The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1862-12-05
Dumas as a Historical NOvelist---Old
Stories newly TOld---The Marseil-
1aise---The Martyr King.

ureW ue laVerney, mas just Doen translated
by HENRY L. WILLIAMS, Jr., and published
by T. B. PETERSON u BRoTHERs, of Phla-
delphla 1t is tale of the dowfall of the
French Monarchy, and q sequel to the long
series of historical rOmances on which the
pen of DUMAS was employed for SO many
years In the present work the scenes
and incidents, as well as the principal
characters, are taken from the period in
French history between ITO and 1894. It
embraces the tragedies Of the downfall of
LOUIS XVI and his execution, told with
all the nervous power of this most inter-
esting of French novelists. We copy, as a
specimen Of his style, his account OF the
composing OF that famous revolutionary
pean of France,
TIE MAESEILLAIsE.
Strasburg, whose peerless spire is re-
flected in the Rhine, which also divides us
from the enemy, was a boiling caldrOn of
war, youth, joy, pleasure, balls, reviews,
where the clash of the instruments of COM
bat necessarily mingled with the music of
revelry. ... s...t
From Strasburg, through one gate of
which the volunteers entered, there went
out, by another gate, the soldiers who were
deemed in fighting condition there friends
met, shook hands and bid farewell; there
sisters wept, mothers prayed, fathers said:
Go and die for France!"
All this, to the ringing of bells and the
reverberating of cannon, those two bronze
voices speaking to heaven, one to invoke
its mercifulness, the other its justice.
On one of their departures, more solemn
than the others, because the most consid-
cradle, the Mayor of Strasburg, Dietrich,
a worthy and excellent patriot, invited the
brave young men to come to his house to
traternize in banquet with the officers of
the garrison.
The Mayors two daughters, With twelve
or fifteen of their cOmpanions-falr noble
daughters of Alsace, who might have been
taken, by their golden tresses, for nymphs
of Ceres-were, if not to preside, at least,
like so many bouquets Of flowers, to en-
bellish the feast
Among the number of the guests, an ha-
bitual visitor to Dietrich's house, friend
of the family, was young, high-spirited
native of Franc Comtois, name Rouget de
lIsle.
eve knew him in after years, and he
himself, while we recorded it with our
hand from his mouth, related to us the
birth of that noble flower of war, at the
springing up of which the reader is to be
q witnesS.)
Rouget de l'Isle was then of the age of
twenty, and as an engineer officer, was in
the garrison Of Strasburg.
A poet and musician, his piano was
one OF the instruments to be heard in i'm
mense concerts, his voice, one Of those
which resOund above the strongest and
most patriotic.
Never was banquet more French, more
national, illumed by a more ardent June
sun.
No one spoke of himself-all spoke of
France.
Death was there, it is true, as in antique
festivals; but smiling death, not grasping
in his hand the hideous scythe and mourn
full hour-glass, but a sword in one hand,
in the other palm-branch!
They were puzzled what they should
sing; the old "Ca ira" was song of
wrath and civil war; they wanted patri-
otto, brotherly outburst, and yet menacing
to the foreigners.
Who was to be the modern Tyrteus who
would hurl, amid cannon-smoke, the whist
ling of bullets and of balls, the hymn of
France to the enemy?
To this demand Rouget de I'Isle, en-
thusiastic, amOurs, patriotic, answered:
eft is l."
He left the saloon
In half an hour, while his absence was
hardly causing any uneasiness, all was
formed, words and music; all was cast at
the one gush of metal, fashioned in the
mould like gods statue.
Rouget de l'Isle entered, his hair tossed
back, his forehead beaded with sweat,
breathless with the contest he had wrestled
with the two sisters, Music and Poetry.
Listen-hearken to me, all of you'll"
He was sure of his muse, the noble young
man.
At his voice everybody turned, some
holding their glasses IN their hand, Others
holding hand in theirs.
Rouget de lIsle commenced
awake, sons of dear France. awake,
The day of glory dawns full and fair,
Against You now doth tyranny
Its bloody standard high uprear.
i Do you not hear how, in our fields.
Its ruthless soldiers fiercely cheer?
They're come to Stay cen in our arms,
Our children, all we love so dear!
To arms, citizens! your battalions form
March on, march on
Until the beams ofpeace succeed the Storm"
On this opening verse an electrical shud-
der overran the entire audience.
Two or three shouts of enthusiasm burst
forth but the greedy voices Of the rest
cried instantly:
''Hush, hush let us hear -
Rouget continued with gesture of deep
indignation ...
t1What do thew want this horde of slaves