e flush of inspiration in his cheeks. He was superb,
with a great smile, as elegant as a Greek shepherd, bestriding the room
manfully, hands in pockets, and making poetry on the hoof....

--Well, well, well! It's you, Daudet? Mistral exclaimed, throwing
himself around my neck, delighted that you thought to come!...
Especially the day of the Maillane Fete. We've got music from Avignon,
bulls, processions, and the farandole; it will be magnificent.... When
mother comes back from the mass, we'll have lunch, and then, hey, we
shall go to see the pretty girls dancing....

As he was speaking, I was rather moved as I looked around at the little
dining room with light wallpaper, which I hadn't seen for such a long
time and where I had spent such happy hours. Nothing had changed. There
was still the yellow check sofa, the two wicker armchairs, Venus de
Milo and Venus d'Arles on the fireplace, a portrait of the poet by
Hebert, a photograph by Etienne Garjat, and his desk in a place close
to the window--a small office desk--overloaded with old books and
dictionaries. In the middle of the desk I noticed a large, open
exercise book.... On it was written the original of his new poem,
_Calendal_, which should be published on Christmas day this year.
Frederic Mistral has worked on this poem for seven years, and it is six
months since he wrote the last verse, but he won't release it yet. You
see, there is always another stanza to polish and another even more
sonorous rhyme to find.... Even if Mistral writes his verses in true
Provencal, he works as though everybody will read it and acknowledge
his craftsmanship....

Ah, the brave poet. Montaigne must have had someone like Mistral in
mind when he wrote, _Think of those, who, when asked what is the point
of spending so much time and trouble on a work of art that can only be
seen by a few people, replied, "A few is enough. One is enough. None is
enough."_

* * * * *

The very exercise book in which _Calendal_ had been written, was in my
hands, and I leafed through it, with great emotion.... At that moment,
fifes and tambourines began playing outside the window, and there was
my hero, Mistral, rushing to the cupboard, fetching out glasses and
bottles, and dragging the table to centre of the room, before opening
the door to the musicians and confiding to me:

--Don't laugh.... They have come to give me a little concert.... I am a
Municipal Councillor.

The littl