He sings: stanzas succeed each other, and poetry flows naturally from his lips.

The measure he adopts is grave and quiet; the air seems to come with the words, without being sought for; and rich imagery and new ideas flash forth at every moment, whether he takes for his subject the praise of one of the guests, or the chronicles of the country.

He will sing thus for hours together: but some other feels inspired in his turn; a kind of pastoral combat takes place--very like those between the troubadours of old--and the interest of the scene increases.

Presently they start into dances, and their steps accompany the words, still more like the custom of the jongleurs.

The rivals sing and dance alternately, as the words require it; their movements increase in expression, the most difficult and the prettiest are striven for by the dancers, the time being always well preserved, and the spirit of the poem not lost sight of.