“Standing like palings, silent, anxious, the guests remained with hearts scarce beating.  I trembled, my eyes in mist.  We were like the dead of the churchyard about some funeral feast, full of terror and mystery.  The Count grinned sardonically.

“‘Thou shalt run in vain, wretch,’ said the venerable father, ’the vengeance of God will surely reach thee!  To-day thou makest me bow my head; but thy bride, if she have some honor, will presently flee from thee as from the pest, for thou shalt some day hang, accursed of God!’ I rush to the arms of my father-in-law.  ‘Stop, stop;’ but he, leaning down to my ear, said:  ’Without knowing the vine or measuring the furrows, thou hast bought the wine, mad girl!  Go, thou didst not weep all thy tears in thy swaddling clothes!  Knowest thou whom thou hast? a robber-chief!’”

And the scene continues, weirdly dramatic, like some old romantic tale of feudal days.  Such scenes of gloom and terror are not frequent in Mistral.  This one is probably the best of its kind he has attempted.

On his way to seek Count Severan in his fastness, Calendau “enters, awestruck, into the stupendous valley, deep, frowning, cold, saturnine, and fierce; the daylight darts into this enclosure an instant upon the viper and the lizard, then, behind the jagged peaks, it vanishes.  The Esteron rolls below.  Now, Calendau feels a shudder in his soul, and winds his horn.  The call resounds in the depths of the gorges.  It seems as though he calls to his aid the spirits of the place.  And he thinks of the paladin dying at Roncevaux.”

For the sake of greater completeness, we summarize briefly the exploits of the hero.  As has been stated, they compose the great body of the poem, and are narrated by him to the Count and his company of thieves and women.  The narrative begins with the account of the little port of Cassis, his native place; and one of the stanzas is a setting for the surprising proverb:—­

    “Tau qu’a vist Paris,
    Se noun a vist Cassis,
    Pou dire:  N’ai ren vist!”

     He who has seen Paris, and has not seen Cassis, may say, “I have
     seen nothing.”

No less than forty stanzas are taken up with the wonders of Cassis, and more than half of those are devoted to naming the fish the Cassidians catch.  It is to be feared that other than Provencal readers and students of natural history will fail to share the enthusiasm of the poet here.  Calendau’s father used to read out of an ancient book; and the hero recounts the history of Provence, going back to the times of the Ligurians, telling us of the coming of the Greeks, who brought the art of sculpture for the future Puget.  We hear of the founding of Marseilles, the days of Diana and Apollo, followed by the coming of the Romans.  The victory of Caius Marius is celebrated, the conquest of Julius Caesar deplored.  We learn of the introduction of Christianity.  We come down to the glorious days of Raymond of Toulouse.