less state, joyless and painless, across
which the fleeting splendors of thought pass like stars. Well, the man
of the south cares naught for that sort of paradise. The vein of real
sensation is freely, perpetually open, open to life. The side that
pertains to abstraction, to logic, is lost in mist."

We have referred to the power of story-telling among the Provencals and
their responsiveness as listeners. Daudet mentions the contrast to be
observed between an audience of southerners and the stolid,
self-contained attitude of a crowd in the north.

The evil side of the southern temperament, the faults that accompany
these traits, are plainly stated by the great novelist. Enthusiasm turns
to hypocrisy, or brag; the love of what glitters, to a passion for
luxury at any cost; sociability, the desire to please, become weakness
and fulsome flattery. The orator beats his breast, his voice is hoarse,
choked with emotion, his tears flow conveniently, he appeals to
patriotism and the noblest sentiments. There is a legend, according to
Daudet, which says that when Mirabeau cried out, "We will not leave
unless driven out at the point of the bayonet," a voice off at one side
corrected the utterance, murmuring sarcastically, "And if the bayonets
come, we make tracks!"

The southerner, when he converses, is roused to animation readily. His
eye flashes, his words are uttered with strong intonations, the
impressiveness of a quiet, earnest, self-contained manner is unknown to
him.

Daudet is a novelist and a humorist. Mistral is a poet; hence, although
he professes to aim at a full expression of the "soul of his Provence,"
there are many aspects of the Provencal nature that he has not touched
upon. He has omitted all the traits that lend themselves to satirical
treatment, and, although he is in many ways a remarkable realist, he has
very little dramatic power, and seems to lack the gift of searching
analysis of individual character. It is hardly fair to reckon it as a
shortcoming in the poet and apostle of Provence that he presents only
what is most beautiful in the life about him. The novelist offers us a
faithful and vivid image of the men of his own day. The poet glorifies
the past, clings to tradition, and exhorts his countrymen to return to
it.

Essentially and above all else a conservative, Mistral has the gravest
doubts about so-called modern progress. Undoubtedly honest in desiring
the well-being of his fellow Provencals,