Her first song was "Malbrouck s'en va-t'en guerre."
She began it quite lightly and merrily, like a jolly march; in the middle of her voice, which had not as yet revealed any exceptional compass or range. People laughed quite frankly at the first verse:
"Malbrouck s'en va-t'en guerre—
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine!
Malbrouck s'en va-t'en guerre....
Ne sais quand reviendra!
Ne sais quand reviendra!
Ne sais quand reviendra!"
The mironton, mirontaine was the very essence of high martial resolve and heroic self-confidence; one would have led a forlorn hope after hearing it once!
"Il reviendra-z-à Pâques—
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine!
Il reviendra-z-à Pâques....
Ou ... à la Trinité!"
People still laughed, though the mironton, mirontaine betrayed an uncomfortable sense of the dawning of doubts and fears—vague forebodings!
"La Trinité se passe—
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine!
La Trinité se passe....
Malbrouck ne revient pas!"
And here, especially in the mironton, mirontaine, a note of anxiety revealed itself—so poignant, so acutely natural and human, that it became a personal anxiety of one's own, causing the heart to beat, and one's breath was short.
"Madame à sa tour monte—
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine!
Madame à sa tour monte,
Si haut qu'elle peut monter!"