I
remember, for instance, a poor little humpbacked Grand Duchess being
so carried through the street magnificently bedecked as if she were
going to a ball, and with painted cheeks. She had been a beneficent
little body, and the people, as far as they knew anything about
her, revered her, and looked on her last presentation to them with
sympathetic feelings. But it was a sorry sight to see the poor little
body, looking much like a bedizened monkey, so paraded.
Well, my mother and I were, aimlessly but much admiringly, wandering
about the vast spaces of the cathedral when we became aware of a
_funzione_ of some sort--a service as we should say--being conducted
in a far part of the building. There was no great crowd, but a score
or two of spectators, mainly belonging to the _gamin_ category, were
standing around the officiating priests and curiously looking on. We
went towards the spot, and found that the burial service was being
performed over the body of a young priest. The body lay on its back on
the open bier, clad in full canonicals and with the long tasselled cap
of the secular clergy on his head. We stood and gazed with the others,
when suddenly I saw the dead man's head slightly move! A shiver, I
confess, ran through me. A moment's reflection, however, reminded me
of the recognised deceitfulness of the eyes in such matters, and I did
not doubt that I had been mistaken. But the next minute I again saw
the dead priest slightly shake his head, and this time I was sure that
I was not mistaken.
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