slender portal
that is somewhat reminiscent of the Italian influence, so elaborately
marked further up the valley, at Embrun. The rounded arch of the
door-way and its pointed gable are repeated, on either side, in a
half-arch and half-gable. An allegorical animal, in relief, stands above
the central arch, and a few columns with delicate capitals complete the
adornment of the entrance-way, which, in spite of being the most
decorative part of the church, is most discreet.

Nine steps lead down into an interior that is small, very usually
planned, and much defaced by XVII century gilt--yet is essentially
dignified and impressive. Eliminate the tawdry altars, take away the
stucco Saints and painted Virgins, let the chapels be mere shadowy
corners in the dark perspective, and the little church appears like the
meeting-place of the Faithful of an early Christianity. Its nave and
each of the narrow side aisles rise to round tunnel-vaults; there are
but five bays, and the last is covered by a small, octagonal dome. The
whole church is built of a dark stone that is almost black, its lighting
is very dim, and centres in the little apses where the holiest statues
stand and the most sacred rites are celebrated; and the worshippers,
shrouded in twilight, have more of the atmosphere of mystery than is
usual in the Cathedrals of Provence, the subtle influence of quiet
shadowy darkness that is so potent in the churches of the Spanish
borderland.

[Illustration: "ENTRANCES TO TWO NARROW STREETS."--SISTERON.]

Many will pass through Sisteron and enjoy its rugged strength, its
sun-lit days, its narrow streets, and the peaks that stand out in solemn
sternness against the dark blue sky at night. Notre-Dame-de-Pomeriis has
none of the salient beauty of any of these, and to appreciate its
ancient charm, it must not be forgotten that the Provencal Cathedral has
not the distinction of size or the elaboration of the greater Cathedrals
of Gascony, that it is far removed from the fine originalities of
Languedoc, that it is conventional, and, as it were, clannish, and that
its highest dignity is in a simple quiet that is never awe-full. There
is, in truth, more than one church of this country that needs the
embellishment of its history to make it truly interesting. But
Notre-Dame of Sisteron is not of these. It is not the big, empty shell
of Carpentras, nor the little rough Cathedral of Orange. It is the
smaller, more perfect one, of finer insp