tawdry embellishments of
the grand old building and the absence of propriety of the crowd, there
was perceptible some mysterious underlying force that compelled us to note
the extraordinary hold the Church has upon the people of Southern Italy.
For all this throng of persons had assembled that day with one definite
purpose: to see their universal friend and patron, their Saint and their
worker of domestic miracles; they had come to pay their homage to a
celestial acquaintance, with whom, thanks to the Church's teaching, they
had all been intimate from their cradles. They had not thus assembled at
an early hour, deserting their mills and their shops, their boats and
their nets, renouncing their chances of gain, to hear a preacher's
eloquence or to listen to fine music, but merely to pay their annual visit
of respect to their Spiritual Master. Why should we aliens intrude upon so
private a gathering? In any case, we have grown weary of standing in the
close sickly atmosphere, wherein the fragrance of the crushed bay-leaves,
the fumes of incense and the strange smell of garlic-eating humanity blend
in an oppressive manner. We push our way through the eager and intent
congregation, and gaining the door-way step with a sigh of relief into the
sunshine that is flooding the _loggia_. But it is too hot to remain here,
and we descend the great stair-case in order to take up a post of vantage
in the shade on the opposite side of the piazza; having gained our desired
position we expect in patience the arrival of the procession. Nor have we
very long to wait. The officials of the town suddenly dart forward to
clear the steps of their crowd of ragged children, and almost
simultaneously the great bronze doors of Pantaleone are flung open to the
sweet air and the sunshine. It was a wonderful and deeply interesting
experience to watch the glittering train slowly emerge from the darkness
of the church into the glare of day, and then descend that stately flight
of marble stairs to the sound of joy-bells and to the accompaniment of
explosions of fireworks. First came the leading members of the various
Confraternities of the little city, all bearing tapers whose tongues of
flame shone feebly in the fierce contemptuous sunlight, and all wearing
snow-white smocks and coloured scarves. Red, green, blue, white, purple,
yellow, gleamed the huge banners of these different societies, each borne
by a tall _vessillifero_, or standard bearer, assisted