The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1869-09-17


twelve years of labor, and they do not, moreover,
number in all more than two thousand four hundred
verses
The chances, you see, would not be equal Hardly
would our two muses. become prisoners, when yours
would have finished the triple task before mine,
poor little wench, would have found its first inspira
tion.
do not therefore dare to enter the lists with you
The horse that drags its car painfully along, but
which, nevertheless arrives at its goal, cannot cem-
pete with the fiery locomotive. The art which pro-
duces verses one by cannot enter into competi-
$50 INV muse declares itself in advance conquered,
and authorized you to register my declaration to
'JACQUEs JAsMIN.
"P. Snow that you know the muse, in two words
know the man. ! love glory but the success OF
another never dsturbs my sleep. j. j."
Next to this self-respect and this pains-taking
devotion to his muse, the most striking charac-
teristic of the poet is wonderful versatility.
Most poets perform best in single part; Jasmin
is not only equally felicitous in the grave and
the gay, but he so intermingles both that his
power over the reader is greatly enhanced
thereby lie passes with perfect command from
laughter to tears from the De proftuldis to the
ETdLtdUi Add to this that he was great actor,
as well rs q great dramatist. With singularly
mobile face, effective natural gestures, clear
pronunciation, and nobly modulated voice, he
rected and acted his own poems, to the great
delight and amid the enthusiasm of thousands
who tlocked to hear him, as he made his annual
tour through the provinces. Often visited in his
humble home by strangers and tourists, he
parlor, razor or comb in hand, and say, "EX-
cuse me Il few minutes, / am shaving a custo-
mer." This DONE he would return and take out
his portfolio. ''Shall ! make you laugh or cry?
or perhaps both? | can do it, And then
although his auditors knew nothing of the Ian
guage, the acting was so excellent that they
caught its meaning, and laughed or cried as he
played upon the chords of their hearts. They
saw the story in his face, and Mt his fingers ends.
Lavergne after witnessing such a display, de-
clared-"Il est plcureur, il est bouffon, il est
sublime, il est naif-c'est un grand artistic. "The
man was the poem himself, the last and greatest
OF the Troubadours, one of the people, the friend
of the people, the poet of the people, making
the old patois resound again through France,
singing not chdnSOnS de geste and sirUentes not
the impurities OF the gay science, and the drrets
d amour, but the simple life of the peasant and
pure morality never tarnished by the humid
breath of lust.
Jasmin never lost his simplicity, but with it
he always had harmless, and what may be
called self-protecting, vanity. He estimated
himself at his real value; he thought himself the
best modern poet France had produced. Titled
visitors, who came to hear him read, he received
in his humble house with genuine good humor,
but without obsequiousness. They came to him,
and he obliged them; he wanted nothing they
could bestow. He was the poet-hero of Agen
which gave him a golden crown; at Lyons he
received two crowns He was the adopted child
of Toulouse. Allured to Paris, he was kindly
received by Louis Philippe and his family, in
vested with the Legion dhoPneuT, and, what he
esteemed much more was honored with ban
quet by the BARRIERS of Paris. At the SeGnce of
the French Academy on the Goth of August, 1852,
he received the extraordinary prize" of five
thousand francs, on presenting which NJ. Vile
main, the distinguished litterateur and perpetual
secretary, pronounced a laudntory discourse of
great beauty and dnish in which,, after men
tioning his other claims to this prize, he says:-
another glory of this original talent, title by
which it seeks the literary crown, is that it
breathes only The justest and purest sentiments
God country, the family, love well bestowed
and faithful grateful friendship, zeal in the
cause of the poor, the orphan, the suffering, for
the village church, for the ruined home of the
good priest, for the statue of the hero" To
whom else among the brilliant crowd of modern
French writers could such an eloge belong?
Often urged to come into the sunlight of
patronage or court faver at Lyons and Paris, and
to repose upon his laurels, he always refused,
and returned happy and contented to the mai
SOnette bleue, where he died on the 9th of Octo-
ber, 1864. We have reserved for another paper,
should time and space warrant, version of his
story of Crazy Martha (MaltrO IInOucento)
which our readers, we feel sure, will thank us
for bringing to their knowledge.