Perhaps no two animals upon the face of the earth have fewer points of
attraction for each other, in all ordinary circumstances, than a plain
English peasant and an Italian valet. When Joshua Brown and Carlo
Carlini were left together in the sitting-room of the master of the
latter, there was but one single link of sympathy between them, and
that a very remote and indirect one. Every Italian, I believe--not
from nature, perhaps, but from the circumstances and accidents of his
country--has more or less of the pedlar in him. He is always dealing
with some kind of wares, religious, political, moral, philosophical,
even if they be not commercial in the ordinary sense--wherein he is
very sharp, too. He is always exalting these wares with praise, and
magnifying his own information and capabilities; and he is, nine times
out often, trying to make you believe that pinchbeck is gold, and that
an Italian is an old Roman.
I speak generally, without meaning to say for one moment that there
are not many exceptions; but still, between such a man as Joshua Brown
and such another as Carlo Carlini, there seemed to be but one tie,
namely, the pedlarism which I have mentioned. There were, however, in
reality, other and better ties, which they found out after a time;
and, strange to say, the most powerful of these was honesty of
purpose.
"Will you come down with me, sir, and take a glass of wine?" said
Carlo Carlini to the pedlar, well knowing what his master's injunction
to take care of his guest implied; "or perhaps you have not dined,
sir, and would like something more solid."
There was a certain dignity and grace about the man, nothing abated by
his foreign accent and look, which had a good deal of effect upon the
pedlar, whose general notions of valets and valetry were not very
sublime.
"Really," thought Joshua Brown, "this is quite a grand sort of a man.
One would take him for a prince in disguise, if one didn't know
better. He seems no way proud, however, but just like his master."
Here his contemplations came to an end, and he replied with a low
bow--
"Thank you, sir; I have not dined. As to wine, it's very little of it
I get, for there's less of it in our country than in yours, I take it,
and not very good either."
"There is plenty of very good wine in England," said Carlini, shaking
his head solemnly backwards and forwards; "only very dear, Mr. Brown.
But my master, who is a rich man and a liberal one, does not grudge me
my glass of wine, knowing that I have been accustomed to it all my
life as well as himself; for we both come from countries where there
is nothing else but wine to be drunk except water."
"Is not your master an Englishman, then?" asked Mr. Brown.
"No; a Spaniard, to be sure," replied Carlini with a start: "what made
you think he was an Englishman?"
"Why, his language, his name, his manner, his look," said Joshua
Brown, "all made me feel sure he was an Englishman."
"Oh, as to his language," said Carlini, "he speaks Italian, Spanish,
and French, just as well as he does English; and then as to his name,
that's his father's name, and he was an Englishman. His manners and
appearance may be English, too; but, nevertheless, he has lived with
Spaniards all his life, having been brought up as the nephew and heir
of Don Balthazar de Xamorça. But come--let us go down, Mr. Brown. You
shall have some dinner, and then we will have a quiet glass of wine
together, as you call it in England."
Joshua Brown followed his new friend down to a small room on the sunk
story, meditating very profoundly as he went. There was something that
puzzled him greatly. He could not make the two broken ends of Colonel
Middleton's story fit at all, and at last he convinced himself that
the servant must have made a mistake. "He cannot have been long in
Colonel Middleton's service," he thought; "I will find out how long he
has been with him."
In pursuance of this resolution, Mr. Joshua Brown, after having
comforted the inner man with some very soft and savoury viands, and as
soon as a glass of not bad wine was placed in his hand, looked across
to Signor Carlini with a very shrewd expression of countenance,
winking his eye over the rich juice of the grape, and saying--
"A very good master, yours, Mr. Carlini, I should think. One does not
meet with such every day."
"No, that one doesn't," answered Carlini, heartily. "No one has an
easier or a better place than I have."
"I suppose you've had it a long time," said the pedlar, in an
inquiring tone.
"About five years," replied Carlini, "but I knew him three or four
years before that. Ah, Mr. Brown! one sees strange changes in this
world. When first I saw my present master, he brought into my
counting-house a draft for twenty thousand dollars, and I paid it as
if it had been no sum at all. The next time I saw him, I was a waiter
at an inn; and when he paid the bill he gave me a dollar for myself,
without knowing me again."
"That is a strange history, indeed," said the pedlar. "How came you to
have such a fall, sir?"
"Oh! revolution, revolution!" replied Carlini; "revolution, by which
poor men think to better their condition, but which always ends in
making them the first sufferers. It was the revolution in the New
World that ruined me; but as it only brought me down to the same rank
from which I rose, and indeed not quite to that, I have no cause to
grumble. Mine's a very strange history altogether."
"It must be so, indeed," answered Joshua Brown: "I should like of all
things to hear it. I always like to hear people's histories, Mr.
Carlini--not for curiosity's sake only, but because there is always
something in them to show us how good God is to all his creatures, and
to make us contented with our own lot; and also to hear a real history
from a man's own mouth is to me like seeing a picture, especially if
there are many ups and downs in it to represent the mountains and the
valleys."
"Well," said Carlini, "take another glass of wine, and I'll tell you
something of it, for it is worth listening to."
"And so is your master's, too, I should think," rejoined Mr. Brown,
whose curiosity was directed more towards the history of Colonel
Middleton himself than that of his servant.
"Not half so much as mine," answered Carlini; "for his has been all
prosperity from beginning to end, and mine has been continually
changing, as you will see."
CARLINI'S STORY.
"The first thing that I remember was running about in the streets of
Naples, a ragged boy, without shoes, stockings, jacket, or hat. I
suppose I had a father and mother, if I did but know who they were;
but of that they took very good care I should never be informed, and,
to tell the truth, I have no great curiosity on the subject. My name
was universally admitted by all my companions to be Carlo, which in
your language means Charles; and when I was about eight years old, a
much bigger Carlo than myself having joined the band of little
vagabonds to which I had been attached from infancy, I acquired the
name of Carlini, which in your language means Little Charles. Till I
was nine years old, where I slept, how I was clothed, and what I fed
upon, were three miracles, not at all less curious than the liquefying
of the blood of St. Januarius; but at nine years old my first change
of fortune took place. The two Carlos in the same troop could not
agree. Carloni thrashed Carlini, and Carlini immediately deserted. I
remember very well, the second day after I had quitted my band,
standing, with a faint heart and a feeling of exceeding solitude,
before the shop of a barber, who, I found afterwards, had just lost
his apprentice by fever. My back was turned to the shop, for I little
thought that any good would come out of it for me, when I suddenly
found something touch me, and turning round I saw a basin stretched
out through one of the small open panes, while the voice of the barber
exclaimed, 'Here, boy, run and fill that with fresh water at the
fountain.' I need not say how gladly I ran, and filling the basin I
brought it back; but, to make sure of some reward, I did not give it
in at the window again, but carried it in at once by the door. There I
found a stout, tall man, just shaved, to whom the barber with great
respect handed the basin of water, into which his face and eyes were
immediately plunged. Seeing the barber very zealous to show every
attention in putting his customer's dress to rights, I thought I could
not do better than ape his civility, by going down upon my knees and
brushing the dust off the stranger's shoes with the ragged sleeve of
my shirt, which certainly was not much more dirty when I had done than
when I began. However, my attention pleased the stranger, and he gave
me a piece of copper of the value of a penny. It was the first money I
recollect ever having had in my life, and I fancied it would have
bought half of Naples. The same barber's shop became a sort of
treasury to me. For two months I continued to plant myself before the
window, either lying on the stones in the sun and pitching little bits
of bones to and fro, or standing and watching to see if I could be of
service. The shaver was a kind old man enough, and did not forget me.
From time to time he would throw any little job in my way, such as
holding a gentleman's horse, brushing his shoes, or carrying a
message; and when there was nothing of this kind to be done and I
looked very hungry, he would give me two or three handfuls of _pasta_,
or a lump of bread. He found me active, diligent, and faithful; and,
contriving to live, principally upon his charity, and to save all the
little sums which I got, I was at length enabled to purchase some
articles of decent dress, and appear at my old post with a much more
respectable exterior. The old man was delighted, not only with the
change in my appearance, but with the self-command which had furnished
me with the means; and, taking me into his shop, he asked me a great
number of questions about myself, preparatory, as it turned out, to
engaging me in his service. He could not have found one whose mind was
more open to instruction than mine. It was like a bag, ready to be
filled, for there was actually nothing in it. I could neither read,
write, nor calculate. I knew no tongue but the jargon of the
_lazzaroni_; and I didn't even know my own name--which was, perhaps,
no great evil after all. Well, at the end of three days from that time
I was fully installed as barber's boy. I learnt to shave, to dress
hair, to sharpen razors, to make perfumes and cosmetics, to bleed, and
on an occasion to draw a tooth. All this my master taught me gratis,
he having my services at the same rate. Nevertheless, he fed me, and
though neither very delicately nor very abundantly, the food was so
superior to any I had ever had before, that in despite of a lean
nature I grew fat. The little gratuities I received from time to time
furnished the small stock of clothes I wanted, and enabled me to get
some instruction in matters which did not come within the sphere of my
worthy master. I taught myself to read; I learned to write; I acquired
a competent knowledge of arithmetic. I picked up a little French
amongst the people at the port; for a Frenchman thinks that every one
is bound to speak his language, and that he is bound to speak none but
his own. I learned a great deal of Spanish, without any difficulty at
all; and at the end of five or six years I flattered myself that I was
a very accomplished barber. My old master was now beginning to be
stricken in years, and much less active than he had been; so that at
length we divided the work between us, he remaining at home, to shave
and dress those who came to the shop, and I going out to the more
courtly customers, who required attendance at their own houses. The
business still remained very good; and I cannot help flattering myself
that I had some share in keeping it up and increasing it. My old
master seemed so far sensible that this was the case as spontaneously
to offer me one-fourth of the receipts, for which I was most grateful,
although I had three-fourths of the labour. I had a sincere affection
for the old man, for he was the only father I had ever known; but he
was not destined to remain long with me. I was not nineteen when the
old man died. His relations claimed his shop and his implements, even
to an old, worn-out shaving-brush, which would have rubbed the skin
off a rhinoceros; but the business remained with me. I took the shop
next door, stocked it, and beautified it, with the money I had saved,
and was shaving, powdering, and pomatuming from morning till night.
Most unluckily, a Spanish grandee, who passed a winter in Naples,
placed his head and chin under the immediate superintendence of Carlo
Carlini. I was soon taken into great favour; and, as this nobleman was
about to return to his own country in the spring, he exerted all his
eloquence to persuade me that my talents were quite thrown away in the
city of Naples. Madrid, he said--Madrid was the only fitting theatre
for the display of my genius. It was the Elysium of barbers, where I
was certain to find myself completely happy.
"He offered even to take me in his own suite, defraying all my
expenses by the way; and he promised that I should shave every friend
he had in the world, and powder and perfume all his mistresses, who
were many. In an evil hour I yielded. Off we set for Madrid, and very
well did my Spanish patron keep his word till we reached that city. I
fared sumptuously along the road; and, the system of favouritism being
universal in Spain, I was considered his highness's favourite, and
treated accordingly; but, unfortunately, after our arrival in Madrid,
wars and rumours of wars broke out very soon, and the duke was
prevented from carrying out his views in my favour by the strong hand
of death, which seized him just as I had established myself in the
Spanish capital, and was obtaining a little of the promised custom. My
days of prosperity were now at an end. My little capital gradually
diminished; my patients did not increase; my stock of smart clothing
wore out, and six pairs of while silk stockings--absolute necessaries
to a Spanish barber--were reduced to three. As the very utmost
neatness and cleanliness are required in that country, you may easily
suppose that my silk stockings made frequent visits to the wash-tub;
and my _lavandera_, who was the most punctual of women, had the
strictest injunctions to return that indispensable part of my apparel
at a certain hour on the day after she had received them. She was, be
it remarked, a very pretty woman, and had captivated the heart of one
of the royal guard, whom I not unfrequently saw at her house, and
found him an exceedingly amiable, good-humoured young man. One
morning, as my good fortune would have it, my silk stockings did not
return. The preceding day had been rainy; and, although it does not
often rain in Madrid, yet when it does there is plenty of mud in the
streets. A prince and a duke were waiting to be shaved; and after
waiting in a state of acute anguish for half-an-hour, I was obliged to
sally forth in my dirty stockings. I lost two of my best customers;
but fortune and misfortune are always intimately mingled in the
affairs of this life. What I thought my ruin was the dawn of my most
prosperous day. I rushed down to the _lavandera_. I scolded like a
madman about my silk stockings. I demanded that she should instantly
produce them. She could not do so, and I accused her of having pawned
them. Thereupon she burst into tears, and acknowledged that she had
lent them to Manuel G----y, the royal guard, who was to appear that
day on duty at the queen's dinner. A mysterious hint had been given
him, by an old lady of the court, to dress himself as handsomely as
possible, intimating that his future success in life might depend very
much upon his personal appearance. As soon as I learned that they had
been lent to G----y, for whom I had a real regard, my wrath
evaporated. 'Let him keep them as long as he likes,' I said, 'and tell
him, when my silk stockings have made his fortune, I hope he will make
mine; but in the mean time, my good girl, though I have only two pairs
left, you must contrive that I have a clean pair each day.' The girl
afterwards assured me that she had given him my message, and that
G----y said he would not forget me. But what was my surprise, not a
week after, to hear that he had received a lieutenant's commission in
his corps!--and then, with the most marvellous rapidity, came the
intelligence of his being a captain, colonel, general, a grandee of
Spain, a prince, a prime minister. During all this time I heard
nothing of him, and I concluded----"[1]
--------------------
[Footnote 1: It may be as well to state, that this story of Carlo
Carlini was told to the author, word for word, as it is here written
down, by Carlo Carlini himself, then the author's servant. I cannot
forbear adding, that a more faithful, honest, intelligent man never
lived; and that, after having left my service, on my return to
England, he entered that of my friend, the late Mr. Scott,
Consul-General at Bordeaux, where he gained the esteem of all, and
died, I believe, in the arms of his young master, the present Mr.
Scott.]
--------------------
"Here is that person again, sir, inquiring for the colonel," said the
inferior waiter, whose peculiar task it was to attend upon the
'gentlemen's gentlemen.'
"Send him in; send him in," said Carlini, stopping in his story. "You,
Mr. Brown, have to deal with him, you know."
The moment after, the door was again opened, and Mr. Mingy Bowes
entered, his face suddenly assuming a look of extreme surprise on
perceiving the person of the pedlar before him.