On These Days, They Always Dress The Church Of The Saint In Whose
Honour The Festa Is Holden, Very Gaily.
Gold-embroidered festoons
of different colours, hang from the arches; the altar furniture is
set forth; and sometimes, even the lofty pillars are swathed from
top to bottom in tight-fitting draperies.
The cathedral is
dedicated to St. Lorenzo. On St. Lorenzo's day, we went into it,
just as the sun was setting. Although these decorations are
usually in very indifferent taste, the effect, just then, was very
superb indeed. For the whole building was dressed in red; and the
sinking sun, streaming in, through a great red curtain in the chief
doorway, made all the gorgeousness its own. When the sun went
down, and it gradually grew quite dark inside, except for a few
twinkling tapers on the principal altar, and some small dangling
silver lamps, it was very mysterious and effective. But, sitting
in any of the churches towards evening, is like a mild dose of
opium.
With the money collected at a festa, they usually pay for the
dressing of the church, and for the hiring of the band, and for the
tapers. If there be any left (which seldom happens, I believe),
the souls in Purgatory get the benefit of it. They are also
supposed to have the benefit of the exertions of certain small
boys, who shake money-boxes before some mysterious little buildings
like rural turnpikes, which (usually shut up close) fly open on
Red-letter days, and disclose an image and some flowers inside.
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