its site, a name likely enough derived from the fame of the Syrian prophetess Martha, who accompanied Marius on his expedition into Gaul, a hundred years before the Christian era. And presumably there existed an earlier temple still upon this lonely swamp, a temple to some deity or goddess whose protective care the earliest Phoceans sought to procure by votive offerings. However this may be, René decided that the “Stes. Maries” were Mary, the mother of James, Mary Salome, and Sara, the black servant, who had remained in the little seaside village converting the inhabitants to the Christian faith.
Thus the great patron of romantic story inaugurated a legend that has persevered until to-day, for pilgrims from all parts still pay visits to “Les Maries” by the sea, to receive benefits and healing from the relics of the two Maries which are exhibited annually, whilst the remains of the black servant, Sara, strangely enough exact and receive homage of the gipsies from Bohemia.
St. Martha, who went first, on leaving her fellow-voyagers, to Aix, received there a deputation from a neighbouring place, Tarascon, which unfolded to her their sad plight. A great monster was ravaging their country-side, and their only hope was to get some one endowed with miraculous power to come to their assistance. The good Saint immediately set out for the terror-stricken town, where she received a great ovation from the assembled inhabitants. Without delay, armed with nothing but a small wooden cross, she sought the monster in the woods near by, and on finding it, held up the sacred emblem in front of it. The monster’s bellowings ceased at once, for the terror lay dead at her feet, its great jaws red with the blood of its last victim. St. Martha returned to the village and exhibited to the grateful populace the monster tied to her girdle.
King René, fond, as is well known, of pageants, processions, and fêtes, was the founder of the annual festival of the “Tarasque,” which was celebrated until quite recently in the month of June. A great pantomime monster was carried round the streets by sixteen men concealed in its body. It was led by a village beauty dressed in imitation of the Saint. The head of the creature had jaws that were movable, and they could be worked so as to grip any venturesome person who came close enough. When too hotly assailed by the townsfolk, fireworks were discharged from the eyes and different parts of the great canvas body. The old traditional “Tarasque” of great magnificence, which cost nearly £1,000, was, however, destroyed at the time of the Revolution by the Arlesiens, and was replaced shortly afterwards by the less imposing contrivance of to-day. The procession or fête was of a semi-religious character, and this, together with the rough practical jokes and horse-play that the people indulged in, led to its being prohibited by the Government in 1904.
The Church of St. Martha, as might be expected, is full of references both in stone and canvas to the Lady. The Church itself is, like the south porch, in the Romanesque Gothic style. Here are paintings by Vien, the eighteenth-century painter who was the master of David. His pictures are in a classic style which he lived to see more popular than it was when he introduced it first, after his long residence in Rome. They make no great appeal to the tastes of this century, for the severe and academical style of them is apt to leave the spectator cold and unsympathetic. The subjects are all relative to the religious legends of Provence: “The Visit of Christ to St. Martha,” “The Raising of Lazarus,” “The Embarkation of St. Martha,” “The Landing of Martha at Marseilles,” “St. Martha preaching the Gospel at Tarascon,” and “The Death of St. Martha.”
The pictures by Parrocel are not so interesting either from the point of view of the artist or the seeker after legendary lore.
One of Mignard’s two canvases represents St. Martha attending on our Saviour. It is significant of the high repute in which the religious legends of Provence were held, and the wealth of the Church at the period, that such popular painters of the eighteenth century could be commissioned to execute pictures recording them.
There is a small picture by Vanloo, “The Death of St. Francis d’Assisi,” in one of the side-chapels; a very beautiful rendering of a religious subject that is worth,