Jean observed all these things, and admired them, and blessed his life.
As he was only twenty years old, he fondly loved one of the charming girls who drew water from his well, who ate his raspberries and breathed the fragrance of his roses.
He told this younger girl that she was as pure and fresh as the water, as delicious as the raspberries and as sweet as the roses.
Then the young girl smiled.
He told it her again, and she made a face at him.
He sang her the same song, and she married a sailor who carried her far away beyond the sea.
Jean wept bitterly, but he still admired beautiful things, and still blessed his life. Sometimes he thought that the frailty of what is beautiful and the brevity of what is good adds value to the beauty and goodness of all things.
II
One day he learned by chance that the red earth of his field was an excellent clay. He took a little of it in his hand, moistened it with water from his well, and fashioned a simple vase, while he thought of those beautiful girls who are like the ancient Greek jars, at once round and slender.
The earth in his field was, indeed, excellent clay.