54 GOLDEN DAYS 



snatched from the holy fire can protect 

 from thunder. 



The chant rolls on, while in the waves 

 of glowing light the swaying figures circle. 



Again there comes that weird booming 

 on the air. It grows, it vibrates, numbing 

 all other sounds. Pan leads us through 

 the throng, which parts asunder ; we reach 

 tw^o kneeling figures. Low they bend 

 over a vast brazen pan. They hold wet 

 green rushes taut from rim to rim. Be- 

 tween them kneels a third, who slowly 

 draws the reeds between his fingers with 

 a motion as of milking. At his touch 

 they answer vocally. They sob and 

 shudder in the darkness. Then with an 

 iron key he strikes them. They cry 

 aloud. The sound vibrates and pulses in 

 the air. Only if your name is Jean may 

 you perform this ritual. My friend Jean 

 Pierre. ... But let us come down the 

 valley to a second fire, and join the merry 

 party round the blaze. The girls are 

 dancing still. Here a youthful Saint Jean 

 officiates. This chubby saint who tweaks 

 the rushes is but four years old. His 

 mother's restraining hand holds fast the 



