Read Ebook: Jasmin: Barber Poet Philanthropist by Smiles Samuel

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Ebook has 1135 lines and 91540 words, and 23 pages

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-glass 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 passed, 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 assembled 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 faggots 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 fagots."

The rest of the vagrants' time was spent in play. They ascended the cliff towards the grotto of Saint John. They shared in many a contest. They dared each other to do things--possible and impossible. There were climbings of rocks, and daring leaps, with many perils and escapades, according to the nature of boys at play. At length, after becoming tired, there was the return home an hour before nightfall. And now the little fellows tripped along; thirty fagot bundles were carried on thirty heads; and the thirty sang, as on setting out, the same carol, with the same refrain.

Jasmin proceeds, in his Souvenirs, to describe with great zest and a wonderful richness of local colour, the impromptu fetes in which he bore a part; his raids upon the cherry and plum orchards--for the neighbourhood of Agen is rich in plum-trees, and prunes are one of the principal articles of commerce in the district. Playing at soldiers was one of Jasmin's favourite amusements; and he was usually elected Captain.

"I should need," he says, "a hundred trumpets to celebrate all my victories." Then he describes the dancing round the bonfires, and the fantastic ceremonies connected with the celebration of St. John's Eve.

Agen is celebrated for its fairs. In the month of June, one of the most important fairs in the South of France is held on the extensive promenade in front of the Gravier. There Jasmin went to pick up any spare sous by holding horses or cattle, or running errands, or performing any trifling commission for the farmers or graziers. When he had filled to a slight extent his little purse, he went home at night and emptied the whole contents into his mother's hand. His heart often sank as she received his earnings with smiles and tears. "Poor child," she would say, "your help comes just in time." Thus the bitter thought of poverty and the evidences of destitution were always near at hand.

In the autumn Jasmin went gleaning in the cornfields, for it was his greatest pleasure to bring home some additional help for the family needs. In September came the vintage--the gathering in and pressing of the grapes previous to their manufacture into wine. The boy was able, with his handy helpfulness, to add a little more money to the home store. Winter followed, and the weather became colder. In the dearth of firewood, Jasmin was fain to preserve his bodily heat, notwithstanding his ragged clothes, by warming himself by the sun in some sheltered nook so long as the day lasted; or he would play with his companions, being still buoyed up with the joy and vigour of youth.

When the stern winter set in, Jasmin spent his evenings in the company of spinning-women and children, principally for the sake of warmth. A score or more of women, with their children, assembled in a large room, lighted by a single antique lamp suspended from the ceiling. The women had distaffs and heavy spindles, by means of which they spun a kind of coarse pack-thread, which the children wound up, sitting on stools at their feet. All the while some old dame would relate the old-world ogreish stories of Blue Beard, the Sorcerer, or the Loup Garou, to fascinate the ears and trouble the dreams of the young folks. It was here, no doubt, that Jasmin gathered much of the traditionary lore which he afterwards wove into his poetical ballads.

Jasmin had his moments of sadness. He was now getting a big fellow, and his mother was anxious that he should receive some little education. He had not yet been taught to read; he had not even learnt his A B C. The word school frightened him. He could not bear to be shut up in a close room--he who had been accustomed to enjoy a sort of vagabond life in the open air. He could not give up his comrades, his playing at soldiers, and his numerous escapades.

The mother, during the hum of her spinning-wheel, often spoke in whispers to grandfather Boe of her desire to send the boy to school. When Jasmin overheard their conversation, he could scarcely conceal his tears. Old Boe determined to do what he could. He scraped together his little savings, and handed them over to the mother. But the money could not then be used for educating Jasmin; it was sorely needed for buying bread. Thus the matter lay over for a time.

The old man became unable to go out of doors to solicit alms. Age and infirmity kept him indoors. He began to feel himself a burden on the impoverished family. He made up his mind to rid them of the incumbrance, and desired the parents to put him into the family arm-chair and have him carried to the hospital. Jasmin has touchingly told the incident of his removal.

"It happened on a Monday," he says in his Souvenirs: "I was then ten years old. I was playing in the square with my companions, girded about with a wooden sword, and I was king; but suddenly a dreadful spectacle disturbed my royalty. I saw an old man in an arm-chair borne along by several persons. The bearers approached still nearer, when I recognised my afflicted grandfather. 'O God,' said I, 'what do I see? My old grandfather surrounded by my family.' In my grief I saw only him. I ran up to him in tears, threw myself on his neck and kissed him.

"In returning my embrace, he wept. 'O grandfather,' said I, 'where are you going? Why do you weep? Why are you leaving our home?' 'My child,' said the old man, 'I am going to the hospital, where all the Jasmins die.' He again embraced me, closed his eyes, and was carried away. We followed him for some time under the trees. I abandoned my play, and returned home full of sorrow."

Grandfather Boe did not survive long in the hospital. He was utterly worn out. After five days the old man quietly breathed his last. His wallet was hung upon its usual nail in his former home, but it was never used again. One of the bread-winners had departed, and the family were poorer than ever.

"On that Monday," says Jasmin, "I for the first time knew and felt that we were very poor."

All this is told with marvellous effect in the first part of the Souvenirs, which ends with a wail and a sob.

It is stated in the Bibliographie Generale de l'Agenais, that Palissy was born in the district of Agen, perhaps at La Chapelle Biron, and that, being a Huguenot, he was imprisoned in the Bastille at Paris, and died there in 1590, shortly after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. But Palissy seems to have been born in another town, not far from La Chapelle Biron. The Times of the 7th July, 1891, contained the following paragraph:--

"A statue of Bernard Palissy was unveiled yesterday at Villeneuvesur-Lot, his native town, by M. Bourgeois, Minister of Education."

L'hopital means an infirmary or almshouse for old and impoverished people.

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.

The news of Jacques' proposed scholarship caused no small stir at home. The mother was almost beside herself with joy. The father too was equally moved, and shed tears of gratitude. He believed that the boy might yet be able to help him in writing out, under his dictation, the Charivari impromptus which, he supposed, were his chief forte. Indeed, the whole family regarded this great stroke of luck for Jacques in the light of a special providence, and as the beginning of a brilliant destiny. The mother, in order to dress him properly, rummaged the house, and picked out the least mended suit of clothes, in which to array the young scholar.

When properly clothed, the boy, not without fear on his own part, was taken by his mother to school.

Behold him, then, placed under the tuition of Sister Boe! There were some fifty other children at school, mumbling at the letters of the alphabet, and trying to read their first easy sentences. Jasmin had a good memory, and soon mastered the difficulties of the A B C. "'Twixt smiles and tears," he says, "I soon learnt to read, by the help of the pious Sister."

In six months he was able to enter the Seminary in the Rue Montesquieu as a free scholar. He now served at Mass. Having a good ear for music,he became a chorister, and sang the Tantum ergo. He was a diligent boy, and so far everything prospered well with him. He even received a prize. True, it was only an old cassock, dry as autumn heather. But, being trimmed up by his father, it served to hide his ragged clothes beneath.

His mother was very proud of the cassock. "Thank God," she said, "thou learnest well; and this is the reason why, each Tuesday, a white loaf comes from the Seminary. It is always welcome, for the sake of the hungry little ones." "Yes," he replied, "I will try my best to be learned for your sake." But Jasmin did not long wear the cassock. He was shortly after turned out of the Seminary, in consequence of a naughty trick which he played upon a girl of the household.

Jasmin tells the story of his expulsion with great frankness, though evidently ashamed of the transaction. He was passing through the inner court one day, during the Shrove Carnival, when, looking up, he caught sight of a petticoat. He stopped and gazed. A strange tremor crept through his nerves. What evil spirit possessed him to approach the owner of the petticoat? He looked up again, and recognised the sweet and rosy-cheeked Catherine--the housemaid of the Seminary. She was perched near the top of a slim ladder leaning against the wall, standing upright, and feeding the feathery-footed pigeons.

A vision flashed through Jasmin's mind--"a life all velvet," as he expressed it,--and he approached the ladder. He climbed up a few steps, and what did he see? Two comely ankles and two pretty little feet. His heart burned within him, and he breathed a loud sigh. The girl heard the sigh, looked down, and huddled up the ladder, crying piteously. The ladder was too slim to bear two. It snapped and fell, and they tumbled down, she above and he below!

The loud screams of the girl brought all the household to the spot--the Canons, the little Abbe, the cook, the scullion--indeed all the inmates of the Seminary. Jasmin quaintly remarks, "A girl always likes to have the sins known that she has caused others to commit." But in this case, according to Jasmin's own showing, the girl was not to blame. The trick which he played might be very innocent, but to the assembled household it seemed very wicked. He must be punished.

First, he had a terrible wigging from the master; and next, he was sentenced to imprisonment during the rest of the Carnival.

In default of a dungeon, they locked him in a dismal little chamber, with some bread and water. Next day, Shrove Tuesday, while the Carnival was afoot, Jasmin felt very angry and very hungry. "Who sleeps eats," says the proverb. "But," said Jasmin, "the proverb lies: I did not sleep, and was consumed by hunger." Then he filled up the measure of his iniquity by breaking into a cupboard!

It happened that the Convent preserves were kept in the room wherein he was confined. Their odour attracted him, and he climbed up, by means of a table and chair, to the closet in which they were stored. He found a splendid pot of preserves. He opened it; and though he had no spoon, he used his fingers and soon emptied the pot. What a delicious treat he enjoyed enough to make him forget the pleasures of the Carnival.

Jasmin was about to replace the empty pot, when he heard the click-clack of a door behind him. He looked round, and saw the Superior, who had unlocked the door, and come to restore the boy to liberty. Oh, unhappy day! When the Abbe found the prisoner stealing his precious preserves, he became furious. "What! plundering my sweetmeats?" he cried. "Come down, sirrah, come down! no pardon for you now." He pulled Jasmin from his chair and table, and the empty jar fell broken at his feet. "Get out, get out of this house, thou imp of hell!" And taking Jasmin by the scruff of the neck, he thrust him violently out of the door and into the street.

But worse was yet to come. When the expelled scholar reached the street, his face and mouth were smeared with jam. He was like a blackamoor. Some urchins who encountered him on his homeward route, surmised that his disguise was intended as a masque for the Carnival. He ran, and they pursued him. The mob of boys increased, and he ran the faster. At last he reached his father's door, and rushed in, half dead with pain, hunger, and thirst. The family were all there--father, mother, and children.

They were surprised and astonished at his sudden entrance. After kissing them all round, he proceeded to relate his adventures at the Seminary. He could not tell them all, but he told enough. His narrative was received with dead silence. But he was thirsty and hungry. He saw a pot of kidney-bean porridge hanging over the fire, and said he would like to allay his hunger by participating in their meal. But alas! The whole of it had been consumed. The pot was empty, and yet the children were not satisfied with their dinner. "Now I know," said the mother, "why no white bread has come from the Seminary." Jasmin was now greatly distressed. "Accursed sweetmeats," he thought. "Oh! what a wretch I am to have caused so much misery and distress."

The children had eaten only a few vegetables; and now there was another mouth to fill. The fire had almost expired for want of fuel. The children had no bread that day, for the Seminary loaf had not arrived. What were they now to do? The mother suffered cruel tortures in not being able to give her children bread, especially on the home-coming of her favourite scapegrace.

At last, after glancing at her left hand, she rose suddenly. She exclaimed in a cheerful voice, "Wait patiently until my return." She put her Sunday kerchief on her head, and departed. In a short time she returned, to the delight of the children, with a loaf of bread under her arm. They laughed and sang, and prepared to enjoy their feast, though it was only of bread. The mother apparently joined in their cheerfulness, though a sad pain gnawed at her heart. Jasmin saw his mother hide her hand; but when it was necessary for her to cut the loaf, after making the cross according to custom, he saw that the ring on her left hand had disappeared. "Holy Cross," he thought, "it is true that she has sold her wedding-ring to buy bread for her children."

This was a sad beginning of life for the poor boy. He was now another burden on the family. Old Boe had gone, and could no longer help him with his savoury morsels. He was so oppressed with grief, that he could no longer play with his comrades as before. But Providence again came to his aid. The good Abbe Miraben heard the story of his expulsion from the Seminary. Though a boy may be tricky he cannot be perfect, and the priest had much compassion on him. Knowing Jasmin's abilities, and the poverty of his parents, the Abbe used his influence to obtain an admission for him to one of the town's schools, where he was again enabled to carry on his education.

The good Abbe was helpful to the boy in many ways. One evening, when Jasmin was on his way to the Augustins to read and recite to the Sisters, he was waylaid by a troop of his old playfellows. They wished him to accompany them to the old rendezvous in the square; but he refused, because he had a previous engagement. The boys then began to hustle him, and proceeded to tear off his tattered clothes. He could only bend his head before his assailants, but never said a word.

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