Barber, Poet, Philanthropistt
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Samuel Smiles >> Barber, Poet, Philanthropistt
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This is, of course, a very feeble attempt to render the words of
Jasmin. He was most pathetic when he recounted the sorrows of
the poor. While doing so, he avoided exciting their lower
instincts. He disavowed all envy of the goods of others.
He maintained respect for the law, while at the same time he
exhorted the rich to have regard for their poorer brethren.
"It is the glory of the people," he said at a meeting of workmen,
"to protect themselves from evil, and to preserve throughout
their purity of character."
This was the spirit in which Jasmin laboured. He wrote some
other poems in a similar strain--'The Rich and Poor,'
'The Poor Man's Doctor,' 'The Rich Benefactor' (Lou Boun Riche);
but Jasmin's own Charity contained the germ of them all. He put
his own soul into his poems. At Tonneins, the emotion he excited
by his reading of Charity was very great, and the subscriptions
for the afflicted poor were correspondingly large.
The municipality never forgot the occasion; and whenever they
became embarrassed by the poverty of the people, they invariably
appealed to Jasmin, and always with the same success. On one
occasion the Mayor wrote to him: "We are still under the charm of
your verses; and I address you in the name of the poor people of
Tonneins, to thank you most gratefully for the charitable act
you have done for their benefit. The evening you appeared here,
sir, will long survive in our memory. It excited everywhere the
most lively gratitude. The poor enjoyed a day of happiness,
and the rich enjoyed a day of pleasure, for nothing can be more
blessed than Charity!"
Jasmin, in replying to this letter, said: "Christ's words were,
'Ye have the poor always with you'; in pronouncing this fact,
he called the world to deeds of charity, and instituted this
admirable joint responsibility (solidarite), in virtue of which
each man should fulfil the duty of helping his poorer neighbours.
It is this responsibility which, when the cry of hunger or
suffering is heard, is most instrumental in bringing all generous
souls to the front, in order to create and multiply the resources
of the poor."
Jasmin's success at Tonneins led to numerous invitations of a
like character. "Come over and help us," was the general cry
during that winter of famine. The barber's shop was invaded by
numerous deputations; and the postman was constantly delivering
letters of invitation at his door. He was no longer master of
his time, and had considerable difficulty in attending to his
own proper business. Sometimes his leisure hours were
appropriated six months beforehand; and he was often
peremptorily called upon to proceed with his philanthropic work.
When he could find time enough to spare from his business,
he would consent to give another recitation. When the distance
was not great he walked, partly for exercise, and partly to save
money. There were few railways in those days, and hiring a
conveyance was an expensive affair. Besides, his desire always
was, to hand over, if possible, the whole of the receipts to the
charitable institutions for whose benefit he gave his
recitations.
The wayfaring poet, on his approach to the town in which he was
to appear, was usually met by crowds of people. They received
him with joy and acclamation. The magistrates presented him with
a congratulatory address. Deputations from neighbouring towns
were present at the celebration. At the entrance to the town
Jasmin often passed under a triumphal arch, with "Welcome,
Jasmin! our native poet!" inscribed upon it. He was conveyed,
headed by the local band, to the hall where he was to give his
recitation.
Jasmin's appearance at Bergerac was a great event. Bergerac is a
town of considerable importance, containing about fourteen
thousand inhabitants, situated on the right or north bank of the
river Dordogne. But during that terrible winter the poor people
of Bergerac were in great distress, and Jasmin was summoned to
their help. The place was at too great a distance from Agen for
him to walk thither, and accordingly he was obliged to take a
conveyance. He was as usual met by a multitude of people,
who escorted him into the town.
The magistrates could not find a place sufficiently large to
give accommodation to the large number of persons who desired to
hear him. At length they found a large building which had been
used as a barn; and there they raised a platform for the poet.
The place was at once filled, and those who could not get
admission crowded about the entrance. Some of the people raised
ladders against the walls of the building, and clambered in at
the windows. Groups of auditors were seen at every place where
they could find a footing. Unfortunately the weather was rainy,
and a crowd of women filled the surrounding meadow, sheltered by
their umbrellas.
More than five hundred persons had not been able to find
admission, and it was therefore necessary for Jasmin to give
several more readings to satisfy the general enthusiasm. All the
receipts were given over by Jasmin for the benefit of the poor,
and the poet hurried home at once to his shaving and
hair-dressing.
On another occasion, at Gontaud, the weather was more
satisfactory. The day was fine and sunny, and the ground was
covered with flowers. About the time that Jasmin was expected,
an open carriage, festooned with flowers, and drawn by four
horses, was sent to the gate of the town, escorted by the
municipal council, to wait for the poet. When he arrived on foot
for the place was at no great distance from Agen twelve young
girls, clothed in white, offered him a bouquet of flowers, and
presented him with an address. He then entered the carriage and
proceeded to the place where he was to give his recitation. All
went well and happily, and a large offering was collected and
distributed amongst the poor.
Then at Damazan, where he gave another reading for the same
purpose, after he had entered the carriage which was to convey
him to the place of entertainment, a number of girls preceded
the carriage in which the poet sat, and scattered flowers in his
way, singing a refrain of the country adapted to the occasion.
It resembled the refrain sung before the bride in The Blind Girl
of Castel-Cuille:
"The paths with flowers bestrew,
So great a poet comes this way;
For all should flower and bloom anew,
So great a poet comes to-day."[2]
These are only specimens of the way in which Jasmin was received
during his missions of philanthropy. He went from north
to south, from east to west, by river and by road, sleeping
where he could, but always happy and cheerful, doing his noble
work with a full and joyous heart. He chirruped and sang from
time to time as if his mouth was full of nightingales. And he
was never without enthusiastic multitudes to listen to his
recitals, and to share their means with the poor and afflicted.
We might fill this little story with a detailed account of his
journeyings; but a summary account is all that is at present
necessary. We shall afterwards return to the subject.
Footnotes to Chapter VIII.
[1] Mr. George Dolby, in his work 'Charles Dickens as I knew
him,' tells "the story of the famous 'reading tours,' the most
brilliantly successful enterprises that were ever undertaken."
Chappell and Co. paid him 1500 sterling for thirty readings
in London and the provinces, by which they realised 5000
sterling. Arthur Smith and Mr. Headland were his next managers,
and finally Mr. George Dolby. The latter says that Mr. Dickens
computed the money he netted under the Smith and Headland
management at about 12,000 sterling; and under Dolby's management
"he cleared nearly 33,000 sterling."
[2] In Gascon:
"Las carreros diouyon fleuri,
Tan gran poete bay sourti;
Diouyon fleuri, diouyon graua,
Tan gran poete bay passa."
CHAPTER IX.
JASMIN'S 'FRANCONNETTE.'
Jasmin published no further poems for three or four years.
His time was taken up with his trade and his philanthropic
missions.
Besides, he did not compose with rapidity; he elaborated his
poems by degrees; he arranged the plot of his story, and then he
clothed it with poetical words and images. While he walked and
journeyed from place to place, he was dreaming and thinking of
his next dramatic poem--his Franconnette, which many of his
critics regard as his masterpiece.
Like most of his previous poems, Jasmin wrote Franconnette in
the Gascon dialect. Some of his intimate friends continued to
expostulate with him for using this almost dead and virtually
illiterate patois. Why not write in classical French? M. Dumon,
his colleague at the Academy of Agen, again urged him to employ
the national language, which all intelligent readers could
understand.
"Under the reign of our Henry IV.," said M. Dumon, "the Langue
d'Oil became, with modifications, the language of the French,
while the Langue d'Oc remained merely a patois. Do not therefore
sing in the dialect of the past, but in the language of the
present, like Beranger, Lamartine, and Victor Hugo.
"What," asked M. Dumon, "will be the fate of your original
poetry? It will live, no doubt, like the dialect in which it is
written; but is this, the Gascon patois, likely to live? Will it
be spoken by our posterity as long as it has been spoken by our
ancestors? I hope not; at least I wish it may be less spoken.
Yet I love its artless and picturesque expressions, its lively
recollections of customs and manners which have long ceased to
exist, like those old ruins which still embellish our landscape.
But the tendency which is gradually effacing the vestiges of our
old language and customs is but the tendency of civilisation
itself.
"When Rome fell under the blows of the barbarians, she was
entirely conquered; her laws were subjected at the same time as
her armies. The conquest dismembered her idiom as well as her
empire.... The last trace of national unity disappeared in
this country after the Roman occupation. It had been Gaul,
but now it became France. The force of centralisation which has
civilised Europe, covering this immense chaos, has brought to
light, after more than a hundred years, this most magnificent
creation the French monarchy and the French language. Let us
lament, if you will, that the poetical imagination and the
characteristic language of our ancestors have not left a more
profound impression. But the sentence is pronounced; even our
Henry IV. could not change it. Under his reign the Langue d'Oil
became for ever the French language, and the Langue d'Oc
remained but a patois.
"Popular poet as you are, you sing to posterity in the language
of the past. This language, which you recite so well, you have
restored and perhaps even created; yet you do not feel that it
is the national language; this powerful instrument of a new era,
which invades and besieges yours on all sides like the last
fortress of an obsolete civilisation."
Jasmin was cut to the quick by this severe letter of his friend,
and he lost not a moment in publishing a defence of the language
condemned to death by his opponent. He even displayed the force
and harmony of the language which had been denounced by M. Dumon
as a patois. He endeavoured to express himself in the most
characteristic and poetical style, as evidence of the vitality
of his native Gascon. He compared it to a widowed mother who
dies, and also to a mother who does not die, but continues
young, lovely, and alert, even to the last. Dumon had published
his protest on the 28th of August, 1837, and a few days later,
on the 2nd of September, Jasmin replied in the following poem:-
"There's not a deeper grief to man
Than when his mother, faint with years,
Decrepit, old, and weak and wan,
Beyond the leech's art appears;
When by her couch her son may stay,
And press her hand, and watch her eyes,
And feel, though she revives to-day,
Perchance his hope to-morrow dies.
It is not thus, believe me, sir,
With this enchantress--she will call
Our second mother: Frenchmen err,
Who, cent'ries since, proclaimed her fall!
Our mother-tongue--all melody--
While music lives can never die.
Yes! she still lives, her words still ring;
Her children yet her carols sing;
And thousand years may roll away
Before her magic notes decay.
The people love their ancient songs, and will
While yet a people, love and keep them still:
These lays are as their mother; they recall
Fond thoughts of mother, sister, friends, and all
The many little things that please the heart,
The dreams, the hopes, from which we cannot part.
These songs are as sweet waters, where we find
Health in the sparkling wave that nerves the mind.
In ev'ry home, at ev'ry cottage door,
By ev'ry fireside, when our toil is o'er,
These songs are round us--near our cradles sigh,
And to the grave attend us when we die.
Oh, think, cold critics! 'twill be late and long,
Ere time shall sweep away this flood of song!
There are who bid this music sound no more,
And you can hear them, nor defend--deplore!
You, who were born where its first daisies grew,
Have fed upon its honey, sipp'd its dew,
Slept in its arms, and wakened to its kiss,
Danced to its sounds, and warbled to its tone--
You can forsake it in an hour like this!
Yes, weary of its age, renounce--disown--
And blame one minstrel who is true--alone!"[1]
This is but a paraphrase of Jasmin's poem, which, as we have
already said, cannot be verbally translated into any other
language. Even the last editor of Jasmin's poems--Boyer d'Agen
--does not translate them into French poetry, but into French
prose. Much of the aroma of poetry evaporates in converting
poetical thoughts from one language into another.
Jasmin, in one part of his poem, compares the ancient patois to
one of the grand old elms in the Promenade de Gravier, which,
having in a storm had some of its branches torn away, was
ordered by the local authorities to be rooted up. The labourers
worked away, but their pick-axes became unhafted. They could not
up-root the tree; they grew tired and forsook the work. When the
summer came, glorious verdure again clothed the remaining
boughs; the birds sang sweetly in the branches, and the
neighbours rejoiced that its roots had been so numerous and the
tree had been so firmly planted.
Jasmin's description of his mother-tongue is most touching.
Seasons pass away, and, as they roll on, their echoes sound in
our ears; but the loved tongue shall not and must not die.
The mother-tongue recalls our own dear mother, sisters, friends,
and crowds of bygone associations, which press into our minds
while sitting by the evening fire. This tongue is the language
of our toils and labours; she comes to us at our birth, she
lingers at our tomb.
"No, no--I cannot desert my mother-tongue!" said Jasmin.
"It preserves the folk-lore of the district; it is the language
of the poor, of the labourer, the shepherd, the farmer and
grape-gatherers, of boys and girls, of brides and bridegrooms.
The people," he said to M. Dumon, "love to hear my songs in
their native dialect. You have enough poetry in classical
French; leave me to please my compatriots in the dialect which
they love. I cannot give up this harmonious language, our second
mother, even though it has been condemned for three hundred
years. Why! she still lives, her voice still sounds; like her,
the seasons pass, the bells ring out their peals, and though a
hundred thousand years may roll away, they will still be
sounding and ringing!"
Jasmin has been compared to Dante. But there is this immense
difference between them. Dante was virtually the creator of the
Italian language, which was in its infancy when he wrote his
'Divine Comedy' some six hundred years ago, while Jasmin was
merely reviving a gradually-expiring dialect. Drouilhet de
Sigalas has said that Dante lived at the sunrise of his
language, while Jasmin lived at its sunset. Indeed, Gascon was
not a written language, and Jasmin had to collect his lexicon,
grammar, and speech mostly from the peasants who lived in the
neighbourhood of Agen. Dante virtually created the Italian
language, while Jasmin merely resuscitated for a time the Gascon
dialect.
Jasmin was not deterred by the expostulations of Dumon,
but again wrote his new epic of Franconnette in Gascon.
It took him a long time to clothe his poetical thoughts in words.
Nearly five years had elapsed since he recited The Blind Girl of
Castel-Cuille to the citizens of Bordeaux; since then he had
written a few poetical themes, but he was mainly thinking and
dreaming, and at times writing down his new epic Franconnette.
It was completed in 1840, when he dedicated the poem to the city
of Toulouse.
The story embodied in the poem was founded on an ancient
tradition. The time at which it occurred was towards the end of
the sixteenth century, when France was torn to pieces by the
civil war between the Huguenots and the Catholics. Agen was then
a centre of Protestantism. It was taken and retaken by both
parties again and again. The Huguenot captain, Truelle, occupied
the town in April 1562; but Blaize de Montluc, "a fierce
Catholic," as he is termed by M. Paul Joanne, assailed the town
with a strong force and recaptured it. On entering the place,
Montluc found that the inhabitants had fled with the garrison,
and "the terrible chief was greatly disappointed at not finding
any person in Agen to slaughter."[2] Montluc struck with a heavy
hand the Protestants of the South. In the name of the God of
Mercy he hewed the Huguenots to pieces, and, after spreading
desolation through the South, he retired to his fortress at
Estellac, knelt before the altar, took the communion, and was
welcomed by his party as one of the greatest friends of the
Church.
The civil war went on for ten years, until in August 1572 the
massacre of Saint Bartholomew took place. After that event the
word "Huguenot" was abolished, or was only mentioned with
terror. Montluc's castle of Estellac, situated near the pretty
village of Estanquet, near Roquefort--famous for its cheese--
still exists; his cabinet is preserved, and his tomb and statue
are to be seen in the adjoining garden. The principal scenes of
the following story are supposed to have occurred at Estanquet,
a few miles to the south of Agen.
Franconnette, like The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille, is a story
of rivalry in love; but, though more full of adventure, it ends
more happily. Franconnette was a village beauty. Her brilliant
eyes, her rosy complexion, her cherry lips, her lithe and
handsome figure, brought all the young fellows of the
neighbourhood to her feet. Her father was a banished Huguenot,
but beauty of person sets differences of belief at defiance.
The village lads praised her and tried to win her affections;
but, like beauties in general, surrounded by admirers, she was a
bit of a flirt.
At length two rivals appeared--one Marcel, a soldier under
Montluc, favoured by Franconnette's grandmother, and Pascal,
the village blacksmith, favoured by the girl herself. One Sunday
afternoon a number of young men and maidens assembled at the
foot of Montluc's castle of Estellac on the votive festival of
St. Jacques at Roquefort. Franconnette was there, as well as
Marcel and Pascal, her special admirers. Dancing began to the
music of the fife; but Pascal, the handsomest of the young men,
seemed to avoid the village beauty. Franconnette was indignant
at his neglect, but was anxious to secure his attention and
devotion. She danced away, sliding, whirling, and pirouetting.
What would not the admiring youths have given to impress two
kisses on her lovely cheek![3]
In these village dances, it is the custom for the young men to
kiss their partners, if they can tire them out; but in some
cases, when the girl is strong; and an accomplished dancer,
she declines to be tired until she wishes to cease dancing.
First one youth danced with Franconnette, then another;
but she tired them all. Then came Marcel, the soldier, wearing
his sabre, with a cockade in his cap--a tall and stately fellow,
determined to win the reward. But he too, after much whirling
and dancing, was at last tired out: he was about to fall with
dizziness, and then gave in. On goes the dance; Franconnette
waits for another partner; Pascal springs to her side, and takes
her round the waist. Before they had made a dozen steps,
the girl smiles and stops, and turns her blushing cheeks to
receive her partner's willing kisses.
Marcel started up in a rage, and drawing himself to his full
height, he strode to Pascal. "Peasant!" he said, "thou hast
supplied my place too quickly," and then dealt him a thundering
blow between the eyes. Pascal was not felled; he raised his arm,
and his fist descended on Marcel's head like a bolt. The soldier
attempted to draw his sabre. When Pascal saw this, he closed
with Marcel, grasped him in his arms, and dashed him to the
ground, crushed and senseless.
Marcel was about to rise to renew the duel, when suddenly
Montluc, who happened to be passing with the Baron of Roquefort,
stepped forward and sternly ordered the combatants to separate.
This terrible encounter put an end to the fete. The girls fled
like frightened doves. The young men escorted Pascal to his home
preceded by the fifers. Marcel was not discouraged.
On recovering his speech, he stammered out, grinding his teeth:
"They shall pay clearly for this jesting; Franconnette shall
have no other husband than myself."
Many months passed. The harvest was gathered in. There were no
more out-door fetes or dances. The villagers of Estanquet
assembled round their firesides. Christmas arrived with it games
and carol-singing. Then came the Feast of Lovers, called the
Buscou,[4] on the last day of the year, where, in a large
chamber, some hundred distaffs were turning, and boys and girls,
with nimble fingers, were winding thread of the finest flax.
Franconnette was there, and appointed queen of the games.
After the winding was over, the songs and dances began to the
music of a tambourin. The queen, admired by all, sang and danced
like the rest.
Pascal was not there; his mother was poor, and she endeavoured
to persuade him to remain at home and work. After a short
struggle with himself, Pascal yielded. He turned aside to his
forge in silent dejection; and soon the anvil was ringing and
the sparks were flying, while away down in the village the
busking went merrily on. "If the prettiest were always the most
sensible," says Jasmin, "how much my Franconnette might have
accomplished;" but instead of this, she flitted from place to
place, idle and gay, jesting, singing, dancing, and, as usual,
bewitching all.
Then Thomas, Pascal's friend, asked leave to sing a few verses;
and, fixing his keen eyes upon the coquette, he began in tones
of lute-like sweetness the following song, entitled 'The Syren
with a Heart of Ice.' We have translated it, as nearly as
possible, from the Gascon dialect.
"Faribolo pastouro,
Sereno al co de glas,
Oh! digo, digo couro
Entendren tinda l'houro
Oun t'amistouzaras.
Toutjour fariboulejes,
Et quand parpailloulejes
La foulo que mestrejes,
Sur toun cami set met
Et te siet.
Mais res d'acos, maynado,
Al bounhur pot mena;
Qu'es acos d'estre aymado,
Quand on sat pas ayma?"
"Wayward shepherd maid,
Syren with heart of ice,
Oh! tell us, tell us! when
We listen for the hour
When thou shalt feel
Ever so free and gay,
And when you flutter o'er
The number you subdue,
Upon thy path they fall
At thy feet.
But nothing comes of this, young maid,
To happiness it never leads;
What is it to be loved like this
If you ne'er can love again?"
Such poetry however defies translation. The more exquisite the
mastery of a writer over his own language, the more difficult it
is to reproduce it in another. But the spirit of the song is in
Miss Costello's translation,[5] as given in Franconnette at the
close of this volume.
When reciting Franconnette, Jasmin usually sang The Syren to
music of his own composition. We accordingly annex his music.
All were transported with admiration at the beautiful song.
When Thomas had finished, loud shouts were raised for the name of
the poet. "Who had composed this beautiful lay?" "It is
Pascal," replied Thomas. "Bravo, Pascal! Long live Pascal! "was
the cry of the young people. Franconnette was unwontedly touched
by the song. "But where is Pascal?" she said. "If he loves, why
does he not appear?" "Oh," said Laurent, another of his rivals,
in a jealous and piqued tone, "he is too poor, he is obliged to
stay at home, his father is so infirm that he lives upon alms!"
"You lie," cried Thomas. "Pascal is unfortunate; he has been
six months ill from the wounds he received in defence of
Franconnette, and now his family is dependent upon him; but he
has industry and courage, and will soon recover from his
misfortunes."
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