_Je donnerais pour revivre à vingt ans L'or de Rothschild, la gloire de Voltaire._ I like that: Béranger in his printems, Voltaire and Rothschild: what three graces there Foot it together! But of old Voltaire, I'd ask what Béranger found so sublime In that man's glory to adorn his rhyme. Was it mere fame? B. Nay: for as wide a fame Was won by the gold-garnering millionaire, Who in the poet's verse might read his name And what is that? when so much froth and scum Float down the stream of Time (as Bacon saith), What is that for deliverance from the death? Could any sober man be proud to hold A lease of common talk, or die consoled For thinking that on lips of fools to come He'll live with Pontius Pilate and Tom Thumb? That were more like eternal punishment, The true fool's Paradise by all consent. Béranger thought to set a crown on merit. A. Man's merit! and to crown it in Voltaire? The modest eye, the gentle, fearless heart, The mouth of peace and truth, the angelic spirit! Why Arouet was _soufflé_ with the leaven, Of which the little flock was bid beware: His very ambition was to play a part; Indifferent whether he did wrong or right, So he won credit; eager to deny A lie that failed, by adding lie to lie; Repaying evil unto seven-times-seven; A fount of slander, flattery and spite; Vain, irritable; true but to his face Of mockery and mischievous grimace, A monkey of the schools, the saints' despair! B. Yet for his voice half Europe stood at pause To hear, and when he spoke rang with applause. A. Granted he was a wonder of his kind. There is a devilish mockery in things Which only a born devil can enjoy. True banter is of melancholy mind, Akin to madness; thus must Shakespeare toy With Hamlet's reason, ere his fine art dare Push his relentless humour to the quick; And so his mortal thrusts pierce not the skin. But for the superficial bickerings That poison life and never seem to prick, The reasonable educated grin, Truly no wag is equal to Voltaire; His never-dying ripple, wide and light, Has nigh the force of Nature: to compare, 'Tis like the ocean when the sky is bright, And the cold north-wind tickles with surprise The briny levels of the infinite sea. --Shall we conclude his merit was his wit, His magic art and versatility? B.