he
first of these poems you reach the sublime of love without touching a
single chord of passion. What purity, and at the same time what ease and
tenderness! It is not only the fever of the heart; it is life itself,
its religion, its virtue. This poor innuocento does not live to love;
she loves to live.... Her love diffuses itself like a perfume--like the
scent of a flower.... In writing Maltro your muse becomes virgin and
Christian; and to dictate L'Abuglo is a crown of flowers, violets
mingled with roses, like Tibullus, Anacreon, and Horace."

And again: "Poet, be happy; sing in the language of your mother, of your
infancy, of your loves, your sorrows. The Gascon songs, revived by you,
can never be forgotten. 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. She died
before him, in 1852.

Endnotes for Chapter XIV.

{1} We adopt the translation of Miss Costello.

CHAPTER XV. JASMIN'S VINEYARD--'MARTHA THE INNOCENT.'

Agen, with its narrow and crooked streets, is not altogether a pleasant
town, excepting, perhaps, the beautiful promenade of the Gravier, where
Jasmin lived. Yet the neighbourhood of Agen is exceedingly picturesque,
especially the wooded crags of the Hermitage and the pretty villas near
the convent of the Carmelites. From these lofty sites a splendid view
of the neighbouring country is to be seen along the windings of the
Garonne, and far off, towards the south, to the snowy peaks of the
Pyrenees.

Down beneath the Hermitage and the crags a road winds up the valley
towards Verona, once the home of the famous Scaligers.{1} Near this
place Jasmin bought a little vineyard, and established his Tivoli.
In this pretty spot his muse found pure air, liberty, and privacy.
He called the place--like his volume of poems--his "Papillote," his
"Curlpaper." Here, for nearly thirty years, he spent some of his
pleasantest hours, in exercise, in reflection, and in composition.