Artist & Tune
About the Song
This song gets its title from the First International, a gathering of workers' organizations and parties from many countries held in Geneva in 1866. It was adopted as the official anthem of the Second International, formed in Paris in 1889.
The original French lyrics were written by Eugène Pottier in 1871. He intended for it to be sung to the tune of the French national anthem La Marseilles. Pottier was a member of the First Internationale and was part of the Paris Commune, which had just been brutally crushed by the French army. The tune currently used, however, was written by Pierre De Geyter in Lille, France, in 1888, shortly after Pottier's death.
The commonly sung English words in the US were written by Charles Kerr. Pete Seeger always insisted that the original French lyrics were the best. He recorded those lyrics and frequently performed them.
The song has since been translated into numerous languages. It has been sung countlessly by socialist, anarchist, communist, and workers organizations and parties throughout the world.
Arise ye pris’ners of starvation
Arise ye wretched of the earth
For justice thunders condemnation
A better world’s in birth!
No more tradition’s chains shall bind us
Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall;
The earth shall rise on new foundations
We have been naught we shall be all.
’Tis the final conflict
Let each stand in his place
The International Union
Shall be the human race (repeat)
We want no condescending saviors
To rule us from their judgement hall
We workers ask not for their favors
Let us consult for all.
To make the theif disgorge his booty
To free the spirit from its cell
We must ourselves decide our duty
We must decide and do it well.
The law oppresses us and tricks us,
The wage slave system drains our blood;
The rich are free from obligation,
The laws the poor delude.
Too long we’ve languished in subjection,
Equality has other laws;
"No rights", says she "without their duties,
No claims on equals without cause."
Behold them seated in their glory
The kings of mine and rail and soil!
What have you read in all their story,
But how they plundered toil?
Fruits of the workers’ toil are buried
In strongholds of the idle few
In working for their restitution
The men will only claim their due.
We toilers from all fields united
Join hand in hand with all who work;
The earth belongs to us, the workers,
No room here for the shirk.
How many on our flesh have fattened!
But if the norsome birds of prey
Shall vanish from the sky some morning
The blessed sunlight then will stay.
—singable English lyrics by Charles Krerr to The Internationale, now the standard lyrics sung in the U.S.A.
Translation(s)
This is a literal translation of the original 1871 French lyrics by Eugène Pottier. The meaning is quite different from many of the singable translations.
To Citizen Lefranςais, member of the Commune
’Tis the final conflict,
Let us unite and tomorrow,
The International
Will be the human race
Arise, the damned of the earth!
Arise, prisoners of hunger!
Reason thunders in its crater,
’Tis the eruption of the end.
Let’s make a clean slate of the past,
Enslaved mass, arise, arise!
The world’s foundation will change,
We are nothing, now let’s be all!
There are no supreme saviors,
Neither God, nor Caesar nor tribune;
Producers, let us save ourselves,
We decree common salvation!
So that the thief should offer us his throat
So that spirit be wrested from its cell,
Let us fan the forge’s flames ourselves
And strike while the iron is hot.
The state represses, the law cheats,
Taxes bleed the poor;
No duties are imposed on the rich,
The rights of the poor are empty words,
We have languished long enough under domination,
Equality wants other laws:
“No rights without duties,” it says
“Equals, there are no duties without rights.”
Hideous in their apotheosis,
The kings of mines and rails,
Have they ever done aught
But rob from labor?
In the safes of that gang
What is created is smelted,
By decreeing that they turn it over
The people only want what is their due.
Kings intoxicated us with smoke,
Peace among us, war on tyrants!
Let’s apply the strike to armies,
Rifle butts raised on high and breaking ranks.
And if they insist, those cannibals,
On making heroes of us,
They’ll soon learn that our bullets
Are for our own generals.
Workers, farmers, we are
The great party of the workers,
The earth belongs only to men,
Idlers can go someplace else.
How many on our flesh eat their fill?
But if the ravens, the vultures
One morning disappeared
The sun would shine still!
’Tis the final conflict
Let us unite and tomorrow,
The International
Will be the human race
— Paris, June 1871
Alt Lyrics
Original 1871 French lyrics:
Debout! les damnés de la terre
Debout! les forçats de la faim
La raison tonne en son cratère,
C’est l’éruption de la fin.
Du passé faisons table rase
Foule esclave, debout! debout!
Le monde va changer de base
Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout!
Refrain
C’est la lutte finale
Groupons-nous et demain
L’Internationale
Sera le genre humain.
Il n’est pas de sauveurs suprêmes:
Ni dieu, ni césar, ni tribun,
Producteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmes!
Décrétons le salut commun!
Pour que le voleur rende gorge,
Pour tirer l’esprit du cachot
Soufflons nous-mêmes notre forge,
Battons le fer quand il est chaud!
L’etat opprime et la loi triche,
L’impôt saigne le malheureux,
Nul devoir ne s’impose au riche,
Le droit du pauvre est un mot creux.
C’est assez languir en tutelle,
L’égalité veut d’autres lois;
«Pas de droits sans devoirs», dit-elle,
«Egaux, pas de devoirs sans droits!»
Hideux dans leur apothéose,
Les rois de la mine et du rail
Ont-ils jamais fait autre chose
Que dévaliser le travail?
Dans les coffres-forts de la bande
Ce qu’il a créé s’est fondu.
En décrétant qu’on le lui rende
Le peuple ne veut que son dû.
Les rois nous saoulaient de fumées.
Paix entre nous, guerre aux tyrans!
Appliquons la grève aux armées,
Crosse en l’air et rompons les rangs!
S’ils s’obstinent, ces cannibales,
A faire de nous des héros,
Ils sauront bientôt que nos balles
Sont pour nos propres généraux.
Ouvriers, paysans, nous sommes
Le grand parti des travailleurs;
La terre n’appartient qu’aux hommes,
L’oisif ira loger ailleurs.
Combien de nos chairs se repaissent!
Mais si les corbeaux, les vautours,
Un de ces matins disparaissent,
Le soleil brillera toujours!
— Eugène Pottier, Paris, France, 1871
singable translation in Yiddish:
דער אינטערנאַציאָנאַל
,שטײט אױף, איר אַלע, װער ווי שקלאַפֿן
!אין הונגער לעבן מוז, אין נױט
דער גײַסט - ער קאָכט, ער רופֿט צו װאָפֿן
.אין שלאַכט אונדז פֿירן איז ער גרײט
די װעלט פֿון גװאַלדטאַטן און לײדן
צעשטערן װעלן מיר און דאַן
פֿון פֿרײַהײט, גלײַכהײט אַ גַן־עֵדֶן
באַשאַפֿן װעט דער אַרבעטסמאַן
דאָס װעט זײַן שױן דער לעצטער
!און ענטשידענער שטרײַט
מיט דעם אינטערנאַציאָנאַל
!שטײט אױף, איר אַרבעטסלײַט
:ניין, קיינער וועט אונדז ניט באַפֿרײַען
-ניט גאָט אליין און ניט קיין העלד
מיט אונדזער אייגענעם כּלֵי־זַיִן
,שטײט אױף, איר אַלע, װער ווי שקלאַפֿן
!אין הונגער לעבן מוז, אין נױט
דער גײַסט - ער קאָכט, ער רופֿט צו װאָפֿן
.אין שלאַכט אונדז פֿירן איז ער גרײט.
די װעלט פֿון גװאַלדטאַטן און לײדן
https://lyricstranslate.com/en/dy-yntrntsynl-zynglyd-internationale.html
