And how masterly is his treatment on all occasions!  How he turns about and rounds off every subject in his own mind before he expresses it!  And then, when all is matured, what wit, spirit, irony, and persiflage, and what heartiness, naivete, and grace, are unfolded at every step!  His songs have every year made millions of joyous men; they always flow glibly from the tongue, even with the working-classes, whilst they are so far elevated above the level of the commonplace, that the populace, in converse with these pleasant spirits, becomes accustomed and compelled to think itself better and nobler.  What more would you have? and, altogether, what higher praise could be given to a poet?”

“He is excellent, unquestionably!” returned I.  “You know how I loved him for years, and can imagine how it gratifies me to hear you speak of him thus.  But if I must say which of his songs I prefer, his amatory poems please me more than his political, in which the particular references and allusions are not always clear to me.”

“That happens to be your case,” returned Goethe; “the political poems were not written for you; but ask the French, and they will tell you what is good in them.  Besides, a political poem, under the most fortunate circumstances, is to be looked upon only as the organ of a single nation, and, in most cases, only as the organ of a single party; but it is seized with enthusiasm by this nation and this party when it is good.  Again, a political poem should always be looked upon as the mere result of a certain state of the times; which passes by, and with respect to succeeding times takes from the poem the value which it derived from the subject.  As for Beranger, his was no hard task.  Paris is France.  All the important interests of his great country are concentrated in the capital, and there have their proper life and their proper echo.  Besides, in most of his political songs he is by no means to be regarded as the mere organ of a single party; on the contrary, the things against which he writes are for the most part of so universal and national an interest, that the poet is almost always heard as a great voice of the people.  With us, in Germany, such a thing is not possible.  We have no city, nay, we have no country, of which we could decidedly say—­Here is Germany!  If we inquire in Vienna, the answer is—­this is Austria! and if in Berlin, the answer is—­this is Prussia!  Only sixteen years ago, when we tried to get rid of the French, was Germany everywhere.  Then a political poet could have had an universal effect; but there was no need of one!  The universal necessity, and the universal feeling of disgrace, had seized upon the nation like something daemonic; the inspiring fire which the poet might have kindled was already burning everywhere of its own accord.  Still, I will not deny that Arndt, Koerner, and Rueckert, have had some effect.”

“You have been reproached,” remarked I, rather inconsiderately, “for not taking up arms at that great period, or at least cooperating as a poet.”