p.

May 5th, 1830 {p.354}

To Cumae, and dined at the Lake of Fusaro with the Talbots and
Lushingtons; not a pretty lake, but the country near it pretty
enough. A splendid sunset, with real purple. 'Lumine vestit
purpureo.'

[Page Head: THE BLOOD OF SAN GENNARO]

May 7th, 1830 {p.355}

In the morning to the Chapel of St. Januarius, to see the blood
liquefy. The grand ceremony was last Saturday at the Cathedral,
but the miracle is repeated every morning in the Chapel for eight
days. I never saw such a scene, at once so ludicrous and so
disgusting, but more of the latter. There was the saint, all
bedizened with pearls, on the altar, the other silver ladies and
gentlemen all round the chapel, with an abundance of tapers
burning before them. Certain people were admitted within the
rails of the altar; the crowd, consisting chiefly of women, and
most of them old women, were without. There is no service, but
the priests keep muttering and looking at the blood to see if it
is melting. To-day it was unusually long, so these old Sibyls
kept clamouring, 'Santa Trinita!' 'Santa Vergine!' 'Dio
onnipotente!' 'San Gennaro!' in loud and discordant chorus; still
the blood was obstinate,[3] so the priest ordered them to go down
on their knees and to say the Athanasian Creed, which is one of
the specifics resorted to in such a case. He drawled it out with
his eyes shut, and the women screamed the responses. This would
not do, so they fell to abuse and entreaties with a vehemence and
volubility, and a shrill clamour, which was at once a proof of
their sincerity and their folly. Such noise, such gesticulations.
One woman I never shall forget, with outstretched arm, distorted
visage, and voice of piercing sharpness. In the meantime the
priest handed about the phial to be kissed, and talked the matter
over with the bystanders. 'E sempre duro?' 'Sempre duro, adesso
v' e una piccola cosa.' At last, after all the handling, praying,
kissing, screaming, entreating, and abusing, the blood did
melt,[4] when the organ struck up, they all sang in chorus, and
so it ended. It struck me as particularly disgusting, though
after all it is not fair to abuse these poor people, who have all
been brought up in the belief of the miracle, and who fancy that
the prosperity of their city and all that it contains is somehow
connected with its due performance. The priests could not
discontinue it but by acknowledging the imposture, and by an
imaginativ