Barber, Poet, Philanthropistt

S >> Samuel Smiles >> Barber, Poet, Philanthropistt

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

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

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

Jasmin proceeds, in his Souvenirs, to describe with great zest
and a wonderful richness of local colour, the impromptu fetes in
which he bore a part; his raids upon the cherry and plum
orchards--for the neighbourhood of Agen is rich in plum-trees,
and prunes are one of the principal articles of commerce in the
district. Playing at soldiers was one of Jasmin's favourite
amusements; and he was usually elected Captain.

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

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

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

When the stern winter set in, Jasmin spent his evenings in the
company of spinning-women and children, principally for the sake
of warmth. A score or more of women, with their children,
assembled in a large room, lighted by a single antique lamp
suspended from the ceiling. The women had distaffs and heavy
spindles, by means of which they spun a kind of coarse
pack-thread, which the children wound up, sitting on stools at
their feet. All the while some old dame would relate the
old-world ogreish stories of Blue Beard, the Sorcerer, or the
Loup Garou, to fascinate the ears and trouble the dreams of the
young folks. It was here, no doubt, that Jasmin gathered much of
the traditionary lore which he afterwards wove into his poetical
ballads.

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

The mother, during the hum of her spinning-wheel, often spoke in
whispers to grandfather Boe of her desire to send the boy to
school. When Jasmin overheard their conversation, he could
scarcely conceal his tears. Old Boe determined to do what he
could. He scraped together his little savings, and handed them
over to the mother. But the money could not then be used for
educating Jasmin; it was sorely needed for buying bread.
Thus the matter lay over for a time.

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

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

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

Grandfather Boe did not survive long in the hospital. He was
utterly worn out. After five days the old man quietly breathed
his last. His wallet was hung upon its usual nail in his former
home, but it was never used again. One of the bread-winners had
departed, and the family were poorer than ever.

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

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

Footnotes to Chapter I.

[1] It is stated in the Bibliographie Generale de l'Agenais,
that Palissy was born in the district of Agen, perhaps at
La Chapelle Biron, and that, being a Huguenot, he was imprisoned
in the Bastille at Paris, and died there in 1590, shortly after
the massacre of St. Bartholomew. But Palissy seems to have been
born in another town, not far from La Chapelle Biron. The Times
of the 7th July, 1891, contained the following paragraph:--
"A statue of Bernard Palissy was unveiled yesterday at
Villeneuvesur-Lot, his native town, by M. Bourgeois, Minister of
Education."

[2] L'hopital means an infirmary or almshouse for old and
impoverished people.

CHAPTER II.

JASMIN AT SCHOOL.

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

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

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

Behold him, then, placed under the tuition of Sister Boe!
There were some fifty other children at school, mumbling at the
letters of the alphabet, and trying to read their first easy
sentences. Jasmin had a good memory, and soon mastered the
difficulties of the A B C. "'Twixt smiles and tears," he says,
"I soon learnt to read, by the help of the pious Sister."

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

His mother was very proud of the cassock. "Thank God," she said,
"thou learnest well; and this is the reason why, each Tuesday,
a white loaf comes from the Seminary. It is always welcome,
for the sake of the hungry little ones." "Yes," he replied,
"I will try my best to be learned for your sake." But Jasmin
did not long wear the cassock. He was shortly after turned out
of the Seminary, in consequence of a naughty trick which he
played upon a girl of the household.

Jasmin tells the story of his expulsion with great frankness,
though evidently ashamed of the transaction. He was passing
through the inner court one day, during the Shrove Carnival,
when, looking up, he caught sight of a petticoat. He stopped and
gazed. A strange tremor crept through his nerves. What evil
spirit possessed him to approach the owner of the petticoat?
He looked up again, and recognised the sweet and rosy-cheeked
Catherine--the housemaid of the Seminary. She was perched near
the top of a slim ladder leaning against the wall, standing
upright, and feeding the feathery-footed pigeons.

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

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

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

In default of a dungeon, they locked him in a dismal little
chamber, with some bread and water. Next day, Shrove Tuesday,
while the Carnival was afoot, Jasmin felt very angry and very
hungry. "Who sleeps eats," says the proverb. "But," said
Jasmin, "the proverb lies: I did not sleep, and was consumed by
hunger." Then he filled up the measure of his iniquity by
breaking into a cupboard!

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

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

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

They were surprised and astonished at his sudden entrance.
After kissing them all round, he proceeded to relate his
adventures at the Seminary. He could not tell them all, but he
told enough. His narrative was received with dead silence.
But he was thirsty and hungry. He saw a pot of kidney-bean
porridge hanging over the fire, and said he would like to allay
his hunger by participating in their meal. But alas!
The whole of it had been consumed. The pot was empty, and yet
the children were not satisfied with their dinner. "Now I know,"
said the mother, "why no white bread has come from the Seminary."
Jasmin was now greatly distressed. "Accursed sweetmeats,"
he thought. "Oh! what a wretch I am to have caused so much
misery and distress."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Long after, when Jasmin was a comparatively thriving man,
he said: "Yes, I have eaten the bread of charity; most of my
ancestors died at the hospital; my mother pledged her nuptial
ring to buy a loaf of bread. All this shows how much misery we
had to endure, the frightful picture of which I have placed in
the light of day in my Souvenirs. But I am afraid of wearying
the public, as I do not wish to be accused of aiming too much at
contrasts. For when we are happy, perfectly happy, there is
nothing further from what I am, and what I have been, as to make
me fear for any such misconstruction on the part of my hearers."

CHAPTER III.

BARBER AND HAIRDRESSER.

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

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

They did him no harm, and they even learnt to know him.
His garret became his paradise, for there he renewed his love of
reading. The solitariness of his life did him good, by throwing
his mind in upon himself, and showing the mental stuff of which
he was made. All the greatest and weightiest things have been
done in solitude.

The first books he read were for the most part borrowed.
Customers who came to the shop to be shaved or have their hair
dressed, took an interest in the conversation of the bright,
cheerful, dark-eyed lad, and some of them lent him books to
read. What joy possessed him when he took refuge in his garret
with a new book! Opening the book was like opening the door of a
new world. What enchantment! What mystery! What a wonderful
universe about us!

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

The first books he read were of comparatively little importance,
though they furnished an opening into literature.
'The Children's Magazine'[1] held him in raptures for a time.
Some of his friendly customers lent him the 'Fables of Florian,'
and afterwards Florian's pastoral romance of 'Estelle'--perhaps
his best work. The singer of the Gardon entirely bewitched
Jasmin. 'Estelle' allured him into the rosy-fingered regions of
bliss and happiness. Then Jasmin himself began to rhyme.
Florian's works encouraged him to write his first verses in the
harmonious Gascon patois, to which he afterwards gave such
wonderful brilliancy.

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

"I have often searched into my past life," he said, "but I have
never yet found the day when I began my career of rhyming."[2]

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

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

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

At the same time it must be confessed that it is altogether
different with poetical genius. It is not possible to tell what
unforeseen and forgotten circumstances may have given the
initial impulse to a poetic nature. It is not the result of any
fortuitous impression, and still less of any act of the will.

It is possible that Jasmin may have obtained his first insight
into poetic art during his solitary evening walks along the
banks of the Garonne, or from the nightingales singing overhead,
or from his chanting in the choir when a child. Perhaps the
'Fables of Florian' kindled the poetic fire within him; at all
events they may have acted as the first stimulus to his art of
rhyming. They opened his mind to the love of nature, to the
pleasures of country life, and the joys of social intercourse.

There is nothing in the occupation of a barber incompatible with
the cultivation of poetry. Folez, the old German poet, was a
barber, as well as the still more celebrated Burchiello,
of Florence, whose sonnets are still admired because of the
purity of their style. Our own Allan Ramsay, author of 'The
Gentle Shepherd,' spent some of his early years in the same
occupation.

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

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

Even in the prim and formal society of the eighteenth century,
the barber occupied no unimportant part. He and the sculptor,
of all working men, were allowed to wear the sword--that
distinctive badge of gentility. In short, the barber was
regarded as an artist. Besides, barbers were in ancient times
surgeons; they were the only persons who could scientifically
"let blood." The Barber-Surgeons of London still represent the
class. They possess a cup presented to the Guild by Charles II.,
in commemoration of his escape while taking refuge in the
oak-tree at Boscobel.[3]

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19