THE MAKING OF A MIRACLE I THE PILGRIMS 'I stood within the city disinterred; And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls The oracular thunder penetrating shook The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that earth out of her deep heart spoke I felt, but heard not. Through white columns glowed A plane of light between two heavens of azure. As in the sculptor's thought, and there Because the crystal silence of the air Weighed on their life, even as the Power Divine, ODERN pilgrims are less picturesque than those of the MOD olden time. They dress in the unlovely fashion of to-day; their aspect and their speech tell of prosaic modern life. Yet no mail-clad Knight of the Red Cross, no medieval palmer with 'cockle hat, staff, and sandal shoon,' was more imbued with the ancient spirit of pilgrimage than are those who resort to the many wonder-working shrines of Italy to-day. There is, as of old, a strange blending of the spiritual with the mercenary; of joyous pleasure-seeking and of penitential woe; of the love of lucre and the longing after God. These mixed elements may be seen in full play among those who mingle with the steady stream of pilgrims flowing towards the great shrine of 'the Madonna of the Rosary' in Valle di Pompei, and in the management and the history of the Sanctuary itself. It boasts of far higher spiritual privileges than those attaching to older rival shrines of the Virgin, and its frequenters, as beseems them, do not indulge in all the wild gaiety, the ostentation of magnificence, which characterize such festas as that of the yearly pilgrimage, beloved of many a Neapolitan family, to the renowned Sanctuary of Monte Vergine. Let us look for a moment at the ways of this typically Neapolitan religious festival. Well-to-do 'pilgrims' repair to it in roomy open carriages, drawn, as a rule, by three horses, harnessed abreast, with richly and fantastically ornamented trappings and jingling bells, their heads plumed with brilliant feathers and wreathed with gay ribbons and flowers. At these festas prizes are given for the best-adorned carriages and the finest steeds. Happy are the winners; their chariots are described and their names published in the daily papers. The return from the Sanctuary of Monte Vergine is a very picturesque event, drawing crowds of spectators, and traffic in some of the main streets is suspended, so that the madly racing, gorgeous carriages, hung with rosary strings of chestnuts, may pass safely, with their loads of toys and sweets for the children, and their indispensable tiny water-barrel to drink from by the dusty way. But the great attraction centres in 'their Majesties,' as the lady pilgrims are called. They are glorious in silks and satins, green, blue, rose-colour, red, or golden yellow; in Cantoncrape shawls, immense pearl earrings, brooches, and bracelets of heavy gold. For this one day's display they will have saved and stinted, so as to be able to redeem their heirlooms from the pawnbroker, the chosen guardian of such treasures. On they dash in all their splendour, only slowing up as they approach some denser crowd, to give the admiring, shouting, applauding people a better chance to inspect their magnificence, and to vociferate their approval. Dear is this approval to the hearts of the gorgeously clad ' pilgrims.' The pilgrims to New Pompei do not conform to all these time-honoured Neapolitan fashions; theirs is a soberer pilgrimage. Peasants from the inland districts travel in carts, waggons, vehicles of every sort, drawn by horse or mule or ass, and frequently fitted with awnings to exclude the blaze of sunshine, or overarched with leafy branches of vine or fig. They go singing on their way in gladness of heart; these Southerners are frolicsome even in their piety. On reaching the outskirts of the city they descend from their conveyances, and walk in procession to the church, chanting litany or hymn. A cross is borne before them, and thus they approach the Sanctuary in orthodox pilgrim style. Laughter is hushed; all thoughts seem bent on the sorrows or the sins that have led them to seek the Virgin's shrine. Such is the pilgrimage of the simple folk from the inland. But visitors from North, Central, Southern Italy, from France, Germany, Austria, Belgium, from the British Isles, and from America avail themselves of train service. Special pleasure-trips are run, but many pilgrims come by ordinary train. We meet them thronging the railway-station at Naples, or perchance travel with them in the same carriage on their way to the famous Sanctuary. The public is solicited in every way to make the journey; advertisements are not lacking, nor any of the wonted devices for floating a business enterprise. Interested waiters in the hotels, zealous devotees on the way, beset the tourist in Italy, set forth the wonders of New Pompei, and extol the triumphant faith of the founders. Everyone goes to New Pompei,' the traveller is told'everyone, gentle and simple, rich and poor; everyone, from the fair and honoured Queen Margherita, to the peasant by |