and now he recited the story of this martyr of love."{3}

After the completion of Martha, new triumphs awaited Jasmin in the South
of France. In 1846 he again went to Toulouse on a labour of love. He
recited his new poem in the Room of the Illustrious at the Capitol. A
brilliant assembly was present. Flowers perfumed the air. The entire
audience rose and applauded the poet. The ladies smiled and wept by
turns. Jasmin seemed to possess an electric influence. His clear,
harmonious, and flexible voice, gave emphasis by its rich sympathetic
tones to the artistic elements of his story.

The man who thus evoked such rapture from his audience was not arrayed
in gorgeous costume. He was a little dark-eyed man of the working class,
clothed in a quiet suit of black.

At the close of the recitation, the assembly, ravished with his
performance, threw him a wreath of flowers and laurels--more modest,
though not less precious than the golden branch which they had
previously conferred upon him. Jasmin thanked them most heartily for
their welcome. "My Muse," he said, "with its glorious branch of gold,
little dreamt of gleaning anything more from Toulouse; but Toulouse has
again invited me to this day's festival, and I feel more happy than a
king, because my poem is enthroned in the midst of the Capitol. Your
hands have applauded me throughout, and you have concluded by throwing
this crown of flowers at my feet."

It was then resolved to invite Jasmin to a banquet. Forty ladies, the
cream of Toulousian society, organised the proceedings, and the banquet
was given at the palace of M. de Narbonne. At the end of the proceedings
a young lady stepped forward, and placed upon the poet's head a crown of
immortelles and violets joined together by a ribbon with golden threads,
on which was inscribed in letters of gold, "Your thoughts are immortal!"
Was not this enough to turn any poor poet's head? The ladies clapped
their hands. What could Jasmin say? "It is enough," he said "to make
angels jealous!" The dinner ended with a toast to the author of Martha,
who still wore the crown upon his brow.

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm with which the poet was
received all through the South. At Dax, the ladies, for want of crowns
of laurels to cover him, tore the flowers and feathers from their
bonnets, and threw them at his feet. In another town the ladies rose
and invaded the platform where Jasmin stood; they plucked from his
button-hole