SANTA: Do not kneel to me, I pray thee, Far more saintly thou than I am. Of our grove the kindly greeting And the maiden blushing sweetly Home came pious Vifandaka From the woods, severe and meager, Green-eyed he, and hair all bristly To his fingers ends was growingA most saintly penitent. Chang'd and all confused I find thee! Tell me what has happened, son. 64 RISHYASRINGA: To the grove there came a scholar, Sweet perfumes were all around him, And it made me feel so strangely, Then this scholar, smiling sweetly, And the penitence and greetings That this boy has learned, these teach me ; Than the penitence, my father, VIFANDAKA: "Evil spirits in such guises, And the pious Rishyasringa Thus the son of Vifandaka Followed to the barge young Santa. Joyfully King Lomapada Loosed the barge and swiftly glided THE Béranger worship of a score of years ago is now somewhat modified. The sort of idolatry with which he was then regarded by the rank and file of his nation seems singular in this prosaic age. The enthusiastic contemporary drew a charming portrait of the man, but the critic of to-day, although he sees something to admire in the national poet, discovers notable defects in the artist as well as the man. He says of himself, "mes chansons, c'est moi," and, to make a just estimate, one must be taken with the other. The particle de before his name, according to his own account, signifies nothing, for he was the son of an obscure tailor. He speaks of himself as "a man of the people, in arm, heart, and brain," and glorifies over it ostentatiously. His popularity as a song-writer was greater even than that of Burns. The opinion still entertained by many is, that he was an improvident poet of genius, with an abounding love of his country and the lower classes, who never thought of himself; ready to share his bread and last sou with suffering humanity; as proud and independent in his poverty as Jean Jacques Rousseau; ingenuous, child-like, impulsive, always prepared to take up his pen to attack the oppressor and defend the poor; in full sympathy with the man in blouse, in his pleasures, duties, and welfare. These are the flattering characteristics of a portrait left by most biographers, and he has not had less than a score. In the general outline there is some truth, but some of the generous traits require modification. In his simplicity of costume and manner, quiet gayety, and love of epigram, he bore a resemblance to Benjamin Franklin, whom he admired much, and whose works he read with interest. He possessed, too, the calculating shrewdness and materialistic views which belonged to the character of the American philosopher. Like him, he was also fond of order and peace. The loud hurrah of his patriot, and the clank of his soldier's saber, are often found in the poet's verse, but do not exist in his life. There was, also, something in his personal appearance which recalls the face and figure of Franklin. He was obstinate in his independence, and did not make advances to those distinguished in wealth and station. He did not go to Châteaubriand, de La Mennais, or Lamartine, but they went to him. In early manhood, like most of those endowed with poetical gifts, he entertained impracticable projects; his shone under the glamour of military glory. He was inflamed with the successes of Bonaparte in Egypt, and for a time desired to join him, but a member of the conqueror's expedition, returning, showed him the reverse of the medal, and he was disenchanted. His calculating mind prevented the military ardor from carrying him as far as it did Byron. Béranger remained in Paris to eat the vache enragée of poverty, and sing the loves of "Lisette" and "Frétillon." It was not the first ambition of Béranger to be a songster. Like his contemporaries, he aimed at the higher forms of poetry. He first showed a tendency towards religious subjects, and wrote an idyllic poem called "The Pilgrimage," which was intended as a picture of the simple, pastoral lives of some of the Christians of the Sixteenth Century. This was inspired, it is said, by a perusal of the works of Châteaubriand, and was a failure. It was a considerable time after this that the garre poetry came, in which he struck the true vein-La Gaudriole, Roger Bontemps, Le Grenier, Les Gueux and Le Vieil Habit. The song-writer fitted into the age in which he lived. The song was more the fashion then than it is now, and the fathers of the present generation passed their evenings in singing-clubs. Béranger was a member of one of them-the Caveauwhere he sang his own songs long before they were in print. The song was the expression of every popular movement; soldiers marched to it, and grisettes danced to it. Political opposition, instead of making a leader in a journal against the government, attacked it in a song. It lent itself with facility to a warlike and changeable epoch, where men wept and laughed in the same hour. It was the accompaniment of revolutions, on the barricades, and in the fields, in defeat as well as in victory. This love of song is still a national trait, although not as strongly marked. When a group of men or women meet together in a café, and one hums an air, the others are sure to follow. In the long lines of impetuous, advancing, and retiring columns of the Closerie de Lilas, frequently the voice keeps measure with the foot in loud and entraînant tones. Scarcely a farce is given at the theater which is not garnished with several songs, and the open air singing concerts are common to the country. Thus fashion favored Béranger. At the marriage and baptismal feasts sweet voices of handsome lassies sang him. He furnished the means to ambitious singers to exhibit their respective talents of voice and action, and all who had the capacity availed themselves of them, and the sympathetic tones and attractive traits of the singers lent an additional value to the rhyme. Skillful actors, in the play of gesture and physiognomy, brought out all the coloring. Béranger saw the niche open, ready for him, and he climbed into it, to be admired as the great man of the couplet by all his contemporaries. So he sang wine-not of the best description, and love--of the Latin Quarter or the Barrière. His idea of women would never find favor on English or American soil. The Béranger woman was usually a grisette; not a modest girl, working in a garret, with a pot of flowers and canary bird in her single window up in the seventh story, but an idle piece of irregular habits and free manners, dancing at the balls of the Barrière, singing and junketing with the students. It was not until he was well on in years, approaching middle age, that he obtained success as a songster, when the little im |