Jasmin: Barber, Poet, Philanthropist. Samuel Smiles
Читать онлайн книгу.
to feel himself a burden on the impoverished family. He made up his mind to rid them of the incumbrance, and desired the parents to put him into the family arm-chair and have him carried to the hospital. Jasmin has touchingly told the incident of his removal.
"It happened on a Monday," he says in his Souvenirs: "I was then ten years old. I was playing in the square with my companions, girded about with a wooden sword, and I was king; but suddenly a dreadful spectacle disturbed my royalty. I saw an old man in an arm-chair borne along by several persons. The bearers approached still nearer, when I recognised my afflicted grandfather. 'O God,' said I, 'what do I see? My old grandfather surrounded by my family.' In my grief I saw only him. I ran up to him in tears, threw myself on his neck and kissed him.
"In returning my embrace, he wept. 'O grandfather,' said I, 'where are you going? Why do you weep? Why are you leaving our home?' 'My child,' said the old man, 'I am going to the hospital,{2} where all the Jasmins die.' He again embraced me, closed his eyes, and was carried away. We followed him for some time under the trees. I abandoned my play, and returned home full of sorrow."
Grandfather Boe did not survive long in the hospital. He was utterly worn out. After five days the old man quietly breathed his last. His wallet was hung upon its usual nail in his former home, but it was never used again. One of the bread-winners had departed, and the family were poorer than ever.
"On that Monday," says Jasmin, "I for the first time knew and felt that we were very poor."
All this is told with marvellous effect in the first part of the Souvenirs, which ends with a wail and a sob.
Endnotes to Chapter I.
{1} It is stated in the Bibliographie Generale de l'Agenais, that Palissy was born in the district of Agen, perhaps at La Chapelle Biron, and that, being a Huguenot, he was imprisoned in the Bastille at Paris, and died there in 1590, shortly after the massacre of St. Bartholomew. But Palissy seems to have been born in another town, not far from La Chapelle Biron. The Times of the 7th July, 1891, contained the following paragraph:—
"A statue of Bernard Palissy was unveiled yesterday at Villeneuvesur-Lot, his native town, by M. Bourgeois, Minister of Education."
{2} L'hopital means an infirmary or almshouse for old and impoverished people.
CHAPTER II. JASMIN AT SCHOOL.
One joyful day Jasmin's mother came home in an ecstasy of delight, and cried, "To school, my child, to school!" "To school?" said Jasmin, greatly amazed. "How is this? Have we grown rich?" "No, my poor boy, but you will get your schooling for nothing. Your cousin has promised to educate you; come, come, I am so happy!" It was Sister Boe, the schoolmistress of Agen, who had offered to teach the boy gratuitously the elements of reading and writing.
The news of Jacques' proposed scholarship caused no small stir at home. The mother was almost beside herself with joy. The father too was equally moved, and shed tears of gratitude. He believed that the boy might yet be able to help him in writing out, under his dictation, the Charivari impromptus which, he supposed, were his chief forte. Indeed, the whole family regarded this great stroke of luck for Jacques in the light of a special providence, and as the beginning of a brilliant destiny. The mother, in order to dress him properly, rummaged the house, and picked out the least mended suit of clothes, in which to array the young scholar.
When properly clothed, the boy, not without fear on his own part, was taken by his mother to school.
Behold him, then, placed under the tuition of Sister Boe! There were some fifty other children at school, mumbling at the letters of the alphabet, and trying to read their first easy sentences. Jasmin had a good memory, and soon mastered the difficulties of the A B C. "'Twixt smiles and tears," he says, "I soon learnt to read, by the help of the pious Sister."
In six months he was able to enter the Seminary in the Rue Montesquieu as a free scholar. He now served at Mass. Having a good ear for music,he became a chorister, and sang the Tantum ergo. He was a diligent boy, and so far everything prospered well with him. He even received a prize. True, it was only an old cassock, dry as autumn heather. But, being trimmed up by his father, it served to hide his ragged clothes beneath.
His mother was very proud of the cassock. "Thank God," she said, "thou learnest well; and this is the reason why, each Tuesday, a white loaf comes from the Seminary. It is always welcome, for the sake of the hungry little ones." "Yes," he replied, "I will try my best to be learned for your sake." But Jasmin did not long wear the cassock. He was shortly after turned out of the Seminary, in consequence of a naughty trick which he played upon a girl of the household.
Jasmin tells the story of his expulsion with great frankness, though evidently ashamed of the transaction. He was passing through the inner court one day, during the Shrove Carnival, when, looking up, he caught sight of a petticoat. He stopped and gazed. A strange tremor crept through his nerves. What evil spirit possessed him to approach the owner of the petticoat? He looked up again, and recognised the sweet and rosy-cheeked Catherine—the housemaid of the Seminary. She was perched near the top of a slim ladder leaning against the wall, standing upright, and feeding the feathery-footed pigeons.
A vision flashed through Jasmin's mind—"a life all velvet," as he expressed it—and he approached the ladder. He climbed up a few steps, and what did he see? Two comely ankles and two pretty little feet. His heart burned within him, and he breathed a loud sigh. The girl heard the sigh, looked down, and huddled up the ladder, crying piteously. The ladder was too slim to bear two. It snapped and fell, and they tumbled down, she above and he below!
The loud screams of the girl brought all the household to the spot—the Canons, the little Abbe, the cook, the scullion—indeed all the inmates of the Seminary. Jasmin quaintly remarks, "A girl always likes to have the sins known that she has caused others to commit." But in this case, according to Jasmin's own showing, the girl was not to blame. The trick which he played might be very innocent, but to the assembled household it seemed very wicked. He must be punished.
First, he had a terrible wigging from the master; and next, he was sentenced to imprisonment during the rest of the Carnival.
In default of a dungeon, they locked him in a dismal little chamber, with some bread and water. Next day, Shrove Tuesday, while the Carnival was afoot, Jasmin felt very angry and very hungry. "Who sleeps eats," says the proverb. "But," said Jasmin, "the proverb lies: I did not sleep, and was consumed by hunger." Then he filled up the measure of his iniquity by breaking into a cupboard!
It happened that the Convent preserves were kept in the room wherein he was confined. Their odour attracted him, and he climbed up, by means of a table and chair, to the closet in which they were stored. He found a splendid pot of preserves. He opened it; and though he had no spoon, he used his fingers and soon emptied the pot. What a delicious treat he enjoyed enough to make him forget the pleasures of the Carnival.
Jasmin was about to replace the empty pot, when he heard the click-clack of a door behind him. He looked round, and saw the Superior, who had unlocked the door, and come to restore the boy to liberty. Oh, unhappy day! When the Abbe found the prisoner stealing his precious preserves, he became furious. "What! plundering my sweetmeats?" he cried. "Come down, sirrah, come down! no pardon for you now." He pulled Jasmin from his chair and table, and the empty jar fell broken at his feet. "Get out, get out of this house, thou imp of hell!" And taking Jasmin by the scruff of the neck, he thrust him violently out of the door and into the street.
But worse was yet to come. When the expelled scholar reached the street, his face and mouth were smeared with jam. He was like a blackamoor. Some urchins who encountered him on his homeward route, surmised that his disguise was intended as a masque for the Carnival. He ran, and they pursued him. The mob of boys increased, and he ran the faster. At last he reached his father's door, and rushed in, half dead with pain, hunger, and thirst. The family were all there—father, mother, and children.
They