Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist Part 1

Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist.

by Samuel Smiles.

PREFACE.

My attention was first called to the works of the poet Jasmin by the eulogistic articles which appeared in the Revue des Deux Mondes, by De Mazade, Nodier, Villemain, and other well-known reviewers.

I afterwards read the articles by Sainte-Beuve, perhaps the finest critic of French literature, on the life and history of Jasmin, in his 'Portraits Contemporains' as well as his admirable article on the same subject, in the 'Causeries du Lundi.'

While Jasmin was still alive, a translation was published by the American poet Longfellow, of 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille,' perhaps the best of Jasmin's poems. In his note to the translation, Longfellow said that "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'aouvelous). 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."

I had some difficulty in obtaining Jasmin's poems; but at length I received them from his native town of Agen. They consisted of four volumes octavo, though they were still incomplete. But a new edition has since been published, in 1889, which was heralded by an interesting article in the Paris Figaro.

While at Royat, in 1888, I went across the country to Agen, the town in which Jasmin was born, lived, and died. I saw the little room in which he was born, the banks of the Garonne which sounded so sweetly in his ears, the heights of the Hermitage where he played when a boy, the Pet.i.te Seminaire in which he was partly educated, the coiffeur's shop in which he carried on his business as a barber and hair-dresser, and finally his tomb in the cemetery where he was buried with all the honours that his towns-fellows could bestow upon him.

From Agen I went south to Toulouse, where I saw the large room in the Museum in which Jasmin first recited his poem of 'Franconnette'; and the hall in the Capitol, where the poet was hailed as The Troubadour, and enrolled member of the Academy of Jeux Floraux--perhaps the crowning event of his life.

In the Appendix to this memoir I have endeavoured to give translations from some of Jasmin's poems. Longfellow's translation of 'The Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille' has not been given, as it has already been published in his poems, which are in nearly every library. In those which have been given, I have in certain cases taken advantage of the translations by Miss Costello Miss Preston (of Boston, U.S.), and the Reverend Mr.

Craig, D.D., for some time Rector of Kinsale, Ireland.

It is, however, very difficult to translate French poetry into English.

The languages, especially the Gascon, are very unlike French as well as English. Hence Villemain remarks, that "every translation must virtually be a new creation." But, such as they are, I have endeavoured to translate the poems as literally as possible. Jasmin's poetry is rather wordy, and requires condensation, though it is admirably suited for recitation. When other persons recited his poems, they were not successful; but when Jasmin recited, or rather acted them, they were always received with enthusiasm.

There was a special feature in Jasmin's life which was altogether unique. This was the part which he played in the South of France as a philanthropist. Where famine or hunger made its appearance amongst the poor people--where a creche, or orphanage, or school, or even a church, had to be helped and supported Jasmin was usually called upon to a.s.sist with his recitations. He travelled thousands of miles for such purposes, during which he collected about 1,500,000 francs, and gave the whole of this hard-earned money over to the public charities, reserving nothing for himself except the grat.i.tude of the poor and needy. And after his long journeyings were over, he quietly returned to pursue his humble occupation at Agen. Perhaps there is nothing like this in the history of poetry or literature. For this reason, the character of the man as a philanthropist is even more to be esteemed than his character as a poet and a song-writer.

The author requests the indulgence of the reader with respect to the translations of certain poems given in the Appendix. The memoir of Jasmin must speak for itself.

London, Nov. 1891.

JASMIN.

CHAPTER I. AGEN.--JASMIN'S BOYHOOD.

Agen is an important town in the South of France, situated on the right bank of the Garonne, about eighty miles above Bordeaux. The country to the south of Agen contains some of the most fertile land in France.

The wide valley is covered with vineyards, orchards, fruit gardens, and corn-fields.

The best panoramic view of Agen and the surrounding country is to be seen from the rocky heights on the northern side of the town. A holy hermit had once occupied a cell on the ascending cliffs; and near it the Convent of the Hermitage has since been erected. Far underneath are seen the red-roofed houses of the town, and beyond them the green promenade of the Gravier.

From the summit of the cliffs the view extends to a great distance along the wide valley of the Garonne, covered with woods, vineyards, and greenery. The spires of village churches peep up here and there amongst the trees; and in the far distance, on a clear day, are seen the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees.

Three bridges connect Agen with the country to the west of the Garonne--the bridge for ordinary traffic, a light and elegant suspension bridge, and a bridge of twenty-three arches which carries the lateral ca.n.a.l to the other side of the river.

The town of Agen itself is not particularly attractive. The old streets are narrow and tortuous, paved with pointed stones; but a fine broad street--the Rue de la Republique--has recently been erected through the heart of the old town, which greatly adds to the attractions of the place. At one end of this street an ideal statue of the Republic has been erected, and at the other end a life-like bronze statue of the famous poet Jasmin.

This statue to Jasmin is the only one in the town erected to an individual. Yet many distinguished persons have belonged to Agen and the neighbourhood who have not been commemorated in any form. Amongst these were Bernard Palissy, the famous potter{1}; Joseph J. Scaliger, the great scholar and philologist; and three distinguished naturalists, Boudon de Saint-Aman, Bory de Saint-Vincent, and the Count de Lacepede.

The bronze statue of Jasmin stands in one of the finest sites in Agen, at one end of the Rue de la Republique, and nearly opposite the little shop in which he carried on his humble trade of a barber and hairdresser. It represents the poet standing, with his right arm and hand extended, as if in the act of recitation.

How the fame of Jasmin came to be commemorated by a statue erected in his native town by public subscription, will be found related in the following pages. He has told the story of his early life in a bright, natural, and touching style, in one of his best poems, ent.i.tled, "My Recollections" (Mes Souvenirs), written in Gascon; wherein he revealed his own character with perfect frankness, and at the same time with exquisite sensibility.

Several of Jasmin's works have been translated into English, especially his "Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille," by Longfellow and Lady Georgina Fullerton. The elegant translation by Longfellow is so well known that it is unnecessary to repeat it in the appendix to this volume. But a few other translations of Jasmin's works have been given, to enable the reader to form some idea of his poetical powers.

Although Jasmin's recitations of his poems were invariably received with enthusiastic applause by his quick-spirited audiences in the South of France, the story of his life will perhaps be found more attractive to English readers than any rendering of his poems, however accurate, into a language different from his own. For poetry, more than all forms of literature, loses most by translation--especially from Gascon into English. Villemain, one of the best of critics, says: "Toute traduction en vers est une autre creation que l'original."

We proceed to give an account--mostly from his own Souvenirs--of the early life and boyhood of Jasmin. The eighteenth century, old, decrepit, and vicious, was about to come to an end, when in the corner of a little room haunted by rats, a child, the subject of this story, was born. It was on the morning of Shrove Tuesday, the 6th of March, 1798,--just as the day had flung aside its black night-cap, and the morning sun was about to shed its rays upon the earth,--that this son of a crippled mother and a humpbacked tailor first saw the light. The child was born in a house situated in one of the old streets of Agen--15 Rue Fon-de-Rache--not far from the shop on the Gravier where Jasmin afterwards carried on the trade of a barber and hairdresser.

"When a prince is born," said Jasmin in his Souvenirs, "his entrance into the world is saluted with rounds of cannon, but when I, the son of a poor tailor made my appearance, I was not saluted even with the sound of a popgun." Yet Jasmin was afterwards to become a king of hearts! A Charivari was, however, going on in front of a neighbour's door, as a nuptial serenade on the occasion of some unsuitable marriage; when the clamour of horns and kettles, marrow-bones and cleavers, saluted the mother's ears, accompanied by thirty burlesque verses, the composition of the father of the child who had just been born.

Jacques Jasmin was only one child amongst many. The parents had considerable difficulty in providing for the wants of the family, in food as well as clothing. Besides the father's small earnings as a tailor of the lowest standing, the mother occasionally earned a little money as a laundress. A grandfather, Boe, formed one of the family group. He had been a soldier, but was now too old to serve in the ranks, though France was waging war in Italy and Austria under her new Emperor.

Boe, however, helped to earn the family living, by begging with his wallet from door to door.

Jasmin describes the dwelling in which this poor family lived. It was miserably furnished. The winds blew in at every corner. There were three ragged beds; a cupboard, containing a few bits of broken plates; a stone bottle; two jugs of cracked earthenware; a wooden cup broken at the edges; a rusty candlestick, used when candles were available; a small half-black looking-gla.s.s without a frame, held against the wall by three little nails; four broken chairs; a closet without a key; old Boe's suspended wallet; a tailor's board, with clippings of stuff and patched-up garments; such were the contents of the house, the family consisting in all of nine persons.

It is well that poor children know comparatively little of their miserable bringings-up. They have no opportunity of contrasting their life and belongings with those of other children more richly nurtured.

The infant Jasmin slept no less soundly in his little cot stuffed with larks' feathers than if he had been laid on a bed of down. Then he was nourished by his mother's milk, and he grew, though somewhat lean and angular, as fast as any king's son. He began to toddle about, and made acquaintances with the neighbours' children.

After a few years had pa.s.sed, Jasmin, being a spirited fellow, was allowed to accompany his father at night in the concerts of rough music.

He placed a long paper cap on his head, like a French clown, and with a horn in his hand he made as much noise, and played as many antics, as any fool in the crowd. Though the tailor could not read, he usually composed the verses for the Charivari; and the doggerel of the father, mysteriously fructified, afterwards became the seed of poetry in the son.

The performance of the Charivari was common at that time in the South of France. When an old man proposed to marry a maiden less than half his age, or when an elderly widow proposed to marry a man much younger than herself, or when anything of a heterogeneous kind occurred in any proposed union, a terrible row began. The populace a.s.sembled in the evening of the day on which the banns had been first proclaimed, and saluted the happy pair in their respective houses with a Charivari.

Bells, horns, pokers and tongs, marrow-bones and cleavers, or any thing that would make a noise, was brought into requisition, and the noise thus made, accompanied with howling recitations of the Charivari, made the night positively hideous.

The riot went on for several evenings; and when the wedding-day arrived, the Charivarists, with the same noise and violence, entered the church with the marriage guests; and at night they besieged the house of the happy pair, throwing into their windows stones, brickbats, and every kind of missile. Such was their honeymoon!

This barbarous custom has now fallen entirely into disuse. If attempted to be renewed, it is summarily put down by the police, though it still exists among the Basques as a Toberac. It may also be mentioned that a similar practice once prevailed in Devonshire described by the Rev. S.

Baring Gould in his "Red Spider." It was there known as the Hare Hunt, or Skimmity-riding.

The tailor's Charivaris brought him in no money.

They did not increase his business; in fact, they made him many enemies.

His uncouth rhymes did not increase his mending of old clothes. However sharp his needle might be, his children's teeth were still sharper; and often they had little enough to eat. The maintenance of the family mainly depended on the mother, and the wallet of grandfather Boe.

The mother, poor though she was, had a heart of gold under her serge gown. She washed and mended indefatigably. When she had finished her washing, the children, so soon as they could walk, accompanied her to the willows along the banks of the Garonne, where the clothes were hung out to dry. There they had at least the benefit of breathing fresh and pure air. Grandfather Boe was a venerable old fellow. He amused the children at night with his stories of military life--

"Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won."

During the day he carried his wallet from door to door in Agen, or amongst the farmhouses in the neighbourhood; and when he came home at eve he emptied his wallet and divided the spoil amongst the family. If he obtained, during his day's journey, some more succulent morsel than another, he bestowed it upon his grandson Jacques, whom he loved most dearly.

Like all healthy boys, young Jasmin's chief delight was in the sunshine and the open air. He also enjoyed the pleasures of fellowship and the happiness of living. Rich and poor, old and young, share in this glorified gladness. Jasmin had as yet known no sorrow. His companions were poor boys like himself. They had never known any other condition.

Just as the noontide bells began to ring, Jasmin set out with a hunch of bread in his hand--perhaps taken from his grandfather's wallet--to enjoy the afternoon with his comrades. Without cap or shoes he sped' away. The sun was often genial, and he never bethought him of cold. On the company went, some twenty or thirty in number, to gather willow f.a.ggots by the banks of the Garonne.

"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 f.a.gots."