“Ah, that is our own--the Shepherds’ Star, the Star of the Morning, which lights us at dawn when we unfold the sheep, and at sundown when we drive them in. That is she, the Queen of stars, the beautiful star, Maguelone, the lovely Maguelone, pursued unceasingly by Pierre de Provence, with whom, every seven years, takes place her marriage.” “The conjunction, I believe, of Venus and Jupiter, or occasionally of Saturn.” “According to taste,” replied my guide--“but, hist, Labrit! Oh, the rascally dog, the scoundrel! Whilst we talk, the sheep have scattered. Hist, bring them back! I must go myself. Good evening, Mister Frédéric, take care you do not lose yourself.” “Good-night, friend Jean.” Let us, also, return, like the shepherd, to our sheep. About this time, in a publication called _Les Provençales_, to which many Provençal writers, old and young, contributed, I and other of the younger poets engaged in a correspondence on the subject of the language and of our productions. The result of these discussions, which became extremely animated, was the idea of a Conference of Provençal poets. And under the directorship of Roumanille and of Gaut, both of whom had been contributors to the journal _Lou Boui-Abaisse_, the first meeting was held on August 29, 1852, at Arles, in a room in the ancient archbishop’s palace, under the presidency of Doctor d’Astros, oldest member of the Bards. Here we all met and made acquaintance, Aubanel, Aubert, Bourelly, Cassan, Crousillat, Désanet, Garcin, Gaut, Gelu, Mathieu, Roumanille, myself and others. Thanks to the good Carpentrassian, Bonaventure Laurent, our portraits had the honour of being in _L’Illustration_ (September 18, 1852). Roumanille, when inviting Monsieur Moquin-Tandon, professor of the Faculty of Science at Toulouse, and a gifted poet in his tongue of Montpellier, had begged him to bring Jasmin to Arles. But the author of “Marthe la folle,” the illustrious poet of Gascony, answered the invitation of Moquin-Tandon: “Since you are going to Arles, tell them they may gather together in forties and in hundreds, but they will never make the noise that I have made quite alone!” “That is Jasmin from head to foot!” Roumanille said to me. “That reply reproduces him much more faithfully than does the bronze statue raised at Agen in his honour.” In short, the hairdresser of Agen, in spite of his genius, was always somewhat surly with those who, like himself, wished to sing in our tongue. Roumanille, since we are on the subject, some years previously, had sent him his “Pâquerettes,” dedicating to him “Madeleine,” one of the best poems of the collection. Jasmin did not even deign to thank him. But in 1848, when the Gascon passed through Avignon, on the occasion of his assisting at a concert given by the harpist, Mademoiselle Roaldes, Roumanille and several others went to offer their respects afterwards to the poet, who had made tears flow as he recited his “Souvenirs.”