Nisida | Page 6

knee breeches,
embroidered stockings, and shoes with gold buckles, formed the main
portions of his dress, over which trailed a long brocaded open-sleeved
robe lined with ermine, and a magnificent diamond-hilted sword. On
account of his rank he enjoyed the rare distinction of carrying one of
the six gilded staves that supported the plumed and embroidered
canopy.
As soon as the procession moved on again, Eligi of Brancaleone gave a
side glance to a little man as red as a lobster, who was walking almost
at his side, and carrying in his right hand, with all the solemnity that he
could muster, his excellency's hat. He was a footman in gold-laced
livery, and we beg leave to give a brief sketch of his history. Trespolo
was the child of poor but thieving parents, and on that account was
early left an orphan. Being at leisure, he studied life from an eminently
social aspect. If we are to believe a certain ancient sage, we are all in
the world to solve a problem: as to Trespolo, he desired to live without
doing anything; that was his problem. He was, in turn, a sacristan, a
juggler, an apothecary's assistant, and a cicerone, and he got tired of all
these callings. Begging was, to his mind, too hard work, and it was
more trouble to be a thief than to be an honest man. Finally he decided
in favour of contemplative philosophy. He had a passionate preference
for the horizontal position, and found the greatest pleasure in the world
in watching the shooting of stars. Unfortunately, in the course of his
meditations this deserving man came near to dying of hunger; which
would have been a great pity, for he was beginning to accustom himself
not to eat anything. But as he was predestined by nature to play a small
part in our story, God showed him grace for that time, and sent to his
assistance--not one of His angels, the rogue was not worthy of that,
but--one of Brancaleone's hunting dogs. The noble animal sniffed
round the philosopher, and uttered a little charitable growl that would
have done credit to one of the brethren of Mount St. Bernard. The
prince, who was returning in triumph from hunting, and who, by good
luck, had that day killed a bear and ruined a countess, had an odd
inclination to do a good deed. He approached the plebeian who was
about to pass into the condition of a corpse, stirred the thing with his

foot, and seeing that there was still a little hope, bade his people bring
him along.
From that day onward, Trespolo saw the dream of his life nearly
realised. Something rather above a footman and rather below a house
steward, he became the confidant of his master, who found his talents
most useful; for this Trespolo was as sharp as a demon and almost as
artful as a woman. The prince, who, like an intelligent man as he was,
had divined that genius is naturally indolent, asked nothing of him but
advice; when tiresome people wanted thrashing, he saw to that matter
himself, and, indeed, he was the equal of any two at such work. As
nothing in this lower world, however, is complete, Trespolo had
strange moments amid this life of delights; from time to time his
happiness was disturbed by panics that greatly diverted his master; he
would mutter incoherent words, stifle violent sighs, and lose his
appetite. The root of the matter was that the poor fellow was afraid of
going to hell. The matter was very simple: he was afraid of everything;
and, besides, it had often been preached to him that the Devil never
allowed a moment's rest to those who were ill-advised enough to fall
into his clutches. Trespolo was in one of his good moods of repentance,
when the prince, after gazing on the young girl with the fierce
eagerness of a vulture about to swoop upon its prey, turned to speak to
his intimate adviser. The poor servant understood his master's
abominable design, and not wishing to share the guilt of a sacrilegious
conversation, opened his eyes very wide and turned them up to heaven
in ecstatic contemplation. The prince coughed, stamped his foot, moved
his sword so as to hit Trespolo's legs, but could not get from him any
sign of attention, so absorbed did he appear in celestial thoughts.
Brancaleone would have liked to wring his neck, but both his hands
were occupied by the staff of the canopy; and besides, the king was
present.
At last they were drawing nearer to the church of St. Clara, where the
Neapolitan kings were buried, and where several princesses of the
blood, exchanging the crown for the veil, have gone to bury themselves
alive.