Part 8

The birth of Decoration Day deserves to be held in everlasting remembrance. Mrs. John A. Logan, the wife of the great Volunteer General, in company with some friends, made a trip to Richmond in March, 1868. Mrs. Logan was particularly impressed by the evidences of desolation and destruction which she witnessed everywhere, but which seemed to her to be particularly emphasized by the innumerable graves which filled the cemeteries, many of which were those of Confederate soldiers. In the summer before they had all been decorated by wreaths of flowers and little flags, all of which were faded, but which seemed to the tender-hearted woman to be a mute evidence of the devotion and gratitude of those people to the men who had lost their lives to their cause.

On speaking of this to General Logan, on her return, he said it was a beautiful custom and one worthy to be copied, and, as he was then Commander-in-chief of the Grand Army of the Republic, that he intended issuing an order, asking the entire people of the nation to inaugurate the custom of annually decorating the graves of the patriotic dead as a memorial of their sacrifice and devotion to country. He issued the first order for May 30, 1868, and it was so enthusiastically received that Congress made it a national holiday.

It will thus be seen, that Memorial Day was born out of a partnership between a woman's tender heart and a man's noble purpose. It is also sweet to reflect that South and North united at its birth. The Southern mourners were the first to cover the graves of their dead with flowers, as they were the first to decorate the graves of their fallen foes; while their Northern brothers led in calling to it national attention, and made the custom as wide as the country. From henceforth we all unite in the closing couplet of Finch's noble song:--

"Love and tears for the Blue; Tears and love for the Gray."

_RULE, BRITANNIA._

When Britain first, at heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter, the charter of the land, And guardian angels sung the strain: Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

The nations, not so blest as thee, Must in their turn to tyrants fall, While thou shalt flourish, great and free, The dread and envy of them all. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that rends the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

Thee, haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame,-- But work their woe and thy renown. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

To thee belongs the rural reign, Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore encircles thine. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

The Muses, still with freedom found, Shall to thy happy coasts repair, Blessed Isle! With matchless beauty crowned, And manly hearts to guard the fair. Rule, Britannia, Britannia rule the waves, Britons never shall be slaves.

--_James Thomson._

The poet Southey declares that this noble ode in honor of Great Britain will be the political hymn of that country as long as she maintains her political power. It had a peculiar origin. Dr. Thomas Arne, the great musical composer, composed the music for his _Masque of Alfred_, and it was first performed at Cliefden House, near Maidenhead, on August 1, 1740. Cliefden was then the residence of Frederick, Prince of Wales, and the occasion was to commemorate the accession of George I. and in honor of the birthday of young Princess Augusta. Doctor Arne afterward altered it into an opera, and it was so performed at Drury Lane Theater on March 20, 1745, for the benefit of Mrs. Arne. In the advertisement of that performance Doctor Arne specially announces that _Rule Britannia_, which he calls "a celebrated ode," will be sung. We judge from this that it had even at that time gained great popularity.

Dr. Thomas Arne himself had a very interesting story. He was the son of a wealthy upholsterer in London and was born in 1704. He was educated at Eton, and his father intended him for the law, but while in school he had such a craving for music that he would often dress himself in servant's livery and sit in the upper gallery at the theaters. He learned to play with the strings of his spinet muffled in a handkerchief. One day his father attended a musicale at the house of a friend, and to his great astonishment and disgust, his own son occupied the place of first violinist. The father, however, decided to make the best of it, and not to fight against nature. From that time on the music-loving boy was allowed to play at home, and it was not very long before the whole family were proud of his achievements. He was the first English composer to rival Italian music in compass and difficulty. Doctor Arne lived and died absorbed in musical tones. Death came to him in the midst of his work, March 5, 1778. While attempting to illustrate a musical idea, he sang an air in faltering tones; the sound grew fainter, until song and breathing ceased together. Perhaps if he could have chosen his way to die this would have pleased him best of all.

The words for this _Masque of Alfred_, in which _Rule Britannia_ appears, were written jointly by James Thomson, the author of _The Seasons_, and David Mallet, a Scotch tutor. It is not certain who was the author of these verses, Thomson, or Mallet. During Thomson's life in the newspapers of the day he alone was mentioned as the author. He died in 1751, and Mallet brought out, in 1755, his _Masque of Britannia_, at Drury Lane Theater, and it was received with great applause. The _Monthly Review_, a Scottish magazine of the time, in noticing it says: "_Britannia_, a Masque set to music by Doctor Arne. Mr. David Mallet is its reputed author. His design is to animate the sons of Britannia to vindicate their country's rights, and avenge her wrongs." On the whole, the weight of evidence seems to be in favor of the famous ode having been written by Thomson, but no one will ever be able to prove certainly as to whether it originated in his brain or Mallet's.

_Rule Britannia_ soon became a favorite with the Jacobite party. Many parodies of it have been written, some of which were very famous in their time. One is to be found in _The True Royalist_, a collection of English songs long since out of print, which is perhaps worth repeating here:--

"Britannia, rouse at heav'n's command! And crown thy native Prince again; Then Peace shall bless thy happy land, And Plenty pour in from the main: Then shalt thou be--Britannia thou shalt be From home and foreign tyrants free.

"Behold, great Charles! thy godlike son, With majesty and sweetness crown'd; His worth th' admiring world doth own, And fame's loud trump proclaims the sound. Thy captain him, Britannia, him declare! Of kings and heroes he's the heir.

"The second hope young Hero claims, Th' extended empire of the main; His breast with fire and courage flames, With Nature's bounds to fix thy reign. He (Neptune-like), Britannia, will defy All but the thunder of the sky.

"The happiest states must yield to thee, When free from dire corruption's thrall; Of land and sea thou'lt Emp'ror be, And ride triumphant round the ball: Britannia, unite! Britannia must prevail, Her powerful hand must guide the scale."

There is still another parody, also once very famous, contained in the book referred to. The first verse is as follows,--

"When our great Prince, with his choice band, Arriv'd from o'er the azure main, Heav'n smil'd with pleasure, with pleasure on the land, And guardian angels sung this strain: Go, brave hero; brave hero, boldly go, And wrest thy scepter from thy foe."

In letting the parodies die, and in retaining the original song, succeeding generations have manifestly ensured the survival of the fittest. There has perhaps been no time since the Revolutionary War when Americans have listened to _Rule Britannia_ with as sympathetic ears as since the beginning of our war with Spain. The almost universal sympathy expressed for us by all classes in England has served to bring the two nations closer together than a hundred years of ordinary intercourse. Whether or no it brings about the Anglo-American alliance so widely discussed, it has made _Rule Britannia_ a grateful song to patriotic Americans.

_THE WATCH ON THE RHINE._

Like gathering thunder spreads a cry, Like clash of arms when battle's nigh, The Rhine! there's danger to the Rhine! Who'll shield it from the foe's design? Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine, Dear Fatherland, no fear be thine, Steadfast and true, we guard our German Rhine! Steadfast and true, we guard our German Rhine!

The tidings flash through million hearts, From million flaming eyes it darts; Our valiant sons, in danger strong, Will guard our hallow'd stream from wrong!

What though the foe my life should quench, I know thy wave will ne'er be French; And ample as thy tide of blue, The living stream of heroes true.

The shades of heroes past and gone Upon our deeds are looking down; By home and Fatherland we swear The foeman from thy banks to scare.

While through my veins the life is poured, As long as I can hold a sword, No stranger shall our land despoil, No foeman desecrate our soil.

Proclaim the vow from shore to shore, Let banners wave and cannons roar, The Rhine! The lovely German Rhine, To keep it Germans all combine. Dear Fatherland, all fear resign, Dear Fatherland, all fear resign, Stout hearts and true will keep watch on the Rhine, Stout hearts and true will keep watch on the Rhine.

--_Max Schneckenburger._ (_Translated by Lady Natalie MacFarren._)

_The Watch on the Rhine_ was written by Max Schneckenburger in 1840, and though not so fine a poem from a literary standpoint as many others that have embodied the same sentiment, it has about it that nameless charm which has enthralled the popular heart. Although it was thirty years old in 1870, it then struck its first great popularity and became by all odds the most popular war song in Germany.

Schneckenburger, like many another hymn writer, owes his entire reputation to a single song. He was an obscure Swabian merchant, quiet and unassuming, who never did anything in his life to attract public attention except to write this hymn. But it might well be said that in order to make a man's name immortal he need not do anything else than write one song that voices the soul's ambition or the heart's longing of a great people. Max Schneckenburger is perhaps the only writer of a popular national hymn who is not the author of other lesser songs; for we have not been able to discover that he ever published anything except _The Watch on the Rhine_. He died in Berne, in 1849, without the slightest thought that his song would ever make his name famous. Long after his death a handsome monument was built above his grave at Thalheim, in Wurtemberg.

The music for _The Watch on the Rhine_ was composed by Carl Wilhelm, who first arranged it as a chorus for male voices. Wilhelm was a music teacher and conductor. He was born at Schmalkalden and died in 1873. Carl Hauser says that Carl Wilhelm never dreamed of _The Watch on the Rhine_ turning out to be a national hymn at the time he composed the music. Wilhelm was a thorough Bohemian, a sort of typical German bandmaster, who was accustomed to write music on lager-beer tables amid the fumes of smoking pipes. He was not counted as a great musician, except among a few bosom friends, and was satisfied to get a very small price for his compositions, and what he received in that way usually went to pay his beer bills.

On a certain occasion a schoolmaster who was a friend of Wilhelm asked him as a personal favor to compose a chorus for his pupils to sing on Commencement Day. The school-teacher saw the value of the music, and treacherously sold it. Thousands of copies went all over the world, but Wilhelm received no benefit therefrom. But after his music became famous, in 1870, tardy recognition was granted him, and in 1871 he was granted an annual pension of seven hundred and fifty dollars. He only lived two years to enjoy it.

In the Franco-Prussian war of 1870, _The Watch on the Rhine_ had for a time a rival in a song the first verse of which ran:--

"It never shall be France's, The free, the German Rhine, Until its broad expanse is Its last defender's shrine."

But when Von Moltke and old King William, with Bismarck and the Crown Prince Frederick, pushed their armies over the Rhine toward Paris, the war-like _Watch on the Rhine_ soon distanced all other songs in the affections of the soldiers, and became the song of the nation.

Perhaps this martial song was never sung under more splendid circumstances than at the unveiling of the great National Monument inaugurated in 1883 to commemorate the victories in the Franco-Prussian war and the foundation of the new German Empire in 1870-'71. This magnificent monument stands on the bank of the Rhine opposite the beautiful town of Bingen, famous in history and story, on a wooded hill nearly a thousand feet above the sea level, and flanked with glorious vineyards. No national monument is a more perfect expression of the spirit of a great people. The principal figure is a noble female form, thirty-three feet in height, Germania, wearing an imperial crown, and holding a sword wreathed with laurel as an emblem of the unity and strength of the empire. The figure is the embodiment of self-conscious dignity and strength. As a recent American traveler philosophizes, there is nothing vain or conceited about it, but the pride and confidence of one that knows and feels his power. The form erect and standing boldly forth as if before the face of the whole world, the head gracefully poised--thrown a little back, not haughtily nor disdainfully, but with steadfast and self-reliant courage--seems to say, "Behold in me the symbol of a great and mighty people!" On the right hand of the central figure, but far beneath its feet, is a symbolical figure of War, winged, with a helmet on its head, and a trumpet at its mouth, expressive of Titanic energy, as if a single blast of the trumpet would bring a million men in arms to the front. On the left is a symbolical figure of Peace, smiling benignantly, and holding in her arms the emblems of industry. These figures seem to say to the world, and especially to France, "War, terrible and destructive, if we must; but Peace, if you will."

In the hearts of the thousands of Germans gathered to unveil this great monument, there must have been a thrill of electric energy as they sang the popular song which it incarnated, for it stands as the crystallized representative of _The Watch on the Rhine_.

_THE MARSEILLAISE._

Ye sons of France, awake to glory, Hark, hark what myriads bid you rise, Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary, Behold their tears and hear their cries! Shall hateful tyrants, mischief breeding, With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, Affright and desolate the land, While peace and liberty lie bleeding? To arms! To arms, ye brave! Th' avenging sword unsheath! March on, march on, all hearts resolved To victory or death.

Now, now the dangerous storm is scowling Which treacherous kings, confederate, raise; The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, And lo! our fields and cities blaze. And shall we basely view the ruin, While lawless force, with guilty stride, Spreads desolation far and wide, With crimes and blood his hands embruing?

With luxury and pride surrounded, The vile, insatiate despots dare, Their thirst of power and gold unbounded, To mete and vend the light and air; Like beasts of burden would they load us, Like gods would bid their slaves adore: But man is man, and who is more? Then, shall they longer lash and goad us?

O Liberty! can man resign thee! Once having felt thy gen'rous flame? Can dungeon, bolts, and bars confine thee, Or whips thy noble spirit tame? Too long the world has wept, bewailing That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield; But freedom is our sword and shield, And all their arts are unavailing.

--_Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle._

This is perhaps the most famous song in the world. Not because it is sung more frequently than any other song, but because it has about it in title, romantic story, and fervor, something that has touched the heart of mankind and inspired for it a respect and admiration in all civilized lands.

Its author, Rouget de Lisle, was a young artillery officer who had a fancy for newspaper writing, and had contributed a number of articles to a newspaper in Strasburg owned by the mayor of the city. He dined one evening at his great friend's house, and the conversation turned on the departure of several hundred volunteers from the town of Strasburg to the Army of the Rhine. There were to be public ceremonies connected with the departure of the troops, and Mayor Dietrich urged young De Lisle to write a martial song to be sung on that occasion. He consented and went at once from supper to his room. The weather was bitter cold, but he sat down at the piano, and between reciting and playing and singing, eventually composed the _Marseillaise_, and, thoroughly exhausted, fell asleep with his head on his desk.

In the morning he handed the song complete, with words and music, to his friend, Baron Dietrich. Every one was enchanted with the song, and was roused by it to the greatest enthusiasm. It was sung a few days later at the departure of the troops from Strasburg, and thence to the insurgents of Marseilles, and soon to all the nation. In six months it had been adopted by the people, the army, the legislature, and the whole country. Its appeal to liberty and glory voiced the hunger of the popular heart at the time, and never did song so completely charm and capture an entire people.

De Lisle's mother was a most ardent royalist, and when the hymn was on everybody's lips, asked of her son, "What do people mean by associating our name with the revolutionary hymn which those brigands sing?" De Lisle himself, proscribed as a royalist, when flying for his life in the Jura Mountains, heard it as a menace of death, and recognizing the air as that of his own song, asked his guide what it was called. It must have seemed to him that day like a Nemesis of his own creation. It had then been christened _The Marseillaise Hymn_.

De Lisle was reduced to great poverty in later years. It is characteristic of the French nation that, a short time before his death, when poverty and age had crushed out the hopes and ambitions of life and he was no longer capable of receiving great joy from any honor that might come to him, the National Government decorated him with the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. It will no doubt do the same thing for Émile Zola. Not long after this tardy recognition, several pensions were conferred upon him, which he lived to enjoy but for a few months. He died in 1836.

The English translation of the _Marseillaise_ as here given was published in 1795, only three years after the original was written. The translator's name is unknown, but it is considered the best English version.

The popularity of the song has naturally led to a great many claimants concerning it, especially the music. The author of a book entitled _An Englishman in Paris_, relates a very interesting story of a certain Alexandre Boucher, an eccentric violinist, who vowed that he (Boucher) wrote the _Marseillaise_ for the colonel of a regiment who was about to leave Marseilles the next day. According to this story, Boucher was seated next Rouget de Lisle at a dinner party in Paris some years after the _Marseillaise_ had become famous throughout the world. They had never met before, and the violinist was very much interested in the gentleman whom, with many others at the table, he complimented on his production; only Boucher confined himself to complimenting him on his poem. "You don't say a word about the music," Rouget replied, "and yet, being a celebrated musician, that ought to interest you. Do you not like it?" "Very much indeed," said Boucher, in a somewhat significant tone. "Well," continued de Lisle, "let me be frank with you; the music is not mine. It was that of a march which came heaven knows whence, and which they kept on playing at Marseilles during the Terror when I was a prisoner at the fortress of St. Jean. I made a few alterations necessitated by the words, and there it is." "Thereupon," says Boucher, "to his great surprise, I hummed the march as I had originally written it. 'Wonderful!' he exclaimed; 'How did you come by it?' When I told him," says the violinist, "he threw himself round my neck, but the next moment he said: 'I am very sorry, my dear Boucher, but I am afraid that you will be despoiled forever, do what you will; for your music and my words go so well together that they seem to have sprung simultaneously from the same brain, and the world, even if I proclaimed my indebtedness to you, would never believe it.'" "Keep the loan," was Boucher's magnanimous reply. "Without your genius, my march would be forgotten by now. You have given it a patent of nobility. It is yours forever."

All this is very interesting, but, unfortunately for Boucher's claim, De Lisle had put the music and the words together before the Reign of Terror began, and the story must fall to the ground.

Under the monarchical governments in France the song has always been held seditious, because of its extraordinary influence upon the French people. The first time since the Revolution that it was not regarded as treasonable by those in authority was at the opening of the World's Fair in 1878.

_THE BLUE BELLS OF SCOTLAND._

Oh! where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? Oh! where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone? "He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done, And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home, He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done, And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home."

Oh! where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay? Oh! where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay? "He dwelt among the holly trees, beside the rapid Spey, And many a blessing followed him the day he went away, He dwelt beneath the holly trees, beside the river Spey, And many a blessing followed him the day he went away."