siege of snow — Fly black bread and acorns from ; For our white bread ravined come ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm! Advance! Hope of France ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks I Onward ! Onward ! Gauls and Franks ! What ! the vintage rare and fine, Poured to acclaim Of battle fame — Drunk up i Saxon swine ! No r 'iigs, and no more wine ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks 1 Arm ! Advance ! Hope of France! '^ THE GAULS AND FRANKS, Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Onward ! Onward I Gauls and Franks ! For the Calmucks, rude and base, Our daughters fair Are too rare ! Have our wives too rich a grace ; Be their sons of Frenchmen's race ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm ! Advance 1 . Hope of France I Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks I Onward ! Onward 1 Gauls and Franks ! What I those trophies fair to see. Which emblaze Our glory's praise, Stretched in ruin shall they be ! What ! the Prussians in Paris ! fit •• THE GAULS AND FRANKS. . Gaily ! gaily f close our ranks ! • Arm! Advance! Hope of France I Gaily ! gaily I close our ranks I ■ ' Onward ! Onward ! Gauls and Franks ! Noble Franks and honest Gauls, Soon descend Peace your friend ! And repay within your halls, Your high deeds with festivals ! Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Arm ! Advance ! Hope of France I Gaily ! gaily ! close our ranks ! Onward ! Onward ! Gauls and Franks ! '.-:■./ THE BEGINNING OF THE VOYAGE. Les Commencement du Voyage, O EE, my friends, this airy bark again, Which upon life's wave puts forth to sea, Doth a lovely passenger contain ; Ah ! may we her earliest sailors be. See, that sweetly she may sail forever. Soon the waves will float her from the Sii re ; We, who see heir from the haven sever, Cheer her passage with brave songs a store. Fate doth on her sail already blow ; Hope already rigging doth prepare And doth promise, from the stars that glow, Seas of calm and winds both soft and fair. Fly, fly hence, birds of ill-omened feather. The Loves shall own this shallop evermore ; rfff 54 THE BEGINNING OF THE VOYAGE. We, who see her from the haven sever, Cheer her passage with brave songs a store. They the mast with votive garlands grace : Yes, the Loves intend with her to sail ; Friendship at the helm takes her place ; To the sisters chaste no offerings fail. Bacchus himself the crew Is cheering ever ; Pleasures are invoked to pull the oar ; We who see her from the haven sever, Cheer her passage with brave songs a store. Who comes here, saluting our light bark ? *Tis Misfortune, blessing Virtue's maid ; Praying, on what good she *s set her mark. To this child the price may now be paid. How the shore resounds with prayers to save her, Sure the gods will list to their implore ! We, who see her from the haven sever, Cheer her passage with brave songs a store. MY LAST SONG, PERHAPS. Ma dernih'e Chanson peut-itre, January, 1814. 'T^HE glory of a Frenchman's name Failed never to inspire my verse ; Through France the stranger comes in fame, And his successes all I curse. But though 'tis honorable to grieve, What boots it now to groaning go ? Old Time doth yet one laugh reprieve, — 'Tis so much taken from the foe ! To-day, when many brave men fear, I, coward, tremble not at all. Rejoiced that Bacchus brings us here To tipple at his festival. * 56 MV LAST SONG, PERHAPS. Friends ! he 's the god that I implore ; He makes my heart with courage glow ; Drink gaily, comrades, drink once more ! 'Tis so much taken from the foe. My creditors like corsairs, they Have lately all against me turned ; I had just gone my debts to pay, When what you now well know, I learned, Race of avarice-eaten men, I 'd for your gold a sudden throe ! Lend me gold then, lend again ! 'Tis so much taken from the foe. There 's a mistress young of mine, Who will in many dangers run ; I think the traitress hath design At heart, the stranger foe upon. There 's certain freedoms we regret, She but half dreads to undergo ; MV LAST SONG, PERHAPS. m But I 've this evening left me yet, *Tis so much taken from the foe ! If Hope, friends, will not on us glance, Let 's swear e'en at the risk of death, That, for these enemies of France, We will not raise a welcome breath. But hold this in your memories fast. The swan in death dies singing, — so Sing yet, ye Frenchmen, to the last ! 'Tis so much taken from the foe t , . ■■ ' ■ ■ ^ rl' : f>'l ■.■;;■■;- I . • r . I .. i !.■; t , , „ ' ..>-f*;f -5 A PASSING ROUND THE BAUBLE. Un tour de marotte. [Song' sungf at the Suppers of Momus.] 'T^H AT Momus, god of verses good. Be Epicurus' friend, fjll My girdle round, in jolly mood. His chaplets I suspend. Now to his sway We tribute pay, While his gay pranks abound : ^ Hands round, be gay Till break of day, And pass the bauble round. I!! I, ill I ' I ! ( J I i!i A PASSING ROUND THE BAUBLE. 59 The bauble's power opposing mocks That which the sceptre sways ; The great folks' fingers Momus knocks To whom they incense raise. He gaily beats The fools and cheats In mitre, crest, and gown : Hands round, be gay Till break of day, And pass the bauble round. Should one be lion in saloons, Or doctor scented o'er. Or should a lackey change galoons And not his chamber door, They 'd Paris find To tricks inclined ; Thank us, who them confound : Hands round, be gay Till break of day, ' *^ • And pass the bauble round. I;|f A PASSING ROUND THE BAUBLE. It has at Beauty's court employ ; They there the bauble use ; It is to Love himself a toy ; It Venus doth amuse ; Both actress and the devotee It lures with joyous souad : Hands round, be gay , 5 W Till break of day. And pass the bauble round. Its bells chime to the tambourine Of the god of vintage-time ; When wine in floods of ruby sheen Doth charm night's weary prime ; Oh yes, its bells, When trouble swells, An antidote are found : Hands round, be gay Till break of day, And pass the bauble round. A PASSING ROUND THE BAUBLE. 6i No laggards, ye who feastward press ! It seems to me, good friends, That Friendship all of them doth bless That to the feast she sends ; Young souls of wit There laughing sit, There rave and table pound : Hands round, be gay Till break of day, And pass the bauble round. v } To clang of bells each joyous man, Then sing ye here your mass : Beneath their god, priest, sacristan Do ye to joyance pass ! In gay refrain Then wake the strain, And make the note resound : Hands round, be gay Till break of day. And pass the bauble round. ».T.; >.w. f- OLD CLOTHING! OLD GALOONS ! OR, MORAL AND POLITICAL REFLECTIONS OF A CLOTHES-DEALER OF THE CAPITAL. — FIRST ■s RESTORATION, 1814. Vieux habits ! Vieux galons ! /^LD-CLOTHES merchants though we be, Good Sirs ! a-many men we see ; From end to end of this big ball Dress governs all. Amidst the changes we discuss, The cast-oflf clothes belong to us ; We reckon profits by doubloons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! Sometimes in reading the gazette, I, with some others, do regret OLD CLOTHING t OLD GALOONSt 63 The French hold now in no repute The 'broidered suit. , f . But 1 've been told by those who know, Anew old prejudices grow ; We *11 soon be quitting pantaloons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! Fashion and politics are made To swell a hundred times my trade : What credit to the work is due On suitings new ! When they 're forgot, those tunics worn, Our civic goddesses did adorn, To passers back they go eftsoons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! In famous hundred battle days, The coat's edge wore galoon always ; Galoon all covered o'er was seen • The suitings green. , t ? -: >/ OLD CLOTHING! OLD G A LOONS t There comes no glory save with luck ! After each victory we pluck, Content alone, our special boons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! .•' "• • •■ >• • ■ ■'•■.'■<... We also find our gain the same With all that race, who without shame, Back on a sudden tide-wave float To change their coat. The lackeys, trooping all belaced, To-day to sell their liveries haste ; What lines of blue coats like dragoons ! Old clothing ! Old galoons ! Defenders of our grandsires' day, From noble haunts, come now this way : At last in its turn, out of press Comes the court dress. Now buying back their old costumes, With heels of red and snowy plumes, OLD CLOTHING! OLD C A LOONS/ Tlicy go to reign in the saloons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! Our scruples held in no regard, Should this vile horde of atheists hard Add to the number of their taints The robes of saints, 'Neath many a philosophic nose I will their stuff for sale expose : To double gain our virtue tunes. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! Lauded long time in all their works, Great men, now treated worse than Turks, Dwell in their manors farthest back In suits of black. But, thanks to us, come to our haunt Those mantles which no more they want ; Too long and thick for afternoons. Old clothing ! Old galoons ! 66 OLD CLOTHING! OLD G A LOONS! Of riches I 'm assured some day : , In France, the people hold alway, At town, court, play, in most repute The 'Lroidered suit. Race, decked in scarlet and in gold, During one month you '11 be extolled, Then to your waning with the moon's ! Old clothing ! Old galoons ! -I -TiM THE NEW DIOGENES. Lf Nouveau Diogene, •pvIOGENES, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine. Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. Men say, from water they thy rudeness trace ; I, gayer censor ne'er to it apply. In scarce a month, to give my wisdom place, I drained a cask of good old wine quite dry. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. 63 THE NEW DIOGENES. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. Where I *m well placed,! easily sojourn ; But, like as we, the gods inconstant prove. Within my tub, upon this globe that turns, I also turn, with time and fortune move. t)iogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. Parties I Ve jeered a hundred times away, Thinking I can no useful strength impart. Before my tub, now do not stop to say. Whom art thou for, thou who for nothing art?" (I THE NEW DIOGENES. H Diogenes, i 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. I love at Gothic prejudice to rail, And all the colored ribbons of court powers ; But, stranger to the hot politic gale, , : My cap of freedom is a crown of flowers. Diogenes, r 'Neath cloak of thine, ., Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. When to divide the world they 've got a task, . Some potentates may cheat or cheated be ; ^o THE NEW DIOGENES. I am not going all around to ask ; If into my tub's business they will see. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine. Free and content, I roll this cask of mine. Where satire leads, I am not ignorant ; The pompous trappings of the court I shun ; Their honors vain, I 'm too inclined to taunt ; When kings are near, I fear me for my sun. Diogenes, ' 'Neath cloak of thine, . Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. THE NEW DIOGENES. yt Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this cask of mine. Through modern Athens, lantern in my hand, To seek a man, is labor fine, I know ; But when night sees my lantern's rays expand, *Tis then my torch, while on love quests I go. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine. Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. Exempt from tax, deserter from the ranks, ' I still, 'tis said, with public virtues shine ; For if they wanted tubs for vintage tanks. Without a murmur I would lend them mine. If 2 THE NEW DIOGENES. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine, Free and content, I sit and drink at ease. Diogenes, 'Neath cloak of thine. Free and content, I roll this tub of mine. A TREATISE ON POLITICS. ■ Traits de politique. ^ The Hundred Days, 1815. [This song and that of the King of Yvetot effectually disprove any idea that Beranger was either a blind or ser- vile partisan of Napoleon. The returned Emperor, here under the sobriquet of Lise, is cleverly counselled by the poet against the evils of ambition.] T ISE 1 who reignest by the grace Of God, who equals all at last. Thy beauty, which hath peerless place, A crowd of rivals chaineth fast ; But wide howe'er may be thy rule, It is the French who love profess ; Let 's, laughing, put thy faults to school, For thy good subjects' happiness. How many belles, and princes great, Love to abuse their powers v^st ; X 74 A TREA TISE ON POLITICS. How many a lover, many a state, Is driven to despair at lajt. Fear lest some dread revolt from thee May to thy boudoir gain access. Lise, abjure all tyranny ! For thy good subjects' happiness. By undue coquetry made blind, Fair women are like conquerors too, Who leave their country far behind A hundred nations to subdue. Oh, terrible coquettes are these 1 Don't imitate their vain excess ; Go no more after conquests, Lise, For thy good subjects' happiness. Thanks to the courtiers full of zeal, The approach to potentates doth lie Less easy, than to a belle to steal Under an ever jealous eye. A TREA TISE ON POLITICS. 75 But on thy couch, that throne of peace, Where Pleasure rules by laws express, Be aye accessible, O Lise ! For thy good subjects' happiness. Lise, kings in vain do us assure They hold their patents from the skies ; As also thou, by nature pure, From Heaven the right to charm all eyes. When to such hands as thine, from ours The sceptre goes in. trustfulness. From us thou still must hold its powers, For thy good subjects' happiness. That loved thou may'st be without cease. Take to thy heart these verities ; Become a good princess, Lise ! And respect our liberties. May Love, who doth the roses reap. Bright wreaths upon thy forehead press. And long thy crown in safety keep, For thy good subjects' happiness ! THE EDUCATION OF YOUNG LADIES. Le Education dcs demoiselles, A FINE girl's teacher, I must say, Monsieur de F6n6Ion is, — -pshaw ! 'Tis mass and needlework alway. He 's but a simpleton, mamma. Balls, concerts, and the newest play Instruct us better far than he ; Tra, la, la, la, we maidens gay, Tra, la, la, la, so schooled are we I Let others 'broidery do, mamma ; But I '11 to my piano get, To sing an air from Armida, My music master in duet. THE EDUCATION OF YOUNG LADIES, 77 I seem to feel the fiery ray Of R6naud's love aflame in me ; Tra, la, la, la, we maidens gay, Tra, la, la, la, so schooled are we 1 Let all who will book-keeping know, Mamma, then for an hour or two I '11 to my dancing-master go, And learn voluptuous steps to do. These lengthy gowns my feet delay, A shorter cut 's the thing for me ; Tra, la, la, la, we maidens gay, Tra, la, la, la, so schooled are we ! Old prudes may suit my sister Nell ; Mamma, I '11 to the gallery go ; I draw already wondrous well The curves that round Apollo flow. >8 THE EDUCA TION OF YOUNG LADIES, Good gracious ! what fine figures they ! Such handsome nakedness to see ! Tra, la, la, la, we maidens gay, Tra, la, la, la, so schooled are we ! Mamma, 'tis time that I were wed ; Regard to custom one must pay ; My dearest soul, 'tis truth I 've said ; I vovv, the case needs no delay. Strange things the world does of me say, But winks at all this laughingly ; Tra, la, la, la, we maidens gay, Tra, la, la, la, so schooled are we ! THOU HATEFUL SPRING! M audit Prin temps ! T?ROM mine, through all the wintry weather, I 've seen her at her casement stand. Lovers, though each unknown to other, The air across our kisses fanned. A-past the leafless lindens peeping, With lovers' looks we filled our days. Thou art again their shade repeating ; Thou hateful Spring ! wilt thou return always ? I 've lost her in their deepening shadows, That dazzling xngel over there ; Feeding, when frost hath clothed the meadows, With crumbs of bread the birds of air. They call to her, their frisk together The signal unto love displays ; 8o THOU HATEFUL SPRING t Ah ! nothing 's like the snowy weather ! Thou hateful Spring ! wilt thou return always ? Without thee, her I 'd still be seeing, V/hen she doth from sweet sleep arise. Fresh as they paint Aurora, fleeing To ope Day's curtains in the skies. At eve I 'd say, still towards her turning, ** My star yet shines across the maze. She sleeps ! no more her lamp is burning ": Thou hatpful Spring ! wilt thou return always ? For winter Ftill my heart is praying ; Ah ! how I long to hear again The lightly bounding hail a-playing A tattoo on the window-pane. Thy olden empire doth but cheat me ; What are thy zephyrs, blooms, long days? I have no more her smile to greet me. Thou hateful Spring ! wilt thon return always ? THE BROKEN FIDDLE. Le violon bris/. /^ OME here, my poor dog, faithful beast; Eat away, never mind my despair. Here 's yet this last cake for our feast ; To-morrow on black bread we '11 fare. The strangers who won by a ruse, Last eve met me this valley in ; " Some dancing tune play," — I refuse, — Then one broke my poor violin. It the villagers* orchestra made. No more are our fetes, happy days ! Whoe'er shall dance now 'neath the shade ? Who Love's quenchless fame again raise? Ill' 83 Tf/E BROKEN FIDDLE. How oft at the sweet dawn of day, With a vigorous scrape of my bow, The bride I 've informed by my play The young bridegroom's train was below. To our priests, who would dare to draw near, Our dancing did no offence bring. Our gaiety spread without fear ; Had smoothed e'en the brow of a king. Though it preluded strains in our fame To the songs it Inspired us to make. Who *d think that these strangers who came, Would ever revenge on it take ? Come here, my poor dog, faithful beast ; Eat away, never mind my despair. Here 's yet this last cake for our feast ; To-morrow on black bread we '11 fare. THE BROKEN FIDDLE, ^ How long will the Sunday seem now> In barn or 'neaih elm-tree shade ? Will God vintaf.e blessing allow, If no more is my violin played ? Long hours it once did relax ; From poor folks could care away drive ; From storms, from the great, from the tax, It alone could our hamlet revive. It charmed bitter hatred to mirth ; Of many a tear stopped the flow ; There never was sceptre on earth Has done so much good as my bow. This foe, though, whom forth we must chase, My courage restores by this stroke. My hands shall with musket replace The poor violin which they broke. u THE BROKEN FIDDLE. So friends that I 'm parted from now, One day, if I perish, will say, Barbarians he would not allow O'er our ruins to dance and be gay. Come here, my poor dog, faithful beast ; Eat away, never mind my despair. Here *s yet this last cake for our feast ; To-morrow on black bread we *11 fare, \ THE HOLY ALLIANCE OF NATIONS. La sainte Alliance des Peuples, [Song sung at Liancourt, at the fete given by the Due de Rochefoucauld, to celebrate the evacuation of French ter- ritory in the month of October, 1818.] T HAVE seen Peace descend upon the earth, Scattering her breast with flowers, and corn, and gold; The air was calm, and of the god of wrath The lurid bolts, she stifled and controlled. Ah ! said she, ** Men, in courage equal all, English, Russ, Belgian, German, Gallic land ; Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! 86 THE HOLY ALLIANCE OF NATIONS. ■■■'■■ " ' ■ ■ ■ ■!■■ ■ I — I.. --- -■■■M. I BIMI ■ I —1 ■■!■■■ ■ !■■■■■■ ■■■ — ^^— » " Poor mortals, wearied by such endless hate, Ye never taste a sleep that 's free from care ; Each from this globe can carve a just estate ; Each of you may the genial sunshine share ; Each of you, to the car of power a thrall, Ye quit the path where happy dreams expand ; Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! " Unto your neighbor's doors ye carry flames ; The North wind blows, in flames your roof-trees glow, And when her coolness the scorched earth reclaims, Your maimed and weary arms forsake the plough. Within the line where each State's boundaries fall, No harvest 's pure from blood that soaks the land. Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! " Those rulers in your cities wrapped in flame, At end of their disdainful sceptres dare THE HOLY ALLIANCE OF NATIONS. 87 Those souls to mark, to count, and to proclaim, Whom bloody triumphs portioned to their care ; Ye weak ones sink, ye pass, defenceless fall I From heavy yoke, 'neath cruel yoke trepanned ; Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! " That Mars may not in vain arrest his course, To aid your stricken land wise statutes bring ; Drain ye no more your life-blood from its source, For mighty conqueror, for ungrateful king ; Ban the false stars and make their influence pall ; Frightful to-day, they pale to-morrow stand ; Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! " Yes, once more free, let the faint earth respire ; Veil now the past, your eyes now forward turn ; Sow blithe your fields to accents of the lyre ; Incense to arts now for your country burn : THE HOLY ALL ' ANCE OF NA TIONS. Then Peace on Plenty's breast shall smiling fall, And cull the sweet fruits of this marriage band. Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each to each the hand ! " So spake she then, that virgin ever blest. More than one king her words repeated o'er ; Fair as in spring, were thoir glad realms dressed. Autumn with flowers adorned the Loves once more. Flow good French wine ! for him, whom back we call ; O'er the frontier the Exile seeks his land. Ye nations, join one holy compact all ; Give each, to each the hand ! THE MARQUIS OF CARABAS. Le Marquis de Carabas, November, i8i6. n^HIS old Marquis treats us, see ! As if a conquered race were we. On his raw-boned charger gaunt He comes home from far-off haunt. Toward his castle old Comes this noble mould, Waving, short of breath, Guiltless sword of death ! Hats off ! hats off ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Hail ! the Marquis of Carabas ! (f Almoner and seneschal, Liegemen, serfs, and vassals all I THE MARQUIS OF CAR ABAS, I, I only, by my word," Said he, "have my king restored. Should he not restore Rights my rank once wore, He, by Jove ! with me A fine game will see." Hats off ! hats off ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Hail ! the Marquis of Carabas ! " Some, inventing bad report, A miller's name with mine consort ; My line its lineage won Of yore from great Short Pepin's son. Faith, from my device, Is my house more nice. And my blood more pure Than the king's, I 'm sure." Hats off ! hats off ! hurrah ! hurrah Hail ! the Marquis of Carabas ! THE MARQUIS OF CAR ABAS. 91 " Who shall stop my good report ? The Marchioness sits high at court. Bishop some fine day to be, My youngest son, the court shall see. Son, the baron, you. Though you funk, 'tis true, Shall have crosses free. Shall at least have three." Hats off ! hats off ! hurrah ! hurrah ! Hail ! the Marquis of Carabas ! ** All at peace then let us be ! But taxes they dare name to me. Naught a noble owes the state ; For its own good he was create. Thanks to my supply. Arms and ramparts high, I, my mind can well To the prefect tell." ^%. s^^w V^.'^nS^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) w A o ,^ / I/.. U^ % 1.0 I.I l^|28 |2.5 |5o ^" mmt 11:25 ill 1.4 12.2 18 1.6 T< iV 4