, whose murmuring
calm we hear in a symphonic introduction. The fishermen are coming back
to port; the fishing has been bad. But one among them, "a man about
forty years old, with a sad and dignified air," has been more fortunate
than the others. The fishermen envy him, and vaguely suspect him of
sorcery. He tries to enter into friendly conversation with them, and
offers his catch to a poor family. But in vain; his advances are
repulsed and his generosity is eyed with suspicion. He is a
stranger--the Stranger.[161] Evening falls, and the angelus rings. Some
work-girls come trooping out of their workshop, singing a merry
folk-song.[162] One of the young girls, Vita, goes up to the Stranger
and speaks to him, for she alone, of all the village, is his friend. The
two feel themselves drawn together by a secret sympathy. Vita confides
artlessly in the unknown man; they love each other though they do not
admit it. The Stranger tries to repress his feelings; for Vita is young
and already affianced, and he thinks that he has no right to claim her.
But Vita, offended by his coldness, seeks to wound him, and succeeds.
In the end he betrays himself. "Yes, he loves her, and she knew it well.
But now that he has told her so, he will never see her again; and he
bids her good-bye."

[Footnote 161: There is a certain likeness in the subject to Herr
Richard Strauss's _Feuersnot_. There, too, the hero is a stranger who is
persecuted, and treated as a sorcerer in the very town to which he has
brought honour. But the _denouement_ is not the same; and the
fundamental difference of temperament between the two artists is
strongly marked. M. d'Indy finishes with the renouncement of a
Christian, and Herr Richard Strauss by a proud and joyous affirmation of
independence.]

[Footnote 162: Found by M. d'Indy in his own province, as he tells us in
his _Chansons populaires du Vivarais_.]

That is the first act. Up to this point we seem to be witnessing a very
human and realistic drama--the ordinary story of the man who tries to do
good and receives ingratitude, and the sad tragedy of old age that comes
to a heart still young and unable to resign itself to growing old. But
the music puts us on our guard. We had heard its religious tone when the
Stranger was speaking, and it seemed to us that we recognised a
liturgical melody in the principal theme. What secret is being hidden
from us? Are we not in France? Yet, in spite of the folk-song and a
pas