his wheelbarrow rather a lot, so as
not to be heard!

"And Dauphine, who greatly overcharged for water from her wells.

"And le Tortillard, who, when he met me carrying the Good Lord, rushed
away, with his biretta perched on his head and his pipe stuck in his
mouth ... as proud as Lucifer ... as though he had come across a mangy
dog.

"And Coulau with his Zette, and Jacques, and Pierre, and Toni...."

* * * * *

Much moved and ashen with fear, the congregation whimpered, while
imagining their fathers, and their mothers and their grandmothers and
their sisters, when hell's gates were opened....

--Your feelings don't deceive you, brothers, the good abbot continued,
you sense that this can't go on. I am responsible for your souls, and I
do want to save you from the abyss towards which you are rushing
helter-skelter and head first.

"Tomorrow, at the latest, my task begins. And the work will not be in
vain! This is how I am going to go about it. For it to come out well,
everything must be done in an orderly way. We will proceed step by
step, like at Jonquieres when there's a dance.

"Tomorrow, Monday. I will give confession to the old men and women.
Nothing much there.

"Tuesday. The children. I'll soon have done.

"Wednesday. The young men and women. That might take a long time.

"Thursday. The men. We'd better cut that short.

"Friday. The women. I will tell them, not to build up their parts!

"Saturday. The miller. A day mightn't be enough for him.

"And, if we've finished by Sunday, we'll have done very well.

"Look, my children, when wheat is ripe, it must be harvested, when the
wine is drawn, it must be drunk. We've had enough of dirty washing,
what matters now is to wash it, and to wash it well.

"May you all receive God's loving grace. _Amen!_"

* * * * *

He was as good as his word. The washing was duly done.

From that memorable Sunday, the sweet smell of Cucugnanian virtue was
heady for many kilometres around.

And the good priest, Monsieur Martin, happy and full of joy, dreamt one
night that he was followed by all his flock, as he ascended in a
candle-lit, resplendent procession, clouded in fragrant incense, with
choir boys chanting the Te Deum. They were all following the light to
the City of God.

There you are; the story of the priest of Cucugnan, as I was told by
the great colloquial writer Roumanille, who had it himself from some
other go