As though an angel's voice had reached them, the priests and children halted in their march, the motley crowd stood spellbound with bowed heads. Even Guiseppe, after his first surprise, crossed himself. The tears were streaming down Marta's face.
"Ave Maria, gratia plena." Clear and sweet rang the child's voice. "Ave Maria, Amen."
From the lips of the priests and the white–robed children came spontaneously in response, "Amen," and the crowd gathered about the diminutive singer murmured softly, "Amen."
For a moment there was a deep silence, then one by one, as though moving to an altar, those who had listened to her singing, almost reverently deposited their offerings in Pappina's tambourine.
The spirit of devotion awakened on the street, made it seem almost a sacrilege to continue with the Punchinellos.
The music of drums and fifes came faintly from the distance. Nearer and nearer the slender carabinieri approached, the silver trimmings on their black uniforms glistening in the sun. On horseback and on foot they came, and passed. Round the corner with rapid tramp came the bersaglieri (sharpshooters). They drew up in two lines and executed with precision the orders of their lieutenant, the cock's plumes on their stiff black hats fluttering in the light breeze. Confetti, serpentine, even bon–bons, were thrown about in profusion.
So began fete day in Cava, and so it passed as other fete days throughout the land of Italy, differing from them only in the gloriously beautiful illuminated cross at the very summit of Monte Castello. On the peak of this mountain lives the "Hermit of Monte Castello." Each year he begs funds sufficient to illuminate grandly his mountain home on fete day.
The Bersaglieri