CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE PRIEST'S FESTA.

August 14-A festal air has pervaded the social atmosphere of the parish for some days. The women and children come home very often from the forest with bundles of wood, which they tell us is to make bonfires on the eve of the priest's festa. The bells have been ringing for nine days before the time, a constant pealing and jangling of four tones fills the valley. The good curate has been made Rector, or Piovano, of Piteglio, and his installation is to take place to-morrow. We hear rumours of his having ordered two entire oxen for the distribution which was to take place this morning, it being a custom for a new-made Rector to provide a dole of bread, meat, and wine, for his parishioners.

One or two of our folk went to Piteglio according to invitation, at seven o'clock, to receive the dole, and returned empty-handed. They found the greatest consternation reigning there, the recipients

were in crowds around the door of the canonico, -the almoners were willing, but alas! they had nothing to give. The two oxen expected

last night had not yet arrived, the anxious Piovano had kept vigil all night, expecting the sacrificial beasts, but still they came not. A man was despatched on horseback, and at seven this morning they came, walking slowly up to the slaughter before the impatient eyes of the crowd waiting to devour them. The people dispersed, the distribution was postponed till a later hour, and at twelve o'clock we are still in time to witness the giving away of the priest's dole.

In Piteglio several people are standing about with empty flasks and baskets in their hands, but there is not much sign of sacrificial slaughter, except a few ominous dark marks on the pavement near the church. The bells are pealing merrily; we wonder at the untiring energy which can keep them going for nine days without flagging, but as we pass the ancient tower, which was once the tower of the medieval fortress, the mystery is explained. At a high window sits one of the ringers, he has one leg dangling outside, and grasps a flask of red wine as he sits singing between his sips.

Men who rarely have a chance of tasting wine,

are naturally not unwilling to ring bells with an accompaniment of vinum ad libitum.

Down on a little piazzetta there is a scene of more excitement, for the distribution is to take place here. A little shop has been cleared out and its two rooms given up to the priest's use The shopman, a man nicknamed the "Stella," or star, whom we know from his having sold Harry some rabbits, invites us in to inspect the stores. One room contains a row of sacks full of loaves of bread, and ten barrels of wine on the ground. In the other are a pair of scales, a counter, a butcher's block, the head of an ox and its "internal arrangements;"—of meat, properly so speaking, there is none as yet. Seeing that the poor oxen walked up alive five hours ago, this is not to be wondered at. A number of expectants are ranged on the low wall of the piazzetta, and we place ourselves on an ancient doorstep in the shade, but are no sooner seated than the hospitable villagers exclaim that they could not possibly allow us to stay there, and chairs are very soon placed for us.

Aunt Louisa and the artistic friend set themselves, con amore, to study the costumes and take notes. An ancient dame with bright yellow headgear, an embroidered white neckerchief, a blue bodice and tawny-coloured skirt, delights them

extremely, as does a girl with pretty eyes and curly hair, who wears a greenish bodice, with a purple kerchief on her neck and an orange one over her head.

The mother admires a good-tempered father carrying his babe, and a toddling, fair-haired child with an angel face, and one or two grave little maidens sitting down happily against the wall gazing their fill at everybody.

He

A pale-faced youth attracts our attention. has a mark of a gash entirely round his throat, just as if he had tried to commit suicide and failed. He begins to explain his disaster very graphically to a friend, telling him with much gesticulation that he was ringing the bells one day this week, when the rope slipped from his hand and swang round his neck, lifting him from the ground with its force. Had not another man, with great presence of mind, stopped the bell, the priest's rejoicings would have been marked by a very sad catastrophe.

Amongst the group baskets and flasks are the most prominent ingredients; those who are too poor to bring flasks come gravely up with the great copper mezzine, which they carry to the fountain, and we pity them for the disappointing appearance two litres of wine will have in that

vast cavity. Old Meo, the mad beggar from the Nook, is there, in a costume that sends the artistic friend into ecstasies: a green velveteen coat, a shattered Tyrolese hat, and certain nether garments of greenish grey, patched with blue, which the artist-quoting Ruskin - pronounces perfectly precious. With a low bow to us, he

finds a vacant seat on a stone, and flask in hand smokes the pipe of peace, making a very picture of himself. Every now and then feux-de-joie are fired. Cannon not being available in these mountain wilds, the Piteglese content themselves by firing off a harmless pistol in honour of their beloved pastor.

At length a stir occurs. Two men come up from the macelleria, with trays of the fresh meat reeking on their shoulders. The butcher follows, walking in a magisterial manner and smoking as he comes. Behind him, like a sacrificial priestess, is our Loli friend Erminia, looking more like an ancient Roman dame than ever, as she walks with her classical head upborne, and carries three great knives in her hand. The autocratic butcher enters his domain, waves back the eager crowd, takes a knife from the hand of Erminia, and motions a man to place the meat on the block. Then he hacks in a masterly manner, little joints