The Evening Procession.
It is night. Against the sombre gloom of the heavens twinkle millions of stars: they too are a part of the grand illumination that is to be the climax of the whole fiesta. Again the village-green in front of the church! It is alive with the happy villagers, decked in all their finery—the men and boys in airy, colored shirts and white trousers, the women and girls in splendid skirts and brilliant chemisettes.
All are standing bareheaded. The band is discoursing sweet music, and the people stand entranced. Not a sound is heard till the tune is ended; then, on every hand, arises a decorous murmur of delight. Here comes the cura. He at once proceeds to arrange the procession, which is the event of the feast, and to which the villagers have been looking forward, with joyous anticipation, for many months. Mysterious groups are issuing from the church. These are assigned to their respective positions by the father, who, in this, as in all else, is the master of ceremonies. Let us, however, leave the crowd and move a little way up the street, where, before long, the procession is to pass.
Over the roadway, from airy arches, gaily decorated with bunting, are suspended Chinese lanterns. On the gateways to the houses, on all the fences that line the street, hang little fat-pots, whose pale flicker, multiplied a thousand-fold, produces a most romantic effect, to which the lights on the arches and the many-colored illuminated lamps in the windows add a subdued splendor.
We have not long to wait; for the procession has been speedily arranged, and is already making its way up the street, the band, at the head, playing an operatic air.
Interior of the Cathedral, Where All Processions Begin and End.
Behind come the happy participants, two by two; men and women alternating. All carry torches, whose glow throws over their grave faces a gleam of soft light, that harmonizes well with the nature of the occasion.
And now comes the spangled image of some old Saint borne aloft on a litter; while a murmur of applause bursts from the admiring onlookers. From every house rockets are shot into the heavens, showering on the dusky night constellations of colored stars.
Thus, Saint after Saint, martyr after martyr, is majestically borne along, till near the end of the procession appears the image of the Virgin, herself “decked with jewels bright and with glory crowned.”