At both entrances to the main street of every considerable village or town in Corsica you invariably see this large cross, generally of wood, and nearly always accompanied by these implements of the Crucifixion; but that at Sartene, reared on its great grey rock, with the background of blue mountains and green groves, was one of the most striking in the island.
The Hotel de l'Univers, in the principal street, was quite a cheery sight to way-worn travellers. It was no dirty little inn, with foul smells and objectionable bedrooms; but a really airy, pleasant hotel, situated in a rather stuffy street, but with dainty, well-furnished bedrooms, and a large comfortable salle à manger. After Corte (and of course excepting Ajaccio), it was the best hotel we had seen in the island.
After a slight lunch we went out, and, strolling through the hot glaring streets and up a steep dusty hill, found ourselves at the picturesque little church of St. Amiens, built on a grassy level half-way up, overlooking lovely views.
Attached to this church is a large, thick-walled monastery, in fashion like a bastion; and, as we sat sketching on the grass before it, a string of monks came slowly by, entering two and two through the narrow door which opened into the monastery.
They were dressed in brown cassocks, with light-brown girdles and long rosaries, brown cowls, and sandalled feet that were equally brown.
They walked along demurely enough, with their eyes cast upon the ground, until they reached the narrow doorway; but, as they turned to go in, each monk gave way to the sinful appetite of curiosity, and glanced stealthily from under his shaggy eyebrows at the three strangers. A lofty wooden cross stood on the green a few yards from the church, and we were a little astonished to see that neither the brown monks, nor the fat and homely sisters who afterwards passed on their way to Vespers, saluted it in any way with signs of reverence.
These sisters, comfortable-looking old ladies, with broad smiling faces, dressed all in black with enormous flapping white hats which were probably useful, but certainly not ornamental, were sœurs de charité, or nurses of the poor.
The pretty little church was dainty and pleasing within as without.
In honour of the month of Mary, a very grand Madonna, dressed as usual in sky blue, and surrounded by an arch of silver tinsel and white artificial roses, was placed in front of the altar for the contemplation of the faithful. Many quiet simple souls came into the cool, shady little building from the glare outside, to tell their beads, and to sit for a few moments in quiet meditation before the gaudy but sweet-faced figure; and among others two little girls, who, after kneeling down for a minute or two, commenced whispering and giggling audibly.
I made friends with these two little things, and presently they sat, one on each side, holding my hands and looking up into my face with the brightest and most eager of black eyes. Jaenne and Sophie, as they informed me they were called, were in the middle class of life, and were good French scholars.