Front matter
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Preface
I
T is extremely difficult to obtain accurate information respecting the character and conduct of those who occupy thrones. The views of writers are so influenced by political predilections, that the same character is represented by one as an angel, and by another as a demon. The author of the following sketches has spared no pains to obtain as correct knowledge as possible of the distinguished individuals of whom he has written, and he has introduced no illustrative actions which have not appeared to him to be well authenticated. He has not been careful to inquire whether the opinions he has expressed are generally entertained or not. He has only endeavored to give utterance to his honest convictions in reference to events and actions which have agitated and still divide the opinions of the world.
New York, May, 1848.
Contents
Page
FERDINAND 109
ISABELLA 235
3
With luxuiy and pride suiTounded, The vilo, insatiate despots dare — Their thirst of gold and jiower unbounded —
To mete and vend tiie light and air.
Like beasts of burden would they load us,
Like tyrants bid their slaves adore ;
But man is man, and who is more ?
Nor shall they longer lash and goad us.
(Chorus) — To anris ! to arms, ye bfave ! Th' avenging sword unsheath !
March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved On liberty or death '
4. O Liberty! can man resign thee
Once having felt thy gen'rous flame 1 Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee,
Or whips thy noble spirit tame ?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing AVhat Falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; But Freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing.
(Chonis) — To arms! to arms, ye brave! Th' avenging sword unsheath !
March on ! march on ! all hearts resolved On liberty or death !
The reader may be interested iii here perusing the following account, given by Lamartine, of the origm of this famous song. " The Marseillaise preserves notes of the song of glory and the shriek of death : glorious as the one, funereal like the other, it assures the country, while it makes the citizen turn pale. This is its history :
"There was then a young officer of artillery in the garrison at Strasburg, named Rouget de Lisle. He was born at Lons-le-Saunier, in the Jura, that country of revery and energy, as mountainous countries always are. This young man loved war like a soldier — the Revolution like a thinker. He charmed with his verses and music the slow, dull garrison life. Much in request from his twofold talent as musician and poet, he visited the house of Dietrick, an Alsatian patriot {maire of Strasburg), on intimate terms. Dietrick's wife and young daughters shared in his patriotic feelings, for the Revolution was advancing toward the frontiers, just as the affections of the body always commence at the extremities. They were very partial to the young officer, and inspired his heart, his poetry, and his music. They executed the first of his ideas hardly developed, confidantes of the earliest flights of his genius.
" It was in the winter of 1792, and there was a scarcity in Strasburg. The house of Dietrick was poor, and the table humble ; but there was always a welcome for Rouget de Lisle. This young officer was there from morning to night, like a son or brother of the family. One day, when there was only some coarse bread and slices of ham on the table, Dietrick, looking with calm sadness at De Lisle, said to him, ' Plenty is not seen at our feasts ; but what matter, if'enthusiasm is not wanting at our civic fetes, and courage in our soldier's hearts. I have still a bottle of wine left in my cellar.' ' Bring it,' he added, addressmg one of his daughters, ' and we will drink to Liberty and our country. Strasburg is shortly to have a patriotic ceremony, and De Lisle must be inspired by these last drops to produce one of those hymns which convey to the soul of the people the enthusiasm which suggested it.' The young girls applauded, fetched the wine, filled the glasses of their old father and the young officer until the wine was exhausted. It was midnight, and very cold. De Lisle was a dreamer ; his heart was moved, his head heated. The cold seized on him, and he went staggering to his lonely chamber, endeavoring, by degrees, to find mspiration in the palpitations of his citizen heart ; and on his small clavichord, now composing the air before the words, and now the words before the air, combined them so intimately in his mind, that he could never tell which was first produced, the air or the words, so impossible did he find it to separate the poetry from the music, and the feeling from the impression. He sung every thing — wrote nothing.
" Overcome by this divine inspiration, his head fell sleeping on his instrument, and he did not awake until daylight. The song of the over-night returned to his memory with difficulty, like the recollections of a dream. He wrote it down, and then ran to Dietrick. He found him in his garden. His wife and daughters had not yet risen. Dietrick aroused them, called together some friends as fond as himself of music, and capable of executmg De Lisle's composition. Dietrick's eldest daughter accompanied them, Rouget sang. At the first verse all countenances turned pale, at the second tears flowed, at the last enthusiasm burst forth.
LOUIS rniLirPE. si
The hymn of the country was found. Alas ! it was also destined to be the hymn of terror. The unfortunate Dietrick went a few months afterward to the scaffold, to the sound of the notes produced at his own fireside, from the heart of his friend, and the voices of his daughters.
" The new song, executed some days afterward at Strasburg, flew from city to city, m every public orchestra. Marseilles adopted it to be sung at the opening and at the close of the sittings of its clubs. The Marseillais spread it all over France, by singing it every where on their way, whence the name of Marseillaise. De Lisle's old mother, a Royalist, and religious, alarmed at the effect of her son's voice, wrote to him : " What is this Revolutionary hymn, sung by bands of brigands who are traversing France, and with which our name is mingled ?' De Lisle himself, proscribed as a Royalist, heard it, and shuddered as it sounded on his ears, while escaping by some of the wild passes of the Alps. ' What do they call that hymn ?' he inquired of his guide. ' The Marseillaise,'' replied the peasant. It was thus he learned the name of his own work. The arm turned against the hand that forged it. The Revolution, insane, no longer recognized its own voice !"
As this hymn has acquired a world-wide celebrity, we will insert it here in the original French.
MARSEILLAISE HYMN.
I. Le jour de gloire est amve ; Contre nous de la tyranuie
Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillons! Marchez ! qu'un sang impur abreuve vos sillons ! (ChoBui-) — Aux armes, citoyens ! formons nos bataillons !
Marchons! qii'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons !
II. Pour qui ces ignoble entraves
Ces fers des long-tems prepares?
G'est nous qu'on ose menacer De reudre d I'antique esclavage ; Aux armes, citoyens! formez vos bataillons! Marchez ! qu'mi sang impur abreuve vos sillons ! (Cha3ur) — Aux annes, citoyens ! fonnons nos bataillons !
Marchons! qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons!
III. Feraient la loi dans nos foyers !
Aux annes, citoyens ! fonnez vos bataillons ! Marchez! qu'un sang impur abreuve vos siUons ! (Chn?ur) — Aux armes, citoyens! fonnons nos bataillons !
Marchons ! qu'un sang impur abreuve nos sillons !
IV. LOUIS I'HILirrE. 83
Aux ai'ines, citoyens ! fomiez vos bataillons ! Marchez ! qu'im sang impur abreuve vos sillons ! (Choeur) — Aux amies, citoyens ! fonnous nos bataillons !
Mai-clions ! qu'uu sang impiu" abreuve nos sillons!
V
Aux amies, citoyens ! formez vos bataillons ! Mai'chez ! qn'un sang irapur abreuve vos sillons ! (Choear) — Aux amies, citoyens ! formons nos bataillons !
Rlarchons ! qu'un sang iuipur abreuve nos sillons!
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