These harmless lunatics, whose
insanity differed very much in degree, were looked upon as part and
parcel of the town, and people spoke about "our lunatics" just as at
Venice people say "_nostre carampane_." One was constantly meeting
them, and they passed the time of day with us and made some joke, at
which, sickly as it was, we could not help smiling. They were treated
with kindness, and they often did a service in their turn. I shall
never forget a poor fellow called Brian, who believed that he was a
priest, and who passed part of the day in church, going through
the ceremonies of mass. There was a nasal drone to be heard in the
cathedral every afternoon, and this was Brian reciting prayers which
were doubtless not less acceptable than those of other people. The
cathedral officials had the good sense not to interfere with him, and
not to draw frivolous distinctions between the simple and the humble
who came to kneel before their God.
The insane woman at the hospital was much less popular, on account
of her taciturn ways. She never spoke to any one, and no one knew
anything of her history. She never said a word to us boys, but her
haggard and wild look made a deep and painful impression upon us. I
have often thought since of this enigma, though without being able
to decipher it; but I obtained a clue to it eight years ago, when
my mother, who had attained the age of eighty-five without loss
of health, was overtaken by an illness which slowly undermined her
strength.
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