Innumerable Tapers Were Burning
In The Church; The Bits Of Silver And Tin About The Saints
(Especially In The Virgin's
Necklace) sparkled brilliantly; the
priests were seated about the chief altar; the organ played away,
lustily, and a full band
Did the like; while a conductor, in a
little gallery opposite to the band, hammered away on the desk
before him, with a scroll; and a tenor, without any voice, sang.
The band played one way, the organ played another, the singer went
a third, and the unfortunate conductor banged and banged, and
flourished his scroll on some principle of his own: apparently
well satisfied with the whole performance. I never did hear such a
discordant din. The heat was intense all the time.
The men, in red caps, and with loose coats hanging on their
shoulders (they never put them on), were playing bowls, and buying
sweetmeats, immediately outside the church. When half-a-dozen of
them finished a game, they came into the aisle, crossed themselves
with the holy water, knelt on one knee for an instant, and walked
off again to play another game at bowls. They are remarkably
expert at this diversion, and will play in the stony lanes and
streets, and on the most uneven and disastrous ground for such a
purpose, with as much nicety as on a billiard-table. But the most
favourite game is the national one of Mora, which they pursue with
surprising ardour, and at which they will stake everything they
possess.
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