"A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." 45 The sad maiden goes on then to describe the various arts by which her affections and her confidence had been won, and ends her woful tale with the following genuine touch of nature. "Who, young and simple, would not be so lover'd? Ah me! I fell and yet, do question make What I should do again for such a sake. "O, that infected moisture of his eye, O, that false fire which in his cheek so glowed, O that forced thunder from his heart did fly, O that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed, O all that borrowed motion (seeming owed), Would yet again betray the love-betrayed, And new pervert the reconciled maid!" The single and particular beauties in this poem are as numerous as the lines, almost as the words. It has been my object rather to give to readers who may not, be familiar with the poem-am I wrong in supposing there are such-some general impression of the character of the poem as a whole. I hope to resume the subject next month. "A DREAM THAT WAS NOT ALL A DREAM." THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLÈ. (From the Gascon of Jasmin.) BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. I. Ar the foot of the mountain height When the apple, the plum, and the almond tree On a Wednesday morn of Saint Joseph's Eve: "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, This old Te Deum, rustic rites attending, Of rosy village girls, clean as the eye, Each one with her attendant swain, Came to the cliff, all singing the same strain; Resembling there, so near unto the sky, Rejoicing angels, that kind Heaven had sent For their delight and our encouragement. Together blending, And soon descending The narrow sweep Towards Saint Amant, "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! Should blossom and bloom with garlands gay, So fair a bride shall pass to-day!" It is Baptiste, and his affianced maiden, With garlands for the bridal laden! The sky was blue; without one cloud of gloom, The sun of March was shining brightly, And to the air the freshening wind gave lightly Its breathings of perfume. When one beholds the dusky hedges blossom, A rustic bridal, ah! how sweet it is! To sounds of joyous melodies, That touch with tenderness the trembling bosom, A band of maidens Gayly frolicking, A band of youngsters Wildly rollicking! Kissing, Caressing, With fingers pressing, Till in the veriest Madness of mirth, as they dance, They retreat and advance, Trying whose laugh shall be loudest and merriest; While the bride, with roguish eyes, Sporting with them, now escapes and cries: "Those who catch me Married verily This year shall be!" And all pursue with eager haste, And touch her pretty apron fresh and new, Meanwhile, whence comes it that among What lovers! they give not a single caress! These are grand people, one would say. It is, that half way up the hill, And you must know, one year ago, The dread disease that none can stay, All at the father's stern command was changed; Returned but three short days ago, The golden chain they round him throw, To marry Angela, and yet Then suddenly a maiden cried, Here comes the cripple Jane!" And by a fountain's side It is that Jane,-the cripple Jane, And the bride a lovely boy straightway. All comes to pass as she avers; She never deceives, she never errs. THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL CUILLE. 47 But for this once the village seer And from beneath her eyebrows thin and white Lest, when thou weddest this false bridegroom, And she was silent; and the maidens fair What are two drops of turbid rain? Of verdurous valleys, With merry sallies, They sang the refrain : "The roads should blossom, the roads should bloom, So fair a bride shall leave her home! II. And by suffering worn and weary, But beautiful as some fair angel yet, Thus lamented Margaret, In her cottage lone and dreary : "He has arrived! arrived at last! Yet Jane has named him not these three days past; And knows that of my night he is the star! For ever night! for ever night! No more of grief! no more of lassitude! Where is Baptiste? he hears not when I call! I need some bough to twine around! "Who knows? perhaps I am forsaken! Ah! wo is me! then bear me to my grave! O God! what thoughts within me waken! Away! he will return! I do but rave! But some one comes! Though blind, my heart can see! And that deceives me not! 'tis he! 'tis he!" And the door ajar is set, And poor, confiding Margaret Rises, with outstretched arms, but sightless eyes; 'Tis only Paul, her brother, who thus cries: "Angela the bride has passed, I saw the wedding guests go by; Tell me, my sister, why were we not asked? For all are there but you and I!" "Angela married! and not send To tell her secret unto me! O speak! who may the bridegroom be?" "My sister, 'tis Baptiste, thy friend!" A cry the blind girl gave, but nothing said; A milky whiteness spreads upon her cheeks; She stands beside the boy, now sore distressed, At length, the bridal song again Brings her back to her sorrow and pain. "Hark! the joyous airs are ringing! I would don my hose of homespun gray, "Paul, be not sad! "Tis a holiday; "Holy Virgin! what dreadful heat! I am faint, and weary, and out of breath! I thought my turn would come ere long, Thy cards forsooth can never lie, To me such joy they prophesy, Thy skill shall be vaunted far and wide When they behold him at my side. And poor Baptiste, what sayest thou? It must seem long to him;-methinks I see him now!" We must not trust too much to happiness;- It is no sin, for God is on my side!" It was enough; and Jane no more replied. Now to all hope her heart is barred and cold; So that, departing at the evening's close, She says, "She may be saved! she nothing knows!" Poor Jane, the cunning sorceress! Now that thou wouldst, thou art no prophetess! III. Now rings the bell, nine times reverberating, And the white daybreak, stealing up the sky, Sees in two cottages two maidens waiting, How differently! Queen of a day, by flatterers caressed, The one puts on her cross and crown, The other, blind, within her little room, Has neither crown nor flower's perfume; But in their stead for something gropes apart, That in a drawer's recess doth lie, And, 'neath her bodice of bright scarlet dye, Convulsive clasps it to her heart. The one, fantastic, light as air, 'Mid kisses ringing, And joyous singing, Forgets to say her morning prayer! The other, with cold drops upon her brow, And then the orphan, young and blind, And in the sky as yet no sunny ray, Near that castle, fair to see, And proud of its name of high degree, A little chapel, almost bare At the base of the rock, is builded there; Its sacred summit, swept by autumn gales, "Paul, lay thy noisy rattle by!" Thus Margaret said. "Where are we? we ascend " NOTES. [This poem should have been translated into Lowland Scotch; for only in that dialect could the simplicity and tenderness of the Gascon be given. Jasmin is to the south Come in! The bride will be here soon: Thou tremblest! O my God! thou art going to swoon!" She could no more,-the blind girl, weak and weary! A voice seemed crying from that grave so dreary, "What wouldst thou do, my daughter?"-and she started; And quick recoiled, aghast, faint-hearted; But Paul, impatient, urges ever more Her steps towards the open door; And when, beneath her feet, the unhappy maid At length the bell, With booming sound, Sends forth, resounding round, Its hymeneal peal o'er rock and down the dell. In sooth, deceit maketh no mortal gay, For lo! Baptiste on this triumphant day, And Angela thinks of her cross, I wis; To be a bride is all! The pretty lisper Feels her heart swell to hear all round her whisper, "How beautiful! how beautiful she is!" But she must calm that giddy head, For already the Mass is said; At the holy table stands the priest; The wedding ring is blessed; Baptiste receives it; He must pronounce one word at least! And while the wedding guests all hold their breath, Opes the confessional, and the blind girl, see! And calmly in the air a knife suspended! At eve, instead of bridal verse, No, ah no! for each one seemed to say : "The roads should mourn and be veiled in gloom, of France what Burns is to the south of Scotland,-the representative of the heart of the people,-one of those happy bards, who are born with their mouths full of birds (la bouco pleno d'aouzelous). He has written his own biography in a poetic form, and the simple narrative of his THE BLIND GIRL OF CASTEL-CUILLE. 49 poverty, his struggles, and his triumphs, is very touching. He still lives at Agen on the Garonne; and long may he live there to delight his native land with native songs! The following description of his person and way of life is taken from the graphic pages of "Bearn and the Pyrenees," by Louisa Stuart Castello, whose charming pen has done so much to illustrate the French provinces and their literature. "At the entrance of the promenade Du Gravier, is a row of small houses,-some cafés, others shops, the indication of which is a painted cloth placed across the way, with the owner's name in bright gold letters, in the manner of the arcades in the streets, and their announcements. One of the most glaring of these was, we observed, a bright blue flag, bordered with gold; on which, in large gold letters, appeared the name of Jasmin, Coiffeur.' We entered, and were welcomed by a smiling dark-eyed woman, who informed us that her husband was busy at that moment dressing a customer's hair, but he was desirous to receive us, and begged we would walk into his parlour at the back of the shop. "She exhibited to us a laurel crown of gold of delicate workmanship, sent from the city of Clemence Isaure, Toulouse, to the poet; who will probably one day take his place in the capitoul. Next came a golden cup, with an inscription in his honour, given by the citizens of Auch; a gold watch, chain, and seals, sent by the King, Louis Philippe; an emerald ring worn and presented by the lamented Duke of Orleans; a pearl pin, by the graceful duchess, who, on the poet's visit to Paris accompanied by his son, received him in the words he puts into the mouth of Henri Quatre: 'Brabes Gascous! A moun amou per bous aou dibes creyre: Benès! benès! ey plazé de bous beyre: Approucha bous!' A fine service of linen, the offering of the town of Pau, after its citizens had given fêtes in his honour, and loaded him with caresses and praises; and nick-nacks and jewels of all descriptions offered to him by lady-ambassadresses, and great lords; English 'misses' and 'miladis;' and French, and foreigners of all nations who did or did not understand Gascon. "All this, though startling, was not convincing; Jasmin, the barber, might only be a fashion, a furore, a caprice, after all; and it was evident that he knew how to get up a scene well. When we had become nearly tired of looking over these tributes to his genius, the door opened, and the poet himself appeared. His manner was free and unembarrassed, well-bred, and lively; he received our compliments naturally, and like one accustomed to homage; said he was ill, and unfortunately too hoarse to read anything to us, or he should have been delighted to do so. He spoke with a broad Gascon accent, and very rapidly and eloquently; ran over the story of his successes; told us that his grandfather had been a beggar, and all his family very poor; that he was now as rich as he wished to be, his son placed in a good position at Nantes; then showed us his son's picture, and spoke of his disposition, to which his brisk little wife added, that, though no fool, he had not his father's genius, to which truth Jasmin assented as a matter of course. I told him of having seen mention made of him in an English review; which he said had been sent him by Lord Durham, who had paid him a visit; and I then spoke of 'Mi cal mouri' as known to me. This was enough to make him forget his hoarseness and every other evil: it would never do for me to imagine that that little song was his best composition; it was merely his first; he must try to read to me a little of l'Abuglo,'-a few verses of Françouneto.' "You will be charmed,' said he; but if I were well, and you would give me the pleasure of your company for some time; if you were not merely running through Agen, I would kill you with weeping,-I would make you die with distress for my poor Margarido,-my pretty Françouneto!' "He caught up two copies of his book, from a pile lying on the table, and making us sit close to him, he pointed out the French translation on one side, which he told us to follow while he read in Gascon. He began in a rich soft voice, and as he advanced, the surprise of Hamlet on hearing the player-king recite the disasters of Hecuba, was but a type of ours, to find ourselves carried away by the spell of his enthusiasm. His eyes swam in tears; he became pale and red; he trembled; he recovered himself; his face was now joyous, now exulting, gay, jocose; in fact, he was twenty actors in one; he rang the changes from Rachel to Bouffe; and he finished by delighting us, besides beguiling us of our tears, and overwhelming us with astonishment. "He would have been a treasure on the stage; for he is still, though his first youth is past, remarkably goodlooking and striking; with black, sparkling eyes, of intense expression; a fine ruddy complexion; a countenance of wondrous mobility; a good figure; and action full of fire and grace; he has handsome hands, which he uses with infinite effect; and, on the whole, he is the best actor of the kind I ever saw. I could now quite understand what a troubadour or jongleur might be, and I look upon Jasmin as a revived specimen of that extinct race. Such as he is might have been Gaucelm Faidit, of Avignon, the friend of Coeur de Lion, who lamented the death of the hero in such moving strains; such might have been Bernard de Ventadour, who sang the praises of Queen Elinore's beauty; such Geoffrey Rudel, of Blaye, on his own Garonne; such the wild Vidal: certain it is, that none of these troubadours of old could more move, by their singing or reciting, than Jasmin, in whom all their long-smothered fire and traditional magic seems reillumined. "We found we had stayed hours instead of minutes with the poet; but he would not hear of any apology,— only regretted that his voice was so out of tune, in consequence of a violent cold, under which he was really labouring, and hoped to see us again. He told us our countrywomen of Pau had laden him with kindness and attention, and spoke with such enthusiasm of the beauty of certain misses,' that I feared his little wife would feel somewhat piqued; but, on the contrary, she stood by, smiling and happy, and enjoying the stories of his triumphs. I remarked that he had restored the poetry of the troubadours; asked him if he knew their songs; and said he was worthy to stand at their head. 'I am, indeed, a troubadour,' said he, with energy; but I am far beyond them all; they were but beginners; they never composed a poem like my Francouneto! there are no poets in France now,-there cannot be; the language does not admit of it; where is the fire, the spirit, the expression, the tenderness, the force of the Gascon? French is but the ladder to reach to the first floor of the Gascon,-how can you get up to a height except by a ladder!' ..... "I returned by Agen, after an absence in the Pyrenees of some months, and renewed my acquaintance with Jasmin and his dark-eyed wife. I did not expect that I should be recognised; but the moment I entered the little shop I was hailed as an old friend. Ah! cried Jasmin, 'enfin la voilà encore! I could not but be flattered by this recollection, but soon found it was less on my own account that I was thus welcomed, than because a circumstance had occurred to the poet which he thought I could perhaps explain. He produced several French newspapers, in which he pointed out to me an article headed 'Jasmin à Londres;' being a translation of certain notices of himself, which had appeared in a leading English literary journal. He had, he said, been informed of the honour done him by numerous friends, and assured me his fame had been much spread by this means; and he was so delighted on the occasion, that he had resolved to learn English, in order that he might judge of the translations from his works, which, he had been told, were well done. I enjoyed his surprise, while I informed him that I knew who was the reviewer and translator; and explained the reason for the verses giving pleasure in the English dress, to be the superior simplicity of the English language over modern |