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,
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:
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:
{3} In Gascon:
{4} in Gascon:
{5} Sainte-Beuve: 'Causeries du Lundi,' iv. 240-1 (edit. 1852); and 'Portraits Contemporains,' ii. 61 (edit, 1847).
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:
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:—
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:
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."
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:—
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.