JASMIN

Barber, Poet, Philanthropist

by Samuel Smiles, LL. D. 

 "Il rasait bien, il chantait.... Si la France possedait dix poetes comme Jasmin, dix poetes de cette influence, elle n'aurait pas a craindre de revolutions. "--Sainte-Beuve

 Preface

 CHAPTER I. Agen--Jasmins Boyhood

 Description of Agen Statue of Jasmin His 'Souvenirs' Birth of Jasmin Poverty of the Family Grandfather Boe The Charivari Jasmin's Father and Mother His Playfellows Playing at Soldiers Agen Fairs The Vintage The Spinning Women School detested Old Boe carried to the Hospital Death of Boe

 CHAPTER II. Jasmin at School

 Sister Boe Jasmin enters the Seminary His Progress His Naughty Trick Tumbles from a Ladder His Punishment Imprisoned The Preserves Expelled from the Seminary His Mother sells her Wedding-ring for Bread The Abbe Miraben Jasmin a Helpful Boy

 CHAPTER III. Barber and Hair-dresser

 Jasmin Apprenticed Reading in his Garret His First Books Florian's Romances Begins to Rhyme The Poetic Nature Barbers and Poetry Importance of the Barber Jasmin first Theatrical Entertainment Under the Tiles Talent for Recitation Jasmin begins Business

 CHAPTER IV. Jasmin and Mariette

 Falls in Love Marries Mariette Barrere Jasmin's Marriage Costume Prosperity in Business The 'Curl-Papers' Christened "Apollo" Mariette dislikes Rhyming Visit of Charles Nodier The Pair Reconciled Mariette encourages her Husband Jasmin at Home The "rivulet of silver" Jasmin buys his House on the Gravier Becomes Collector of Taxes

 CHAPTER V. Jasmin and Gascon

 Jasmin first Efforts at Verse-making The People Conservative of old Dialects Jasmin's study of Gascon Langue d'Oc and Langue d'Oil Antiquity of Languages in Western Europe The Franks Language of Modern France The Gauls The "Franciman" Language of the Troubadours Gascon and Provencal Jasmin begins to write in Gascon Uneducated Poets Jasmin's 'Me cal Mouri' Miss Costello's translation The 'Charivari' Jasmin publishes First Volume of 'The Curl-papers' (Papillotos)

 CHAPTER VI. Beranger--'Mes Souvenirs'--P. De Musset

 The 'Third of May' Statue of Henry IV Nerac Jasmin's Ode in Gascon approved A Corporal in the National Guard Letter to Beranger His Reply 'Mes Souvenirs' Recollections of his past Life Nodier's Eulogy Lines on the Banished Poles Saint-Beuve on Jasmin's Poems Second Volume of the 'Papillotos' published Interview with Paul de Musset

 CHAPTER VII. 'The Blind Girl of Castel-cuille'

 A Poetical Legend Translated into English by Lady Georgiana Fullerton and Longfellow Description of Castel-cuille The Story of Marguerite The Bridal Procession to Saint-Amans Presence of Marguerite Her Death The Poem first recited at Bordeaux Enthusiasm excited Popularity of the Author Fetes and Banquets Declines to visit Paris Picture of Mariette A Wise and Sensible Wife Private recitation of his Poems A Happy Pair Eloquence of Jasmin

 CHAPTER VIII. Jasmin as Philanthropist. 

 Charity a Universal Duty Want of Poor-Law in France Appeals for Help in Times of Distress Jasmin Recitations entirely Gratuitous Famine in the Lot-et-Garonne Composition of the Poem 'Charity' Respect for the Law Collection at Tonneins Jasmin assailed by Deputations His Reception in the Neighbouring Towns Appearance at Bergerac At Gontaud At Damazan His Noble Missions

 CHAPTER IX. Jasmin's 'Franconnette'

 Composition of the Poem Expostulations of M. Dumon Jasmin's Defence of the Gascon Dialect Jasmin and Dante 'Franconnette' dedicated to Toulouse Outline of the Story Marshal Montluc Huguenots Castle of Estellac Marcel and Pascal The Buscou 'The Syren with a Heart of Ice' The Sorcerer Franconnette accursed Festival on Easter Morning The Crown Piece Storm at Notre Dame The Villagers determine to burn Franconnette Her Deliverance and Marriage

 CHAPTER X. Jasmin's at Toulouse. 

 'Franconnette' Recited first at Toulouse Received with Acclamation Academy of Jeux-Floraux Jasmin Eloquent Declamation The Fetes Publication of 'Franconnette' Sainte-Beuve's Criticism M. De Lavergne Charles Nodier Testimonial to Jasmin Mademoiselle Gaze Death of Jasmin's Mother Jasmin's Acknowledgment Readings in the Cause of Charity Increasing Reputation

 CHAPTER XI. Jasmin's visit to Paris. 

 Visits Paris with his Son Wonders of Paris Countries Cousins Letters to Agen Visit to Sainte-Beuve Charles Nodier, Jules Janin Landlord of Jasmin's Hotel Recitation before Augustin Thierry and Members of the Academy Career of the Historian His Blindness His Farewell to Literature

 CHAPTER XII. Jasmin's recitations in Paris. 

 Assembly at Augustin Thierry's The 'Blind Girl' Recited The Girl's Blindness Interruptions of Thierry Ampere Observation Jasmin's love of Applause Interesting Conversation Fetes at Paris Visit to Louis Philippe and the Duchess of Orleans Recitals before the Royal Family Souvenirs of the Visit Banquet of Barbers and Hair-dressers M. Chateaubriand Return to Agen

 CHAPTER XIII. Jasmin's and his English critics. 

 Translation of his Poems The Athenoeum Miss Costello's Visit to Jasmin Her Description of the Poet His Recitations Her renewed Visit A Pension from the King Proposed Journey to England The Westminster Review Angus B. Reach's Interview with Jasmin His Description of the Poet His Charitable Collections for the Poor Was he Quixotic? His Vivid Conversation His Array of Gifts The Dialect in which he Composes

 CHAPTER XIV. Jasmin's tours of philanthropy

 Appeals from the Poor and Distressed His Journeys to remote places Carcassone The Orphan Institute of Bordeaux 'The Shepherd and the Gascon Poet' The Orphan's Gratitude Helps to found an Agricultural Colony Jasmin Letter His Numerous Engagements Society of Arts and Literature His Strength of Constitution At Marseilles

 At Auch Refusal to shave a Millionaire Mademoiselle Roaldes Jasmin Cheerful Help Their Tour in the South of France At Marseilles again Gratitude of Mademoiselle Roaldes Reboul at Nimes Dumas and Chateaubriand Letters from Madame Lafarge

 CHAPTER XV. Jasmin's Vineyard--'Martha the Innocent'

 Agen Jasmin buys a little Vineyard, his 'Papilloto' 'Ma Bigno' dedicated to Madame Veill Description of the Vineyard The Happiness it Confers M. Rodiere, Toulouse Jasmin's Slowness in Composition A Golden Medal struck in his Honour A Pension Awarded him Made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour Serenades in the Gravier Honour from Pope Pius IX 'Martha the Innocent' Description of the Narrative Jasmin and Martha Another Visit to Toulouse The Banquet Dax, Gers, Condon Challenge of Peyrottes Jasmin's Reply His further Poems 'La Semaine d'um Fil' described Dedicated to Lamartine His Reply

 CHAPTER XVI. The Priest without a Church. 

 Ruin of the Church at Vergt Description of Vergt Jasmin Appealed to for Help The Abbe and Poet Meeting at Perigueux Fetes and Banquets Montignac, Sarlat, Nontron, Bergerac Consecration of the Church Cardinal Gousset Jasmin's Poem 'A Priest without a Church' Assailed by Deputations St. Vincent de paul A Priest and his Parishioners The Church of Vergt again Another Tour for Offerings Creche at Bordeaux Revolution of 1848 Abbe and Poet recommence their Journeys Jasmin invited to become a Deputy Declines, and pursues his Career of Charity

 CHAPTER XVII. The Church of Vergt again--French Academy-- Emperor and Empress

 Renewed Journeys Journeys for Church of Vergt Arcachon Biarritz A Troupe of poor Comedians Helped Towns in the South Jasmin's Bell-Tower erected The French Academy M. Villemain to Jasmin M. De Montyon's Prize M. Ancelo to Jasmin Visit Paris again Monseigneur Sibour Banquet by Les Deux Mondes Reviewers Marquise de Barthelemy, described in 'Chambers' Journal Description of Jasmin and the Entertainment Jasmin and the French Academy Visit to Louis Napoleon Intercedes for return of M. Baze Again Visits Paris Louis Napoleon Emperor, and Empress Eugenie The Interview M. Baze Restored to his Family at Agen The Church of Vergt Finished, with Jasmin Bells

 CHAPTER XVIII. Jasmin enrolled Maitre-es-Jeux at toulouse --crowned by Agen

 Jasmin invited to Toulouse Enrolled as Maitre-es-Jeux The Ceremony in the Salle des Illustres Jasmin acknowledgment The Crowd in the Place de Capitol Agen awards him a Crown of Gold Society of Saint Vincent de Paul The Committee Construction of the Crown The Public Meeting Address of M. Noubel, Deputy Jasmin's Poem, 'The Crown of My Birthplace'

 CHAPTER XIX. Last poems--more missions of charity

 His 'New Recollections' Journey to Albi and Castera Bordeaux Montignac, Saint Macaire Saint Andre, Monsegur Recitation at Arcachon Societies of Mutual Help 'Imitation of Christ' Testimony from Bishop of Saint Flour Jasmin's Self-denial Collects about a Million and a half of Francs for the Poor Expenses of his Journey of fifty Days His Faithful Record Jasmin at Rodez Aurillac Toulouse His last Recital at Villeneuve-sur-Lot

 CHAPTER XX. Death of Jasmin--his character. 

 Jasmin's Illness from Overwork and Fatigue Last Poem to Renan Receives the Last Sacrament Takes Leave of his Wife His Death, at Sixty-five His Public Funeral The Ceremony Eulogiums M. Noubel, Deputy; Capot and Magen Inauguration of Bronze Statue Character of Jasmin His Love of Truth His Fellow-Feeling for the Poor His Pride in Agen His Loyalty and Patience Charity his Heroic Programme His long Apostolate

 APPENDIX

 Jasmin Defence of the Gascon Dialect The Mason's Son The Poor Man's Doctor My Vineyard Franconnette

PREFACE. 

My attention was first called to the works of the poet Jasmin by theeulogistic articles which appeared in the Revue des Deux Mondes, by DeMazade, Nodier, Villemain, and other well-known reviewers. 

I afterwards read the articles by Sainte-Beuve, perhaps the finestcritic of French literature, on the life and history of Jasmin, in his'Portraits Contemporains' as well as his admirable article on the samesubject, in the 'Causeries du Lundi. '

While Jasmin was still alive, a translation was published by theAmerican poet Longfellow, of 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, ' perhapsthe best of Jasmin's poems. In his note to the translation, Longfellowsaid that "Jasmin, the author of this beautiful poem, is to the South ofFrance what Burns is to the South of Scotland, the representative of theheart of the people; one of those happy bards who are born with theirmouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'aouvelous). He has written hisown biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles, and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives atAgen, on the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his nativeland with native songs. "

I had some difficulty in obtaining Jasmin's poems; but at length Ireceived them from his native town of Agen. They consisted of fourvolumes octavo, though they were still incomplete. But a new editionhas since been published, in 1889, which was heralded by an interestingarticle in the Paris Figaro. 

While at Royat, in 1888, I went across the country to Agen, the town inwhich Jasmin was born, lived, and died. I saw the little room in whichhe was born, the banks of the Garonne which sounded so sweetly in hisears, the heights of the Hermitage where he played when a boy, thePetite Seminaire in which he was partly educated, the coiffeur's shopin which he carried on his business as a barber and hair-dresser, and finally his tomb in the cemetery where he was buried with all thehonours that his towns-fellows could bestow upon him. 

From Agen I went south to Toulouse, where I saw the large room in theMuseum in which Jasmin first recited his poem of 'Franconnette'; and thehall in the Capitol, where the poet was hailed as The Troubadour, andenrolled member of the Academy of Jeux Floraux--perhaps the crowningevent of his life. 

In the Appendix to this memoir I have endeavoured to give translationsfrom some of Jasmin's poems. Longfellow's translation of 'The Blind Girlof Castel-Cuille' has not been given, as it has already been publishedin his poems, which are in nearly every library. In those which havebeen given, I have in certain cases taken advantage of the translationsby Miss Costello Miss Preston (of Boston, U. S. ), and the Reverend Mr. Craig, D. D. , for some time Rector of Kinsale, Ireland. 

It is, however, very difficult to translate French poetry into English. The languages, especially the Gascon, are very unlike French as well asEnglish. Hence Villemain remarks, that "every translation must virtuallybe a new creation. " But, such as they are, I have endeavoured totranslate the poems as literally as possible. Jasmin's poetry is ratherwordy, and requires condensation, though it is admirably suitedfor recitation. When other persons recited his poems, they were notsuccessful; but when Jasmin recited, or rather acted them, they werealways received with enthusiasm. 

There was a special feature in Jasmin's life which was altogetherunique. This was the part which he played in the South of France as aphilanthropist. Where famine or hunger made its appearance amongst thepoor people--where a creche, or orphanage, or school, or even a church, had to be helped and supported Jasmin was usually called upon to assistwith his recitations. He travelled thousands of miles for such purposes, during which he collected about 1, 500, 000 francs, and gave the whole ofthis hard-earned money over to the public charities, reserving nothingfor himself except the gratitude of the poor and needy. And after hislong journeyings were over, he quietly returned to pursue his humbleoccupation at Agen. Perhaps there is nothing like this in the historyof poetry or literature. For this reason, the character of the man as aphilanthropist is even more to be esteemed than his character as a poetand a song-writer. 

The author requests the indulgence of the reader with respect to thetranslations of certain poems given in the Appendix. The memoir ofJasmin must speak for itself. 

London, Nov. 1891. 

JASMIN. 

CHAPTER I. AGEN. --JASMIN'S BOYHOOD. 

Agen is an important town in the South of France, situated on the rightbank of the Garonne, about eighty miles above Bordeaux. The country tothe south of Agen contains some of the most fertile land in France. The wide valley is covered with vineyards, orchards, fruit gardens, andcorn-fields. 

The best panoramic view of Agen and the surrounding country is to beseen from the rocky heights on the northern side of the town. A holyhermit had once occupied a cell on the ascending cliffs; and near it theConvent of the Hermitage has since been erected. Far underneath are seenthe red-roofed houses of the town, and beyond them the green promenadeof the Gravier. 

From the summit of the cliffs the view extends to a great distancealong the wide valley of the Garonne, covered with woods, vineyards, andgreenery. The spires of village churches peep up here and there amongstthe trees; and in the far distance, on a clear day, are seen thesnow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees. 

Three bridges connect Agen with the country to the west of theGaronne--the bridge for ordinary traffic, a light and elegant suspensionbridge, and a bridge of twenty-three arches which carries the lateralcanal to the other side of the river. 

The town of Agen itself is not particularly attractive. The old streetsare narrow and tortuous, paved with pointed stones; but a fine broadstreet--the Rue de la Republique--has recently been erected throughthe heart of the old town, which greatly adds to the attractions of theplace. At one end of this street an ideal statue of the Republic hasbeen erected, and at the other end a life-like bronze statue of thefamous poet Jasmin. 

This statue to Jasmin is the only one in the town erected to anindividual. Yet many distinguished persons have belonged to Agen and theneighbourhood who have not been commemorated in any form. Amongst thesewere Bernard Palissy, the famous potter{1}; Joseph J. Scaliger, thegreat scholar and philologist; and three distinguished naturalists, Boudon de Saint-Aman, Bory de Saint-Vincent, and the Count de Lacepede. 

The bronze statue of Jasmin stands in one of the finest sites in Agen, at one end of the Rue de la Republique, and nearly opposite thelittle shop in which he carried on his humble trade of a barber andhairdresser. It represents the poet standing, with his right arm andhand extended, as if in the act of recitation. 

How the fame of Jasmin came to be commemorated by a statue erected inhis native town by public subscription, will be found related in thefollowing pages. He has told the story of his early life in a bright, natural, and touching style, in one of his best poems, entitled, "MyRecollections" (Mes Souvenirs), written in Gascon; wherein he revealedhis own character with perfect frankness, and at the same time withexquisite sensibility. 

Several of Jasmin's works have been translated into English, especiallyhis "Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, " by Longfellow and Lady GeorginaFullerton. The elegant translation by Longfellow is so well known thatit is unnecessary to repeat it in the appendix to this volume. But afew other translations of Jasmin's works have been given, to enable thereader to form some idea of his poetical powers. 

Although Jasmin's recitations of his poems were invariably received withenthusiastic applause by his quick-spirited audiences in the South ofFrance, the story of his life will perhaps be found more attractive toEnglish readers than any rendering of his poems, however accurate, intoa language different from his own. For poetry, more than all formsof literature, loses most by translation--especially from Gascon intoEnglish. Villemain, one of the best of critics, says: "Toute traductionen vers est une autre creation que l'original. "

We proceed to give an account--mostly from his own Souvenirs--of theearly life and boyhood of Jasmin. The eighteenth century, old, decrepit, and vicious, was about to come to an end, when in the corner of a littleroom haunted by rats, a child, the subject of this story, was born. Itwas on the morning of Shrove Tuesday, the 6th of March, 1798, --just asthe day had flung aside its black night-cap, and the morning sun wasabout to shed its rays upon the earth, --that this son of a crippledmother and a humpbacked tailor first saw the light. The child wasborn in a house situated in one of the old streets of Agen--15 RueFon-de-Rache--not far from the shop on the Gravier where Jasminafterwards carried on the trade of a barber and hairdresser. 

"When a prince is born, " said Jasmin in his Souvenirs, "his entranceinto the world is saluted with rounds of cannon, but when I, the son ofa poor tailor made my appearance, I was not saluted even with the soundof a popgun. " Yet Jasmin was afterwards to become a king of hearts! ACharivari was, however, going on in front of a neighbour's door, as anuptial serenade on the occasion of some unsuitable marriage; when theclamour of horns and kettles, marrow-bones and cleavers, saluted themother's ears, accompanied by thirty burlesque verses, the compositionof the father of the child who had just been born. 

Jacques Jasmin was only one child amongst many. The parents hadconsiderable difficulty in providing for the wants of the family, infood as well as clothing. Besides the father's small earnings as atailor of the lowest standing, the mother occasionally earned a littlemoney as a laundress. A grandfather, Boe, formed one of the familygroup. He had been a soldier, but was now too old to serve in the ranks, though France was waging war in Italy and Austria under her new Emperor. Boe, however, helped to earn the family living, by begging with hiswallet from door to door. 

Jasmin describes the dwelling in which this poor family lived. It wasmiserably furnished. The winds blew in at every corner. There were threeragged beds; a cupboard, containing a few bits of broken plates; a stonebottle; two jugs of cracked earthenware; a wooden cup broken at theedges; a rusty candlestick, used when candles were available; a smallhalf-black looking-glass without a frame, held against the wall by threelittle nails; four broken chairs; a closet without a key; old Boe'ssuspended wallet; a tailor's board, with clippings of stuff andpatched-up garments; such were the contents of the house, the familyconsisting in all of nine persons. 

It is well that poor children know comparatively little of theirmiserable bringings-up. They have no opportunity of contrasting theirlife and belongings with those of other children more richly nurtured. The infant Jasmin slept no less soundly in his little cot stuffed withlarks' feathers than if he had been laid on a bed of down. Then he wasnourished by his mother's milk, and he grew, though somewhat lean andangular, as fast as any king's son. He began to toddle about, and madeacquaintances with the neighbours' children. 

After a few years had passed, Jasmin, being a spirited fellow, wasallowed to accompany his father at night in the concerts of rough music. He placed a long paper cap on his head, like a French clown, and witha horn in his hand he made as much noise, and played as many antics, as any fool in the crowd. Though the tailor could not read, he usuallycomposed the verses for the Charivari; and the doggerel of the father, mysteriously fructified, afterwards became the seed of poetry in theson. 

The performance of the Charivari was common at that time in the Southof France. When an old man proposed to marry a maiden less than half hisage, or when an elderly widow proposed to marry a man much youngerthan herself, or when anything of a heterogeneous kind occurred in anyproposed union, a terrible row began. The populace assembled in theevening of the day on which the banns had been first proclaimed, andsaluted the happy pair in their respective houses with a Charivari. Bells, horns, pokers and tongs, marrow-bones and cleavers, or any thingthat would make a noise, was brought into requisition, and the noisethus made, accompanied with howling recitations of the Charivari, madethe night positively hideous. 

The riot went on for several evenings; and when the wedding-day arrived, the Charivarists, with the same noise and violence, entered the churchwith the marriage guests; and at night they besieged the house of thehappy pair, throwing into their windows stones, brickbats, and everykind of missile. Such was their honeymoon!

This barbarous custom has now fallen entirely into disuse. If attemptedto be renewed, it is summarily put down by the police, though it stillexists among the Basques as a Toberac. It may also be mentioned that asimilar practice once prevailed in Devonshire described by the Rev. S. Baring Gould in his "Red Spider. " It was there known as the Hare Hunt, or Skimmity-riding. 

The tailor's Charivaris brought him in no money. 

They did not increase his business; in fact, they made him many enemies. His uncouth rhymes did not increase his mending of old clothes. Howeversharp his needle might be, his children's teeth were still sharper;and often they had little enough to eat. The maintenance of the familymainly depended on the mother, and the wallet of grandfather Boe. 

The mother, poor though she was, had a heart of gold under her sergegown. She washed and mended indefatigably. When she had finished herwashing, the children, so soon as they could walk, accompanied her tothe willows along the banks of the Garonne, where the clothes were hungout to dry. There they had at least the benefit of breathing fresh andpure air. Grandfather Boe was a venerable old fellow. He amused thechildren at night with his stories of military life--

 "Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won. "

During the day he carried his wallet from door to door in Agen, oramongst the farmhouses in the neighbourhood; and when he came home ateve he emptied his wallet and divided the spoil amongst the family. Ifhe obtained, during his day's journey, some more succulent morsel thananother, he bestowed it upon his grandson Jacques, whom he loved mostdearly. 

Like all healthy boys, young Jasmin's chief delight was in the sunshineand the open air. He also enjoyed the pleasures of fellowship andthe happiness of living. Rich and poor, old and young, share in thisglorified gladness. Jasmin had as yet known no sorrow. His companionswere poor boys like himself. They had never known any other condition. 

Just as the noontide bells began to ring, Jasmin set out with a hunch ofbread in his hand--perhaps taken from his grandfather's wallet--to enjoythe afternoon with his comrades. Without cap or shoes he sped' away. Thesun was often genial, and he never bethought him of cold. On the companywent, some twenty or thirty in number, to gather willow faggots by thebanks of the Garonne. 

"Oh, how my soul leapt!" he exclaimed in his Souvenirs, "when we all setout together at mid-day, singing. 'The Lamb whom Thou hast given me, 'a well known carol in the south. The very recollection of that pleasureeven now enchants me. 'To the Island--to the Island!' shouted theboldest, and then we made haste to wade to the Island, each to gathertogether our little bundle of fagots. "

The rest of the vagrants' time was spent in play. They ascended thecliff towards the grotto of Saint John. They shared in many a contest. They dared each other to do things--possible and impossible. There wereclimbings of rocks, and daring leaps, with many perils and escapades, according to the nature of boys at play. At length, after becomingtired, there was the return home an hour before nightfall. And nowthe little fellows tripped along; thirty fagot bundles were carried onthirty heads; and the thirty sang, as on setting out, the same carol, with the same refrain. 

Jasmin proceeds, in his Souvenirs, to describe with great zest and awonderful richness of local colour, the impromptu fetes in which hebore a part; his raids upon the cherry and plum orchards--for theneighbourhood of Agen is rich in plum-trees, and prunes are one of theprincipal articles of commerce in the district. Playing at soldierswas one of Jasmin's favourite amusements; and he was usually electedCaptain. 

"I should need, " he says, "a hundred trumpets to celebrate all myvictories. " Then he describes the dancing round the bonfires, and thefantastic ceremonies connected with the celebration of St. John's Eve. 

Agen is celebrated for its fairs. In the month of June, one of themost important fairs in the South of France is held on the extensivepromenade in front of the Gravier. There Jasmin went to pick upany spare sous by holding horses or cattle, or running errands, orperforming any trifling commission for the farmers or graziers. When hehad filled to a slight extent his little purse, he went home at nightand emptied the whole contents into his mother's hand. His heart oftensank as she received his earnings with smiles and tears. "Poor child, "she would say, "your help comes just in time. " Thus the bitter thoughtof poverty and the evidences of destitution were always near at hand. 

In the autumn Jasmin went gleaning in the cornfields, for it was hisgreatest pleasure to bring home some additional help for the familyneeds. In September came the vintage--the gathering in and pressing ofthe grapes previous to their manufacture into wine. The boy was able, with his handy helpfulness, to add a little more money to the homestore. Winter followed, and the weather became colder. In the dearth offirewood, Jasmin was fain to preserve his bodily heat, notwithstandinghis ragged clothes, by warming himself by the sun in some sheltered nookso long as the day lasted; or he would play with his companions, beingstill buoyed up with the joy and vigour of youth. 

When the stern winter set in, Jasmin spent his evenings in the companyof spinning-women and children, principally for the sake of warmth. Ascore or more of women, with their children, assembled in a large room, lighted by a single antique lamp suspended from the ceiling. The womenhad distaffs and heavy spindles, by means of which they spun a kind ofcoarse pack-thread, which the children wound up, sitting on stoolsat their feet. All the while some old dame would relate the old-worldogreish stories of Blue Beard, the Sorcerer, or the Loup Garou, tofascinate the ears and trouble the dreams of the young folks. It washere, no doubt, that Jasmin gathered much of the traditionary lore whichhe afterwards wove into his poetical ballads. 

Jasmin had his moments of sadness. He was now getting a big fellow, andhis mother was anxious that he should receive some little education. Hehad not yet been taught to read; he had not even learnt his A B C. Theword school frightened him. He could not bear to be shut up in a closeroom--he who had been accustomed to enjoy a sort of vagabond life in theopen air. He could not give up his comrades, his playing at soldiers, and his numerous escapades. 

The mother, during the hum of her spinning-wheel, often spoke inwhispers to grandfather Boe of her desire to send the boy to school. When Jasmin overheard their conversation, he could scarcely conceal histears. Old Boe determined to do what he could. He scraped together hislittle savings, and handed them over to the mother. But the money couldnot then be used for educating Jasmin; it was sorely needed for buyingbread. Thus the matter lay over for a time. 

The old man became unable to go out of doors to solicit alms. Age andinfirmity kept him indoors. He began to feel himself a burden on theimpoverished family. He made up his mind to rid them of the incumbrance, and desired the parents to put him into the family arm-chair and havehim carried to the hospital. Jasmin has touchingly told the incident ofhis removal. 

"It happened on a Monday, " he says in his Souvenirs: "I was then tenyears old. I was playing in the square with my companions, girded aboutwith a wooden sword, and I was king; but suddenly a dreadful spectacledisturbed my royalty. I saw an old man in an arm-chair borne along byseveral persons. The bearers approached still nearer, when I recognisedmy afflicted grandfather. 'O God, ' said I, 'what do I see? My oldgrandfather surrounded by my family. ' In my grief I saw only him. I ranup to him in tears, threw myself on his neck and kissed him. 

"In returning my embrace, he wept. 'O grandfather, ' said I, 'where areyou going? Why do you weep? Why are you leaving our home?' 'My child, 'said the old man, 'I am going to the hospital, {2} where all the Jasminsdie. ' He again embraced me, closed his eyes, and was carried away. Wefollowed him for some time under the trees. I abandoned my play, andreturned home full of sorrow. "

Grandfather Boe did not survive long in the hospital. He was utterlyworn out. After five days the old man quietly breathed his last. Hiswallet was hung upon its usual nail in his former home, but it was neverused again. One of the bread-winners had departed, and the family werepoorer than ever. 

"On that Monday, " says Jasmin, "I for the first time knew and felt thatwe were very poor. "

All this is told with marvellous effect in the first part of theSouvenirs, which ends with a wail and a sob. 

Endnotes to Chapter I. 

{1} It is stated in the Bibliographie Generale de l'Agenais, thatPalissy was born in the district of Agen, perhaps at La Chapelle Biron, and that, being a Huguenot, he was imprisoned in the Bastille at Paris, and died there in 1590, shortly after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. But Palissy seems to have been born in another town, not far from LaChapelle Biron. The Times of the 7th July, 1891, contained the followingparagraph:--

"A statue of Bernard Palissy was unveiled yesterday atVilleneuvesur-Lot, his native town, by M. Bourgeois, Minister ofEducation. "

{2} L'hopital means an infirmary or almshouse for old and impoverishedpeople. 

CHAPTER II. JASMIN AT SCHOOL. 

One joyful day Jasmin's mother came home in an ecstasy of delight, and cried, "To school, my child, to school!" "To school?" said Jasmin, greatly amazed. "How is this? Have we grown rich?" "No, my poor boy, but you will get your schooling for nothing. Your cousin has promisedto educate you; come, come, I am so happy!" It was Sister Boe, theschoolmistress of Agen, who had offered to teach the boy gratuitouslythe elements of reading and writing. 

The news of Jacques' proposed scholarship caused no small stir athome. The mother was almost beside herself with joy. The father too wasequally moved, and shed tears of gratitude. He believed that the boymight yet be able to help him in writing out, under his dictation, theCharivari impromptus which, he supposed, were his chief forte. Indeed, the whole family regarded this great stroke of luck for Jacques inthe light of a special providence, and as the beginning of a brilliantdestiny. The mother, in order to dress him properly, rummaged the house, and picked out the least mended suit of clothes, in which to array theyoung scholar. 

When properly clothed, the boy, not without fear on his own part, wastaken by his mother to school. 

Behold him, then, placed under the tuition of Sister Boe! There weresome fifty other children at school, mumbling at the letters of thealphabet, and trying to read their first easy sentences. Jasmin had agood memory, and soon mastered the difficulties of the A B C. "'Twixtsmiles and tears, " he says, "I soon learnt to read, by the help of thepious Sister. "

In six months he was able to enter the Seminary in the Rue Montesquieuas a free scholar. He now served at Mass. Having a good ear for music, hebecame a chorister, and sang the Tantum ergo. He was a diligent boy, and so far everything prospered well with him. He even received a prize. True, it was only an old cassock, dry as autumn heather. But, beingtrimmed up by his father, it served to hide his ragged clothes beneath. 

His mother was very proud of the cassock. "Thank God, " she said, "thoulearnest well; and this is the reason why, each Tuesday, a white loafcomes from the Seminary. It is always welcome, for the sake of thehungry little ones. " "Yes, " he replied, "I will try my best to belearned for your sake. " But Jasmin did not long wear the cassock. He wasshortly after turned out of the Seminary, in consequence of a naughtytrick which he played upon a girl of the household. 

Jasmin tells the story of his expulsion with great frankness, thoughevidently ashamed of the transaction. He was passing through the innercourt one day, during the Shrove Carnival, when, looking up, he caughtsight of a petticoat. He stopped and gazed. A strange tremor creptthrough his nerves. What evil spirit possessed him to approach theowner of the petticoat? He looked up again, and recognised the sweet androsy-cheeked Catherine--the housemaid of the Seminary. She was perchednear the top of a slim ladder leaning against the wall, standingupright, and feeding the feathery-footed pigeons. 

A vision flashed through Jasmin's mind--"a life all velvet, " as heexpressed it, --and he approached the ladder. He climbed up a few steps, and what did he see? Two comely ankles and two pretty little feet. Hisheart burned within him, and he breathed a loud sigh. The girl heardthe sigh, looked down, and huddled up the ladder, crying piteously. Theladder was too slim to bear two. It snapped and fell, and they tumbleddown, she above and he below!

The loud screams of the girl brought all the household to the spot--theCanons, the little Abbe, the cook, the scullion--indeed all the inmatesof the Seminary. Jasmin quaintly remarks, "A girl always likes to havethe sins known that she has caused others to commit. " But in this case, according to Jasmin's own showing, the girl was not to blame. The trickwhich he played might be very innocent, but to the assembled householdit seemed very wicked. He must be punished. 

First, he had a terrible wigging from the master; and next, he wassentenced to imprisonment during the rest of the Carnival. 

In default of a dungeon, they locked him in a dismal little chamber, with some bread and water. Next day, Shrove Tuesday, while the Carnivalwas afoot, Jasmin felt very angry and very hungry. "Who sleeps eats, "says the proverb. "But, " said Jasmin, "the proverb lies: I did notsleep, and was consumed by hunger. " Then he filled up the measure of hisiniquity by breaking into a cupboard!

It happened that the Convent preserves were kept in the room wherein hewas confined. Their odour attracted him, and he climbed up, by means ofa table and chair, to the closet in which they were stored. He found asplendid pot of preserves. He opened it; and though he had no spoon, he used his fingers and soon emptied the pot. What a delicious treat heenjoyed enough to make him forget the pleasures of the Carnival. 

Jasmin was about to replace the empty pot, when he heard the click-clackof a door behind him. He looked round, and saw the Superior, who hadunlocked the door, and come to restore the boy to liberty. Oh, unhappyday! When the Abbe found the prisoner stealing his precious preserves, he became furious. "What! plundering my sweetmeats?" he cried. "Comedown, sirrah, come down! no pardon for you now. " He pulled Jasmin fromhis chair and table, and the empty jar fell broken at his feet. "Getout, get out of this house, thou imp of hell!" And taking Jasmin by thescruff of the neck, he thrust him violently out of the door and into thestreet. 

But worse was yet to come. When the expelled scholar reached the street, his face and mouth were smeared with jam. He was like a blackamoor. Someurchins who encountered him on his homeward route, surmised that hisdisguise was intended as a masque for the Carnival. He ran, and theypursued him. The mob of boys increased, and he ran the faster. Atlast he reached his father's door, and rushed in, half dead with pain, hunger, and thirst. The family were all there--father, mother, andchildren. 

They were surprised and astonished at his sudden entrance. After kissingthem all round, he proceeded to relate his adventures at the Seminary. He could not tell them all, but he told enough. His narrative wasreceived with dead silence. But he was thirsty and hungry. He saw a potof kidney-bean porridge hanging over the fire, and said he would like toallay his hunger by participating in their meal. But alas! The whole ofit had been consumed. The pot was empty, and yet the children were notsatisfied with their dinner. "Now I know, " said the mother, "whyno white bread has come from the Seminary. " Jasmin was now greatlydistressed. "Accursed sweetmeats, " he thought. "Oh! what a wretch I amto have caused so much misery and distress. "

The children had eaten only a few vegetables; and now there was anothermouth to fill. The fire had almost expired for want of fuel. Thechildren had no bread that day, for the Seminary loaf had not arrived. What were they now to do? The mother suffered cruel tortures in notbeing able to give her children bread, especially on the home-coming ofher favourite scapegrace. 

At last, after glancing at her left hand, she rose suddenly. Sheexclaimed in a cheerful voice, "Wait patiently until my return. " Sheput her Sunday kerchief on her head, and departed. In a short time shereturned, to the delight of the children, with a loaf of bread under herarm. They laughed and sang, and prepared to enjoy their feast, though itwas only of bread. The mother apparently joined in their cheerfulness, though a sad pain gnawed at her heart. Jasmin saw his mother hide herhand; but when it was necessary for her to cut the loaf, after makingthe cross according to custom, he saw that the ring on her left hand haddisappeared. "Holy Cross, " he thought, "it is true that she has sold herwedding-ring to buy bread for her children. "

This was a sad beginning of life for the poor boy. He was now anotherburden on the family. Old Boe had gone, and could no longer help himwith his savoury morsels. He was so oppressed with grief, that he couldno longer play with his comrades as before. But Providence again came tohis aid. The good Abbe Miraben heard the story of his expulsion fromthe Seminary. Though a boy may be tricky he cannot be perfect, and thepriest had much compassion on him. Knowing Jasmin's abilities, andthe poverty of his parents, the Abbe used his influence to obtain anadmission for him to one of the town's schools, where he was againenabled to carry on his education. 

The good Abbe was helpful to the boy in many ways. One evening, whenJasmin was on his way to the Augustins to read and recite to theSisters, he was waylaid by a troop of his old playfellows. They wishedhim to accompany them to the old rendezvous in the square; but herefused, because he had a previous engagement. The boys then began tohustle him, and proceeded to tear off his tattered clothes. He couldonly bend his head before his assailants, but never said a word. 

At length his good friend Miraben came up and rescued him. He drove awaythe boys, and said to Jasmin, "Little one, don't breathe a word; yourmother knows nothing. They won't torment you long! Take up thy clothes, "he said. "Come, poverty is not a crime. Courage! Thou art even rich. Thou hast an angel on high watching over thee. Console thyself, bravechild, and nothing more will happen to vex thee. "

The encouragement of the Abbe proved prophetic. No more troubles of thiskind afflicted the boy. 

The aged priest looked after the well-being of himself and family. Hesent them bread from time to time, and kept the wolf from their door. Meanwhile Jasmin did what he could to help them at home. During thevintage time he was well employed; and also at fair times. He was ahelpful boy, and was always willing to oblige friends and neighbours. 

But the time arrived when he must come to some determination as to hisfuture calling in life. He was averse to being a tailor, seeing thesad results of his father's trade at home. After consultation with hismother, he resolved on becoming a barber and hairdresser. Very littlecapital was required for carrying on that trade; only razors, combs, andscissors. 

Long after, when Jasmin was a comparatively thriving man, he said: "Yes, I have eaten the bread of charity; most of my ancestors died at thehospital; my mother pledged her nuptial ring to buy a loaf of bread. Allthis shows how much misery we had to endure, the frightful picture ofwhich I have placed in the light of day in my Souvenirs. But I am afraidof wearying the public, as I do not wish to be accused of aiming toomuch at contrasts. For when we are happy, perfectly happy, there isnothing further from what I am, and what I have been, as to make me fearfor any such misconstruction on the part of my hearers. "

CHAPTER III. BARBER AND HAIRDRESSER. 

Jasmin was sixteen years old when he was apprenticed to a barber andhairdresser at Agen. The barber's shop was near the Prefecture--theancient palace of the Bishop. It was situated at the corner of LamoureuxStreet and the alley of the Prefecture. There Jasmin learnt the art ofcutting, curling, and dressing hair, and of deftly using the comb andthe razor. The master gave him instructions in the trade, and watchedhim while at work. Jasmin was willing and active, and was soon able tocurl and shave with any apprentice in Agen. 

After the day's work was over, the apprentice retired to his garretunder the tiles. There he spent his evenings, and there he slept atnight. Though the garret was infested by rats, he thought nothing ofthem; he had known them familiarly at home. 

They did him no harm, and they even learnt to know him. His garretbecame his paradise, for there he renewed his love of reading. Thesolitariness of his life did him good, by throwing his mind in uponhimself, and showing the mental stuff of which he was made. All thegreatest and weightiest things have been done in solitude. 

The first books he read were for the most part borrowed. Customerswho came to the shop to be shaved or have their hair dressed, took aninterest in the conversation of the bright, cheerful, dark-eyed lad, andsome of them lent him books to read. What joy possessed him when he tookrefuge in his garret with a new book! Opening the book was likeopening the door of a new world. What enchantment! What mystery! What awonderful universe about us!

In reading a new book Jasmin forgot his impoverished boyhood, hisgrandfather Boe and his death in the hospital, his expulsion from theSeminary, and his mother's sale of her wedding-ring to buy bread forher children. He had now left the past behind, and a new world layentrancingly before him. He read, and thought, and dreamed, until far onin the morning. 

The first books he read were of comparatively little importance, thoughthey furnished an opening into literature. 'The Children's Magazine'{1}held him in raptures for a time. Some of his friendly customers lent himthe 'Fables of Florian, ' and afterwards Florian's pastoral romance of'Estelle'--perhaps his best work. The singer of the Gardon entirelybewitched Jasmin. 'Estelle' allured him into the rosy-fingered regionsof bliss and happiness. Then Jasmin himself began to rhyme. Florian'sworks encouraged him to write his first verses in the harmonious Gasconpatois, to which he afterwards gave such wonderful brilliancy. 

In his after life Jasmin was often asked how and when he first began tofeel himself a poet. Some think that the poetical gift begins at somefixed hour, just as one becomes a barrister, a doctor, or a professor. But Jasmin could not give an answer. 

"I have often searched into my past life, " he said, "but I have neveryet found the day when I began my career of rhyming. "{2}

There are certain gifts which men can never acquire by will and work, ifGod has not put the seed of them into their souls at birth; and poetryis one of those gifts. 

When such a seed has been planted, its divine origin is shown byits power of growth and expansion; and in a noble soul, apparentlyinsurmountable difficulties and obstacles cannot arrest its development. The life and career of Jasmin amply illustrates this truth. Here was ayoung man born in the depths of poverty. In his early life he sufferedthe most cruel needs of existence. When he became a barber's apprentice, he touched the lowest rung of the ladder of reputation; but he had atleast learned the beginnings of knowledge. 

He knew how to read, and when we know the twenty-four letters of thealphabet, we may learn almost everything that we wish to know. From thatslight beginning most men may raise themselves to the heights ofmoral and intellectual worth by a persevering will and the faithfulperformance of duty. 

At the same time it must be confessed that it is altogether differentwith poetical genius. It is not possible to tell what unforeseen andforgotten circumstances may have given the initial impulse to a poeticnature. It is not the result of any fortuitous impression, and stillless of any act of the will. 

It is possible that Jasmin may have obtained his first insight intopoetic art during his solitary evening walks along the banks of theGaronne, or from the nightingales singing overhead, or from his chantingin the choir when a child. Perhaps the 'Fables of Florian' kindled thepoetic fire within him; at all events they may have acted as the firststimulus to his art of rhyming. They opened his mind to the loveof nature, to the pleasures of country life, and the joys of socialintercourse. 

There is nothing in the occupation of a barber incompatible with thecultivation of poetry. Folez, the old German poet, was a barber, as wellas the still more celebrated Burchiello, of Florence, whose sonnetsare still admired because of the purity of their style. Our own AllanRamsay, author of 'The Gentle Shepherd, ' spent some of his early yearsin the same occupation. 

In southern and Oriental life the barber plays an important part. In theArabian tales he is generally a shrewd, meddling, inquisitive fellow. InSpain and Italy the barber is often the one brilliant man in his town;his shop is the place where gossip circulates, and where many a prettyintrigue is contrived. 

Men of culture are often the friends of barbers. Buffon trusted tohis barber for all the news of Montbard. Moliere spent many long andpleasant hours with the barber of Pezenas. Figaro, the famous barber ofSeville, was one of the most perfect prototypes of his trade. Jasmin wasof the same calling as Gil Bias, inspired with the same spirit, and fullof the same talent. He was a Frenchman of the South, of the same race asVillon and Marot. 

Even in the prim and formal society of the eighteenth century, thebarber occupied no unimportant part. He and the sculptor, of allworking men, were allowed to wear the sword--that distinctive badgeof gentility. In short, the barber was regarded as an artist. Besides, barbers were in ancient times surgeons; they were the only persons whocould scientifically "let blood. " The Barber-Surgeons of London stillrepresent the class. They possess a cup presented to the Guild byCharles II. , in commemoration of his escape while taking refuge in theoak-tree at Boscobel. {3}

But to return to the adventures of Jasmin's early life. He describeswith great zest his first visit to a theatre. It was situated near athand, by the ancient palace of the Bishop. After his day's work wasover--his shaving, curling, and hairdressing--he went across the square, and pressed in with the rest of the crowd. He took his seat. 

"'Heavens!' said he, 'where am I?' The curtain rises! 'Oh, this islovely! It is a new world; how beautifully they sing; and how sweetlyand tenderly they speak!' I had eyes for nothing else: I was quitebeside myself with joy. 'It is Cinderella, ' I cried aloud in myexcitement. 'Be quiet, ' said my neighbour. 'Oh, sir! why quiet? Whereare we? What is this?' 'You gaping idiot, ' he replied, 'this is theComedy!'

"Jasmin now remained quiet; but he saw and heard with all his eyes andears. 'What love! what poetry!' he thought: 'it is more than a dream!It's magic. O Cinderella, Cinderella! thou art my guardian angel!'And from this time, from day to day, I thought of being an actor!"

Jasmin entered his garret late at night; and he slept so soundly, thatnext morning his master went up to rouse him. "Where were you lastnight? Answer, knave; you were not back till midnight?" "I was at theComedy, " answered Jasmin sleepily; "it was so beautiful!" "You have beenthere then, and lost your head. During the day you make such an uproar, singing and declaiming. You, who have worn the cassock, should blush. But I give you up; you will come to no good. Change, indeed! You willgive up the comb and razor, and become an actor! Unfortunate boy, youmust be blind. Do you want to die in the hospital?"

"This terrible word, " says Jasmin, "fell like lead upon my heart, andthrew me into consternation. Cinderella was forthwith dethroned in myfoolish mind; and my master's threat completely calmed me. I went onfaithfully with my work. I curled, and plaited hair in my little room. As the saying goes, S'il ne pleut, il bruine (If it does not rain, itdrizzles). When I suffered least, time passed all the quicker. It wasthen that, dreaming and happy, I found two lives within me--one in mydaily work, another in my garret. I was like a bird; I warbled and sang. What happiness I enjoyed in my little bed under the tiles! I listenedto the warbling of birds. Lo! the angel came, and in her sweetest voicesang to me. Then I tried to make verses in the language of the shepherdswain. Bright thoughts came to me; great secrets were discovered. Whathours! What lessons! What pleasures I found under the tiles!"

During the winter evenings, when night comes on quickly, Jasmin's smallsavings went to the oil merchant. He trimmed his little lamp, and wenton till late, reading and rhyming. His poetical efforts, first writtenin French, were to a certain extent successful. While shaving hiscustomers, he often recited to them his verses. They were amazed atthe boy's cleverness, and expressed their delight. He had alreadya remarkable talent for recitation; and in course of time he becameeloquent. It was some time, however, before his powers became generallyknown. The ladies whose hair he dressed, sometimes complained that theircurl papers were scrawled over with writing, and, when opened out, theywere found covered with verses. 

The men whom he shaved spread his praises abroad. In so small a towna reputation for verse-making soon becomes known. "You can see me, " hesaid to a customer, "with a comb in my hand, and a verse in my head. Igive you always a gentle hand with my razor of velvet. My mouth reciteswhile my hand works. "

When Jasmin desired to display his oratorical powers, he went in theevenings to the quarter of the Augustins, where the spinning-womenassembled, surrounded by their boys and girls. There he related to themhis pleasant narratives, and recited his numerous verses. 

Indeed, he even began to be patronized. His master addressed him as"Moussu, "--the master who had threatened him with ending his days in thehospital!

Thus far, everything had gone well with him. What with shaving, hairdressing, and rhyming, two years soon passed away. Jasmin wasnow eighteen, and proposed to start business on his own account. This required very little capital; and he had already secured manyacquaintances who offered to patronize him. M. Boyer d'Agen, who hasrecently published the works of Jasmin, with a short preface and abibliography, {4} says that he first began business as a hairdresser inthe Cour Saint-Antoine, now the Cour Voltaire. When the author of thismemoir was at Agen in the autumn of 1888, the proprietor of the Hotel duPetit St. Jean informed him that a little apartment had been placedat Jasmin's disposal, separated from the Hotel by the entrance to thecourtyard, and that Jasmin had for a time carried on his business there. 

But desiring to have a tenement of his own, he shortly after took asmall house alongside the Promenade du Gravier; and he removed andcarried on his trade there for about forty years. The little shop isstill in existence, with Jasmin's signboard over the entrance door:"Jasmin, coiffeur des Jeunes Gens, " with the barber's sud-dishhanging from a pendant in front. The shop is very small, with a littlesitting-room behind, and several bedrooms above. When I entered theshop during my visit to Agen, I found a customer sitting before alooking-glass, wrapped in a sheet, the lower part of his face coveredwith lather, and a young fellow shaving his beard. 

Jasmin's little saloon was not merely a shaving and a curling shop. Eventually it became known as the sanctuary of the Muses. It wasvisited by some of the most distinguished people in France, and becamecelebrated throughout Europe. But this part of the work is reserved forfuture chapters. 

Endnotes to Chapter III. 

{1} Magasin des Enfants. 

{2} Mes Nouveaux Souvenirs. 

{3} In England, some barbers, and barber's sons, have eventuallyoccupied the highest positions. Arkwright, the founder of the cottonmanufacture, was originally a barber. Tenterden, Lord Chief Justice, was a barber's son, intended for a chorister in Canterbury Cathedral. Sugden, afterwards Lord Chancellor, was opposed by a noble lord whileengaged in a parliamentary contest. Replying to the allegation that hewas only the son of a country barber, Sugden said: "His Lordship hastold you that I am nothing but the son of a country barber; but he hasnot told you all, for I have been a barber myself, and worked in myfather's shop, --and all I wish to say about that is, that had hisLordship been born the son of a country barber, he would have been abarber still!"

{4} OEUVRES COMPLETES DE JACQUES JASMIN: Preface de l'Edition, Essaid'orthographe gasconne d'apres les langues Romane et d'Oc, et collationde la traduction litterale. Par Boyer d'Agen. 1889. Quatre volumes. 

CHAPTER IV. JASMIN AND MARIETTE. 

Jasmin was now a bright, vivid, and handsome fellow, a favourite withmen, women, and children. Of course, an attractive young man, with apleasant, comfortable home, could not long remain single. At length lovecame to beautify his existence. "It was for her sake, " he says, "that Ifirst tried to make verses in the sweet patois which she spoke so well;verses in which I asked her, in rather lofty phrases, to be my guardianangel for life. "

Mariette{1} was a pretty dark-eyed girl. She was an old companion ofJasmin's, and as they began to know each other better, the acquaintancegradually grew into affection, and finally into mutual love. She was ofhis own class of life, poor and hardworking. After the day's work wasover, they had many a pleasant walk together on the summer evenings, along the banks of the Garonne, or up the ascending road toward theHermitage and the rocky heights above the town. There they pledged theirvows; like a poet, he promised to love her for ever. She believed him, and loved him in return. The rest may be left to the imagination. 

Jasmin still went on dreaming and rhyming! Mariette was a lovely subjectfor his rhymes. He read his verses to her; and she could not but bepleased with his devotion, even though recited in verse. He scribbledhis rhymes upon his curl-papers; and when he had read them to hissweetheart, he used them to curl the hair of his fair customers. Whentoo much soiled by being written on both sides, he tore them up; for asyet, he had not the slightest idea of publishing his verses. 

When the minds of the young pair were finally made up, their furthercourtship did not last very long. They were willing to be united. 

 "Happy's the wooing that's not long a-doing. "

The wedding-day at length arrived! Jasmin does not describe his bride'sdress. But he describes his own. "I might give you, " he says in hisSouvenirs, "a picture of our happy nuptial day. I might tell you atlength of my newly dyed hat, my dress coat with blue facings, and myhome-spun linen shirt with calico front. But I forbear all details. Mygodfather and godmother were at the wedding. You will see that the pursedid not always respond to the wishes of the heart. "

It is true that Jasmin's wedding-garment was not very sumptuous, nor washis bride's; but they did the best that they could, and looked forwardwith hope. Jasmin took his wife home to the pleasant house on theGravier; and joy and happiness sat down with them at their own fireside. There was no Charivari, because their marriage was suitable. Both hadbeen poor, and the wife was ready and willing to share the lot ofher young husband, whether in joy or sorrow. Their home was small andcosy--very different from the rat-haunted house of his lame mother andhumpbacked father. 

Customers came, but not very quickly. The barber's shop was somewhatremoved from the more populous parts of the town. But when the customersdid come, Jasmin treated them playfully and humorously. He was as livelyas any Figaro; and he became such a favourite, that when his customerswere shaved or had their hair dressed, they invariably returned, as wellas recommended others to patronize the new coiffeur. 

His little shop, which was at first nearly empty, soon became fullerand fuller of customers. People took pleasure in coming to thehair-dresser's shop, and hearing him recite his verses. He sang, hedeclaimed, while plying his razor or his scissors. But the chins andtresses of his sitters were in no danger from his skipping about, for hedeftly used his hands as well as his head. His razor glistened lightlyover the stubbly beards, and his scissors clipped neatly over the locksof his customers. 

Except when so engaged, he went on rhyming. In a little town, gossipflies about quickly, and even gets into the local papers. 

One day Jasmin read in one of the Agen journals, "Pegasus is a beastthat often carries poets to the hospital. " Were the words intended forhim? He roared with laughter. Some gossip had bewitched the editor. Perhaps he was no poet. His rhymes would certainly never carry him tothe hospital. Jasmin's business was becoming a little more lucrative.. It is true his house was not yet fully furnished, but day by day he wasadding to the plenishing. At all events his humble home protected himand his wife from wind and weather. 

On one occasion M. Gontaud, an amiable young poet, in a chaffing way, addressed Jasmin as "Apollo!" in former times regarded as the god ofpoetry and music. The epistle appeared in a local journal. Jasmin readit aloud to his family. Gontaud alleged in his poem that Apollo had metJasmin's mother on the banks of the Garonne, and fell in love with her;and that Jasmin, because of the merits of his poetry, was their son. 

Up flamed the old pair! "What, Catherine?" cried the old man, "isit true that you have been a coquette? How! have I been only thefoster-father of thy little poet?" "No! No!" replied the enraged mother;"he is all thine own! Console thyself, poor John; thou alone hast beenmy mate. And who is this 'Pollo, the humbug who has deceived thee so?Yes, I am lame, but when I was washing my linen, if any coxcomb hadapproached me, I would have hit him on the mouth with a stroke of mymallet!" "Mother, " exclaimed the daughter, "'Pollo is only a fool, notworth talking about; where does he live, Jacques?" Jasmin relished thechaff, and explained that he only lived in the old mythology, and hadno part in human affairs. And thus was Apollo, the ancient god of poetryand music, sent about his business. 

Years passed on, the married pair settled down quietly, and their lifeof happiness went on pleasantly. The honeymoon had long since passed. Jasmin had married at twenty, and Mariette was a year younger. 

When a couple live together for a time, they begin to detect some littledifferences of opinion. It is well if they do not allow those littledifferences to end in a quarrel. This is always a sad beginning of amarried life. 

There was one thing about her husband that Mariette did not like. Thatwas his verse-making. It was all very well in courtship, but was itworth while in business? She saw him scribbling upon curl-papers insteadof attending to his periwigs. She sometimes interrupted him while he waswriting; and on one occasion, while Jasmin was absent on business, shewent so far as to burn his pens and throw his ink into the fire!

Jasmin was a good-natured man, but he did not like this treatment. Itwas not likely to end in a quiet domestic life. He expostulated, but itwas of little use. He would not give up his hobby. He went on rhyming, and in order to write down his verses he bought new pens and a newbottle of ink. Perhaps he felt the germs of poetic thought moving withinhim. His wife resented his conduct. Why could he not attend to theshaving and hair-dressing, which brought in money, instead of wastinghis time in scribbling verses on his curl-papers?

M. Charles Nodier, member of the French Academy, paid a visit to Agenin 1832. Jasmin was then thirty-four years old. He had been marriedfourteen years, but his name was quite unknown, save to the peopleof Agen. It was well known in the town that he had a talent forversification, for he was accustomed to recite and chaunt his verses tohis customers. 

One quiet morning M. Nodier was taking a leisurely walk along thepromenade of the Gravier, when he was attracted by a loud altercationgoing on between a man and a woman in the barber's shop. The woman wasdeclaiming with the fury of a Xantippe, while the man was answering herwith Homeric laughter. Nodier entered the shop, and found himself in thepresence of Jasmin and his wife. He politely bowed to the pair, and saidthat he had taken the liberty of entering to see whether he could notestablish some domestic concord between them. 

"Is that all you came for?" asked the wife, at the same time somewhatcalmed by the entrance of a stranger. Jasmin interposed--

"Yes, my dear--certainly; but---" "Your wife is right, sir, " saidNodier, thinking that the quarrel was about some debts he had incurred. 

"Truly, sir, " rejoined Jasmin; "if you were a lover of poetry, you wouldnot find it so easy to renounce it. "

"Poetry?" said Nodier; "I know a little about that myself. "

"What!" replied Jasmin, "so much the better. You will be able to help meout of my difficulties. "

"You must not expect any help from me, for I presume you are oppressedwith debts. "

"Ha, ha!" cried Jasmin, "it isn't debts, it's verses, Sir. "

"Yes, indeed, " said the wife, "it's verses, always verses! Isn't ithorrible?"

"Will you let me see what you have written?" asked Nodier, turning toJasmin. 

"By all means, sir. Here is a specimen. " The verses began:

 "Femme ou demon, ange ou sylphide, Oh! par pitie, fuis, laisse-moi! Doux miel d'amour n'est que poison perfide, Mon coeur a trop souffert, il dort, eloigne-toi. 

 "Je te l'ai dit, mon coeur sommeille; Laisse-le, de ses maux a peine il est gueri, Et j'ai peur que ta voix si douce a mon oreille Par un chant d'amour ne l'eveille, Lui, que l'amour a taut meurtri!"

This was only about a fourth part of the verses which Jasmin hadcomposed. {2} Nodier confessed that he was greatly pleased with them. Turning round to the wife he said, "Madame, poetry knocks at yourdoor; open it. That which inspires it is usually a noble heart and adistinguished spirit, incapable of mean actions. Let your husband makehis verses; it may bring you good luck and happiness. "

Then, turning to the poet, and holding out his hand, he asked, "What isyour name, my friend?"

"Jacques Jasmin, " he timidly replied. "A good name, " said Nodier. "Atthe same time, while you give fair play to your genius, don't giveup the manufacture of periwigs, for this is an honest trade, whileverse-making might prove only a frivolous distraction. "

Nodier then took his leave, but from that time forward Jasmin and hecontinued the best of friends. A few years later, when the first volumeof the Papillotos appeared, Nodier published his account of the aboveinterview in Le Temps. He afterwards announced in the Quotidienne theoutburst of a new poet on the banks of the Garonne--a poet full ofpiquant charm, of inspired harmony--a Lamartine, a Victor Hugo, a GasconBeranger!

After Nodier's departure, Madame Jasmin took a more favourable view ofthe versification of her husband. She no longer chided him. The shopbecame more crowded with customers. Ladies came to have their hairdressed by the poet: it was so original! He delighted them with singingor chanting his verses. He had a sympathetic, perhaps a mesmeric voice, which touched the souls of his hearers, and threw them into the sweetestof dreams. 

Besides attending to his shop, he was accustomed to go out in theafternoons to dress the hair of four or five ladies. This occupied himfor about two hours, and when he found the ladies at home, he returnedwith four or five francs in his purse. But often they were not at home, and he came home francless. Eventually he gave up this part ofhis trade. The receipts at the shop were more remunerative. Madameencouraged this economical eform; she was accustomed to call it Jasmin'scoup d'etat. 

The evenings passed pleasantly. Jasmin took his guitar and sang to hiswife and children; or, in the summer evenings they would walk underthe beautiful elms in front of the Gravier, where Jasmin was ready forbusiness at any moment. Such prudence, such iligence, could not but haveits effect. When Jasmin's first volume of the Papillotos was published, it was received with enthusiasm. 

"The songs, the curl-papers, " said Jasmin, "brought in such a rivuletof silver, that, in my poetic joy, I broke into morsels and burnt in thefire that dreaded arm-chair in which my ancestors had been carried tothe hospital to die. "

Madame Jasmin now became quite enthusiastic. Instead of breaking thepoet's pens and throwing his ink into the fire, she bought the bestpens and the best ink. She even supplied him with a comfortable desk, on which he might write his verses. "Courage, courage!" she would say. "Each verse that you write is another tile to the roof and a rafter tothe dwelling; therefore make verses, make verses!"

The rivulet of silver increased so rapidly, that in the course of ashort time Jasmin was enabled to buy the house in which he lived--tiles, rafters, and all. Instead of Pegasus carrying him to the hospital, itcarried him to the office of the Notary, who enrolled him in the list ofcollectors of taxes. He was now a man of substance, a man to be trusted. The notary was also employed to convey the tenement to the prosperousJasmin. He ends the first part of his Souvenirs with these words:

 "When Pegasus kicks with a fling of his feet, He sends me to curl on my hobby horse fleet; I lose all my time, true, not paper nor notes, I write all my verse on my papillotes. "{3}

Endnotes to chapter IV. 

{1} In Gascon Magnounet; her pet name Marie, or in French Mariette. Madame Jasmin called herself Marie Barrere. 

{2} The remaining verses are to be found in the collected edition ofhis works--the fourth volume of Las Papillotos, new edition, pp. 247-9, entitled A une jeune Voyayeuse. 

{3} Papillotes, as we have said, are curl-papers. Jasmin's words, inGascon, are these:

 "Quand Pegazo reguiuno, et que d'un cot de pe Memboyo friza mas marotos, Perdi moun ten, es bray, mais noun pas moun pape, Boti mous beis en papillotos!"

CHAPTER V. JASMIN AND GASCON. --FIRST VOLUME OF "PAPILLOTES. "

Jasmin's first efforts at verse-making were necessarily imperfect. Hetried to imitate the works of others, rather than create poetical imagesof his own. His verses consisted mostly of imitations of the Frenchpoems which he had read. He was overshadowed by the works of Boileau, Gresset, Rousseau, and especially by Beranger, who, like himself, wasthe son of a tailor. 

The recollections of their poetry pervaded all his earlier verses. Hisefforts in classical French were by no means successful. It was onlywhen he had raised himself above the influence of authors who hadpreceded him, that he soared into originality, and was proclaimed thePoet of the South. 

Jasmin did not at first write in Gascon. In fact, he had not yetmastered a perfect knowledge of this dialect. Though familiarly used inancient times, it did not exist in any written form. It was the speechof the common people; and though the Gascons spoke the idiom, it hadlost much of its originality. It had become mixed, more or less, withthe ordinary French language, and the old Gascon words were becominggradually forgotten. 

Yet the common people, after all, remain the depositories of old idiomsand old traditions, as well as of the inheritances of the past. They arethe most conservative element in society. They love their old speech, their old dress, their old manners and customs, and have an instinctiveworship of ancient memories. 

Their old idioms are long preserved. Their old dialect continues thelanguage of the fireside, of daily toil, of daily needs, and of domesticjoys and sorrows. It hovers in the air about them, and has been suckedin with their mothers' milk. Yet, when a primitive race such as theGascons mix much with the people of the adjoining departments, the localdialect gradually dies out, and they learn to speak the language oftheir neighbours. 

The Gascon was disappearing as a speech, and very few of its writtenelements survived. Was it possible for Jasmin to revive the dialect, and embody it in a written language? He knew much of the patois, fromhearing it spoken at home. But now, desiring to know it more thoroughly, he set to work and studied it. He was almost as assiduous as Sir WalterScott in learning obscure Lowland words, while writing the WaverleyNovels. Jasmin went into the market-places, where the peasants from thecountry sold their produce; and there he picked up many new words andexpressions. He made excursions into the country round Agen, where manyof the old farmers and labourers spoke nothing but Gascon. He conversedwith illiterate people, and especially with old women at theirspinning-wheels, and eagerly listened to their ancient tales andlegends. 

He thus gathered together many a golden relic, which he afterwards madeuse of in his poetical works. He studied Gascon like a pioneer. He madehis own lexicon, and eventually formed a written dialect, which he woveinto poems, to the delight of the people in the South of France. For theGascon dialect--such is its richness and beauty--expresses many shadesof meaning which are entirely lost in the modern French. 

When Jasmin first read his poems in Gascon to his townspeople at Agen, he usually introduced his readings by describing the difficulties hehad encountered in prosecuting his enquiries. His hearers, who knew moreFrench than Gascon, detected in his poems many comparatively unknownwords, --not indeed of his own creation, but merely the result of hispatient and long-continued investigation of the Gascon dialect. Yet theyfound the language, as written and spoken by him, full of harmony--rich, mellifluous, and sonorous. Gascon resembles the Spanish, to which itis strongly allied, more than the Provencal, the language of theTroubadours, which is more allied to the Latin or Italian. 

Hallam, in his 'History of the Middle Ages, ' regards the sudden outburstof Troubadour poetry as one symptom of the rapid impulse which the humanmind received in the twelfth century, contemporaneous with the improvedstudies that began at the Universities. It was also encouraged by theprosperity of Southern France, which was comparatively undisturbed byinternal warfare, and it continued until the tremendous storm that fellupon Languedoc during the crusade against the Albigenses, which shookoff the flowers of Provencal literature. {1}

The language of the South-West of France, including the Gascon, was thencalled Langue d'Oc; while that of the south-east of France, includingthe Provencal, was called Langue d'Oil. M. Littre, in the Preface to hisDictionary of the French language, says that he was induced to begin thestudy of the subject by his desire to know something more of the Langued'Oil--the old French language. {2}

In speaking of the languages of Western Europe, M. Littre says that theGerman is the oldest, beginning in the fourth century; that the Frenchis the next, beginning in the ninth century; and that the English isthe last, beginning in the fourteenth century. It must be remembered, however, that Plat Deutsch preceded the German, and was spoken by theFrisians, Angles, and Saxons, who lived by the shores of the North Sea. 

The Gaelic or Celtic, and Kymriac languages, were spoken in the middleand north-west of France; but these, except in Brittany, have beensuperseded by the modern French language, which is founded mainly onLatin, German, and Celtic, but mostly on Latin. The English languageconsists mostly of Saxon, Norse, and Norman-French with a mixture ofWelsh or Ancient British. That language is, however, no test of thegenealogy of a people, is illustrated by the history of France itself. In the fourth and fifth centuries, the Franks, a powerful German race, from the banks of the Rhine, invaded and conquered the people north ofthe Somme, and eventually gave the name of France to the entire country. The Burgundians and Visigoths, also a German race, invaded France, andsettled themselves in the south-east. In the year 464, Childeric theFrank took Paris. 

The whole history of the occupation of France is told by AugustinThierry, in his 'Narratives of the Merovingian Times. ' "There areFranks, " he says in his Preface, "who remained pure Germans in Gaul;Gallo-Romans, irritated and disgusted by the barbarian rule; Franks moreor less influenced by the manners and customs of civilised life; and'Romans more or less barbarian in mind and manners. ' The contrast maybe followed in all its shades through the sixth century, and into themiddle of the seventh; later, the Germanic and Gallo-Roman stamp seemedeffaced and lost in a semi-barbarism clothed in theocratic forms. "

The Franks, when they had completed the conquest of the entire country, gave it the name of Franken-ric--the Franks' kingdom. Eventually, Charles the Great, or Charlemagne, descended from Childeric the Frank, was in 800 crowned Emperor of the West. Towards the end of his reign, the Norsemen began to devastate the northern coast of Franken-ric. Aix-la-Chapelle was Charlemagne's capital, and there he died and wasburied. At his death, the Empire was divided among his sons. The NorseVikingers continued their invasions; and to purchase repose, Charles theSimple ceded to Duke Rollo a large territory in the northwest of France, which in deference to their origin, was known by the name of Normandy. 

There Norman-French was for a long time spoken. Though the Franks hadsupplanted the Romans, the Roman language continued to be spoken. In 996Paris was made the capital of France; and from that time, the languageof Paris became, with various modifications, the language of France; andnot only of France, but the Roman or Latin tongue became the foundationof the languages of Italy, Spain, and Portugal. 

Thus, Gaulish, Frankish, and Norman disappeared to give place to theLatin-French. The Kymriac language was preserved only in Brittany, whereit still lingers. And in the south-west of France, where the populationwas furthest removed from the invasions of the Gauls, Ostrogoths, and Visigoths, the Basques continued to preserve their language, --theBasques, who are supposed by Canon Isaac Taylor to be the directdescendants of the Etruscans. 

The descendants of the Gauls, however, constitute the mass of the peoplein Central France. The Gauls, or Galatians, are supposed to have comefrom the central district of Asia Minor. They were always a warlikepeople. In their wanderings westward, they passed through the northof Italy and entered France, where they settled in large numbers. Dr. Smith, in his Dictionary of the Bible, says that "Galatai is the sameword as Keltici, " which indicates that the Gauls were Kelts. It issupposed that St. Paul wrote his Epistle to the Galatians soon after hisvisit to the country of their origin. "Its abruptness and severity, andthe sadness of its tone, are caused by their sudden perversion from thedoctrine which the Apostle had taught them, and which at first they hadreceived so willingly. It is no fancy, if we see in this fickleness aspecimen of that 'esprit impretueux, ouvert a toutes les impressions, 'and that 'mobilite extreme, ' which Thierry marks as characteristic ofthe Gaulish race. " At all events, the language of the Gauls disappearedin Central France to make way for the language or the Capital--themodern French, founded on the Latin. The Gaulish race, nevertheless, preserved their characteristics--quickness, lightness, mobility, andelasticity--qualities which enabled them quickly to conceive new ideas, and at the same time to quickly abandon them. The Franks had giventhe country the name it now bears--that of France. But they were longregarded as enemies by the Central and Southern Gauls. In Gascony, theforeigner was called Low Franciman, and was regarded with suspicion anddislike. 

"This term of Franciman, " says Miss Costello, who travelled through thecountry and studied the subject, "evidently belongs to a period of theEnglish occupation of Aquitaine, when a Frenchman was another word foran enemy. "{3} But the word has probably a more remote origin. When theFranks, of German origin, burst into Gaul, and settled in the countrynorth of the Loire, and afterwards carried their conquests to thePyrenees, the Franks were regarded as enemies in the south of France. 

"Then all the countries, " says Thierry, "united by force to the empireof the Franks, and over which in consequence of this union, the name ofFrance had extended itself, made unheard-of efforts to reconquer theirancient names and places. Of all the Gallic provinces, none but thesouthern ones succeeded in this great enterprise; and after the wars ofinsurrection, which, under the sons of Charlemagne, succeeded the warsof conquest, Aquitaine and Provence became distinct states. Among theSouth Eastern provinces reappeared even the ancient name of Gaul, whichhad for ever perished north of the Loire. The chiefs of the new Kingdomof Aries, which extended from the Jura to the Alps, took the title ofGaul in opposition to the Kings of France. "{4}

It is probable that this was the cause of the name of "Franciman" beingregarded as an hereditary term of reproach in the Gaulish country southof the Loire. Gascon and Provencal were the principal dialects whichremained in the South, though Littre classes them together as thelanguage of the Troubadours. 

They were both well understood in the South; and Jasmin's recitationswere received with as much enthusiasm at Nimes, Aries, and Marseilles, as at Toulouse, Agen, and Bordeaux. 

Mezzofanti, a very Tower of Babel in dialects and languages, said ofthe Provencal, that it was the only patois of the Middle Ages, with itsnumerous derivations from the Greek, the Arabic, and the Latin, whichhas survived the various revolutions of language. The others have beenaltered and modified. They have suffered from the caprices of victory orof fortune. Of all the dialects of the Roman tongue, this patoisalone preserves its purity and life. It still remains the sonorous andharmonious language of the Troubadours. The patois has the supplenessof the Italian, the sombre majesty of the Spanish, the energy andpreciseness of the Latin, with the "Molle atque facetum, le dolcede, l'Ionic;" which still lives among the Phoceens of Marseilles. Theimagination and genius of Gascony have preserved the copious richness ofthe language. 

M. De Lavergne, in his notice of Jasmin's works, frankly admits thelocal jealousy which existed between the Troubadours of Gascony andProvence. There seemed, he said, to be nothing disingenuous in thesilence of the Provencals as to Jasmin's poems. They did not allow thathe borrowed from them, any more than that they borrowed from him. Thesemen of Southern France are born in the land of poetry. It breathes intheir native air. It echoes round them in its varied measures. Nay, therhymes which are its distinguishing features, pervade their daily talk. 

The seeds lie dormant in their native soil, and when trodden under foot, they burst through the ground and evolve their odour in the open air. Gascon and Provencal alike preserve the same relation to the classicromance--that lovely but short-lived eldest daughter of the Latin--thelanguage of the Troubadours. 

We have said that the Gascon dialect was gradually expiring when Jasminundertook its revival. His success in recovering and restoring it, and presenting it in a written form, was the result of laboriousinvestigation. He did not at first realize the perfect comprehension ofthe idiom, but he eventually succeeded by patient perseverance, Whenwe read his poems, we are enabled to follow, step by step, hislexicological progress. 

At first, he clung to the measures most approved in French poetry, especially to Alexandrines and Iambic tetrameters, and to theirirregular association in a sort of ballad metre, which in England hasbeen best handled by Robert Browning in his fine ballad of 'Harve;Riel. '

Jasmin's first rhymes were written upon curl papers, and then used onthe heads of his lady customers. When the spirit of original poetrywithin him awoke, his style changed. Genius brought sweet music from hisheart and mind. Imagination spiritualised his nature, lifted his soulabove the cares of ordinary life, and awakened the consciousness of hisaffinity with what is pure and noble. Jasmin sang as a bird sings; atfirst in weak notes, then in louder, until at length his voice filledthe skies. Near the end of his life he was styled the Saint Vincent dePaul of poetry. 

Jasmin might be classed among the Uneducated Poets. But what poet is notuneducated at the beginning of his career? The essential education ofthe poet is not taught in the schools. 

The lowly man, against whom the asperities of his lot have closed thedoors of worldly academies, may nevertheless have some special vocationfor the poetic life. Academies cannot shut him out from the odour of theviolet or the song of the nightingale. He hears the lark's song fillingthe heavens, as the happy bird fans the milk-white cloud with its wings. He listens to the purling of the brook, the bleating of the lamb, thesong of the milkmaid, and the joyous cry of the reaper. Thus his mindis daily fed with the choicest influences of nature. He cannot butappreciate the joy, the glory, the unconscious delight of living. "Thebeautiful is master of a star. " This feeling of beauty is the nurse ofcivilisation and true refinement. Have we not our Burns, who

 "in glory and in joy Followed his plough along the mountain side;"

Clare, the peasant boy; Bloomfield, the farmer's lad; Tannahill, theweaver; Allan Ramsay, the peruke-maker; Cooper, the shoemaker; andCritchley Prince, the factory-worker; but greater than these wasShakespeare, --though all were of humble origin. 

France too has had its uneducated poets. Though the ancient song-writersof France were noble; Henry IV. , author of Charmante Gabrielle;Thibault, Count of Champagne; Lusignan, Count de la Marche; Raval, Blondel, and Basselin de la Vive, whose songs were as joyous as thejuice of his grapes; yet some of the best French poets of modem timeshave been of humble origin--Marmontel, Moliere, Rousseau, and Beranger. There were also Reboul, the baker; Hibley, the working-tailor; Gonzetta, the shoemaker; Durand, the joiner; Marchand, the lacemaker; Voileau, thesail-maker;

Magu, the weaver; Poucy, the mason; Germiny, the cooper;{5} and finally, Jasmin the barber and hair dresser, who was not the least of theUneducated Poets. 

The first poem which Jasmin composed in the Gascon dialect was writtenin 1822, when he was only twenty-four years old. It was entitled Lafidelitat Agenoso, which he subsequently altered to Me cal Mouri (Il mefait mourir), or "Let me die. " It is a languishing romantic poem, afterthe manner of Florian, Jasmin's first master in poetry. It was printedat Agen in a quarto form, and sold for a franc. Jasmin did not attachhis name to the poem, but only his initials. 

Sainte-Beuve, in his notice of the poem, says, "It is a pretty, sentimental romance, showing that Jasmin possessed the brightness andsensibility of the Troubadours. As one may say, he had not yet quittedthe guitar for the flageolet; and Marot, who spoke of his flageolet, had not, in the midst of his playful spirit, those tender accents whichcontrasted so well with his previous compositions. And did not HenryIV. , in the midst of his Gascon gaieties and sallies, compose his sweetsong of Charmante Gabrielle? Jasmin indeed is the poet who is nearestthe region of Henry IV. "{6} Me cal Mouri was set to music by Fourgons, and obtained great popularity in the south. It was known by heart, andsung everywhere; in Agen, Toulouse, and throughout Provence. It was notuntil the publication of the first volume of his poems that it was knownto be the work of Jasmin. 

Miss Louisa Stuart Costello, when making her pilgrimage in the South ofFrance, relates that, in the course of her journey, " A friend repeatedto me two charming ballads picked up in Languedoc, where there is avariety in the patois. I cannot resist giving them here, that my readersmay compare the difference of dialect. I wrote them clown, however, merely by ear, and am not aware that they have ever been printed. Themixture of French, Spanish, and Italian is very curious. "{7}

As the words of Jasmin's romance were written down by Miss Costello frommemory, they are not quite accurate; but her translation into Englishsufficiently renders the poet's meaning. The following is the firstverse of Jasmin's poem in Gascon--

 "Deja la ney encrumis la naturo, Tout es tranquille et tout cargo lou dol; Dins lou clouche la brezago murmuro, Et lou tuquet succedo al rossignol: Del mal, helas! bebi jusq'a la ligo, Moun co gemis sans espouer de gari; Plus de bounhur, ey perdut moun amigo, Me cal mouri! me cal mouri!"

Which Miss Costello thus translates into English:

 "Already sullen night comes sadly on, And nature's form is clothed with mournful weeds; Around the tower is heard the breeze's moan, And to the nightingale the bat succeeds. Oh! I have drained the cup of misery, My fainting heart has now no hope in store. Ah! wretched me! what have I but to die? For I have lost my love for evermore!"

There are four verses in the poem, but the second verse may also begiven

 "Fair, tender Phoebe, hasten on thy course, My woes revive while I behold thee shine, For of my hope thou art no more the source, And of my happiness no more the sign. Oh! I have drained the cup of misery, My fainting heart has now no bliss in store. Ah! wretched me! what have I but to die? Since I have lost my love for evermore!"

The whole of the poem was afterwards translated into modem French, and, though somewhat artificial, it became as popular in the north as in thesouth. 

Jasmin's success in his native town, and his growing popularity, encouraged him to proceed with the making of verses. His poems wereoccasionally inserted in the local journals; but the editors did notapprove of his use of the expiring Gascon dialect. They were of opinionthat his works might be better appreciated if they appeared in modernFrench. Gascon was to a large extent a foreign language, and greatlyinterfered with Jasmin's national reputation as a poet. 

Nevertheless he held on his way, and continued to write his verses inGascon. They contained many personal lyrics, tributes, dedications, hymns for festivals, and impromptus, scarcely worthy of being collectedand printed. Jasmin said of the last description of verse: "One can onlypay a poetical debt by means of impromptus, and though they may be goodmoney of the heart, they are almost always bad money of the head. "

Jasmin's next poem was The Charivari (Lou Charibari), also written inGascon. It was composed in 1825, when he was twenty-seven years old; anddedicated to M. Duprount, the Advocate, who was himself a poetaster. Thededication contained some fine passages of genuine beauty and gracefulversification. It was in some respects an imitation of the Lutrin ofBoileau. It was very different from the doggerel in which he had takenpart with his humpbacked father so long ago. Then he had blown thecow-horn, now he spoke with the tongue of a trumpet. The hero ofJasmin's Charivari was one Aduber, an old widower, who dreamt ofremarrying. It reminded one of the strains of Beranger; in otherpassages of the mock-heroic poem of Boileau. 

Though the poem when published was read with much interest, it was notnearly so popular as Me cal Mouri. This last-mentioned poem, hisfirst published work, touched the harp of sadness; while his Charivaridisplayed the playfulness of joy. Thus, at the beginning of his career, Jasmin revealed himself as a poet in two very different styles; in one, touching the springs of grief, and in the other exhibiting brightnessand happiness. At the end of the same year he sounded his third anddeepest note in his poem On the Death of General Foy--one of France'struest patriots. Now his lyre was complete; it had its three strings--ofsadness, joy, and sorrow. 

These three poems--Me cal Mouri, the Charivari, and the ode On the Deathof General Foy, with some other verses--were published in 1825. What wasto be the title of the volume? As Adam, the carpenter-poet of Nevers, had entitled his volume of poetry 'Shavings, ' so Jasmin decided to namehis collection 'The Curl-papers of Jasmin, Coiffeur of Agen. ' The titlewas a good one, and the subsequent volumes of his works were known asLa Papillotos (the Curl-papers) of Jasmin. The publication of this firstvolume served to make Jasmin's name popular beyond the town in whichthey had been composed and published. His friend M. Gaze said of him, that during the year 1825 he had been marrying his razor with the swan'squill; and that his hand of velvet in shaving was even surpassed by hisskill in verse-making. 

Charles Nodier, his old friend, who had entered the barber's shopsome years before to intercede between the poet and his wife, soundedJasmin's praises in the Paris journals. He confessed that he had beengreatly struck with the Charivari, and boldly declared that the languageof the Troubadours, which everyone supposed to be dead, was still infull life in France; that it not only lived, but that at that verymoment a poor barber at Agen, without any instruction beyond that givenby the fields, the woods, and the heavens, had written a serio-comicpoem which, at the risk of being thought crazy by his colleagues of theAcademy, he considered to be better composed than the Lutrin of Boileau, and even better than one of Pope's masterpieces, the Rape of the Lock. 

The first volume of the Papillotes sold very well; and the receiptsfrom its sale not only increased Jasmin's income, but also increasedhis national reputation. Jasmin was not, however, elated by success. Heremained simple, frugal, honest, and hard-working. He was not carriedoff his feet by eclat. Though many illustrious strangers, when passingthrough Agen, called upon and interviewed the poetical coiffeur, hequietly went back to his razors, his combs, and his periwigs, andcheerfully pursued the business that he could always depend upon in histime of need. 

Endnotes to Chapter V. 

{1}Hallam's 'Middle Ages, ' iii. 434. 12th edit. (Murray. )

{2} His words are these: "La conception m'en fut suggeree par mes etudessur la vieille langue francaise ou langue d'oil. Je fus si frappe desliens qui unissent le francais moderne au francais ancien, j'apercustant de cas ou les sens et des locutions du jour ne s'expliquent que parles sens et les locutions d'autrefois, tant d'exemples ou la forme desmots n'est pas intelligible sans les formes qui ont precede, qu'il mesembla que la doctrine et meme l'usage de la langue restent mal assiss'ils ne reposent sur leur base antique. " (Preface, ii. )

{3} 'Bearn and the Pyrenees, ' i. 348. 

{4} THIERRY--'Historical Essays, ' No. XXIV. 

{5} Les Poetes du Peuple an xix. Siecle. Par Alphonse Viollet. Paris, 1846. 

{6} Portraits contemporains, ii. 61 (ed. 1847). 

{7} 'Pilgrimage to Auvergne, ' ii. 210. 

CHAPTER VI. MISCELLANEOUS VERSES--BERANGER--'MES SOUVENIRS'--PAUL DEMUSSET. 

During the next four years Jasmin composed no work of specialimportance. He occasionally wrote poetry, but chiefly on local subjects. In 1828 he wrote an impromptu to M. Pradel, who had improvised a Gasconsong in honour of the poet. The Gascon painter, Champmas, had comparedJasmin to a ray of sunshine, and in 1829 the poet sent him a charmingpiece of verse in return for his compliment. 

In 1830 Jasmin composed The Third of May, which was translated intoFrench by M. Duvigneau. It appears that the Count of Dijon had presentedto the town of Nerac, near Agen, a bronze statue of Henry IV. , executedby the sculptor Raggi--of the same character as the statue erected tothe same monarch at Pau. But though Henry IV. Was born at Pau, Nerac wasperhaps more identified with him, for there he had his strong castle, though only its ruins now remain. 

Nerac was at one time almost the centre of the Reformation in France. Clement Marot, the poet of the Reformed faith, lived there; and thehouse of Theodore de Beze, who emigrated to Geneva, still exists. TheProtestant faith extended to Agen and the neighbouring towns. When theRoman Catholics obtained the upper hand, persecutions began. Vindocin, the pastor, was burned alive at Agen. J. J. Scaliger was an eye-witnessof the burning, and he records the fact that not less than 300 victimsperished for their faith. 

At a later time Nerac, which had been a prosperous town, was ruined bythe Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; for the Protestant population, who had been the most diligent and industrious in the town andneighbourhood, were all either "converted, " hanged, sent to the galleys, or forced to emigrate to England, Holland, or Prussia. Nevertheless, thepeople of Nerac continued to be proud of their old monarch. 

The bronze statue of Henry IV. Was unveiled in 1829. On one side

of the marble pedestal supporting the statue were the words "Alumno, moxpatri nostro, Henrico quarto, " and on the reverse side was a verse inthe Gascon dialect:

 "Brabes Gascons! A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre; Benes! Benes! ey plaze de bous beyre! Approucha-bous!"

The words were assumed to be those of; Henry IV. , and may be thustranslated into English:

 "Brave Gascons! You may well trust my love for you; Come! come! I leave to you my glory! Come near! Approach!"{1}

It is necessary to explain how the verse in Gascon came to be engravedon the pedestal of the statue. The Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts, of Agen, offered a prize of 300 francs for the best Ode to thememory of Henry the Great. Many poems were accordingly sent in to theSociety; and, after some consideration, it was thought that the prizeshould be awarded to M. Jude Patissie. But amongst the thirty-nine poemswhich had been presented for examination, it was found that two had beenwritten in the Gascon dialect. The committee were at first of opinionthat they could not award the prize to the author of any poem written inthe vulgar tongue. At the same time they reported that one of the poemswritten in Gascon possessed such real merit, that the committee decidedby a unanimous vote that a prize should be awarded to the author of thebest poem written in the Gascon dialect. Many poems were accordinglysent in and examined. Lou Tres de May was selected as the best; and onthe letter attached to the poem being opened, the president proclaimedthe author to be "Jasmin, Coiffeur. " After the decision of the Societyat Agen, the people of Nerac desired to set their seal upon theirjudgment, and they accordingly caused the above words to be engravedon the reverse side of the pedestal supporting the statue of HenryIV. Jasmin's poem was crowned by the Academy of Agen; and though itcontained many fine verses, it had the same merits and the same defectsas the Charivari, published a few years before. 

M. Rodiere, Professor of Law at Toulouse, was of opinion that duringthe four years during which Jasmin produced no work of any specialimportance, he was carefully studying Gascon; for it ought to be knownthat the language in which Godolin wrote his fine poems is not withoutits literature. "The fact, " says Rodiere, "that Jasmin used some of histime in studying the works of Godolin is, that while in Lou Charibarithere are some French words ill-disguised in a Gascon dress, on theother hand, from the year 1830, there are none; and the language ofJasmin is the same as the language of Godolin, except for a few triflingdifferences, due to the different dialects of Agen and Toulouse. "

Besides studying Gascon, Jasmin had some military duties to perform. Hewas corporal of the third company of the National Guard of Agen; and in1830 he addressed his comrades in a series of verses. One of these wasa song entitled 'The Flag of Liberty' (Lou Drapeou de la Libertat);another, 'The Good All-merciful God!' (Lou Boun Diou liberal); and thethird was Lou Seromen. 

Two years later, in 1832, Jasmin composed The Gascons, which heimprovised at a banquet given to the non-commissioned officers of the14th Chasseurs. Of course, the improvisation was carefully prepared;and it was composed in French, as the non-commissioned officers did notunderstand the Gascon dialect. 

Jasmin extolled the valour of the French, and especially of the Gascons. The last lines of his eulogy ran as follows:--

 "O Liberty! mother of victory, Thy flag always brings us success! Though as Gascons we sing of thy glory, We chastise our foes with the French!"

In the same year Jasmin addressed the poet Beranger in a pleasantpoetical letter written in classical French. Beranger replied in prose;his answer was dated the 12th of July, 1832. He thanked Jasmin for hisfervent eulogy. While he thought that the Gascon poet's praise of hisworks was exaggerated, he believed in his sincerity. 

"I hasten, " said Beranger, "to express my thanks for the kindness ofyour address. Believe in my sincerity, as I believe in your praises. Your exaggeration of my poetical merits makes me repeat the first wordsof your address, in which you assume the title of a Gascon{2} poet. Itwould please me much better if you would be a French poet, as you proveby your epistle, which is written with taste and harmony. The sympathyof our sentiments has inspired you to praise me in a manner which I amfar from meriting, Nevertheless, sir, I am proud of your sympathy. 

"You have been born and brought up in the same condition as myself. Like me, you appear to have triumphed over the absence of scholasticinstruction, and, like me too, you love your country. You reproach me, sir, with the silence which I have for some time preserved. At the endof this year I intend to publish my last volume; I will then take myleave of the public. I am now fifty-two years old. I am tired of theworld. My little mission is fulfilled, and the public has had enough ofme. I am therefore making arrangements for retiring. Without the desirefor living longer, I have broken silence too soon. At least you mustpardon the silence of one who has never demanded anything of hiscountry. I care nothing about power, and have now merely the ambition ofa morsel of bread and repose. 

"I ask your pardon for submitting to you these personal details. Butyour epistle makes it my duty. I thank you again for the pleasure youhave given me. I do not understand the language of Languedoc, but, ifyou speak this language as you write French, I dare to prophecy a truesuccess in the further publication of your works. --BERANGER. "{3}

Notwithstanding this advice of Beranger and other critics, Jasmincontinued to write his poems in the Gascon dialect. He had very littletime to spare for the study of classical French; he was occupiedwith the trade by which he earned his living, and his business wasincreasing. His customers were always happy to hear him recite hispoetry while he shaved their beards or dressed their hair. 

He was equally unfortunate with M. Minier of Bordeaux. Jasmin addressedhim in a Gascon letter full of bright poetry, not unlike Burns's Vision, when he dreamt of becoming a song-writer. The only consolation thatJasmin received from M. Minier was a poetical letter, in which the poetwas implored to retain his position and not to frequent the society ofdistinguished persons. 

Perhaps the finest work which Jasmin composed at this period of his lifewas that which he entitled Mous Soubenis, or 'My Recollections. ' In noneof his poems did he display more of the characteristic qualities of hismind, his candour, his pathos, and his humour, than in these verses. He used the rustic dialect, from which he never afterwards departed. Heshowed that the Gascon was not yet a dead language; and he lifted it tothe level of the most serious themes. His verses have all the greatercharm because of their artless gaiety, their delicate taste, and thesweetness of their cadence. 

Jasmin began to compose his 'Recollections' in 1830, but the two firstcantos were not completed until two years later. The third canto wasadded in 1835, when the poem was published in the first volume of his'Curl-Papers' (Papillotes). These recollections, in fact, constituteJasmin's autobiography, and we are indebted to them for the descriptionwe have already given of the poet's early life. 

Many years later Jasmin wrote his Mous noubels Soubenis--'My NewRecollections'; but in that work he returned to the trials and theenjoyments of his youth, and described few of the events of his laterlife. "What a pity, " says M. Rodiere, "that Jasmin did not continue towrite his impressions until the end of his life! What trouble he wouldhave saved his biographers! For how can one speak when Jasmin ceases tosing?"

It is unnecessary to return to the autobiography and repeat theconfessions of Jasmin's youth. His joys and sorrows are all describedthere--his birth in the poverty-stricken dwelling in the Rue Fon deRache, his love for his parents, his sports with his playfellows on thebanks of the Garonne, his blowing the horn in his father's Charivaris, his enjoyment of the tit-bits which old Boe brought home from hisbegging-tours, the decay of the old man, and his conveyance to thehospital, "where all the Jasmins die;" then his education at theAcademy, his toying with the house-maid, his stealing the preserves, hisexpulsion from the seminary, and the sale of his mother's wedding-ringto buy bread for her family. 

While composing the first two cantos of the Souvenirs he seemed halfashamed of the homeliness of the tale he had undertaken to relate. Should he soften and brighten it? Should he dress it up with falselights and colours? For there are times when falsehood in silk andgold are acceptable, and the naked new-born truth is unwelcome. But herepudiated the thought, and added:--

 "Myself, nor less, nor more, I'll draw for you, And if not bright, the likeness shall be true. "

The third canto of the poem was composed at intervals. It took him twomore years to finish it. It commences with his apprenticeship tothe barber; describes his first visit to the theatre, his reading ofFlorian's romances and poems, his solitary meditations, and the birthand growth of his imagination. Then he falls in love, and a new eraopens in his life. He writes verses and sings them. He opens a barber'sshop of his own, marries, and brings his young bride home. "Two angels, "he says, "took up their abode with me. " His newly-wedded wife was one, and the other was his rustic Muse--the angel of homely pastoral poetry:

 "Who, fluttering softly from on high, Raised on his wing and bore me far, Where fields of balmiest ether are; There, in the shepherd lassie's speech I sang a song, or shaped a rhyme; There learned I stronger love than I can teach. Oh, mystic lessons! Happy time! And fond farewells I said, when at the close of day, Silent she led my spirit back whence it was borne away!"

He then speaks of the happiness of his wedded life; he shaves and singsmost joyfully. A little rivulet of silver passes into the barber's shop, and, in a fit of poetic ardour, he breaks into pieces and burns thewretched arm-chair in which his ancestors were borne to the hospital todie. His wife no longer troubles him with her doubts as to his versesinterfering with his business. She supplies him with pen, paper, ink, and a comfortable desk; and, in course of time, he buys the house inwhich he lives, and becomes a man of importance in Agen. He ends thethird canto with a sort of hurrah--

 "Thus, reader, have I told my tale in cantos three: Though still I sing, I hazard no great risk; For should Pegasus rear and fling me, it is clear, However ruffled all my fancies fair, I waste my time, 'tis true; though verses I may lose, The paper still will serve for curling hair. "{4}

Robert Nicoll, the Scotch poet, said of his works: "I have written myheart in my poems; and rude, unfinished, and hasty as they are, it canbe read there. " Jasmin might have used the same words. "With all myfaults, " he said, "I desired to write the truth, and I have described itas I saw it. "

In his 'Recollections' he showed without reserve his whole heart. Jasmin dedicated his 'Recollections, ' when finished, to M. Florimondde Saint-Amand, one of the first gentlemen who recognised his poeticaltalents. This was unquestionably the first poem in which Jasminexhibited the true bent of his genius. He avoided entirely the Frenchmodels which he had before endeavoured to imitate; and he now gavefull flight to the artless gaiety and humour of his Gascon muse. Itis unfortunate that the poem cannot be translated into English. It wastranslated into French; but even in that kindred language it lostmuch of its beauty and pathos. The more exquisite the poetry that iscontained in one language, the more difficulty there is in translatingit into another. 

M. Charles Nodier said of Lou Tres de May that it contains poeticthoughts conveyed in exquisite words; but it is impossible to render itinto any language but its own. In the case of the Charivari he shrinksfrom attempting to translate it. There is one passage containing asuperb description of the rising of the sun in winter; but two of thelines quite puzzled him. In Gascon they are

 "Quand l'Auroro, fourrado en raoubo de sati, Desparrouillo, san brut, las portos del mati. '

Some of the words translated into French might seem vulgar, though inGascon they are beautiful. In English they might be rendered:

 "When Aurora, enfurred in her robe of satin, Unbars, without noise, the doors of the morning. "

"Dream if you like, " says Nodier, "of the Aurora of winter, and tell meif Homer could have better robed it in words. The Aurora of Jasmin isquite his own; 'unbars the doors of the morning'; it is done withoutnoise, like a goddess, patient and silent, who announces herself tomortals only by her brightness of light. It is this finished felicityof expression which distinguishes great writers. The vulgar cannotaccomplish it. "

Again Nodier says of the 'Recollections': "They are an ingenuous marvelof gaiety, sensibility, and passion! I use, " he says, "this expressionof enthusiasm; and I regret that I cannot be more lavish in my praises. There is almost nothing in modem literature, and scarcely anythingin ancient, which has moved me more profoundly than the Souvenirs ofJasmin. 

"Happy and lovely children of Guienne and Languedoc, read and re-read theSouvenirs of Jasmin; they will give you painful recollections of publicschools, and perhaps give you hope of better things to come. You willlearn by heart what you will never forget. You will know from thispoetry all that you ought to treasure. "

Jasmin added several other poems to his collection before his secondvolume appeared in 1835. Amongst these were his lines on the Polishnation--Aux debris de la Nation Polonaise, and Les Oiseaux Voyageurs, ouLes Polonais en France--both written in Gascon. Saint-beuve thinks thelatter one of Jasmin's best works. "It is full of pathos, " he says, "andrises to the sublime through its very simplicity. It is indeed difficultto exaggerate the poetic instinct and the unaffected artlessness of thisamiable bard. "At the same time, " he said, "Jasmin still wanted thefire of passion to reach the noblest poetic work. Yet he had the artof style. If Agen was renowned as 'the eye of Guienne, ' Jasmin wascertainly the greatest poet who had ever written in the pure patois ofAgen. "

Sainte-Beuve also said of Jasmin that he was "invariably sober. " AndJasmin said of himself, "I have learned that in moments of heatand emotion we are all eloquent and laconic, alike in speech andaction--unconscious poets in fact; and I have also learned that it ispossible for a muse to become all this willingly, and by dint of patienttoil. "

Another of his supplementary poems consisted of a dialogue betweenRamoun, a soldier of the Old Guard, and Mathiou, a peasant. It is of apolitical cast, and Jasmin did not shine in politics. He was, however, always a patriot, whether under the Empire, the Monarchy, or theRepublic. He loved France above all things, while he entertained thewarmest affection for his native province. If Jasmin had published hisvolume in classical French he might have been lost amidst a crowd ofrhymers; but as he published the work in his native dialect, he becameforthwith distinguished in his neighbourhood, and was ever after knownas the Gascon poet. 

Nor did he long remain unknown beyond the district in which he lived. When his second volume appeared in 1835, with a preface by M. Baze, anadvocate of the Royal Court of Agen, it created considerable excitement, not only at Bordeaux and Toulouse, but also at Paris, the centre of theliterature, science, and fine arts of France. There, men of the highestdistinction welcomed the work with enthusiasm. 

M. Baze, in his preface, was very eulogistic. "We have the pleasure, " hesaid, "of seeing united in one collection the sweet Romanic tongue whichthe South of France has adopted, like the privileged children ofher lovely sky and voluptuous climate; and her lyrical songs, whosemasculine vigour and energetic sentiments have more than once excitedpatriotic transports and awakened popular enthusiasm. For Jasmin isabove all a poet of the people. He is not ashamed of his origin. He wasborn in the midst of them, and though a poet, still belongs to them. Forgenius is of all stations and ranks of life. He is but a hairdresserat Agen, and more than that, he wishes to remain so. His ambition is tounite the razor to the poet's pen. "

At Paris the work was welcomed with applause, first by his poeticsponsor, Charles Nodier, in the Temps, where he congratulated Jasmin onusing the Gascon patois, though still under the ban of literature. "Itis a veritable Saint Bartholomew of innocent and beautiful idioms, whichcan scarcely be employed even in the hours of recreation. " He pronouncedJasmin to be a Gascon Beranger, and quoted several of his lines fromthe Charivari, but apologised for their translation into French, fearingthat they might lose much of their rustic artlessness and soft harmony. 

What was a still greater honour, Jasmin was reviewed by the first criticof France--Sainte-Beuve in the leading critical journal, the Revue desdeux Mondes. The article was afterwards republished in his ContemporaryPortraits. {5} He there gives a general account of his poems; compareshim with the English and Scotch poets of the working class; andcontrasts him with Reboul, the baker of Nimes, who writes in classicalFrench, after the manner of the 'Meditations of Lamartine. ' He proceedsto give a brief account of Jasmin's life, taken from the Souvenirs, which he regards as a beautiful work, written with much artlessness andsimplicity. 

Various other reviews of Jasmin's poems appeared, in Agen, Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Paris, by men of literary mark--by Leonce de Lavergne, andDe Mazude in the Revue des deux Mondes--by Charles Labitte, M. Ducuing, and M. De Pontmartin. The latter classed Jasmin with Theocritus, Horace, and La Fontaine, and paid him the singular tribute, "that he had madeGoodness as attractive as other French writers had made Badness. " Suchcriticisms as these made Jasmin popular, not only in his own district, but throughout France. 

We cannot withhold the interesting statement of Paul de Musset as tohis interview with Jasmin in 1836, after the publication of his secondvolume of poems. Paul de Musset was the author of several novels, aswell as of Lui et Elle, apropos of his brother's connection with GeorgeSand. Paul de Musset thus describes his visit to the poet at Agen. {6}

"Let no one return northward by the direct road from Toulouse. Nothingcan be more dreary than the Lot, the Limousin, and the interminableDordogne; but make for Bordeaux by the plains of Gascony, and do notforget the steamboat from Marmande. You will then find yourself on theGaronne, in the midst of a beautiful country, where the air is vigorousand healthy. The roads are bordered with vines, arranged in arches, lovely to the eyes of travellers. The poets, who delight in making theunion of the vine with the trees which support it an emblem of marriage, can verify their comparisons only in Gascony or Italy. It is usuallypear trees that are used to support them.... 

"Thanks to M. Charles Nodier, who had discovered a man of modest talentburied in this province, I knew a little of the verses of the Gasconpoet Jasmin. Early one morning, at about seven, the diligence stopped inthe middle of a Place, where I read this inscription over a shop-door, 'Jasmin, Coiffeur des jeunes gens. ' We were at Agen. I descended, swallowed my cup of coffee as fast as I could, and entered the shop ofthe most lettered of peruke-makers. On a table was a mass of pamphletsand some of the journals of the South. 

"'Monsieur Jasmin?' said I on entering. 'Here I am, sir, at yourservice, ' replied a handsome brown-haired fellow, with a cheerfulexpression, who seemed to me about thirty years of age. 

"'Will you shave me?' I asked. 'Willingly, sir, ' he replied, I sat downand we entered into conversation. 'I have read your verses, sir, ' saidI, while he was covering my chin with lather. 

"'Monsieur then comprehends the patois?' 'A little, ' I said; 'one ofmy friends has explained to me the difficult passages. But tellme, Monsieur Jasmin, why is it that you, who appear to know Frenchperfectly, write in a language that is not spoken in any chief town orcapital. '

"'Ah, sir, how could a poor rhymer like me appear amongst the greatcelebrities of Paris? I have sold eighteen hundred copies of my littlepieces of poetry (in pamphlet form), and certainly all who speak Gasconknow them well. Remember that there are at least six millions of peoplein Languedoc. '

"My mouth was covered with soap-suds, and I could not answer him forsome time. Then I said, 'But a hundred thousand persons at most know howto read, and twenty thousand of them can scarcely be able to enjoy yourworks. '

"'Well, sir, I am content with that amount. Perhaps you have at Parismore than one writer who possesses his twenty thousand readers. Mylittle reputation would soon carry me astray if I ventured to addressall Europe. The voice that appears sonorous in a little place is notheard in the midst of a vast plain. And then, my readers are confinedwithin a radius of forty leagues, and the result is of real advantage toan author. '

"'Ah! And why do you not abandon your razor?' I enquired of thissingular poet. 'What would you have?' he said. 'The Muses are mostcapricious; to-day they give gold, to-morrow they refuse bread. Therazor secures me soup, and perhaps a bottle of Bordeaux. Besides, mysalon is a little literary circle, where all the young people of thetown assemble. When I come from one of the academies of which I am amember, I find myself among the tools which I can manage better thanmy pen; and most of the members of the circle usually pass through myhands. '

"It is a fact that M. Jasmin shaves more skilfully than any other poet. After a long conversation with this simple-minded man, I experienceda certain confusion in depositing upon his table the amount of fiftycentimes which I owed him on this occasion, more for his talent thanfor his razor; and I remounted the diligence more than charmed with themodesty of his character and demeanour. "

Endnotes for Chapter VI. 

{1} M. Duvigneau thus translated the words into French: he begins hisverses by announcing the birth of Henry IV. :--

 "A son aspect, mille cris d'allegresse Ebranlent le palais et montent jusqu'au ciel: Le voila beau comme dans sa jeunesse, Alors qu'il recevait le baiser maternel. A ce peuple charme qui des yeux le devore Le bon Roi semble dire encore: 'Braves Gascons, accourez tous; A mon amour pour vous vous devez croire; Je met a vous revoir mon bonheur et ma gloire, Venez, venez, approchez-vous!'"

{2} Gascon or Gasconade is often used as implying boasting orgasconading. 

{3} This letter was written before Jasmin had decided to publish thesecond volume of his Papillotes, which appeared in 1835. 

{4} The following are the lines in Gascon:--

 "Atai boudroy dan bous fini ma triplo paouzo; Mais anfin, ey cantat, n'hazardi pas gran caouzo: Quand Pegazo reguinno, et que d'un cot de pe M'emboyo friza mas marotos, Perdi moun ten, es bray, mais noun pas moun pape; Boti mous bers en papillotos!"

{5} 'Portraits Contemporains, ' ii. 50. Par C. A. Sainte-Beuve, Membre del'Academie Francaise. 1847. 

{6} 'Perpignan, l'Ariege et le poete Jasmin' (Journal politique etlitteraire de Lot-et-Garonne). 

CHAPTER VII. 'THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. '

Jasmin was now thirty-six years old. He was virtually in the prime oflife. He had been dreaming, he had been thinking, for many years, ofcomposing some poems of a higher order than his Souvenirs. He desiredto embody in his work some romantic tales in verse, founded upon locallegends, noble in conception, elaborated with care, and impressive bythe dignity of simple natural passion. 

In these new lyrical poems his intention was to aim high, and hesucceeded to a marvellous extent. He was enabled to show the depth andstrength of his dramatic powers, his fidelity in the description ofromantic and picturesque incidents, his shrewdness in reading characterand his skill in representing it, all of which he did in perfectinnocence of all established canons in the composition of dramaticpoetry. 

The first of Jasmin's poetical legends was 'The Blind Girl ofCastel-Cuille' (L'Abuglo). It was translated into English, a few yearsafter its appearance, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, daughter of theBritish ambassador at Paris, {1} and afterwards by Henry WadsworthLongfellow, the American poet. Longfellow follows the rhythm of theoriginal, and on the whole his translation of the poem is more correct, so that his version is to be preferred. He begins his version with thesewords--

 "Only the Lowland tongue of Scotland might Rehearse this little tragedy aright; Let me attempt it with an English quill, And take, O reader, for the deed the will. "

At the end of his translation Longfellow adds:--"Jasmin, the authorof this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to theSouth of Scotland, the representative of the heart of the people, --oneof those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (labouco pleno d'auuvelous). He has written his own biography in a poeticform, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles, and histriumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne, andlong may he live there to delight his native land with native songs!" Itis unnecessary to quote the poem, which is so well-known by the numerousreaders of Longfellow's poems, but a compressed narrative of the storymay be given. 

The legend is founded on a popular tradition. Castel-Cuille stands upona bluff rock in the pretty valley of Saint-Amans, about a league fromAgen. The castle was of considerable importance many centuries ago, while the English occupied Guienne; but it is now in ruins, though thevillage near it still exists. In a cottage, at the foot of the rock, lived the girl Marguerite, a soldier's daughter, with her brotherPaul. The girl had been betrothed to her lover Baptiste; but during hisabsence she was attacked by virulent small-pox and lost her eyesight. Though her beauty had disappeared, her love remained. She waitedlong for her beloved Baptiste, but he never returned. He forsook hisbetrothed Marguerite, and plighted his troth to the fairer and richerAngele. It was, after all, only the old story. 

Marguerite heard at night the song of their espousals on the eve ofthe marriage. She was in despair, but suppressed her grief. Wednesdaymorning arrived, the eve of St. Joseph. The bridal procession passedalong the village towards the church of Saint-Amans, singing the bridalsong. The fair and fertile valley was bedecked with the blossoms ofthe apple, the plum, and the almond, which whitened the country round. Nothing could have seemed more propitious. Then came the chorus, whichwas no invention of the poet, but a refrain always sung at rusticweddings, in accordance with the custom of strewing the bridal path withflowers:

 "The paths with buds and blossoms strew, A lovely bride approaches nigh; For all should bloom and spring anew, A lovely bride is passing by!"{2}

Under the blue sky and brilliant sunshine, the joyous young peoplefrisked along. The picture of youth, gaiety, and beauty, is full oftruth and nature. The bride herself takes part in the frolic. Withroguish eyes she escapes and cries: "Those who catch me will be marriedthis year!" And then they descend the hill towards the church ofSaint-Amans. Baptiste, the bridegroom, is out of spirits and mute. Hetakes no part in the sports of the bridal party. He remembers with griefthe blind girl he has abandoned. 

In the cottage under the cliff Marguerite meditates a tragedy. Shedresses herself, and resolves to attend the wedding at Saint-Amans withher little brother. While dressing, she slips a knife into her bosom, and then they start for the church. The bridal party soon arrived, andMarguerite heard their entrance. 

The ceremony proceeded. Mass was said. The wedding-ring was blessed;and as Baptiste placed it on the bride's finger, he said the accustomedwords. In a moment a voice cried: "It is he! It is he;" and Margueriterushed through the bridal party towards him with a knife in her hand tostab herself; but before she could reach the bridegroom she fell downdead--broken-hearted! The crime which she had intended to commitagainst herself was thus prevented. 

In the evening, in place of a bridal song, the De Profundis was chanted, and now each one seemed to say:--

 "The roads shall mourn, and, veiled in gloom, So fair a corpse shall leave its home! Should mourn and weep, ah, well-away, So fair a corpse shall pass to-day!"{3}

This poem was finished in August 1835; and on the 26th of the same monthit was publicly recited by Jasmin at Bordeaux, at the request of theAcademy of that city. 

There was great beauty, tenderness, and pathos in the poem. It wasperfectly simple and natural. The poem might form the subject of a dramaor a musical cantata. The lamentations of Marguerite on her blindnessremind one of Milton's heart-rending words on the same subject:

 "For others, day and joy and light, For me, all darkness, always night. "{4}

Sainte-Beuve, in criticising Jasmin's poems, says that "It was in 1835that his talent raised itself to the eminence of writing one of hispurest compositions--natural, touching and disinterested--his Blind Girlof Castel-Cuille, in which he makes us assist in a fete, amidst the joysof the villagers; and at the grief of a young girl, a fiancee whom asevere attack of smallpox had deprived of her eyesight, and whom herbetrothed lover had abandoned to marry another. 

"The grief of the poor abandoned girl, her changes of colour, herattitude, her conversation, her projects--the whole surrounded by thefreshness of spring and the laughing brightness of the season--exhibitsa character of nature and of truth which very few poets have been ableto attain. One is quite surprised, on reading this simple picture, to beinvoluntarily carried back to the most expressive poems of the ancientGreeks--to Theocritus for example--for the Marguerite of Jasmin may becompared with the Simetha of the Greek poet. This is true poetry, richfrom the same sources, and gilded with the same imagery. In his newcompositions Jasmin has followed his own bias; this man, who had fewbooks, but meditated deeply in his heart and his love of nature; and hefollowed the way of true art with secret and persevering labour in whatappeared to him the most eloquent, easy, and happy manner... 

"His language, " Sainte-Beuve continues, "is always the most natural, faithful, transparent, truthful, eloquent, and sober; never forget thislast characteristic. He is never more happy than when he finds thathe can borrow from an artizan or labourer one of those words which areworth ten of others. It is thus that his genius has refined during theyears preceding the time in which he produced his greatest works. It isthus that he has become the poet of the people, writing in the popularpatois, and for public solemnities, which remind one of those of theMiddle Ages and of Greece; thus he finds himself to be, in short, morethan any of our contemporaries, of the School of Horace, of Theocritus, or of Gray, and all the brilliant geniuses who have endeavoured by studyto bring each of their works to perfection. "{5}

The Blind Girl was the most remarkable work that Jasmin had up to thistime composed. There is no country where an author is so popular, whenhe is once known, as in France. When Jasmin's poem was published hebecame, by universal consent, the Poet Laureate of the South. Yet someof the local journals of Bordeaux made light of his appearance in thatcity for the purpose of reciting his as yet unknown poem. "That a barberand hairdresser of Agen, " they said, "speaking and writing in a vulgartongue, should attempt to amuse or enlighten the intelligent people ofBordeaux, seemed to them beneath contempt. "

But Jasmin soon showed them that genius is of no rank or conditionof life; and their views shortly underwent a sudden change. His veryappearance in the city was a triumph. Crowds resorted to the largehall, in which he was to recite his new poem of the Blind Girl ofCastel-Cuille. The prefect, the mayor, the members of the Academy, andthe most cultivated people of the city were present, and received himwith applause. 

There might have been some misgivings as to the success of the poem, but from the moment that he appeared on the platform and began hisrecitation, every doubt disappeared. He read the poem with marvellouseloquence; while his artistic figure, his mobile countenance, hisdark-brown eyebrows, which he raised or lowered at will, his expressivegesticulation, and his passionate acting, added greatly to the effect ofhis recital, and soon won every heart. When he came to the refrain, "The paths with buds and blossoms strew, "

he no longer declaimed, but sang after the manner of the peasants intheir popular chaunt. His eyes became suffused with tears, and those wholistened to the patois, even though they only imperfectly understood it, partook of the impression, and wept also. 

He was alike tender and impressive throughout the piece, especially atthe death of the blind girl; and when he had ended, a storm of applauseburst from the audience. There was a clapping of hands and a thunderousstamping of feet that shook the building almost to its foundations. 

It was a remarkable spectacle, that a humble working man, comparativelyuneducated, should have evoked the tumultuous applause of a brilliantassembly of intelligent ladies and gentlemen. It was indeed somethingextraordinary. Some said that he declaimed like Talma or Rachel, norwas there any note of dissonance in his reception. The enthusiasm wasgeneral and unanimous amongst the magistrates, clergy, scientific men, artists, physicians, ship-owners, men of business, and workingpeople. They all joined in the applause when Jasmin had concluded hisrecitation. 

From this time forward Jasmin was one of the most popular men atBordeaux. He was entertained at a series of fetes. He was invitedto soirees by the prefect, by the archbishop, by the various socialcircles, as well as by the workmen's associations. They vied with eachother for the honour of entertaining him. He went from matineesto soirees, and in ten days he appeared at thirty-four differententertainments. 

At length he became thoroughly tired and exhausted by this enormousfete-ing. He longed to be away and at home with his wife andchildren. He took leave of his friends and admirers with emotion, and, notwithstanding the praises and acclamations he had received atBordeaux, he quietly turned to pursue his humble occupation at Agen. 

It was one of the most remarkable things about Jasmin, that he wasnever carried off his feet by the brilliant ovations he received. Thoughenough to turn any poor fellow's head, he remained simple and natural tothe last. As we say in this country, he could "carry corn" We have saidthat "Gascon" is often used in connection with boasting or gasconading. But the term was in no way applicable to Jasmin. He left the echo ofpraises behind him, and returned to Agen to enjoy the comforts of hisfireside. 

He was not, however, without tempters to wean him from his home and hisordinary pursuits. In 1836, the year after his triumphal reception atBordeaux, some of his friends urged him to go to Paris--the centre oflight and leading--in order to "make his fortune. "

But no! he had never contemplated the idea of leaving his native town. A rich wine merchant of Toulouse was one of his tempters. He advisedJasmin to go to the great metropolis, where genius alone was recognised. Jasmin answered him in a charming letter, setting forth the reasonswhich determined him to remain at home, principally because his tasteswere modest and his desires were homely. 

"You too, " he said, "without regard to troubling my days and my nights, have written to ask me to carry my guitar and my dressing-comb to thegreat city of kings, because there, you say, my poetical humour and mywell-known verses will bring torrents of crowns to my purse. Oh, youmay well boast to me of this shower of gold and its clinking stream. Youonly make me cry: 'Honour is but smoke, glory is but glory, and money isonly money!' I ask you, in no craven spirit, is money the only thing fora man to seek who feels in his heart the least spark of poetry? In mytown, where everyone works, leave me as I am. Every summer, happier thana king, I lay up my small provision for the winter, and then I sing likea goldfinch under the shade of a poplar or an ash-tree, only too happyto grow grey in the land which gave me birth. One hears in summer thepleasant zigo, ziou, ziou, of the nimble grasshopper, or the youngsparrow pluming his wings to make himself ready for flight, he knowsnot whither; but the wise man acts not so. I remain here in my home. Everything suits me--earth, sky, air--all that is necessary for mycomfort. To sing of joyous poverty one must be joyful and poor. I amsatisfied with my rye-bread, and the cool water from my fountain. "

Jasmin remained faithful to these rules of conduct during his life. Though he afterwards made a visit to Paris, it was only for a shorttime; but his native town of Agen, his home on the Gravier, his shop, his wife and his children, continued to be his little paradise. Hismuse soared over him like a guardian angel, giving him songs for hishappiness and consolation for his sorrows. He was, above all things, happy in his wife. She cheered him, strengthened him, and consoled him. He thus portrayed her in one of his poems:

 "Her eyes like sparkling stars of heavenly blue; Her cheeks so sweet, so round, and rosy; Her hair so bright, and brown, and curly; Her mouth so like a ripened cherry; Her teeth more brilliant than the snow. "

Jasmin was attached to his wife, not only by her beauty, but by her goodsense. She counselled and advised him in everything. He gave himself upto her wise advice, and never had occasion to regret it. It was with hermodest marriage-portion that he was enabled to establish himself as amaster hairdresser. 

When he opened his shop, he set over the entrance door this sign: "L'Artembellit La Nature: Jasmin, Coiffeur des Jeunes Gens. " As his familygrew, in order to increase his income, he added the words, "Coiffeur desDames. " This proved to be a happy addition to his business. Most of theladies of Agen strove for the honour of having their hair dressed by thepoetical barber. While dressing their hair he delighted them with hissongs. He had a sympathetic voice, which touched their souls and threwthem into the sweetest of dreams. 

Though Jasmin was always disposed to rhyme a little, his wise wifenever allowed him to forget his regular daily work. At the same time sheunderstood that his delicate nature could not be entirely absorbed bythe labours of an ordinary workman. She was no longer jealous ofhis solitary communions with his muse; and after his usual hours ofoccupation, she left him, or sat by him, to enable him to pursue hisdear reveries in quiet. 

Mariette, or Marie, as she was usually called, was a thoroughly goodpartner for Jasmin. Though not by any means a highly educated woman, shefelt the elevating effects of poetry even on herself. She influenced herhusband's mind through her practical wisdom and good sense, while he inhis turn influenced hers by elevating her soul and intellect. 

Jasmin, while he was labouring over some song or verse, found itnecessary to recite it to some one near him, but mostly to his wife. Hewandered with her along the banks of the Garonne, and while he recited, she listened with bated breath. She could even venture to correct him;for she knew, better than he did, the ordinary Gascon dialect. She oftenfound for him the true word for the picture which he desired to presentto his reader. Though Jasmin was always thankful for her help, he didnot abandon his own words without some little contention. He had workedout the subject in his mind, and any new word, or mode of description, might interrupt the beauty of the verses. 

When he at length recognised the justice of her criticism, he would say, "Marie, you are right; and I will again think over the subject, and makeit fit more completely into the Gascon idiom. " In certain cases passageswere suppressed; in others they were considerably altered. 

When Jasmin, after much labour and correction, had finished his poem, hewould call about him his intimate friends, and recite the poem to them. He had no objection to the most thorough criticism, by his wife as wellas by his friends. When the poem was long and elaborate, the auditorssometimes began to yawn. Then the wife stepped in and said: "Jasmin, youmust stop; leave the remainder of the poem for another day. " Thus therecital ceased for the time. 

The people of Agen entertained a lively sympathy for their poet. Eventhose who might to a certain extent depreciate his talent, did everyjustice to the nobility of his character. Perhaps some might envy theposition of a man who had risen from the ranks and secured the esteem ofmen of fortune and even of the leaders of literary opinion. Jasmin, likeevery person envied or perhaps detracted, had his hours of depression. But the strong soul of his wife in these hours came to his relief, andassuaged the spirit of the man and the poet. 

Jasmin was at one time on the point of abandoning verse-making. Yet hewas encouraged to proceed by the demands which were made for hissongs and verses. Indeed, no fete was considered complete without therecitations of Jasmin. It was no doubt very flattering; yet fame has itsdrawbacks. His invitations were usually unceremonious. 

Jasmin was no doubt recognised as a poet, and an excellent reciter; yethe was a person who handled the razor and the curling-tongs. When he wasinvited to a local party, it was merely that he might recite his versesgratuitously. He did not belong to their social circle, and his wifewas not included. What sympathy could she have with these distinguishedpersonages? At length Jasmin declined to go where his wife could not beinvited. He preferred to stay at home with his family; and all furtherinvitations of this sort were refused. 

Besides, his friend Nodier had warned him that a poet of his stamp oughtnot to appear too often at the feasts of the lazy; that his time was tooprecious for that; that a poet ought, above all, not to occupy himselfwith politics, for, by so doing, he ran the risk of injuring his talent. 

Some of his local critics, not having comprehended the inner lifeof Jasmin, compared his wife to the gardener of Boileau and themaid-servant of Moliere. But the comparison did not at all apply. Jasminhad no gardener nor any old servant or housekeeper. Jasmin and Mariewere quite different. They lived the same lives, and were all in allto each other. They were both of the people; and though she was withoutculture, and had not shared in the society of the educated, she tookevery interest in the sentiments and the prosperity of her admirablehusband. 

One might ask, How did Jasmin acquire his eloquence of declamation--hispower of attracting and moving assemblies of people in all ranks oflife? It was the result, no doubt, partly of the gifts with which theCreator had endowed him, and partly also of patience and perseveringstudy. He had a fine voice, and he managed it with such art that itbecame like a perfectly tuned instrument in the hands of a musician. 

His voice was powerful and pathetic by turns, and he possessed greatsweetness of intonation, --combined with sympathetic feeling and specialfelicity of emphasis. And feeling is the vitalising principle of poetry. Jasmin occasionally varied his readings by singing or chaunting thesongs which occurred in certain parts of his poems. This, together withhis eloquence, gave such immense vital power to the recitations of theAgenaise bard. 

And we shall find, from the next chapter, that Jasmin used his patheticeloquence for very noble, --one might almost say, for divine purposes. 

Endnotes for Chapter VII. 

{1} The translation appeared in 'Bentley's Miscellany' for March 1840. It was published for a charitable purpose. Mrs. Craven, in her 'Lifeof Lady Georgiana Fullerton, ' says: "It was put in at once, and its twohundred and seventy lines brought to the author twelve guineas on theday on which it appeared. Lady Fullerton was surprised and delighted. All her long years of success, different indeed in degree, never effacedthe memory of the joy. "

{2} The refrain, in the original Gascon, is as follows:

 "Las carreros diouyon flouri, Tan belo nobio bay sourti; Diouyon flouri, diouyon graua, Tan belo nobio bay passa!"

{3} In Gascon:

 "Las carreros diouyon gemi, Tan belo morto bay sourti! Diouyon gemi, diouyon ploura, Tan belo morto bay passa!"

{4} in Gascon:

 "Jour per aoutres, toutjour! et per jou, malhurouzo, Toutjour ney, toutjour ney! Que fay negre len d'el! Oh! que moun amo es tristo!"

{5} Sainte-Beuve: 'Causeries du Lundi, ' iv. 240-1 (edit. 1852); and'Portraits Contemporains, ' ii. 61 (edit, 1847). 

CHAPTER VIII. JASMIN AS PHILANTHROPIST. 

It is now necessary to consider Jasmin in an altogether differentcharacter--that of a benefactor of his species. Self-sacrifice anddevotion to others, forgetting self while spending and being spentfor the good of one's fellow creatures, exhibit man in his noblestcharacteristics. But who would have expected such virtues to beillustrated by a man like Jasmin, sprung from the humblest condition oflife?

Charity may be regarded as a universal duty, which it is in everyperson's power to practise. Every kind of help given to another, onproper motives, is an act of charity; and there is scarcely any man insuch a straitened condition as that he may not, on certain occasions, assist his neighbour. The widow that gives her mite to the treasury, thepoor man that brings to the thirsty a cup of cold water, perform theiracts of charity, though they may be of comparatively little moment. Wordsworth, in a poetic gem, described the virtue of charity:

 "... Man is dear to man; the poorest poor Long for some moments in a weary life When they can know and feel that they have been, Themselves, the fathers and the dealers out Of some small blessings, have been kind to such As needed kindness, for the single cause That we have all of us one human heart. "

This maxim of Wordsworth's truly describes the life and deeds of Jasmin. It may be said that he was first incited to exert himself on behalf ofcharity to his neighbours, by the absence of any Poor Law in France suchas we have in England. In the cases of drought, when the crops did notripen; or in the phylloxera blights, when the grapes were ruined; orin the occasional disastrous floods, when the whole of the agriculturalproduce was swept away; the small farmers and labourers were reduced togreat distress. The French peasant is usually very thrifty; but whereaccumulated savings were not available for relief, the result, in manycases, was widespread starvation. 

Jasmin felt that, while himself living in the midst of blessings, he owed a duty, on such occasions, to the extreme necessities of hisneighbours. The afflicted could not appeal to the administrators oflocal taxes; all that they could do was to appeal to the feelings of thebenevolent, and rely upon local charity. He believed that the extremelypoor should excite our liberality, the miserable our pity, the sick ourassistance, the ignorant our instruction, and the fallen our helpinghand. 

It was under such circumstances that Jasmin consented to recite hispoems for the relief of the afflicted poor. His fame had increased fromyear to year. His songs were sung, and his poems were read, all overthe South of France. When it was known that he was willing to recitehis poems for charitable purposes he was immediately assailed withinvitations from far and near. 

When bread fell short in winter-time, and the poor were famished; whenan hospital for the needy was starving for want of funds; when a crecheor infants' asylum had to be founded; when a school, or an orphanage, had to be built or renovated, and money began to fail, an appeal was atonce made to Jasmin's charitable feelings. 

It was not then usual for men like Jasmin to recite their poems inpublic. Those who possessed his works might recite them for their ownpleasure. But no one could declaim them better than he could, and hispersonal presence was therefore indispensable. 

It is true, that about the same time Mr. Dickens and Mr. Thackeray weregiving readings from their works in England and America. Both readerswere equally popular; but while they made a considerable addition totheir fortunes, {1} Jasmin realised nothing for himself; all that wascollected at his recitations was given to the poor. 

Of course, Jasmin was received with enthusiasm in those towns and citieswhich he visited for charitable purposes. When it was known that he wasabout to give one of his poetical recitals, the artisan left his shop, the blacksmith his smithy, the servant her household work; and themother often shut up her house and went with her children to listen tothe marvelous poet. Young girls spread flowers before his pathway; andlovely women tore flowers from their dresses to crown their belovedminstrel with their offerings. 

Since his appearance at Bordeaux, in 1835, when he recited his BlindGirl for a charitable purpose, he had been invited to many meetings inthe neighbourhood of Agen, wherever any worthy institution had to beerected or assisted. He continued to write occasional verses, though notof any moment, for he was still dreaming of another masterpiece. 

All further thoughts of poetical composition were, however, dispelled, by the threatened famine in the Lot-et-Garonne. In the winter of 1837bread became very dear in the South of France. The poor people weresuffering greatly, and the usual appeal was made to Jasmin to cometo their help. A concert was advertised to be given at Tonneins, aconsiderable town to the north-west of Agen, when the local musicianswere to give their services, and Jasmin was to recite a poem. 

For this purpose he composed his 'Charity' (La Caritat). It wasaddressed to the ladies and musicians who assisted at the entertainment. Charity is a short lyrical effusion, not so much a finished poem as theutterings of a tender heart. Though of some merit, it looks pale besideThe Blind Girl. But his choice of the subject proved a forecast of thenoble uses which Jasmin was afterwards enabled to make of his poeticaltalents. 

Man, he said in his verses, is truly great, chiefly through his charity. The compassionate man, doing his works of benevolence, though in secret, in a measure resembles the Divine Author of his being. The following isthe introductory passage of the poem:--

 "As we behold at sea great ships of voyagers Glide o'er the waves to billows white with spray, And to another world the hardy travellers convey; Just as bold savants travel through the sky To illustrate the world which they espy, Men without ceasing cry, 'How great is man!' But no! Great God! How infinitely little he! Has he a genius? 'Tis nothing without goodness! Without some grace, no grandeur do we rate. It is the tender-hearted who show charity in kindness. Unseen of men, he hides his gift from sight, He does all that he owes in silent good, Like the poor widow's mite; Yet both are great, Great above all--great as the Grace of God. "

This is, of course, a very feeble attempt to render the words of Jasmin. He was most pathetic when he recounted the sorrows of the poor. Whiledoing so, he avoided exciting their lower instincts. He disavowed allenvy of the goods of others. He maintained respect for the law, whileat the same time he exhorted the rich to have regard for their poorerbrethren. "It is the glory of the people, " he said at a meeting ofworkmen, "to protect themselves from evil, and to preserve throughouttheir purity of character. "

This was the spirit in which Jasmin laboured. He wrote some other poemsin a similar strain--'The Rich and Poor, ' 'The Poor Man's Doctor, ' 'TheRich Benefactor' (Lou Boun Riche); but Jasmin's own Charity containedthe germ of them all. He put his own soul into his poems. At Tonneins, the emotion he excited by his reading of Charity was very great, and thesubscriptions for the afflicted poor were correspondingly large. 

The municipality never forgot the occasion; and whenever they becameembarrassed by the poverty of the people, they invariably appealed toJasmin, and always with the same success. On one occasion the Mayorwrote to him: "We are still under the charm of your verses; and Iaddress you in the name of the poor people of Tonneins, to thank youmost gratefully for the charitable act you have done for their benefit. The evening you appeared here, sir, will long survive in our memory. Itexcited everywhere the most lively gratitude. The poor enjoyed a day ofhappiness, and the rich enjoyed a day of pleasure, for nothing can bemore blessed than Charity!"

Jasmin, in replying to this letter, said: "Christ's words were, 'Ye havethe poor always with you'; in pronouncing this fact, he called the worldto deeds of charity, and instituted this admirable joint responsibility(solidarite), in virtue of which each man should fulfil the duty ofhelping his poorer neighbours. It is this responsibility which, when thecry of hunger or suffering is heard, is most instrumental in bringingall generous souls to the front, in order to create and multiply theresources of the poor. "

Jasmin's success at Tonneins led to numerous invitations of a likecharacter. "Come over and help us, " was the general cry during thatwinter of famine. The barber's shop was invaded by numerous deputations;and the postman was constantly delivering letters of invitation athis door. He was no longer master of his time, and had considerabledifficulty in attending to his own proper business. Sometimes hisleisure hours were appropriated six months beforehand; and he was oftenperemptorily called upon to proceed with his philanthropic work. 

When he could find time enough to spare from his business, he wouldconsent to give another recitation. When the distance was not great hewalked, partly for exercise, and partly to save money. There were fewrailways in those days, and hiring a conveyance was an expensive affair. Besides, his desire always was, to hand over, if possible, the whole ofthe receipts to the charitable institutions for whose benefit he gavehis recitations. 

The wayfaring poet, on his approach to the town in which he was toappear, was usually met by crowds of people. They received him with joyand acclamation. The magistrates presented him with a congratulatoryaddress. Deputations from neighbouring towns were present at thecelebration. At the entrance to the town Jasmin often passed under atriumphal arch, with "Welcome, Jasmin! our native poet!" inscribed uponit. He was conveyed, headed by the local band, to the hall where he wasto give his recitation. 

Jasmin's appearance at Bergerac was a great event. Bergerac is a town ofconsiderable importance, containing about fourteen thousand inhabitants, situated on the right or north bank of the river Dordogne. But duringthat terrible winter the poor people of Bergerac were in great distress, and Jasmin was summoned to their help. The place was at too great adistance from Agen for him to walk thither, and accordingly he wasobliged to take a conveyance. He was as usual met by a multitude ofpeople, who escorted him into the town. 

The magistrates could not find a place sufficiently large to giveaccommodation to the large number of persons who desired to hear him. At length they found a large building which had been used as a barn; andthere they raised a platform for the poet. The place was at once filled, and those who could not get admission crowded about the entrance. Someof the people raised ladders against the walls of the building, andclambered in at the windows. Groups of auditors were seen at every placewhere they could find a footing. Unfortunately the weather was rainy, and a crowd of women filled the surrounding meadow, sheltered by theirumbrellas. 

More than five hundred persons had not been able to find admission, andit was therefore necessary for Jasmin to give several more readingsto satisfy the general enthusiasm. All the receipts were given over byJasmin for the benefit of the poor, and the poet hurried home at once tohis shaving and hair-dressing. 

On another occasion, at Gontaud, the weather was more satisfactory. Theday was fine and sunny, and the ground was covered with flowers. Aboutthe time that Jasmin was expected, an open carriage, festooned withflowers, and drawn by four horses, was sent to the gate of the town, escorted by the municipal council, to wait for the poet. When he arrivedon foot for the place was at no great distance from Agen twelve younggirls, clothed in white, offered him a bouquet of flowers, and presentedhim with an address. He then entered the carriage and proceeded to theplace where he was to give his recitation. All went well and happily, and a large offering was collected and distributed amongst the poor. 

Then at Damazan, where he gave another reading for the same purpose, after he had entered the carriage which was to convey him to the placeof entertainment, a number of girls preceded the carriage in which thepoet sat, and scattered flowers in his way, singing a refrain of thecountry adapted to the occasion. It resembled the refrain sung beforethe bride in The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille:

 "The paths with flowers bestrew, So great a poet comes this way; For all should flower and bloom anew, So great a poet comes to-day. "{2}

These are only specimens of the way in which Jasmin was received duringhis missions of philanthropy. He went from north to south, from east towest, by river and by road, sleeping where he could, but always happyand cheerful, doing his noble work with a full and joyous heart. He chirruped and sang from time to time as if his mouth was full ofnightingales. And he was never without enthusiastic multitudes to listento his recitals, and to share their means with the poor and afflicted. We might fill this little story with a detailed account of hisjourneyings; but a summary account is all that is at present necessary. We shall afterwards return to the subject. 

Endnotes to Chapter VIII. 

{1} Mr. George Dolby, in his work 'Charles Dickens as I knew him, 'tells "the story of the famous 'reading tours, ' the most brilliantlysuccessful enterprises that were ever undertaken. " Chappell and Co. Paidhim 1500 sterling for thirty readings in London and the provinces, bywhich they realised 5000 sterling. Arthur Smith and Mr. Headland werehis next managers, and finally Mr. George Dolby. The latter says thatMr. Dickens computed the money he netted under the Smith and Headlandmanagement at about 12, 000 sterling; and under Dolby's management "hecleared nearly 33, 000 sterling. "

{2} In Gascon: "Las carreros diouyon fleuri, Tan gran poete bay sourti; Diouyon fleuri, diouyon graua, Tan gran poete bay passa. "

CHAPTER IX. JASMIN'S 'FRANCONNETTE. '

Jasmin published no further poems for three or four years. His time wastaken up with his trade and his philanthropic missions. Besides, hedid not compose with rapidity; he elaborated his poems by degrees; hearranged the plot of his story, and then he clothed it with poeticalwords and images. While he walked and journeyed from place to place, hewas dreaming and thinking of his next dramatic poem--his Franconnette, which many of his critics regard as his masterpiece. 

Like most of his previous poems, Jasmin wrote Franconnette in the Gascondialect. Some of his intimate friends continued to expostulate withhim for using this almost dead and virtually illiterate patois. Why notwrite in classical French? M. Dumon, his colleague at the Academyof Agen, again urged him to employ the national language, which allintelligent readers could understand. 

"Under the reign of our Henry IV. , " said M. Dumon, "the Langue d'Oilbecame, with modifications, the language of the French, while the Langued'Oc remained merely a patois. Do not therefore sing in the dialect ofthe past, but in the language of the present, like Beranger, Lamartine, and Victor Hugo. 

"What, " asked M. Dumon, "will be the fate of your original poetry? Itwill live, no doubt, like the dialect in which it is written; butis this, the Gascon patois, likely to live? Will it be spoken by ourposterity as long as it has been spoken by our ancestors? I hope not;at least I wish it may be less spoken. Yet I love its artless andpicturesque expressions, its lively recollections of customs and mannerswhich have long ceased to exist, like those old ruins which stillembellish our landscape. But the tendency which is gradually effacingthe vestiges of our old language and customs is but the tendency ofcivilisation itself. 

"When Rome fell under the blows of the barbarians, she was entirelyconquered; her laws were subjected at the same time as her armies. Theconquest dismembered her idiom as well as her empire.... The lasttrace of national unity disappeared in this country after the Romanoccupation. It had been Gaul, but now it became France. The force ofcentralisation which has civilised Europe, covering this immensechaos, has brought to light, after more than a hundred years, this mostmagnificent creation the French monarchy and the French language. Letus lament, if you will, that the poetical imagination and thecharacteristic language of our ancestors have not left a more profoundimpression. But the sentence is pronounced; even our Henry IV. Could notchange it. Under his reign the Langue d'Oil became for ever the Frenchlanguage, and the Langue d'Oc remained but a patois. 

"Popular poet as you are, you sing to posterity in the language of thepast. This language, which you recite so well, you have restored andperhaps even created; yet you do not feel that it is the nationallanguage; this powerful instrument of a new era, which invades andbesieges yours on all sides like the last fortress of an obsoletecivilisation. "

Jasmin was cut to the quick by this severe letter of his friend, and helost not a moment in publishing a defence of the language condemned todeath by his opponent. He even displayed the force and harmony ofthe language which had been denounced by M. Dumon as a patois. Heendeavoured to express himself in the most characteristic and poeticalstyle, as evidence of the vitality of his native Gascon. He compared itto a widowed mother who dies, and also to a mother who does not die, but continues young, lovely, and alert, even to the last. Dumon hadpublished his protest on the 28th of August, 1837, and a few days later, on the 2nd of September, Jasmin replied in the following poem:--

 "There's not a deeper grief to man Than when his mother, faint with years, Decrepit, old, and weak and wan, Beyond the leech's art appears;

 When by her couch her son may stay, And press her hand, and watch her eyes, And feel, though she revives to-day, Perchance his hope to-morrow dies. 

 It is not thus, believe me, sir, With this enchantress--she will call Our second mother: Frenchmen err, Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall! Our mother-tongue--all melody-- While music lives can never die. 

 Yes! she still lives, her words still ring; Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. 

 The people love their ancient songs, and will While yet a people, love and keep them still: These lays are as their mother; they recall Fond thoughts of mother, sister, friends, and all The many little things that please the heart, The dreams, the hopes, from which we cannot part. These songs are as sweet waters, where we find Health in the sparkling wave that nerves the mind. In ev'ry home, at ev'ry cottage door, By ev'ry fireside, when our toil is o'er, These songs are round us--near our cradles sigh, And to the grave attend us when we die. 

 Oh, think, cold critics! 'twill be late and long, Ere time shall sweep away this flood of song! There are who bid this music sound no more, And you can hear them, nor defend--deplore! You, who were born where its first daisies grew, Have fed upon its honey, sipp'd its dew, Slept in its arms, and wakened to its kiss, Danced to its sounds, and warbled to its tone-- You can forsake it in an hour like this! Yes, weary of its age, renounce--disown-- And blame one minstrel who is true--alone!"{1}

This is but a paraphrase of Jasmin's poem, which, as we have alreadysaid, cannot be verbally translated into any other language. Even thelast editor of Jasmin's poems--Boyer d'Agen--does not translate theminto French poetry, but into French prose. Much of the aroma of poetryevaporates in converting poetical thoughts from one language intoanother. 

Jasmin, in one part of his poem, compares the ancient patois to one ofthe grand old elms in the Promenade de Gravier, which, having in a stormhad some of its branches torn away, was ordered by the local authoritiesto be rooted up. The labourers worked away, but their pick-axes becameunhafted. They could not up-root the tree; they grew tired and forsookthe work. When the summer came, glorious verdure again clothed theremaining boughs; the birds sang sweetly in the branches, and theneighbours rejoiced that its roots had been so numerous and the tree hadbeen so firmly planted. 

Jasmin's description of his mother-tongue is most touching. Seasonspass away, and, as they roll on, their echoes sound in our ears; but theloved tongue shall not and must not die. The mother-tongue recalls ourown dear mother, sisters, friends, and crowds of bygone associations, which press into our minds while sitting by the evening fire. Thistongue is the language of our toils and labours; she comes to us at ourbirth, she lingers at our tomb. 

"No, no--I cannot desert my mother-tongue!" said Jasmin. "It preservesthe folk-lore of the district; it is the language of the poor, of thelabourer, the shepherd, the farmer and grape-gatherers, of boys andgirls, of brides and bridegrooms. The people, " he said to M. Dumon, "love to hear my songs in their native dialect. You have enough poetryin classical French; leave me to please my compatriots in the dialectwhich they love. I cannot give up this harmonious language, our secondmother, even though it has been condemned for three hundred years. Why!she still lives, her voice still sounds; like her, the seasons pass, thebells ring out their peals, and though a hundred thousand years may rollaway, they will still be sounding and ringing!"

Jasmin has been compared to Dante. But there is this immense differencebetween them. Dante was virtually the creator of the Italian language, which was in its infancy when he wrote his 'Divine Comedy' some sixhundred years ago, while Jasmin was merely reviving a gradually-expiringdialect. Drouilhet de Sigalas has said that Dante lived at the sunriseof his language, while Jasmin lived at its sunset. Indeed, Gascon wasnot a written language, and Jasmin had to collect his lexicon, grammar, and speech mostly from the peasants who lived in the neighbourhood ofAgen. Dante virtually created the Italian language, while Jasmin merelyresuscitated for a time the Gascon dialect. 

Jasmin was not deterred by the expostulations of Dumon, but again wrotehis new epic of Franconnette in Gascon. It took him a long time toclothe his poetical thoughts in words. Nearly five years had elapsedsince he recited The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille to the citizens ofBordeaux; since then he had written a few poetical themes, but he wasmainly thinking and dreaming, and at times writing down his new epicFranconnette. It was completed in 1840, when he dedicated the poem tothe city of Toulouse. 

The story embodied in the poem was founded on an ancient tradition. Thetime at which it occurred was towards the end of the sixteenth century, when France was torn to pieces by the civil war between the Huguenotsand the Catholics. Agen was then a centre of Protestantism. It wastaken and retaken by both parties again and again. The Huguenot captain, Truelle, occupied the town in April 1562; but Blaize de Montluc, "afierce Catholic, " as he is termed by M. Paul Joanne, assailed the townwith a strong force and recaptured it. On entering the place, Montlucfound that the inhabitants had fled with the garrison, and "the terriblechief was greatly disappointed at not finding any person in Agen toslaughter. "{2} Montluc struck with a heavy hand the Protestants of theSouth. In the name of the God of Mercy he hewed the Huguenots to pieces, and, after spreading desolation through the South, he retired to hisfortress at Estellac, knelt before the altar, took the communion, andwas welcomed by his party as one of the greatest friends of the Church. 

The civil war went on for ten years, until in August 1572 the massacreof Saint Bartholomew took place. After that event the word "Huguenot"was abolished, or was only mentioned with terror. Montluc's castleof Estellac, situated near the pretty village of Estanquet, nearRoquefort--famous for its cheese--still exists; his cabinet ispreserved, and his tomb and statue are to be seen in the adjoininggarden. The principal scenes of the following story are supposed to haveoccurred at Estanquet, a few miles to the south of Agen. 

Franconnette, like The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, is a story ofrivalry in love; but, though more full of adventure, it ends morehappily. Franconnette was a village beauty. Her brilliant eyes, her rosycomplexion, her cherry lips, her lithe and handsome figure, brought allthe young fellows of the neighbourhood to her feet. Her father was abanished Huguenot, but beauty of person sets differences of belief atdefiance. 

The village lads praised her and tried to win her affections; but, likebeauties in general, surrounded by admirers, she was a bit of a flirt. 

At length two rivals appeared--one Marcel, a soldier under Montluc, favoured by Franconnette's grandmother, and Pascal, the villageblacksmith, favoured by the girl herself. One Sunday afternoon a numberof young men and maidens assembled at the foot of Montluc's castleof Estellac on the votive festival of St. Jacques at Roquefort. Franconnette was there, as well as Marcel and Pascal, her specialadmirers. Dancing began to the music of the fife; but Pascal, thehandsomest of the young men, seemed to avoid the village beauty. Franconnette was indignant at his neglect, but was anxious to securehis attention and devotion. She danced away, sliding, whirling, andpirouetting. What would not the admiring youths have given to impresstwo kisses on her lovely cheek!{3}

In these village dances, it is the custom for the young men to kisstheir partners, if they can tire them out; but in some cases, when thegirl is strong; and an accomplished dancer, she declines to betired until she wishes to cease dancing. First one youth danced withFranconnette, then another; but she tired them all. Then came Marcel, the soldier, wearing his sabre, with a cockade in his cap--a tall andstately fellow, determined to win the reward. But he too, after muchwhirling and dancing, was at last tired out: he was about to fall withdizziness, and then gave in. On goes the dance; Franconnette waits foranother partner; Pascal springs to her side, and takes her round thewaist. Before they had made a dozen steps, the girl smiles and stops, and turns her blushing cheeks to receive her partner's willing kisses. 

Marcel started up in a rage, and drawing himself to his full height, hestrode to Pascal. "Peasant!" he said, "thou hast supplied my place tooquickly, " and then dealt him a thundering blow between the eyes. Pascalwas not felled; he raised his arm, and his fist descended on Marcel'shead like a bolt. The soldier attempted to draw his sabre. When Pascalsaw this, he closed with Marcel, grasped him in his arms, and dashed himto the ground, crushed and senseless. 

Marcel was about to rise to renew the duel, when suddenly Montluc, whohappened to be passing with the Baron of Roquefort, stepped forward andsternly ordered the combatants to separate. This terrible encounter putan end to the fete. The girls fled like frightened doves. The youngmen escorted Pascal to his home preceded by the fifers. Marcel was notdiscouraged. On recovering his speech, he stammered out, grinding histeeth: "They shall pay clearly for this jesting; Franconnette shall haveno other husband than myself. "

Many months passed. The harvest was gathered in. There were no moreout-door fetes or dances. The villagers of Estanquet assembled roundtheir firesides. Christmas arrived with it games and carol-singing. Thencame the Feast of Lovers, called the Buscou, {4} on the last day of theyear, where, in a large chamber, some hundred distaffs were turning, andboys and girls, with nimble fingers, were winding thread of the finestflax. Franconnette was there, and appointed queen of the games. Afterthe winding was over, the songs and dances began to the music of atambourin. The queen, admired by all, sang and danced like the rest. 

Pascal was not there; his mother was poor, and she endeavoured topersuade him to remain at home and work. After a short strugglewith himself, Pascal yielded. He turned aside to his forge in silentdejection; and soon the anvil was ringing and the sparks were flying, while away down in the village the busking went merrily on. "If theprettiest were always the most sensible, " says Jasmin, "how much myFranconnette might have accomplished;" but instead of this, she flittedfrom place to place, idle and gay, jesting, singing, dancing, and, asusual, bewitching all. 

Then Thomas, Pascal's friend, asked leave to sing a few verses; and, fixing his keen eyes upon the coquette, he began in tones of lute-likesweetness the following song, entitled 'The Syren with a Heart of Ice. 'We have translated it, as nearly as possible, from the Gascon dialect. 

 "Faribolo pastouro, Sereno al co de glas, Oh! digo, digo couro Entendren tinda l'houro Oun t'amistouzaras. Toutjour fariboulejes, Et quand parpailloulejes La foulo que mestrejes, Sur toun cami set met

 Et te siet. Mais res d'acos, maynado, Al bounhur pot mena; Qu'es acos d'estre aymado, Quand on sat pas ayma?"

 "Wayward shepherd maid, Syren with heart of ice, Oh! tell us, tell us! when We listen for the hour When thou shalt feel Ever so free and gay, And when you flutter o'er The number you subdue, Upon thy path they fall At thy feet. But nothing comes of this, young maid, To happiness it never leads; What is it to be loved like this If you ne'er can love again?"

Such poetry however defies translation. The more exquisite the masteryof a writer over his own language, the more difficult it is to reproduceit in another. But the spirit of the song is in Miss Costello'stranslation, {5} as given in Franconnette at the close of this volume. 

When reciting Franconnette, Jasmin usually sang The Syren to music ofhis own composition. We accordingly annex his music. 

All were transported with admiration at the beautiful song. When Thomashad finished, loud shouts were raised for the name of the poet. "Who hadcomposed this beautiful lay?" "It is Pascal, " replied Thomas. "Bravo, Pascal! Long live Pascal!" was the cry of the young people. Franconnettewas unwontedly touched by the song. "But where is Pascal?" she said. "Ifhe loves, why does he not appear?" "Oh, " said Laurent, another of hisrivals, in a jealous and piqued tone, "he is too poor, he is obligedto stay at home, his father is so infirm that he lives upon alms!" "Youlie, " cried Thomas. "Pascal is unfortunate; he has been six months illfrom the wounds he received in defence of Franconnette, and now hisfamily is dependent upon him; but he has industry and courage, and willsoon recover from his misfortunes. "

Franconnette remained quiet, concealing her emotions. Then the gamesbegan. They played at Cache Couteau or Hunt the Slipper. Dancing camenext; Franconnette was challenged by Laurent, and after many rounds thegirl was tired, and Laurent claimed the kisses that she had forfeited. Franconnette flew away like a bird; Laurent ran after her, caughther, and was claiming the customary forfeit, when, struggling to freeherself, Laurent slipped upon the floor, fell heavily, and broke hisarm. 

Franconnette was again unfortunate. Ill-luck seems to have pursuedthe girl. The games came to an end, and the young people were about todisperse when, at this unlucky moment, the door was burst open anda sombre apparition appeared. It was the Black Forest sorcerer, thesupposed warlock of the neighbourhood. 

"Unthinking creatures, " he said, "I have come from my gloomy rocks upyonder to open your eyes. You all adore this Franconnette. Behold, sheis accursed! While in her cradle her father, the Huguenot, sold her tothe devil. He has punished Pascal and Laurent for the light embrace shegave them. He warned in time and avoid her. The demon alone has a claimto her. "

The sorcerer ended; sparks of fire surrounded him, and after turningfour times round in a circle he suddenly disappeared! Franconnette'sfriends at once held aloof from her. They called out to her, "Begone!"All in a maze the girl shuddered and sickened; she became senseless, andfell down on the floor in a swoon. The young people fled, leaving herhelpless. And thus ended the second fete which began so gaily. 

The grossest superstition then prevailed in France, as everywhere. Witches and warlocks were thoroughly believed in, far more so thanbelief in God and His Son. The news spread abroad that the girl wasaccursed and sold to the Evil One, and she was avoided by everybody. Shefelt herself doomed. At length she reached her grandmother's house, but she could not work, she could scarcely stand. The once radiantFranconnette could neither play nor sing; she could only weep. 

Thus ended two cantos of the poem. The third opens with a lovely pictureof a cottage by a leafy brookside in the hamlet of Estanquet. Thespring brought out the singing-birds to pair and build their nests. Theylistened, but could no longer hear the music which, in former years, hadbeen almost sweeter than their own. The nightingales, more curiousthan the rest, flew into the maid's garden; they saw her straw hat ona bench, a rake and watering-pot among the neglected jonquils, and therose branches running riot. Peering yet further and peeping into thecottage door, the curious birds discovered an old woman asleep in herarm-chair, and a pale, quiet girl beside her, dropping tears upon herlily hands. "Yes, yes, it is. Franconnette, " says the poet. "Youwill have guessed that already. A poor girl, weeping in solitude, thedaughter of a Huguenot, banned by the Church and sold to the devil!Could anything be more frightful?"

Nevertheless her grandmother said to her, "My child, it is not true; thesorcerer's charge is false. He of good cheer, you are more lovely thanever. " One gleam of hope had come to Franconnette; she hears that Pascalhas defended her everywhere, and boldly declared her to be the victimof a brutal plot. She now realised how great was his goodness, and herproud spirit was softened even to tears. The grandmother put in a goodword for Marcel, but the girl turned aside. Then the old woman said, "To-morrow is Easter Day; go to Mass, pray as you never prayed before, and take the blessed bread, proving that you are numbered with Hischildren for ever. "

The girl consented, and went to the Church of Saint Peter on Eastermorning. She knelt, with her chaplet of beads, among the rest, imploringHeaven's mercy. But she knelt alone in the midst of a wide circle. Allthe communicants avoided her. The churchwarden, Marcel's uncle, inhis long-tailed coat, with a pompous step, passed her entirely by, andrefused her the heavenly meal. Pascal was there and came to her help. He went forward to the churchwarden and took from the silver plate thecrown piece{6} of the holy element covered with flowers, and took andpresented two pieces of the holy bread to Franconnette--one for herself, the other for her grandmother. 

From that moment she begins to live a new life, and to understand themagic of love. She carries home the blessed bread to the ancientdame, and retires to her chamber to give herself up, with the utmostgratefulness, to the rapturous delight of loving. "Ah, " says Jasmin inhis poem, "the sorrowing heart aye loveth best!"

Yet still she remembers the fatal doom of the sorcerer that she is soldfor a price to the demon. All seem to believe the hideous tale, and noone takes her part save Pascal and her grandmother. She kneels beforeher little shrine and prays to the Holy Virgin for help and succour. 

At the next fete day she repaired to the church of Notre Dame de bonEncontre, {7} where the inhabitants of half a dozen of the neighbouringvillages had assembled, with priests and crucifixes, garlands andtapers, banners and angels. The latter, girls about to be confirmed, walked in procession and sang the Angelus at the appropriate hours. Thereport had spread abroad that Franconnette would entreat the BlessedVirgin to save her from the demon. The strangers were more kind to herthan her immediate neighbours, and from many a pitying heart the prayerwent up that a miracle might be wrought in favour of the beautifulmaiden. She felt their sympathy, and it gave her confidence. Thespecial suppliants passed up to the altar one by one--Anxious mothers, disappointed lovers, orphans and children. They kneel, they ask forblessings, they present their candles for the old priest to bless, andthen they retire. 

Now came the turn of Franconnette. Pascal was in sight and prayed forher success. She went forward in a happy frame of mind, with her taperand a bouquet of flowers. She knelt before the priest. He took thesacred image and presented it to her; but scarcely had it touched thelips of the orphan when a terrible peal of thunder rent the heavens, anda bolt of lightning struck the spire of the church, extinguishing hertaper as well as the altar lights. This was a most unlucky coincidencefor the terrified girl; and, cowering like a lost soul, she crept out ofthe church. The people were in consternation. "It was all true, she wasnow sold to the devil! Put her to death, that is the only way of endingour misfortunes!"

The truth is that the storm of thunder and lightning prevailedthroughout the neighbourhood. It is a common thing in southern climes. The storm which broke out at Notre Dame destroyed the belfry; the churchof Roquefort was demolished by a bolt of lightning, the spire of SaintPierre was ruined. The storm was followed by a tempest of hail and rain. Agen was engulfed by the waters; her bridge was destroyed, {8} and manyof the neighbouring vineyards were devastated. And all this ruin waslaid at the door of poor Franconnette!

The neighbours--her worst enemies--determined to burn the daughter ofthe Huguenot out of her cottage. The grandmother first heard the criesof the villagers: "Fire them, let them both burn together. " Franconnetterushed to the door and pleaded for mercy. "Go back, " cried the crowd, "you must both roast together. " They set fire to the rick outside andthen proceeded to fire the thatch of the cottage. "Hold, hold!" crieda stern voice, and Pascal rushed in amongst them. "Cowards! would youmurder two defenceless women? Tigers that you are, would you fire andburn them in their dwelling?"

Marcel too appeared; he had not yet given up the hope of winningFranconnette's love. He now joined Pascal in defending her and theold dame, and being a soldier of Montluc, he was a powerful man in theneighbourhood. The girl was again asked to choose between the two. Atlast, after refusing any marriage under present circumstances, she clungto Pascal. "I would have died alone, " she said, "but since you will haveit so, I resist no longer. It is our fate; we will die together. " Pascalwas willing to die with her, and turning to Marcel he said: "I have beenmore fortunate than you, but you are a brave man and you will forgiveme. I have no friend, but will you act as a squire and see me to mygrave?" After struggling with his feelings, Marcel at last said: "Sinceit is her wish, I will be your friend. "

A fortnight later, the marriage between the unhappy lovers took place. Every one foreboded disaster. The wedding procession went down the greenhill towards the church of Notre Dame. There was no singing, no dancing, no merriment, as was usual on such occasions. The rustics shuddered atheart over the doom of Pascal. The soldier Marcel marched at the head ofthe wedding-party. At the church an old woman appeared, Pascal's mother. She flung her arms about him and adjured him to fly from his falsebride, for his marriage would doom him to death. She even fell at thefeet of her son and said that he should pass over her body rather thanbe married. Pascal turned to Marcel and said: "Love overpowers me! If Idie, will you take care of my mother?"

Then the gallant soldier dispelled the gloom which had overshadowed theunion of the loving pair. "I can do no more, " he said; "your motherhas conquered me. Franconnette is good, and pure, and true. I loved themaid, Pascal, and would have shed my blood for her, but she loved youinstead of me. 

"Know that she is not sold to the Evil One. In my despair I hired thesorcerer to frighten you with his mischievous tale, and chance did therest. When we both demanded her, she confessed her love for you. It wasmore than I could bear, and I resolved that we should both die. 

"But your mother has disarmed me; she reminds me of my own. Live, Pascal, for your wife and your mother! You need have no more fear of me. It is better that I should die the death of a soldier than with a crimeupon my conscience. "

Thus saying, he vanished from the crowd, who burst into cheers. Thehappy lovers fell into each other's arms. "And now, " said Jasmin, inconcluding his poem, "I must lay aside my pencil. I had colours forsorrow; I have none for such happiness as theirs!"

Endnotes to Chapter IX. 

{1} The whole of Jasmin's answer to M. Dumon will be found in theAppendix at the end of this volume. 

{2}'Gascogne et Languedoc, ' par Paul Joanne, p. 95 (edit. 1883). 

{3} The dance still exists in the neighbourhood of Agen. When there afew years ago, I was drawn by the sound of a fife and a drum to the spotwhere a dance of this sort was going on. It was beyond the suspensionbridge over the Garonne, a little to the south of Agen. A number of menand women of the working-class were assembled on the grassy sward, and were dancing, whirling, and pirouetting to their hearts' content. Sometimes the girls bounded from the circle, were followed by theirsweethearts, and kissed. It reminded one of the dance so vigorouslydepicted by Jasmin in Franconnette. 

{4} Miss Harriet Preston, of Boston, U. S. , published part of atranslation of Franconnette in the 'Atlantic Monthly' for February, 1876, and adds the following note: "The buscou, or busking, was a kindof bee, at which the young people assembled, bringing the thread oftheir late spinning, which was divided into skeins of the proper sizeby a broad and thin plate of steel or whalebone called a busc. The samething, under precisely the same name, figured in the toilets of ourgrandmothers, and hence, probably, the Scotch use of the verb to busk, or attire. "

{5} Miss Louisa Stuart Costello in 'Bearn and the Pyrenees. '

{6} A custom which then existed in certain parts of France. It was takenby the French emigrants to Canada, where it existed not long ago. Thecrown of the sacramental bread used to be reserved for the family of theseigneur or other communicants of distinction. 

{7} A church in the suburbs of Agen, celebrated for its legends andmiracles, to which numerous pilgrimages are made in the month of May. 

{8} A long time ago the inhabitants of the town of Agen communicatedwith the other side of the Garonne by means of little boats. The firstwooden bridge was commenced when Aquitaine was governed by the English, in the reign of Richard Coeur-de-lion, at the end of the twelfthcentury. The bridge was destroyed and repaired many times, and oneof the piles on which the bridge was built is still to be seen. It isattributed to Napoleon I. That he caused the first bridge of stone tobe erected, for the purpose of facilitating the passage of his troops toSpain. The work was, however, abandoned during his reign, and it wasnot until the Restoration that the bridge was completed. Since that timeother bridges, especially the suspension bridge, have been erected, toenable the inhabitants of the towns on the Garonne to communicate freelywith each other. 

CHAPTER X. JASMIN AT TOULOUSE. 

It had hitherto been the custom of Jasmin to dedicate his poems to oneof his friends; but in the case of Franconnette he dedicated the poem tothe city of Toulouse. His object in making the dedication was to expresshis gratitude for the banquet given to him in 1836 by the leading menof the city, at which the President had given the toast of "Jasmin, theadopted son of Toulouse. "

Toulouse was the most wealthy and prosperous city in the South ofFrance. Among its citizens were many men of literature, art, andscience. Jasmin was at first disposed to dedicate Franconnette to thecity of Bordeaux, where he had been so graciously received and fetedon the recitation of his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille; but he eventuallydecided to dedicate the new poem to the city of Toulouse, where he hadalready achieved a considerable reputation. 

Jasmin was received with every honour by the city which had adoptedhim. It was his intention to read the poem at Toulouse before itspublication. If there was one of the towns or cities in which hislanguage was understood--one which promised by the strength and depth ofits roots to defy all the chances of the future--that city was Toulouse, the capital of the Langue d'Oc. 

The place in which he first recited the poem was the Great Hall of theMuseum. When the present author saw it about two years ago, the groundfloor was full of antique tombs, statues, and monuments of the past;while the hall above it was crowded with pictures and works of art, ancient and modern. 

About fifteen hundred persons assembled to listen to Jasmin in the GreatHall. "It is impossible, " said the local journal, {1} "to describe thetransport with which he was received. " The vast gallery was filled withone of the most brilliant assemblies that had ever met in Toulouse. Jasmin occupied the centre of the platform. At his right and lefthand were seated the Mayor, the members of the Municipal Council, theMilitary Chiefs, the members of the Academy of Jeux-Floraux, {2} andmany distinguished persons in science, literature, and learning. A largespace had been reserved for the accommodation of ladies, who appeared intheir light summer dresses, coloured like the rainbow; and behind themstood an immense number of the citizens of Toulouse. 

Jasmin had no sooner begun to recite his poem than it was clear that hehad full command of his audience. Impressed by his eloquence and powersof declamation, they were riveted to their seats, dazzled and moved byturns, as the crowd of beautiful thoughts passed through their minds. The audience were so much absorbed by the poet's recitation that not awhisper was heard. He evoked by the tones and tremor of his voice theirsighs, their tears, their indignation. He was by turns gay, melancholy, artless, tender, arch, courteous, and declamatory. As the dramaproceeded, the audience recognised the beauty of the plot and the poet'sknowledge of the human heart. He touched with grace all the cords of hislyre. His poetry evidently came direct from his heart: it was as rare asit was delicious. 

The success of the recitation was complete, and when Jasmin resumed hisseat he received the most enthusiastic applause. As the whole of thereceipts were, as usual, handed over by Jasminto the local charities, the assembly decided by acclamation that a subscription should be raisedto present to the poet, who had been adopted by the city, some testimonyof their admiration for his talent, and for his having first recited tothem and dedicated to Toulouse his fine poem of Franconnette. 

Jasmin handed over to the municipality the manuscript of his poem in avolume beautifully bound. The Mayor, in eloquent language, accepted thework, and acknowledged the fervent thanks of the citizens of Toulouse. 

As at Bordeaux, Jasmin was feted and entertained by the mostdistinguished people of the city. At one of the numerous banquets atwhich he was present, he replied to the speech of the chairman by animpromptu in honour of those who had so splendidly entertained him. But, as he had already said: "Impromptus may be good money of the heart, butthey are often the worst money of the head. "{3}

On the day following the entertainment, Jasmin was invited to a "grandbanquet" given by the coiffeurs of Toulouse, where they presented himwith "a crown of immortelles and jasmines, " and to them also he recitedanother of his impromptus. {4}

Franconnette was shortly after published, and the poem was received withalmost as much applause by the public as it had been by the citizensof Toulouse. Sainte-beuve, the prince of French critics, said of thework:--

"In all his compositions Jasmin has a natural, touching idea; it is ahistory, either of his invention, or taken from some local tradition. With his facility as an improvisatore, aided by the patois in which hewrites, ... When he puts his dramatis personae into action, he endeavoursto depict their thoughts, all their simple yet lively conversation, andto clothe them in words the most artless, simple, and transparent, and in a language true, eloquent, and sober: never forget this lattercharacteristic of Jasmin's works. "{5}

M. De Lavergne says of Franconnette, that, of all Jasmin's work, it isthe one in which he aimed at being most entirely popular, and that itis at the same time the most noble and the most chastened. He mightalso have added the most chivalrous. "There is something essentiallyknightly, " says Miss Preston, "in Pascal's cast of character, and itis singular that at the supreme crisis of his fate he assumes, as ifunconsciously, the very phraseology of chivalry. 

"Some squire (donzel) should follow me to death. It is altogethernatural and becoming in the high-minded smith. "

M. Charles Nodier--Jasmin's old friend--was equally complimentary in hispraises of Franconnette. When a copy of the poem was sent to him, withan accompanying letter, Nodier replied:--

"I have received with lively gratitude, my dear and illustrious friend, your beautiful verses, and your charming and affectionate letter. I haveread them with great pleasure and profound admiration. A Although ill inbed, I have devoured Franconnette and the other poems. I observe, witha certain pride, that you have followed my advice, and that you thinkin that fine language which you recite so admirably, in place oftranslating the patois into French, which deprives it of its fullnessand fairness. I thank you a thousand times for your very flatteringepistle. I am too happy to expostulate with you seriously as to thegracious things you have said to me; my name will pass to posterity inthe works of my friends; the glory of having been loved by you goes fora great deal. "

The time at length arrived for the presentation of the testimonial ofToulouse to Jasmin. It consisted of a branch of laurel in gold. Theartist who fashioned it was charged to put his best work into the goldenlaurel, so that it might be a chef d'oeuvre worthy of the city whichconferred it, and of being treasured in the museum of their adoptedpoet. The work was indeed admirably executed. The stem was rough, asin nature, though the leaves were beautifully polished. It had a ribbondelicately ornamented, with the words "Toulouse a Jasmin. "

When the work was finished and placed in its case, the Mayor desired tosend it to Jasmin by a trusty messenger. He selected Mademoiselle Gasc, assisted by her father, advocate and member of the municipal council, topresent the tribute to Jasmin. It ought to have been a fete day for thepeople of Agen, when their illustrious townsman, though a barber, wasabout to receive so cordial an appreciation of his poetical genius fromthe learned city of Toulouse. It ought also to have been a fete day forJasmin himself. 

But alas! an unhappy coincidence occurred which saddened the day thatought to have been a day of triumph for the poet. His mother was dying. When Mademoiselle Gasc, accompanied by her father, the Mayor of Agen, and other friends of Jasmin, entered the shop, they were informedthat he was by the bedside of his mother, who was at death's door. Thephysician, who was consulted as to her state, said that there might onlybe sufficient time for Jasmin to receive the deputation. 

He accordingly came out for a few moments from his mother's bed-side. M. Gasc explained the object of the visit, and read to

Jasmin the gracious letter of the Mayor of Toulouse, concluding asfollows:--

"I thank you, in the name of the city of Toulouse, for the fine poemwhich you have dedicated to us. This branch of laurel will remind youof the youthful and beautiful Muse which has inspired you with suchcharming verses. "

The Mayor of Agen here introduced Mademoiselle Gasc, who, in her turn, said:--

"And I also, sir, am most happy and proud of the mission which has beenentrusted to me. "

Then she presented him with the casket which contained the goldenlaurel. Jasmin responded in the lines entitled 'Yesterday and To-day, 'from which the following words may be quoted:--

"Yesterday! Thanks, Toulouse, for our old language and for my poetry. Your beautiful golden branch ennobles both. And you who offer it to me, gracious messenger--queen of song and queen of hearts--tell your city ofmy perfect happiness, and that I never anticipated such an honour evenin my most golden dreams. 

"To-day! Fascinated by the laurel which Toulouse has sent me, and whichfills my heart with joy, I cannot forget, my dear young lady, the sorrowwhich overwhelms me--the fatal illness of my mother--which makes me fearthat the most joyful day of my life will also be the most sorrowful. "

Jasmin's alarms were justified. His prayers were of no avail. His motherdied with her hand in his shortly after the deputation had departed. Herhusband had preceded her to the tomb a few years before. He always hada firm presentiment that he should be carried in the arm-chair to thehospital, "where all the Jasmins die. " But Jasmin did his best to savehis father from that indignity. He had already broken the arm-chair, andthe old tailor died peacefully in the arms of his son. 

Some four months after the recitation of Franconnette at Toulouse, Jasmin resumed his readings in the cause of charity. In October 1840 hevisited Oleron, and was received with the usual enthusiasm; and on hisreturn to Pau, he passed the obelisk erected to Despourrins, the Burnsof the Pyrenees. At Pau he recited his Franconnette to an immenseaudience amidst frenzies of applause. It was alleged that the peopleof the Pyrenean country were prosaic and indifferent to art. But M. Dugenne, in the 'Memorial des Pyrenees, ' said that it only wanted sucha bewitching poet as Jasmin--with his vibrating and magical voice--torouse them and set their minds on fire. 

Another writer, M. Alfred Danger, paid him a still more delicatecompliment. 

"His poetry, " he said, "is not merely the poetry of illusions; it isalive, and inspires every heart. His admirable delicacy! His profoundtact in every verse! What aristocratic poet could better express ina higher degree the politeness of the heart, the truest of allpoliteness. "{6}

Jasmin did not seem to be at all elated by these eulogiums. When hehad finished his recitations, he returned to Agen, sometimes on foot, sometimes in the diligence, and quietly resumed his daily work. His success as a poet never induced him to resign his more humbleoccupation. Although he received some returns from the sale of hispoems, he felt himself more independent by relying upon the incomederived from his own business. 

His increasing reputation never engendered in him, as is too oftenthe case with self-taught geniuses who suddenly rise into fame, asupercilious contempt for the ordinary transactions of life. "Afterall, " he said, "contentment is better than riches. "

Endnotes to Chapter X. 

{1} Journal de Toulouse, 4th July, 1840. 

{2} The Society of the Jeux-Floraux derives its origin from the ancientTroubadours. It claims to be the oldest society of the kind in Europe. It is said to have been founded in the fourteenth century by ClemenceIsaure, a Toulousian lady, to commemorate the "Gay Science. " A meetingof the society is held every year, when prizes are distributed tothe authors of the best compositions in prose and verse. It somewhatresembles the annual meeting of the Eisteddfod, held for awarding prizesto the bards and composers of Wales. 

{3} The following was his impromptu to the savants of Toulouse, 4thJuly, 1840:--

 "Oh, bon Dieu! que de gloire! Oh, bon Dieu! que d'honneurs! Messieurs, ce jour pour ma Muse est bien doux; Mais maintenant, d'etre quitte j'ai perdu l'esperance: Car je viens, plus fier que jamais, Vous payer ma reconnaissance, Et je m'endette que plus!"

{4} This is the impromptu, given on the 5th July, 1840:

 "Toulouse m'a donne un beau bouquet d'honneur; Votre festin, amis, en est une belle fleur; Aussi, clans les plaisirs de cette longue fete, Quand je veux remercier de cela, Je poursuis mon esprit pour ne pas etre en reste Ici, l'esprit me nait et tombe de mon coeur!"

{5} 'Causeries du Lundi, ' iv. 240 (edit. 1852). 

{6} "La politesse du coeur, " a French expression which can scarcely betranslated into English; just as "gentleman" has no precise equivalentin French. 

CHAPTER XI. JASMIN'S VISIT TO PARIS. 

Jasmin had been so often advised to visit Paris and test his powersthere, that at length he determined to proceed to the capital of France. It is true, he had been eulogized in the criticisms of Sainte-Beuve, Leonce de Lavergne, Charles Nodier, and Charles de Mazade; but hedesired to make the personal acquaintance of some of these illustriouspersons, as well as to see his son, who was then settled in Paris. Itwas therefore in some respects a visit of paternal affection as well asliterary reputation. He set out for Paris in the month of May 1842. 

Jasmin was a boy in his heart and feelings, then as always. Indeed, henever ceased to be a boy--in his manners, his gaiety, his artlessness, and his enjoyment of new pleasures. 

What a succession of wonders to him was Paris--its streets, itsboulevards, its Tuileries, its Louvre, its Arc de Triomphe--remindinghim of the Revolution and the wars of the first Napoleon. 

Accompanied by his son Edouard, he spent about a week in visiting themost striking memorials of the capital. They visited together the Placede la Concorde, the Hotel de Ville, Notre Dame, the Madeleine, theChamps Elysees, and most of the other sights. At the Colonne Vendome, Jasmin raised his head, looked up, and stood erect, proud of the gloriesof France. He saw all these things for the first time, but they had longbeen associated with his recollections of the past. 

There are "country cousins" in Paris as well as in London. They areknown by their dress, their manners, their amazement at all they see. When Jasmin stood before the Vendome Column, he extended his hand as ifhe were about to recite one of his poems. "Oh, my son, " he exclaimed, "such glories as these are truly magnificent!" The son, who wasfamiliar with the glories, was rather disposed to laugh. He desired, fordecorum's sake, to repress his father's exclamations. He saw the peoplestanding about to hear his father's words. "Come, " said the young man, "let us go to the Madeleine, and see that famous church. " "Ah, Edouard, "said Jasmin, "I can see well enough that you are not a poet; not youindeed!"

During his visit, Jasmin wrote regularly to his wife and friends atAgen, giving them his impressions of Paris. His letters were full ofhis usual simplicity, brightness, boyishness, and enthusiasm. "Whatwonderful things I have already seen, " he said in one of his letters, "and how many more have I to see to-morrow and the following days. M. Dumon, Minister of Public Works" (Jasmin's compatriot and associate atthe Academy of Agen), "has given me letters of admission to Versailles, Saint-Cloud, Meudon in fact, to all the public places that I have for solong a time been burning to see and admire. "

After a week's tramping about, and seeing the most attractive sights ofthe capital, Jasmin bethought him of his literary friends and critics. The first person he called upon was Sainte-Beuve, at the MazarinLibrary, of which he was director. "He received me like a brother, " saidJasmin, "and embraced me. He said the most flattering things aboutmy Franconnette, and considered it an improvement upon L'Aveugle. 'Continue, ' he said, 'my good friend' and you will take a place in thebrightest poetry of our epoch. ' In showing me over the shelves in theLibrary containing the works of the old poets, which are still read andadmired, he said, 'Like them, you will never die. '"

Jasmin next called upon Charles Nodier and Jules Janin. Nodier wasdelighted to see his old friend, and after a long conversation, Jasminsaid that "he left him with tears in his eyes. " Janin complimented himupon his works, especially upon his masterly use of the Gascon language. "Go on, " he said, "and write your poetry in the patois which alwaysappears to me so delicious. You possess the talent necessary for thepurpose; it is so genuine and rare. "

The Parisian journals mentioned Jasmin's appearance in the capital; themost distinguished critics had highly approved of his works; and beforelong he became the hero of the day. The modest hotel in which he stayedduring his visit, was crowded with visitors. Peers, ministers, deputies, journalists, members of the French Academy, came to salute the author ofthe 'Papillotos. '

The proprietor of the hotel began to think that he was entertaining someprince in disguise--that he must have come from some foreign courtto negotiate secretly some lofty questions of state. But when he wasentertained at a banquet by the barbers and hair-dressers of Paris, the opinions of "mine host" underwent a sudden alteration. He informedJasmin's son that he could scarcely believe that ministers of statewould bother themselves with a country peruke-maker! The son laughed; hetold the maitre d'hotel that his bill would be paid, and that was all heneed to care for. 

Jasmin was not, however, without his detractors. Even in his owncountry, many who had laughed heartily and wept bitterly while listeningto his voice, feared lest they might have given vent to their emotionsagainst the legitimate rules of poetry. Some of the Parisian criticswere of opinion that he was immensely overrated. They attributed thesuccess of the Gascon poet to the liveliness of the southerners, whowere excited by the merest trifles; and they suspected that Jasmin, instead of being a poet, was but a clever gasconader, differing onlyfrom the rest of his class by speaking in verse instead of prose. 

Now that Jasmin was in the capital, his real friends, who knew hispoetical powers, desired him to put an end to these prejudices byreciting before a competent tribunal some of his most admired verses. Hewould have had no difficulty in obtaining a reception at the Tuileries. He had already received several kind favours from the Duke and Duchessof Orleans while visiting Agen. The Duke had presented him with a ringset in brilliants, and the Duchess had given him a gold pin in the shapeof a flower, with a fine pearl surrounded by diamonds, in memory oftheir visit. It was this circumstance which induced him to compose hispoem 'La Bago et L'Esplingo' (La Bague et L'Epingle) which he dedicatedto the Duchess of Orleans. 

But Jasmin aimed higher than the Royal family. His principal desirewas to attend the French Academy; but as the Academy did not permitstrangers to address their meetings, Jasmin was under the necessity ofadopting another method. The Salons were open. 

M. Leonce de Lavergne said to him: "You are now classed among our Frenchpoets; give us a recitation in Gascon. " Jasmin explained that hecould not give his reading before the members of the Academy. "Thatdifficulty, " said his friend, "can soon be got over: I will arrange fora meeting at the salon of one of our most distinguished members. "

It was accordingly arranged that Jasmin should give a reading at thehouse of M. Augustin Thierry, one of the greatest of living historians. The elite of Parisian society were present on the occasion, includingAmpere, Nizard, Burnouf, Ballanche, Villemain, and many distinguishedpersonages of literary celebrity. 

A word as to Jasmin's distinguished entertainer, M. Augustin Thierry. Hehad written the 'History of the Conquest of England by the Normans'--anoriginal work of great value, though since overshadowed by the moreminute 'History of the Norman Conquest, ' by Professor Freeman. YetThierry's work is still of great interest, displaying gifts of thehighest and rarest kind in felicitous combination. It shows the carefulplodding of the antiquary, the keen vision of the man of the world, the passionate fervour of the politician, the calm dignity of thephilosophic thinker, and the grandeur of the epic poet. Thierrysucceeded in exhuming the dry bones of history, clothing them for usanew, and presenting almost visibly the "age and body of the times" longsince passed away. 

Thierry had also written his 'Narratives of the Merovingian Times, ' andrevived almost a lost epoch in the early history of France. Inwriting out these and other works--the results of immense labour andresearch--he partly lost his eyesight. He travelled into Switzerland andthe South of France in the company of M. Fauriel. He could read nomore, and towards the end of the year the remains of his sight entirelydisappeared. He had now to read with the eyes of others, and to dictateinstead of writing. In his works he was assisted by the friendship of M. Armand Carrel, and the affection and judgment of his loving young wife. 

He proceeded with courage, and was able to complete the fundamentalbasis of the two Frankish dynasties. He was about to follow hisinvestigations into the history of the Goths, Huns, and Vandals, andother races which had taken part in the dismemberment of the empire. "However extended these labours, " he says, {1} "my complete blindnesscould not have prevented my going through them; I was resigned as muchas a courageous man can be: I had made a friendship with darkness. But other trials came: acute sufferings and the decline of my healthannounced a nervous disease of the most serious kind. I was obliged toconfess myself conquered, and to save, if it was still time, the lastremains of my health. "

The last words of Thierry's Autobiographical Preface are most touching. "If, as I delight in thinking, the interest of science is counted in thenumber of great national interests, I have given my country all that thesoldier mutilated on the field of battle gives her. Whatever may be thefate of my labours, this example I hope will not be lost. I would wishit to serve to combat the species of moral weakness which is the diseaseof the present generation; to bring back into the straight road of lifesome of those enervated souls that complain of wanting faith, that knownot what to do, and seek everywhere, without finding it, an object ofworship and admiration. Why say, with so much bitterness, that inthis world, constituted as it is, there is no air for all lungs, noemployment for all minds? Is there not opportunity for calm and seriousstudy? and is not that a refuge, a hope, a field within the reach ofall of us? With it, evil days are passed over without their weight beingfelt; every one can make his own destiny; every one can employ hislife nobly. This is what I have done, and would do again if I had torecommence my career: I would choose that which has brought me towhere I am. Blind, and suffering without hope, and almost withoutintermission, I may give this testimony, which from me will not appearsuspicious; there is something in this world better than sensualenjoyments, better than fortune, better than health itself: it isdevotion to science. "

Endnotes for Chapter XI. 

{1} Autobiographical Preface to the 'Narratives of the MerovingianTimes. '

CHAPTER XII. JASMIN'S RECITATIONS IN PARIS. 

It was a solemn and anxious moment for Jasmin when he appeared beforethis select party of the most distinguished literary men in Paris: hewas no doubt placed at a considerable disadvantage, for his judges didnot even know his language. He had frequently recited to audiences whodid not know Gascon; and on such occasions he used, before commencinghis recitation, to give in French a short sketch of his poem, with, anexplanation of some of the more difficult Gascon words. This was all;his mimic talent did the rest. His gestures were noble and well-marked. His eyes were flashing, but they became languishing when he representedtender sentiments. Then his utterance changed entirely, often suddenly, following the expressions of grief and joy. There were now smiles, nowtears in his voice. 

It was remarkable that Jasmin should first recite before the blindhistorian The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille. It may be that he thought ithis finest poem, within the compass of time allotted to him, and that itmight best please his audience. When he began to speak in Gascon he washeard with interest. A laugh was, indeed, raised by a portion of hisyouthful hearers, but Jasmin flashed his penetrating eye upon them; andthere was no more laughter. When he reached the tenderest part he gaveway to his emotion, and wept. Tears are as contagious as smiles; andeven the academicians, who may not have wept with Rachel, wept withJasmin. It was the echo of sorrow to sorrow; the words which blinddespair had evoked from the blind Margaret. 

All eyes were turned to Thierry as Jasmin described the girl'sblindness. The poet omitted some of the more painful lines, whichmight have occasioned sorrow to his kind entertainer. These lines, forinstance, in Gascon:

 "Jour per aoutres, toutjour! et per jou, malhurouzo, Toutjour ney! toutjour ney! Que fay negre len d'el! Oh! que moun amo es tristo! Oh! que souffri, moun Diou! Couro ben doun, Batisto!"

or, as translated by Longfellow:

 "Day for the others ever, but for me For ever night! for ever night! When he is gone, 'tis dark! my soul is sad! I suffer! O my God! come, make me glad. "

When Jasmin omitted this verse, Thierry, who had listened with raptattention, interrupted him. "Poet, " he said, "you have omitted apassage; read the poem as you have written it. " Jasmin paused, and thenadded the omitted passage. "Can it be?" said the historian: "surelyyou, who can describe so vividly the agony of those who cannot see, mustyourself have suffered blindness!" The words of Jasmin might have beenspoken by Thierry himself, who in his hours of sadness often said, "Isee nothing but darkness today. "

At the end of his recital Jasmin was much applauded. Ampere, who hadfollowed him closely in the French translation of his poem, said:"If Jasmin had never written verse, it would be worth going a hundredleagues to listen to his prose. " What charmed his auditors most was hisfrankness. He would even ask them to listen to what he thought his bestverses. "This passage, " he would say, "is very fine. " Then he read itafresh, and was applauded. He liked to be cheered. "Applaud! applaud!"he said at the end of his reading, "the clapping of your hands will beheard at Agen. "

After the recitation an interesting conversation took place. Jasminwas asked how it was that he first began to write poetry; for every onelikes to know the beginnings of self-culture. He thereupon enteredinto a brief history of his life; how he had been born poor; how hisgrandfather had died at the hospital; and how he had been brought upby charity. He described his limited education and his admission to thebarber's shop; his reading of Florian; his determination to do somethingof a similar kind; his first efforts, his progress, and eventually hissuccess. He said that his object was to rely upon nature and truth, andto invest the whole with imagination and sensibility--that delicatetouch which vibrated through all the poems he had written. His auditorswere riveted by his sparkling and brilliant conversation. 

This seance at M. Thierry's completed the triumph of Jasmin at Paris. The doors of the most renowned salons were thrown open to him. The mostbrilliant society in the capital listened to him and feted him. Madamede Remusat sent him a present of a golden pen, with the words: "I admireyour beautiful poetry; I never forget you; accept this little gift asa token of my sincere admiration. " Lamartine described Jasmin, perhapswith some exaggeration, as the truest and most original of modern poets. 

Much of Jasmin's work was no doubt the result of intuition, for "thepoet is born, not made. " He was not so much the poet of art as ofinstinct. Yet M. Charles de Mazede said of him: "Left to himself, without study, he carried art to perfection. " His defect of literaryeducation perhaps helped him, by leaving him to his own naturalinstincts. He himself said, with respect to the perusal of books: "Iconstantly read Lafontaine, Victor Hugo, Lamartine and Beranger. " It isthus probable that he may have been influenced to a considerable extentby his study of the works of others. 

Before Jasmin left Paris he had the honour of being invited to visit theroyal family at the palace of Neuilly, a favourite residence of LouisPhilippe. The invitation was made through General de Rumigny, who cameto see the poet at his hotel for the purpose. Jasmin had already madethe acquaintance of the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, while at Agen a fewyears before. His visit to Neuilly was made on the 24th of May, 1842. Hewas graciously received by the royal family. The Duchess of Orleanstook her seat beside him. She read the verse in Gascon which had beenengraved on the pedestal of the statue at Nerac, erected to thememory of Henry IV. The poet was surprised as well as charmed by hercondescension. "What, Madame, " he exclaimed, "you speak the patois?""El jou tabe" (and I also), said Louis Philippe, who came and joined thePrincess and the poet. Never was Jasmin more pleased than when he heardthe words of the King at such a moment. 

Jasmin was placed quite at his ease by this gracious reception. The Kingand the Duchess united in desiring him to recite some of his poetry. He at once complied with their request, and recited his Caritatand L'Abuglo ('The Blind Girl'). After this the party engaged inconversation. Jasmin, by no means a courtier, spoke of the past, ofHenry IV. , and especially of Napoleon--"L'Ampereur, " as he describedhim. Jasmin had, in the first volume of his 'Papillotos, ' written somesatirical pieces on the court and ministers of Louis Philippe. Hisfriends wished him to omit these pieces from the new edition of hisworks, which was about to be published; but he would not consent to doso. "I must give my works, " he said, "just as they were composed; theirsuppression would be a negation of myself, and an act of adulationunworthy of any true-minded man. " Accordingly they remained in the'Papillotos. '

Before he left the royal party, the Duchess of Orleans presented Jasminwith a golden pin, ornamented with pearls and diamonds; and theKing afterwards sent him, as a souvenir of his visit to the Court, abeautiful gold watch, ornamented with diamonds. Notwithstanding thepleasure of this visit, Jasmin, as with a prophetic eye, saw the marksof sorrow upon the countenance of the King, who was already experiencingthe emptiness of human glory. Scarcely had Jasmin left the palace whenhe wrote to his friend Madame de Virens, at Agen: "On that noble faceI could see, beneath the smile, the expression of sadness; so that fromto-day I can no longer say: 'Happy as a King. '"

Another entertainment, quite in contrast with his visit to the King, wasthe banquet which Jasmin received from the barbers and hair-dressers ofParis. He there recited the verses which he had written in their honour. M. Boisjoslin{1} says that half the barbers of Paris are Iberiens. Forthe last three centuries, in all the legends and anecdotes, the barberis always a Gascon. The actor, the singer, often came from Provence, butmuch oftener from Gascony: that is the country of la parole. 

During Jasmin's month at Paris he had been unable to visit many ofthe leading literary men; but he was especially anxious to see M. Chateaubriand, the father of modern French literature. Jasmin wasfortunate in finding Chateaubriand at home, at 112 Rue du Bac. Hereceived Jasmin with cordiality. "I know you intimately already, " saidthe author of the 'Genius of Christianity;' "my friends Ampere andFauriel have often spoken of you. They understand you, they love andadmire you. They acknowledge your great talent, ' though they have longsince bade their adieu to poetry; you know poets are very wayward, " headded, with a sly smile. "You have a happy privilege, my dear sir:when our age turns prosy, you have but to take your lyre, in the sweetcountry of the south, and resuscitate the glory of the Troubadours. Theytell me, that in one of your recent journeys you evoked enthusiasticapplause, and entered many towns carpeted with flowers. Ah, mon Dieu, wecan never do that with our prose!"

"Ah, dear sir, " said Jasmin, "you have achieved much more glory than I. Without mentioning the profound respect with which all France regardsyou, posterity and the world will glorify you. "

"Glory, indeed, " replied Chateaubriand, with a sad smile. "What is thatbut a flower that fades and dies; but speak to me of your sweet south;it is beautiful. I think of it, as of Italy; indeed it sometimes seemsto me better than that glorious country!"

Notwithstanding his triumphant career at Paris, Jasmin often thoughtof Agen, and of his friends and relations at home. "Oh, my wife, mychildren, my guitar, my workshop, my papillotos, my pleasant Gravier, mydear good friends, with what pleasure I shall again see you. " That washis frequent remark in his letters to Agen. He was not buoyed up by thepraises he had received. He remained, as usual, perfectly simple in histhoughts, ways, and habits; and when the month had elapsed, he returnedjoyfully to his daily work at Agen. 

Jasmin afterwards described the recollections of his visit in his'Voyage to Paris' (Moun Bouyatage a Paris). It was a happy piece ofpoetry; full of recollections of the towns and departments through whichhe journeyed, and finally of his arrival in Paris. Then the wonders ofthe capital, the crowds in the streets, the soldiers, the palaces, thestatues and columns, the Tuileries where the Emperor had lived. 

 "I pass, and repass, not a soul I know, Not one Agenais in this hurrying crowd; No one salutes or shakes me by the hand. "

And yet, he says, what a grand world it is! how tasteful! howfashionable! There seem to be no poor. They are all ladies andgentlemen. Each day is a Sabbath; and under the trees the childrenplay about the fountains. So different from Agen! He then speaks ofhis interview with Louis Philippe and the royal family, his recitalof L'Abuglo before "great ladies, great writers, lords, ministers, andgreat savants;" and he concludes his poem with the words: "Paris makesme proud, but Agen makes me happy. "

The poem is full of the impressions of his mind at the time--simple, clear, naive. It is not a connected narrative, nor a description of whathe saw, but it was full of admiration of Paris, the centre of France, and, as Frenchmen think, of civilisation. It is the simple wonder of thecountry cousin who sees Paris for the first time--the city that had solong been associated with his recollections of the past. And perhaps heseized its more striking points more vividly than any regular denizen ofthe capital. 

Endnotes for Chapter XII. 

{1} 'Les Peuples de la France: Ethnographie Nationale. ' (Didier. )

CHAPTER XIII. JASMIN AND HIS ENGLISH CRITICS. 

Jasmin's visit to Paris in 1842 made his works more extensively known, both at home and abroad. His name was frequently mentioned in theParisian journals, and Frenchmen north of the Loire began to pridethemselves on their Gascon poet. His Blind Girl had been translated intoEnglish, Spanish, and Italian. The principal English literary journal, the Athenaeum, called attention to his works a few months after hisappearance in Paris. {1} The editor introduced the subject in thefollowing words:

"On the banks of the Garonne, in the picturesque and ancient town ofAgen, there exists at this moment a man of genius of the first order--arustic Beranger, a Victor Hugo, a Lamartine--a poet full of fire, originality, and feeling--an actor superior to any now in France, excepting Rachel, whom he resembles both in his powers of declamationand his fortunes. He is not unknown--he is no mute inglorious Milton;for the first poets, statesmen, and men of letters in France have beento visit him. His parlour chimney-piece, behind his barber's shop, iscovered with offerings to his genius from royalty and rank. His smiling, dark-eyed wife, exhibits to the curious the tokens of her husband'sacknowledged merit; and gold and jewels shine in the eyes of theastonished stranger, who, having heard his name, is led to strollcarelessly into the shop, attracted by a gorgeous blue cloth hungoutside, on which he may have read the words, Jasmin, Coiffeur. "

After mentioning the golden laurels, and the gifts awarded to him bythose who acknowledged his genius, the editor proceeds to mentionhis poems in the Gascon dialect--his Souvenirs his Blind Girl and hisFranconnette--and then refers to his personal appearance. "Jasmin ishandsome in person, with eyes full of intelligence, of good features, a mobility of expression absolutely electrifying, a manly figure and anagreeable address; but his voice is harmony itself, and its changes havean effect seldom experienced on or off the stage. The melody attributedto Mrs. Jordan seems to approach it nearest. Had he been an actorinstead of a poet, he would have 'won all hearts his way'... On thewhole, considering the spirit, taste, pathos, and power of this poet, who writes in a patois hitherto confined to the lower class of peoplein a remote district--considering the effect that his verses have madeamong educated persons, both French and foreign, it is impossible notto look upon him as one of the remarkable characters of his age, and toaward him, as the city of Clemence Isaure has done, the Golden Laurel, as the first of the revived Troubadours, destined perhaps to rescue hiscountry from the reproach of having buried her poetry in the graves ofAlain Chartier and Charles of Orleans, four centuries ago. "

It is probable that this article in the Athenaeum was written by MissLouisa Stuart Costello, who had had an interview with the poet, in hishouse at Agen, some years before. While making her tour through Auvergneand Languedoc in 1840, {2} she states that she picked up three charmingballads, and was not aware that they had ever been printed. She wrotethem down merely by ear, and afterwards translated Me cal Mouri intoEnglish (see page 57). The ballad was very popular, and was set tomusic. She did not then know the name of the composer, but when sheascertained that the poet was "one Jasmin of Agen, " she resolved to goout of her way and call upon him, when on her journey to the Pyreneesabout two years later. {3} She had already heard much about him beforeshe arrived, as he was regarded in Gascony as "the greatest poet inmodern times. " She had no difficulty in finding his shop at the entranceto the Promenade du Gravier, with the lines in large gold letters, "Jasmin, Coiffeur"

Miss Costello entered, and was welcomed by a smiling dark-eyed woman, who informed her that her husband was busy at that moment dressing acustomer's hair, but begged that she would walk into his parlour at theback of the shop. Madame Jasmin took advantage of her husband's absenceto exhibit the memorials which he had received for his gratuitousservices on behalf of the public. There was the golden laurel from thecity of Toulouse; the golden cup from the citizens of Auch, the goldwatch with chain and seals from "Le Roi" Louis Philippe, the ringpresented by the Duke of Orleans, the pearl pin from the Duchess, thefine service of linen presented by the citizens of Pau, with otherofferings from persons of distinction. 

At last Jasmin himself appeared, having dressed his customer's hair. Miss Costello describes his manner as well-bred and lively, and hislanguage as free and unembarrassed. He said, however, that he was ill, and too hoarse to read. He spoke in a broad Gascon accent, veryrapidly and even eloquently. He told the story of his difficulties andsuccesses; how his grandfather had been a beggar, and all his familyvery poor, but that now he was as rich as he desired to be. His son, he said, was placed in a good position at Nantes, and he exhibited hispicture with pride. Miss Costello told him that she had seen his namementioned in an English Review. Jasmin said the review had been sentto him by Lord Durham, who had paid him a visit; and then Miss Costellospoke of Me cal Mouri, as the first poem of his that she had seen. "Oh, "said he, "that little song is not my best composition: it was merely myfirst. "

His heart was now touched. He immediately forgot his hoarseness, andproceeded to read some passages from his poems. "If I were only well, "said he, "and you would give me the pleasure of your company for sometime, I would kill you with weeping: I would make you die with distressfor my poor Margarido, my pretty Franconnette. " He then took up twocopies of his Las Papillotos, handed one to Miss Costello, where thetranslation was given in French, and read from the other in Gascon. 

"He began, " says the lady, "in a rich soft voice, and as we advanced wefound ourselves carried away by the spell of his enthusiasm. Hiseyes swam in tears; he became pale and red; he trembled; he recoveredhimself; his face was now joyous, now exulting, gay, jocose; in fact, hewas twenty actors in one; he rang the changes from Rachel to Bouffe;and he finished by relieving us of our tears, and overwhelming us withastonishment. He would have been a treasure on the stage; for he isstill, though his youth is past, remarkably good-looking and striking;with black, sparkling eyes of intense expression; a fine ruddycomplexion; a countenance of wondrous mobility; a good figure, andaction full of fire and grace: he has handsome hands, which he uses withinfinite effect; and on the whole he is the best actor of the kind Iever saw. I could now quite understand what a Troubadour or jongleur hemight be; and I look upon Jasmin as a revived specimen of that extinctrace. "

Miss Costello proceeded on her journey to Bearn and the Pyrenees, and onher return northwards she again renewed her acquaintance with Jasminand his dark-eyed wife. "I did not expect, " she says, "that I should berecognised; but the moment I entered the little shop I was hailed as anold friend. 'Ah' cried Jasmin, 'enfin la voila encore!' I could not butbe flattered by this recollection, but soon found that it was less onmy own account that I was thus welcomed, than because circumstances hadoccurred to the poet that I might perhaps explain. He produced severalFrench newspapers, in which he pointed out to me an article headed'Jasmin a Londres, ' being a translation of certain notices ofhimself which had appeared in a leading English literary journal theAthenaeum.... I enjoyed his surprise, while I informed him that I knewwho was the reviewer and translator; and explained the reason for theverses giving pleasure in an English dress, to the superior simplicityof the English language over modern French, for which he had a greatcontempt, as unfitted for lyrical composition. {4} He inquired of merespecting Burns, to whom he had been likened, and begged me to tell himsomething about Moore. 

"He had a thousand things to tell me; in particular, that he had onlythe day before received a letter from the Duchess of Orleans, informinghim that she had ordered a medal of her late husband to be struck, thefirst of which should be sent to him. He also announced the agreeablenews of the King having granted him a pension of a thousand francs. Hesmiled and wept by turns as he told all this; and declared that, much ashe was elated at the possession of a sum which made him a rich man forlife (though it was only equal to 42 sterling), the kindness of theDuchess gratified him still more. 

"He then made us sit down while he read us two new poems; both charming, and full of grace and naivete; and one very affecting, being an addressto the King, alluding, to the death of his son. 

"As he read, his wife stood by, and fearing that we did not comprehendthe language, she made a remark to that effect, to which he answeredimpatiently, 'Nonsense! don't you see they are in tears?' This wasunanswerable; we were allowed to hear the poem to the end, and Icertainly never listened to anything more feelingly and energeticallydelivered. 

"We had much conversation, for he was anxious to detain us; and in thecourse of it, he told me that he had been by some accused of vanity. 'Oh!' he exclaimed, 'what would you have? I am a child of nature, andcannot conceal my feelings; the only difference between me and a man ofrefinement is, that he knows how to conceal his vanity and exaltation atsuccess, while I let everybody see my emotions. '

"His wife drew me aside, and asked my opinion as to how much moneyit would cost to pay Jasmin's expenses, if he undertook a journey toEngland. 'However, ' she added, 'I dare say he need be at no charge, forof course your Queen has read that article in his favour, and knowshis merit. She probably will send for him, pay all the expenses of hisjourney, and give him great fetes in London!" Miss Costello, knowing thedifficulty of obtaining Royal recognition of literary merit in England, unless it appears in forma pauperis, advised the barber-poet to waittill he was sent for--a very good advice, for then it would be never!She concludes her recollections with this remark: "I left the happypair, promising to let them know the effect that the translation ofJasmin's poetry produced in the Royal mind. Indeed, their earnestsimplicity was really entertaining. "

A contributor to the Westminster Review{5} also gave a very favourablenotice of Jasmin and his poetry, which, he said, was less known inEngland than it deserved to be; nor was it well known in France sincehe wrote in a patois. Yet he had been well received by some of the mostillustrious men in the capital, where unaided genius, to be successful, must be genius indeed; and there the Gascon bard had acquired forhimself a fame of which any man might well be proud. 

The reviewer said that the Gascon patois was peculiarly expressiveand heart-touching, and in the South it was held in universal honour. Jasmin, he continued, is what Burns was to the Scottish peasantry; onlyhe received his honours in his lifetime. The comparison with Burns, however, was not appropriate. Burns had more pith, vigour, variety, and passion, than Jasmin who was more of a descriptive writer. In somerespects Jasmin resembled Allan Ramsay, a barber and periwig-maker, likehimself, whose Gentle Shepherd met with as great a success as Jasmin'sFranconnette. Jasmin, however, was the greater poet of the two. 

The reviewer in the Westminster, who had seen Jasmin at Agen, goes onto speak of the honours he had received in the South and at Paris--hisrecitations in the little room behind his shop--his personalappearance, his hearty and simple manners--and yet his disdain ofthe mock modesty it would be affectation to assume. The reviewer thusconcludes: "From the first prepossessing, he gains upon you everymoment; and when he is fairly launched into the recital of one of hispoems, his rich voice does full justice to the harmonious Gascon. Theanimation and feeling he displays becomes contagious. Your admirationkindles, and you become involved in his ardour. You forget the littleroom in which he recites; you altogether forget the barber, and risewith him into a superior world, an experience in a way you will neverforget, the power exercised by a true poet when pouring forth his livingthoughts in his own verses.... 

"Such is Jasmin--lively in imagination, warm in temperament, humorous, playful, easily made happy, easily softened, enthusiastically fond ofhis province, of its heroes, of its scenery, of its language, and ofits manners. He is every inch a Gascon, except that he has none ofthat consequential self-importance, or of the love of boasting andexaggeration, which, falsely or not, is said to characterise hiscountrymen. 

"Born of the people, and following a humble trade, he is proud of bothcircumstances; his poems are full of allusions to his calling; andwithout ever uttering a word in disparagment of other classes, heeverywhere sings the praises of his own. He stands by his order. It isfrom it he draws his poetry; it is there he finds his romance. 

"And this is his great charm, as it is his chief distinction. He investsvirtue, however lowly, with the dignity that belongs to it. He rewardsmerit, however obscure, with its due honour. Whatever is true orbeautiful or good, finds from him an immediate sympathy. The true isnever rejected by him because it is commonplace; nor the beautifulbecause it is everyday; nor the good because it is not also great. Hecalls nothing unclean but vice and crime, He sees meanness in nothingbut in the sham, the affectation, and the spangles of outward show. 

"But while it is in exalting lowly excellence that Jasmin takes especialdelight, he is not blind, as some are, to excellence in high places. Allhe seeks is the sterling and the real. He recognises the sparkle of thediamond as well as that of the dewdrop. But he will not look upon paste. 

"He is thus pre-eminently the poet of nature; not, be it understood, ofinanimate nature only, but of nature also, as it exists in our thoughts, and words, and acts of nature as it is to be found living and moving inhumanity. But we cannot paint him so well as he paints himself. We wellremember how, in his little shop at Agen, he described to us what hebelieved to be characteristic of his poetry; and we find in a letterfrom him to M. Leonce de Lavergne the substance of what he then said tous:

"'I believe, ' he said, 'that I have portrayed a part of the noblesentiments which men and women may experience here below. I believethat I have emancipated myself more than anyone has ever done fromevery school, and I have placed myself in more direct communication withnature. My poetry comes from my heart. I have taken my pictures fromaround me in the most humble conditions of men; and I have done for mynative language all that I could. '"

A few years later Mr. Angus B. Reach, a well-known author, and acontributor to Punch in its earlier days, was appointed a commissionerby the Morning Chronicle to visit, for industrial purposes, thedistricts in the South of France. His reports appeared in the Chronicle;but in 1852, Mr. Reach published a fuller account of his journeys in avolume entitled 'Claret and Olives, from the Garonne to the Rhone. '{6}In passing through the South of France, Mr. Reach stopped at Agen. "One of my objects, " he says, "was to pay a literary visit to a veryremarkable man--Jasmin, the peasant-poet of Provence and Languedoc--the'Last of the Troubadours, ' as, with more truth than is generally to befound in ad captandum designations, he terms himself, and is termed bythe wide circle of his admirers; for Jasmin's songs and rural epics arewritten in the patois of the people, and that patois is the still almostunaltered Langue d'Oc--the tongue of the chivalric minstrelsy of yore. 

"But Jasmin is a Troubadour in another sense than that of merelyavailing himself of the tongue of the menestrels. He publishes, certainly, conforming so far to the usages of our degenerate moderntimes; but his great triumphs are his popular recitations of his poems. Standing bravely up before an expectant assembly of perhaps a coupleof thousand persons--the hot-blooded and quick-brained children of theSouth--the modern Troubadour plunges over head and ears into hislays, evoking both himself and his applauding audiences into fits ofenthusiasm and excitement, which, whatever may be the excellence of thepoetry, an Englishman finds it difficult to conceive or account for. 

"The raptures of the New Yorkers and Bostonians with Jenny Lind areweak and cold compared with the ovations which Jasmin has received. Ata recitation given shortly before my visit to Auch, the ladies presentactually tore the flowers and feathers out of their bonnets, wove theminto extempore garlands, and flung them in showers upon the pantingminstrel; while the editors of the local papers next morning assuredhim, in floods of flattering epigrams, that humble as he was now, futureages would acknowledge the 'divinity' of a Jasmin!

"There is a feature, however, about these recitations which is still moreextraordinary than the uncontrollable fits of popular enthusiasm whichthey produce. His last entertainment before I saw him was given in oneof the Pyrenean cities, and produced 2, 000 francs. Every sous of thiswent to the public charities; Jasmin will not accept a stiver ofmoney so earned. With a species of perhaps overstrained, but certainlyexalted, chivalric feeling, he declines to appear before an audience toexhibit for money the gifts with which nature has endowed him. 

"After, perhaps, a brilliant tour through the South of France, delighting vast audiences in every city, and flinging many thousands offrancs into every poor-box which he passes, the poet contentedly returnsto his humble occupation, and to the little shop where he earns hisdaily bread by his daily toil as a barber and hair-dresser. It willbe generally admitted that the man capable of self-denial of so trulyheroic a nature as this, is no ordinary poetaster. 

"One would be puzzled to find a similar instance of perfect and absolutedisinterestedness in the roll of minstrels, from Homer downwards; and, to tell the truth, there does seem a spice of Quixotism mingled withand tinging the pure fervour of the enthusiast. Certain it is, thatthe Troubadours of yore, upon whose model Jasmin professes to found hispoetry, were by no means so scrupulous. 'Largesse' was a very prominentword in their vocabulary; and it really seems difficult to assign anysatisfactory reason for a man refusing to live upon the exercise of thefiner gifts of his intellect, and throwing himself for his bread uponthe daily performance of mere mechanical drudgery. 

"Jasmin, as may be imagined, is well known in Agen. I was speedilydirected to his abode, near the open Place of the town, and withinearshot of the rush of the Garonne; and in a few moments I foundmyself pausing before the lintel of the modest shop inscribed Jasmin, Perruquier, Coiffeur des jeunes Gens. A little brass basin dangled abovethe threshold; and looking through the glass I saw the master of theestablishment shaving a fat-faced neighbour. Now I had come to see andpay my compliments to a poet, and there did appear to me to be somethingstrangely awkward and irresistibly ludicrous in having to address, to some extent, in a literary and complimentary vein, an individualactually engaged in so excessively prosaic and unelevated a species ofperformance. 

"I retreated, uncertain what to do, and waited outside until the shopwas clear. Three words explained the nature of my visit, and Jasminreceived me with a species of warm courtesy, which was very peculiar andvery charming; dashing at once, with the most clattering volubility andfiery speed of tongue, into a sort of rhapsodical discourse upon poetryin general, and the patois of it, spoken in Languedoc, Provence, andGascony in particular. 

"Jasmin is a well-built and strongly limbed man of about fifty, witha large, massive head, and a broad pile of forehead, overhanging twopiercingly bright black-eyes, and features which would be heavy, werethey allowed a moment's repose from the continual play of the facialmuscles, sending a never-ending series of varying expressions acrossthe dark, swarthy visage. Two sentences of his conversation were quitesufficient to stamp his individuality. 

"The first thing which struck me was the utter absence of all themock-modesty, and the pretended self-underrating, conventionally assumedby persons expecting to be complimented upon their sayings or doings. Jasmin seemed thoroughly to despise all such flimsy hypocrisy. 'God onlymade four Frenchmen poets, ' he burst out with, 'and their names are, Corneille, Lafontaine, Beranger, and Jasmin!'

"Talking with the most impassioned vehemence, and the most redundantenergy of gesture, he went on to declaim against the influences ofcivilisation upon language and manners as being fatal to all realpoetry. If the true inspiration yet existed upon earth, it burned in thehearts and brains of men far removed from cities, salons, and the clashand din of social influences. Your only true poets were the unletteredpeasants, who poured forth their hearts in song, not because they wishedto make poetry, but because they were joyous and true. 

"Colleges, academies, schools of learning, schools of literature, andall such institutions, Jasmin denounced as the curse and the bane oftrue poetry. They had spoiled, he said, the very French language. Youcould no more write poetry in French now than you could in arithmeticalfigures. The language had been licked and kneaded, and tricked out, andplumed, and dandified, and scented, and minced, and ruled square, andchipped--(I am trying to give an idea of the strange flood of epithetshe used)--and pranked out, and polished, and muscadined--until, forall honest purposes of true high poetry, it was mere unavailable andcontemptible jargon. 

"It might do for cheating agents de change on the Bourse--for squabblingpoliticians in the Chambers--for mincing dandies in the salons--for thesarcasm of Scribe-ish comedies, or the coarse drolleries of Palais Royalfarces, but for poetry the French language was extinct. All modernpoets who used it were faiseurs de phrase--thinking about words and notfeelings. 'No, no, ' my Troubadour continued, 'to write poetry, you mustget the language of a rural people--a language talked among fields, and trees, and by rivers and mountains--a language never minced ordisfigured by academies and dictionary-makers, and journalists; youmust have a language like that which your own Burns, whom I read of inChateaubriand, used; or like the brave, old, mellow tongue--unchangedfor centuries--stuffed with the strangest, quaintest, richest, raciestidioms and odd solemn words, full of shifting meanings and associations, at once pathetic and familiar, homely and graceful--the language whichI write in, and which has never yet been defiled by calculating men ofscience or jack-a-dandy litterateurs. '" The above sentences may betaken as a specimen of the ideas with which Jasmin seemed to be actuallyoverflowing from every pore in his body--so rapid, vehement, and loudwas his enunciation of them. Warming more and more as he went on, hebegan to sketch the outlines of his favourite pieces. Every now andthen plunging into recitation, jumping from French into patois, andfrom patois into French, and sometimes spluttering them out, mixed uppell-mell together. Hardly pausing to take breath, he rushed about theshop as he discoursed, lugging out, from old chests and drawers, pilesof old newspapers and reviews, pointing out a passage here in which theestimate of the writer pleased him, a passage there which showed howperfectly the critic had mistaken the scope of his poetic philosophy, and exclaiming, with the most perfect naivete, how mortifying it wasfor men of original and profound genius to be misconceived andmisrepresented by pigmy whipper-snapper scamps of journalists. 

"There was one review of his works, published in a London 'Recueil, ' ashe called it, to which Jasmin referred with great pleasure. A portion ofit had been translated, he said, in the preface to a French edition ofhis works; and he had most of the highly complimentary phrases byheart. The English critic, he said, wrote in the Tintinum, and he lookeddubiously at me when I confessed that I had never heard of the organ inquestion. 

"'Pourtant, ' he said, 'je vous le ferai voir, ' and I soon perceived thatJasmin's Tintinum was no other than the Athenaeum!

"In the little back drawing-room behind the shop, to which the poetspeedily introduced me, his sister {it must have been his wife}, a meek, smiling woman, whose eyes never left him, following as he moved with abeautiful expression of love and pride in his glory, received mewith simple cordiality. The walls were covered with testimonials, presentations, and trophies, awarded by critics and distinguishedpersons, literary and political, to the modern Troubadour. Not a few ofthese are of a nature to make any man most legitimately proud. Jasminpossesses gold and silver vases, laurel branches, snuff-boxes, medalsof honour, and a whole museum of similar gifts, inscribed with suchcharacteristic and laconiclegends as 'Au Poete, Les Jeunes filles deToulouse reconnaissantes!' &c. 

"The number of garlands of immortelles, wreaths of ivy-jasmin (punningupon the name), laurel, and so forth, utterly astonished me. Jasminpreserved a perfect shrubbery of such tokens; and each symbol had, of course, its pleasant associative remembrance. One was given by theladies of such a town; another was the gift of the prefect's wife ofsuch a department. A handsome full-length portrait had been presentedto the poet by the municipal authorities of Agen; and a letter from M. Lamartine, framed, above the chimney-piece, avowed the writer's beliefthat the Troubadour of the Garonne was the Homer of the modern world. M. Jasmin wears the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and has severalvaluable presents which were made to him by the late ex-king anddifferent members of the Orleans family. 

"I have been somewhat minute in giving an account of my interview withM. Jasmin, because he is really the popular poet--the peasant poet ofthe South of France--the Burns of Limousin, Provence, and Languedoc. Hissongs are in the mouths of all who sing in the fields and by the cottagefiresides. Their subjects are always rural, naive, and full of rusticpathos and rustic drollery. To use his words to me, he sings what thehearts of the people say, and he can no more help it than can the birdsin the trees. Translations into French of his main poems have appeared;and compositions more full of natural and thoroughly unsophisticatedpathos and humour it would be difficult to find. 

"Jasmin writes from a teeming brain and a beaming heart; and there is awarmth and a glow, and a strong, happy, triumphant march of song abouthis poems, which carry you away in the perusal as they carried away theauthor in the writing. I speak, of course, from the French translations, and I can well conceive that they give but a comparatively fainttranscript of the pith and power of the original. The patois in whichthese poems are written is the common peasant language of the South-westof France. It varies in some slight degree in different districts, butnot more than the broad Scotch of Forfarshire differs from that ofAyrshire. As for the dialect itself, it seems in the main to be aspecies of cross between old French and Spanish--holding, however, I amassured, rather to the latter tongue than to the former, andconstituting a bold, copious, and vigorous speech, very rich in itscolouring, full of quaint words and expressive phrases, and especiallystrong in all that relates to the language of the passions andaffections. 

"I hardly know how long my interview with Jasmin might have lasted, forhe seemed by no means likely to tire of talking, and his talk was toogood and too curious not to be listened to with interest; but thesister {or wife} who had left us for a moment, coming back with theintelligence that there was quite a gathering of customers in the shop, I hastily took my leave, the poet squeezing my hand like a vice, and immediately thereafter dashing into all that appertains tocurling-irons, scissors, razors, and lather, with just as much apparentenergy and enthusiasm as he had flung into his rhapsodical discourse onpoetry and language!"

It is scarcely necessary to apologise for the length of this extract, because no author that we know of--not even any French author--has givenso vivid a description of the man as he lived, moved, and talked, asMr. Reach; and we believe the reader will thank us for quoting from analmost entirely forgotten book, the above graphic description of theGascon Poet. 

Endnotes for Chapter XIII. 

{1} The Athenaeum, 5th November, 1842. 'The Curl-papers of Jasmin, theBarber of Agen. ' ('Las Papillotos de Jasmin, Coiffeur. ')

{2} 'A Pilgrimage to Auvergne, from Picardy to Velay. ' 1842. 

{3} 'Bearn and the Pyrenees. ' 1844. 

{4} "There are no poets in France now", he said to Miss Costello. "Therecannot be. The language does not admit of it. Where is the fire, thespirit, the expression, the tenderness, the force, of the Gascon? Frenchis but the ladder to reach the first floor of the Gascon; how can youget up to a height except by means of a ladder?"

{5} Westminster Review for October, 1849. 

{6} Published by David Bogue, Fleet Street. 1852. Mr. Reach was veryparticular about the pronunciation of his name. Being a native ofInverness, the last vowel was guttural. One day, dining with DouglasJerrold, who insisted on addressing him as Mr. Reek or Reech, "No, " saidthe other; "my name is neither Reek nor Reech, but Reach, " "Very well, "said Jerrold, "Mr. Reach will you have a Peach?"

CHAPTER XIV. JASMIN'S TOURS OF PHILANTHROPY. 

The poet had no sooner returned from his visit to Paris than he wasbesieged with appeals to proceed to the relief of the poor in the Southof France. Indeed, for more than thirty years he devoted a considerablepart of his time to works of charity and benevolence. He visitedsuccessively cities and towns so far remote from each other, as Bayonneand Marseilles, Bagneres and Lyons. He placed his talents at theservice of the public from motives of sheer benevolence, for the largecollections which were made at his recitations were not of the slightestpersonal advantage to himself. 

The first place he visited on this occasion was Carcassonne, south-eastof Toulouse, --a town of considerable importance, and containing a largenumber of poor people. M. Dugue, prefect of the Aude, wrote to Jasmin:"The crying needs of this winter have called forth a desire to helpthe poor; but the means are sadly wanting. Our thoughts are necessarilydirected to you. Will you come and help us?" Jasmin at once complied. Hewas entertained by the prefect. 

After several successful recitations, a considerable sum of money wascollected for the relief of the poor of Carcassonne. To perpetuate therecollection of Jasmin's noble work, and to popularise the genius ofthe poet, the Prefect of the Aude arranged that Jasmin's poems shouldbe distributed amongst all the schools of his department, and for thispurpose a portion of the surplus funds was placed at the disposal of theCouncil-general. 

Bordeaux next appealed to the poet. He had a strong love for Bordeaux. It was the place where he had first recited his Blind Girl, where he hadfirst attracted public attention, and where he was always admired andalways feted. The Orphan Institution of the city was in difficulties;its funds were quite exhausted; and who should be invited to come totheir help but their old friend Jasmin? He was again enthusiasticallyreceived. The Franklin Rooms were crowded, and money flowed quickly intothe orphans' treasury. Among the poems he recited was the following:--

THE SHEPHERD AND THE GASCON POET. {1}

Aux Bordelais, au jour de ma grande Seance au Casino. 

 In a far land, I know not where, Ere viol's sigh; or organ's swell, Had made the sons of song aware That music! is a potent spell: A shepherd to a city came, Play'd on his pipe, and rose to fame. He sang of fields, and at each close, Applause from ready hands arose. 

 The simple swain was hail'd and crown'd, In mansions where the great reside, And cheering smiles and praise he found, And in his heart rose honest pride. All seem'd with joy and rapture gleaming, He trembled lest he was but dreaming. 

 But, modest still, his soul was moved; Yet of his hamlet was his thought-- Of friends at home, and her he loved, When back his laurel branch he brought. And pleasure beaming in his eyes, Enjoyed their welcome and surprise. 'Twas thus with me when Bordeaux deigned To listen to my rustic song: Whose music praise and honour gain'd More than to rural strains belong. 

 Delighted, charm'd, I scarcely knew Whence sprung this life so fresh and new, And to my heart I whispered low, When to my fields returned again, "Is not the Gascon Poet now As happy as the shepherd swain?"

 The minstrel never can forget, The spot where first success he met; But he, the shepherd who, of yore, Has charm'd so many a list'ing ear, Came back, and was beloved no more. He found all changed and cold and drear A skilful hand had touch'd the flute; His pipe and he were scorn'd--were mute. 

 But I, once more I dared appear, And found old friends so true and dear. The mem'ry of my ancient lays Lived in their hearts, awoke their praise. Oh! they did more. I was their guest; Again was welcomed and caress't, And, twined with their melodious tongue, Again my rustic carol rung; And my old language proudly found Her words had list'ners pressing round. Thus, though condemn'd the shepherd's skill, The Gascon Poet triumph'd still. 

At the end of the recital a pretty little orphan girl came forward andpresented Jasmin with a laurel adorned with a ruby, with these words ingolden letters, "To Jasmin, with the orphans' gratitude. " Jasmin finally descended fromthe rostrum and mixed with the audience, who pressed round him andembraced him. The result was the collection of more than a thousandfrancs for the orphans' fund. 

No matter what the institution was, or where it was situated, if itwas in difficulties, and Jasmin was appealed to, provided it commendeditself to his judgment, he went far and near to give his help. A priestat a remote place in Perigord had for some time endeavoured to found anagricultural colony for the benefit of the labourers, and at last wroteto Jasmin for assistance. The work had been patronised by most of thewealthy people of the province; but the colony did not prosper. Thereremained no one to help them but the noble barber of Agen. Withoutappealing any more to the rich for further aid, the priest applied toJasmin through a mutual friend, one of the promoters of the undertaking, who explained to him the nature of the enterprise. The following wasJasmin's answer:--

"MY DEAR SIR, --I have already heard of the Pious Work of the curate ofVedey, and shall be most happy to give him my services for one or twoevenings, though I regret that I must necessarily defer my visit untilafter the month of February next. In May I have promised to go twiceto the help of the Albigenses, in aid of their hospital and the poorof Alba. I start to-morrow for Cahors, to help in a work equallybenevolent, begun long ago. I am engaged for the month of August forFoix and Bagneres de Luchon, in behalf of a church and an agriculturalsociety. All my spare time, you will observe, is occupied; and though Imay be tired out by my journeys, I will endeavour to rally my forces anddo all that I can for you. Tell the curate of Vedey, therefore, that ashis labour has been of long continuance, my Muse will be happy to helphis philanthropic work during one or two evenings at Perigueux, in themonth of March next. 

"Yours faithfully, "J. JASMIN. "

In due time Jasmin fulfilled his promise, and a considerable sum wascollected in aid of the agricultural colony, which, to his greatjoy, was eventually established and prospered. On another and a verydifferent occasion the Society of Arts and Literature appealed to him. Their object was to establish a fund for the assistance of the poorermembers of their craft--something like the Royal Literary Fund ofLondon. The letter addressed to him was signed by Baron Taylor, Ingres, Ambroise Thomas, Auber, Meyerbeer, Adolphe Adam, Jules Simon, Zimmermann, Halevy, and others. It seemed extraordinary that men of suchdistinction in art and literature should appeal to a man of such humblecondition, living at so remote a place as Agen. 

"We ask your help, " they said, "for our work, which has only been begun, and is waiting for assistance. We desire to have the encouragement andpowerful support of men of heart and intelligence. Do not be surprised, sir, that we address this demand to you. We have not yet appealed tothe part of France in which you live; but we repose our hopes in youradmirable talent, inspired as it is with Christian charity, which hasalready given birth to many benefactions, for the help of churches, schools, and charitable institutions, and has spread amongst yourcompatriots the idea of relieving the poor and necessitous. " Incitedby these illustrious men, Jasmin at once took the field, and by hisexertions did much towards the foundation of the proposed institution. 

The strength of his constitution seemed to be inexhaustible. Onone occasion he went as far as Marseilles. He worked, he walked, hetravelled, he recited almost without end. Though he sometimes complainedof being over-tired, he rallied, and went on as before. At Marseilles, for instance, he got up early in the morning, and at 8 A. M. He waspresent at a private council in a school. At 11 he presided at a meetingof the Society of Saint Francis Xavier, where he recited several ofhis poems before two thousand persons. At 2 o'clock he was present ata banquet given in his honour. In the evening he had another triumphantreception. In the morning he spoke of country, religion, and work to thehumbler classes, and in the evening he spoke of love and charity toa crowded audience of distinguished ladies. He was entertained atMarseilles like a prince, rather than like a poet. 

He sometimes gave as many as three hundred recitations of this sort ina year; visiting nearly every town from Bordeaux to Marseilles for allkinds of charitable institutions. Of course his travels were enlivenedby many adventures, and some people were unwilling to allow him toforget that he was a barber. When at Auch, a town several miles to thesouth of Agen, he resided with the mayor. The time for the meetinghad nearly arrived; but the mayor was still busy with his toilet. Theprefect of Gers was also waiting. Fearing the impatience of his guests, the mayor opened the door of his chamber to apologise, showing his facecovered with lather. 

"Just a moment, " he said; "I am just finishing my shaving. "

"Oh, " said Jasmin, "why did you not perform your toilet sooner? But nowlet me help you. " Jasmin at once doffed his coat, gave the finishingtouch to his razor, and shaved the mayor in a twinkling, with whathe called his "hand of velvet. " In a few minutes after, Jasmin wasreceiving tumultuous applause for his splendid recitations. 

Thus, as time was pressing, it was a pleasure to Jasmin to make himselfuseful to his friend the mayor. But on another occasion he treateda rich snob in the way he deserved. Jasmin had been reciting for thebenefit of the poor. At the conclusion of the meeting, the young peopleof the town improvised a procession of flambeaux and triumphantlyescorted him to his hotel. 

Early next morning, while Jasmin was still asleep, he was awakened bysome one knocking at his chamber door. He rose, opened it, and foundhimself in presence of one of the most opulent persons of the town. There are vulgar people everywhere, and this person had more wealth thancourtesy. Like Jasmin, he was a man of the people; but he had neitherthe grace nor the politeness of the Gascon barber. He was but a parvenu, and his riches had only produced an accumulation of snobbishness. Hepushed into the room, installed himself without invitation in a chair, and, without further ceremony, proceeded:--

"My dear Jasmin, " he said, "I am a banker--a millionaire, as you know; Iwish you to shave me with your own hand. Please set to work at once, forI am pressed for time. You can ask what you like for your trouble. "

"Pardon me, sir, " said Jasmin, with some pride, "I only shave for pay athome. "

"What do you say?"

"It is true, sir; I only shave for pay at home. "

"Come, come--you are jesting! I cannot be put off. Make your charge asmuch as you like--but shave me. "

"Again I say, sir, it is impossible. "

"How impossible? It seems to me that it is your trade!"

"It is so; but at this moment I am not disposed to exercise it. "

The banker again pleaded; Jasmin was firm; and the millionaire went awayunshaved!

During one of his recitations at Toulouse, he was introduced to Mdlle. Roaldes, a young and beautiful lady, with whose father, a thrivingstockbroker, he stayed while in that city. His house was magnificentand splendidly furnished. Many persons of influence were invited to meetJasmin, and, while there, he was entertained with much hospitality. But, as often happens with stockbrokers, M. Roaldes star fell; he sufferedmany losses, and at length became poor and almost destitute. 

One day, while Jasmin was sharpening his razors in his shop in Agen, whoshould appear but Mdlle. Therese Roaldes, sad and dejected. It wasthe same young lady who had charmed him, not only by her intellectualconverse, but by her admirable musical ability. She had sung brilliantlyat the entertainment given at her father's house, and now she cameto lay her case before the Agenaise barber! She told her whole story, ending with the present destitution of her father--formerly the richstockbroker. 

"What can we do now?" asked Jasmin; "something must be done at once. "

Mdlle. Roaldes judged rightly of the generous heart of Jasmin. He wasinstantly ready and willing to help her. They might not restore herfather's fortunes, but they might rescue him from the poverty andhumiliations in which his sudden reverse of fortune had involved him. The young lady had only her voice and her harp, but Jasmin had his"Curl-papers. " Mdlle. Roaldes was beautiful; could her beauty haveinfluenced Jasmin? For beauty has a wonderful power in the world. But goodness is far better, and it was that and her filial love whichprincipally influenced Jasmin in now offering her his assistance. 

The two made their first appearance at Agen. They gave their performancein the theatre, which was crowded, The name of Mdlle. Roaldes excitedthe greatest sympathy, for the misfortunes of her father were well knownin the South. For this beautiful girl to descend from her brilliant homein Toulouse to the boards of a theatre at Agen, was a sad blow, but hercourage bore her up, and she excited the sympathetic applause of theaudience. In the midst of the general enthusiasm, Jasmin addressed thecharming lady in some lines which he had prepared for the occasion. Holding in his hand a bouquet of flowers, he said--

 "Oh well they bloom for you! Mothers and daughters, Throw flowers to her, though moistened with your tears. 

 These flowers receive them, for They bear the incense of our hearts. 

 Daughter of heaven, oh, sing! your name shines bright, The earth applauds, and God will bless you ever. "

At the conclusion of his poem, Jasmin threw his wreath of flowers tothe young lady, and in an instant she was covered with flowers bythe audience. Mdlle. Roaldes was deeply moved. She had faced a publicaudience for the first time; she had been received with applause, andfrom that moment she felt confidence in her performances as well as inher labour of love. 

The poet, with the singer and harpist, made a tour in the southernprovinces, and the two muses, poetry and music, went from town to town, enlivening and enlightening the way. Every heart praised the poet forgiving his services to his young and beautiful friend. They applaudedalso the lovely woman who made her harp-chords vibrate with herminstrel's music. The pair went to Montauban, Albi, Toulouse, and Nimes;they were welcomed at Avignon, the city of Petrarch and the Popes. Marseilles forgot for a time her harbour and her ships, and listenedwith rapture to the musician and the poet. 

At Marseilles Jasmin felt himself quite at home. In the intervalsbetween the concerts and recitals, he made many new friends, as well asvisited many old ones. His gay and genial humour, his lively sallies, his brilliant recitals, brought him friends from every circle. M. Merv, in a political effusion, welcomed the Gascon poet. He was invited toa fete of l'Athenee-Ouvier (the Workman's Athenaeum); after severalspeeches, Jasmin rose and responded:

"I am proud, " he said, "of finding myself among the members of thissociety, and of being welcomed by men who are doubly my brethren--by thelabour of the hands and by the labour of the head. You have moved me andastonished me, and I have incurred to l'Athenee-Ouvier a poetical debtwhich my muse can only repay with the most tender recollections. "

Many pleasant letters passed between Jasmin and Mdlle. De Roaldes. Thelady entertained the liveliest gratitude to the poet, who had helped herso nobly in her misfortunes. On the morning after her first successfulappearance at Agen, she addressed to him a letter full of praise andthankfulness. She ended it thus: "Most amiable poet, I adore your heart, and I do homage to your genius. " In a future letter she confessed thatthe rays of the sun were not less welcome than the rays of his genius, and that her music would have been comparatively worthless but for hispoetry. 

Towards the end of their joint entertainment she again wrote to him:"You have become, my dear poet, my shower of gold, my heaven-sent manna, while you continue your devotion to my personal interests.... As a poet, I give you all the glory; as a friend, I owe you the affection of myfilial heart, the hopes of a better time, and the consolation of myfuture days... Let it be remembered that this good deed on your partis due to your heart and will. May it protect you during your life, andmake you blest in the life which is to come!"

While at Nimes, the two poet-artisans met--Reboul the baker and Jasminthe barber. Reboul, who attended the music-recitation, went up to Jasminand cordially embraced him, amidst the enthusiastic cheers of threethousand people. Jasmin afterwards visited Reboul at his bakery, wherethey had a pleasant interview with respect to the patois of Provence andGascony. At the same time it must be observed that Reboul did not writein patois, but in classical French. 

Reboul had published a volume of poems which attracted the notice andpraise of Lamartine and Alexandre Dumas. Perhaps the finest poem in thevolume is entitled The Angel and Child. Reboul had lost his wife andchild; he sorrowed greatly at their death, and this poem was the result. The idea is simple and beautiful. An angel, noticing a lovely child inits cradle, and deeming it too pure for earth, bears its spirit away toHeaven. The poem has been admirably translated by Longfellow. 

Dumas, in 'Pictures of Travel in the South of France, ' relates aninterview with the baker-poet of Nimes. 

"What made you a poet?" asked Dumas. 

"It was sorrow, " replied Reboul--"the loss of a beloved wife and child. I was in great grief; I sought solitude, and, finding no one who couldunderstand me, poured forth my grief to the Almighty. "

"Yes, " said Dumas, "I now comprehend your feelings. It is thus thattrue poets become illustrious. How many men of talent only want a greatmisfortune to become men of genius! You have told me in a word thesecret of your life; I know it now as well as you do. " And yet Jasmin, the contemporary of Reboul, had written all his poetry without a sorrow, and amidst praise and joyfulness. 

Chateaubriand, when in the South of France, called upon Reboul. Thebaker met him at the door. 

"Are you M. Reboul?" inquired the author of 'The Martyrs. '

"Which, sir--the baker or the poet?"

"The poet, of course. "

"Then the poet cannot be seen until mid-day. At present the baker isworking at the oven. "

Chateaubriand accordingly retired, but returned at the time appointed, and had a long and interesting conversation with Reboul. 

While at Montpellier Jasmin received two letters from Madame Lafarge, then in prison. The circumstances connected with her case were muchdiscussed in the journals of the time. She had married at seventeen a M. Lafarge, and found after her marriage that he had deceived her as to hisproperty. Ill-feeling arose between the unhappy pair, and eventually shewas tried for poisoning her husband. She was condemned with extenuatingcircumstances, and imprisoned at Montpellier in 1839. She declared thatshe was innocent of the crime imputed to her, and Jasmin's faith in thevirtue of womanhood led him to believe her. Her letters to Jasmin weretouching. 

"Many pens, " she said, "have celebrated your genius; let mine touch yourheart! Oh, yes, sir, you are good, noble, and generous! I preserve everyword of yours as a dear consolation; I guard each of your promises as aholy hope. Voltaire has saved Calas. Sing for me, sir, and I will blessyour memory to the day of my death. I am innocent!... For eight longyears I have suffered; and I am still suffering from the stain upon myhonour. I grieve for a sight of the sun, but I still love life. Sing forme. "

She again wrote to Jasmin, endeavouring to excite his interest by herappreciation of his poems. 

"The spirit of your work, " she said, "vibrates through me in every form. What a pearl of eulogy is Maltro! What a great work is L'Abuglo! In thefirst of these poems you reach the sublime of love without touching asingle chord of passion. What purity, and at the same time what ease andtenderness! It is not only the fever of the heart; it is life itself, its religion, its virtue. This poor innuocento does not live to love;she loves to live.... Her love diffuses itself like a perfume--like thescent of a flower.... In writing Maltro your muse becomes virgin andChristian; and to dictate L'Abuglo is a crown of flowers, violetsmingled with roses, like Tibullus, Anacreon, and Horace. "

And again: "Poet, be happy; sing in the language of your mother, of yourinfancy, of your loves, your sorrows. The Gascon songs, revived by you, can never be forgotten. Poet, be happy! The language which you love, France will learn to admire and read, and your brother-poets will learnto imitate you.... Spirit speaks to spirit; genius speaks to the heart. Sing, poet, sing! Envy jeers in vain; your Muse is French; betterstill, it is Christian, and the laurel at the end of your course has twocrowns--one for the forehead of the poet and the other for the heart ofthe man. Grand actions bring glory; good deeds bring happiness. "

Although Jasmin wrote an interesting letter to Madame Lafarge, he didnot venture to sing or recite for her relief from prison. She diedbefore him, in 1852. 

Endnotes for Chapter XIV. 

{1} We adopt the translation of Miss Costello. 

CHAPTER XV. JASMIN'S VINEYARD--'MARTHA THE INNOCENT. '

Agen, with its narrow and crooked streets, is not altogether a pleasanttown, excepting, perhaps, the beautiful promenade of the Gravier, whereJasmin lived. Yet the neighbourhood of Agen is exceedingly picturesque, especially the wooded crags of the Hermitage and the pretty villas nearthe convent of the Carmelites. From these lofty sites a splendid viewof the neighbouring country is to be seen along the windings of theGaronne, and far off, towards the south, to the snowy peaks of thePyrenees. 

Down beneath the Hermitage and the crags a road winds up the valleytowards Verona, once the home of the famous Scaligers. {1} Near thisplace Jasmin bought a little vineyard, and established his Tivoli. In this pretty spot his muse found pure air, liberty, and privacy. He called the place--like his volume of poems--his "Papillote, " his"Curlpaper. " Here, for nearly thirty years, he spent some of hispleasantest hours, in exercise, in reflection, and in composition. In commemoration of his occupation of the site, he composed his MaBigno--'My Vineyard'--one of the most simple and graceful of his poems. 

Jasmin dedicated Ma Bigno to Madame Louis Veill, of Paris. He toldher of his purchase of Papillote, a piece of ground which he had longdesired to have, and which he had now been able to buy with the moneygained by the sale of his poems. 

He proceeds to describe the place:

"In this tiny little vineyard, " he says, "my only chamber is a grotto. Nine cherry trees: such is my wood! I have six rows of vines, betweenwhich I walk and meditate. The peaches are mine; the hazel nuts aremine! I have two elms, and two fountains. I am indeed rich! You maylaugh, perhaps, at my happiness. But I wish you to know that I love theearth and the sky. It is a living picture, sparkling in the sunshine. Come, " he said, "and pluck my peaches from the branches; put thembetween your lovely teeth, whiter than the snow. Press them: fromthe skin to the almond they melt in the mouth--it is honey!" He nextdescribes what he sees and hears from his grotto: the beautiful flowers, the fruit glowing in the sun, the luscious peaches, the notes of thewoodlark, the zug-zug of the nightingale, the superb beauty of theheavens. "They all sing love, and love is always new. "

He compares Paris, with its grand ladies and its grand opera, with hisvineyard and his nightingales. "Paris, " he says, "has fine flowers andlawns, but she is too much of the grande dame. She is unhappy, sleepy. Here, a thousand hamlets laugh by the river's side. Our skies laugh;everything is happy; everything lives. From the month of May, when ourjoyous summer arrives, for six months the heavens resound with music. Athousand nightingales sing all the night through.... Your grand opera issilent, while our concert is in its fullest strain. "

The poem ends with a confession on the part of the poet of sundrypilferings committed by himself in the same place when a boy--ofapple-trees broken, hedges forced, and vine-ladders scaled, winding upwith the words:

"Madame, you see I turn towards the past without a blush; will you?What I have robbed I return, and return with usury. I have no door to myvineyard; only two thorns bar its threshold. When, through a hole I seethe noses of marauders, instead of arming myself with a cane, I turn andgo away, so that they may come back. He who robbed when he was young, may in his old age allow himself to be robbed too. " A most amicablesentiment, sure to be popular amongst the rising generation of Agen. 

Ma Bigno is written in graceful and felicitous verse. We haveendeavoured to give a translation in the appendix; but the rendering ofsuch a work into English is extremely difficult. The soul will be foundwanting; for much of the elegance of the poem consists in the choice ofthe words. M. De Mazade, editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes, said ofMa Bigno that it was one of Jasmin's best works, and that the style andsentiments were equally satisfactory to the poetical mind and taste. 

M. Rodiere, of Toulouse, in his brief memoir of Jasmin, {2} says that"it might be thought that so great a work as Franconnette would haveexhausted the poet. When the aloe flowers, it rests for nearly a hundredyears before it blooms again. But Jasmin had an inexhaustible well ofpoetry in his soul. Never in fact was he more prolific than in the twoyears which followed the publication of Franconnette. Poetry seemed toflow from him like a fountain, and it came in various forms. His poemshave no rules and little rhythm, except those which the genius ofthe poet chooses to give them; but there is always the most beautifulpoetry, perfectly evident by its divine light and its inspired accents. "

Jasmin, however, did not compose with the rapidity described by hisreviewer. He could not throw off a poem at one or many sittings;though he could write an impromptu with ready facility. When he hadan elaborate work in hand, such as The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, Franconnette, or Martha the Innocent, he meditated long over it, andelaborated it with conscientious care. He arranged the plan in his mind, and waited for the best words and expressions in which to elaboratehis stanzas, so as most clearly to explain his true meaning. ThusFranconnette cost him two years' labour. Although he wrote of peasantsin peasants' language, he took care to avoid everything gross orvulgar. Not even the most classical poet could have displayed inbornpoliteness--la politesse du coeur--in a higher degree. At the same time, while he expressed passion in many forms, it was always with delicacy, truth, and beauty. 

Notwithstanding his constant philanthropic journeys, he beguiled histime with the germs of some forthcoming poem, ready to be elaborated onhis return to Agen and his vineyard. 

His second volume of poems was published in 1842, and in a few months itreached its third edition. About 20, 000 copies of his poems had by thistime been issued. The sale of these made him comparatively easy in hiscircumstances; and it was mainly by their profits that he was enabled tobuy his little vineyard near Verona. 

It may also be mentioned that Jasmin received a further increase of hismeans from the Government of Louis Philippe. Many of his friends in theSouth of France were of opinion that his philanthropic labours shouldbe publicly recognised. While Jasmin had made numerous gifts to the poorfrom the collections made at his recitations; while he had helped tobuild schools, orphanages, asylums, and even churches, it was thoughtthat some recompense should be awarded to him by the State for hisself-sacrificing labours. 

In 1843 the Duchess of Orleans had a golden medal struck in his honour;and M. Dumon, when presenting it to Jasmin, announced that the Ministerof Instruction had inscribed his name amongst the men of letters whoseworks the Government was desirous of encouraging; and that consequentlya pension had been awarded to him of 1, 000 francs per annum. Thiswelcome news was shortly after confirmed by the Minister of Instructionhimself. "I am happy, " said M. Villemain, "to bear witness to the meritof your writings, and the originality of your poetry, as well as to theloyalty of your sentiments. "

The minister was not, however, satisfied with conferring this favour. It was ordered that Jasmin should be made a Chevalier of the Legion ofHonour, at the same time that Balzac, Frederick Soulie, and Alfredde Musset, were advanced to the same role of honour. The minister, inconveying the insignia to Jasmin, said:

"Your actions are equal to your works; you build churches; you succourindigence; you are a powerful benefactor; and your muse is the sister ofCharity. "

These unexpected honours made no difference in the poet's daily life. He shaved and curled hair as before. He lived in the same humble shopon the Gravier. He was not in the least puffed up. His additionalincome merely enabled him to defray his expenses while on his charitablejourneys on behalf of his poorer neighbours. He had no desire to berich; and he was now more than comfortable in his position of life. 

When the news arrived at Agen that Jasmin had been made a Chevalier ofthe Legion of Honour, his salon was crowded with sympathetic admirers. In the evening, a serenade was performed before his door on the Gravierby the Philharmonic Society of Agen. Indeed, the whole town was filledwith joy at the acknowledged celebrity of their poet. A few years laterPope Pius IX. Conferred upon Jasmin the honour of Chevalier of the Orderof St. Gregory the Great. The insignia of the Order was handed to thepoet by Monseigneur de Vezins, Bishop of Agen, in Sept. 1850. Who couldhave thought that the barber-poet would have been so honoured by hisKing, and by the Head of his Church?

Jasmin's next important poem, after the production of Franconnette wasMartha the Innocent. --{In Gascon, Maltro l'Innoucento; French, Marthe laFolle}. It is like The Blind Girl, a touching story of disappointment inlove. Martha was an orphan living at Laffitte, on the banks of the Lot. She was betrothed to a young fellow, but the conscription forbade theirunion. The conscript was sent to the wars of the first Napoleon, whichwere then raging. The orphan sold her little cottage in the hope ofbuying him off, or providing him with a substitute. But it was all invain. He was compelled to follow his regiment. She was a good and piousgirl, beloved by all. She was also beautiful, --tall, fair, and handsome, with eyes of blue--"the blue of heaven, " according to Jasmin:

 "With grace so fine, and air so sweet, She was a lady amongst peasants. "

The war came to an end for a time. The soldier was discharged, andreturned home. 

Martha went out to meet him; but alas! like many other fickle men, he had met and married another. It was his wife who accompanied himhomewards. Martha could not bear the terrible calamity of her blightedlove. She became crazy--almost an idiot. 

She ran away from her home at Laffitte, and wandered about the country. Jasmin, when a boy, had often seen the crazy woman wandering about thestreets of Agen with a basket on her arm, begging for bread. Even inher rags she had the remains of beauty. The children ran after her, andcried, "Martha, a soldier!" then she ran off, and concealed herself. 

Like other children of his age Jasmin teased her; and now, after morethan thirty years, he proposed to atone for his childish folly byconverting her sad story into a still sadder poem. Martha the Innocentis a charming poem, full of grace, harmony, and beauty. Jasmin oftenrecited it, and drew tears from many eyes. In the introduction herelated his own part in her history. "It all came back upon him, " hesaid, " and now he recited the story of this martyr of love. "{3}

After the completion of Martha, new triumphs awaited Jasmin in the Southof France. In 1846 he again went to Toulouse on a labour of love. Herecited his new poem in the Room of the Illustrious at the Capitol. Abrilliant assembly was present. Flowers perfumed the air. The entireaudience rose and applauded the poet. The ladies smiled and wept byturns. Jasmin seemed to possess an electric influence. His clear, harmonious, and flexible voice, gave emphasis by its rich sympathetictones to the artistic elements of his story. 

The man who thus evoked such rapture from his audience was not arrayedin gorgeous costume. He was a little dark-eyed man of the working class, clothed in a quiet suit of black. 

At the close of the recitation, the assembly, ravished with hisperformance, threw him a wreath of flowers and laurels--more modest, though not less precious than the golden branch which they hadpreviously conferred upon him. Jasmin thanked them most heartily fortheir welcome. "My Muse, " he said, "with its glorious branch of gold, little dreamt of gleaning anything more from Toulouse; but Toulouse hasagain invited me to this day's festival, and I feel more happy than aking, because my poem is enthroned in the midst of the Capitol. Yourhands have applauded me throughout, and you have concluded by throwingthis crown of flowers at my feet. "

It was then resolved to invite Jasmin to a banquet. Forty ladies, thecream of Toulousian society, organised the proceedings, and the banquetwas given at the palace of M. De Narbonne. At the end of the proceedingsa young lady stepped forward, and placed upon the poet's head a crown ofimmortelles and violets joined together by a ribbon with golden threads, on which was inscribed in letters of gold, "Your thoughts are immortal!"Was not this enough to turn any poor poet's head? The ladies clappedtheir hands. What could Jasmin say? "It is enough, " he said "to makeangels jealous!" The dinner ended with a toast to the author of Martha, who still wore the crown upon his brow. 

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm with which the poet wasreceived all through the South. At Dax, the ladies, for want of crownsof laurels to cover him, tore the flowers and feathers from theirbonnets, and threw them at his feet. In another town the ladies roseand invaded the platform where Jasmin stood; they plucked from hisbutton-hole the ribbon of the Legion of Honour, and divided it amongstthem, as a precious relic of their glorious poet. 

He was received at Gers and Condon with equal enthusiasm. At Condon hecharmed his audience with his recitations for about five hours. Frenziesof applause greeted him. He was invited to a banquet, where he receivedthe usual praises. When the banquet was over, and Jasmin escaped, he wasmet in the street by crowds of people, who wished to grasp him by thehand. He recited to them in the open air his poem of charity. Theycompared Jasmin to O'Connell; but the barber of Agen, by the power whichhe exercised for the good of the people, proved himself more than equalto the greatest of agitators. 

Sainte-Beuve quotes with keen enjoyment{4} the bantering letter whichJasmin sent to Peyrottes, a Provencal poet, who challenged him to apoetical combat. It was while he was making one of his charitabletours through Languedoc, that Jasmin received the following letter (24December, 1847):--

"SIR, --I dare, in my temerity, which may look like hardihood, to proposeto you a challenge. Will you have the goodness to accept it? In theMiddle Ages, the Troubadours did not disdain such a challenge as thatwhich, in my audacity, I now propose to you. 

"I will place myself at your disposal at Montpellier on any day and atany hour that may be most convenient to you. We shall name four personsof literary standing to give us three subjects with which we are to dealfor twenty-four hours. We shall be shut up together. Sentries will standat the door. Only our provisions shall pass through. 

"A son of Herault, I will support the honour and the glory of mycountry! And as in such circumstances, a good object is indispensable, the three subjects given must be printed and sold for the benefit of theCreche of Montpellier. " Peyrotte ended his letter with a postscript, in which he said that he would circulate his challenge among the mosteminent persons in Montpellier. 

Jasmin answered this letter as follows:--

"SIR, --I did not receive your poetical challenge until the day beforeyesterday, on the point of my departure for home; but I must tell youthat, though I have received it, I cannot accept it. 

"Do you really propose to my muse, which aims at free air and liberty, to shut myself up in a close room, guarded by sentinels, who could onlyallow provisions to enter, and there to treat of three given subjects intwenty-four hours! Three subjects in twenty-four hours! You frighten me, sir, for the peril in which you place my muse. 

"I must inform you, in all humility, that I often cannot compose morethan two or three lines a day. My five poems, L'Aveugle, Mes Souvenirs, Franconnette, Martha the Innocent, and Les Deux Jumeaux, have cost meten years' work, and they only contain in all but 2, 400 verses!... Icannot write poetry by command. I cannot be a prisoner while I compose. Therefore I decline to enter the lists with you. 

"The courser who drags his chariot with difficulty, albeit he mayarrive at the goal, cannot contend with the fiery locomotive of theiron railway. The art which produces verses one by one, depends uponinspiration, not upon manufacture. Therefore my muse declares itselfvanquished in advance; and I authorise you to publish my refusal of yourchallenge. "

In a postscript, Jasmin added: "Now that you have made the acquaintanceof my Muse, I will, in a few words, introduce you to the man. I loveglory, but the success of others never troubles my sleep at night!"

"When one finds, " says Sainte-Beuve, "this theory of work pushed to sucha degree by Jasmin, with whom the spark of inspiration seems always soprompt and natural, what a sad return we have of the poetical wealthdissipated by the poets of our day. " Sainte-Beuve summed up his praiseof the Gascon poet by insisting that he was invariably sober in histone. 

"I have learned, " said Jasmin of himself, "that in moments of heatand emotion we may be eloquent or laconic, alike in speech andaction--unconscious poets, in fact; but I have also learned that it ispossible for a poet to become all this voluntarily by dint of patienttoil and conscientious labour!"

Jasmin was not the man to rest upon his laurels. Shortly after his visitto Paris in 1842, he began to compose his Martha the Innocent, whichwe have already briefly described. Two years later he composed Les DeuxFreres Jumeaux--a story of paternal and motherly affection. This wasfollowed by his Ma Bigno ('My Vineyard'), and La Semaine d'un Fils ('TheWeek's Work of a Son'), which a foot-note tells us is historical, theevent having recently occurred in the neighbourhood of Agen. 

A short description may be given of this affecting story. The poem isdivided into three parts. In the first, a young boy and his sister, Abeland Jeanne, are described as kneeling before a cross in the moonlight, praying to the Virgin to cure their father. "Mother of God, Virgincompassionate, send down thine Angel and cure our sick father. Ourmother will then be happy, and we, Blessed Virgin, will love and praisethee for ever. "

The Virgin hears their prayer, and the father is cured. A woman opensthe door of a neighbouring house and exclaims joyously, "Poor littleones, death has departed. The poison of the fever is counteracted, andyour father's life is saved. Come, little lambs, and pray to God withme. " They all three kneel and pray by the side of the good fatherHilaire, formerly a brave soldier, but now a mason's labourer. This endsthe first part. 

The second begins with a description of morning. The sun shines throughthe glass of the casement mended with paper, yet the morning rays arebright and glorious. Little Abel glides into his father's room. He istold that he must go to the house of his preceptor to-day, for he mustlearn to read and write. Abel is "more pretty than strong;" he is tobe an homme de lettres, as his little arms would fail him if he were tohandle the rough stones of his father's trade. Father and son embracedeach other. 

For a few days all goes well, but on the fourth, a Sunday, a commandcomes from the master mason that if Hilaire does not return to his workto-morrow, his place shall be given to another. This news spreads dismayand consternation among them all. Hilaire declares that he is cured, tries to rise from his bed, but falls prostrate through weakness. Itwill take a week yet to re-establish his health. 

The soul of little Abel is stirred. He dries his tears and assumes theair of a man; he feels some strength in his little arms. He goes out, and proceeds to the house of the master mason. When he returns, he is nolonger sorrowful: "honey was in his mouth, and his eyes were smiling. " Hesaid, "My father, rest yourself: gain strength and courage; you have thewhole week before you. Then you may labour. Some one who loves you willdo your work, and you shall still keep your place. " Thus ends the secondpart. 

The third begins: "Behold our little Abel, who no longer toils at theschool-desk, but in the workshop. In the evenings he becomes again apetit monsieur; and, the better to deceive his father, speaks of books, papers, and writings, and with a wink replies to the inquiring look ofhis mother (et d'un clin d'oeil repond aux clins des yeux de sa mere). Four days pass thus. On the fifth, Friday, Hilaire, now cured, leaveshis house at mid-day. But fatal Friday, God has made thee for sorrow!"

The father goes to the place where the masons are at work. Though thehour for luncheon has not arrived, yet no one is seen on the platformsabove; and O bon Dieu! what a crowd of people is seen at the foot ofthe building! Master, workmen, neighbours--all are there, in haste andtumult. A workman has fallen from the scaffold. It is poor little Abel. Hilaire pressed forward to see his beloved boy lie bleeding on theground! Abel is dying, but before he expires, he whispers, "Master, Ihave not been able to finish the work, but for my poor mother's sake donot dismiss my father because there is one day short!" The boy died, andwas carried home by his sorrowful parent. The place was preserved forHilaire, and his wages were even doubled. But it was too late. Onemorning death closed his eyelids; and the good father went to takeanother place in the tomb by the side of his son. 

Jasmin dedicated this poem to Lamartine, who answered his dedication asfollows:--

"Paris, 28th April, 1849. 

"My dear brother, --I am proud to read my name in the language which youhave made classic; more proud still of the beautiful verses in whichyou embalm the recollection of our three months of struggle withthe demagogues against our true republic. Poets entertain livingpresentiments of posterity. I accept your omen. Your poem has madeus weep. You are the only epic writer of our time, the sensible andpathetic Homer of the people (proletaires). 

"Others sing, but you feel. I have seen your son, who has three timessheltered me with his bayonet--in March and April. He appears to meworthy of your name. --LAMARTINE. "

Besides the above poems, Jasmin composed Le Pretre sans Eglise (ThePriest without a Church), which forms the subject of the next chapter. These poems, with other songs and impromptus, were published in 1851, forming the third volume of his Papillotos. 

After Jasmin had completed his masterpieces, he again devoted himself tothe cause of charity. Before, he had merely walked; now he soared aloft. What he accomplished will be ascertained in the following pages. 

Endnotes for Chapter XV. 

{1} The elder Scaliger had been banished from Verona, settled near Agen, and gave the villa its name. The tomb of the Scaliger family in Veronais one of the finest mausoleums ever erected. 

{2} Journal de Toulouse, 4th July, 1840. 

{3} In the preface to the poem, which was published in 1845, the editorobserves:--"This little drama begins in 1798, at Laffitte, a prettymarket-town on the banks of the Lot, near Clairac, and ends in 1802. When Martha became an idiot, she ran away from the town to which shebelonged, and went to Agen. When seen in the streets of that town shebecame an object of commiseration to many, but the children pursuedher, calling out, 'Martha, a soldier!' Sometimes she disappeared for twoweeks at a time, and the people would then observe, 'Martha has hiddenherself; she must now be very hungry!' More than once Jasmin, in hischildhood, pursued Martha with the usual cry of 'A soldier. ' He littlethought that at a future time he should make some compensation for hissarcasms, by writing the touching poem of Martha the Innocent; but thismerely revealed the goodness of his heart and his exquisite sensibility. Martha died at Agen in 1834. "

{4} 'Causeries du Lundi, ' iv. 241, edit. 1852. 

CHAPTER XVI. THE PRIEST WITHOUT A CHURCH. 

The Abbe Masson, priest of Vergt in Perigord, found the church in whichhe officiated so decayed and crumbling, that he was obliged to closeit. It had long been in a ruinous condition. The walls were cracked, and pieces of plaster and even brick fell down upon the heads of thecongregation; and for their sake as well as for his own, the Abbe Massonwas obliged to discontinue the services. At length he resolved to pulldown the ruined building, and erect another church in its place. 

Vergt is not a town of any considerable importance. It contains theruins of a fortress built by the English while this part of France wasin their possession. At a later period a bloody battle was fought in theneighbourhood between the Catholics and the Huguenots. Indeed, the wholeof the South of France was for a long period disturbed by the civilwar which raged between these sections of Christians. Though both RomanCatholics and Protestants still exist at Vergt, they now live togetherin peace and harmony. 

Vergt is the chief town of the Canton, and contains about 1800inhabitants. It is a small but picturesque town, the buildings beinghalf concealed by foliage and chestnut trees. Not far off, by the riverCandou, the scenery reminds one of the wooded valley at Bolton Priory inYorkshire. 

Though the Abbe Masson was a man of power and vigour, he found it verydifficult to obtain funds from the inhabitants of the town forthe purpose of rebuilding his church. There were no EcclesiasticalCommissioners to whom he could appeal, and the people of theneighbourhood were too limited in their circumstances to help him to anylarge extent. 

However, he said to himself, "Heaven helps those who help themselves;"or rather, according to the Southern proverb, Qui trabaillo, Thion libaillo--"Who is diligent, God helps. " The priest began his work withmuch zeal. He collected what he could in Vergt and the neighbourhood, and set the builders to work. He hoped that Providence would help him incollecting the rest of the building fund. 

But the rebuilding of a church is a formidable affair; and perhapsthe priest, not being a man of business, did not count the cost ofthe undertaking. He may have "counted his chickens before they werehatched. " Before long the priest's funds again ran short. He had begunthe rebuilding in 1840; the work went on for about a year; but in 1841the builders had to stop their operations, as the Abbe Masson's fundswere entirely exhausted. 

What was he to do now? He suddenly remembered the barber of Agen, whowas always willing to give his friendly help. He had establishedMdlle. Roaldes as a musician a few years before; he had helped to buildschools, orphanages, asylums, and such like. But he had never helped tobuild a church. Would he now help him to rebuild the church of Vergt?

The Abbe did not know Jasmin personally, but he went over to Agen, andthrough a relative, made his acquaintance. Thus the Abbe and the poetcame together. After the priest had made an explanation of his position, and of his difficulties in obtaining money for the rebuilding of thechurch of Vergt, Jasmin at once complied with the request that he wouldcome over and help him. They arranged for a circuit of visits throughoutthe district--the priest with his address, and Jasmin with his poems. 

Jasmin set out for Vergt in January 1843. He was received at the borderof the Canton by a numerous and brilliant escort of cavalry, whichaccompanied him to the presbytery. He remained there for two days, conferring with the Abbe. Then the two set out together for Perigueux, the chief city of the province, accompanied on their departure by themembers of the Municipal Council and the leading men of the town. 

The first meeting was held in the theatre of Perigueux, which wascrowded from floor to ceiling, and many remained outside who could notobtain admission. The Mayor and Municipal Councillors were present towelcome and introduce the poet. On this occasion, Jasmin recited forthe first time, "The Ruined Church" (in Gascon: La Gleyzo Descapelado)composed in one of his happiest moments. Jasmin compared himself toAmphion, the sweet singer of Greece, who by his musical powers, enableda city to be built; and now the poet invoked the citizens of Perigueuxto enable the Abbe Masson to rebuild his church. His poem was receivedwith enthusiasm, and almost with tears of joy at the pleading of Jasmin. There was a shower of silver and gold. The priest was overjoyed at thepopularity of his colleague, and also at his purse, which was filledwith offerings. 

While at Perigueux the poet and the priest enjoyed the hospitality of M. August Dupont, to whom Jasmin, in thanks, dedicated a piece of poetry. Other entertainments followed--matinees and soirees. Jasmin recited someof his poems before the professors and students at the college, and atother places of public instruction. Then came banquets--aristocratic andpopular--and, as usual, a banquet of the hair-dressers. There was quitean ovation in the city while he remained there. 

But other calls awaited Jasmin. He received deputations from many of thetowns in the department soliciting his appearance, and the recitation ofhis poems. He had to portion out his time with care, and to arrange theprogramme of his visits. When the two pilgrims started on their journey, they were frequently interrupted by crowds of people, who would notallow Jasmin to pass without reciting some of his poetry. Jasminand Masson travelled by the post-office car--the cheapest of allconveyances--but at Montignac they were stopped by a crowd of people, and Jasmin had to undergo the same process. Free and hearty, he wasalways willing to comply with their requests. That day the postmanarrived at his destination three hours after his appointed time. 

It was in the month of February, when darkness comes on so quickly, thatJasmin informed the magistrates of Sarlat, whither he was bound, that hewould be there by five o'clock. But they waited, and waited for himand the priest at the entrance to the town, attended by the clergy, thesub-prefect, the town councillors, and a crowd of people. It was a coldand dreary night. Still no Jasmin! They waited for three long hours. Atlast Jasmin appeared on the post-office car. "There he comes at last!"was the general cry. His arrival was greeted with enthusiastic cheers. It was now quite dark. The poet and the priest entered Sarlat intriumph, amidst the glare of torches and the joyful shouts of themultitude. Then came the priest's address, Jasmin's recitations, and thefinal collection of offerings. 

It is unnecessary to repeat the scenes, however impressive, whichoccurred during the journey of the poet and the priest. There was thesame amount of enthusiasm at Nontron, Bergerac, and the other townswhich they visited. At Nontron, M. A. De Calvimont, the sub-prefect, welcomed Jasmin with the following lines:

 "To Jasmin, our grand poet, The painter of humanity; For him, elect of heaven, life is a fete Ending in immortality. "

Jasmin replied to this with some impromptu lines, 'To Poetry, ' dedicatedto the sub-prefect. At Bergerac he wrote his Adieu to Perigord, in whichhe conveyed his thanks to the inhabitants of the department for thekindness with which they had received him and his companion. This, theirfirst journey through Perigord, was brought to a close at the end ofFebruary, 1843. 

The result of this brilliant journey was very successful. The purse ofthe Abbe was now sufficiently well filled to enable him to proceedwith the rebuilding of the church of Vergt; and the work was so welladvanced, that by the 23rd of the following month of July it was readyfor consecration. A solemn ceremony then took place. Six bishops, including an archbishop, and three hundred priests were present, withmore than fifteen thousand people of all ranks and conditions of life. Never had such a ceremony been seen before--at least in so small a town. 

The Cardinal Gousset, Archbishop of Rheims, after consecratingthe church, turned to Jasmin, and said: "Poet, we cannot avoid therecognition of your self-sacrificing labours in the rebuilding of thischurch; and we shall be happy if you will consent to say a few wordsbefore we part. "

"Monseigneur, " replied Jasmin, "can you believe that my muse haslaboured for fifteen days and fifteen nights, that I should interruptthis day of the fete? Vergt keeps fete to-day for religion, but not forpoetry, though it welcomes and loves it. The church has six pontiffs;the poet is only a subdeacon; but if I must sing my hymn officially, itmust be elsewhere. "

The Archbishop--a man of intelligence who understood the feelings ofpoets--promised, at the collation which followed the consecration, togive Jasmin the opportunity of reciting the verses which he had composedfor the occasion. The poem was entitled 'A Priest without a Church'(in Gascon: Lou Preste sans Glegzo) dedicated to M. Masson, the Cure ofVergt. In his verses the poet described the influence of a noble churchupon the imagination as well as the religion of the people. But he saidnothing of his own labours in collecting the necessary funds for therebuilding of the church. The recitation of the poem was received withenthusiasm. 

Monseigneur Bertaud, who preached in the afternoon on the "Infinityof God, " touchingly referred to the poems of Jasmin, and developed thesubject so happily referred to by the poet. 

"Such examples as his, " he said, "such delicate and generous sentimentsmingled together, elevate poetry and show its noble origin, so that wecannot listen to him without the gravest emotion. "{1}

It was a great day for Vergt, and also a great day for the poet. Theconsecration of the church amidst so large an assemblage of clergy andpeople occasioned great excitement in the South. It was noised abroad inthe public journals, and even in the foreign press. Jasmin's fame becamegreater than ever; and his barber's shop at Agen became, as it were, ashrine, where pilgrims, passing through the district, stopped to visithim and praise his almost divine efforts to help the cause of religionand civilisation. 

The local enthusiasm was not, however, without its drawbacks. Thesuccess of the curate of Vergt occasioned a good deal of jealousy. Whyshould he be patronised by Jasmin, and have his purse filled by hisrecitations, when there were so many other churches to be built andrepaired, so many hospitals and schools to found and maintain, so manyorphanages to assist, so many poor to relieve, so many good works to bedone? Why should not Jasmin, who could coin money with words which costhim nothing, come to the help of the needy and afflicted in the variousdistricts throughout the South?

Thus Jasmin was constantly assailed by deputations. He must leave hisrazors and his curling-tongs, and go here, there, and everywhere toraise money by his recitations. 

The members of the Society of Saint Vincent de Paul were, as usual, fullof many charitable designs. There had been a fire, a flood, an epidemic, a severe winter, a failure of crops, which had thrown hundreds offamilies into poverty and misery; and Jasmin must come immediately totheir succour. "Come, Jasmin! Come quick, quick!" He was always willingto give his assistance; but it was a terrible strain upon his mental aswell as his physical powers. 

In all seasons, at all hours, in cold, in heat, in wind, in rain, hehastened to give his recitations--sometimes of more than two hours'duration, and often twice or thrice in the same day. He hastened, forfear lest the poor should receive their food and firing too late. 

What a picture! Had Jasmin lived in the time of St. Vincent de Paul, the saint would have embraced him a thousand times, and rejoiced tosee himself in one way surpassed; for in pleading for the poor, he alsohelped the rich by celebrating the great deeds of their ancestors, ashe did at Beziers, Riquet, Albi, Lafeyrouse, and other places. Thespectacle which he presented was so extraordinary, that all France wasstruck with admiration at the qualities of this noble barber of Agen. 

On one occasion Jasmin was requested by a curate to come to his help andreconcile him with his parishioners. Jasmin succeeded in performing themiracle. It happened that in 1846 the curate of Saint-Leger, nearPenne, in the Tarn, had caused a ball-room to be closed. This gave greatoffence to the young people, who desired the ball-room to be opened, that they might have their fill of dancing. They left his church, and declared that they would have nothing further to do with him. Toreconcile the malcontents, the curate promised to let them hear Jasmin. Accordingly, one Sunday afternoon the inhabitants of four parishesassembled in a beautiful wood to listen to Jasmin. He recited hisCharity and some other of his serious poems. When he had finished, the young people of Saint-Leger embraced first the poet, and then thecurate. The reconciliation was complete. 

To return to the church at Vergt. Jasmin was a poet, not an architect. The Abbe Masson knew nothing about stone or mortar. He was merelyanxious to have his church rebuilt and consecrated as soon as possible. That had been done in 1843. But in the course of a few years it wasfound that the church had been very badly built. The lime was bad, andthe carpentry was bad. The consequence was, that the main walls ofthe church bulged out, and the shoddy building had to be supported byoutside abutments. In course of time it became clear that the work, forthe most part, had to be done over again. 

In 1847 the Abbe again appealed to Jasmin. This new task was moredifficult than the first, for it was necessary to appeal to a largercircle of contributors; not confining themselves to Perigord only, buttaking a wider range throughout the South of France. The priest madethe necessary arrangements for the joint tour. They would first takethe northern districts--Angouleme, Limoges, Tulle, and Brives--and thenproceed towards the south. 

The pair started at the beginning of May, and began their usualrecitations and addresses, such as had been given during the firstjourney in Perigord. They were received with the usual enthusiasm. Prefects, bishops, and municipal bodies, vied with each other inreceiving and entertaining them. At Angouleme, the queen of southerncities, Jasmin was presented with a crown of immortelles and asnuff-box, on which was engraved: "Esteem--Love--Admiration! To Jasmin, the most sublime of poets! From the youth of Angouleme, who have had thehappiness of seeing and hearing him!"

The poet and priest travelled by night as well as by day in order toeconomise time. After their tour in the northern towns and cities, theyreturned to Vergt for rest. They entered the town under a triumphalarch, and were escorted by a numerous cavalcade. Before they retired tothe priest's house, the leading men of the commune, in the name ofthe citizens, complimented Jasmin for his cordial help towards therebuilding of the church. 

After two days of needful rest Jasmin set out for Bordeaux, the citywhose inhabitants had first encouraged him by their applause, and forwhich he continued to entertain a cordial feeling to the last days ofhis life. His mission on this occasion was to assist in the inaugurationof a creche, founded and supported by the charitable contributionsof the friends of poor children. It is not necessary to mention theenthusiasm with which he was received. 

The further progress of the poet and the priest, in search ofcontributions for rebuilding the church, was rudely interrupted by theRevolution which broke out at Paris in 1848. His Majesty Louis Philippeabdicated the throne of France on the 24th of February, rather thancome into armed collision with his subjects; and, two days after, theRepublic was officially proclaimed at the Hotel de Ville. Louis Philippeand his family took refuge in England--the usual retreat of persecutedFrenchmen; and nine months later, Louis Napoleon Buonaparte, who hadalso been a refugee in England, returned to France, and on the 20th ofDecember was proclaimed President of the French Republic. 

Jasmin and Masson accordingly suspended their tour. No one would listento poetical recitations in the midst of political revolutions. Freedomand tranquillity were necessary for the contemplation of ideas verydifferent from local and national squabbles. The poet and priestaccordingly bade adieu to each other; and it was not until two yearslater that they were able to recommence their united journeys throughthe South of France. The proclamation of the Republic, and the forthcoming elections, brought many new men to the front. Even poets madetheir appearance. Lamartine, who had been a deputy, was a leader inthe Revolution, and for a time was minister for foreign affairs. VictorHugo, a still greater poet, took a special interest in the politicsof the time, though he was fined and imprisoned for condemning capitalpunishment. Even Reboul, the poet-baker of Nimes, deserted his muse andhis kneading trough to solicit the suffrages of his fellow-citizens. Jasmin was wiser. He was more popular in his neighbourhood than Reboul, though he cared little about politics. He would neither be a deputy, nor a municipal councillor, nor an agent for elections. He preferredto influence his country by spreading the seeds of domestic and socialvirtues; and he was satisfied with his position in Agen as poet andhair-dresser. 

Nevertheless a deputation of his townsmen waited upon Jasmin to requesthim to allow his name to appear as a candidate for their suffrages. The delegates did not find him at his shop. He was at his vineyard; andthere the deputation found him tranquilly seated under a cherry-treeshelling peas! He listened to them with his usual courtesy, and when oneof the committee pressed him for an answer, and wished to know if hewas not a good Republican, he said, "Really, I care nothing for theRepublic. I am one of those who would have saved the constitutionalmonarchy by enabling it to carry out further reforms.... But, "he continued, "look to the past; was it not a loss to destroy theconstitutional monarchy? But now we must march forward, that we may allbe united again under the same flag. The welfare of France should reignin all our thoughts and evoke our most ardent sympathy. Choose among ourcitizens a strong and wise man... If the Republic is to live in France, it must be great, strong, and good for all classes of the people. Maintaining the predominance of the law will be its security; and inpreserving law it will strengthen our liberties. '"

In conclusion, Jasmin cordially thanked his fellow-citizens for thehonour they proposed to confer upon him, although he could notaccept it. The affairs of the State, he said, were in a very confusedcondition, and he could not pretend to unravel them. He then took leaveof the deputation, and quietly proceeded to complete his task--theshelling of his peas!

Endnotes for Chapter XVI. 

{1} The whole of the interview between the Archbishop of Rheims andJasmin is given by Sainte-Beuve in 'Causeries du Lundi, ' iv. 250. 

CHAPTER XVII. THE CHURCH OF VERGT AGAIN--FRENCH ACADEMY--EMPEROR ANDEMPRESS. 

When the political turmoils in France had for a time subsided, Jasminand the Abbe Masson recommenced their journeys in the South for thecollection of funds for the church at Vergt. They had already madetwo pilgrimages--the first through Perigord, the second to Angouleme, Limoges, Tulle, and Brives. The third was begun early in 1850, andincluded the department of the Landes, the higher and lower Pyrenees, and other districts in the South of France. 

At Bagneres de Bigorre and at Bagneres de Luchon the receipts weredivided between the church at Vergt and that at Luchon. The publichospitals and the benevolent societies frequently shared in thereceipts. There seemed to be no limits to the poet's zeal in labouringfor those who were in want of funds. Independent of his recitations forthe benefit of the church at Vergt, he often turned aside to one placeor another where the poor were in the greatest need of assistance. 

On one occasion he went to Arcachon. He started early in the morning bythe steamer from Agen to Bordeaux, intending to proceed by railway (afive hours' journey) from Bordeaux to Arcachon. But the steamers onthe Garonne were then very irregular, and Jasmin did not reach Bordeauxuntil six hours later than the appointed time. In the meanwhile alarge assembly had met in the largest room in Arcachon. They waited andwaited; but no Jasmin! The Abbe Masson became embarrassed; but at lengthhe gave his address, and the receipts were 800 francs. The meetingdispersed very much disappointed, because no Jasmin had appeared, andthey missed his recitations. At midnight the cure returned to Bordeauxand there he found Jasmin, just arrived from Agen by the boat, which hadbeen six hours late. He was in great dismay; but he afterwards made upfor the disappointment by reciting to the people of Arcachon. 

The same thing happened at Biarritz. A large assembly had met, andeverything was ready for Jasmin. But there was no Jasmin! The omnibusfrom Bayonne did not bring him. It turned out, that at the moment ofsetting out he was seized with a sudden loss of voice. As in the case ofArcachon, the cure had to do without him. The result of his address wasa collection of 700 francs. 

The Abbe Masson was a liberal-minded man. When Jasmin urged him to helpothers more needy than himself, he was always ready to comply with hisrequest. When at Narbonne, in the department of Aude, a poor troupe ofcomedians found themselves in difficulties. It was winter-time, and theweather was very cold. The public could not bear their canvas-coveredshed, and deserted the entertainment. Meanwhile the artistes werefamished. Knowing the generosity of Jasmin, they asked him to recite atone of their representations. He complied with their request; the placewas crowded; and Jasmin's recitations were received with the usualenthusiasm. It had been arranged that half the proceeds should go tothe church at Vergt, and the other half to the comedians. But when theentire troupe presented themselves to the Abbe and offered him thefull half, he said: "No! no! keep it all. You want it more than I do. Besides, I can always fall back upon my dear poet!"

A fourth pilgrimage of the priest and poet was afterwards made to thetowns of Rodez, Villefranche-d'aveyron, Cahors, Figeac, Gourdon, andSarlat; and the proceeds of these excursions, added to a subventionof 5, 000 francs from the Government, enabled the church of Vergt tobe completed. In 1852 the steeple was built, and appropriately named"Jasmin's Bell-tower" (Clocher Jasmin). But it was still without bells, for which a subsequent pilgrimage was made by Jasmin and Masson. 

To return to the honours paid to Jasmin for his works of benevolenceand charity. What was worth more to him than the numerous golden laurelswhich had been bestowed upon him, was his recognition by the highestand noblest of institutions, the Academy of France. Although one ofthe objects of its members was to preserve the French language in itshighest purity they were found ready to crown a poet who wrote his poemsin the patois of the South. 

There were, however, several adverse criticisms on the proposed decisionof the Academy; though poetry may be written in every tongue, and isquite independent of the language or patois in which it is conveyed. Indeed; several members of the Academy--such as MM. Thiers, De Remusat, Viennet, and Flourens--came from the meridional districts of France, and thoroughly understood the language of Jasmin. They saw in him twomen--the poet, and the benefactor of humanity. 

This consideration completely overruled the criticisms of the minority. Jasmin had once before appeared at M. Thierry's before the best menof the Academy; and now the whole of the Academy, notwithstanding hispatois, approached and honoured the man of good deeds. 

Jasmin owed to M. Villemain one of the most brilliant panegyrics whichhe had ever received. The Academy desired to award a special prize inaccordance with the testamentary bequest of M. De Montyon{1}--his lastdebt to art and morality; a talent that employs itself in doing goodunder a form the most brilliant and popular. This talent, he continued, is that of the true poet; and Jasmin, during his pure and modest life, has employed his art for the benefit of morality with a noble, helpfulinfluence, while nothing detracted from the dignity of his name. 

Like the Scottish poet Burns, Jasmin had by his dialect and his poeticaltalents enriched the literature of his country. Jasmin, the hair-dresserof Agen, the poet of the South, who drew crowds to hear the sound ofhis voice--who even embellished the festivals of the rich, but whostill more assisted in the pleasures of the poor--who spent his timein endowing charitable establishments--who helped to build churches, schools, and orphanages--Jasmin, the glory of his Commune as well as ofthe South of France, deserved to be adopted by all France and publiclyacknowledged by the Academy. 

Tacitus has said that renown is not always deserved, it chooses itsdue time--Non semper errat fama, aliquando eligit ("Fame is not alwaysmistaken; she sometimes chooses the right"). We have proof of it to-day. The enthusiastic approbation of the great provinces of France for apopular poet cannot be a surprise. They single out the last, and I mayadd, the greatest poet of the Troubadours!

M. Villemain proceeded to comment upon the poetical works ofJasmin--especially his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, his Franconnette, and the noble works he had done for the poor and the suffering; hisself-sacrificing labours for the building of schools, orphanages, andchurches. "Everywhere, " he said, "his elevated and generous soul haslaboured for the benefit of the world about him; and now he would, bythe aid of the Academy, embellish his coronet with a privileged donationto the poet and philanthropist. " He concluded by saying that theespecial prize for literary morality and virtuous actions would beawarded to him, and that a gold medal would be struck in his honour withthe inscription: "Au Jasmin, Poete moral et populaire!"

M. Ancelo communicated to Jasmin the decision of the Academy. "I havegreat pleasure, " he said, "in transmitting to you the genuine sympathy, the sincere admiration, and the unanimous esteem, which your name andyour works have evoked at this meeting of the Academy. The legitimateapplause which you everywhere receive in your beautiful country findsits echo on this side of the Loire; and if the spontaneous adoption ofyou by the French Academy adds nothing to your glory, it will at leastserve to enhance our own. "

The prize unanimously awarded to Jasmin on the 19th of August, 1852, was3000 francs, which was made up to 5000 by the number of copies of the"Papillotos" purchased by the Academy for distribution amongst themembers. Jasmin devoted part of the money to repairing his littlehouse on the Gravier: and the rest was ready for his future charitablemissions. 

On receiving the intimation of the prizes awarded to him, he madeanother journey to Paris to pay his respects to his devoted friends ofthe Academy. He was received with welcome by the most eminent personsin the metropolis. He was feted as usual. At the salon of the Marquisde Barthelemy he met the Duc de Levis, the Duc des Cars, MM. Berryer, de Salvandy, de Vatismenil, Hyde de Neuville, and other distinguishednoblemen and gentlemen. Monsigneur Sibour, Archbishop of Paris, wasdesirous of seeing and hearing this remarkable poet of the South. The Archbishop invited him to his palace for the purpose of hearing arecitation of his poems; and there he met the Pope's Nuncio, severalbishops, and the principal members of the Parisian clergy. After therecitation, the Archbishop presented Jasmin with a golden branch withthis device: "To Jasmin! the greatest of the Troubadours, past, present, or to come. "

The chief authors of Paris, the journalists, and the artists, had aspecial meeting in honour of Jasmin. A banquet was organised by thejournalists of the Deux Mondes, at the instance of Meissonier, Lireux, Lalandelle, C. Reynaud, L. Pichat, and others. M. Jules Janin presided, and complimented Jasmin in the name of the Parisian press. The peopleof Agen, resident in Paris, also gave him a banquet, at which Jasminrecited a poem composed for the occasion. 

One of his evenings was spent at the house of Madame la Marquisede Barthelemy. An interesting account of the soiree is given by acorrespondent of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, who was present onthe occasion. {2} The salons of Madame la Marquise were filled tooverflowing. Many of the old nobility of France were present. 

"It was a St. Germain's night, " as she herself expressed it. High-sounding names were there--much intellect and beauty; all wereassembled to do honour to the coiffeur from the banks of the Garonne. France honours intellect, no matter to what class of society it belongs:it is an affectionate kind of social democracy. Indeed, among manyvirtues in French society, none is so delightful, none so cheering, none so mutually improving, and none more Christian, than the kindlyintercourse, almost the equality, of all ranks of society, and thecomparatively small importance attached to wealth or condition, whereverthere is intellect and power. 

At half-past nine. Jasmin made his appearance--a short, stout, dark-haired man, with large bright eyes, and a mobile animated face, hisbutton-hole decorated with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour. Hemade his way through the richly attired ladies sparkling with jewels, toa small table at the upper end of the salon, whereon were books, hisown "Curl-papers, " two candles, a carafe of fresh water, and a vase offlowers. 

The ladies arranged themselves in a series of brilliant semicirclesbefore him. The men blocked up the doorway, peering over each other'sshoulders. Jasmin waved his hand like the leader of an orchestra, anda general silence sealed all the fresh noisy lips. One haughty littlebrunette, not long emancipated from her convent, giggled audibly; butJasmin's eye transfixed her, and the poor child sat thereafter rebukedand dumb. The hero of the evening again waved his hands, tossed back hishair, struck an attitude, and began his poem. The first he recited was"The Priest without a Church" (Le Preste sans gleyzo). He pleaded forthe church as if it were about to be built. He clasped his hands, lookedup to heaven, and tears were in his eyes. Some sought for the silverand gold in their purses; but no collection was made, as the church hadalready been built, and was free of debt. 

After an interval, he recited La Semaine d'un Fils; and he recitedit very beautifully. There were some men who wept; and many women whoexclaimed, "Charmant! Tout-a-fait charmant!" but who did not weep. Jasmin next recited Ma Bigno, which has been already described. Thecontributor to Chambers's Journal proceeds: "It was all very amusing toa proud, stiff, reserved Britisher like myself, to see how grey-headedmen with stars and ribbons could cry at Jasmin's reading; and howJasmin, himself a man, could sob and wipe his eyes, and weep soviolently, and display such excessive emotion. This surpassed myunderstanding--probably clouded by the chill atmosphere of the fogs, in which every Frenchman believes we live.... After the recitations hadconcluded, Jasmin's social ovation began. Ladies surrounded him, andmen admired him. A ring was presented, and a pretty speech spoken by apretty mouth, accompanied the presentation; and the man of the peoplewas flattered out of all proportion by the brave, haughty old noblesse. 

"To do Jasmin justice, although naturally enough spoiled by the absurdamount of adulation he has met with, he has not been made cold-heartedor worldly. He is vain, but true and loyal to his class. He does notseek to disguise or belie his profession. In fact, he always dwells uponhis past more or less, and never misses an opportunity of reminding hisaudience that he is but a plebeian, after all. 

"He wears a white apron, and shaves and frizzes hair to this day, whenat Agen; and though a Chevalier of the Legion of Honour, member ofAcademies and Institutes without number, feted, praised, flatteredbeyond anything we can imagine in England, crowned by the king and thethen heir to the throne with gilt and silver crowns, decked with flowersand oak-leaves, and all conceivable species of coronets, he does not apethe gentleman, but clips, curls, and chatters as simply as heretofore, and as professionally. There is no little merit in this steadyattachment to his native place, and no little good sense in thisadherence to his old profession... It is far manlier and nobler thanthat weak form of vanity shown in a slavish imitation of the great, anda cowardly shame of one's native condition. 

"Without going so far as his eulogistic admirers in the press, yet wehonour in him a true poet, and a true man, brave, affectionate, mobile, loving, whose very faults are all amiable, and whose vanity takes theform of nature. And if we of the cold North can scarcely comprehend thechildish passionateness and emotional unreserve of the more sensitiveSouth, at least we can profoundly respect the good common to us allthe good which lies underneath that many-coloured robe of manners whichchanges with every hamlet; the good which speaks from heart to heart, and quickens the pulses of the blood; the good which binds us all asbrothers, and makes but one family of universal man; and this good welovingly recognise in Jasmin; and while rallying him for his foibles, respectfully love him for his virtues, and tender him a hand of sympathyand admiration as a fine; poet, a good citizen, and a true-hearted man. "

Before leaving Paris it was necessary for Jasmin to acknowledge hisgratitude to the French Academy. The members had done him much honourby the gold medal and the handsome donation they had awarded him. On the24th of August, 1852, he addressed the Forty of the Academy in a poemwhich he entitled 'Langue Francaise, Langue Gasconne, ' or, as he styledit in Gascon, 'Lengo Gascouno, Lengo Francezo. ' In this poem, which wasdecorated with the most fragrant flowers of poetry with which he couldclothe his words, Jasmin endeavoured to disclose the characteristics ofthe two languages. At the beginning, he said:

"O my birth-place, what a concert delights my ear! Nightingales, singaloud; bees, hum together; Garonne, make music on your pure and laughingstream; the elms of Gravier, tower above me; not for glory, but forgladness. "{3}

After the recitation of the poem, M. Laurentie said that it aboundedin patriotic sentiments and fine appreciation, to say nothing of thecharming style of the falling strophes, at intervals, in their sonorousand lyrical refrain. M. Villemain added his acclamation. "In truth, "said he, "once more our Academy is indebted to Jasmin!" The poet, thoughdelighted by these ovations, declared that it was he who was indebtedto the members of the Academy, not they to him. M. De Salvandy reassuredhim: "Do not trouble yourself, Jasmin; you have accomplished everythingwe could have wished; you have given us ten for one, and still we areyour debtors. "

After Jasmin had paid his compliments to the French Academy, he wasabout to set out for Agen--being fatigued and almost broken down by hisnumerous entertainments in Paris--when he was invited by General Fleuryto visit the President of the French Republic at Saint-Cloud. Thisinterview did not please him so much as the gracious reception which hehad received in the same palace some years before from Louis Philippeand the Duchess of Orleans; yet Jasmin was a man who respected thelaw, and as France had elected Louis Napoleon as President, he was notunwilling to render him his homage. 

Jasmin had already seen the President when passing through Agen a fewyears before, on his visit to Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Toulon; but theyhad no personal interview. M. Edmond Texier, however, visited Jasmin, and asked him whether he had not composed a hymn for the fete of theday. No! he had composed nothing; yet he had voted for Louis Napoleon, believing him to be the saviour of France. "But, " said M. Texier, "if the Prince appeals to you, you will eulogise him in a poem?""Certainly, " replied Jasmin, "and this is what I would say: 'Sir, in thename of our country, restore to us our noble friend M. Baze. He was youradversary, but he is now conquered, disarmed, and most unhappy. Restorehim to his mother, now eighty years old; to his weeping family; andto all his household, who deplore his absence; restore him also to ourtownsmen, who love and honour him, and bear no hostility towards thePresident, His recall will be an admirable political act, and will giveour country more happiness that the highest act of benevolence. '"

This conversation between Jasmin and Texier immediately appeared in thecolumns of the Siecle, accompanied with a stirring sympathetic articleby the editor. It may be mentioned that M. Baze was one of Jasmin'sbest friends. He had introduced the poet to the public, and writtenthe charming preface to the first volume of the 'Papillotos, ' issued in1835. M. Baze was an advocate of the Royal Court of Agen--a man of finecharacter, and a true patriot. He was Mayor of Agen, commander of theNational Guard, and afterwards member of the Legislative Assembly andthe Senate. But he was opposed to Prince Louis Napoleon, and was one ofthe authors of the motion entitled de Questeurs. He was arrested on thenight of the 2nd December, 1851, imprisoned for a month in the Mazas, and then expelled from the territory of France. During his exile hepractised at Liege as an advocate. 

Jasmin again went to Paris in May 1853, and this time on his missionof mercy. The editor of the Siecle announced his arrival. He was againfeted, and the salons rejoiced in his recitations. After a few days hewas invited to Saint-Cloud. Louis Napoleon was now Emperor of France, and the Empress Eugenie sat by his side. The appearance of Jasmin waswelcomed, and he was soon made thoroughly at ease by the Emperor'sinteresting conversation. A company had been assembled, and Jasmin wasrequested to recite some of his poems. As usual, he evoked smiles andtears by turns. When the audience were in one of their fits of weeping, and Jasmin had finished his declamation, the Emperor exclaimed, "Why;poet, this is a genuine display of handkerchiefs"--(Mais, poete, c'estun veritable scene de mouchoirs). 

Jasmin seized this moment for revealing to the Emperor the desire whichhe had long entertained, for recalling from exile his dear friend M. Baze. He had prepared a charming piece of verse addressed to the EmpressEugenie, requesting his return to France through the grand door ofhonour. "Restore him to us, " he said; "Agen cries aloud. The youngEmpress, as good as beautiful, beloved of Heaven, will pray with hersympathetic soul, and save two children and an unhappy mother--she, whowill be soon blessed as a happy mother herself. "{4} Jasmin concludedhis poem with the following words in Gascon: Esperi! Lou angels nou setroumpon jamay. '

The result of this appeal to the Empress was that Jasmin's prayer wasimmediately granted by the Emperor. M. Baze returned to France at once, without any conditions whatever. The parents of the quondam exile wroteto Jasmin thanking him most cordially for his exertions in their favour. Four days after the soiree at Saint-Cloud, the Prefect of theIndre-et-Loire, head of the Baze family, wrote to Jasmin, saying: "Yourmuse is accustomed to triumphs; but this one ought to rejoice yourheart, and should yield you more honour than all the others. For mypart, I feel myself under the necessity of thanking you cordially foryour beautiful and noble action; and in saying so, I interpret thesentiments of the whole family. " Madame Baze addressed the Emperor in aletter of grateful thanks, which she wrote at the dictation of Jasmin. The Siecle also gave an account of Jasmin's interview with the Emperorand Empress at Saint-Cloud, and the whole proceeding redounded to thehonour of the Gascon poet. 

Jasmin had been made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour at the same timeas Balzac, Frederick Soulie, and Alfred de Musset. The minister borewitness to the worth of Jasmin, notwithstanding the rusticity of hisidiom; and he was classed amongst the men who did honour to Frenchliterature. He was considered great, not only in his poems, but in hisbenevolent works: "You build churches; you help indigence; you possessthe talent of a powerful benefactor; and your muse is the sister ofcharity. "

When the news of the honours conferred upon Jasmin reached Agen, thepeople were most sympathetic in their demonstrations. The shop of thebarber-poet was crowded with visitors, and when he himself reached thetown he was received with the greatest enthusiasm. The PhilharmonicSociety again treated him to a serenade, and the whole town was full ofjoy at the honour done to their beloved poet. 

To return to the church of Vergt, which was not yet entirely finished. A bell-tower had been erected, but what was a bell-tower without bells?There was a little tinkling affair which could scarcely be heard inthe church, still less in the neighbourhood. With his constant trust inProvidence, the Abbe did not hesitate to buy a clock and order two largebells. The expense of both amounted to 7000 francs. How was this to bepaid? His funds were entirely exhausted. The priest first applied to theinhabitants of Vergt, but they could not raise half the necessary funds. There was Jasmin! He was the only person that could enable the Abbe todefray his debt. 

Accordingly, another appeal was made to the public outside of Vergt. Thepoet and the priest set out on their fifth and last pilgrimage; andthis time they went as far as Lyons--a city which Jasmin had never seenbefore. There he found himself face to face with an immense audience, who knew next to nothing of his Gascon patois. He was afraid of hissuccess; but unwilling to retreat, he resolved, he said, "to createa squadron in reserve"; that is, after reciting some of the oldinspirations of his youth, to give them his Helene or 'Love and Poetry, 'in modern classical French. The result, we need scarcely say, waseminently successful, and the Abbe; was doubly grateful in having addedso many more thousand francs to his purse. 

During this journey another priest, the Abbe Cabanel, united his forceswith those of Jasmin and Masson. This Abbe was curate of Port deSainte-Foi-la-Grande. He had endeavoured to erect in his parish a publicschool under the charge of religious teachers. He now proposed topartake of the profits of the recitations for the purpose of helping onhis project; and Jasmin and Masson willingly complied with his request. They accordingly appeared at the town of Sainte-Foi, and the result wasanother excellent collection. 

After visiting other towns, sufficient subscriptions were collectedto enable the Abbe to pay off his debts. The clock and bells werechristened by Monseigneur de Sangalerie, who had himself been a curateof the parish of Vergt; and the bells were inscribed with the name ofJASMIN, the chief founder and rebuilder of the church. The bells werethe last addition to Jasmin's bell-tower, but the final result wasreached long after the beginning of the rebuilding of the church. 

Endnotes for Chapter XVII. 

{1} The Baron de Montyon bequeathed a large sum to the AcademieFrancaise, the Academie des Sciences, and the Faculte de Medecine, for the purpose of being awarded in prizes to men of invention anddiscovery, or for any literary work likely to be useful to society, and to rewarding acts of virtue among the poor. Jasmin was certainlyentitled to a share in this benevolent fund. 

{2} Chambers' Edinburgh Journal, July, 1853

{3} The following are the Gascon words of this part of the poem:

 "O moun bres, d'un councer festejo moun aoureillo! Rouseignol, canto fort! brounzino fort, Abeillo! Garono, fay souna toun flot rizen et pur; Des ourmes del Grabe floureji la cabeillo, Non de glorio... Mais de bounhur!"

{4} The editor of Vol. IV. Of Jasmins Poems (1863) gives this note: "Inthis circumstance, Jasmin has realised the foresight which the ancientsafforded to their poets, of predicting, two years in advance, the birthof the Prince Imperial. "

CHAPTER XVIII. JASMIN ENROLLED MAITRE-ES-JEUX AT TOULOUSE--CROWNED BYAGEN. 

Shortly after the return of Jasmin from Paris, where he had the honourof an interview with the Emperor and Empress, as well as with themembers of the French Academy, he was invited to Toulouse for thepurpose of being enrolled as Maitre-es-jeux in the Academy of JeuxFloreaux. 

Toulouse is known as the city of Literary Fetes, and the reception ofJasmin as Maitre-es-Jeux will long exist as a permanent record inher annals. The Academy of Jeux Floreaux had no prize of 5000 frs. Tobestow, nor any crowns, nor any golden laurels. She hides her povertyunder her flowers, and although she would willingly have given all herflowers to Jasmin, yet her rules prevented her. She called Jasmin toher bosom, and gave him the heartiest of welcomes. But the honour wasthere--the honour of being invited to join a brotherhood of illustriousmen. 

The title of Maitre-es-jeux is a rare distinction, awarded only to thehighest celebrities. The ceremony of installing Jasmin took place on the6th of February, 1854. The great Salle des Illustres was crowded longbefore he made his appearance, while the Place de Capitol was filledwith a vast number of his admirers. The archbishop, the prefect, themayor, the magistrates, and the principal citizens of Toulouse werepresent, with the most beautiful women in the city. Many of the southernbishops were present, having desired to enjoy the pleasure of assistingat the ceremony. 

After an address of congratulation, Jasmin was enrolled amongst themembers, and presented with his diploma of Maitre-es-jeux. Though it wasonly a piece of parchment, he considered it the rarest of distinctions. It connected the poet, through five centuries, with the last of theTroubadours, whose language he had so splendidly revived. Jasminvalued his bit of parchment more highly than all the other gifts he hadreceived. In answer to his enrolment, he said:

"I have now enough! I want no more! All things smile upon me. My musewent proudly from the forty of Toulouse to the forty of Paris. She ismore than proud to-day, she is completely happy; for she sees my name, which Isaure blessed, come from the forty of Paris to the forty ofToulouse, "

After his enrolment, the poet-barber left the salon. A large crowdhad assembled in the court, under the peristyle, in the Place of theCapitol. Every head was uncovered as he passed through their ranks, andthose who accompanied him to his lodging, called out, "Vive Jasmin! ViveJasmin!" Never had such a scene been witnessed before. 

Although Jasmin had declared to the Academy of Jeux Floreaux that hewanted nothing more than the diploma they had given him, yet anothertriumph was waiting him. The citizens of Agen capped all the previoushonours of the poet. They awarded him a crown of gold, which must havebeen the greatest recompense of all. They had known him during almosthis entire life--the son of a humpbacked tailor and a crippledmother, of poor but honest people, whose means had been helped by thegrandfather, Boe, who begged from door to door, the old man who closedhis eyes in the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die!"

They had known him by his boyish tricks, his expulsion from the Academy, his setting up as a barber, his happy marriage, and his laboriousprogress, until the "shower of silver" came running into his shop. "Pau de labouro, pau de salouro, " No work, no bread. Though born in thelowest condition of life, he had, by the help of his wife, and by hisown energy and perseverance, raised himself to the highest position asa man of character. Before he reached the age of thirty {1} he began toshow evidences of his genius as a poet. 

But still more important were his works of charity, which endeared himto the people through the South of France. It was right and reasonablethat his fellow-citizens should desire to take part in the honoursconferred upon their beloved poet. He had already experienced theirprofound sympathy during his self-sacrificing work, but they now wishedto testify their public admiration, and to proclaim the fact by someoffering of intrinsic value. 

The Society of Saint-Vincent de Paul--whom he had so often helped intheir charitable labours--first started the idea. They knew what Jasminhad done to found schools, orphanages, and creches. Indeed, this wastheir own mission, and no one had laboured so willingly as he had doneto help them in their noble work. The idea, thus started by the society, immediately attracted public attention, and was received with universalapproval. 

A committee was formed, consisting of De Bouy, mayor; H. Noubel, deputy;Aunac, banker; Canon Deyche, arch-priest of the cathedral; Dufort, imperial councillor; Guizot, receiver-general; Labat, advocate-general;Maysonnade, president of the conference of Saint-Vincent de Paul;Couturier, the engineer, and other gentlemen. A subscription was at onceopened and more than four thousand persons answered the appeal. 

When the subscriptions were collected, they were found so great inamount, that the committee resolved to present Jasmin with a crown ofgold. Five hundred years before, Petrarch had been crowned at Rome inthe name of Italy, and now Jasmin was to be crowned at Agen, in the nameof Meridional France. To crown a man, who, during his lifetime hadbeen engaged in the trade of barber and hair-dresser, seemed somethingextraordinary and unique. To the cold-blooded people of the North theremight appear something theatrical in such a demonstration, but it wasquite in keeping with the warm-hearted children of the South. 

The construction of the crown was entrusted to MM. Fannieres of Paris, the best workers of gold in France. They put their best art and skillinto the crown. It consisted of two branches of laurel in dead gold, large and knotted behind, like the crowns of the Caesars and the poets, with a ruby, artistically arranged, containing the simple device: LaVille d'Agen, a Jasmin! The pendants of the laurel, in dead silver, weremixed with the foliage. The style of the work was severe and pure, andthe effect of the chef d'oeuvre was admirable. 

The public meeting, at which the golden crown was presented to Jasmin, was held on the 27th of November, 1856, in the large hall of the GreatSeminary. Gilt banners were hung round the walls, containing the titlesof Jasmin's principal poems, while the platform was splendidly decoratedwith emblems and festoons of flowers. Although the great hall was oflarge dimensions, it could not contain half the number of people whodesired to be present on this grand occasion. 

An immense crowd assembled in the streets adjoining the seminary. 

Jasmin, on his arrival, was received with a triple salvo of applausefrom the crowd without, and next from the assembly within. On theplatform were the members of the subscription committee, the prefect, the Bishop of Agen, the chiefs of the local government, the generalin command of the district, and a large number of officers andecclesiastics. 

Jasmin, when taking his place on the platform saluted the audience withone of his brilliant impromptus, and proceeded to recite some of hisfavourite poems: Charity; The Doctor of the Poor; Town and Country;and, The Week's Work of a Son. Then M. Noubel, in his double capacityof deputy for the department, and member of the subscription committee, addressed Jasmin in the following words:

"Poet, I appear here in the name of the people of Agen, to offer you thetestimony of their admiration and profound sympathy. I ask you to acceptthis crown! It is given you by a loving and hearty friend, in thename of your native town of Agen, which your poetry has charmed, whichrejoices in your present success, and is proud of the glory of yourgenius. Agen welcomed the first germs of your talent; she has seen itgrowing, and increasing your fame; she has entered with you intothe palaces of kings; she has associated herself with your triumphsthroughout; now the hour of recognising your merits has arrived, and shehonours herself in crowning you. 

"But it is not merely the Poet whom we recognise to-day; you have a muchgreater claim to our homage. In an age in which egoism and the eagerthirst for riches prevails, you have, in the noble work which you haveperformed, displayed the virtues of benevolence and self-sacrifice. Youyourself have put them into practice. Ardent in the work of charity, youhave gone wherever misery and poverty had to be relieved, and all thatyou yourself have received was merely the blessings of the unfortunate. Each of your days has been celebrated for its good works, and your wholelife has been a hymn to benevolence and charity. 

"Accept, then, Jasmin, this crown! Great poet, good citizen, you havenobly earned it! Give it an honoured place in that glorious museum ofyours, which the towns and cities of the South have enriched by theirgifts. May it remain there in testimony of your poetical triumphs, andattest the welcome recognition of your merits by your fellow-citizens. 

"For myself, I cannot but be proud of the mission which has beenentrusted to me. I only owe it, I know, to the position of deputy inwhich you have placed me by popular election. I am proud, nevertheless, of having the honour of crowning you, and I shall ever regard this eventas the most glorious recollection of my life. "

After this address, during which M. Noubel was greatly moved, hetook the crown of gold and placed it on the head of the poet. It isimpossible to describe the enthusiasm of the meeting at this suprememoment. The people were almost beside themselves. Their exclamations ofsympathy and applause were almost frantic. Jasmin wept with happiness. After the emotion hard subsided, with his eyes full of tears, he recitedhis piece of poetry entitled: The Crown of my Birthplace. {2}

In this poem, Jasmin took occasion to recite the state of poverty inwhich he was born, yet with the star of poetry in his breast; his dearmother, and her anxieties about his education and up-bringing; hisgrowth; his first efforts in poetical composition, and his finaltriumph; and at last his crown of gold conferred upon him by the peopleof Agen--the crown of his birthplace. 

 "I feel that if my birthplace crowns me, In place of singing. . . I should weep!"

After Jasmin had recited his touching poem, he affectionately took leaveof his friends, and the assembly dispersed. 

Endnotes to Chapter XVIII. 

{1} There is a Gascon proverb which says:

 "Qu'a vingt ans nouns po, Qu'a trent ans noun sa, Qu'a cranto noun er, Qu'a cincanto se paouso pa, Sabe pa que pot esper. "

"Who at twenty does nothing; Who at thirty knows nothing; Who at forty has nothing; Who at fifty changes nothing: For him there is no hope. "

{2} Perhaps this might be better rendered "The Crown of my Infancy;" inGascon, "La Courouno del Bres. "

CHAPTER XIX. LAST POEMS--MORE MISSIONS OF CHARITY. 

This was the last occasion on which Jasmin publicly appeared before hisfellow-townsmen; and it could not perhaps have been more fitting andappropriate. He still went on composing poetry; amongst other pieces, La Vierge, dedicated to the Bishop of Algiers, who acknowledged it in acomplimentary letter. In his sixty-second year, when his hair had becomewhite, he composed some New Recollections (Mous Noubels Soubenis), inwhich he again recalled the memories of his youth. In his new Souvenirshe only gives a few fresh stories relating to the period of his infancyand youth. Indeed they scarcely go beyond the period covered by hisoriginal Souvenirs. 

In the midst of his various honours at Paris, Toulouse, and Agen, he didnot forget his true mission, the help and relief of the afflicted. Hewent to Albi, and gave a recitation which produced 2000 francs. Thewhole of this sum went to the poor. There was nothing for himselfbut applause, and showers of flowers thrown at his feet by the ladiespresent. 

It was considered quite unprecedented that so large a sum should havebeen collected in so poor a district. The mayor however was prepared forthe event. After a touching address to the poet, he presented him witha ring of honour, with the arms of the town, and the inscribed words:"Albi a Jasmin. "

He went for the same purpose, to Castera in the Gers, a decayed town, to recite his poems, in the words of the cure, for "our poor church. " Hewas received as usual with great enthusiasm; and a present of silverwas given to him with the inscribed words: "A Jasmin, l'Eglise du Casterareconnaissante!" Jasmin answered, by reciting an impromptu he hadcomposed for the occasion. 

At Bordeaux, one of his favourite cities, he was received with morethan the usual enthusiasm. There he made a collection in aid of theConference of Saint-vincent de Paul. In the midst of the seance, heappeared almost inspired, and recited "La Charite dans Bordeaux"--thegrand piece of the evening. The assembly rose en masse, and cheered thepoet with frantic applause. The ladies threw an avalanche of bouquets atthe hero of the fete. 

After quiet had been restored, the Society of Saint-vincent de Paulcordially thanked Jasmin through the mouth of their President; andpresented him with a magnificent golden circlet, with this inscription:"La Caritat dins Bourdeau!"

Among his other recitations towards the close of his life, for thepurpose of collecting money for the relief of the poor, were those atMontignac in Perigord; at Saint-Macaire; at Saint-Andre de Cubzac, andat Monsegur. Most of these were remote villages far apart from eachother. He had disappointed his friends at Arcachon several years before, when he failed to make his appearance with the Abbe Masson, during theirtour on behalf of the church of Vergt, owing to the unpunctuality of thesteamboat; but he promised to visit them at some future period. 

He now redeemed his promise. The poor were in need, and he went to theirhelp. A large audience had assembled to listen to his recitations, anda considerable sum of money was collected. The audience overwhelmedhim with praises and the Mayor of Teste the head department of thedistrict--after thanking Jasmin for his admirable assistance, presentedhim with a gold medal, on which was inscribed: "Fete de Charited'Arcachon: A Jasmin. " These laurels and medals had become so numerous, that Jasmin had almost become tired of such tributes to his benevolence. 

He went to Bareges again, where Monseigneur the Bishop of Tarbes hadappealed to him for help in the erection of an hospital. From that townhe proceeded to Saint-Emilion and Castel-Naudary, to aid the Societyof Mutual Help in these two towns. In fact, he was never weary ofwell-doing. "This calamitous winter, " he wrote in January, 1854, "requires all my devotion. I will obey my conscience and give myselfto the help of the famished and suffering, even to the extinction of mypersonal health. "

And so it was to the end. When his friends offered him publicentertainments, he would say, "No, no! give the money to the poor!" Whatgave Jasmin as much pleasure as any of the laurels and crowns conferredupon him, was a beautifully bound copy of the 'Imitation of Christ, 'with the following inscription: "A testimony from the Bishop ofSaint-Flour, in acknowledgment of the services which the great poet hasrendered to the poor of his diocese. "

No poet had so many opportunities of making money, and of enrichinghimself by the contributions of the rich as well as the poor. But suchan idea never entered his mind. He would have regarded it as a sacrilegeto evoke the enthusiasm of the people, and make money; for his ownbenefit, or to speculate upon the triumphs of his muse. Gold earned inthis way, he said, would have burnt his fingers. He worked solely forthe benefit of those who could not help themselves. His poetry was tohim like a sweet rose that delighted the soul and produced the fruits ofcharity. 

His conduct has been called Quixotic. Would that there were more

Quixotes in the world! After his readings, which sometimes produced fromtwo to three thousand francs, the whole of the proceeds were handedover to those for whose benefit they had been given, after deducting, of course, the expenses of travelling, of which he kept a most accurateaccount. 

It is estimated that the amount of money collected by Jasmin during hisrecitations for philanthropic objects amounted to at least 1, 500, 000francs (equal to 62, 500 sterling). Besides, there were the labour ofhis journeys, and the amount of his correspondence, which were almostheroic. M. Rabain{1} states that from 1825 to 1860, the number ofletters received by Jasmin was more than twelve thousand. 

Mr. Dickens, in giving the readings from his works in Great Britain, netted over 35, 000 sterling, besides what he received for his readingsin America. This, of course, led quite reasonably to the enhancing ofhis fortune. But all that Jasmin received from his readings was givenaway--some say "thrown away"--to the poor and the needy. It is notnecessary to comment on such facts; one can only mention and admirethem. 

The editor of Le Pays says: "The journeys of Jasmin in the South werelike a triumphal march. No prince ever received more brilliant ovations. Flowers were strewn in his way; the bells rang out on his appearance;the houses were illuminated; the Mayors addressed him in words ofpraise; the magistrates, the clergy followed him in procession. Bestowedupon a man, and a poet, such honours might seem exaggerated; but Jasmin, under the circumstances, represented more than poetry: he representedCharity. Each of his verses transformed him into an alms-giver; and fromthe harvest of gold which he reaped from the people, he preserved forhimself only the flowers. His epics were for the unfortunate. This wasvery noble; and the people of Agen should be proud of their poet. "{2}

The account which Jasmin records of his expenses during a journey offifty days, in which he collected more than 20, 000 francs, is veryremarkable. It is given in the fourth volume of 'Les Papillotes, 'published in 1863, the year before his death, and is entitled, "Noteof my expenses of the journey, which I have deducted from the receiptsduring my circuit of fifty days. "

On certain occasions nothing whatever was charged, but a carriagewas probably placed at his disposal, or the ticket for a railway or adiligence may have been paid for by his friends. On many occasions hewalked the distance between the several places, and thus saved the costof his conveyance. But every item of expense was set forth in his "Note"with the most scrupulous exactness. 

Here is the translation of Jasmin's record for his journeys duringthese fifty days:--"... At Foix, from M. De Groussou, President ofthe Communion of Bienfaisance, 33 fr. , 50 c. At Pamiers, nil. AtSaint-Girons, from the President of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, 16 fr. At Lavaur, from M. The Mayor, 22 fr. At Saint-Sulpice, nil. AtToulouse, where I gave five special seances, of which the two first, toSaint-Vincent de Paul and the Prefecture, produced more than 1600 fr. , nil. My muse was sufficiently accounted for; it was during my receptionas Maitre-es-jeux. At Rodez, from the President of the Conference ofSaint-Vincent de Paul, 29 fr. 50c. At Saint-Geniez, nil. At Saint-Flour, from M. Simon, vicar-general, 22 fr. 50 c. At Murat, nil. At Mauriac, nil. At Aurillac, from M. Geneste, mayor, for my return to Agen, 24 fr. Total, 147 fr. 50 centimes. "

Thus, more than 20, 000 francs were collected for the poor, Jasmin havingdeducted 147 fr. 50 c. For the cost of his journeys from place to place. It must also be remembered that he travelled mostly in winter, when theground was covered with snow. In February, 1854, M. Migneret, Prefectof Haute-garonne, addressed a letter to Jasmin, which is worthy ofpreservation. "It is pleasant, " he said, "after having enjoyed at nightthe charms of your poetry, to begin the next day by taking account ofthe misfortunes they relieve. I owe you this double honour, and I thankyou with the greatest gratitude.... As to our admiration of your talent, it yields to our esteem for your noble heart; the poet cannot be jealousof the good citizen. "{3}

Notwithstanding the rigour of the season, and the snow and wind, thelike of which had not been known for more than twenty years, Jasmin waswelcomed by an immense audience at Rodez. The recitation was givenin the large hall of the Palais de Justice, and never had so large acollection been made. The young people of the town wished to give Jasmina banquet, but he declined, as he had to hurry on to another place fora similar purpose. He left them, however, one of his poems prepared forthe occasion. 

He arrived at Saint-Flour exhausted by fatigue. His voice began tofail, partly through the rigours of the climate, yet he continued topersevere. The bishop entertained him in his palace, and introduced himpersonally to the audience before which he was to give his recitations. Over the entrance-door was written the inscription, "A Jasmin, le Poetedes Pauvres, Saint-fleur reconnaissante!" Before Jasmin began to recitehe was serenaded by the audience. The collection was greater than hadever been known. It was here that the bishop presented Jasmin with thatfamous manual, 'The Imitation of Christ, ' already referred to. 

It was the same at Murat, Mauriac, and Aurillac. The recitation atAurillac was given in the theatre, and the receipts were 1200 francs. Here also he was serenaded. He departed from Aurillac covered with thepoor people's blessings and gratitude. 

At Toulouse he gave another entertainment, at the instance of theConference of Saint-Francois Xavier. There were about 3000 personspresent, mostly of the working classes. The seance was prolongedalmost to midnight. The audience, most of whom had to rise early inthe morning, forgot their sleep, and wished the poet to prolong hisrecitations!

Although the poor machine of Jasmin's body was often in need of rest, he still went about doing good. He never ceased ministering to thepoor until he was altogether unable to go to their help. Even in thedistressing cold, rain, and wind of winter--and it was in winter morethan in summer that he travelled, for it was then that the poor weremost distressed--he entirely disregarded his own comfort, and sometimestravelled at much peril; yet he went north and south, by highways andbyways, by rivers and railways, in any and every direction, provided hisservices could be of use. 

He sacrificed himself always, and was perfectly regardless of self. He was overwhelmed with honours and praises. He became weary oftriumphs--of laurels, flowers, and medals--he sometimes became weary ofhis life; yet he never could refuse any pressing solicitation made tohim for a new recital of his poems. 

His trials, especially in winter time, were often most distressing. Hewould recite before a crowded audience, in a heated room, and afterwardsface the icy air without, often without any covering for his throat andneck. Hence his repeated bronchial attacks, the loss of his voice, andother serious affections of his lungs. 

The last meeting which Jasmin attended on behalf of the poor was atthe end of January 1864, only three months before his death. It wasat Villeneuve-sur-Lot, a town several miles north of Agen. He did notdesire to put the people to the expense of a conveyance, and thereforehe decided to walk. He was already prematurely old and stooping. 

The disease which ended his life had already made considerable progress. He should have been in bed; nevertheless, as the poor needed his help, the brave old man determined to proceed to Villeneuve. He was helpedalong the road by some of his friends; and at last, wearied and panting, he arrived at his destination. 

The meeting was held in the theatre, which was crowded to suffocation. 

No sooner had Jasmin reached the platform, amidst the usual triumphantcheering, than, after taking a short rest, he sprang to his feet andbegan the recitation of his poems. Never had his voice seemed morespirited and entrancing. He delighted his audience, while he pleadedmost eloquently for the relief of the poor. 

"I see him now, " wrote one of his friends, "from behind the side-scenesof the theatre, perspiring profusely, wet to the skin, with a carafe ofwater to allay the ardent thirst occasioned by three hours of splendiddeclamation. "

In his then critical state, the three hours' declamation was enough tokill him. At all events, it was his last recitation. It was the song ofthe dying swan. In the midst of his triumphs, he laid down his life forthe poor; like the soldier who dies with the sound of victory in hisears. 

Endnotes to Chapter XIX. 

{1} 'Jasmin, sa Vie et ses OEuvres. ' Paris, 1867. 

{2} Le Pays, 14th February, 1854. 

{3} 'Las Papillotos de Jasmin, ' iv. 56. 

CHAPTER XX. DEATH OF JASMIN--HIS CHARACTER. 

After his final recitation at Villeneuve, Jasmin, sick, ill, and utterlyexhausted, reached Agen with difficulty. He could scarcely stand. It wasnot often that travelling had so affected him; but nature now cried outand rebelled. His wife was, of course, greatly alarmed. He was at oncecarefully put to bed, and there he lay for fifteen days. 

When he was at length able to rise, he was placed in his easy chair, but he was still weak, wearied, and exhausted. Mariette believed that hewould yet recover his strength; but the disease under which he labouredhad taken a strong hold of him, and Jasmin felt that he was graduallyapproaching the close of his life. 

About this time Renan's 'Life of Jesus' was published. Jasmin wasinexpressibly shocked by the appearance of the book, for it seemed tohim to strike at the foundations of Christianity, and to be entirelyopposed to the teachings of the Church. He immediately began to composea poem, entitled The Poet of the People to M. Renan, {1} in which hevindicated the Catholic faith, and denounced the poisonous mischiefcontained in the new attack upon Christianity. The poem was full ofpoetic feeling, with many pathetic touches illustrative of the life andtrials of man while here below. 

The composition of this poem occupied him for some time. Although brokenby grief and pain, he made every haste to correct the proofs, feelingthat it would probably be the last work that he should give to theworld. And it was his last. It was finished and printed on the 24th ofAugust, 1864. He sent several copies to his more intimate friends with adedication; and then he took finally to his bed, never to rise again. "I am happy, " he said, "to have terminated my career by an act of faith, and to have consecrated my last work to the name of Jesus Christ. " Hefelt that it was his passport to eternity. 

Jasmin's life was fast drawing to a close. He knew that he must soondie; yet never a word of fear escaped his lips; nor was his serenityof mind disturbed. He made his preparations for departure with as muchtranquillity and happiness, as on the days when he was about to start onone of his philanthropic missions. 

He desired that M. Saint-Hilaire, the vicar of the parish, should besent for. The priest was at once by the bedside of his dying friend. Jasmin made his replies to him in a clear and calm voice. His wife, hisson, his grand-children, were present when he received the Viaticum--thelast sacrament of the church. After the ceremony he turned to his wifeand family, and said: "In my last communion I have prayed to God that Hemay keep you all in the most affectionate peace and union, and that Hemay ever reign in the hearts of those whom I love so much and amabout to leave behind me. " Then speaking to his wife, he said, "NowMariette, --now I can die peacefully. "

He continued to live until the following morning. He conversedoccasionally with his wife, his son, and a few attached friends. 

He talked, though with difficulty, of the future of the family, for whomhe had made provision. At last, lifting himself up by the aid of hisson, he looked towards his wife. The brightness of love glowed in hiseyes; but in a moment he fell back senseless upon the pillow, and hisspirit quietly passed away. 

Jasmin departed this life on the 5th of October, 1864, at the age ofsixty-five. He was not an old man; but the brightest jewels soonest weartheir setting. When laid in his coffin, the poem to Renan, his last actof faith, was placed on his breast, with his hands crossed over it. 

The grief felt at his death was wide and universal. In the South ofFrance he was lamented as a personal friend; and he was followed to thegrave by an immense number of his townspeople. 

The municipal administration took charge of the funeral. At ten o'clockin the morning of the 8th October the procession started from Jasmin'shouse on the Promenade du Gravier. On the coffin were placed the Crownof Gold presented to him by his fellow-townsmen, the cross of Chevalierof the Legion of Honour, and that of Saint-Gregory the Great. A companyof five men, and a detachment of troops commanded by an officer, formedthe line. 

The following gentlemen held the cords of the funeral pall:--

M. Feart, Prefect of the Lot-et-Garonne; M. Henri Noubel, Deputy andMayor of Agen; General Ressayre, Commander of the Military Division; M. Bouet, President of the Imperial Court; M. De Laffore, engineer; and M. Magen, Secretary of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts. A second funeral pall was held by six coiffeurs of the corporation towhich Jasmin had belonged. Behind the hearse were the Brothers of theChristian Doctrine, the Sisters of Saint-Vincent de Paul, and the LittleSisters of the Poor. 

The mourners were headed by the poet's son and the other members ofhis family. The cortege was very numerous, including the elite ofthe population. Among them were the Procureur-General, theProcureur-imperial, the Engineer-in-chief of the Department, theDirector of Taxes, many Councillors-General, all the members of theSociety of Agriculture, many officers of the army, many ecclesiasticsas well as ministers of the reformed worship. Indeed, representatives ofnearly the whole population were present. 

The procession first entered the church of Saint Hilaire, where theclergy of the four parishes had assembled. High mass was performed bythe full choir. The Miserere of Beethoven was given, and some exquisitepieces from Mozart. Deep emotion was produced by the introduction, inthe midst of this beautiful music, of some popular airs from the romanceof Franconnette and Me Cal Mouri, Jasmin's first work. The entireceremony was touching, and moved many to tears. 

After the service had been finished, the procession moved off to thecemetery--passing through the principal streets of the town, which werelined by crowds of mournful spectators. Large numbers of people had alsoassembled at the cemetery. After the final prayer, M. Noubel, Deputy andMayor of Agen, took the opportunity of pronouncing a eulogium over thegrave of the deceased. His speech was most sympathetic and touching. Wecan only give a few extracts from his address:

"Dear and great poet, " he said, "at the moment when we commit to theearth thy mortal remains, I wish, in the name of this town of Agen, where thou wert born and which thou hast truly loved, to address to theea last, a supreme adieu. Alas! What would'st thou have said to me someyears ago, when I placed upon thy forehead the crown--decreed by thelove and admiration of thy compatriots--that I should so soon have beencalled upon to fulfil a duty that now rends my heart. The bright geniusof thy countenance, the brilliant vigour in thine eyes, which time, it seemed, would never tarnish, indicated the fertile source of thybeautiful verses and noble aspirations!

"And yet thy days had been numbered, and you yourself seemed to havecherished this presentiment; but, faithful to thy double mission of poetand apostle of benevolence, thou redoubled thy efforts to enrich withnew epics thy sheaf of poetry, and by thy bountiful gifts and charity toallay the sorrows of the poor. Indefatigable worker! Thou hast dispensedmost unselfishly thy genius and thy powers! Death alone has been able tocompel thee to repose!

"But now our friend is departed for ever! That poetical fire, thatbrilliant and vivid intelligence, that ardent heart, have now ceasedto strive for the good of all; for this great and generous soul hasascended to Him who gave it birth. It has returned to the Giver of Good, accompanied by our sorrows and our tears. It has ascended to heavenwith the benedictions of all the distressed and unfortunate whom hehas succoured. It is our hope and consolation that he may find therecompense assured for those who have usefully and boldly fulfilledtheir duty here below. 

"This duty, O poet, thou hast well fulfilled. Those faculties, which Godhad so largely bestowed upon thee, have never been employed save for theservice of just and holy causes. Child of the people, thou hast shown ushow mind and heart enlarge with work; that the sufferings and privationsof thy youth enabled thee to retain thy love of the poor and thy pityfor the distressed. Thy muse, sincerely Christian, was never used toinflame the passions, but always to instruct, to soothe, and to console. Thy last song, the Song of the Swan, was an eloquent and impassionedprotest of the Christian, attacked in his fervent belief and his faith. 

"God has doubtless marked the term of thy mission; and thy death wasnot a matter of surprise. Thou hast come and gone, without fear; andreligion, thy supreme consoler, has calmed the sufferings of thy laterhours, as it had cradled thee in thy earlier years. 

"Thy body will disappear, but thy spirit, Jasmin, will never be far fromus. Inspire us with thy innocent gaiety and brotherly love. The townof Agen is never ungrateful; she counts thee amongst the most pure andillustrious of her citizens. She will consecrate thy memory in the waymost dignified to thee and to herself. 

"The inhabitants of towns without number, where thou hast exercisedthy apostolate of charity, will associate themselves with this work ofaffection and remembrance. But the most imperishable monument is thatwhich thou hast thyself founded with thine own head and hands, and whichwill live in our hearts--the creations of thy genius and the memory ofthy philanthropy. "

After the Mayor of Agen had taken leave of the mortal remains of thepoet, M. Capot, President of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts, gave another eloquent address. He was followed by M. Magen, Secretary to the same society. The troops fired a salute over the grave, and took leave of the poet's remains with military honours. The immensecrowd of mourners then slowly departed from the cemetery. 

Another public meeting took place on the 12th of May, 1870, on theinauguration of the bronze statue of Jasmin in the Place SaintAntoine, now called the Place Jasmin. The statue was erected by publicsubscription, and executed by the celebrated M. Vital Dubray. It standsnearly opposite the house where Jasmin lived and carried on his trade. Many of his old friends came from a considerable distance to be presentat the inauguration of the statue. The Abbe Masson of Vergt was there, whose church Jasmin had helped to re-build. M. L'Abbe Donis, curate ofSaint-Louis at Bordeaux, whom he had often helped with his recitations;the able philologist Azais; the young and illustrious Provencal poetMistral; and many representatives of the Parisian and Southern press, were present on the occasion. The widow and son of the poet, surroundedby their family, were on the platform. When the statue was unveiled, a salvo of artillery was fired; then the choir of the Brothers of theCommunal Christian School saluted the "glorious resurrection of Jasmin"with their magnificent music, which was followed by enthusiastic cheers. 

M. Henri Noubel, Deputy and Mayor of Agen, made an eloquent speech onthe unveiling of the statue. He had already pronounced his eulogium ofJasmin at the burial of the poet, but he was still full of the subject, and brought to mind many charming recollections of the sweetness ofdisposition and energetic labours of Jasmin on behalf of the poor andafflicted. He again expressed his heartfelt regret for the departure ofthe poet. 

M. Noubel was followed by M. L'Abbe Donis, of Bordeaux, who achieved agreat success by his eulogy of the life of Jasmin, whom he entitled "TheSaint-vincent de Paul of poetry. "

He was followed by the Abbe Capot, in the name of the clergy, and by M. Magen, in the name of the Society of Agriculture, Sciences, and Arts. They were followed by MM. Azais and Pozzi, who recited some choicepieces of poetry in the Gascon patois. M. Mistral came last--thecelebrated singer of "Mireio"--who, with his faltering voice, reciteda beautiful piece of poetry composed for the occasion, which wasenthusiastically applauded. 

The day was wound up with a banquet in honour of M. Dubray, the artistwho had executed the bronze statue. The Place Jasmin was brilliantlyilluminated during the evening, where an immense crowd assembled to viewthe statue of the poet, whose face and attitude appeared in splendidrelief amidst a blaze of light. 

It is unnecessary further to describe the character of Jasmin. It issufficiently shown by his life and labours--his genius and philanthropy. In the recollections of his infancy and boyhood, he truthfully describesthe pleasures and sorrows of his youth--his love for his mother, hisaffection for his grandfather, who died in the hospital, "where all theJasmins die. " He did not even conceal the little tricks played by him inthe Academy, from which he was expelled, nor the various troubles of hisapprenticeship. 

This was one of the virtues of Jasmin--his love of truth. He neverpretended to be other than what he was. He was even proud of being abarber, with his "hand of velvet. " He was pleased to be entertained bythe coiffeurs of Agen, Paris, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. He was a man ofthe people, and believed in the dignity of labour. At the same time, butfor his perseverance and force of character, he never could have raisedhimself to the honour and power of the true poet. 

He was born poor, and the feeling of inherited poverty adhered to himthrough life, and inspired him with profound love for the poor and theafflicted of his class. He was always ready to help them, whether theylived near to him or far from him. He was, in truth, "The Saint-Vincentde Paul of poetry. " His statue, said M. Noubel, pointing up to it, represented the glorification of genius and virtue, the conquest ofignorance and misery. 

M. Deydou said at Bordeaux, when delivering an address upon the geniusof Jasmin--his Eminence Cardinal Donnet presiding--that poetry, whendevoted to the cause of charity, according to the poet himself, was "theglory of the earth and the perfume of heaven. "

Jasmin loved his dear town of Agen, and was proud of it. After his visitto the metropolis, he said, "If Paris makes me proud, Agen makesme happy. " "This town, " he said, on another occasion, "has been mybirthplace; soon it shall be my grave. " He loved his country too, andabove all he loved his native language. It was his mother-tongue; andthough he was often expostulated with for using it, he never forsook theGascon. It was the language of the home, of the fireside, of the fields, of the workshop, of the people amongst whom he lived, and he resolvedever to cherish and elevate the Gascon dialect. 

"Popular and purely natural poetry, " said Montaigne in the 16th century, "has a simplicity and gracefulness which surpass the beauty of poetryaccording to art. " Jasmin united the naive artlessness of poetry withthe perfection of art. He retained the simplicity of youth throughouthis career, and his domestic life was the sanctuary of all the virtues. 

In his poems he vividly described filial love, conjugal tenderness, and paternal affection, because no one felt these graces of life morefervently than himself. He was like the Italian painter, who never wentbeyond his home for a beautiful model. 

Victor Hugo says that a great man is like the sun--most beautiful whenhe touches the earth, at his rising and at his setting. Jasmin's risingwas in the depths of honest poverty, but his setting was glorious. Godcrowned his fine life by a special act of favour; for the last song ofthe poet was his "act of faith"--his address to Renan. 

Jasmin was loyal, single-minded, self-reliant, patient, temperate, andutterly unselfish. He made all manner of sacrifices during his effortsin the cause of charity. Nothing was allowed to stand in the way of hismissions on behalf of the poor. In his journey of fifty days in 1854, he went from Orthez--the country of Gaston Phoebus--to the mountains ofAuvergne, in spite of the rigours of the weather. During that journey hecollected 20, 000 francs. In all, as we have said, he collected, duringhis life-time, more than a million and a half of francs, all of which hedevoted to the cause of philanthropy. 

Two words were engraved on the pedestal of his statue, Poetry andCharity! Charity was the object and purpose of his heroic programme. Yet, in his poetry he always exhibited his tender-hearted gaiety. Evenwhen he weeps, you see the ray of sunlight in his tears. Though simpleas a child in ordinary life, he displayed in his writings the pathos andsatire of the ancient Troubadours, with no small part of the shrewdnessand wit attributed to persons of his calling. 

Although esteemed and praised by all ranks and classes of people--byking, emperor, princes, and princesses; by cardinals and bishops;by generals, magistrates, literary men, and politicians--though theworking people almost worshipped him, and village girls strewed flowersalong his pathway--though the artisan quitted his workshop, and theworking woman her washing-tub, to listen to his marvellous recitations, yet Jasmin never lost his head or was carried away by the enthusiasticcheers which accompanied his efforts, but remained simple and unaffectedto the last. 

Another characteristic of him was, that he never forsook his friends, however poor. His happiest moments were those in which he encountereda companion of his early youth. Many still survived who had accompaniedhim while making up his bundle of fagots on the islands of the Garonne. He was delighted to shake hands with them, and to help, when necessary, these playmates of his boyhood. 

He would also meet with pleasure the working women of his acquaintance, those who had related to him the stories of Loup Garou and thetraditions of the neighbourhood, and encouraged the boy from hisearliest youth. Then, at a later period of his life, nothing could havebeen more worthy of him than his affection for his old benefactor, M. Baze, and his pleading with Napoleon III. , through the Empress, for hisreturn to France "through the great gate of honour!"

Had Jasmin a fault? Yes, he had many, for no one exists within thelimits of perfection. But he had one in especial, which he himselfconfessed. He was vain and loved applause, nor did he conceal his love. 

When at Toulouse, he said to some of his friends, "I love to beapplauded: it is my whim; and I think it would be difficult for a poetto free himself from the excitement of applause. " When at Paris, hesaid, "Applaud! applaud! The cheers you raise will be heard at Agen. "Who would not overlook a fault, if fault it be, which is confessed in sonaive a manner?

When complimented about reviving the traditions of the Troubadours, Jasmin replied, "The Troubadours, indeed! Why, I am a better poet thanany of the Troubadours! Not one of them could have composed a long poemof sustained interest, like my Franconnette. "

Any fault or weakness which Jasmin exhibited was effaced by the goodwishes and prayers of thousands of the poor and afflicted whom he hadrelieved by his charity and benevolence. The reality of his lifealmost touches the ideal. Indeed, it was a long apostolate. 

Cardinal Donnet, Archbishop of Bordeaux, said of him, that "he wasgifted with a rich nature, a loyal and unreserved character, anda genius as fertile as the soil of his native country. The lyre ofJasmin, " he said, "had three chords, which summed up the harmonies ofheaven and earth--the true, the useful, and the beautiful. "

Did not the members of the French Academy--the highest literaryinstitution in the world--strike a gold medal in his honour, with theinscription, "La medaille du poete moral et populaire"? M. Sainte-Beuve, the most distinguished of French critics, used a much strongerexpression. He said, "If France had ten poets like Jasmin--ten poetsof the same power and influence--she need no longer have any fear ofrevolutions. "

Genius is as nothing in the sight of God; but "whosoever shall givea cup of water to drink in the name of Christ, because they belongto Christ, shall not lose his reward. " M. Tron, Deputy and Mayor ofBagnere-du-luchon, enlarged upon this text in his eulogy of Jasmin. 

"He was a man, " he said, "as rich in his heart as in his genius. Hecarried out that life of 'going about doing good' which Christ rehearsedfor our instruction. He fed the hungry, clothed the naked, succouredthe distressed, and consoled and sympathised with the afflicted. Few menhave accomplished more than he has done. His existence was unique, notonly in the history of poets, but of philanthropists. "

A life so full of good could only end with a Christian death. Hedeparted with a lively faith and serene piety, crowning by a peacefuldeath one of the strangest and most diversified careers in thenineteenth century. "Poetry and Charity, " inscribed on the pedestal ofhis statue in Agen, fairly sums up his noble life and character. 

Endnotes for Chapter XX. 

{1} 'Lou Poeto del Puple a Moussu Renan. '

APPENDIX. 

JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT. 

To M. SYLVAIN DUMON, Deputy-Minister, who has condemned to death ournative language. 

 There's not a deeper grief to man Than when our mother, faint with years, Decrepit, old, and weak, and wan, Beyond the leech's art appears; When by her couch her son may stay, And press her hand, and watch her eyes, And feel, though she survives to-day, Perchance his hope to-morrow dies. 

 It is not thus, believe me, Sir, With this enchantress, we will call Our second mother. Frenchmen err, Who cent'ries since proclaimed her fall! Our mother tongue, all melody, While music lives, shall never die. 

 Yes! still she lives, her words still ring, Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. 

 The people love their ancient songs, and will While yet a people, love and keep them still. These lays are like their mother--they recall Fond thoughts of brother, sister, friends, and all The many little things that please the heart-- Those dreams and hopes, from which we cannot part; These songs are as sweet waters, where we find Health in the sparkling wave that nerves the mind. In every home, at every cottage door, By every fireside, when our toil is o'er, These songs are round us, near our cradles sigh, And to the grave attend us when we die. 

 Oh! think, cold critic! 'twill be late and long Ere time shall sweep away this flood of song! There are who bid this music sound no more, And you can hear them, nor defend--deplore! You, who were born where the first daisies grew, Have 'fed upon its honey, sipp'd its dew, Slept in its arms, and wakened to its kiss, Danced to its sounds, and warbled to its tone-- You can forsake it in an hour like this! Weary of age, you may renounce, disown, And blame one minstrel who is true--alone!

 For me, truth to my eyes made all things plain; At Paris, the great fount, I did not find The waters pure, and to my stream again I come, with saddened and with sobered mind; And now the spell is broken, and I rate The little country far above the great. 

 For you, who seem her sorrows to deplore, You, seated high in power, the first among, Beware! nor make her cause of grief the more; Believe her mis'ry, nor condemn her tongue. Methinks you injure where you seek to heal, If you deprive her of that only weal. 

 We love, alas! to sing in our distress; For so the bitterness of woe seems less; But if we may not in our language mourn, What will the polish'd give us in return? Fine sentences, but all for us unmeet-- Words full of grace, even such as courtiers greet: A deck'd out miss, too delicate and nice To walk in fields; too tender and precise To sing the chorus of the poor, or come When Labour lays him down fatigued at home. 

 To cover rags with gilded robes were vain-- The rents of poverty would show too plain. 

 How would this dainty dame, with haughty brow, Shrink at a load, and shudder at a plough! Sulky, and piqued, and silent would she stand As the tired peasant urged his team along: No word of kind encouragement at hand, For flocks no welcome, and for herds no song!

 Yet we will learn, and you shall teach-- Our people shall have double speech: One to be homely, one polite, As you have robes for different wear; But this is all:--'tis just and right, And more our children will not bear, Lest flocks of buzzards flit along, Where nightingales once poured their song. 

 There may be some who, vain and proud, May ape the manners of the crowd, Lisp French, and maim it at each word, And jest and gibe to all afford; But we, as in long ages past, Will still be poets to the last!{1}

 Hark! and list the bridal song, As they lead the bride along: "Hear, gentle bride! your mother's sighs, And you would hence away! Weep, weep, for tears become those eyes. " ----"I cannot weep--to-day. "

 Hark! the farmer in the mead Bids the shepherd swain take heed: "Come, your lambs together fold, Haste, my sons! your toil is o'er: For the setting sun has told That the ox should work no more. "

 Hark! the cooper in the shade Sings to the sound his hammer made: "Strike, comrades, strike! prepare the cask. 'Tis lusty May that fills the flask: Strike, comrades! summer suns that shine Fill the cellars full of wine. "

 Verse is, with us, a charm divine, Our people, loving verse, will still, Unknowing of their art, entwine Garlands of poesy at will. Their simple language suits them best: Then let them keep it and be blest. 

 Let the wise critics build a wall Between the nurse's cherished voice, And the fond ear her words enthral, And say their idol is her choice. Yes!--let our fingers feel the rule, The angry chiding of the school; True to our nurse, in good or ill, We are not French, but Gascon still. 

 'Tis said that age new feeling brings, Our youth returns as we grow old; And that we love again the things Which in our memory had grown cold. If this be true, the time will come When to our ancient tongue, once more, You will return, as to a home, And thank us that we kept the store. 

 Remember thou the tale they tell Of Lacuee and Lacepede, {2} When age crept on, who loved to dwell On words that once their music made; And, in the midst of grandeur, hung, Delighted, on their parent tongue. 

 This will you do: and it may be, When weary of the world's deceit, Some summer-day we yet may see Your coming in our meadows sweet; Where, midst the flowers, the finch's lay Shall welcome you with music gay; While you shall bid our antique tongue Some word devise, or air supply, Like those that charm'd your youth so long, And lent a spell to memory. 

 Bethink you how we stray'd alone Beneath those elms in Agen grown, That each an arch above us throws, Like giants, hand-in-hand, in rows. A storm once struck a fav'rite tree, It trembled, shook, and bent its boughs, -- The vista is no longer free: Our governor no pause allows; "Bring hither hatchet, axe, and spade, The tree must straight be prostrate laid!"

 But vainly strength and art were tried, The stately tree all force defied; Well might the elm resist and foil their might, For though his branches were decay'd to sight, As many as his leaves the roots spread round, And in the firm set earth they slept profound. 

 Since then, more full, more green, more gay, The crests amid the breezes play: And birds of every note and hue Come trooping to his shade in Spring; Each summer they their lays renew, And while the years endure they sing. 

 And thus it is, believe me, sir, With this enchantress--she we call Our second mother; Frenchmen err Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall. 

 No! she still lives, her words still ring, Her children yet her carols sing; And thousand years may roll away Before her magic notes decay. 

 September 2nd, 1837. 

Endnotes to JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT. 

{1} Jasmin here quotes several patois songs, well known in the country. 

{2} Both Gascons. 

THE MASON'S SON. {1}

{LA SEMMANO D'UN FIL. }

 Riches, n'oubliez pas un seul petit moment Que des pauvres la grande couvee Se reveille toujours le sourire a la bouche Quand elle s'endort sans avoir faire!

 (Riche et Pauvre. )

 The swallows fly about, although the air is cold, Our once fair sun has shed his brightest gold. The fields decay On All-saints day. Ground's hard afoot, The birds are mute; The tree-tops shed their chill'd and yellow leaves, They dying fall, and whirl about in sheaves. 

 One night, when leaving late a neighb'ring town, Although the heavens were clear, Two children paced along, with many a moan-- Brother and sister dear; And when they reached the wayside cross Upon their knees they fell, quite close. 

 Abel and Jane, by the moon's light, Were long time silent quite; As they before the altar bend, With one accord their voices sweet ascend. 

 "Mother of God, Virgin compassionate! Oh! send thy angel to abate The sickness of our father dear, That mother may no longer fear-- And for us both! Oh! Blessed Mother, We love thee, more and more, we two together!"

 The Virgin doubtless heard their prayer, For, when they reached the cottage near, The door before them opened wide, And the dear mother, ere she turned aside, Cried out: "My children brave, The fever's gone--your father's life is safe! Now come, my little lambs, and thank God for His grace. "

 In their small cot, forthwith the three, To God in prayer did bend the knee, Mother and children in their gladness weeping, While on a sorry bed a man lay sleeping-- It was the father, good Hilaire! Not long ago, a soldier brave, But now--a working mason's slave. 

 II. 

 The dawn next day was clear and bright, The glint of morning sunlight Gleamed through the windows taper, Although they only were patched up with paper. 

 When Abel noiseless entered, with his foot-fall slight, He slipped along to the bedside; He oped the little curtain, without stirring of the rings; His father woke and smiled, with joy that pleasure brings. 

 "Abel, " he said, "I longed for thee; now listen thou to me: We're very poor indeed--I've nothing save my weekly fee; But Heaven has helped our lives to save--by curing me. Dear boy, already thou art fifteen years-- You know to read, to write--then have no fears; Thou art alone, thou'rt sad, but dream no more, Thou ought'st to work, for now thou hast the power! I know thy pain and sorrow, and thy deep alarms; More good than strong--how could thy little arms Ply hard the hammer on the stony blocks? But our hard master, though he likes good looks, May find thee quite a youth; He says that thou hast spirit; and he means for thy behoof. Then do what gives thee pleasure, Without vain-glory, Abel; and spend thy precious leisure In writing or in working--each is a labour worthy, Either with pen or hammer--they are the tools most lofty; Labour in mind or body, they do fatigue us ever-- But then, Abel my son, I hope that never One blush upon you e'er will gather To shame the honour of your father. "

 Abel's blue eyes were bright with bliss and joy-- Father rejoiced--four times embraced the boy; Mother and daughter mixed their tears and kisses, Then Abel saw the master, to his happiness, And afterwards four days did pass, All full of joyfulness. But pleasure with the poor is always unenduring. 

 A brutal order had been given on Sunday morning That if, next day, the father did not show his face, Another workman, in that case, Would be employed to take his place! A shot of cannon filled with grape Could not have caused such grief, As this most cruel order gives To these four poor unfortunates. 

 "I'm cured!" Hilaire cried; "let me rise and dress;" He tried--fell back; and then he must confess He could not labour for another week! Oh, wretched plight-- For him, his work was life! Should he keep sick, 'twas death! All four sat mute; sudden a my of hope Beamed in the soul of Abel. He brushed the tear-drops from his een, Assumed a manly mien, Strength rushed into his little arms, On his bright face the blushes came; He rose at once, and went to reason With that cruel master mason. 

 Abel returned, with spirits bright, No longer trembling with affright; At once he gaily cries, With laughing mouth and laughing eyes:--

 "My father! take your rest; have faith and courage; Take all the week, then thou shalt work apace; Some one, who loves thee well, will take thy place, Then thou may'st go again and show thy face. "

 III. 

 Saved by a friend, indeed! He yet had friends in store! Oh! how I wish that in this life so lonely.... But, all will be explained at work on Monday; There are good friends as yet--perhaps there's many more. 

 It was indeed our Abel took his father's place. At office first he showed his face; Then to the work-yard: thus his father he beguiled. Spite of his slender mien, he worked and always smiled. He was as deft as workmen twain; he dressed The stones, and in the mortar then he pressed The heavy blocks; the workmen found him cheerful. Mounting the ladder like a bird: He skipped across the rafters fearful. He smiled as he ascended, smiled as he descended-- The very masons trembled at his hardiness: But he was working for his father--in his gladness, His life was full of happiness; His brave companions loved the boy Who filled their little life with joy. They saw the sweat run down his brow, And clapped their hands, though weary he was now. 

 What bliss of Abel, when the day's work's o'er, And the bright stars were shining: Unto the office he must go, And don his better clothing-- Thus his poor father to deceive, who thought he went a-clerking. He took his paper home and wrote, 'midst talk with Jane so shyly, And with a twinkling eye he answered mother's looks so slyly. 

 Three days thus passed, and the sick man arose, Life now appeared to him a sweet repose. On Thursday, tempting was the road; At midday, Friday, he must walk abroad. 

 But, fatal Friday--God has made for sorrow. 

 The father, warmed up by the sun's bright ray, Hied to the work-yard, smiling by the way; He wished to thank the friend who worked for him, But saw him not--his eyes were dim-- Yet he was near; and looking up, he saw no people working, No dinner-bell had struck, no workmen sure were lurking. Oh, God! what's happened at the building yard? A crowd collected--master, mason--as on guard. "What's this?" the old man cried. "Alas! some man has fallen!" Perhaps it was his friend! His soul with grief was burning. He ran. Before him thronged the press of men, They tried to thrust him back again; But no; Hilaire pressed through the crowd of working men. Oh, wretched father--man unfortunate; The friend who saved thee was thy child--sad fate! Now he has fallen from the ladder's head, And lies a bleeding mass, now nearly dead!

 Now Hilaire uttered a most fearful cry; The child had given his life, now he might die. Alas! the bleeding youth Was in his death-throes, he could scarcely breathe; "Master, " he said, "I've not fulfilled my task, But, in the name of my poor mother dear, For the day lost, take father on at last. "

 The father heard, o'erwhelmed he was with fear, Abel now saw him, felt that he was near, Inclined his head upon his breast, and praying-- Hand held in hand, he smiled on him while dying. 

 For Hilary, his place was well preserved, His wages might perhaps be doubled. 

 Too late! too late! one saddened morn The sorrow of his life was gone; And the good father, with his pallid face, Went now to take another place Within the tomb, beside his much loved son. 

Endnotes to THE MASON'S SON. 

{1} Jasmin says, "the subject of this poem is historical, and recentlytook place in our neighbourhood. "

THE POOR MAN'S DOCTOR. 

{LOU MEDICI DES PAURES. }

Dedicated to M. CANY, Physician of Toulouse. 

With the permission of the Rev. Dr. J. Duncan Craig, of Glenagary, Kingston, Dublin, I adopt, with some alterations, his free translationof Jasmin's poem. 

 Sweet comes this April morning, its faint perfumes exhaling; Brilliant shines the sun, so crisp, so bright, so freshening; Pearl-like gleam and sparkle the dew-drops on the rose, While grey and gnarled olives droop like giants in repose. 

 Soundeth low, solemnly, the mid-day bell in th' air, Glideth on sadly a maiden sick with care; Her head is bent, and sobbing words she sheds with many a tear, But 'tween the chapel and the windmill another doth appear. 

 She laughs and plucks the lovely flowers with many a joyous bound, The other, pale and spiritless, looks upward from the ground; "Where goest thou, sweet Marianne, this lovely April day?" "Beneath the elms of Agen--there lies my destined way. 

 "I go to seek this very day the Doctor of the Poor. {1} Did'st thou not hear how skilfully he did my mother cure? Behold this silver in my hand, these violets so sweet, The guerdon of his loving care--I'll lay them at his feet. 

 "Now, dost thou not remember, my darling Marianne, How in our lonely hut the typhus fever ran? And we were poor, without a friend, or e'en our daily bread, And sadly then, and sorrowful, dear mother bowed her head. 

 "One day, the sun was shining low in lurid western sky, All, all, our little wealth was gone, and mother yearned to die, When sudden, at the open door, a shadow crossed the way, And cheerfully a manly voice did words of comfort say:

 "'Take courage, friends, your ills I know, your life I hope to save. ' 'Too late!' dear mother cried; 'too late! My home is in the grave;

 Our things are pledged, our med'cine gone, e'en bread we cannot buy. ' The doctor shudder'd, then grew pale, but sadly still drew nigh. 

 "No curtains had we on our bed: I marked his pallid face; Five silver crowns now forth he drew with melancholy grace--

 'Poor woman, take these worthless coins, suppress your bitter grief! Don't blush; repay them when you can--these drops will give relief. '

 "He left the hut, and went away; soon sleep's refreshing calm Relieved the patient he had helped--a wonder-working balm; The world now seemed to smile again, like springtide flowers so gay, While mother, brothers, and myself, incessant worked away. 

 "Thus, like the swallows which return with spring unto our shore, The doctor brought rejoicing back unto our vine-wreathed door; And we are happy, Isabel, and money too we've made; But why dost weep, when I can laugh?" the gentle maiden said. 

 "Alas! alas! dear Marianne, I weep and mourn to-day, From your house to our cottage-home the fever made its way; My father lies with ghastly face, and many a raving cry-- Oh, would that Durand too might come, before the sick man die!"

 "Dear Isabel, haste on, haste on--we'll seek his house this hour! Come, let us run, and hasten on with all our utmost power. He'll leave the richest palace for the poor man's humble roof-- He's far from rich, except in love, of that we've had full proof!"

 The good God bless the noble heart that careth for the poor; Then forth the panting children speed to seek the sick man's cure; And as beneath our giant elms they pass with rapid tread, They scarcely dare to look around, or lift their weary head. The town at last is reached, by the Pont-Long they enter, Close by the Hue des Jacobins, near Durand's house they venture. Around the portals of the door there throngs a mournful crowd; They see the Cross, they hear the priests the Requiem chaunt aloud. 

 The girls were troubled in their souls, their minds were rent with grief; One above all, young Marianne, was trembling like a leaf: Another death--oh, cruel thought! then of her father dying, She quickly ran to Durand's door, and asked a neighbour, crying:

 "Where's the good doctor, sir, I pray? I seek him for my father!" He soft replied, "The gracious God into His fold doth gather The best of poor folks' doctors now, to his eternal rest; They bear the body forth, 'tis true: his spirit's with the blest. "

 Bright on his corpse the candles shine around his narrow bier, Escorted by the crowds of poor with many a bitter tear; No more, alas! can he the sad and anguished-laden cure-- Oh, wail! For Durand is no more--the Doctor of the Poor!

Endnotes to THE POOR MAN'S DOCTOR. 

{1} In the last edition of Jasmin's poems (4 vols. 8vo, edited by Buyerd'Agen) it is stated (p. 40, 1st vol. ) that "M. Durand, physician, wasone of those rare men whom Providence seems to have provided to assuagethe lot of the poorest classes. His career was full of noble acts ofdevotion towards the sick whom he was called upon to cure. He died atthe early age of thirty-five, of a stroke of apoplexy. His remainswere accompanied to the grave by nearly all the poor of Agen and theneighbourhood. "

MY VINEYARD. {1}

{MA BIGNO. }

To MADAME LOUIS VEILL, Paris. 

 Dear lady, it is true, that last month I have signed A little scrap of parchment; now myself I find The master of a piece of ground Within the smallest bound-- Not, as you heard, a spacious English garden Covered with flowers and trees, to shrine your bard in-- But of a tiny little vineyard, Which I have christened "Papilhoto"! Where, for a chamber, I have but a grotto. The vine-stocks hang about their boughs, At other end a screen of hedgerows, So small they do not half unroll; A hundred would not make a mile, Six sheets would cover the whole pile. 

 Well! as it is, of this I've dreamt for twenty years-- You laugh, Madame, at my great happiness, Perhaps you'll laugh still more, when it appears, That when I bought the place, I must confess There were no fruits, Though rich in roots; Nine cherry trees--behold my wood! Ten rows of vines--my promenade! A few peach trees; the hazels too; Of elms and fountains there are two. How rich I am! My muse is grateful very; Oh! might I paint? while I the pencil try, Our country loves the Heavens so bright and cheery. 

 Here, verdure starts up as we scratch the ground, Who owns it, strips it into pieces round; Beneath our sun there's nought but gayest sound. You tell me, true, that in your Paris hot-house, You ripen two months sooner 'neath your glass, of course. What is your fruit? Mostly of water clear, The heat may redden what your tendrils bear. But, lady dear, you cannot live on fruits alone while here! Now slip away your glossy glove And pluck that ripened peach above, Then place it in your pearly mouth And suck it--how it 'lays your drouth-- Melts in your lips like honey of the South!

 Dear Madame, in the North you have great sights-- Of churches, castles, theatres of greatest heights; Your works of art are greater far than here. But come and see, quite near The banks of the Garonne, on a sweet summer's day, All works of God! and then you'll say No place more beautiful and gay! You see the rocks in all their velvet greenery; The plains are always gold; and mossy very, The valleys, where we breathe the healthy air, And where we walk on beds of flowers most fair!

 The country round your Paris has its flowers and greensward, But 'tis too grand a dame for me, it is too dull and sad. Here, thousand houses smile along the river's stream; Our sky is bright, it laughs aloud from morn to e'en. Since month of May, when brightest weather bounds For six months, music through the air resounds-- A thousand nightingales the shepherd's ears delight: All sing of Love--Love which is new and bright. Your Opera, surprised, would silent hearken, When day for night has drawn aside its curtain, Under our heavens, which very soon comes glowing. Listen, good God! our concert is beginning! What notes! what raptures? Listen, shepherd-swains, One chaunt is for the hill-side, the other's for the plains. 

 "Those lofty mountains Far up above, I cannot see All that I love; Move lower, mountains, Plains, up-move, That I may see All that I love. "{2}

 And thousand voices sound through Heaven's alcove, Coming across the skies so blue, Making the angels smile above-- The earth embalms the songsters true; The nightingales, from tree to flower, Sing louder, fuller, stronger. 'Tis all so sweet, though no one beats the measure, To hear it all while concerts last--such pleasure! Indeed my vineyard's but a seat of honour, For, from my hillock, shadowed by my bower, I look upon the fields of Agen, the valley of Verone. {3} How happy am I 'mongst my vines! Such pleasures there are none. 

 For here I am the poet-dresser, working for the wines. I only think of propping up my arbours and my vines; Upon the road I pick the little stones-- And take them to my vineyard to set them up in cones, And thus I make a little house with but a sheltered door-- As each friend, in his turn, now helps to make the store. And then there comes the vintage--the ground is firm and fast, With all my friends, with wallets or with baskets cast, We then proceed to gather up the fertile grapes at last. 

 Oh! my young vine, The sun's bright shine Hath ripened thee All--all for me! No drizzling showers Have spoilt the hours. My muse can't borrow; My friends, to-morrow Cannot me lend; But thee, young friend, Grapes nicely drest, With figs the finest And raisins gather Bind them together! Th' abundant season Will still us bring A glorious harvesting; Close up thy hands with bravery Upon the luscious grapery!

 Now all push forth their tendrils; though not past remedy, At th' hour when I am here, my faithful memory Comes crowding back; my oldest friends Now make me young again--for pleasure binds Me to their hearts and minds. But now the curtained night comes on again. 

 I see, the meadows sweet around, My little island, midst the varying ground, Where I have often laughed, and sometimes I have groaned. 

 I see far off the leafy woodland, Or near the fountain, where I've; often dreamed; Long time ago there was a famous man{4} Who gave its fame to Agen. I who but write these verses slight Midst thoughts of memory bright. 

 But I will tell you all--in front, to left, to right, More than a hedgerow thick that I have brought the light, More than an apple-tree that I have trimmed, More than an old vine-stalk that I have thinned To ripen lovely Muscat. Madame, you see that I look back upon my past, Without a blush at last; What would you? That I gave my vineyard back-- And that with usury? Alack! And yet unto my garden I've no door-- Two thorns are all my fence--no more! When the marauders come, and through a hole I see their nose, Instead of taking up a stick to give them blows, I turn aside; perhaps they never may return, the horde! He who young robs, when older lets himself be robbed!

Endnotes to MY VINEYARD. 

{1} Jasmin purchased a little piece of ground, which he dedicated to his"Curl-papers" (Papilhoto), on the road to Scaliger's villa, and addressedthe above lines to his lady-admirer in Paris, Madame Louis veill. 

{2} From a popular song by Gaston Phebus. 

{3} Referring to Verona, the villa of Scaliger, the great scholar. 

{4} Scaliger. 

FRANCONNETTE. 

FIRST PART. 

 Blaise de Montluc--Festival at Roquefort--The Prettiest Maiden--The Soldier and the Shepherds--Kissing and Panting-- Courage of Pascal--Fury of Marcel--Terrible Contest. 

 'Twas at the time when Blaise the murderous Struck heavy blows by force of arms. He hewed the Protestants to pieces, And, in the name of God the Merciful, Flooded the earth with sorrow, blood, and tears. 

 Alas! 'twas pitiful--far worse beyond the hills, Where flashing gun and culverin were heard; There the unhappy bore their heavy cross, And suffered, more than elsewhere, agonising pain, Were killed and strangled, tumbled into wells; 'Tween Penne and Fumel the saddened earth was gorged. Men, women, children, murdered everywhere, The hangman even stopped for breath; While Blaise, with heart of steel, dismounted at the gate Of his strong castle wall, With triple bridge and triple fosse; Then kneeling, made his pious prayers, Taking the Holy Sacrament, His hands yet dripping with fraternal blood!{1}

 Now every shepherd, every shepherd lass, At the word Huguenot shuddered with affright, Even 'midst their laughing courtship. And yet it came to pass That in a hamlet, 'neath a castled height, One Sunday, when a troop of sweethearts danced Upon the day of Roquefort fete, And to a fife the praises sang Of Saint James and the August weather-- That bounteous month which year by year, Through dew-fall of the evening bright, And heat of Autumn noons doth bring Both grapes and figs to ripening. 

 It was the finest fete that eyes had ever seen Under the shadow of the leafy parasol, Where aye the country-folk convene. O'erflowing were the spaces all, From cliff, from dale, from every home Of Montagnac and Sainte-Colombe, Still they do come, Too many far to number; More, ever more, while flames the sunshine o'er, There's room for all, their coming will not cumber, The fields shall be their chamber, and the little hillocks green The couches of their slumber. 

 What pleasure! what delight! the sun now fills the air; The sweetest thing in life Is the music of the fife And the dancing of the fair. You see their baskets emptying Of waffles all home-made. They quaff the nectar sparkling Of freshest lemonade. What crowds at Punchinello, While the showman beats his cymbal! Crowds everywhere! But who is this appears below? Ah! 'tis the beauteous village queen! Yes, 'tis she; 'tis Franconnette! A fairer girl was never seen. 

 In the town as in the prairie, You must know that every country Has its chosen pearl of love. Ah, well! This was the one-- They named her in the Canton, The prettiest, sweetest dove. 

 But now, you must not fancy, gentlemen, That she was sad and sighing, Her features pale as any lily, That she had dying eyes, half-shut and blue, And slender figure clothed with languishing, Like to a weeping willow by a limpid lake. Not so, my masters. Franconnette Had two keen flashing eyes, like two live stars; Her laughing cheeks were round, where on a lover might Gather in handfuls roses bright; Brown locks and curly decked her head; Her lips were as the cherry red, Whiter than snow her teeth; her feet How softly moulded, small and fleet; How light her limbs! Ah, well-a-day! And of the whole at once I say, She was the very beau-ideal Of beauty in a woman's form, most fair and real. 

 Such loveliness, in every race, May sudden start to light. She fired the youths with ready love, Each maiden with despair. Poor youths, indeed! Oh! how they wished To fall beneath her feet! They all admired her, and adored, Just as the priest adores the cross-- 'Twas as if there shone a star of light The young girl's brow across!

 Yet, something vexing in her soul began to hover; The finest flower had failed her in this day of honour. Pascal, whom all the world esteemed, Pascal, the handsomest, whose voice with music beamed, He shunned the maid, cast ne'er a loving glance; Despised! She felt hate growing in her heart, And in her pretty vengeance She seized the moment for a brilliant dart Of her bright eyes to chain him. What would you have? A girl so greatly envied, She might become a flirt conceited; Already had she seemed all this, Self-glorious she was, I fear, Coquetting rarely comes amiss, Though she might never love, with many lovers near! Grandmother often said to her, "Child, child!" with gentle frown, "A meadow's not a parlour, and the country's not a town, And thou knowest well that we have promised thee lang syne To the soldier-lad, Marcel, who is lover true of thine. So curb thy flights, thou giddy one, The maid who covets all, in the end mayhap hath none. " "Nay, nay, " replied the tricksy fay, With swift caress, and laughter gay, "There is another saw well-known, Time enough, my grannie dear, to love some later day! 'She who hath only me, hath 'none. '"

 Now, such a flighty course, you may divine, Made hosts of melancholy swains, Who sighed and suffered jealous pains, Yet never sang reproachful strains, Like learned lovers when they pine, Who, as they go to die, their woes write carefully On willow or on poplar tree. Good lack! thou could'st not shape a letter, And the silly souls, though love-sick, to death did not incline, Thinking to live and suffer on were better! But tools were handled clumsily, And vine-sprays blew abroad at will, And trees were pruned exceeding ill, And many a furrow drawn awry. 

 Methinks you know her now, this fair and foolish girl; Watch while she treads one measure, then see her dip and twirl! Young Etienne holds her hand by chance, 'Tis the first rigadoon they dance; With parted lips, right thirstily Each rustic tracks them as they fly, And the damsel sly Feels every eye, And lighter moves for each adoring glance. Holy cross! what a sight! when the madcap rears aright Her shining lizard's head! her Spanish foot falls light, Her wasp-like figure sways And swims and whirls and springs again. The wind with corner of her 'kerchief plays. Those lovely cheeks where on the youths now gaze, They hunger to salute with kisses twain!

 And someone shall; for here the custom is, Who tires his partner out, salutes her with a kiss; The girls grow weary everywhere, Wherefore already Jean and Paul, Louis, Guillaume, and strong Pierre, Have breathless yielded up their place Without the coveted embrace. 

 Another takes his place, Marcel the wight, The soldier of Montluc, prodigious in his height, Arrayed in uniform, bearing his sword, A cockade in his cap, the emblem of his lord, Straight as an I, though bold yet not well-bred, His heart was soft, but thickish was his head. He blustered much and boasted more and more, Frolicked and vapoured as he took the floor Indeed he was a very horrid bore. Marcel, most mad for Franconnette, tortured the other girls, Made her most jealous, yet she had no chance, The swelled-out coxcomb called on her to dance. But Franconnette was loth, and she must let him see it; He felt most madly jealous, yet was maladroit, He boasted that he was beloved; perhaps he did believe it quite--

 The other day, in such a place, She shrank from his embrace!

 The crowd now watched the dancing pair, And marked the tricksy witching fair; They rush, they whirl! But what's amiss? The bouncing soldier lad, I wis, Can never snatch disputed kiss! The dancing maid at first smiles at her self-styled lover, "Makes eyes" at him, but ne'er a word does utter; She only leaped the faster! Marcel, piqued to the quick, longed to subdue this creature, He wished to show before the crowd what love he bore her; One open kiss were sweeter far Than twenty in a corner! But, no! his legs began to fail, his head was in a trance, He reeled, he almost fell, he could no longer dance; Now he would give cockade, sabre, and silver lace, Would it were gold indeed, for her embrace!

 Yet while the pair were still afoot, the girl looked very gay-- Resolved never to give way! While headstrong Marcel, breathless, spent, and hot in face, He reeled and all but fell; then to the next gave place! Forth darted Pascal in the soldier's stead, They make two steps, then change, and Franconnette, Weary at last, with laughing grace, Her foot stayed and upraised her face! Tarried Pascal that kiss to set? Not he, be sure! and all the crowd His vict'ry hailed with plaudits loud. The clapping of their palms like battle-dores resounded, While Pascal stood among them quite confounded!

 Oh, what a picture for the soldier who so loved his queen! Him the kiss maddened! Measuring Pascal with his een, He thundered, "Peasant, you have filled my place most sly; Not so fast, churl!"--and brutally let fly With aim unerring one fierce blow, Straight in the other's eyes, doubling the insult so. 

 Good God!{2} how stings the madd'ning pain, His dearest happiness that blow must stain, Kissing and boxing--glory, shame! Light, darkness! Fire, ice! Life, death! Heaven, hell! All this was to our Pascal's soul the knell Of hope! But to be thus tormented By flagrant insult, as the soldier meant it; Now without fear he must resent it! It does not need to be a soldier nor a "Monsieur, " An outrage placidly to bear. Now fiery Pascal let fly at his foe, Before he could turn round, a stunning blow; 'Twas like a thunder peal, And made the soldier reel; Trying to draw his sabre, But Pascal, seeming bigger, Gripped Marcel by the waist, and sturdily Lifted him up, and threw his surly Foe on the ground, breathless, and stunned severely. 

 "Now then!" while Pascal looked on the hound thrown by him, "The peasant grants thee chance of living!" "Despatch him!" cried the surging crowd. "Thou art all cover'd o'er with blood!" But Pascal, in his angry fit of passion, Had hurt his wrist and fist in a most serious fashion. 

 "No matter! All the same I pardon him! You must have pity on the beaten hound!" "No, finish him! Into morsels cut him!" The surging, violent crowd now cried around. "Back, peasants, back! Do him no harm!" Sudden exclaimed a Monsieur, speaking with alarm; The peasants moved aside, and then gave place To Montluc, glittering with golden lace; It was the Baron of Roquefort!

 The frightened girls, like hunted hares, At once dispers'd, flew here and there. The shepherds, but a moment after, With thrilling fife and beaming laughter, The brave and good Pascal attended on his way, Unto his humble home, as 'twere his nuptial day. 

 But Marcel, furious, mad with rage, exclaimed, "Oh! could I stab and kill them! But I'm maimed!" Only a gesture of his lord Restrained him, hand upon his sword. Then did he grind his teeth, as he lay battered, And in a low and broken voice he muttered: "They love each other, and despise my kindness, She favours him, and she admires his fondness; Ah, well! by Marcel's patron, I'll not tarry To make them smart, and Franconnette No other husband than myself shall marry!"

 SECOND PART. 

 The Enamoured Blacksmith--His Fretful Mother--The Busking Soiree--Pascal's Song--The Sorcerer of the Black Forest-- The Girl Sold to the Demon. 

 Since Roquefort fete, one, two, three months have fled; The dancing frolic, with the harvest ended; The out-door sports are banished-- For winter comes; the air is sad and cold, it sighs Under the vaulted skies. At fall of night, none risks to walk across the fields, For each one, sad and cheerless, beelds Before the great fires blazing, Or talks of wolfish fiends{3} amazing; And sorcerers--to make one shudder with affright-- That walk around the cots so wight, Or 'neath the gloomy elms, and by farmyards at night. 

 But now at last has Christmas come, And little Jack, who beats the drum, Cries round the hamlet, with his beaming face: "Come brisken up, you maidens fair, A merry busking{4} shall take place On Friday, first night of the year!"

 Ah! now the happy youths and maidens fair Proclaimed the drummer's words, so bright and rare. The news were carried far and near Light as a bird most fleet With wings to carry thoughts so sweet. The sun, with beaming rays, had scarcely shone Ere everywhere the joyous news had flown; At every fireside they were known, By every hearth, in converse keen, The busking was the theme. 

 But when the Friday came, a frozen dew was raining, And by a fireless forge a mother sat complaining; And to her son, who sat thereby, She spoke at last entreatingly: "Hast thou forgot the summer day, my boy, when thou didst come All bleeding from the furious fray, to the sound of music home? How I have suffered for your sorrow, And all that you have had to go through. Long have I troubled for your arm! For mercy's sake Oh! go not forth to-night! I dreamt of flowers again, And what means that, Pascal, but so much tears and pain!"

 "Now art thou craven, mother! and see'st that life's all black, But wherefore tremble, since Marcel has gone, and comes not back!" "Oh yet, my son, do you take heed, I pray! For the wizard of the Black Wood is roaming round this way; The same who wrought such havoc, 'twas but a year agone, They tell me one was seen to come from 's cave at dawn But two days past--it was a soldier; now What if this were Marcel? Oh, my child, do take care! Each mother gives her charms unto her sons; do thou Take mine; but I beseech, go not forth anywhere!"

 "Just for one little hour, mine eyes to set On my friend Thomas, whom I'm bound to meet!"

 "Thy friend, indeed! Nay, nay! Thou meanest Franconnette, Whom thou loves dearly! I wish thou'd love some other maid! Oh, yes! I read it in thine eyes! Though thou sing'st, art gay, thy secret bravely keeping, That I may not be sad, yet all alone thou'rt weeping-- My head aches for thy misery; Yet leave her, for thine own good, my dear Pascal; She would so greatly scorn a working smith like thee, With mother old in penury; For poor we are--thou knowest truly. 

 "How we have sold and sold fill scarce a scythe remains. Oh, dark the days this house hath seen Since, Pascal, thou so ill hast been; Now thou art well, arouse! do something for our gains Or rest thee, if thou wilt; with suffering we can fight; But, for God's love, oh! go not forth to-night!"

 And the poor mother, quite undone, Cried, while thus pleading with her son, Who, leaning on his blacksmith's forge The stifling sobs quelled in his gorge. "'Tis very true, " he said, "that we are poor, But had I that forgot?... I go to work, my mother, now, be sure!"

 No sooner said than done; for in a blink Was heard the anvil's clink, The sparks flew from the blacksmith's fire Higher and still higher! The forgeman struck the molten iron dead, Hammer in hand, as if he had a hundred in his head!

 But now, the Busking was apace, And soon, from every corner place The girls came with the skein of their own making To wind up at this sweethearts' merry meeting. 

 In the large chamber, where they sat and winded The threads, all doubly garnished, The girls, the lads, plied hard their finger, And swiftly wound together The clews of lint so fair, As fine as any hair. 

 The winding now was done; and the white wine, and rhymsters, Came forth with rippling glass and porringers, And brought their vivid vapours To brighten up their capers-- Ah! if the prettiest were the best, with pride I would my Franconnette describe. 

 Though queen of games, she was the last, not worst, It is not that she reigned at present, yet was first. 

 "Hold! Hold!" she cried, the brown-haired maid, Now she directed them from side to side-- Three women merged in one, they said-- She dances, speaks, sings, all bewitching, By maiden's wiles she was so rich in; She sings with soul of turtle-dove, She speaks with grace angelic; She dances on the wings of love-- Sings, speaks, and dances, in a guise More than enough to turn the head most wise!

 Her triumph is complete; all eyes are fixed upon her, Though her adorers are but peasants; Her eyes are beaming, Blazing and sparkling, And quite bewitching; No wonder that the sweetheart lads are ravished with her!

 Then Thomas rose and, on the coquette fixing His ardent eyes, though blushing, In language full of neatness, And tones of lute-like sweetness, This song began to sing:

 THE SYREN WITH A HEART OF ICE. 

 "Oh, tell us, charming Syren, With heart of ice unmoved, When shall we hear the sound Of bells that ring around, To say that you have loved? Always so free and gay, Those wings of dazzling ray, Are spread to every air-- And all your favour share; Attracted by their light All follow in your flight. But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again?

 "You've seen how full of joy We've marked the sun arise; Even so each Sunday morn When you, before our eyes, Bring us such sweet surprise. With us new life is born: We love your angel face, Your step so debonnaire, Your mien of maiden grace, Your voice, your lips, your hair, Your eyes of gentle fire, All these we now admire! But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again?

 "Alas! our groves are dull When widowed of thy sight, And neither hedge nor field Their perfume seem to yield; The blue sky is not bright When you return once more, All that was sad is gone, All nature you restore, We breathe in you alone; We could your rosy fingers cover With kisses of delight all over! But ah! believe me, 'tis not bliss, Such triumphs do but purchase pain; What is it to be loved like this, To her who cannot love again?

 "The dove you lost of late, Might warn you by her flight, She sought in woods her mate, And has forgot you quite; She has become more fair Since love has been her care. 'Tis love makes all things gay, Oh follow where she leads-- When beauteous looks decay, What dreary life succeeds! And ah! believe me, perfect bliss, A joy, where peace and triumph reign, Is when a maiden, loved like this, Has learnt 'tis sweet to love again!"

 The songster finished, and the ardent crowd Of listeners clapped their hands in praises loud. 

 "Oh! what a lovely song!" they cried. "Who is the poet?" "'Tis Pascal, " answered Thomas, "that has made it!" "Bravo! Long live Pascal!" exclaimed the fervent crowd. 

 Nothing said Franconnette; but she rejoiced--was proud-- At having so much love evoked, And in a song so touching, Before this crowd admiring. 

 Then she became more serious as she thought of Pascal; "How brave he is! 'Tis all for him; he has not got his equal! How he paints love! All praise him without doubt; And his sweet song--so touching!" for now by heart she knows it. "But if he loves at last, why does he hide away?" Then turning suddenly, she says-- "Thomas, he is not here, away he stays; I would him compliment; can he not come?" "Oh! now he cannot; but remains at home. "

 Then spoke the jealous Lawrence: "Pascal knows He cannot any other songs compose; Poor fellow! almost ruined quite he is; His father's most infirm--stretched out, and cannot rise; The baker will not give him bread, he is constrained to debts. "

 Then Franconnette grew pale, and said, "And he so very good! Poor lad! how much he suffers; and now he wants his food!"

 "My faith!" said Lawrence, a heart of goodness aping, "They say that now he goes a-begging!" "You lie!" cried Thomas, "hold thy serpent's tongue! Pascal, 'tis true, is working, yet with harm, Since, for this maiden, he has suffered in his arm; But he is cured; heed not this spiteful knave! He works now all alone, for he is strong and brave. " If someone on the girl his eyes had set, He would have seen tears on the cheeks of Franconnette. 

 "Let's 'Hunt the Slipper!"' cried the maids; Round a wide ring they sat, the jades. Slipper was bid by Franconnette, But in a twinkle, Marionette-- "Lawrence, hast thou my slipper?" "No, demoiselle!" "Rise then, and seek it now, ah, well!" Lawrence, exulting in his features, Said, "Franconnette, hast thou my slipper?" "No, sir!" "'Tis false!" It was beneath her seat! "Thou hast it! Rise! Now kiss me as the forfeit!"

 A finch, just taken in a net, First tries some gap to fly at; So Franconnette, just like a bird, escaped With Lawrence, whom she hated; Incensed he turned to kiss her; He swiftly ran, but in his pursuit warm, The moment she was caught he stumbled, Slipped, fell, and sudden broke his arm. 

 Misfortunes ne'er come single, it is said. The gloomy night was now far spent; But in that fright of frights, quite in a breath, The house-door creaked and ope'd! Was it a wraith? No! but an old man bearded to the waist, And now there stood before the throng the Black Wood Ghaist! "Imprudent youths!" he cried; "I come from gloomy rocks up yonder, Your eyes to ope: I'm filled with wrath and wonder! You all admire this Franconnette; Learn who she is, infatuate!

 From very cradle she's all evil; Her wretched father, miserable, Passed to the Hugnenots and sold her to the Devil; Her mother died of shame-- And thus the demon plays his game. Now he has bought this woman base, He tracks her in her hiding-place. You see how he has punished Pascal and Lawrence Because they gave her light embrace! Be warned! For who so dares this maid to wed, Amid the brief delight of their first nuptial night, Will sudden hear a thunder-peal o'er head! The demon cometh in his might To snatch the bride away in fright, And leave the ill-starred bridegroom dead!"

 The Wizard said no more; but angry, fiery rays, From scars his visage bore, seemed suddenly to blaze. Four times he turned his heel upon, Then bade the door stand wide, or ere his foot he stayed; With one long creak the door obeyed, And lo! the bearded ghaist was gone!

 He left great horror in his wake! None stirred in all the throng; They looked nor left nor right, when he away had gone, They seemed all changed to stone-- Only the stricken maid herself stood brave against her wrong;

 And in the hope forlorn that all might pass for jest, With tremulous smile, half bright, half pleading, She swept them with her eyes, and two steps forward pressed; But when she saw them all receding, And heard them cry "Avaunt!" then did she know her fate; Then did her saddened eyes dilate With speechless terror more and more, The while her heart beat fast and loud, Till with a cry her head she bowed And sank in swoon upon the floor. Such was the close of Busking night, Though it began so gay and bright; The morrow was the New Year's day, It should have been a time most gay; But now there went abroad a fearful rumour-- It was remembered long time after In every house and cottage home throughout the land-- Though 'twas a fiction and a superstition, -- It was, "The De'il's abroad! He's now a-roaming; How dreadful! He is now for lost souls seeking!"

 The folks were roused and each one called to mind That some, in times of yore, had heard the sound Of Devil's chains that clanked; How soon the father vanished, The mother, bent in agony, A maniac she died! That then all smiled; they felt nor hurt nor harm, They lived quite happy on their cottage farm, And when the fields were spoilt with hail or rain, Their ground was covered o'er with plums and grain. 

 It was enough; the girls believed it all, Grandmothers, mothers--thoughts did them appal-- Even infants trembled at the demon's name; And when the maiden hung her head in pain, . And went abroad, they scarce would give her passage; They called to her, "Away! Avaunt! thou imp of evil, Behold the crime of dealing with the Devil!"

 THIRD PART. 

 The Maid at Estanquet--A Bad Dream--The Grandmother's Advice-- Blessed Bread--Satisfaction and Affection--First Thought of Love --Sorrowfulness--The Virgin. 

 Beside a cot at Estanquet, Down by a leafy brooklet, The limpid stream Enshadowed sheen, Lapped o'er the pebbles murmuring. Last summer sat a maid, with gathered flowers, She was engaged in setting, Within her grassy bowers; She sang in joy her notes so thrilling, As made the birds, their sweet songs trilling, Most jealous. 

 Why does she sing no more? midst fields and hedgerows verdant; 'The nightingales that came within her garden, With their loud "jug! jug!" warbling, And their sweet quavers singing; Can she have left her cottage home?

 No! There's her pretty hat of straw Laid on the bench; but then they saw There was no ribbon round it; The garden all neglected; The rake and wat'ring-pot were down Amongst the jonquils overthrown; The broken-branched roses running riot; The dandelion, groundsell, all about; And the nice walks, laid out with so much taste, Now cover'd with neglected weeds and wanton waste. 

 Oh! what has happened here? Where is the lively maid? The little birds now whispering said; Her home is sparkling there beyond, With tufted branch of hazel round; Let's just peep in, the door is open, We make no noise, but let us listen. Ah! there's grandmother, on her arm-chair, fast asleep! And here, beside the casement deep, The maid of Estanquet, in saddened pain and grief, The tears down-falling on her pretty hand; To whom no joy nor hope can ever give relief!

 Ah! yes, 'twas dark enough! for it is Franconnette, Already you've divined it is our pet!

 And see her now, poor maiden, Bending beneath the falsest blow, o'erladen; She sobs and weeps alternately-- Her heart is rent and empty, Oft, to console herself, she rises, walks, and walks again; Alas! her trouble is so full of pain-- Awake or sleeping-- she's only soothed by weeping. Daughter of Huguenot accursed, And banished from the Church! Sold to the demon; she's for ever cursed! Grandmother, waking, said, "Child, 'tis not true; It matters not; 'tis but thy father fled, No one can contradict that raving crew; They know not where he is, and could they see him, They would so frightened be, they'd not believe their een!"

 "How changed things are, " said Franconnette, "before I was so happy; Then I was village queen, all followed love in harmony; And all the lads, to please me, Would come barefooted, e'en through serpents' nests, to bless me! But now, to be despised and curst, I, who was once the very first! And Pascal, too, whom once I thought the best, In all my misery shuns me like a pest! Now that he knows my very sad mishaps, He ne'er consoles with me at all--perhaps----"

 She did deceive herself. Her grief to-day was softened By hearing that Pascal 'gainst slanders her defended; Such magic help, it was a balm Her aching soul to calm; And then, to sweeten all her ill, She thought always of Pascal--did this softened girl. 

 What is that sound? A sudden shriek! Grandmother dreamt--she was now wide awake; The girl sprang to her; she said, "Isn't the house aflame? Ah! twas a dream! Thank God!" her murmur came. 

 "Dear heart, " the girl said softly; "what was this dream of thine?" "Oh, love! 'twas night, and loud ferocious men, methought Came lighting fires all round our little cot, And thou did'st cry unto them, daughter mine, To save me, but did'st vainly strive, For here we too must burn alive! The torment that I bore! How shall I cure my fright Come hither, darling, let me hold thee tight!"

 Then the white-headed dame, in withered arms of love, With yearning tenderness folded the brown-haired girl, who strove, By many a smile, and mute caress, To hearten her, until at length The aged one cried out, her love gave vital strength, "Sold to the Demon, thou? It is a hideous lie! Therefore, dear child, weep not so piteously; Take courage! Be thou brave in heart once more, Thou art more lovely than before-- Take grannie's word for that! Arise! Go forth; who hides from envious eyes Makes wicked people spiteful; I've heard this, my pet; I know full well there's one who loves thee yet-- Marcel would guard thee with his love; Thou lik'st not him? Ah! could he move Thy feelings, he would shield thee, dear, And claim thee for his own. But I am all too feeble grown; Yet stay, my darling, stay! To-morrow's Easter Day, Go thou to Mass, and pray as ne'er before! Then take the blessed bread, if so the good God may The precious favour of his former smile restore, And on thy sweet face, clear as day, Own thou art numbered with his children evermore!"

 Then such a gleam of hope lit the old face again, Furrowed so deep with years and pain, That, falling on her neck, the maiden promised well, And once more on the white cot silence fell. 

 When, therefore, on the morrow, came the country-side, To hear the Hallelujas in the church of Saint Pierre; Great was the wonderment of those that spied The maiden, Franconnette, silently kneeling there, Telling her beads with downcast eyes of prayer. She needs, poor thing, Heaven's mercy to implore, For ne'er a woman's will she win! But then, beholding her sweet mien, Were Marvel and Pascal, eyeing her fondly o'er; She saw them with her glances, dark as night, Then shrinking back, they left her all alone, Midway of a great circle, as they might Some poor condemned one Bearing some stigma on her brow in sight. 

 This was not all, poor child! It was well known-- The warden, uncle to Marcel, Carried the Blessed Bread; And like a councillor, did swell In long-tailed coat, with pompous tread: But when the trembling maid, making a cross, essayed To take a double portion, as her dear old grandame bade, Right in the view of every eye, The sacred basket he withdrew, and passed her wholly And so, denied her portion of the bread whereby we live, She, on glad Easter, doth receive Dismissal from God's house for aye. 

 The maid, trembling with fear, thought all was lost indeed! But no! she hath a friend at need; 'Twas Pascal, who had seen her all the while-- Pacal, whose young foot walked along the aisle, He made the quest, and nothing loth, In view of uncle and of nephew both, Doth quietly to her present, Upon a silver plate, with flowers fair blossoming, The crown-piece{5} of the Holy Sacrament-- And all the world beholds the pious offering. 

 Oh! moment full of joy; her blood sprang into fleetness; Warmth was in all her frame, her senses thrilled with sweetness; She saw the bread of God arisen Out of its earthly prison, Thus life unto her own was given: But wherefore did her brow quite blushing grow? Because the angel bright of love, I trow, Did with her glowing breath impart Life to the flame long smouldering in her heart. It did become a something strange, and passing all desire As honey sweet, and quick as fire Did her sad soul illuminate With a new being; and, though late, She knew the word for her delight, The fair enigma she could guess. People and priest all vanish'd from her sight, She saw in all the church only one man aright-- He whom she loved at last, with utmost gratefulness. 

 Then from Saint Peter's church the throng widely dispersed, And of the scandal they had seen, now eagerly conversed; But lost not sight of her at all Who bore the Bread of Honour to the ancient dame, ere this, She sitteth now alone, shut in her chamber small, While Franconnette beams brightly with her new-found bliss. 

 On the parched earth, where falls the earliest dew, As shines the sun's first rays, the winter flown-- So love's first spark awakes to life anew, And fills the startled mind with joy unknown. The maiden yielded every thought to this-- The trembling certainty of real bliss; The lightning of a joy before improved, Flash'd in her heart, and told her that she loved. 

 She fled from envy, and from curious eyes, And dreamed, as all have done, their waking dreams, Bidding in thought bright fairy fabrics rise To shrine the loved one in their golden gleams. Alas! the sage is right, 'tis the distrest Who dream the fondest, and who love the best. 

 But when the saddened heart controls us quite, It quickly turns to gall the sweets of our delight. Then she remembered all! The opening heaven turned grey, Dread thought now smites her heavily. Dreams she of love? Why, what is she? Sweet love is not for her! The dreaded sorcerer Hath said she's fore-sold for a price--a murderer! With heart of dev'lish wrath, which whoso dares to brave To lie with her one night, therein shall find his grave. She, to see Pascal perish at her side! "Oh God! have pity on me now!" she cried. So, rent with cruel agonies, And weeping very sore, Fell the poor child upon her knees, Her little shrine before. 

 "Oh, Holy Virgin!"--sighing--"on thee alone relying, I come; I'm all astray! Father and mother too Are dead lang syne, and I accursed! All tongues are crying This hideous tale! Yet save me if't be true; If they have falsely sworn, be it on their souls borne When I shall bring my taper on the fete-day morn{6} Oh! blessed Mother, let me see That I am not denied of thee!"

 Brief prayer, Though 'tis sincere, To Heaven mounts quickly, Sure to have won a gracious ear; The maid her purpose holds, and ponders momently, And oftentimes grows sick, and cannot speak for fear, But sometimes taketh heart, and sudden hope and strong Shines in her soul, as brightest meteor gleams the sky along. 

 FOURTH PART. 

 The Fete at Notre Dame--Offering to the Virgin--Thunderstroke and Taper Extinguished--The Storm at Roquefort-- Fire at Estanquet--Triumph of Pascal--Fury of Marcel-- Power of a Mother--Bad Head and Good Heart--Conclusion. 

 At last, behold the day she longed for, yet so fearfully, But lo! the sun rose cheerfully; And long, long lines of white-robed village girls From all the country round, walked tow'rds the tinkling bells, And soon, proud Notre Dame appeared in sight, As 'midst a cloud of perfume! 'Twas if the thirty hamlets in their might Were piled together into one. 

 What priests! What candles! Crucifixes! Garlands! What Angels, {7} and what banners!

 You see there Artigues, Puymiral, Astafort, Saint-Cirq, Cardonnet, Lusignan, Brax, Roquefort, But this year, Roquefort first, o'erleapeth all. What crowds there are of curious people, To watch the girl sold to the Devil! The news has travelled everywhere; They know that she, in silent prayer, Implores the Virgin to protect her there!

 Her neighbours scoff, and her menace, But saddened friends grieve at her sore disgrace, Love, through their heart, in fervour rills, Each one respects this plaintivest of girls; And many a pitying soul a prayer said, That some great miracle might yet be made In favour of this poor and suppliant maid. 

 She saw, rejoiced, more hope with her abode; Though voice of people is the voice of God! Oh! how her heart beat as the church she neared, 'Twas for the Virgin's indulgence she cared. Mothers with heartaches; young unfortunates; The orphan girls; the women without mates; All knelt before, with tapers waxen, The image of the Virgin; And there the aged priest, in surplice dressed, Placed the crosses at their lips, and afterwards them blessed. 

 No sign of sorrow did on any suppliant fall, But with their happy hearts, their ways went one and all, So Franconnette grew happy too, And most because Pascal prayed fervent in her view; She dared t'raise her eyes to the holy father's face, It seemed to her that love, hymns, lights, and the incense United, cried out, "Grace!" "Grace, grace divine, " she sighed, "and love! Let them be mine!" Then stretching out her taper lit, and followed to the shrine, Bearing a garland in her hand; and all about her strove To give a place to her, and bade her forward move. They fixed their eyes upon the sacred priest and her, And scarce a breath was drawn, and not a soul did stir; But when the priest, holding the image of redeeming love, Had laid it on the orphan's lips; before her kiss was given, Burst a terrific thunderpeal, as if 'twould rend the heaven, Blowing her taper out, and all the altar lights above. 

 Oh, what is this? The crashing thunder! Her prayer denied, the lights put out! Good God! she's sold indeed! All, all is true, no doubt, So a long murmur rose of horror and of wonder; For while the maiden breathlessly Cowering like some lost soul, their shuddering glances under, Sudden crept forth, all shrunk away, and let her pass them by. 

 Howbeit, that great peal was the opening blow Of a wild storm and terrible, That straightway upon Roquefort fell, The spire of Saint Pierre{8} lay in ruins low, And, smitten by the sharp scourge of the hail, In all the region round, men could but weep and wail. 

 The angel bands who walked that day In fair procession, hymns to sing, Turned sorrowing, all save one, away, Ora pro nobis chaunting. 

 Yet, in those early times, though not as now, The angry waves to clear; To other jealous towns could Agen show Great bridges three, as she a royal city were;

 Then she had only barges two, by poles propelled slow, That waited for the minstrels, to bear them to Roquefort, Whose villagers heard rumours of the widespread woe; Ere landing, they were ranged for singing on the shore. At first the tale but half they heed, But soon they see in very deed, Vineyards and happy fields with hopeless ruin smit; Then each let fall his banner fair, And lamentations infinite Bent on all sides the evening air, Till o'er the swelling throng rose deadly clear the cry, "And still we spare this Franconnette!" Then suddenly, As match to powder laid, the words "Set her on fire! That daughter of the Huguenot, Let's burn her up, and let her ashes rot. " Then violent cries were heard. Howls of "Ay! Ay! the wretch! Now let her meet her fate! She is the cause of all, 'tis plain! Once she has made us desolate, But she shall never curse again!"

 And now the crowd grew angrier, wilder too. "Hunt her off face of earth!" one shouts anew; "Hunt her to death! 'Tis meet, " a thousand tongues repeat, The tempest in the skies cannot with this compete. Oh, then, to see them as they came, With clenched fists and eyes aflame, Hell did indeed its demons all unchain. And while the storm recedes, the night is growing clear, But poison shoots through every vein Of the possess'd madmen there. 

 Thus goaded they themselves to crime; but where was she, Unhappy Franconnette? To her own cottage driven-- Worshipping her one relic, sad and dreamily, And whispered to the withered flowers Pascal had loving given: "Dear nosegay, when I saw thee first, Methought thy sweetness was divine, And I did drink it, heart athirst; But now thou art not sweet as erst, Because those wicked thoughts of mine Have blighted all thy beauty rare; I'm sold to powers of ill, for Heav'n hath spurned my prayer; My love is deadly love! No hope on earth have I! So, treasure of my heart, flowers of the meadow fair, Because I bless the hand that gathered thee, good-bye! Pascal must not love such as I! He must th' accursed maid forswear, Who yet to God for him doth cry! In wanton merriment last year, Even at love laughed Franconnette; Now is my condemnation clear, Now whom I love, I must forget; Sold to the demon at my birth! My God, how can it be? Have I not faith in Thee? Oh! blessed blossoms of the earth; Let me drive with my cross the evil one from me! And thou, my mother, in the star-lit skies above, And thou, my guardian, oh! mother of our God, Pity me: For I bless Pascal, but part from him I love!

 Pity the maid accursed, by the rod Sore smitten, to the earth down-trod, Help me, thy Heart Divine to move!"

 "Franconnette, little one, what means thy plaintive moan?" So spake the hoary dame. "Didst thou not smiling say Our Lady did receive thy offering to-day? But sure, no happy heart should make so sad a groan. Thou hast deceived me? Some new ill, " she said, Hath fall'n upon us!" "Nay, not so; be comforted. I--I'm quite happy!" "So my sweetest deary, God grant that some good respite we may have, For your sad sorrow diggeth up my grave; And this hath been a lonesome, fearsome day, and weary; That cruel dream of fire I had some time ago, Howe'er I strove, did always haunt me so! And then, thou know'st the storm; oh, I was terrified, So that, to-night, my dear, I shudder in my fright!"

 What sudden noise is this outside? "Fire! Fire! Let's burn them in their cot!" Flames shine through all the shutters wide, Then Franconnette springs to the doorway tremblingly, And, gracious Heaven! what doth she see? By light of burning reek, An angry people huddled thick; She hears them shout, "Now, to your fate! Spare ne'er the young one, nor the old, Both work us ruin manifold. Sold to the demon, we must burn you straight!"

 The girl fell on her knees, before the face Of that most furious populace. 

 She cried, "Grandmother will you kill? Oh, pity, grace!" "Twas of no use, the wretches, blind with fury, In viewing her bareheaded, in their hurry, Saw but a cursed leman, Sold bodily to the demon. The fiercest cried "Avaunt!" While the more savage forward spring, And on the door their feet they plant, With fiery brand in their hand brandishing. 

 "Hold! I implore you!"cried a voice, before unheard; And sudden leapt before the crowd like lightning with the word, A man of stately strength and tall, It was the noble, brave Pascal!

 "Cowards!" he cried. "What? Will you murder women then, And burn their cot? Children of God! Are you the same? Tigers you are, and cannot then be men; And after all that they have suffered! Shame! Fall back! Fall back! I say; the walls are growing hot!"

 "Then let her leave us quite, this wretched Huguenot, For she was long since by the devil bought, God smites us 'cause we did not drive her forth before. " "Quick! quick!" cried Pascal, "living they will burn! Ye dogs, who moved ye to this awful crime?" "'Twas Marcel, " they replied. "See, now he comes in time!" "You lie!" the soldier thundered in his turn; "I love her, boaster, more than thou!" Said Pascal, "How wilt prove thy love, thou of the tender heart?" "I come, " the other said, "to save her. I come to take her part. I come, if so she will, to wed her, even now. "

 "And so am I, " replied Pascal, and steadfastly Before his rival's eyes, as bound by some great spell. Then to the orphan girl turned he, With worship all unspeakable. "Answer me, Franconnette, and speak the truth alone; Thou'st followed by the wicked with spite and scorn, my own; But we two love thee well, and ready are to brave Death! Yes, or hell, thy precious life to save. Choose which of us thou wilt!" "Nay, " she lamented sore, "Dearest, mine is a love that slays! Be happy, then, without me! Forget me! Go thy ways!"

 "Happy without thee, dear! That can I never more: Nay, were it true, as lying rumour says, An evil spirit ruled you o'er, I'd rather die with you, than live bereaved days!"

 When life is at its bitterest, The voice of love aye rules us best; Instantly rose the girl above her mortal dread, And on the crowd advancing straight, "Because I love Pascal, alone I'd meet my fate! Howbeit his will is law, " she said, "Wherefore together let our souls be sped. " Then was Pascal in heav'n, and Marcel in the dust laid low; Then Pascal sought his gallant rival, saying, "I am more blest than thou! Forgive! thou'rt brave, I know, Some squire{9} should follow me to death; then wilt thou not Serve me? I have no other friend!" Marcel seemed dreaming; And now he scowled with wrath, and now his eyes were kindling; Terrible was the battle in his mind; Till his eye fell on Franconnette, serene and beaming, But with no word for him; then pale, but smilingly, "Because it is her will, " he said, "I follow thee. "

 Two weeks had passed away, and a strange nuptial train, Adown the verdant hill went slowly to the plain; First came the comely pair we know, in all their bloom, While gathered far and wide, three deep on either side, The ever-curious rustics hied, Shudd'ring at heart o'er Pascal's doom. Marcel conducts their march, but pleasures kindly true, Glows not upon th' unmoving face he lifts to view. And something glances from his eye, That makes men shudder as they pass him by;

 Yet verily his mien triumphant is, at least Sole master is he of this feast, And gives his rival, for bouquet, A supper and a ball to-day. But at the dance and at the board Alike, scarce one essayed a word; None sung a song, none raised a jest, For dark forebodings everyone oppressed. 

 And the betrothed, by love's deep rapture fascinated, Silent and sweet, though near the fate she sad awaited, No sound their dream dispelled, yet hand in hand did press, Their eyes looked ever in a visioned happiness; And so, at last, the evening fell. But one affrighted woman straightway broke the spell; She fell on Pascal's neck and "Fly, my son!" she cried. "I from the Sorcerer come! Fly, fly from thy false bride The fatal sieve{10} hath turned; thy death decree is spoken! There's sulphur fume in bridal room, and by the same dread token, Enter it not; for if thou liv'st thou'rt lost, " she sadly said; "And what were life to me, my son, if thou wert dead?" Then Pascal felt his eyes were wet, And turned away, striving to hide his face, where on The mother shrieked, "Ingrate! but I will save thee yet. 

 Thou wilt not dare!"--falling before her stricken son. "Thou shalt now o'er my body pass, even as thou goest forth! A wife, it seems, is all; and mother nothing worth! Unhappy that I am! "The crowd alas! their heavy tears ran down!

 "Marcel, " the bridegroom said, "her grief is my despair; But love, thou knowest, 's stronger yet; indeed 'tis time to go! Only, should I perish, let my mother be thy care. "

 "I can no more, " cried Marcel, "thy mother's conquered here. " And then the valiant soldier from his eyelids brushed a tear. "Take courage, Pascal, friend of mine Thy Franconnette is good and pure. That hideous tale was told, of dark design; But give thy mother thanks; but for her coming, sure This night might yet have seen my death and thine. " "What say'st thou?" "Hush! now I will tell thee all; Thou knowest that I lov'd this maid, Pascal. For her, like thee, I would have shed my blood; I dreamt that I was loved again; she held me in her thrall. Albeit my prayer was aye withstood; Her elders promised her to me; And so, when other suitors barr'd my way, In spite, Saying, in love or war, one may use strategy, I gave the wizard gold, my rival to affright, Therefore, my chance did everything, insomuch that I said, My treasure is already won and made. But when, in the same breath, we two our suit made known, And when I saw her, without turn of head, Choose thee, to my despair, it was not to be borne. And then I vow'd her death and thine, before the morrow morn! I thought to lead you forth to the bridal bower ere long, And then, the bed beside which I had mined with care, That they might say no prince or power of th' air Is here. That I might burn you for my wrong; Ay, cross yourselves, thought I, for you shall surely die! But thy mother, with her tears, has made my vengeance fly I thought of my own, Pascal, who died so long ago. Care thou for thine! And now fear nought from me, I trow, Eden is coming down to earth for thee, no doubt, But I, whom henceforth men can only hate and flout, Will to the wars away! For in me something saith I may recover from my rout, Better than by a crime! Ay! by a soldier's death!" Thus saying, Marcel vanished, loudly cheered on every side; And then with deepening blushes the twain each other eyed, For now the morning stars in the dark heavens shone But now I lift my pencil suddenly. Colours for strife and pain have I, But for such perfect rapture--none!

 And so the morning came, with softly-dawning light, No sound, no stir as yet within the cottage white, At Estanquet the people of the hamlets gathered were, To wait the waking of the happy married pair. Marcel had frankly told th' unhappy truth; Nathless, The devil had an awful power, And ignorance was still his dower. Some feared for bride and bridegroom yet; and guess At strange mischance. "In the night cries were heard, " Others had seen some shadows on the wall, in wondrous ways. Lives Pascal yet? None dares to dress The spicy broth, {11} to leave beside the nuptial door; And so another hour goes o'er. Then floats a lovely strain of music overhead, A sweet refrain oft heard before, 'Tis the aoubado{12} offered to the newly-wed. 

 So the door opes at last, and the young pair was seen, She blushed before the folk, but friendly hand and mien, The fragments of her garter gives, And every woman two receives; Then winks and words of ruth from eye and lip are passed, And luck of proud Pascal makes envious all at last, For the poor lads, whose hearts are healed but slightly, Of their first fervent pain, When they see Franconnette, blossoming rose-light brightly, All dewy fresh, so sweet and sightly, They cry aloud, "We'll ne'er believe a Sorcerer again!"

Endnotes to FRANCONNETTE. 

{1} Blaise de Montluc, Marshal of France, was one of the bitterestpersecutors of the Hugueuots. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, Agen was a centre of Protestantism. The town was taken again and againby the contending religious factions. When Montluc retook the place, in1562, from Truelle, the Huguenot captain, he found that the inhabitantshad fled, and there was no one to butcher (Gascogne et Languedoc, parPaul Joanne, p. 95). Montluc made up for his disappointment by layingwaste the country between Fumel and Penne, towns to the north of Agen, and slaying all the Huguenots--men, women, and children--on whom hecould lay his hands. He then returned to his castle of Estillac, devotedhimself to religious exercises, and "took the sacrament, " says Jasmin, "while his hands were dripping with fraternal blood. " Montluc died in1577, and was buried in the garden of Estillac, where a monument, theruins of which still exist', was erected over his remains. 

{2} Jour de Dieu!

{3} Wehr-wolves, wizard wolves--loup-garou. Superstitions respectingthem are known in Brittany and the South of France. 

{4} Miss Harriett W. Preston, in her article on Jasmin's Franconnette inthe Atlantic Monthly for February, 1876, says: "The buscou, or busking, was a kind of bee, at which the young people assembled, bringing thethread of their late spinning, which was divided into skeins of theproper size by a broad thin plate of steel or whalebone called a busc. The same thing, under precisely the same name, figured in the toiletsof our grandmothers, and hence, probably, the Scotch use of the verb tobusk, or attire. " Jamieson (Scottish Dictionary) says: "The term busk isemployed in a beautiful proverb which is very commonly used in Scotland, 'A bonny bride is soon busked. '"

{5} Miss Preston says this was a custom which prevailed in certain partsof France. It was carried by the French emigrants to Canada, where itflourished in recent times. The Sacramental Bread was crowned by one ormore frosted or otherwise ornamented cakes, which were reserved for thefamily of the Seigneur, or other communicants of distinction. 

{6} At Notre Dame de Bon Encontre, a church in the suburbs of Agen, celebrated for its legends, its miracles, and the numerous pilgrimageswhich are usually made to it in the month of May. 

{7} The Angels walked in procession, and sang the Angelos at theappropriate hours. 

{8} The ancient parish church of Roquefort, whose ruins only now remain. See text for the effects of the storm. 

{9} Dounzel is the word used by Jasmin. Miss H. W. Preston says of thispassage: "There is something essentially knightly in Pascal's cast ofcharacter, and it is singular that, at the supreme crisis of his fate, he assumes, as if unconsciously, the very phraseology of chivalry. 'Some squire (dounzel) should follow me to death, ' &c. , and we find italtogether natural and burning in the high-hearted smith. There are manyplaces where Jasmin addresses his hearers directly as 'Messieurs, ' wherethe context also makes it evident that the word is emphatic, that he isdistinctly conscious of addressing those who are above him in rank, andthat the proper translation is 'gentles, ' or even 'masters'; yet no poetever lived who was less of a sycophant. "

{10} Low sedas (the sieve) is made of raw silk, and is used for siftingflour. It has also a singular use in necromancy. When one desires toknow the name of the doer of an act--a theft for instance--the sieve ismade to revolve, but woe to him whose name is spoken just as the sievestops!

{11} An ancient practice. Lou Tourrin noubial, a highly-spiced onionsoup, was carried by the wedding guests to the bridegroom at a late hourof the night. 

{12} The aoubado--a song of early morning, corresponding to the serenadeor evening song.