Arise children of the fatherland
The day of glory has arrived
Against us tyranny's
Bloody standard is raised
Listen to the sound in the fields
The howling of these fearsome soldiers
They are coming into our midst
To cut the throats of your sons and consorts
To arms citizens Form your battalions
March, march
Let impure blood
Water our furrows
What do they want this horde of slaves
Of traitors and conspiratorial kings?
For whom these vile chains
These long-prepared irons?
Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage
What methods must be taken?
It is us they dare plan
To return to the old slavery!
What! These foreign cohorts!
They would make laws in our courts!
What! These mercenary phalanxes
Would cut down our warrior sons
Good Lord! By chained hands
Our brow would yield under the yoke
The vile despots would have themselves be
The masters of destiny
Tremble, tyrants and traitors
The shame of all good men
Tremble! Your parricidal schemes
Will receive their just reward
Against you we are all soldiers
If they fall, our young heros
France will bear new ones
Ready to join the fight against you
Frenchmen, as magnanimous warriors
Bear or hold back your blows
Spare these sad victims
That they regret taking up arms against us
But not these bloody despots
These accomplices of Bouillé
All these tigers who pitilessly
Ripped out their mothers' wombs
We too shall enlist
When our elders' time has come
To add to the list of deeds
Inscribed upon their tombs
We are much less jealous of surviving them
Than of sharing their coffins
We shall have the sublime pride
Of avenging or joining them
Drive on sacred patriotism
Support our avenging arms
Liberty, cherished liberty
Join the struggle with your defenders
Under our flags, let victory
Hurry to your manly tone
So that in death your enemies
See your triumph and our glory!
You should see my impression of Charles De Gaulle singing La Marseillaise!
"Allons enfants de la Patri-i-i-e-e-e
Le jour de glo-ire est arrive!"
Vive La France!
In honor of Bastille Day, a joke about a president of France:
French president Charles De Gaulle eventually decides to retire from public life, so the Irish Ambassador in Paris and his wife throw a big gala dinner party in his honor.
All the bigwigs are invited to the bash. At the dinner table, the Ambassador’s missus sits next to Madame De Gaulle, and they’re chatting away between the courses.
“Your husband has been such a prominent public figure, such a presence on the French and International scene for so many years!” says the Ambassador’s wife. “How quiet retirement will seem in comparison. What are you most looking forward to in these retirement years?”
“Oh, that’s easy. A penis!” Madame De Gaulle replies.
A huge hush descends over the table. All the dignitaries have heard her answer and no one knows what to say next.
“What did you say again?” Mrs Ambassador eventually pipes up.
“A penis!”
Finally, Charles De Gaulle leans over to his wife and puts everyone out of their misery: “Mon cherie! I believe zee Irish pronounce zat word, ‘appiness.”
Philadelphia has a long tradition of French influence and relations.
For the last few years, the Fairmount neighborhood has had a streetfest on the closest Saturday, blocking off traffic and letting local neighborhoods set up tables everywhere.
Revolting peasants, French troops and Marie Antoinette kick off the day's events at the nearby Eastern State Penitentiary, which stands in as the Bastille. Twinkies are thrown down at the crowd, victory is declared by the mob, the bands start playing and the serious drinking begins.
I always get the chills during this scene, right when Henreid shakes his fist and you hear him over the crowd (1:08) and Bergman looks at him with something between awe and reverence. :eusa_clap
Vive la France!
(et le gâteau est dans la cuisine à côté de fruit... )
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