This Festa gave us a fine chance to see the people of the Ampezzo all together.  It was the annual jubilation of the district; and from all the outlying hamlets and remote side valleys, even from the neighbouring vales of Agordo and Auronzo, across the mountains, and from Cadore, the peasants, men and women and children, had come in to the Sagro at Cortina.  The piazza—­which is really nothing more than a broadening of the road behind the church—­was quite thronged.  There must have been between two and three thousand people.

The ceremonies of the day began with general church-going.  The people here are honestly and naturally religious.  I have seen so many examples of what can only be called “sincere and unaffected piety,” that I cannot doubt it.  The church, on Cortina’s feast-day, was crowded to the doors with worshippers, who gave every evidence of taking part not only with the voice, but also with the heart, in the worship.

Then followed the public unveiling of a tablet, on the wall of the little Inn of the Anchor, to the memory of Giammaria Ghedini, the founder of the art-schools of Cortina.  There was music by the band; and an oration by a native Demosthenes (who spoke in Italian so fluent that it ran through one’s senses like water through a sluice, leaving nothing behind), and an original Canto sung by the village choir, with a general chorus, in which they called upon the various mountains to “re-echo the name of the beloved master John-Mary as a model of modesty and true merit,” and wound up with—­

     “Hurrah for John-Mary!  Hurrah for his art! 
     Hurrah for all teachers as skilful as he! 
     Hurrah for us all, who have now taken part
     In singing together in do . . re . . mi.”

It was very primitive, and I do not suppose that the celebration was even mentioned in the newspapers of the great world; but, after all, has not the man who wins such a triumph as this in the hearts of his own people, for whom he has made labour beautiful with the charm of art, deserved better of fame than many a crowned monarch or conquering warrior?  We should be wiser if we gave less glory to the men who have been successful in forcing their fellow-men to die, and more glory to the men who have been successful in teaching their fellow-men how to live.

But the Festa of Cortina did not remain all day on this high moral plane.  In the afternoon came what our landlady called “allerlei Dummheiten.”  There was a grand lottery for the benefit of the Volunteer Fire Department.  The high officials sat up in a green wooden booth in the middle of the square, and called out the numbers and distributed the prizes.  Then there was a greased pole with various articles of an attractive character tied to a large hoop at the top—­silk aprons, and a green jacket, and bottles of wine, and half a smoked pig, and a coil of rope, and a purse.  The gallant firemen voluntarily climbed up the pole as far as they could, one after another, and then involuntarily slid down again exhausted, each one wiping off a little more of the grease, until at last the lucky one came who profited by his forerunners’ labours, and struggled to the top to snatch the smoked pig.  After that it was easy.