Our song-writer has the several qualities upon which Voltaire insists for the ballad:
"To succeed well in these little works," says the author of so many graceful poems, "one needs refinement and sentiment of intellect, to have harmony in one's head, not to lower one's self over much, and to know how not to be too long."
Béranger has many muses, all of them charming; and, when those muses are women, he loves them all. When they betray him, he does not turn to elegiacs; and nevertheless there is a feeling of sadness at the bottom of his gaiety: his is a serious face that smiles; it is philosophy saying its prayers.
My friendship for Béranger earned me many expressions of astonishment on the part of what was called my party. An old knight of St. Louis, personally unknown to me, wrote to me from his distant turret:
"Rejoice, sir, at being praised by one who has slapped the face of your King and your God."
Well said, my gallant nobleman! You are a poet too.
Béranger.
At the end of a dinner at the Café de Paris which I gave to Messieurs de Béranger and Armand Carrel before my departure for Switzerland, M. Béranger sang us his admirable printed song:
Chateaubriand, pourquoi fuir ta patrie,
Fuir son amour, notre encens et nos soins[360]?