“And enraptured to be free, young, robust, happy in the joy of living, in those days a whole people was seen at the feet of Beauty; and singing blame or praises a hundred Troubadours flourished; and from its cradle, amid vicissitudes, Europe smiled upon our merry singing.”

“O flowers, ye came too soon!  Nation in bloom, the sword cut down thy blossoming!  Bright sun of the south, thou shonest too powerfully, and the thunder-storms gathered.  Dethroned, made barefoot, and gagged, the Provencal language, proud, however, as before, went off to live among the shepherds and the sailors.”

“Language of love, if there are fools and bastards, ah! by Saint Cyr, thou shalt have the men of the land upon thy side, and as long as the fierce mistral shall roar in the rocks, sensitive to an insult offered thee, we shall defend thee with red cannon-balls, for thou art the fatherland, and thou art freedom!”

This love of the language itself pervades all the work of our poet, but rarely has he expressed it more energetically, not to say violently, than here.

Calendau reaches the point where he first catches a glimpse of the Princess.  He tells of the legends concerning the fairy Esterello, and of the Fada (Les Enfees).  This last is a name given to idiots or to the insane, who are supposed to have come under her spell.

                            “E degun auso
    Se trufa d’eli, car an quicon de sacra!”

And none dares mock them, for they have in them something sacred.

The fisherman makes many attempts to find her again, and at last succeeds.  She haughtily dismisses his suit.

“Vai, noun sies proun famous, ni proun fort, ni proun fin.”

Go, thou art not famous enough, nor strong enough, nor fine enough.

He realizes her great superiority, and, after a time of deep discouragement, rouses himself and sets about to deserve and win her by deeds of daring, by making a great name for himself.

His first idea is to seek wealth, so he builds a great boat and captures twelve hundred tunny fish.  The fishing scenes are depicted with all the glow of fancy and brilliant word-painting for which Mistral is so remarkable.  Calendau is now rich, and brings jewels to his lady.  She haughtily refuses them, and the fisherman throws them away.

          “—­Eh! ben, ie fau, d’abord, ingrato,
          Que toun cor dur ansin me trato
    E que de mi present noun t’enchau mai qu’ aco,
          Vagon au Diable!—­E li bandisse
          Pataflou! dins lou precepice."...

“Well,” said I to her, “since, ungrateful woman, thy hard heart treats me thus, and thou carest no more about my presents than that, let them go to the devil!” and I hurled them, pataflou, into the precipice....

Here the tone is not one that an English reader finds serious; the sending the jewels to the Devil, in the presence of the beautiful lady, and the interjection, seem trivial.  Evidently they are not so, for the Princess is mollified at once.