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

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

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

He proceeds to describe the place:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jasmin answered this letter as follows:—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Paris, 28th April, 1849.

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

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

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

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

Endnotes for Chapter XV.

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

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

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

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