is not far to seek. The most striking limitation of the poet is his
failure to create beings of flesh and blood. Even in Mirèio this lack of
well-defined individuality in the characters begins to be apparent, but,
in general, the action of the earlier poem is confined to the world of
realities, whereas in _Calendau_ the poet has given free play to a
brilliant and vivid imagination, launching forth into the heroic and
incredible, yet without abandoning the world of real time and real
places. Allegory and symbolism are the web and woof of _Calendau_. The
poem, again, is overburdened with minute historic details and
descriptions, which are greatly magnified in the eye of his imagination.
A poet, of course, must be pardoned for this want of a sense of
proportion, but even a Provençal reader cannot be kept in constant
illusion as to the greatness of little places that can scarcely be found
upon the map, or dazzled by the magnificence of achievements that really
have left little or no impress upon the history of the world. As we
follow the poet's work in its chronological development, we find this
trait growing more and more pronounced. He sees his beloved Provence,
its past and present, and its future, too, in a magnifying mirror that
embellishes all it reflects with splendid, glowing colors, and exalts
little figures to colossal proportions. The reader falls easily under
the spell of this exuberant enthusiasm and is charmed by the poetic
power evinced. The wealth of words, the beauty of the imagery with
which, for example, the humble, well-nigh unknown little port of Cassis
and its fishing industry are described, carry us along and hold us in
momentary illusion. We see them in the poet's magic mirror for the time.
To the traveller or the sober historian all these things appear very,
very different.

With the Félibres the success of the poem was much greater; it is a kind
of patriotic hymn, a glorification of the past of Provence, and a song