Two Poets Of Croisic, The. (1878, with La Saisiaz.) Le Croisic is an old town in Brittany, in the department of Loire Inférieure. Murray describes it as “a popular watering-place. Croisic was formerly a place of some importance—was fortified, and had a castle, and reached its greatest prosperity in the sixteenth century, when it sent vessels to the cod-fishery, and had some six thousand inhabitants; but, like many other towns, was ruined by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes. There is a chapel of St. Gourtan to the west of the town, with a miraculous well near it. When there is a storm from the south the sailors’ wives pray at St. Gourtan; when from the north, at the Chapel of the Crucifix, at the east of the town. About half a mile due north-west of the church is a menhir eight feet high, situated on a mound overlooking the sea. The rocky cliffs on the sea shore near it, for about a mile, have been worn by the waves and weather into the most extraordinary and fantastic shapes, and are well worth a visit.” Croisic is one of the principal ports of the sardine fishery. Guérande and Batz, also referred to in the poem, are close to Le Croisic, the former being “a very curious old town, still surrounded,” says Murray, “by the ditches and walls built by Duke John V. about 1431. On Sundays, the assemblage of Bretons from the north, peat-diggers from the east, and salt-makers from the west, is very striking. Soon after leaving Guérande the road descends into a wide plain covered with pits and salterns. This plain is of great extent, below the level of the sea, and protected by dykes. The water is admitted at high water, by channels or rivers, into reservoirs called vasières, from which it is passed into shallow, irregularly-formed receptacles called fares. In these a considerable portion of the water is evaporated, and the brine is allowed to run into square basins called œillets, where the sun finally evaporates the water and leaves a layer of salt. The salt is scraped off to square patches between the œillets, and is thence carried to a conical heap on the high ground, where it is left without protection from the rain until the autumn, when the heap is covered with wood, and so left until it can be sold. The men engaged in the work are called paludiers, and receive one-fourth of the salt, the owner of the salterns receiving the other three-fourths.” Mr. Browning refers to such a process in Sordello, to illustrate his theory of the necessity of evil:—
“Where the salt marshes stagnate, crystals branch;
Blood dries to crimson; Evil’s beautified
In every shape.”
“The paludiers, and their assistants, called saulniers, inhabit Batz, Pouliguen, Saillié, and other villages, and form a most peculiar class. Their usual dress is an enormous black flapped hat, a long white frock or waistcoat, huge baggy white breeches, white gaiters and white shoes. The men of Batz are a magnificent race of large, stalwart, evident Saxons.”—The opening stanzas of the poem are descriptive of a scene in winter, round a good log-fire of old shipwood. As the flames ascend, they are tinted with various brilliant colours, due to the chemicals with which the old timber is impregnated and the metals which are attached to it. Sodium salts from the sea brine account for the yellow and crimson flames; the greenish flame owes its tint to the copper; the flake brilliance is due to the zinc; and so forth. All this flame splendour suggests the flash of fame—brilliant for a few minutes, and then subsiding into darkness. At the eleventh stanza begins a description of Croisic, Guérande, and Batz, and the salt industry as described above. An island opposite was the Druids’ chosen chief of homes; where their women were employed, building a temple to the sun, destroying it and rebuilding it every May. Even at the present day women steal to the sole menhir standing and the rude stone pillars, with or without still ruder inscriptions, found in many parts of Brittany. But Croisic has had its men of note: two poets must be remembered who lived there. René Gentilhomme, in the year 1610, flamed forth a liquid ruby; he was of noble birth, and page to the Prince of Condé, whom men called “the Duke.” His cousin the King had no heir, so men began to call him “Next King,” and he to expect the dignity. His page René was a poet, and had written many sonnets and madrigals. One day, when he sat a-rhyming, a storm came on; and, struck by lightning, a ducal crown, emblem of the Prince, was dashed to atoms. René ceased his sonnets, and, considering the destruction as an omen of the ruined hopes of the Duke, wrote forty lines, which he gave to the man, who asked how it came his ducal crown was wrecked—“Sir, God’s word to you!” It happened as the poet foresaw: at the year’s end was born the Dauphin, who wrecked the Prince’s hopes. King Louis honoured René with the title “Royal Poet,” inasmuch as he not only poetised, but prophesied. The other famous poet of Croisic, represented by the green flame, was a dapper gentleman, Paul Desforges Maillard, who lived in Voltaire’s time, and did something which made Voltaire ridiculous. He wrote a poem, which he submitted to the Academy, but which the Forty ignominiously rejected. When the poet’s rage subsided, he made bold to offer his work to the Chevalier La Roque, editor of the Paris Mercury, who rejected it with the polite excuse that he could not offend the Forty. Flattered, though enraged at this excuse, the poet abused the editor till he explained that his poetry was execrable, but he had sought to conceal the truth in his rejection. Maillard had a sister, who determined to help him by strategy. Copying out some of her brother’s verses, she sent them as the efforts of a young girl, who threw herself on the great editor’s mercy, and begged his introduction to a literary career under the name of Malcrais. The editor fell into the trap, and published the poems from time to time till she grew famous. He even went so far as to fall in love with the authoress, and to offer her marriage. Voltaire moreover was deceived, and wrote “a stomach-moving tribute” in her honour. Naturally the brother, finding that his poetry had such value, was unwilling that he should be any longer deprived of the glory attaching to it; so he determined to go to Paris and confront the editor who had insulted him with the proofs of his incapability, by explaining who the real Malcrais was. This step was his ruin: the world does not like to be convicted of its foolishness. Voltaire was not the man to enjoy a jibe at his own expense. Maillard’s literary career was over. Piron wrote a famous play on this subject, entitled Métromanie.
Up at a Villa—Down in the City. As distinguished by an Italian person of quality. (Men and Women, 1855; Lyrics, 1863; Dramatic Lyrics, 1868.) The speaker likes city life: it is expensive, he admits, but one has something for one’s money there. The whole day long life is a perfect feast; but up in the villa on the mountain side the life is no better than a beast’s. In the city you can watch the gossips and the passers-by; whereas up in the villa there is nothing to see but the oxen dragging the plough. Even in summer it is no better, and it is actually cooler in the city square with the fountain playing. He hates fireflies, bees, and cicalas, about which folks talk so much poetry: what he prefers is the blessed church-bells, the rattle of the diligence, the ever succeeding news, the quack doctor, the fun at the post office, the execution of “liberals,” and the gay church procession in the streets on festivals, the drum, the fife, the noise and bustle. Of course it is dear; you cannot have all these luxuries without paying for them, and that is why he is compelled to live a country life; but oh, the pity of it,—the processions, the candles, the flags, the Duke’s guard, the drum, the fife!—
“Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!”
Notes.—Stanza ii., “By Bacchus”: Per Bacco—Italians still swear by the wine-god. Stanza ix., “with a pink gauze gown all spangles, and seven swords stuck in her heart!” The “seven sorrows of Our Lady” are referred to here. They are (1) Her grief at the prophecy of Simeon; (2) Her affliction during the flight into Egypt; (3) Her distress at the loss of her Son before finding Him in the Temple; (4) Her sorrow when she met her Son bearing His cross; (5) Her martyrdom at the sight of His agony; (6) The wound to her heart when His was pierced; and (7) Her agony at His burial. The contrast of these sorrows with the pink gown, the spangles, and the smiles, is an exquisite satire on some peculiarities in Continental devotions, very distasteful to English people. Stanza x., “Tax on salt”: salt is taxed in Italy; the salt monopoly, the lottery, the grist tax and an octroi are the more important items of Italy’s immoral system of taxation. “what oil pays passing the gate”: the octroi or town-dues have to be paid on all provisions entering the cities of Italy. yellow candles: these are used at funerals, and in penitential processions in the Roman Church.
Valence. (Colombe’s Birthday.) The advocate of Cleves who marries Colombe.
“Verse-making was the least of my Virtues.” (Ferishtah’s Fancies.) The first line of the ninth lyric.