One of these songsters was a young
soldier, a lancer, with a bright intelligent look: he was standing
outside a cabaret with several companions, and trolling in a rich,
clear voice a melody which seemed thoroughly to spring from his heart.
His eye alternately sparkled or dimmed as his words were animated or
affecting, and the expression he breathed into his notes was full of
feeling and admirably suited to all he sang. The last stanza of his
ballad was especially well given, and it seemed so entirely the
interpretation of his sentiments that I am sure more than one person
in the crowd must have thought that the young soldier was repeating a
composition of his own. This was the final strophe:
Ah, depuis si longtemps je prolonge mon reve,
La route est commencee, il faut que je l'acheve;
Il est trop tard pour m'arreter.
Que la gloire m'oublie, ou qu'elle me couronne,
Quel que soit mon destin, a lui je m'abandonne,
J'ai besoin de chanter.
I am not sure whether these verses are by Beranger or not, but they
certainly deserve to be.
As the song ended, the market-place was being rapidly filled by
streams of people who came pouring into it from all directions.
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