"He says there was a special service in the Cathedral to-day. But the music goes the other way, and we cannot see the procession."
Inside the church, persons of all ages and conditions were walking about, boys and girls, young men and women, some of whom carried a baby in arms, bent old men and women, too, and as there was no service then, when acquaintances met, they stopped for a chat, as if on a street corner.
"The Cathedral," explained Aunt Caroline, "is dedicated to St. Januarius, Naples's patron saint, Bishop of Beneventum, whom Diocletian put to death. Some of his blood, gathered up by a Christian woman, is preserved in a vessel in his chapel here. The precious relic is locked up in boxes within boxes, but twice a year it is brought out with great ceremony. If the blood liquefies quickly, the superstitious people believe it a favorable omen for the city; if it does not, they are downcast at the prospect of great misfortunes for the next six months."
At this moment a sacristan swinging his keys offered to lead them to the Chapel of St. Januarius, and there they saw the tabernacle with the relics, and the silver bust of the saint and of thirty other saints. Though the Chapel contained some fine paintings by Domenichino, its decorations were rather more florid than beautiful.
The crypt under the church was much more interesting, with its great bronze doors, and marble columns from a Temple of Apollo that once stood near the site.
But neither Marion nor Irma cared to linger long in the Cathedral.
"Don't sigh," protested Uncle Jim, as Irma took her place in the carriage. "This is but the first of scores of churches you'll have to visit in Italy. Luckily Naples has fewer noteworthy pictures than Rome or Florence, and your aunt cannot help dealing leniently with us here."
"The only church I wish to see in Naples," said Irma, "is the one where Conradin is buried."