("et pient

De splendeur royale, de pourpre splendide

C'est—Avignon et le Palais des Papes,

Avignon sur sa Roque géante!

Avignon la sonneuse de la joie.")

Always that word! Joie, joie! One meets it in story, in song, in the voices of the people. Provence must certainly have been its birthplace—or its sanctuary.

Driven from every other land, when the Goddess of Sorrow came to usurp the temples of the ancient gods, reviled, feared, stricken to the heart, the beautiful fugitive at last found shelter in the land of Love and Chivalry.

THE END.

Index