to the splendour of her present position t'roui the ranks of the peasantry. I myself have my douhts about the ancestry of her sister-in-law, the wife of our host — Michele Amato's self. My suspicions are founded on this simple fact, that, coming out of the store-room the other day with some linen, I saw her place a folded serviette upon her head, and behold 1 she was, by this linen square, suddenly transformed into a peasant 1 It is her privilege and glory to go bare-headed, just as in Brittany the class above peasants wear a bonnet instead of a white cap. But, having
the white square in her hand, she could no more resist
her former instincts, and not put it on her head, than
a newl3'-made Blue-coat boy could have done under
similar circumstances, if a pile of pot-hats had replaced
the bundle of serviettes ; while her confusion on being
conscious of observation, and her hasty withdrawal of
the token of inferiority, confirmed my suspicions.
The fete of Corpus Domini at the end of May is one
of the greatest of the year, and from eai-ly dawn great
preparations are afoot for the coming procession. It
is the peculiar feature of this fe.sta that, during the
procession, the windows are hung, by wa)* of bunting,
with all that is rarest in the way of petticoats, shawls,
frocks, counterpanes, or other draperies from the
housewife's wardrobe. Wonderful old heirlooms —
ancient gowns, sometimes of silk or brocade — garments in which their great-grandmothers may have
been married — are blazoned forth in all their bravery,
fluttering in the wind, as much with a view to provoke
the envy and admiration of the less fortunate neigh-
bours, as to typify religious fervour. It is not, I fear,
as effective as it might be — not, at least, to those of
us who have had the ill-luck to be acquainted with
Houndsditch or other Hebrew centres, where Moses
or Abraham fascinates the plebeian imagination by the
seductive display of tiie second-hand finery of an im-
])ecunious upper class. But 'tis showj- and gaudy — it
makes a dash of colour — and so fires the childish
Southern mind.
About nine o'clock the drummer of the ))lace, who,
in the intervals oi feste, is a blacksmith (not, alas ! a
' harmonious ' one, for the ringing of his hammer on
his anvil is at least sweeter music than that which
his drum produces), appears on the square, and with
him a far more terrible mortal (the brother of the
postman), who plays on a fife in a manner to make one
agree with the great and brave Dr. Johnson, who,
when Boswell endeavoured to awake some synij)athv
for music in the mind of his master by explaining how
difficult it was, and how niucli study was necessary
for its production, replied : ' Sir, I wish it had been
impossible J' Surely the people must go into the
church to be present at mass only to escape from that music, for its use is pretty much that of proclaiming that the service is about to begin, and the folk are absolutely drummed and fifed into the sanctuary. On this day, however, the procession is arranged in the church, and they march down the hill to a tiny chapel at the very outskirts of the village, beneath the floating raiment overhead, through the gloom and grey
coolness of the narrow streets, until they emerge into
the glaring sunlight, which pours with dazzling
brilliance on the white head-cloths of the women, who
look as they move, with their white scarts also on
their shoulders, like an undulating mass of snow. It
is they that one sees from a distant survey of the
straggling procession. It is this blinding gleam of
white head-gear that first strikes the eye ; but in
i-eality the women walk last. First come four stalwart
men with black, tangled hair and faces of bronze, that
bear the church banner. This is of great beauty, its
faded colours gentle, and lost, and blended harmo-
niously. Its design is simple and delicate as a fresco
by Perugino, to whose school and period it probably
belongs. Then come peasant-boys, shy and awkward,
as boys should be, and as eoiitmliiii must be — yet
have they a certain rustic grace, for they are moun-
tain-bred ; and to w'alk down an Anticoli street without
slipping in itself exercises all the muscles that a ballet
dancer develops, and renders a slouching gait impos-
sible. These wear a surplice of an enchanting colour,
such as only time and southern sunlight can produce,
which has faded into a greenish-blue of a pale hue
that defies description, though it is something of
' eau-de-Nil,' and carry candles. Then comes one
bearing a huge crucifix of ig)ioble style, and in revolt-
ing taste. More boys and men in surplices, and then
a youth who carries a gilded image of the Christ which
the people press forward to kiss. He is followed by
two little girls dressed as angels, with wings and many
roses. But they are too self-conscious for the part,
and we turn with relief to the tall priest who walks
last in full vestments, bearing the Host with him. He
at least is not tawdry ; and if he is overdressed, his robes
are, after all, historic. Then come the snow-clad
women, and the procession passes into the little
chapel, with as many of the faithful as can pass in
after it, the rest kneeling down outside, rank after
rank, until quite beyond earshot. At the elevation of
the Host the first of the long line of mortars is lighted,
and puff! bang! they go blasting and roaring down
the roadside luitil the hills go mad for joy at their
echo. Then our friends of the fife and drum blow
and smite away again with their execrable and ex-
asperating music — tunes (or ' out-of-tunes ') most
distinctly secular in selection, and both of a nature
and manner that would ruin the ])ros])ects of a third-
rate Punch and Judy showman even in Philistine
London.
The procession, a repetition of the above, on the fete of Corpus Domini, was by its destination, and the time of day, rendered so different that it merits a special description.
This was held at eight o'clock in the evening, and was honoured above its predecessor by being allowed to pass through the square, dignified by the presence of the Bon Marchc, and by its neighboiu', at once the
