Samuel Smiles

“ APPENDIX. JASMIN'S DEFENCE OF THE GASCON DIALECT.
To M. SYLVAIN DUMON, Deputy-Minister, who has condemned to death our native language.
There's not a deeper grief to man Than when our 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 survives to-day, Perchance his hope to-morrow dies. It is not thus, believe me, Sir, With this enchantress, we will call Our second mother. Frenchmen err, Who cent'ries since proclaimed her fall! ”

“ 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! ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ High-sounding names were there—much intellect and beauty; all were assembled to do honour to the coiffeur from the banks of the Garonne. France honours intellect, no matter to what class of society it belongs: it is an affectionate kind of social democracy. Indeed, among many virtues in French society, none is so delightful, none so cheering, none so mutually improving, and none more Christian, than the kindly intercourse, almost the equality, of all ranks of society, and the comparatively small importance attached to wealth or condition, wherever there is intellect and power. ”

“ I have been somewhat minute in giving an account of my interview with M. Jasmin, because he is really the popular poet—the peasant poet of the South of France—the Burns of Limousin, Provence, and Languedoc. His songs are in the mouths of all who sing in the fields and by the cottage firesides. Their subjects are always rural, naive, and full of rustic pathos and rustic drollery. To use his words to me, he sings what the hearts of the people say, and he can no more help it than can the birds in the trees. ”

“ This was one of the virtues of Jasmin—his love of truth. He never pretended to be other than what he was. He was even proud of being a barber, with his "hand of velvet." He was pleased to be entertained by the coiffeurs of Agen, Paris, Bordeaux, and Toulouse. He was a man of the people, and believed in the dignity of labour. At the same time, but for his perseverance and force of character, he never could have raised himself to the honour and power of the true poet. ”

“ You yourself have put them into practice. Ardent in the work of charity, you have gone wherever misery and poverty had to be relieved, and all that you yourself have received was merely the blessings of the unfortunate. Each of your days has been celebrated for its good works, and your whole life has been a hymn to benevolence and charity.
"Accept, then, Jasmin, this crown! Great poet, good citizen, you have nobly earned it! Give it an honoured place in that glorious museum of yours, which the towns and cities of the South have enriched by their gifts. ”

“ Your works of art are greater far than here. But come and see, quite near The banks of the Garonne, on a sweet summer's day, All works of God! and then you'll say No place more beautiful and gay! You see the rocks in all their velvet greenery; The plains are always gold; and mossy very, The valleys, where we breathe the healthy air, And where we walk on beds of flowers most fair! The country round your Paris has its flowers and greensward, But 'tis too grand a dame for me, it is too dull and sad. ”

“ Such is Jasmin—lively in imagination, warm in temperament, humorous, playful, easily made happy, easily softened, enthusiastically fond of his province, of its heroes, of its scenery, of its language, and of its manners. He is every inch a Gascon, except that he has none of that consequential self-importance, or of the love of boasting and exaggeration, which, falsely or not, is said to characterise his countrymen. ”

“ A wife, it seems, is all; and mother nothing worth! Unhappy that I am! "The crowd alas! their heavy tears ran down! "Marcel," the bridegroom said, "her grief is my despair; But love, thou knowest, 's stronger yet; indeed 'tis time to go! Only, should I perish, let my mother be thy care." "I can no more," cried Marcel, "thy mother's conquered here." And then the valiant soldier from his eyelids brushed a tear. "Take courage, Pascal, friend of mine Thy Franconnette is good and pure. ”

“ Though voice of people is the voice of God! Oh! how her heart beat as the church she neared, 'Twas for the Virgin's indulgence she cared. Mothers with heartaches; young unfortunates; The orphan girls; the women without mates; All knelt before, with tapers waxen, The image of the Virgin; And there the aged priest, in surplice dressed, Placed the crosses at their lips, and afterwards them blessed. No sign of sorrow did on any suppliant fall, But with their happy hearts, their ways went one and all, So Franconnette grew happy too, And most because Pascal prayed fervent in her view ”

“ The journeys of Jasmin in the South were like a triumphal march. No prince ever received more brilliant ovations. Flowers were strewn in his way; the bells rang out on his appearance; the houses were illuminated; the Mayors addressed him in words of praise; the magistrates, the clergy followed him in procession. Bestowed upon a man, and a poet, such honours might seem exaggerated; but Jasmin, under the circumstances, represented more than poetry: he represented Charity. Each of his verses transformed him into an alms-giver ”

“ Poet, be happy! The language which you love, France will learn to admire and read, and your brother-poets will learn to imitate you.... Spirit speaks to spirit; genius speaks to the heart. Sing, poet, sing! Envy jeers in vain; your Muse is French; better still, it is Christian, and the laurel at the end of your course has two crowns—one for the forehead of the poet and the other for the heart of the man. Grand actions bring glory; good deeds bring happiness."
Although Jasmin wrote an interesting letter to Madame Lafarge, he did not venture to sing or recite for her relief from prison. ”

“ Jasmin was a boy in his heart and feelings, then as always. Indeed, he never ceased to be a boy—in his manners, his gaiety, his artlessness, and his enjoyment of new pleasures.
What a succession of wonders to him was Paris—its streets, its boulevards, its Tuileries, its Louvre, its Arc de Triomphe—reminding him of the Revolution and the wars of the first Napoleon. ”

“ Verse is, with us, a charm divine, Our people, loving verse, will still, Unknowing of their art, entwine Garlands of poesy at will. Their simple language suits them best: Then let them keep it and be blest. Let the wise critics build a wall Between the nurse's cherished voice, And the fond ear her words enthral, And say their idol is her choice. Yes!—let our fingers feel the rule, The angry chiding of the school; True to our nurse, in good or ill, We are not French, but Gascon still. 'Tis said that age new feeling brings, Our youth returns as we grow old ”

“ 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. ”

“ Five hundred years before, Petrarch had been crowned at Rome in the name of Italy, and now Jasmin was to be crowned at Agen, in the name of Meridional France. To crown a man, who, during his lifetime had been engaged in the trade of barber and hair-dresser, seemed something extraordinary and unique. To the cold-blooded people of the North there might appear something theatrical in such a demonstration, but it was quite in keeping with the warm-hearted children of the South. ”

“ Whose music praise and honour gain'd More than to rural strains belong. Delighted, charm'd, I scarcely knew Whence sprung this life so fresh and new, And to my heart I whispered low, When to my fields returned again, "Is not the Gascon Poet now As happy as the shepherd swain?" The minstrel never can forget, The spot where first success he met; But he, the shepherd who, of yore, Has charm'd so many a list'ing ear, Came back, and was beloved no more. ”

“ And if we of the cold North can scarcely comprehend the childish passionateness and emotional unreserve of the more sensitive South, at least we can profoundly respect the good common to us all the good which lies underneath that many-coloured robe of manners which changes with every hamlet; the good which speaks from heart to heart, and quickens the pulses of the blood; the good which binds us all as brothers, and makes but one family of universal man; and this good we lovingly recognise in Jasmin ”

“ And yet thy days had been numbered, and you yourself seemed to have cherished this presentiment; but, faithful to thy double mission of poet and apostle of benevolence, thou redoubled thy efforts to enrich with new epics thy sheaf of poetry, and by thy bountiful gifts and charity to allay the sorrows of the poor. Indefatigable worker! Thou hast dispensed most unselfishly thy genius and thy powers! Death alone has been able to compel thee to repose! ”

“ Jasmin took his guitar and sang to his wife and children; or, in the summer evenings they would walk under the beautiful elms in front of the Gravier, where Jasmin was ready for business at any moment. Such prudence, such iligence, could not but have its effect. When Jasmin's first volume of the Papillotos was published, it was received with enthusiasm.
"The songs, the curl-papers," said Jasmin, "brought in such a rivulet of silver, that, in my poetic joy, I broke into morsels and burnt in the fire that dreaded arm-chair in which my ancestors had been carried to the hospital to die." ”