CROSS IN VILLAGE SQUARE AT LES SAINTES MARIES.
By E. M. Synge.
The exterior of Les Saintes Maries is rude, warlike, even sterner in aspect than Maguelonne, and it stands bare and solitary on this desert spot with not a tree or a green thing near it; only the spectral, thinly clad, unearthly looking trees of the Camargue dimly in sight here and there in the grey distance.
The door of the church was open, and we entered. Again, as in Maguelonne, great arches and apses, sombre, religious, primitive, the candles and artificial flowers with which the altars were decked for Christmas standing out pathetically against the gloom.
In one of the side chapels the curé was busy painting the background of a crèche. He was occupied with the Star in the East when we arrived, and was so absorbed that he did not hear our footsteps. When we came nearer he turned and descended from the ladder on which he had mounted, explaining that he had been appointed to the cure only a few months and found to his dismay that the benighted inhabitants had never in all their lives had a crèche at Christmas! So he was busying himself to redeem them from this state of spiritual darkness. The palm-trees and la sainte vierge were expected to-morrow from Nimes. Le Christ had already arrived.
The curé went forward to give a touch to the manger as he spoke.
"Vous voyez les vaches—qu'elles sont jolies!" He stood back to contemplate them. The boy who had conducted us to the church remained gazing in dumb admiration, and though he was peremptorily sent on a message by the curé, he returned almost at once to gaze anew, which brought down on him an impatient reproof.
"Va t'en, va t'en; qu'est-ce que tu fais la avec ta bouche grand-ouverte; sauve toi donc!"
And poor Jules had to shut his mouth and tear himself away from the alluring scene.