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

"Jasmin writes from a teeming brain and a beaming heart; and there is a
warmth and a glow, and a strong, happy, triumphant march of song about
his poems, which carry you away in the perusal as they carried away the
author in the writing. I speak, of course, from the French translations,
and I can well conceive that they give but a comparatively faint
transcript of the pith and power of the original. The patois in which
these poems are written is the common peasant language of the South-west
of France. It varies in some slight degree in different districts, but
not more than the broad Scotch of Forfarshire differs from that of
Ayrshire. As for the dialect itself, it seems in the main to be a
species of cross between old French and Spanish--holding, however, I am
assured, rather to the latter tongue than to the former, and
constituting a bold, copious, and vigorous speech, very rich in its
colouring, full of quaint words and expressive phrases, and especially
strong in all that relates to the language of the passions and
affections.

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

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


Endnotes for Chapter XIII.

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

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

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

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

{5} Westminster Review for October, 1849.

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



CHAPTER XIV. JASMIN'S TOURS OF PHILANTHROPY.

The poet had no sooner returned from his visit to Paris than he was
besieged with appeals to proceed to the relief of the poor in the South
of France. Indeed, for more than thirty years he devoted a considerable
part of his time to works of charity and benevolence. He visited
successively cities and towns so far remote from each other, as Bayonne
and Marseilles, Bagneres and Lyons. He placed his talents at the
service of the public from motives of sheer benevolence, for the large
collections which were made at his recitations were not of the slightest
personal advantage to himself.

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

After several successful recitations, a considerable sum of money was
collected for the relief of the poor of Carcassonne. To perpetuate the
recollection of Jasmin's noble work, and to popularise the genius of
the poet, the Prefect of the Aude arranged that Jasmin's poems should
be distributed amongst all the schools of his department, and for this
purpose a portion of the surplus funds was placed at the disposal of the
Council-general.

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

THE SHEPHERD AND THE GASCON POET.{1}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At the end of the recital a pretty little orphan girl came forward and
presented Jasmin with a laurel adorned with a ruby, with these words in
golden letters,

"To Jasmin, with the orphans' gratitude." Jasmin finally descended from
the rostrum and mixed with the audience, who pressed round him and
embraced him. The result was the collection of more than a thousand
francs for the orphans' fund.

No matter what the institution was, or where it was situated, if it
was in difficulties, and Jasmin was appealed to, provided it commended
itself to his judgment, he went far and near to give his help. A priest
at a remote place in Perigord had for some time endeavoured to found an
agricultural colony for the benefit of the labourers, and at last wrote
to Jasmin for assistance. The work had been patronised by most of the
wealthy people of the province; but the colony did not prosper. There
remained no one to help them but the noble barber of Agen. Without
appealing any more to the rich for further aid, the priest applied to
Jasmin through a mutual friend, one of the promoters of the undertaking,
who explained to him the nature of the enterprise. The following was
Jasmin's answer:--

"MY DEAR SIR,--I have already heard of the Pious Work of the curate of
Vedey, and shall be most happy to give him my services for one or two
evenings, though I regret that I must necessarily defer my visit until
after the month of February next. In May I have promised to go twice
to the help of the Albigenses, in aid of their hospital and the poor
of Alba. I start to-morrow for Cahors, to help in a work equally
benevolent, begun long ago. I am engaged for the month of August for
Foix and Bagneres de Luchon, in behalf of a church and an agricultural
society. All my spare time, you will observe, is occupied; and though I
may be tired out by my journeys, I will endeavour to rally my forces and
do all that I can for you. Tell the curate of Vedey, therefore, that as
his labour has been of long continuance, my Muse will be happy to help
his philanthropic work during one or two evenings at Perigueux, in the
month of March next.

"Yours faithfully,

"J. JASMIN."

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

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

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

He sometimes gave as many as three hundred recitations of this sort in
a year; visiting nearly every town from Bordeaux to Marseilles for all
kinds of charitable institutions. Of course his travels were enlivened
by many adventures, and some people were unwilling to allow him to
forget that he was a barber. When at Auch, a town several miles to the
south of Agen, he resided with the mayor. The time for the meeting
had nearly arrived; but the mayor was still busy with his toilet. The
prefect of Gers was also waiting. Fearing the impatience of his guests,
the mayor opened the door of his chamber to apologise, showing his face
covered with lather.

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

"Oh," said Jasmin, "why did you not perform your toilet sooner? But now
let me help you." Jasmin at once doffed his coat, gave the finishing
touch to his razor, and shaved the mayor in a twinkling, with what
he called his "hand of velvet." In a few minutes after, Jasmin was
receiving tumultuous applause for his splendid recitations.

Thus, as time was pressing, it was a pleasure to Jasmin to make himself
useful to his friend the mayor. But on another occasion he treated
a rich snob in the way he deserved. Jasmin had been reciting for the
benefit of the poor. At the conclusion of the meeting, the young people
of the town improvised a procession of flambeaux and triumphantly
escorted him to his hotel.

Early next morning, while Jasmin was still asleep, he was awakened by
some one knocking at his chamber door. He rose, opened it, and found
himself in presence of one of the most opulent persons of the town.
There are vulgar people everywhere, and this person had more wealth than
courtesy. Like Jasmin, he was a man of the people; but he had neither
the grace nor the politeness of the Gascon barber. He was but a parvenu,
and his riches had only produced an accumulation of snobbishness. He
pushed into the room, installed himself without invitation in a chair,
and, without further ceremony, proceeded:--

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

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

"What do you say?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What made you a poet?" asked Dumas.

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

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

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

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

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

"The poet, of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Although Jasmin wrote an interesting letter to Madame Lafarge, he did
not venture to sing or recite for her relief from prison. She died
before him, in 1852.


Endnotes for Chapter XIV.

{1} We adopt the translation of Miss Costello.



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

Agen, with its narrow and crooked streets, is not altogether a pleasant
town, excepting, perhaps, the beautiful promenade of the Gravier, where
Jasmin lived. Yet the neighbourhood of Agen is exceedingly picturesque,
especially the wooded crags of the Hermitage and the pretty villas near
the convent of the Carmelites. From these lofty sites a splendid view
of the neighbouring country is to be seen along the windings of the
Garonne, and far off, towards the south, to the snowy peaks of the
Pyrenees.

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

Jasmin dedicated Ma Bigno to Madame Louis Veill, of Paris. He told
her of his purchase of Papillote, a piece of ground which he had long
desired to have, and which he had now been able to buy with the money
gained by the sale of his poems.

He proceeds to describe the place:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Your actions are equal to your works; you build churches; you succour
indigence; you are a powerful benefactor; and your muse is the sister of
Charity."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After the completion of Martha, new triumphs awaited Jasmin in the South
of France. In 1846 he again went to Toulouse on a labour of love. He
recited his new poem in the Room of the Illustrious at the Capitol. A
brilliant assembly was present. Flowers perfumed the air. The entire
audience rose and applauded the poet. The ladies smiled and wept by
turns. Jasmin seemed to possess an electric influence. His clear,
harmonious, and flexible voice, gave emphasis by its rich sympathetic
tones to the artistic elements of his story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jasmin answered this letter as follows:--

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

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

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

"The courser who drags his chariot with difficulty, albeit he may
arrive at the goal, cannot contend with the fiery locomotive of the
iron railway. The art which produces verses one by one, depends upon
inspiration, not upon manufacture. Therefore my muse declares itself
vanquished in advance; and I authorise you to publish my refusal of your
challenge."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The soul of little Abel is stirred. He dries his tears and assumes the
air of a man; he feels some strength in his little arms. He goes out,
and proceeds to the house of the master mason. When he returns, he is no
longer sorrowful: "honey was in his mouth, and his eyes were smiling." He
said, "My father, rest yourself: gain strength and courage; you have the
whole week before you. Then you may labour. Some one who loves you will
do your work, and you shall still keep your place." Thus ends the second
part.

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

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

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

"Paris, 28th April, 1849.

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

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

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

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


Endnotes for Chapter XV.

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

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

{3} In the preface to the poem, which was published in 1845, the editor
observes:--"This little drama begins in 1798, at Laffitte, a pretty
market-town on the banks of the Lot, near Clairac, and ends in 1802.
When Martha became an idiot, she ran away from the town to which she
belonged, and went to Agen. When seen in the streets of that town she
became an object of commiseration to many, but the children pursued
her, calling out, 'Martha, a soldier!' Sometimes she disappeared for two
weeks at a time, and the people would then observe, 'Martha has hidden
herself; she must now be very hungry!' More than once Jasmin, in his
childhood, pursued Martha with the usual cry of 'A soldier.' He little
thought that at a future time he should make some compensation for his
sarcasms, by writing the touching poem of Martha the Innocent; but this
merely revealed the goodness of his heart and his exquisite sensibility.
Martha died at Agen in 1834."

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



CHAPTER XVI. THE PRIEST WITHOUT A CHURCH.

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