afterwards, he appeared in the streets in a
complete suit of red; hat, coat, waistcoat,
trousers and shoes, all red, and of a
fantastic cut. A crowd soon gathered around
him, and he returned home with at least five
hundred idlers at his heels. The next day,
he came out in a yellow suit; the day
after, in a suit of sky-blue; each day he was
followed by a fresh crowd; but, erelong the
Parisians became familiar with the
eccentricity of his attire, and none but strangers
turned to gaze at him. It was noticed, however,
that he varied his dress from day to
day, not in any regular succession, but
capriciously, and as if in accordance with his
frame of mind.

During the revolution of July, eighteen
hundred and thirty, his strange costume
nearly proved fatal to him. As he took no
interest in passing events, never conversing
with any one, and never reading a
newspaper, he was perfectly unaware of what was
occurring, and had no idea that Paris was in
a state of revolution. On the twenty-eighth
of July, as he was walking along the quays,
he fell in with a band of insurgents from the
faubourgs, who, not being familiar with his
appearance and being misled by the cordon
round his neck, took him for a foreign prince,
and were going to throw him into the
Seine. He was fortunately recognised by a
cab-driver, who explained who he was, and
obtained his liberation. It was with great
difficulty that Carnevale was brought to
understand that Paris was in uproar, and
that his gay habiliments had brought him
into peril of his life; but when, the next
day, he once more put on black clothes, he
relapsed into his former sadness. He felt
his brain grow disturbed; he remembered
with painful acuteness the death of his love;
he was conscious that, day by day, his reason
was abandoning him. As soon as he found
this was the case, he betook himself, of his
own accord, to the hospital at Bicêtre, and
remained there for some time, under treatment.
The physicians were amazed to hear
a madman reason as calmly as he did about
his condition.

"Send for my coloured clothes," said he
one day. His request was complied with;
and as soon as he had put on his red suit, he
resumed his former gaiety.

"It was the black clothes," he said, "that
made me ill. I cannot endure black. You are
all very foolish to sacrifice to so ugly a fashion.
You always look as if you were going to a
funeral. For my part, when I am very joyful
I put on my red suit; it becomes me so well
—and, besides my friends know what it
means. When they see me in red, they say:

"'Carnevale is in a very good humour
today.'

"When I am not in such good spirits, I put
on my yellow suit; that looks very nice also.
And when I am a little melancholy, and the
sun does not shine very brightly, I put on my
blue clothes."

When he left the hospital, finding that his
fortune was somewhat diminished, Carnevale
determined to add to his means by giving
lessons in Italian. He soon obtained a
number of pupils—for his story became known,
and gained him many friends. His manner
of teaching, too, was excellent; he never
scolded his pupils, or gave them impositions.
If they knew their lessons well, he would
promise to come next time in his apple-green
dress; but if he were dissatisfied with them,
he would say:

"Ah! I shall be obliged to come to-morrow
in my coffee-coloured suit."

Thus he rewarded and punished his pupils
always, and he could easily do it, for he had
more than sixty suits, each of one colour
throughout, all ticketed and hung up, with
the greatest care, in a room which he allowed
no one to enter but himself.

His circle of acquaintance, towards the end
of his life, became very large. His gentle
manners, and harmless eccentricities, made
him welcome everywhere. At the Neapolitan
embassy, he was a constant guest; and
with the artistes of the Italian Theatre he
was a special favourite. Though not rich,
his income more than sufficed his moderate
wants, and he gave away a great deal in
charity. No poor Italian ever applied to
him in vain for assistance; many have owed
success to his zealous recommendation of
them to his influential friends. He
delighted in being of service.

His habits were very simple. Every morning,
he rose at five o'clock from the leathern
arm-chair in which he slept; for, he would not
sleep in a bed. After a visit to the fish-
market, to make purchases for his friends,
he would return home, and prepare with
his own hands a dish of potatoes for his
breakfast. His day was spent with his pupils,
or at the library, and ended with a walk on
the boulevards. In walking, if he met any
one he knew, he would take his arm, and
enter into a long conversation about Italy,
music, or some other favourite topic; and he
would fancy that the person whom, he had
thus casually encountered was Bellini,
Napoleon, Malebran, or some equally illustrious
deceased. This hallucination was a source
of great pleasure to him: it was in vain to
tell him that Napoleon, Malebran, and Bellini
were dead." They are dead to you, I admit,"
he would answer, "but not to me. I am,
endowed with senses that you do not possess.
I assure you they are not dead; they love
me, and frequent my company."

Poor Carnevale! May the sun shine
brightly on his grave.