Near the upper end of the square, capacious scaffoldings had been erected to contain those who were privileged by rank, or those who were able to buy honors with the vulgar medium; while humbler preparations for the less fortunate completed the three sides of a space that was in the form of a parallelogram, and which was intended to receive the actors in the coming scene.  The side next the water was unoccupied, though a forest of latine spars, and a platform of decks, more than supplied the deficiency of scaffolding and room.  Music was heard, from time to time, intermingled or relieved by those wild Alpine cries which characterize the songs of the mountaineers.  The authorities of the town were early afoot, and, as is customary with the important agents of small concerns, they were exercising their municipal function with a bustle, which of itself contained reasonable evidence that they were of no great moment, and a gravity of mien with which the chiefs of a state might have believed it possible to dispense.

The estrade, or stage, erected for the superior class of spectators was decorated with flags, and a portion near its centre had a fair display of tapestry and silken hangings.  The chateau-looking edifice near the bottom of the square, and whose windows, according to a common Swiss and German usage, showed the intermingled stripes that denoted it to be public property, were also gay in colors, for the ensign of the Republic floated over its pointed roofs, and rich silks waved against the walls.  This was the official residence of Peter Hofmeister, the functionary whom we have already introduced to the reader.

An hour later, a shot gave the signal for the various troupes to appear, and soon after, parties of the different actors arrived in the square.  As the little processions approached to the sound of the trumpet or horn, curiosity became more active and the populace was permitted to circulate in those portions of the square that were not immediately required for other purposes.  About this time, a solitary individual appeared on the stage.  He seemed to enjoy peculiar privileges, not only from his situation, but by the loud salutations and noisy welcomes with which he was greeted from the crowd below.  It was the good monk of St. Bernard, who, with a bare head and a joyous contented face, answered to the several calls of the peasants, most of whom had either bestowed hospitality on the worthy Augustine, in his many journeyings among the charitable of the lower world, or had received it at his hands in their frequent passages of the mountain.  These recognitions and greetings spoke well for humanity; for in every instance they wore the air of cordial good-will, and a readiness to do honor to the benevolent character of the religious community that was represented in the person of its clavier or steward.

“Good luck to thee, Father Xavier, and a rich quete” cried a burly peasant; “thou hast of late unkindly forgotten Benoit Emery and his.  When did a clavier of St. Bernard ever knock at my door, and go away with an empty hand?  We look for thee, reverend monk, with thy vessel, to-morrow; for the summer has been hot, the grapes are rich, and the wine is beginning to run freely in our tubs.  Thou shalt dip without any to look at thee, and, take it of which color thou wilt, thou shalt take it with a welcome.”