was simpler and less ambitious than that of Mistral; he aimed to give the humble classes about him a literature within their reach, that should give them moral lessons, and appeal to the best within them.  Mistral, developing into a poet of genius while striving to attain the same object, could not fail to change the object, and this contradiction becomes apparent in Mireio, and constitutes a problem in any discussion of his literary work.

The story of Mireio may be told in a few words.  She is a beautiful young girl of fifteen, living at the mas of her father, Ramoun.  She falls in love with a handsome, stalwart youth, Vincen, son of a poor basket-maker.  But the difference in worldly wealth is too great, her father and mother violently oppose their union, and so, one night, the maiden, in despair, rushes away from home, across the great plain of the Crau, across the Rhone, across the island of Camargue, to the church of the three Maries.  Vincen had told her to seek their aid in any time of trouble.  Here she prays to the three saints to give Vincen to her, but the poor girl has been overcome by the terrible heat of the sun in crossing the treeless plains and is found by her parents and friends unconscious before the altar.  Vincen comes also and joins his lamentations to theirs.  The holy caskets are lowered from the chapel above, but no prayers avail to save the maiden’s life.  She expires, with words of hope upon her lips.

This simple tale is told in twelve cantos; it aims to be an epic, and in its external form is such.  It employs freely the merveilleux chretien, condemned by Boileau, and in one canto, La Masco (The Witch), the poet’s desire to embody the superstitions of his ignorant landsmen has led him entirely astray.  The opening stanza begins in true epic fashion:—­

    “Cante uno chato de Prouvenco
    Dins lis amour de sa jouvenco.”

    I sing a maiden of Provence
    In her girlhood’s love.

The invocation is addressed to Christ:—­

    Thou, Lord God of my native land,
    Who wast born among the shepherd-folk,
    Fire my words and give me breath.

The epic character of the poem is sustained further than in its mere outward form; the manner of telling is truly epic.  The art of the poet is throughout singularly objective, his narrative is a narrative of actions, his personages speak and move before us, without intervention on the part of the author to analyze their thoughts and motives.  He is absent from his work even in the numerous descriptions.  Everything is presented from the outside.