grave has not closed upon me; that I am still alive to lift up my voice against the dismemberment of this ancient and most noble monarchy! Pressed down as I am by the hand of infirmity, am little able to assist my country in this most perilous conjuncture; but, my lords, while I have sense and memory, I will never consent to deprive the royal offspring of the House of Brunswick, the heirs of the Princess Sophia, of their fairest inheritance. Where is the man that will dare to advise such a measure? My lords, his majesty succeeded to an empire as great in extent as its reputation was unsullied. Shall we tarnish the lustre of this nation by an ignominious surrender of its rights and fairest possessions? Shall this great kingdom, that has survived, whole and entire, the Danish depredations, the Scottish inroads, and the Norman conquest; that has stood the threatened invasion of the Sspanish Armada, now fall prostrate before the house of Bourbon? Surely, my lords, this nation is no longer what it was! Shall a people that, seventeen years ago, was the terror of the world, now stoop so low as to tell its ancient inveterate enemy, Take all we have, only give us peace? It is impossible! 666 I "I wage war with no man, or set of men. wish for none of their employments; nor would I co-operate with men who still persist in unretracted error; or who, instead of acting on a firm, decisive line of conduct, halt between two opinions, where there is no middle path. In God's name, if it is absolutely necessary to declare either for peace or war, and the former cannot be preserved with honor, why is not the latter commenced without hesitation? I am not, I confess, well informed of the resources of this kingdom; but I trust it has still sufficient to maintain its just rights, though I know them not. My lords, any state is better than despair. Let us at least make one effort; and if we must fall, let us fall like men!' "When his lordship sat down, Earl Temple said to him, You forgot to mention what we talked of, shall I get up?' Lord Chatham replied, 'No, no; I will do it by and bye.' "The Duke of Richmond then replied; and it is said that, in the course of his speech, Lord Chatham gave frequent indications of emotion and displeasure. When his grace had concluded, Lord Chatham, anxious to answer him, made several attempts to stand, but his strength failed him, and, pressing his hand to his heart, he fell backward in convulsions. The House was immediately thrown into a state of the greatest agitation, and an adjournment was at once moved and carried. Lord Chatham was first taken to the house of Mr. Sargent, in Downing Street; and when he had in some measure recovered, he was removed to his own residence at Hayes ; where, after lingering for a few days, he expired on the 11th of May, in the seventieth year of his age. On the evening of his death, the House of Commons, on the motion of Colonel Barré, voted him a funeral and a monument in Westminster Abbey at the public expense. A few days afterward, an annuity of £4000 was settled upon the heirs of the Earl of Chatham, to whom the title should descend; and a public grant of £20,000 was made for the payment of his debts." We that our limits will not permit regret us to pursue this interesting subject further. The Modern Oratoris, however, a work which can well afford to stand or fall upon its own merits; and we heartily recommend it to the careful study of all who either delight in observing the forms and shapes which genius of the highest order once took in others, or are themselves desirous of catching a ray from the fires which still continue to burn, even amid the ashes of the mighty dead. STATISTICS OF FRENCH LITERATURE. It is calculated that from the 1st Jan., 1840, | to the 1st August, 1845, there were issued from the press in France 87,000 new works, volumes, and pamphlets; 3700 reprints of ancient literature and French classic authors; and 4000 translations from modern languages-one-third of the latter from the English, the German and the Spanish coming next in numbers, and the Portuguese and the Swedish languages having furnished the smallest contributions. Nine hundred dramatic authors are named of pieces produced on the stage, and afterward published; 60 VOL. XVIIL NO. IV. only of comedies and dramas not acted. Among the published works are 200 on occult sciences, cabalism, chiromancy, necromancy, &c., and 75 volumes on heraldry and genealogy. Social science, Fourrierism, com munism, and socialism of all sizes; 6000 romances and novels; and more than 800 works of travel. According to a calculation, for which the authority of M. Didot's (the publisher) name is given, the paper employed in the printing of all these works would more than twice cover the surface of the 86 departments of France. 88 From the Westminster and Foreign Quarterly Review. JASMIN, THE MODERN TROUBADOUR. Las Papillotos (The Curl-papers) de Jasmin, Coiffur, de las Académios d' Agen et de Bordéou. Agen: Prosper Noubel, 1843-1845. EVERYBODY has heard of the Troubadours, and most people have some notion of their own as to who and what they were. These notions, however, are, we suspect, rarely definite, and still more rarely just. Wonderful, on comparison, would be the discrepancy between them-amusing would be the variety in its conceptions, which, on this as on many other questions, that respectable class termed "well-informed people" would exhibit. A few learned men are tolerably acquainted with the subject, and know the rank in the history of literature to which the troubadours are entitled, but we believe they are few indeed. Most people associate with the name of these minstrels only confused and misplaced ideas of ladye-loves, bowers, a peculiar garb, the dark ages and guitars. Their works are less known than those of the Fathers. The Druids do not possess a more dim and shadowy existence in the imagination of the mass. Many have no farther acquaintance with the matter than that, like a bandit, a pilgrim, or a Jew, a troubadour makes an excellent character for a fancy ball. But however different may be the opinions entertained on other points connected with the troubadours, on one at least there would probably be all but unanimity; nearly all, we are persuaded, would agree in asserting that the time of those worthies is long since gone by, and that it is centuries since the last of the tuneful brethren sang his latest lay. Men, nevertheless, often coincide only in their errors, and this we proclaim to be one. The golden age of the troubadours may be past, but the race is not extinct; time may have modified the externals, but the spirit remains. For, dwelling in their very country and singing in their very language, differing in short from his predecessors in little more than this, that he far excels the best of them in genius, there exists at this present day a real living troubadour; his name is Jasmin, and we have seen him. The poetry of this singular man is not known in this country as it deserves to be. A short notice of it, indeed, appeared some years ago in a weekly periodical, and one or two of his smaller pieces have even been translated into English; but we are persuaded, that by a great majority, even of those best acquainted with modern French literature, the poet of Agen has never been heard of. In France itself his reputation is not so widely or so universally spread as is that of many of his contemporaries much his inferiors in merit; nor, indeed, is it wonderful that it should be so, when we consider that the language in which he writes is now looked on only as the patois of a province, and that it is, in fact, nearly unintelligible to those who know no French but French of Paris. Yet, notwithstanding this serious disadvantage, the sterling excellence of his poetry has won a way for it; and if, with the mass, it is not every where so popular as on the banks of the Garonne, its beauties have universally been appreciated, at least, by the more competent and discerning. The most distinguished critics of the capital itself, not always too ready to discover or to recognize provincial merit, hailed him with enthusiasm, when, rambling like a true minstrel, he appeared amongst them reciting his verses; and in the difficult saloons of a city, where unaided genius to be successful must be genius indeed, the Gascon bard conquered for himself a fame of which any man might well be proud. Ampère, Charles Nodier, Saint-Beuve, and Lamartine were among the loudest in their praises; the last, indeed, went so far as to say that Jasmin was "the truest and greatest poet of the age;" and the exaggerated terms of this testimony must not be allowed to detract from its real value. As for his native Gascony, where the language in which Jasmin writes is not only well understood, but, as being now the patois of the people, is to them peculiarly expres sive and heart-touching, he is there held in | universal honor. His countrymen of that province are intensely proud of him. He is to them what Burns is to the Scottish peasantry, only, he meets with his honors in his lifetime. Fêtes and banquets await him when he visits any of their towns, multitudes crowd to hear him recite his poems, his progress from place to place is a perpetual triumph, and the unabating enthusiasm that everywhere greets him shows that the fame which Toulouse, the city of Clemence Isaure, acknowledged years ago by presenting him with its golden laurel, has since been successfully maintained. Agen is a small town prettily situated on the reedy Garonne. In its principal square is to be found a small shop, the front of which, shaded by an overhanging blind of blue cloth, bears the legend, "Jasmin. Coiffeur de jeunes gens." For, the truth must be told, "the truest and greatest poet of the age" keeps a shop, and is a hair-dresser the fingers that sweep the lyre handle also the scissors, and scraps of verses serve to test the heat of curling-irons. Can such things be? Can a man who is a hairdresser hope for immortality? Has he any right to bear up against the prejudices to which he must feel himself obnoxious? That ploughmen and shepherds may tune their pipes and sing, we can all readily understand; idyls and georgics come naturally from their occupations; but a hair-dresser-with all due respect to the worshipful company of barbers-seems inexorably forbidden to make any acquaintance with the muse, more especially if he be hight Jasmin, to remind us of his own oily perfumes, and if, farther, he entitle his writings, "Curl-papers," to suggest more homely ideas still. Let no Latinist punster quote to us the line, Dum canimus sacras alterno pectine nonas, to us there is no profession so prosaic as a barber's, and for a poet to be found among its members is indeed a prodigy. But Jasmin is that prodigy. The little room behind his shop is full of gifts, presented to him in homage of his genius; admirers in every social and intellectual rank have sent their offerings, and kings are among the contributors. He writes after his name, "Member of the Academies of Agen and Bordeaux." At his button-hole he wears the ribbon of the legion of honor-in his case, at least, bestowed upon no unworthy grounds. And the little table beside his counter is covered with favorable reviews by critics whose judgment is stamped with authority, mingled with complimentary letters from correspondents whose approbation is indeed high praise. All these Jasmin makes no ostentation either of exhibiting or of concealing; he has not been spoiled by the flattery he has received; but he is conscious of his own merits, and disdains the mock modesty it would be affectation to assume. In appearance he is a fine manly-looking fellow, in manners he is hearty and simple. From the first prepossessing, he gains upon you at every moment, till when he is fairly launched into the recital of one of his poems, and his rich voice does justice to the harmonious Gascon in which they nearly all are written, the animation and feeling he discovers become contagious; your admiration kindles; cold as you may generally be, you are involved in his ardor. You forget the shop in which you stand; all idea of his being a hair-dresser vanishes; you rise with him into his superior world, and experience in a way you will never forget, the power exercised by a true poet pouring forth his living thoughts in his own verses. Amongst Jasmin's productions is a piece entitled Mous Soubenis,-My Souvenirs. It appeared in 1832. Nothing can give a better idea at once of the man and of the poet than this work; for it not only yields us a retrospect of his life, but exhibits in a peculiar degree the mixture of pathos and humor, of playfulness and passion, which distinguishes him. We shall, therefore, make the acquaintance of the modern troubadour by means of this autobiography. We translate word for word when we quote in prose. "Aged and broken, the other century had only a couple of years more to pass upon earth, when, at the corner of an old street, in a house where dwelt more than one rat, on Thursday in Shrovetide, behind the door, at the hour when they toss pancakes, of a hunchbacked father and a lame mother, was born a baby, and that baby was I." The hunchbacked father was a tailor; and, though he could not read, he too was a poet, of a much lower degree, however, than his son. He composed burlesque and occasional couplets for the charivaris common in the country; but none of these effusions have come down to us-the poor tailor-satirist rests mute and inglorious. Though a thin, weak child, yet "nourished by good milk, and nestling in a warm cradle stuffed with lark's feathers," Jasmin grew, "just as if he had been the son of a king." At the age All his amusements, however, were not so innocent. He was a sad robber of orchards; nor does he seem even yet reformed in principle, for his mouth evidently still waters at the recollection of his exploits "Over the hedge and over the wall, "What delight and what pain I feft when she recounted the Ogre and little Tom Thumb,' when she painted a hundred ghosts, with the noise of a hundred chains, in an old ruin, when she rehearsed the 'Sorcerer' or 'Bluebeard,' or described the Loup-garou' howling in the street. Half dead with fear, I dared not breathe, and when, as midnight sounded, I returned home, it seemed as if sorcerers and loups-garoux were always at my heels." 6 What lots of cherries and plums we stole! Peaches and grapes and nectarines, Up the trees and along the vines ! Pears and apricots past beliefSo much for imaginary terrors. The actual Oh! I was such a famous thief! things of life and their stern reality were Leaping like squirrels, on we came, soon forced upon him in a way that left its Scourges of gardens, and proud of the name." trace for ever. It was a Monday. At play But, amid the gaiety and carelessness of with his companions, he was their king, and Jasmin's early years, there was a care which they formed his escort. In the midst of his cast a gloom over his happiest moments; and reign he sees two porters approach, bearing it arose from a cause which does not usually an old man seated on a willow chair. They much sadden a child. The future poet had come nearer and nearer, near enough at last an eager thirst for education; the poverty of for him to distinguish his grandfather. He his parents did not admit of his receiving it. throws himself round his poor relative's neck, The thought of school, and of his being de- and asks him anxiously and in wonder, what barred from it, constantly haunted him; his ails him, why he has left home, where he is poor mother would whisper the word to his going. "To the workhouse, my son," regrandfather, and then look wistfully at her plies the weeping old man. "Acos aqui que boy; but there was no help, they had not the lous Jansemins moron—it is there the Jasmins means, and his singular desire of knowledge die. He embraced me," continued Jasmin, could not be gratified. He could only wish." and was carried away, shutting his blue The family had evidently a hard battle to sustain. Jasmin's childhood was one of hunger and privation. We find him afterward alluding to his forced fasts, in some humorous verses addressed "To a Curé of Marmande, who at a great dinner wished to make him observe Lent." We think we hear some troubadour of Raymond's court discharging his pleasantry at the penance-pronouncing St. Dominic, or some of his monk companions. eyes-five days afterward my grandfather was no more." Then, for the first time, the boy felt what poverty really is. This event struck deep into his mind; the recollection of it has since been constantly present to him, and on one occasion, at least, it exercised a salutary influence on his fortunes. When, at last, more prosperous days came, he found great satisfaction in making a bonfire of the old willow chair in which his forefathers, "all the Jasmins," had been carried to their almshouse death-bed. the first canto closes. With this incident | ladder, at the top of which a plump servant maid was perched, occupied-type of innocence-in feeding pigeons in a dove-cot above her. He mounted the ladder one, two, three, four steps, Kitty turned and uttered a scream, the ladder was thrown over and both came together to the ground, she uppermost. Kitty continued screaming, and when the luckless wight got upon his legs again, he found scullions, cooks, canons, and little abbés, all the house, in fact, assembled around him. Kitty told the story in her own way, with embellishments, the culprit assures us, and his punishment was immediately pronounced The second begins with an inventory of the family furniture, in which figure, among other things, three old beds in ruins; six old curtains, which the wind from the crannies would have caused to belly out like sails, if they had not been eaten by time and rats into the semblance of sieves; a sideboard frequently subjected to threat of bailiff-it was the only thing worth seizing—and an old wallet hanging in a corner." He had not before remarked the scantiness of their possessions, but his eyes were now opened. He saw how slender were his parents' means, and he learned things he had never dreamed of before that the severe looking woman, who came every morning with an iron pot, bore in it to his grandmother, "sick though still not old," the soup of charity; that the old wallet was what his grandfather used to carry from farmhouse to farmhouse seeking the scanty doles of his former friends; that no old man ever died in their house, but "that as soon as they took to crutches they were sent to the hospital." So it had been from father to son. "Paoure Pepy!-poor grandfather." "So wicked and so young! As Heaven is my guard, I'll see that such conduct shall meet its due reward! Dry bread and prison from to-day, through all the carnival! Such was the peremptory sentence of the principal." Shut up in his cell, Jasmin was far from "Sweet consolers of disgrace, Breathing smiles and beaming light, Never o'er a couch so bare One day, however a bright day for him -his mother entered the house joyfully. 'Jacques," said she, "Jacques, my son, you shall go to school! Your cousin the schoolmaster takes you for nothing." Six months afterward the boy could read-he was diligent and had a good memory-six more and he assisted the priest at mass-six more, and as From these pleasant visions, however, Jasmin a chorister he struck up the Tantum ergo,— awoke to the direful reality of hunger,-a six more and he entered the seminary gra- reality which causes him emphatically to tuitously, six more and he was expelled deny the truth of the proverb, "qui dron from it with shame on his face and curses on minjo"-he who sleeps dines. To tantalize his head. And this, too, was in the very him more, from the valiant spits hard at moment of his first great triumph. He work in the kitchen, ascended, coming had gained a prize-it was only an old cas- through the keyhole, and impelled by the sock-but it was still a prize. His mother "great devil," an odor of unctuous and came and saw it; full of joy was that poor most delectable meats. It is the carnival, mother, and between her kisses she said to and he is in prison, alone and hungry. He him, "Poor thing! you have a good right to becomes desperate, his eye flashes with learn; for, thanks to you, they send us every rage, and at that moment it falls on a cupTuesday a loaf of bread, and this year times board in the wall-high up, but secured are so bad, that God knows it is welcome." only by a wooden pin. The means of ascent Jasmin, very proud, promised repeatedly that are speedily furnished by a table, some he would become a grand savant, and his washing lines, and four chairs; on this ladder, mother went away radiant with joy. His at the risk of his neck, he climbs. Opening father, it was arranged, was to lay his profes- the cupboard, he beholds in the interior four sional hands on the cassock and alter it to the pots; "trembling like a king upon his throne,' boy's size. But that vestment Jasmin was he draws one of them toward him; somenever destined to wear. He fell, both thing soft and black flows out on his face literally and figuratively. "The devil, that and trickles to his mouth; he tastes— ns tigator of evil," led him, it seems, near a "triumph! it is quince marmalade !” |
