y of the marriage contracts among the mountain
tribes that the husband must, under a money penalty, conduct his wife
to the festival of the Holy Countenance once at least in four years?
The programme is this: First, they enter the cathedral, kneel at the
glistening shrine of the black crucifix, kiss its golden slipper, and
hear mass. Then they will grasp such goods as the gods provide them,
in street, _cafe_, eating-house, or day theatre; make purchases in the
shops and booths, and stroll upon the ramparts. Later, when the sun
sinks westward over the mountains, and the deep canopy of twilight
falls, they will return by the way that they have come, until the
coming year.

* * * * *

Within the city, from before daybreak, church-bells--and Lucca abounds
in belfries fretted tier upon tier, with galleries of delicate marble
colonnettes, all ablaze in the sunshine--have pealed out merrily.

Every church-door, draped with gold tissue and silken stuffs, more
or less splendid, is thrown wide open. Every shop is closed, save
_cafes_, hotels, and tobacco-shops (where, by command of the King of
New Italy, infamous cigars are sold). Eating-tables are spread at the
corners of the streets and under the trees in the piazza, benches are
ranged everywhere where benches can stand. The streets are filling
every moment as fresh multitudes press through the city gates--those
grand old gates, where the marble lions of Lucca keep guard, looking
toward the mountains.

For a carriage to pass anywhere in the streets would be impossible, so
tightly are flapping Leghorn hats, and veils, snowy handkerchiefs, and
red caps and brigand hats, packed together. Bells ring, and there are
waftings of military music borne through the air. Trumpet-calls at the
different barracks answer to each other. Cannons are fired. Each
man, woman, and child shouts, screams, and laughs. All down the dark,
cavernous streets, in the great piazza, at the sindaco's, at college,
at club, public offices, and hotels, at the grand old palaces,
untouched since the middle ages--the glory of the city--at every
house, great and small--flutter gaudy draperies; crimson, amber,
violet, and gold, according to purse and condition, either of richest
brocade, or of Eastern stuffs wrought in gold and needle-work, or--the
family carpet or bed-furniture hung out for show. Banners wave from
every house-top and tower, the Italian tricolor and the Savoy cross,