M. de Lavergne, in his notice of Jasmin's works, frankly admits the local jealousy which existed between the Troubadours of Gascony and Provence. There seemed, he said, to be nothing disingenuous in the silence of the Provencals as to Jasmin's poems. They did not allow that he borrowed from them, any more than that they borrowed from him. These men of Southern France are born in the land of poetry. It breathes in their native air. It echoes round them in its varied measures. Nay, the rhymes 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 classic romance—that lovely but short-lived eldest daughter of the Latin—the language of the Troubadours.

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

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

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

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

The lowly man, against whom the asperities of his lot have closed the doors of worldly academies, may nevertheless have some special vocation for the poetic life. Academies cannot shut him out from the odour of the violet or the song of the nightingale. He hears the lark's song filling the 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, the song of the milkmaid, and the joyous cry of the reaper. Thus his mind is daily fed with the choicest influences of nature. He cannot but appreciate the joy, the glory, the unconscious delight of living. "The beautiful is master of a star." This feeling of beauty is the nurse of civilisation 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, the weaver; Allan Ramsay, the peruke-maker; Cooper, the shoemaker; and Critchley Prince, the factory-worker; but greater than these was Shakespeare,—though all were of humble origin.

France too has had its uneducated poets. Though the ancient song-writers of 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 the juice of his grapes; yet some of the best French poets of modem times have 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, the sail-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 the Uneducated Poets.

The first poem which Jasmin composed in the Gascon dialect was written in 1822, when he was only twenty-four years old. It was entitled La fidelitat Agenoso, which he subsequently altered to Me cal Mouri (Il me fait mourir), or "Let me die." It is a languishing romantic poem, after the manner of Florian, Jasmin's first master in poetry. It was printed at Agen in a quarto form, and sold for a franc. Jasmin did not attach his 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 and sensibility of the Troubadours. As one may say, he had not yet quitted the guitar for the flageolet; and Marot, who spoke of his flageolet, had not, in the midst of his playful spirit, those tender accents which contrasted so well with his previous compositions. And did not Henry IV., in the midst of his Gascon gaieties and sallies, compose his sweet song of Charmante Gabrielle? Jasmin indeed is the poet who is nearest the 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, and sung everywhere; in Agen, Toulouse, and throughout Provence. It was not until the publication of the first volume of his poems that it was known to be the work of Jasmin.

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

As the words of Jasmin's romance were written down by Miss Costello from memory, they are not quite accurate; but her translation into English sufficiently renders the poet's meaning. The following is the first verse 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 be given

"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 the south.

Jasmin's success in his native town, and his growing popularity, encouraged him to proceed with the making of verses. His poems were occasionally inserted in the local journals; but the editors did not approve of his use of the expiring Gascon dialect. They were of opinion that his works might be better appreciated if they appeared in modern French. Gascon was to a large extent a foreign language, and greatly interfered with Jasmin's national reputation as a poet.

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

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

Though the poem when published was read with much interest, it was not nearly so popular as Me cal Mouri. This last-mentioned poem, his first published work, touched the harp of sadness; while his Charivari displayed 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 brightness and happiness. At the end of the same year he sounded his third and deepest note in his poem On the Death of General Foy—one of France's truest patriots. Now his lyre was complete; it had its three strings—of sadness, joy, and sorrow.

These three poems—Me cal Mouri, the Charivari, and the ode On the Death of General Foy, with some other verses—were published in 1825. What was to be the title of the volume? As Adam, the carpenter-poet of Nevers, had entitled his volume of poetry 'Shavings,' so Jasmin decided to name his collection 'The Curl-papers of Jasmin, Coiffeur of Agen.' The title was a good one, and the subsequent volumes of his works were known as La Papillotos (the Curl-papers) of Jasmin. The publication of this first volume served to make Jasmin's name popular beyond the town in which they 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's quill; and that his hand of velvet in shaving was even surpassed by his skill in verse-making.

Charles Nodier, his old friend, who had entered the barber's shop some years before to intercede between the poet and his wife, sounded Jasmin's praises in the Paris journals. He confessed that he had been greatly struck with the Charivari, and boldly declared that the language of the Troubadours, which everyone supposed to be dead, was still in full life in France; that it not only lived, but that at that very moment a poor barber at Agen, without any instruction beyond that given by the fields, the woods, and the heavens, had written a serio-comic poem which, at the risk of being thought crazy by his colleagues of the Academy, 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 receipts from its sale not only increased Jasmin's income, but also increased his national reputation. Jasmin was not, however, elated by success. He remained simple, frugal, honest, and hard-working. He was not carried off his feet by eclat. Though many illustrious strangers, when passing through Agen, called upon and interviewed the poetical coiffeur, he quietly went back to his razors, his combs, and his periwigs, and cheerfully pursued the business that he could always depend upon in his time 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 etudes sur la vieille langue francaise ou langue d'oil. Je fus si frappe des liens qui unissent le francais moderne au francais ancien, j'apercus tant de cas ou les sens et des locutions du jour ne s'expliquent que par les sens et les locutions d'autrefois, tant d'exemples ou la forme des mots n'est pas intelligible sans les formes qui ont precede, qu'il me sembla que la doctrine et meme l'usage de la langue restent mal assis s'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 DE MUSSET.

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

In 1830 Jasmin composed The Third of May, which was translated into French by M. Duvigneau. It appears that the Count of Dijon had presented to the town of Nerac, near Agen, a bronze statue of Henry IV., executed by the sculptor Raggi—of the same character as the statue erected to the same monarch at Pau. But though Henry IV. was born at Pau, Nerac was perhaps 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 the house of Theodore de Beze, who emigrated to Geneva, still exists. The Protestant faith extended to Agen and the neighbouring towns. When the Roman Catholics obtained the upper hand, persecutions began. Vindocin, the pastor, was burned alive at Agen. J. J. Scaliger was an eye-witness of the burning, and he records the fact that not less than 300 victims perished for their faith.

At a later time Nerac, which had been a prosperous town, was ruined by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes; for the Protestant population, who had been the most diligent and industrious in the town and neighbourhood, were all either "converted," hanged, sent to the galleys, or forced to emigrate to England, Holland, or Prussia. Nevertheless, the people 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, mox patri nostro, Henrico quarto," and on the reverse side was a verse in the 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 thus translated 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 engraved on 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 the memory of Henry the Great. Many poems were accordingly sent in to the Society; and, after some consideration, it was thought that the prize should be awarded to M. Jude Patissie. But amongst the thirty-nine poems which had been presented for examination, it was found that two had been written in the Gascon dialect. The committee were at first of opinion that they could not award the prize to the author of any poem written in the vulgar tongue. At the same time they reported that one of the poems written in Gascon possessed such real merit, that the committee decided by a unanimous vote that a prize should be awarded to the author of the best poem written in the Gascon dialect. Many poems were accordingly sent in and examined. Lou Tres de May was selected as the best; and on the letter attached to the poem being opened, the president proclaimed the author to be "Jasmin, Coiffeur." After the decision of the Society at Agen, the people of Nerac desired to set their seal upon their judgment, and they accordingly caused the above words to be engraved on the reverse side of the pedestal supporting the statue of Henry IV. Jasmin's poem was crowned by the Academy of Agen; and though it contained many fine verses, it had the same merits and the same defects as the Charivari, published a few years before.

M. Rodiere, Professor of Law at Toulouse, was of opinion that during the four years during which Jasmin produced no work of any special importance, he was carefully studying Gascon; for it ought to be known that the language in which Godolin wrote his fine poems is not without its literature. "The fact," says Rodiere, "that Jasmin used some of his time in studying the works of Godolin is, that while in Lou Charibari there are some French words ill-disguised in a Gascon dress, on the other hand, from the year 1830, there are none; and the language of Jasmin is the same as the language of Godolin, except for a few trifling differences, due to the different dialects of Agen and Toulouse."

Besides studying Gascon, Jasmin had some military duties to perform. He was corporal of the third company of the National Guard of Agen; and in 1830 he addressed his comrades in a series of verses. One of these was a song entitled 'The Flag of Liberty' (Lou Drapeou de la Libertat); another, 'The Good All-merciful God!' (Lou Boun Diou liberal); and the third was Lou Seromen.

Two years later, in 1832, Jasmin composed The Gascons, which he improvised at a banquet given to the non-commissioned officers of the 14th Chasseurs. Of course, the improvisation was carefully prepared; and it was composed in French, as the non-commissioned officers did not understand 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 pleasant poetical letter written in classical French. Beranger replied in prose; his answer was dated the 12th of July, 1832. He thanked Jasmin for his fervent eulogy. While he thought that the Gascon poet's praise of his works was exaggerated, he believed in his sincerity.

"I hasten," said Beranger, "to express my thanks for the kindness of your address. Believe in my sincerity, as I believe in your praises. Your exaggeration of my poetical merits makes me repeat the first words of your address, in which you assume the title of a Gascon{2} poet. It would please me much better if you would be a French poet, as you prove by your epistle, which is written with taste and harmony. The sympathy of our sentiments has inspired you to praise me in a manner which I am far 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 scholastic instruction, and, like me too, you love your country. You reproach me, sir, with the silence which I have for some time preserved. At the end of this year I intend to publish my last volume; I will then take my leave of the public. I am now fifty-two years old. I am tired of the world. My little mission is fulfilled, and the public has had enough of me. I am therefore making arrangements for retiring. Without the desire for living longer, I have broken silence too soon. At least you must pardon the silence of one who has never demanded anything of his country. I care nothing about power, and have now merely the ambition of a morsel of bread and repose.

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

Notwithstanding this advice of Beranger and other critics, Jasmin continued to write his poems in the Gascon dialect. He had very little time to spare for the study of classical French; he was occupied with the trade by which he earned his living, and his business was increasing. His customers were always happy to hear him recite his poetry while he shaved their beards or dressed their hair.

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

Perhaps the finest work which Jasmin composed at this period of his life was that which he entitled Mous Soubenis, or 'My Recollections.' In none of his poems did he display more of the characteristic qualities of his mind, his candour, his pathos, and his humour, than in these verses. He used the rustic dialect, from which he never afterwards departed. He showed that the Gascon was not yet a dead language; and he lifted it to the level of the most serious themes. His verses have all the greater charm because of their artless gaiety, their delicate taste, and the sweetness of their cadence.

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

Many years later Jasmin wrote his Mous noubels Soubenis—'My New Recollections'; but in that work he returned to the trials and the enjoyments of his youth, and described few of the events of his later life. "What a pity," says M. Rodiere, "that Jasmin did not continue to write his impressions until the end of his life! What trouble he would have saved his biographers! For how can one speak when Jasmin ceases to sing?"

It is unnecessary to return to the autobiography and repeat the confessions of Jasmin's youth. His joys and sorrows are all described there—his birth in the poverty-stricken dwelling in the Rue Fon de Rache, his love for his parents, his sports with his playfellows on the banks of the Garonne, his blowing the horn in his father's Charivaris, his enjoyment of the tit-bits which old Boe brought home from his begging-tours, the decay of the old man, and his conveyance to the hospital, "where all the Jasmins die;" then his education at the Academy, his toying with the house-maid, his stealing the preserves, his expulsion from the seminary, and the sale of his mother's wedding-ring to buy bread for her family.

While composing the first two cantos of the Souvenirs he seemed half ashamed of the homeliness of the tale he had undertaken to relate. Should he soften and brighten it? Should he dress it up with false lights and colours? For there are times when falsehood in silk and gold are acceptable, and the naked new-born truth is unwelcome. But he repudiated 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 two more years to finish it. It commences with his apprenticeship to the barber; describes his first visit to the theatre, his reading of Florian's romances and poems, his solitary meditations, and the birth and growth of his imagination. Then he falls in love, and a new era opens in his life. He writes verses and sings them. He opens a barber's shop 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 sings most 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 the wretched arm-chair in which his ancestors were borne to the hospital to die. His wife no longer troubles him with her doubts as to his verses interfering with his business. She supplies him with pen, paper, ink, and a comfortable desk; and, in course of time, he buys the house in which he lives, and becomes a man of importance in Agen. He ends the third 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 my heart in my poems; and rude, unfinished, and hasty as they are, it can be read there." Jasmin might have used the same words. "With all my faults," he said, "I desired to write the truth, and I have described it as I saw it."

In his 'Recollections' he showed without reserve his whole heart. Jasmin dedicated his 'Recollections,' when finished, to M. Florimond de Saint-Amand, one of the first gentlemen who recognised his poetical talents. This was unquestionably the first poem in which Jasmin exhibited the true bent of his genius. He avoided entirely the French models which he had before endeavoured to imitate; and he now gave full flight to the artless gaiety and humour of his Gascon muse. It is unfortunate that the poem cannot be translated into English. It was translated into French; but even in that kindred language it lost much of its beauty and pathos. The more exquisite the poetry that is contained in one language, the more difficulty there is in translating it into another.

M. Charles Nodier said of Lou Tres de May that it contains poetic thoughts conveyed in exquisite words; but it is impossible to render it into any language but its own. In the case of the Charivari he shrinks from attempting to translate it. There is one passage containing a superb description of the rising of the sun in winter; but two of the lines 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 in Gascon 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 me if Homer could have better robed it in words. The Aurora of Jasmin is quite his own; 'unbars the doors of the morning'; it is done without noise, like a goddess, patient and silent, who announces herself to mortals only by her brightness of light. It is this finished felicity of expression which distinguishes great writers. The vulgar cannot accomplish it."

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

"Happy and lovely children of Guienne and Languedoc, read and re-read the Souvenirs of Jasmin; they will give you painful recollections of public schools, and perhaps give you hope of better things to come. You will learn by heart what you will never forget. You will know from this poetry all that you ought to treasure."

Jasmin added several other poems to his collection before his second volume appeared in 1835. Amongst these were his lines on the Polish nation—Aux debris de la Nation Polonaise, and Les Oiseaux Voyageurs, ou Les Polonais en France—both written in Gascon. Saint-beuve thinks the latter one of Jasmin's best works. "It is full of pathos," he says, "and rises to the sublime through its very simplicity. It is indeed difficult to exaggerate the poetic instinct and the unaffected artlessness of this amiable bard. "At the same time," he said, "Jasmin still wanted the fire of passion to reach the noblest poetic work. Yet he had the art of style. If Agen was renowned as 'the eye of Guienne,' Jasmin was certainly the greatest poet who had ever written in the pure patois of Agen."

Sainte-Beuve also said of Jasmin that he was "invariably sober." And Jasmin said of himself, "I have learned that in moments of heat and emotion we are all eloquent and laconic, alike in speech and action—unconscious poets in fact; and I have also learned that it is possible for a muse to become all this willingly, and by dint of patient toil."

Another of his supplementary poems consisted of a dialogue between Ramoun, a soldier of the Old Guard, and Mathiou, a peasant. It is of a political cast, and Jasmin did not shine in politics. He was, however, always a patriot, whether under the Empire, the Monarchy, or the Republic. He loved France above all things, while he entertained the warmest affection for his native province. If Jasmin had published his volume in classical French he might have been lost amidst a crowd of rhymers; but as he published the work in his native dialect, he became forthwith distinguished in his neighbourhood, and was ever after known as 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, an advocate of the Royal Court of Agen, it created considerable excitement, not only at Bordeaux and Toulouse, but also at Paris, the centre of the literature, science, and fine arts of France. There, men of the highest distinction welcomed the work with enthusiasm.

M. Baze, in his preface, was very eulogistic. "We have the pleasure," he said, "of seeing united in one collection the sweet Romanic tongue which the South of France has adopted, like the privileged children of her lovely sky and voluptuous climate; and her lyrical songs, whose masculine vigour and energetic sentiments have more than once excited patriotic transports and awakened popular enthusiasm. For Jasmin is above all a poet of the people. He is not ashamed of his origin. He was born in the midst of them, and though a poet, still belongs to them. For genius is of all stations and ranks of life. He is but a hairdresser at Agen, and more than that, he wishes to remain so. His ambition is to unite the razor to the poet's pen."

At Paris the work was welcomed with applause, first by his poetic sponsor, Charles Nodier, in the Temps, where he congratulated Jasmin on using the Gascon patois, though still under the ban of literature. "It is a veritable Saint Bartholomew of innocent and beautiful idioms, which can scarcely be employed even in the hours of recreation." He pronounced Jasmin to be a Gascon Beranger, and quoted several of his lines from the Charivari, but apologised for their translation into French, fearing that they might lose much of their rustic artlessness and soft harmony.

What was a still greater honour, Jasmin was reviewed by the first critic of France—Sainte-Beuve in the leading critical journal, the Revue des deux Mondes. The article was afterwards republished in his Contemporary Portraits.{5} He there gives a general account of his poems; compares him with the English and Scotch poets of the working class; and contrasts him with Reboul, the baker of Nimes, who writes in classical French, after the manner of the 'Meditations of Lamartine.' He proceeds to give a brief account of Jasmin's life, taken from the Souvenirs, which he regards as a beautiful work, written with much artlessness and simplicity.

Various other reviews of Jasmin's poems appeared, in Agen, Bordeaux, Toulouse, and Paris, by men of literary mark—by Leonce de Lavergne, and De 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 made Goodness as attractive as other French writers had made Badness." Such criticisms 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 to his interview with Jasmin in 1836, after the publication of his second volume of poems. Paul de Musset was the author of several novels, as well as of Lui et Elle, apropos of his brother's connection with George Sand. Paul de Musset thus describes his visit to the poet at Agen.{6}

"Let no one return northward by the direct road from Toulouse. Nothing can be more dreary than the Lot, the Limousin, and the interminable Dordogne; but make for Bordeaux by the plains of Gascony, and do not forget the steamboat from Marmande. You will then find yourself on the Garonne, in the midst of a beautiful country, where the air is vigorous and healthy. The roads are bordered with vines, arranged in arches, lovely to the eyes of travellers. The poets, who delight in making the union of the vine with the trees which support it an emblem of marriage, can verify their comparisons only in Gascony or Italy. It is usually pear trees that are used to support them....

"Thanks to M. Charles Nodier, who had discovered a man of modest talent buried in this province, I knew a little of the verses of the Gascon poet Jasmin. Early one morning, at about seven, the diligence stopped in the 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 of the most lettered of peruke-makers. On a table was a mass of pamphlets and some of the journals of the South.

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

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

"'Monsieur then comprehends the patois?' 'A little,' I said; 'one of my friends has explained to me the difficult passages. But tell me, Monsieur Jasmin, why is it that you, who appear to know French perfectly, write in a language that is not spoken in any chief town or capital.'

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

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

"'Well, sir, I am content with that amount. Perhaps you have at Paris more than one writer who possesses his twenty thousand readers. My little reputation would soon carry me astray if I ventured to address all Europe. The voice that appears sonorous in a little place is not heard in the midst of a vast plain. And then, my readers are confined within a radius of forty leagues, and the result is of real advantage to an author.'

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

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



Endnotes for Chapter VI.

{1} M. Duvigneau thus translated the words into French: he begins his verses 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 or gasconading.

{3} This letter was written before Jasmin had decided to publish the second 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 de l'Academie Francaise. 1847.

{6} 'Perpignan, l'Ariege et le poete Jasmin' (Journal politique et litteraire 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 of life. He had been dreaming, he had been thinking, for many years, of composing some poems of a higher order than his Souvenirs. He desired to embody in his work some romantic tales in verse, founded upon local legends, noble in conception, elaborated with care, and impressive by the dignity of simple natural passion.

In these new lyrical poems his intention was to aim high, and he succeeded to a marvellous extent. He was enabled to show the depth and strength of his dramatic powers, his fidelity in the description of romantic and picturesque incidents, his shrewdness in reading character and his skill in representing it, all of which he did in perfect innocence of all established canons in the composition of dramatic poetry.

The first of Jasmin's poetical legends was 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille' (L'Abuglo). It was translated into English, a few years after its appearance, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, daughter of the British ambassador at Paris,{1} and afterwards by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the American poet. Longfellow follows the rhythm of the original, 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 these words—

"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 author of this beautiful poem, is to the South of France what Burns is to the South of Scotland, the representative of the heart of the people,—one of those happy bards who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'auuvelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his poverty, his struggles, and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen, on the Garonne, and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs!" It is unnecessary to quote the poem, which is so well-known by the numerous readers of Longfellow's poems, but a compressed narrative of the story may be given.

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

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

"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 people frisked along. The picture of youth, gaiety, and beauty, is full of truth and nature. The bride herself takes part in the frolic. With roguish eyes she escapes and cries: "Those who catch me will be married this year!" And then they descend the hill towards the church of Saint-Amans. Baptiste, the bridegroom, is out of spirits and mute. He takes no part in the sports of the bridal party. He remembers with grief the blind girl he has abandoned.

In the cottage under the cliff Marguerite meditates a tragedy. She dresses herself, and resolves to attend the wedding at Saint-Amans with her little brother. While dressing, she slips a knife into her bosom, and then they start for the church. The bridal party soon arrived, and Marguerite 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 accustomed words. In a moment a voice cried: "It is he! It is he;" and Marguerite rushed through the bridal party towards him with a knife in her hand to stab herself; but before she could reach the bridegroom she fell down dead—broken-hearted! The crime which she had intended to commit against 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 month it was publicly recited by Jasmin at Bordeaux, at the request of the Academy of that city.

There was great beauty, tenderness, and pathos in the poem. It was perfectly simple and natural. The poem might form the subject of a drama or a musical cantata. The lamentations of Marguerite on her blindness remind 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 1835 that his talent raised itself to the eminence of writing one of his purest compositions—natural, touching and disinterested—his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, in which he makes us assist in a fete, amidst the joys of the villagers; and at the grief of a young girl, a fiancee whom a severe attack of smallpox had deprived of her eyesight, and whom her betrothed lover had abandoned to marry another.

"The grief of the poor abandoned girl, her changes of colour, her attitude, her conversation, her projects—the whole surrounded by the freshness of spring and the laughing brightness of the season—exhibits a character of nature and of truth which very few poets have been able to attain. One is quite surprised, on reading this simple picture, to be involuntarily carried back to the most expressive poems of the ancient Greeks—to Theocritus for example—for the Marguerite of Jasmin may be compared with the Simetha of the Greek poet. This is true poetry, rich from the same sources, and gilded with the same imagery. In his new compositions Jasmin has followed his own bias; this man, who had few books, but meditated deeply in his heart and his love of nature; and he followed the way of true art with secret and persevering labour in what appeared 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 this last characteristic. He is never more happy than when he finds that he can borrow from an artizan or labourer one of those words which are worth ten of others. It is thus that his genius has refined during the years preceding the time in which he produced his greatest works. It is thus that he has become the poet of the people, writing in the popular patois, and for public solemnities, which remind one of those of the Middle Ages and of Greece; thus he finds himself to be, in short, more than any of our contemporaries, of the School of Horace, of Theocritus, or of Gray, and all the brilliant geniuses who have endeavoured by study to bring each of their works to perfection."{5}

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

But Jasmin soon showed them that genius is of no rank or condition of life; and their views shortly underwent a sudden change. His very appearance in the city was a triumph. Crowds resorted to the large hall, in which he was to recite his new poem of the Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille. The prefect, the mayor, the members of the Academy, and the most cultivated people of the city were present, and received him with 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 his recitation, every doubt disappeared. He read the poem with marvellous eloquence; while his artistic figure, his mobile countenance, his dark-brown eyebrows, which he raised or lowered at will, his expressive gesticulation, and his passionate acting, added greatly to the effect of his 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 in their popular chaunt. His eyes became suffused with tears, and those who listened 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 at the death of the blind girl; and when he had ended, a storm of applause burst from the audience. There was a clapping of hands and a thunderous stamping of feet that shook the building almost to its foundations.

It was a remarkable spectacle, that a humble working man, comparatively uneducated, should have evoked the tumultuous applause of a brilliant assembly of intelligent ladies and gentlemen. It was indeed something extraordinary. Some said that he declaimed like Talma or Rachel, nor was there any note of dissonance in his reception. The enthusiasm was general and unanimous amongst the magistrates, clergy, scientific men, artists, physicians, ship-owners, men of business, and working people. They all joined in the applause when Jasmin had concluded his recitation.

From this time forward Jasmin was one of the most popular men at Bordeaux. He was entertained at a series of fetes. He was invited to soirees by the prefect, by the archbishop, by the various social circles, as well as by the workmen's associations. They vied with each other for the honour of entertaining him. He went from matinees to soirees, and in ten days he appeared at thirty-four different entertainments.

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

It was one of the most remarkable things about Jasmin, that he was never carried off his feet by the brilliant ovations he received. Though enough to turn any poor fellow's head, he remained simple and natural to the last. As we say in this country, he could "carry corn" We have said that "Gascon" is often used in connection with boasting or gasconading. But the term was in no way applicable to Jasmin. He left the echo of praises behind him, and returned to Agen to enjoy the comforts of his fireside.

He was not, however, without tempters to wean him from his home and his ordinary pursuits. In 1836, the year after his triumphal reception at Bordeaux, some of his friends urged him to go to Paris—the centre of light 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 advised Jasmin to go to the great metropolis, where genius alone was recognised. Jasmin answered him in a charming letter, setting forth the reasons which determined him to remain at home, principally because his tastes were 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 the great city of kings, because there, you say, my poetical humour and my well-known verses will bring torrents of crowns to my purse. Oh, you may well boast to me of this shower of gold and its clinking stream. You only make me cry: 'Honour is but smoke, glory is but glory, and money is only money!' I ask you, in no craven spirit, is money the only thing for a man to seek who feels in his heart the least spark of poetry? In my town, where everyone works, leave me as I am. Every summer, happier than a king, I lay up my small provision for the winter, and then I sing like a goldfinch under the shade of a poplar or an ash-tree, only too happy to grow grey in the land which gave me birth. One hears in summer the pleasant zigo, ziou, ziou, of the nimble grasshopper, or the young sparrow pluming his wings to make himself ready for flight, he knows not 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 my comfort. To sing of joyous poverty one must be joyful and poor. I am satisfied 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 short time; but his native town of Agen, his home on the Gravier, his shop, his wife and his children, continued to be his little paradise. His muse soared over him like a guardian angel, giving him songs for his happiness 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 good sense. She counselled and advised him in everything. He gave himself up to her wise advice, and never had occasion to regret it. It was with her modest marriage-portion that he was enabled to establish himself as a master hairdresser.

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

Though Jasmin was always disposed to rhyme a little, his wise wife never allowed him to forget his regular daily work. At the same time she understood that his delicate nature could not be entirely absorbed by the labours of an ordinary workman. She was no longer jealous of his solitary communions with his muse; and after his usual hours of occupation, she left him, or sat by him, to enable him to pursue his dear reveries in quiet.

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

Jasmin, while he was labouring over some song or verse, found it necessary to recite it to some one near him, but mostly to his wife. He wandered 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 often found for him the true word for the picture which he desired to present to his reader. Though Jasmin was always thankful for her help, he did not abandon his own words without some little contention. He had worked out 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 make it fit more completely into the Gascon idiom." In certain cases passages were suppressed; in others they were considerably altered.

When Jasmin, after much labour and correction, had finished his poem, he would 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 well as by his friends. When the poem was long and elaborate, the auditors sometimes began to yawn. Then the wife stepped in and said: "Jasmin, you must stop; leave the remainder of the poem for another day." Thus the recital ceased for the time.

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

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

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

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

Some of his local critics, not having comprehended the inner life of Jasmin, compared his wife to the gardener of Boileau and the maid-servant of Moliere. But the comparison did not at all apply. Jasmin had no gardener nor any old servant or housekeeper. Jasmin and Marie were quite different. They lived the same lives, and were all in all to each other. They were both of the people; and though she was without culture, and had not shared in the society of the educated, she took every interest in the sentiments and the prosperity of her admirable husband.

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

His voice was powerful and pathetic by turns, and he possessed great sweetness of intonation,—combined with sympathetic feeling and special felicity of emphasis. And feeling is the vitalising principle of poetry. Jasmin occasionally varied his readings by singing or chaunting the songs which occurred in certain parts of his poems. This, together with his eloquence, gave such immense vital power to the recitations of the Agenaise bard.

And we shall find, from the next chapter, that Jasmin used his pathetic eloquence 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 'Life of Lady Georgiana Fullerton,' says: "It was put in at once, and its two hundred and seventy lines brought to the author twelve guineas on the day on which it appeared. Lady Fullerton was surprised and delighted. All her long years of success, different indeed in degree, never effaced the 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 different character—that of a benefactor of his species. Self-sacrifice and devotion to others, forgetting self while spending and being spent for the good of one's fellow creatures, exhibit man in his noblest characteristics. But who would have expected such virtues to be illustrated by a man like Jasmin, sprung from the humblest condition of life?

Charity may be regarded as a universal duty, which it is in every person's power to practise. Every kind of help given to another, on proper motives, is an act of charity; and there is scarcely any man in such a straitened condition as that he may not, on certain occasions, assist his neighbour. The widow that gives her mite to the treasury, the poor man that brings to the thirsty a cup of cold water, perform their acts 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 of charity to his neighbours, by the absence of any Poor Law in France such as we have in England. In the cases of drought, when the crops did not ripen; or in the phylloxera blights, when the grapes were ruined; or in the occasional disastrous floods, when the whole of the agricultural produce was swept away; the small farmers and labourers were reduced to great distress. The French peasant is usually very thrifty; but where accumulated savings were not available for relief, the result, in many cases, 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 his neighbours. The afflicted could not appeal to the administrators of local taxes; all that they could do was to appeal to the feelings of the benevolent, and rely upon local charity. He believed that the extremely poor should excite our liberality, the miserable our pity, the sick our assistance, the ignorant our instruction, and the fallen our helping hand.

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

When bread fell short in winter-time, and the poor were famished; when an hospital for the needy was starving for want of funds; when a creche or 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 at once made to Jasmin's charitable feelings.

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

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

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

Since his appearance at Bordeaux, in 1835, when he recited his Blind Girl for a charitable purpose, he had been invited to many meetings in the neighbourhood of Agen, wherever any worthy institution had to be erected or assisted. He continued to write occasional verses, though not of 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 1837 bread became very dear in the South of France. The poor people were suffering greatly, and the usual appeal was made to Jasmin to come to their help. A concert was advertised to be given at Tonneins, a considerable town to the north-west of Agen, when the local musicians were to give their services, and Jasmin was to recite a poem.

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

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 is the 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. While doing so, he avoided exciting their lower instincts. He disavowed all envy of the goods of others. He maintained respect for the law, while at the same time he exhorted the rich to have regard for their poorer brethren. "It is the glory of the people," he said at a meeting of workmen, "to protect themselves from evil, and to preserve throughout their purity of character."

This was the spirit in which Jasmin laboured. He wrote some other poems in a similar strain—'The Rich and Poor,' 'The Poor Man's Doctor,' 'The Rich Benefactor' (Lou Boun Riche); but Jasmin's own Charity contained the 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 the subscriptions for the afflicted poor were correspondingly large.

The municipality never forgot the occasion; and whenever they became embarrassed by the poverty of the people, they invariably appealed to Jasmin, and always with the same success. On one occasion the Mayor wrote to him: "We are still under the charm of your verses; and I address you in the name of the poor people of Tonneins, to thank you most gratefully for the charitable act you have done for their benefit. The evening you appeared here, sir, will long survive in our memory. It excited everywhere the most lively gratitude. The poor enjoyed a day of happiness, and the rich enjoyed a day of pleasure, for nothing can be more blessed than Charity!"

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

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

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

The wayfaring poet, on his approach to the town in which he was to appear, was usually met by crowds of people. They received him with joy and acclamation. The magistrates presented him with a congratulatory address. Deputations from neighbouring towns were present at the celebration. At the entrance to the town Jasmin often passed under a triumphal arch, with "Welcome, Jasmin! our native poet!" inscribed upon it. He was conveyed, headed by the local band, to the hall where he was to give his recitation.

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

The magistrates could not find a place sufficiently large to give accommodation 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; and there they raised a platform for the poet. The place was at once filled, and those who could not get admission crowded about the entrance. Some of the people raised ladders against the walls of the building, and clambered in at the windows. Groups of auditors were seen at every place where they could find a footing. Unfortunately the weather was rainy, and a crowd of women filled the surrounding meadow, sheltered by their umbrellas.

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

On another occasion, at Gontaud, the weather was more satisfactory. The day was fine and sunny, and the ground was covered with flowers. About the time that Jasmin was expected, an open carriage, festooned with flowers, 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 arrived on foot for the place was at no great distance from Agen twelve young girls, clothed in white, offered him a bouquet of flowers, and presented him with an address. He then entered the carriage and proceeded to the place 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 place of entertainment, a number of girls preceded the carriage in which the poet sat, and scattered flowers in his way, singing a refrain of the country adapted to the occasion. It resembled the refrain sung before the 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 during his missions of philanthropy. He went from north to south, from east to west, by river and by road, sleeping where he could, but always happy and 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 of nightingales. And he was never without enthusiastic multitudes to listen to his recitals, and to share their means with the poor and afflicted. We might fill this little story with a detailed account of his journeyings; 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 brilliantly successful enterprises that were ever undertaken." Chappell and Co. paid him 1500 sterling for thirty readings in London and the provinces, by which they realised 5000 sterling. Arthur Smith and Mr. Headland were his next managers, and finally Mr. George Dolby. The latter says that Mr. Dickens computed the money he netted under the Smith and Headland management at about 12,000 sterling; and under Dolby's management "he cleared 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 was taken up with his trade and his philanthropic missions. Besides, he did not compose with rapidity; he elaborated his poems by degrees; he arranged the plot of his story, and then he clothed it with poetical words and images. While he walked and journeyed from place to place, he was 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 Gascon dialect. Some of his intimate friends continued to expostulate with him for using this almost dead and virtually illiterate patois. Why not write in classical French? M. Dumon, his colleague at the Academy of Agen, again urged him to employ the national language, which all intelligent readers could understand.

"Under the reign of our Henry IV.," said M. Dumon, "the Langue d'Oil became, with modifications, the language of the French, while the Langue d'Oc remained merely a patois. Do not therefore sing in the dialect of the 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? It will live, no doubt, like the dialect in which it is written; but is this, the Gascon patois, likely to live? Will it be spoken by our posterity 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 and picturesque expressions, its lively recollections of customs and manners which have long ceased to exist, like those old ruins which still embellish our landscape. But the tendency which is gradually effacing the vestiges of our old language and customs is but the tendency of civilisation itself.

"When Rome fell under the blows of the barbarians, she was entirely conquered; her laws were subjected at the same time as her armies. The conquest dismembered her idiom as well as her empire.... The last trace of national unity disappeared in this country after the Roman occupation. It had been Gaul, but now it became France. The force of centralisation which has civilised Europe, covering this immense chaos, has brought to light, after more than a hundred years, this most magnificent creation the French monarchy and the French language. Let us lament, if you will, that the poetical imagination and the characteristic language of our ancestors have not left a more profound impression. But the sentence is pronounced; even our Henry IV. could not change it. Under his reign the Langue d'Oil became for ever the French language, and the Langue d'Oc remained but a patois.

"Popular poet as you are, you sing to posterity in the language of the past. This language, which you recite so well, you have restored and perhaps even created; yet you do not feel that it is the national language; this powerful instrument of a new era, which invades and besieges yours on all sides like the last fortress of an obsolete civilisation."

Jasmin was cut to the quick by this severe letter of his friend, and he lost not a moment in publishing a defence of the language condemned to death by his opponent. He even displayed the force and harmony of the language which had been denounced by M. Dumon as a patois. He endeavoured to express himself in the most characteristic and poetical style, as evidence of the vitality of his native Gascon. He compared it to 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 had published 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 already said, cannot be verbally translated into any other language. Even the last editor of Jasmin's poems—Boyer d'Agen—does not translate them into French poetry, but into French prose. Much of the aroma of poetry evaporates in converting poetical thoughts from one language into another.

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

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

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

Jasmin has been compared to Dante. But there is this immense difference between them. Dante was virtually the creator of the Italian language, which was in its infancy when he wrote his 'Divine Comedy' some six hundred years ago, while Jasmin was merely reviving a gradually-expiring dialect. Drouilhet de Sigalas has said that Dante lived at the sunrise of his language, while Jasmin lived at its sunset. Indeed, Gascon was not a written language, and Jasmin had to collect his lexicon, grammar, and speech mostly from the peasants who lived in the neighbourhood of Agen. Dante virtually created the Italian language, while Jasmin merely resuscitated for a time the Gascon dialect.

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

The story embodied in the poem was founded on an ancient tradition. The time at which it occurred was towards the end of the sixteenth century, when France was torn to pieces by the civil war between the Huguenots and the Catholics. Agen was then a centre of Protestantism. It was taken and retaken by both parties again and again. The Huguenot captain, Truelle, occupied the town in April 1562; but Blaize de Montluc, "a fierce Catholic," as he is termed by M. Paul Joanne, assailed the town with a strong force and recaptured it. On entering the place, Montluc found that the inhabitants had fled with the garrison, and "the terrible chief was greatly disappointed at not finding any person in Agen to slaughter."{2} Montluc struck with a heavy hand the Protestants of the South. In the name of the God of Mercy he hewed the Huguenots to pieces, and, after spreading desolation through the South, he retired to his fortress at Estellac, knelt before the altar, took the communion, and was 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 massacre of Saint Bartholomew took place. After that event the word "Huguenot" was abolished, or was only mentioned with terror. Montluc's castle of Estellac, situated near the pretty village of Estanquet, near Roquefort—famous for its cheese—still exists; his cabinet is preserved, and his tomb and statue are to be seen in the adjoining garden. The principal scenes of the following story are supposed to have occurred at Estanquet, a few miles to the south of Agen.

Franconnette, like The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, is a story of rivalry in love; but, though more full of adventure, it ends more happily. Franconnette was a village beauty. Her brilliant eyes, her rosy complexion, her cherry lips, her lithe and handsome figure, brought all the young fellows of the neighbourhood to her feet. Her father was a banished Huguenot, but beauty of person sets differences of belief at defiance.

The village lads praised her and tried to win her affections; but, like beauties 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 village blacksmith, favoured by the girl herself. One Sunday afternoon a number of young men and maidens assembled at the foot of Montluc's castle of Estellac on the votive festival of St. Jacques at Roquefort. Franconnette was there, as well as Marcel and Pascal, her special admirers. Dancing began to the music of the fife; but Pascal, the handsomest of the young men, seemed to avoid the village beauty. Franconnette was indignant at his neglect, but was anxious to secure his attention and devotion. She danced away, sliding, whirling, and pirouetting. What would not the admiring youths have given to impress two kisses on her lovely cheek!{3}

In these village dances, it is the custom for the young men to kiss their partners, if they can tire them out; but in some cases, when the girl is strong; and an accomplished dancer, she declines to be tired until she wishes to cease dancing. First one youth danced with Franconnette, then another; but she tired them all. Then came Marcel, the soldier, wearing his sabre, with a cockade in his cap—a tall and stately fellow, determined to win the reward. But he too, after much whirling and dancing, was at last tired out: he was about to fall with dizziness, and then gave in. On goes the dance; Franconnette waits for another partner; Pascal springs to her side, and takes her round the waist. 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, he strode to Pascal. "Peasant!" he said, "thou hast supplied my place too quickly," and then dealt him a thundering blow between the eyes. Pascal was not felled; he raised his arm, and his fist descended on Marcel's head like a bolt. The soldier attempted to draw his sabre. When Pascal saw this, he closed with Marcel, grasped him in his arms, and dashed him to the ground, crushed and senseless.

Marcel was about to rise to renew the duel, when suddenly Montluc, who happened to be passing with the Baron of Roquefort, stepped forward and sternly ordered the combatants to separate. This terrible encounter put an end to the fete. The girls fled like frightened doves. The young men escorted Pascal to his home preceded by the fifers. Marcel was not discouraged. On recovering his speech, he stammered out, grinding his teeth: "They shall pay clearly for this jesting; Franconnette shall have no other husband than myself."

Many months passed. The harvest was gathered in. There were no more out-door fetes or dances. The villagers of Estanquet assembled round their firesides. Christmas arrived with it games and carol-singing. Then came the Feast of Lovers, called the Buscou,{4} on the last day of the year, where, in a large chamber, some hundred distaffs were turning, and boys and girls, with nimble fingers, were winding thread of the finest flax. Franconnette was there, and appointed queen of the games. After the winding was over, the songs and dances began to the music of a tambourin. The queen, admired by all, sang and danced like the rest.

Pascal was not there; his mother was poor, and she endeavoured to persuade him to remain at home and work. After a short struggle with himself, Pascal yielded. He turned aside to his forge in silent dejection; and soon the anvil was ringing and the sparks were flying, while away down in the village the busking went merrily on. "If the prettiest were always the most sensible," says Jasmin, "how much my Franconnette might have accomplished;" but instead of this, she flitted from place to place, idle and gay, jesting, singing, dancing, and, as usual, 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-like sweetness 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 mastery of a writer over his own language, the more difficult it is to reproduce it in another. But the spirit of the song is in Miss Costello's translation,{5} as given in Franconnette at the close of this volume.

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

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

Franconnette remained quiet, concealing her emotions. Then the games began. They played at Cache Couteau or Hunt the Slipper. Dancing came next; Franconnette was challenged by Laurent, and after many rounds the girl was tired, and Laurent claimed the kisses that she had forfeited. Franconnette flew away like a bird; Laurent ran after her, caught her, and was claiming the customary forfeit, when, struggling to free herself, Laurent slipped upon the floor, fell heavily, and broke his arm.

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

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

The sorcerer ended; sparks of fire surrounded him, and after turning four times round in a circle he suddenly disappeared! Franconnette's friends at once held aloof from her. They called out to her, "Begone!" All in a maze the girl shuddered and sickened; she became senseless, and fell down on the floor in a swoon. The young people fled, leaving her helpless. 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 than belief in God and His Son. The news spread abroad that the girl was accursed and sold to the Evil One, and she was avoided by everybody. She felt herself doomed. At length she reached her grandmother's house, but she could not work, she could scarcely stand. The once radiant Franconnette could neither play nor sing; she could only weep.

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