SHOWING SIGNOR PARUCCI ALONE WITH THE WIG-BLOCKS--THE BARONET'S
HAND-BELL AND THE ITALIAN'S TASK.
Morley Court was a queer old building--very large and very irregular.
The main part of the dwelling, and what appeared to be the original
nucleus, upon which after-additions had grown like fantastic
incrustations, was built of deep-red brick, with many recesses and
projections and gables, and tall and grotesquely-shaped chimneys, and
having broad, jutting, heavily-sashed windows, such as belonged to
Henry the Eighth's time, to which period the origin of the building
was, with sufficient probability, referred. The great avenue, which
extended in a direct line to more than the long half of an Irish mile,
led through double rows of splendid old lime-trees, some thirty paces
apart, and arching in a vast and shadowy groining overhead, to the
front of the building. To the rearward extended the rambling additions
which necessity or caprice had from time to time suggested, as the
place, in the lapse of years, passed into the hands of different
masters. One of these excrescences, a quaint little prominence, with a
fanciful gable and chimney of its own, jutted pleasantly out upon the
green sward, courting the friendly shelter of the wild and graceful
trees, and from its casement commanding through the parting boughs no
views but those of quiet fields, distant woodlands, and the far-off
blue hills. This portion of the building contained in the upper story
one small room, to the full as oddly shaped as the outer casing of
fantastic masonry in which it was inclosed--the door opened upon a back
staircase which led from the lower apartments to Sir Richard's
dressing-room; and partly owing to this convenient arrangement, and
partly perhaps to the comfort and seclusion of the chamber itself, it
had been long appropriated to the exclusive occupation of Signor Jacopo
Parucci, Sir Richard's valet and confidential servant. This man was, as
his name would imply, an Italian. Sir Richard had picked him up, some
thirty years before the period at which we have dated our story, in
Naples, where it was said the baronet had received from him very
important instructions in the inner mysteries of that golden science
which converts chance into certainty--a science in which Sir Richard
was said to have become a masterly proficient; and indeed so loudly had
fame begun to bruit his excellence therein, that he found it at last
necessary, or at least highly advisable, to forego the fascinations of
the gaming-table, and to bid to the worship of fortune an eternal
farewell, just at the moment when the fickle goddess promised with
golden profusion to reward his devotion.
Whatever his reason was, Sir Richard had been to this man a good
master; he had, it was said, and not without reason, enriched him; and,
moreover, it was a strange fact, that in all his capricious and savage
moods, from whose consequences not only his servants but his own
children had no exemption, he had never once treated this person
otherwise than with the most marked civility. What the man's services
had actually been, and to what secret influence he owed the close and
confidential terms upon which he unquestionably stood with Sir Richard,
these things were mysteries, and, of course, furnished inexhaustible
matter of scandalous speculation among the baronet's dependents and
most intimate friends.
The room of which we speak was Parucci's snuggery. It contained in a
recess behind the door that gentleman's bed--a plain, low, uncurtained
couch; and variously disposed about the apartment an abundance of
furniture of much better kind; the recess of the window was filled by a
kind of squat press, which was constructed in the lower part, and which
contained, as certain adventurous chambermaids averred, having peeped
into its dim recesses when some precious opportunity presented itself,
among other shadowy shapes, the forms of certain flasks and bottles
with long necks, and several tall glasses of different dimensions. Two
or three tables of various sizes of dark shining wood, with legs after
the fashion of the nether limbs of hippogriffs and fauns, seemed about
to walk from their places, and to stamp and claw at random about the
floor. A large, old press of polished oak, with spiral pillars of the
same flanking it in front, contained the more precious articles of
Signor Parucci's wardrobe. Close beside it, in a small recess, stood a
set of shelves, on which were piled various matters, literary and
otherwise, among which perhaps none were disturbed twice in the year,
with the exception of six or eight packs of cards, with which, for old
associations' sake, Signor Jacopo used to amuse himself now and again
in his solitary hours.
On one of the tables stood two blocks supporting each a flowing black
peruke, which it was almost the only duty of the tenant of this
interesting sanctuary to tend, and trim, and curl. Upon the dusky
tapestry were pinned several coloured prints, somewhat dimmed by time,
but evidently of very equivocal morality. A birding-piece and a
fragment of a fishing-rod covered with dust, neither of which Signor
Parucci had ever touched for the last twenty years, were suspended over
the mantelpiece; and upon the side of the recess, and fully lighted by
the window, in attestation of his gentler and more refined pursuits,
hung a dingy old guitar apparently still in use, for the strings,
though a good deal cobbled and knotted, were perfect in number. A huge,
high-backed, well-stuffed chair, in which a man might lie as snugly as
a kernel in its shell, was placed at the window, and in it reclined the
presiding genius of the place himself, with his legs elevated so as to
rest upon the broad window-sill, formed by the roof of the mysterious
press which we have already mentioned. The Italian was a little man,
very slight, with long hair, a good deal grizzled, flowing upon his
shoulders; he had a sallow complexion and thin hooked nose, piercing
black eyes, lean cheeks, and sharp chin--and altogether a lank,
attenuated, and somewhat intellectual cast of face, with, however, a
certain expression of malice and cunning about the leer of his eye, as
well as in the character of his thin and colourless lip, which made him
by no means a very pleasant object to look upon.
"Fine weather--almost Italy," said the little man, lazily pushing open
the casement with his foot. "I am surprise, good, dear, sweet Sir
Richard, his bell is stop so long quiet. Why is it not go ding, ding,
dingeri, dingeri, ding-a-ding, ding, as usual. Damnation! what do I
care he ring de bell and I leesten. We are not always young, and I must
be allow to be a leetle deaf when he is allow to be a leetle gouty.
Gode blace my body, how hot is de sun. Come down here, leer of
Apollo--come to my arm, meestress of my heart--Orpheus' leer, come
queekly." This was addressed to the ancient instrument of music which
we have already mentioned, and the invitation was accompanied by an
appropriate elevation of his two little legs, which he raised until he
gently closed his feet upon the sides of the "leer of Apollo," which,
with a good deal of dexterity, he unhung from its peg, and conveyed
within reach of his hand. He cast a look of fond admiration at its
dingy and time-dried face, and forthwith, his heels still resting upon
the window-sill, he was soon thrumming a tinkling symphony, none of the
most harmonious, and then, with uncommon zeal, he began, to his own
accompaniment, to sing some ditty of Italian love. While engaged in
this refined and touching employment, he espied, with unutterable
indignation, a young urchin, who, attracted by the sounds of his
amorous minstrelsy, and with a view to torment the performer, who was
an extremely unpopular personage, had stationed himself at a little
distance before the casement, and accompanied the vocal performance of
the Italian with the most hideous grimaces, and the most absurd and
insulting gesticulations.
Signor Parucci would have given a good round sum to have had the
engaging boy by the ears; but this he knew was out of the question; he
therefore (for he was a philosopher) played and sung on without
evincing the smallest consciousness of what was going forward. His
plans of vengeance were, however, speedily devised and no less quickly
executed. There lay upon the window-sill a fragment of biscuit, which
in the course of an ecstatic flourish the little man kicked carelessly
over. The bait had hardly touched the ground beneath the casement when
Jacopo, continuing to play and sing the while, and apparently
unconscious of anything but his own music, to his infinite delight
beheld the boy first abate his exertions, and finally put an end to his
affronting pantomime altogether, and begin to manoeuvre in the
direction of the treacherous windfall. The youth gradually approached
it, and just at the moment when it was within his grasp, Signor
Parucci, with another careless touch of his foot, sent over a large
bow-pot well stored with clay, which stood upon the window-block. The
descent of this ponderous missile was followed by a most heart-stirring
acclamation from below; and good Mr. Parucci, clambering along the
window-sill, and gazing downward, was regaled by the spectacle of the
gesticulating youth stamping about the grass among what appeared to be
the fragments of a hundred flower-pots, writhing and bellowing in
transports of indignation and bodily torment.
"Povero ragazzo--Carissimo figlio," exclaimed the valet, looking out
with an expression of infinite sweetness, "my dear child and charming
boy, how 'av you broke my flower-pote, and when 'av you come here. Ah!
per Bacco, I think I 'av see you before. Ah! yees, you are that
sweetest leetel boy that was leestening at my music--so charming just
now. How much clay is on your back! a cielo! amiable child, you might
'av keel yourself. Sacro numine, what an escape! Say your prayer, and
thank heaven you are safe, my beautiful, sweetest, leetel boy. God
blace you. Now rone away very fast, for fear you pool the other two
flower-potes on your back, sweetest child. Gode bless you, amiable
boy--they are very large and very heavy."
The youth took the hint, and having had quite enough of Mr. Parucci's
music for the evening, withdrew under the combined influences of fury
and lumbago. The little man threw himself back in his chair, and hugged
his shins in sheer delight, grinning and chattering like a delirious
monkey, and rolling himself about, and laughing with the most exquisite
relish. At length, after this had gone on for some time, with the air
of a man who has had enough of trifling, and must now apply himself to
matters of graver importance, he arose, hung up his guitar, sent his
chair, which was upon casters, rolling to the far end of the room, and
proceeded to arrange the curls of one of the two magnificent perukes,
on which it was his privilege to operate. After having applied himself
with uncommon attention to this labour of taste for some time in
silence, he retired a few paces to contemplate the effect of his
performance--whereupon he fell into a musing mood, and began after his
fashion to soliloquize with a good deal of energy and volubility in
that dialect which had become more easy to him than his mother tongue.
"_Corpo di Bacco!_ what thing is life! who would believe thirty years
ago I should be here now in a barbaroose island to curl the wig of an
old gouty blackguard--but what matter. I am a philosopher--damnation--it
is very well as it is--per Bacco! I can go way when I like. I am reech
leetle fellow, and with Sir Richard, good Sir Richard, I do always
whatever I may choose. Good Sir Richard," he continued, addressing the
block on which hung the object of his tasteful labours, as if it had
been the baronet in person--"good Sir Richard, why are you so kind to
me, when you are so cross as the old devil in hell with all the rest
of the world?--why, why, why? Shall I say to you the reason, good,
kind Sir Richard? Well, I weel. It is because you dare not--dare
not--dare not-da-a-a-are not vaix me. I am, you know, dear Sir
Richard, a poor, leetle foreigner, who is depending on your goodness.
I 'ave nothing but your great pity and good charity--oh, no! I am
nothing at all; but still you dare not vaix me--you moste not be
angry--note at all--but very quiet--you moste not go in a passion--oh!
never--weeth me--even if I was to make game of you, and to insult you,
and to pool your nose."
Here the Italian seized, with the tongs which he had in his hand, upon
that prominence in the wooden block which corresponded in position with
the nose, which at other times the peruke overshadowed, and with a grin
of infinite glee pinched and twisted the iron instrument until the
requirements of his dramatic fancy were satisfied, when he delivered
two or three sharp knocks on the smooth face of the block, and resumed
his address.
"No, no--you moste not be angry, fore it would be great misfortune--oh,
it would--if you and I should quarrel together; but tell me now, old
_truffatore_--tell me, I say, am I not very quiet, good-nature,
merciful, peetying faylow? Ah, yees--very, very--_Madre di Dio_--very
moche; and dear, good Sir Richard, shall I tell you why I am so very
good-nature? It is because I love you joste as moche as you love me--it
is because, most charitable patron, it is my convenience to go on weeth
you quietly and 'av no fighting yet--bote you are going to get money.
Oh! so coning you are, you think I know nothing--you think I am
asleep--bote I know it--I know it quite well. You think I know nothing
about the land you take from Miss Mary. Ah! you are very coning--oh!
very; but I 'av hear it all, and I tell you--and I swear _per sangue di
D----_, when you get that money I shall, and will, and moste--_mo-ooste_
'av a very large, comfortable, beeg handful--do you hear me? Oh, you
very coning old rascal; and if you weel not geeve it, oh, my dear Sir
Richard, echellent master, I am so moche afaid we will 'av a fight
between us--a quarrel--that will spoil our love and friendship, and
maybe, helas! horte your reputation--shoking--make the gentlemen spit
on you, and avoid you, and call you all the ogly names--oh! shoking."
Here he was interrupted by a loud ringing in Sir Richard's chamber.
"There he is to pool his leetle bell--damnation, what noise. I weel go
up joste now--time enough, dear, good, patient Sir Richard--time
enough--oh, plainty, plainty."
The little man then leisurely fumbled in his pocket until he brought
forth a bunch of keys, from which, having selected one, he applied it
to the lock of the little press which we have already mentioned, whence
he deliberately produced one of the flasks which we have hinted at,
along with a tall glass with a spiral stem, and filling himself a
bumper of the liquor therein contained, he coolly sipped it to the
bottom, accompanied throughout the performance by the incessant
tinkling of Sir Richard's hand-bell.
"Ah, very good, most echellent--thank you, Sir Richard, you 'av give me
so moche time and so moche music, I 'av drunk your very good health."
So saying, he locked up the flask and glass again, and taking the block
which had just represented Sir Richard in the imaginary colloquy in his
hand, he left his own chamber, and ran upstairs to the baronet's
dressing-room. He found his master alone.
"Ah, Jacopo," exclaimed the baronet, looking somewhat flushed, but
speaking, nevertheless, in a dulcet tone enough, "I have been ringing
for nearly ten minutes; but I suppose you did not hear me."
"Joste so as you 'av say," replied the man. "Your _signoria_ is very
seldom wrong. I was so charmed with my work I could not hear nothing."
"Parucci," rejoined Sir Richard, after a slight pause, "you know I keep
no secrets from you."
"Ah, you flatter me, Signor--you flatter me--indeed you do," said the
valet, with ironical humility.
His master well understood the tone in which the fellow spoke, but did
not care to notice it.
"The fact is, Jacopo," continued Sir Richard, "you already know so many
of my secrets, that I have now no motive in excluding you from any."
"Goode, kind--oh, very kind," ejaculated the valet.
"In short," continued his master, who felt a little uneasy under the
praises of his attendant--"in short, to speak plainly, I want your
assistance. I know your talents well. You can imitate any handwriting
you please to copy with perfect accuracy. You must copy, in the
handwriting of this manuscript, the draft of a letter which I will hand
you this evening. You require some little time to study the character;
so take the letter with you, and be in my room at ten to-night. I will
then hand you the draft of what I want written. You understand?"
"Understand! To be sure--most certilly I weel do it," replied the
Italian, "so that the great devil himself will not tell the writing of
the two, _l'un dall' altro_, one from the other. Never fear--geeve me
the letter. I must learn the writing. I weel be here to-night before
you are arrive, and I weel do it very fast, and so like--bote you know
how well I can copy. Ah! yees; you know it, Signor. I need not tell."
"No more at present," said the baronet, with a gesture of caution.
"Assist me to dress."
The Italian accordingly was soon deep in the mysteries of his elaborate
functions, where we shall leave him and his master for the present.