Jasmin was now thirty-six years old. He was virtually in the prime of life. He had been dreaming, he had been thinking, for many years, of composing some poems of a higher order than his Souvenirs. He desired to embody in his work some romantic tales in verse, founded upon local legends, noble in conception, elaborated with care, and impressive by the dignity of simple natural passion.

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

The first of Jasmin's poetical legends was 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille' (L'Abuglo). It was translated into English, a few years after its appearance, by Lady Georgiana Fullerton, daughter of the British ambassador at Paris,{1} and afterwards by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the American poet. Longfellow follows the rhythm of the original, and on the whole his translation of the poem is more correct, so that his version is to be preferred. He begins his version with these words—

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

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

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

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

In the cottage under the cliff Marguerite meditates a tragedy. She dresses herself, and resolves to attend the wedding at Saint-Amans with her little brother. While dressing, she slips a knife into her bosom, and then they start for the church. The bridal party soon arrived, and Marguerite heard their entrance.

The ceremony proceeded. Mass was said. The wedding-ring was blessed; and as Baptiste placed it on the bride's finger, he said the accustomed words. In a moment a voice cried: "It is he! It is he;" and Marguerite rushed through the bridal party towards him with a knife in her hand to stab herself; but before she could reach the bridegroom she fell down dead—broken-hearted! The crime which she had intended to commit against herself was thus prevented.

In the evening, in place of a bridal song, the De Profundis was chanted, and now each one seemed to say:—

This poem was finished in August 1835; and on the 26th of the same month it was publicly recited by Jasmin at Bordeaux, at the request of the Academy of that city.

There was great beauty, tenderness, and pathos in the poem. It was perfectly simple and natural. The poem might form the subject of a drama or a musical cantata. The lamentations of Marguerite on her blindness remind one of Milton's heart-rending words on the same subject:

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).