Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Atlantic Essays

[260] was to be by amateurs, and a written programme had been sent from house to house during the day; and this had announced the curtain as sure to rise at eight. But as most of the spectators went at six to secure places,--literally, places, for each carried his or her own chair,--one might suppose the audience a little impatient before the appointed hour arrived. Yet one would then suppose very incorrectly. Eight o'clock came, and a quarter past eight, but no curtain rose. Half past 8. No movement nor sign of any. The people sat still. A quarter to nine. The people sat still. Nine o'clock. The people sat perfectly still, nobody talking much, the gentlemen being all the while separated from the ladies, and all quiet. At last, at a quarter past nine, the orchestra came in! They sat down, laid aside their instruments, and looked about them. Suddenly a whistle was heard behind the scenes. Nothing came of it, however. After a time, another whistle. The people sat still. Then the orchestra began to tune their instruments, and at half past 9 the overture began. And during all that inexplicable delay of one hour and a half, after a preliminary waiting of two hours, there was not a single look of annoyance or impatience, nor the slightest indication, on any face, that this was viewed as a strange or extraordinary thing.

We duly attended, not on this occasion only, but on all ecclesiastical festivals, grave or gay,--the only difficulty being to discover any person in town who had even approximate information as to when or where they were to occur. We saw many sights that are universal in Roman Catholic countries, and many that are peculiar to Fayal: we saw the “Procession of the Empress,” when, for six successive Saturday evenings, young girls walked in order