In a little while the words of
Mateo were made good; the peasant multitude nestled down on the ground
to their night's repose, and by midnight, the scene on the Vivarrambla
resembled the bivouac of an army.
The next morning, accompanied by Mateo, I revisited the square at
sunrise. It was still strewed with groups of sleepers: some were
reposing from the dance and revel of the evening; others, who had left
their villages after work on the preceding day, having trudged on foot
the greater part of the night, were taking a sound sleep to freshen
themselves for the festivities of the day. Numbers from the mountains,
and the remote villages of the plain, who had set out in the night,
continued to arrive with their wives and children. All were in high
spirits; greeting each other and exchanging jokes and pleasantries.
The gay tumult thickened as the day advanced. Now came pouring in at
the city gates, and parading through the streets, the deputations from
the various villages, destined to swell the grand procession. These
village deputations were headed by their priests, bearing their
respective crosses and banners, and images of the blessed Virgin and
of patron saints; all which were matters of great rivalship and
jealousy among the peasantry. It was like the chivalrous gatherings of
ancient days, when each town and village sent its chiefs, and
warriors, and standards, to defend the capital, or grace its
festivities.
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