When reciting Franconnette, Jasmin usually sang The Syren to music of his own composition. We accordingly annex his music.
All were transported with admiration at the beautiful song. When Thomas had finished, loud shouts were raised for the name of the poet. "Who had composed this beautiful lay?" "It is Pascal," replied Thomas. "Bravo, Pascal! Long live Pascal!" was the cry of the young people. Franconnette was unwontedly touched by the song. "But where is Pascal?" she said. "If he loves, why does he not appear?" "Oh," said Laurent, another of his rivals, in a jealous and piqued tone, "he is too poor, he is obliged to stay at home, his father is so infirm that he lives upon alms!" "You lie," cried Thomas. "Pascal is unfortunate; he has been six months ill from the wounds he received in defence of Franconnette, and now his family is dependent upon him; but he has industry and courage, and will soon recover from his misfortunes."
Franconnette remained quiet, concealing her emotions. Then the games began. They played at Cache Couteau or Hunt the Slipper. Dancing came next; Franconnette was challenged by Laurent, and after many rounds the girl was tired, and Laurent claimed the kisses that she had forfeited.
Franconnette flew away like a bird; Laurent ran after her, caught her, and was claiming the customary forfeit, when, struggling to free herself, Laurent slipped upon the floor, fell heavily, and broke his arm.
Franconnette was again unfortunate. Ill-luck seems to have pursued the girl. The games came to an end, and the young people were about to disperse when, at this unlucky moment, the door was burst open and a sombre apparition appeared. It was the Black Forest sorcerer, the supposed warlock of the neighbourhood.
"Unthinking creatures," he said, "I have come from my gloomy rocks up yonder to open your eyes. You all adore this Franconnette. Behold, she is accursed! While in her cradle her father, the Huguenot, sold her to the devil. He has punished Pascal and Laurent for the light embrace she gave them. He warned in time and avoid her. The demon alone has a claim to her."
The sorcerer ended; sparks of fire surrounded him, and after turning four times round in a circle he suddenly disappeared! Franconnette"s friends at once held aloof from her. They called out to her, "Begone!"
All in a maze the girl shuddered and sickened; she became senseless, and fell down on the floor in a swoon. The young people fled, leaving her helpless. And thus ended the second fete which began so gaily.
The grossest superst.i.tion then prevailed in France, as everywhere.
Witches and warlocks were thoroughly believed in, far more so than belief in G.o.d and His Son. The news spread abroad that the girl was accursed and sold to the Evil One, and she was avoided by everybody. She felt herself doomed. At length she reached her grandmother"s house, but she could not work, she could scarcely stand. The once radiant Franconnette could neither play nor sing; she could only weep.
Thus ended two cantos of the poem. The third opens with a lovely picture of a cottage by a leafy brookside in the hamlet of Estanquet. The spring brought out the singing-birds to pair and build their nests. They listened, but could no longer hear the music which, in former years, had been almost sweeter than their own. The nightingales, more curious than the rest, flew into the maid"s garden; they saw her straw hat on a bench, a rake and watering-pot among the neglected jonquils, and the rose branches running riot. Peering yet further and peeping into the cottage door, the curious birds discovered an old woman asleep in her arm-chair, and a pale, quiet girl beside her, dropping tears upon her lily hands. "Yes, yes, it is. Franconnette," says the poet. "You will have guessed that already. A poor girl, weeping in solitude, the daughter of a Huguenot, banned by the Church and sold to the devil!
Could anything be more frightful?"
Nevertheless her grandmother said to her, "My child, it is not true; the sorcerer"s charge is false. He of good cheer, you are more lovely than ever." One gleam of hope had come to Franconnette; she hears that Pascal has defended her everywhere, and boldly declared her to be the victim of a brutal plot. She now realised how great was his goodness, and her proud spirit was softened even to tears. The grandmother put in a good word for Marcel, but the girl turned aside. Then the old woman said, "To-morrow is Easter Day; go to Ma.s.s, pray as you never prayed before, and take the blessed bread, proving that you are numbered with His children for ever."
The girl consented, and went to the Church of Saint Peter on Easter morning. She knelt, with her chaplet of beads, among the rest, imploring Heaven"s mercy. But she knelt alone in the midst of a wide circle. All the communicants avoided her. The churchwarden, Marcel"s uncle, in his long-tailed coat, with a pompous step, pa.s.sed her entirely by, and refused her the heavenly meal. Pascal was there and came to her help.
He went forward to the churchwarden and took from the silver plate the crown piece{6} of the holy element covered with flowers, and took and presented two pieces of the holy bread to Franconnette--one for herself, the other for her grandmother.
From that moment she begins to live a new life, and to understand the magic of love. She carries home the blessed bread to the ancient dame, and retires to her chamber to give herself up, with the utmost gratefulness, to the rapturous delight of loving. "Ah," says Jasmin in his poem, "the sorrowing heart aye loveth best!"
Yet still she remembers the fatal doom of the sorcerer that she is sold for a price to the demon. All seem to believe the hideous tale, and no one takes her part save Pascal and her grandmother. She kneels before her little shrine and prays to the Holy Virgin for help and succour.
At the next fete day she repaired to the church of Notre Dame de bon Encontre,{7} where the inhabitants of half a dozen of the neighbouring villages had a.s.sembled, with priests and crucifixes, garlands and tapers, banners and angels. The latter, girls about to be confirmed, walked in procession and sang the Angelus at the appropriate hours. The report had spread abroad that Franconnette would entreat the Blessed Virgin to save her from the demon. The strangers were more kind to her than her immediate neighbours, and from many a pitying heart the prayer went up that a miracle might be wrought in favour of the beautiful maiden. She felt their sympathy, and it gave her confidence. The special suppliants pa.s.sed up to the altar one by one--Anxious mothers, disappointed lovers, orphans and children. They kneel, they ask for blessings, they present their candles for the old priest to bless, and then they retire.
Now came the turn of Franconnette. Pascal was in sight and prayed for her success. She went forward in a happy frame of mind, with her taper and a bouquet of flowers. She knelt before the priest. He took the sacred image and presented it to her; but scarcely had it touched the lips of the orphan when a terrible peal of thunder rent the heavens, and a bolt of lightning struck the spire of the church, extinguishing her taper as well as the altar lights. This was a most unlucky coincidence for the terrified girl; and, cowering like a lost soul, she crept out of the church. The people were in consternation. "It was all true, she was now sold to the devil! Put her to death, that is the only way of ending our misfortunes!"
The truth is that the storm of thunder and lightning prevailed throughout the neighbourhood. It is a common thing in southern climes.
The storm which broke out at Notre Dame destroyed the belfry; the church of Roquefort was demolished by a bolt of lightning, the spire of Saint Pierre was ruined. The storm was followed by a tempest of hail and rain.
Agen was engulfed by the waters; her bridge was destroyed,{8} and many of the neighbouring vineyards were devastated. And all this ruin was laid at the door of poor Franconnette!
The neighbours--her worst enemies--determined to burn the daughter of the Huguenot out of her cottage. The grandmother first heard the cries of the villagers: "Fire them, let them both burn together." Franconnette rushed to the door and pleaded for mercy. "Go back," cried the crowd, "you must both roast together." They set fire to the rick outside and then proceeded to fire the thatch of the cottage. "Hold, hold!" cried a stern voice, and Pascal rushed in amongst them. "Cowards! would you murder two defenceless women? Tigers that you are, would you fire and burn them in their dwelling?"
Marcel too appeared; he had not yet given up the hope of winning Franconnette"s love. He now joined Pascal in defending her and the old dame, and being a soldier of Montluc, he was a powerful man in the neighbourhood. The girl was again asked to choose between the two. At last, after refusing any marriage under present circ.u.mstances, she clung to Pascal. "I would have died alone," she said, "but since you will have it so, I resist no longer. It is our fate; we will die together." Pascal was willing to die with her, and turning to Marcel he said: "I have been more fortunate than you, but you are a brave man and you will forgive me. I have no friend, but will you act as a squire and see me to my grave?" After struggling with his feelings, Marcel at last said: "Since it is her wish, I will be your friend."
A fortnight later, the marriage between the unhappy lovers took place.
Every one foreboded disaster. The wedding procession went down the green hill towards the church of Notre Dame. There was no singing, no dancing, no merriment, as was usual on such occasions. The rustics shuddered at heart over the doom of Pascal. The soldier Marcel marched at the head of the wedding-party. At the church an old woman appeared, Pascal"s mother.
She flung her arms about him and adjured him to fly from his false bride, for his marriage would doom him to death. She even fell at the feet of her son and said that he should pa.s.s over her body rather than be married. Pascal turned to Marcel and said: "Love overpowers me! If I die, will you take care of my mother?"
Then the gallant soldier dispelled the gloom which had overshadowed the union of the loving pair. "I can do no more," he said; "your mother has conquered me. Franconnette is good, and pure, and true. I loved the maid, Pascal, and would have shed my blood for her, but she loved you instead of me.
"Know that she is not sold to the Evil One. In my despair I hired the sorcerer to frighten you with his mischievous tale, and chance did the rest. When we both demanded her, she confessed her love for you. It was more than I could bear, and I resolved that we should both die.
"But your mother has disarmed me; she reminds me of my own. Live, Pascal, for your wife and your mother! You need have no more fear of me.
It is better that I should die the death of a soldier than with a crime upon my conscience."
Thus saying, he vanished from the crowd, who burst into cheers. The happy lovers fell into each other"s arms. "And now," said Jasmin, in concluding his poem, "I must lay aside my pencil. I had colours for sorrow; I have none for such happiness as theirs!"
Endnotes to Chapter IX.
{1} The whole of Jasmin"s answer to M. Dumon will be found in the Appendix at the end of this volume.
{2}"Gascogne et Languedoc," par Paul Joanne, p. 95 (edit. 1883).
{3} The dance still exists in the neighbourhood of Agen. When there a few years ago, I was drawn by the sound of a fife and a drum to the spot where a dance of this sort was going on. It was beyond the suspension bridge over the Garonne, a little to the south of Agen. A number of men and women of the working-cla.s.s were a.s.sembled on the gra.s.sy sward, and were dancing, whirling, and pirouetting to their hearts" content.
Sometimes the girls bounded from the circle, were followed by their sweethearts, and kissed. It reminded one of the dance so vigorously depicted by Jasmin in Franconnette.
{4} Miss Harriet Preston, of Boston, U.S., published part of a translation of Franconnette in the "Atlantic Monthly" for February, 1876, and adds the following note: "The buscou, or busking, was a kind of bee, at which the young people a.s.sembled, bringing the thread of their late spinning, which was divided into skeins of the proper size by a broad and thin plate of steel or whalebone called a busc. The same thing, under precisely the same name, figured in the toilets of our grandmothers, and hence, probably, the Scotch use of the verb to busk, or attire."
{5} Miss Louisa Stuart Costello in "Bearn and the Pyrenees."
{6} A custom which then existed in certain parts of France. It was taken by the French emigrants to Canada, where it existed not long ago. The crown of the sacramental bread used to be reserved for the family of the seigneur or other communicants of distinction.
{7} A church in the suburbs of Agen, celebrated for its legends and miracles, to which numerous pilgrimages are made in the month of May.
{8} A long time ago the inhabitants of the town of Agen communicated with the other side of the Garonne by means of little boats. The first wooden bridge was commenced when Aquitaine was governed by the English, in the reign of Richard Coeur-de-lion, at the end of the twelfth century. The bridge was destroyed and repaired many times, and one of the piles on which the bridge was built is still to be seen. It is attributed to Napoleon I. that he caused the first bridge of stone to be erected, for the purpose of facilitating the pa.s.sage of his troops to Spain. The work was, however, abandoned during his reign, and it was not until the Restoration that the bridge was completed. Since that time other bridges, especially the suspension bridge, have been erected, to enable the inhabitants of the towns on the Garonne to communicate freely with each other.
CHAPTER X. JASMIN AT TOULOUSE.
It had hitherto been the custom of Jasmin to dedicate his poems to one of his friends; but in the case of Franconnette he dedicated the poem to the city of Toulouse. His object in making the dedication was to express his grat.i.tude for the banquet given to him in 1836 by the leading men of the city, at which the President had given the toast of "Jasmin, the adopted son of Toulouse."
Toulouse was the most wealthy and prosperous city in the South of France. Among its citizens were many men of literature, art, and science. Jasmin was at first disposed to dedicate Franconnette to the city of Bordeaux, where he had been so graciously received and feted on the recitation of his Blind Girl of Castel-Cuille; but he eventually decided to dedicate the new poem to the city of Toulouse, where he had already achieved a considerable reputation.
Jasmin was received with every honour by the city which had adopted him. It was his intention to read the poem at Toulouse before its publication. If there was one of the towns or cities in which his language was understood--one which promised by the strength and depth of its roots to defy all the chances of the future--that city was Toulouse, the capital of the Langue d"Oc.
The place in which he first recited the poem was the Great Hall of the Museum. When the present author saw it about two years ago, the ground floor was full of antique tombs, statues, and monuments of the past; while the hall above it was crowded with pictures and works of art, ancient and modern.
About fifteen hundred persons a.s.sembled to listen to Jasmin in the Great Hall. "It is impossible," said the local journal,{1} "to describe the transport with which he was received." The vast gallery was filled with one of the most brilliant a.s.semblies that had ever met in Toulouse.
Jasmin occupied the centre of the platform. At his right and left hand were seated the Mayor, the members of the Munic.i.p.al Council, the Military Chiefs, the members of the Academy of Jeux-Floraux,{2} and many distinguished persons in science, literature, and learning. A large s.p.a.ce had been reserved for the accommodation of ladies, who appeared in their light summer dresses, coloured like the rainbow; and behind them stood an immense number of the citizens of Toulouse.
Jasmin had no sooner begun to recite his poem than it was clear that he had full command of his audience. Impressed by his eloquence and powers of declamation, they were riveted to their seats, dazzled and moved by turns, as the crowd of beautiful thoughts pa.s.sed through their minds.
The audience were so much absorbed by the poet"s recitation that not a whisper was heard. He evoked by the tones and tremor of his voice their sighs, their tears, their indignation. He was by turns gay, melancholy, artless, tender, arch, courteous, and declamatory. As the drama proceeded, the audience recognised the beauty of the plot and the poet"s knowledge of the human heart. He touched with grace all the cords of his lyre. His poetry evidently came direct from his heart: it was as rare as it was delicious.
The success of the recitation was complete, and when Jasmin resumed his seat he received the most enthusiastic applause. As the whole of the receipts were, as usual, handed over by Jasminto the local charities, the a.s.sembly decided by acclamation that a subscription should be raised to present to the poet, who had been adopted by the city, some testimony of their admiration for his talent, and for his having first recited to them and dedicated to Toulouse his fine poem of Franconnette.
Jasmin handed over to the munic.i.p.ality the ma.n.u.script of his poem in a volume beautifully bound. The Mayor, in eloquent language, accepted the work, and acknowledged the fervent thanks of the citizens of Toulouse.
As at Bordeaux, Jasmin was feted and entertained by the most distinguished people of the city. At one of the numerous banquets at which he was present, he replied to the speech of the chairman by an impromptu in honour of those who had so splendidly entertained him. But, as he had already said: "Impromptus may be good money of the heart, but they are often the worst money of the head."{3}
On the day following the entertainment, Jasmin was invited to a "grand banquet" given by the coiffeurs of Toulouse, where they presented him with "a crown of immortelles and jasmines," and to them also he recited another of his impromptus.{4}