Light gleamed afar. They haste the ray to follow;
They thread their way to the Cordovan Hollow,70
Where sun and air await them, and they seem
To see Mont Majour’s wrecks, as in a dream,
Strewn o’er the hill; yet on the sunlit verge
Pause for one kiss or ever they emerge.
Canto VII
The Old Men
Fixing a troubled eye on the old man,
Vincen to Master Ambroi thus began,
The while a mighty wind,71 the poplars bending,
Its howl unto the poor lad’s voice was lending:
“I am mad, father, as I oft of late
Have said. Thinkest thou I’m jesting when I say’t?”
Before his nut-shell cot the Rhône beside
Sat Ambroi on a fallen trunk, and plied
His trade. And, as he peeled the osier withe,
Vincen received it, and, with fingers lithe
And strong, bent the white rods to basket form,
Sitting upon the door-stone. With the storm
Of wind was the Rhône’s bosom agitated,
The waves drove seaward like a herd belated;
But round about the but an azure mere
Spread tranquilly. The billows brake not here:
A pleasant shelter gave the willow-trees,
And beavers gnawed their bitter bark in peace.
While yonder, through the deep of limpid water,
Darted at intervals the dark brown otter,
Following the silver-flashing fish. Among
The reeds and willows, pendulines had hung
Their tiny nests, white woven with the wool
Plucked from the poplar when its flowers are full.
And here the small things fluttered full of glee,
Or swang on wind-rocked stems right lazily.
Here, too, a sprightly lassie, golden-haired—
Head like a crown-cake!72—back and forward fared,
And spread on a fig-tree a fishing-net
Unwieldy and with water dripping yet.
Birds, beavers, otters, feared the maid no more
Than whispering reeds or willows of the shore.
This was the daughter of the basket-weaver,
The little Vinceneto. No one ever
Had even bored her ears, poor child! yet so
Her eyes were damson-blue, her bosom low—
A caper-blossom by the riverside,
Wooed by the splashing of the amorous tide.
But now old Ambroi, with his long white beard
Flowing o’er all his breast, his head upreared,
And answered Vincen’s outcry: “What is’t? Mad?
You are a blockhead! that is all, my lad!”
“Ah!” said the other, “for the ass to stray,
Sweet must the mead be. But what do I say?
Thou knowest her! If she to Arles should fare,
All other maids would hide them in despair;
For, after her, I think the mould was broken.
And what say to the words herself hath spoken,
“ ‘You I will have!’ ”—“Why, naught, poor fool! say I:
Let poverty and riches make reply!”
“O father!” Vincen cried, “go, I implore thee,
To Lotus Farm, and tell them all the story!
Tell them to look for virtue, not for gain!
Tell them that I can plough a stony plain,
“Or harrow, or prune vines with any man!
Tell them their six yoke, with my guiding, can
Plough double! Tell them I revere the old;
And, if they part us for the sake of gold,
We shall both die, and they may bury us!”
“Oh, fie! But you are young who maunder thus,”
Quoth Master Ambroi. “All this talk I know.
The white hen’s egg,73 the chaffinch on the bough,
You’ll have the pretty bird this very minute!
Whistle, bring sugared cake, or die to win it;
Yet will the chaffinch never come, be sure,
And perch upon your finger! You are poor!”
“Plague on my poverty!” poor Vincen cried,
Tearing his hair. “Is God who hath denied
All that could make life worthy—is He just?
And wherefore are we poor? And wherefore must
We still the refuse of the vineyard gather,
While others pluck the purple clusters rather?”
Lifting his hands, the old man sternly said,
“Weave on, and drive this folly from your head!
Shall the corn-ears rebuke the reaper, pray?
Or silly worm to God the Father say,
‘Why am I not a star in heaven to shine?’
Or shall the ox to be a drover pine,
“So to eat corn instead of straw? Nay, nay!
Through good and ill we all must hold our way.
The hand’s five fingers were unequal made.
Be you a lizard, as your Master bade,
And dwell content upon your wall apart,
And drink your sunbeam with a thankful heart!”
“I tell thee, father, I this maid adore
More than my sister, than my Maker more;
And if I have her not, ’tis death, I say!”
Then to the rough stream Vincen fled away;
While little Vinceneto burst out weeping,
Let fall her net, and near the weaver creeping—
“O father! ere thou drive my brother wild,
Listen to me!” began the eager child:
“For where I served the master had a daughter;
And had a labourer, too, who loved and sought her,
Just as our Vincen loves Mirèio.
She was named Alis; he, Sivèstre: and so
“He laboured like a wolf because he loved.
Skilful and prompt, quiet and saving proved,
And took such care, master slept tranquilly;
But once—mark, father, how perverse men be!—
One morning master’s wife, as it befell,
O’erheard Sivèstre his love to Alis tell.
“So when at dinner all the men were sitting,
The master gave Sivèstre a wrathful greeting.
‘Traitor!’ he cried, with his eyes all aglow,
‘You are discovered! Take your wage, and go!’
We looked at one another in dismay,
As the good servant rose, and went his way.
“Thereafter, for three weeks, when we were working,
We used to see him round the farmstead lurking—
A sorry sight; for all his clothes were torn,
And his face very pale and wild and worn.
And oft at eve he to the trellis came,
And called the little mistress by her name.
“Erelong the hay-rick at its corners four
Burnt all a-flame. And, father, something more!
They drew a drownèd man out of the well.”
Then Ambroi, in gruff tones half-audible,
“A little child a little trouble gives,
And more and more for every year he lives.”
Therewith put his long spatterdashes on
Which he himself had made in days bygone,
His hobnailed shoes, and long red cap, and so
Straightway set forth upon the road to Crau.
’Twas harvest-time, the eve of St. John’s day,
The hedgerow paths were crowded all the way
With troops of dusty, sunburnt mountaineers
Hired for the reaping of the golden ears.
In fig-wood quivers were their sickles borne,
Slung to a belt across the shoulder worn.
By twos and twos they came, and every pair
Had its own sheaf-binder. And carts were there,
Bearing the weary elders, and beside
The pipes and tambourines with ribbons
