He goes so far as to say that in his childhood he had an aversion, almost a hatred, for Voltaire, on account of the insult to patriotism in his famous poem of La Pucelle; and that afterwards, even while acknowledging all his admirable qualities and the services he rendered to the cause of humanity, he could acquire only a very faint taste for his writing.  This is a striking singularity, if Beranger does not exaggerate it a little; it is almost an ingratitude,—­for Voltaire is one of his nearest and most direct masters.

There is, indeed, a third passion which disputes with those for country and equality the heart of Beranger, and which he shares fully with Voltaire,—­the hatred, namely, we will not say of Christianity, but of religious hypocrisy, of Jesuitic Tartufery.  What Voltaire did in innumerable pamphlets, facetioe, and philosophic diatribes, Beranger did in songs.  He gave a refrain, and with it popular currency to the anti-clerical attacks and mockeries of Voltaire; he set them to his violin and made them sing with the horsehair of his bow.  Beranger was in this respect only the minstrel of Voltaire.

Bold songs against hypocrites, the Reverend Fathers and the Tartufes, so much in favor under the Restoration, and some which carry the attack yet higher, and which sparkle with the very spirit of buffoonery, like Le Batard du Pape; beautiful patriotic songs, like Le vieux Drapeau; and beautiful songs of humanity and equality, like Le vieux Vagabond;—­these are the three chief branches which unite and intertwine to make the poetic crown of Beranger in his best days, and they had their root in passions which with him were profound and living,—­hatred of superstition, love of country, love of humanity and equality.

His aunt at Peronne was superstitious, and during thunder-storms had recourse to all kinds of expedients, such as signs of the cross, holy-water, and the like.  One day the lightning struck near the house and knocked down young Beranger, who was standing on the door-step.  He was insensible for some time, and they thought him killed.  His first words, on recovering consciousness, were, “Well, what good did your holy-water do?”

At Peronne he finished his very irregular course of study at a kind of primary school founded by a philanthropic citizen.  During the Directory, attempts were made all over France to get up free institutions for the young, on plans more or less reasonable or absurd, by men who had fed upon Rousseau’s Emile and invented variations upon his system.  On leaving school, Beranger was placed with a printer in the city, where he became a journeyman printer and compositor, which has occasioned his being often compared to Franklin,—­a comparison of which he is not unworthy, in his love for the progress of the human race, and the piquant and ingenious turn he knew how to give to good sense.  From this first employment as printer Beranger acquired and retained great nicety in language and grammar.  He insisted on it, in his counsels to the young, more than seems natural in a poet of the people.  He even exaggerated its importance somewhat, and might seem a purist.