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diff --git a/77170-0.txt b/77170-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25fca68 --- /dev/null +++ b/77170-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3766 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77170 *** +Transcriber’s note: + +Italic text is indicated with _underscores_, bold text with =equals=. +Small/mixed capitals have been replaced with ALL CAPITALS. + +A half-title and publisher’s note have been discarded. + +Evident typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected +silently. + + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE ADVENTURES OF HARLEQUIN + +BY + +FRANCIS BICKLEY + +WITH DECORATIONS BY + +JOHN AUSTEN + +[Illustration] + +1923 +SELWYN & BLOUNT LTD +YORK BLDS ADELPHI LONDON + + + + +_The Whitefriars Press Ltd., London and Tonbridge. +Made and Printed in Great Britain._ + + + + +[Illustration:] + + + + +_Contents_ + + + _How Harlequin Came to be Born_ 11 + + _Why Harlequin Ran Away from Home_ 15 + + _Harlequin Meets Scaramouche_ 20 + + _At Burattino’s Inn_ 25 + + _The Lady Isabella’s Entertainment_ 33 + + _How Harlequin First Saw Columbine_ 40 + + _Harlequin Visits the Doctor_ 44 + + _Violetta Sets her Wits to Work_ 49 + + _Violetta Plots and Columbine Wonders_ 54 + + _Harlequin’s Opportunity_ 63 + + _Pierrot Sings to Columbine_ 69 + + _Captain Spavente Makes Mischief_ 75 + + _Columbine’s Punishment and Harlequin’s New Plan_ 80 + + _How Harlequin took Service with Lelio_ 87 + + _Harlequin Sees Columbine Once More_ 92 + + _Pantaloon’s Dinner Party_ 99 + + _Concerning Lelio and Pantaloon_ 106 + + _The Married Life of Harlequin and Columbine_ 115 + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +_How Harlequin Came to be Born_ + + +At Bergamo, between the Alps and the Lombard Plain, there was once +a fruit-seller. He was a prosperous man, for all the nobility and +gentry of the town bought their fruit from him; and he was a portly, +comfortable man, rosy as one of his own ripe apples. This, some folk +said, was because he had never married. + +But one day he noticed a girl, a mere slip of a girl, but very pretty, +with black hair and laughing black eyes, who stood looking at the fruit +in his shop. + +“What would you like, miss?” he asked. + +“Nothing, thank you, sir,” said the girl. “I only want to look. They +are so lovely.” + +“Oh! very well,” said the fruit-seller. “There is no charge for +looking.” + +Presently the girl went away, with what sounded like a little sigh of +regret. + +Next day she came again, and the fruit-seller, who had a kind heart and +thought that perhaps the girl was too poor to buy anything, gave her an +orange and an apple. But instead of eating them, she carried them away +with her, holding one in each hand and gazing at them lovingly. + +That night the fruit-seller could not sleep for thinking of the girl. +Nor could he the next. + +“This is nonsense,” he said; but still he lay awake. + +“I wonder what is the matter with me?” he said. + +For answer there appeared against the darkness a vision of the girl’s +pretty little face, with its great black eyes and lips like the most +delicious sort of cherries. + +The fruit-seller did not believe in wasting time. + +“You seem to be very fond of fruit,” he said, when the girl arrived as +usual on the following morning. + +“I am,” she answered. “I love them better than anything in the world.” + +“But only to look at? Don’t you ever eat them?” + +“No,” she said. “They are too beautiful.” + +“Then what do you live on?” + +“Honey, mostly,” said the girl. + +“I am not surprised to hear it,” said the fruit-seller gallantly. + +“I like ortolans, too,” said the girl. + +“Oh!” said the fruit-seller. Ortolans were very expensive. + +But the girl was very pretty indeed; and if ortolans cost money, the +fruit-seller had money and to spare. + +“How would you like all these fruit for your very own?” he asked. + +Now it was the girl’s turn to say “Oh!” Her eyes grew bigger than ever. + +“I mean,” the fruit-seller went on, “how would you like to come and +look after this shop? In short, and not to beat about the bush, how +would you like to marry me?” + +“I should like it very much indeed,” said the girl, who was a simple +soul and always said just what she meant. + +[Illustration] + +So married they were; and neither of them regretted it. The +fruit-seller, whom his neighbours had regarded as a confirmed old +bachelor, proved to be the most devoted of husbands, and gave his +wife as many ortolans as she could possibly eat; while she was the +merriest and most charming of wives imaginable. She was always laughing +and dancing--especially dancing. One of the first things which the +fruit-seller had noticed about her was how lightly she walked, and now +that she was happy she hardly walked at all--she flitted. + +All the same, she was very useful in the shop. The fruit-seller had +been used to set out his fruit anyhow, often leaving them in the ugly, +battered baskets in which he had bought them. But his wife changed +all that. She had notions of her own about window-dressing, and her +husband, though he could not see that the way the fruit were arranged +made any difference to their taste, let her do what she would. So she +devised wonderful contrasts of golden orange and purple grape, and +piled the apples into glowing pyramids. The shop became one of the +sights of Bergamo, and people came from far and near to see it. The +fruit-seller’s business doubled, and he had to admit that his wife was +not only a very delightful companion, but a very good business woman to +boot. + +In due course a son was born to this happy couple. He had his mother’s +eyes; laughed instead of crying when he was born; and hardly ever +stopped laughing afterwards. He danced before he could walk, though +it would not be very easy to describe how he did it. He was called +Harlequin. + +The fruit-seller was immensely proud of this son of his, and his mother +worshipped him. + +“When he is old enough,” she said, “I shall make him a suit of all the +colours of the fruit in the shop. For if it had not been for the fruit +there would have been no Harlequin.” + +So when the time came for Harlequin to be breeched, she made him a +wonderful suit of diamond-shaped pieces of cloth, red and purple, green +and orange; and Harlequin was the smartest little boy in Bergamo. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Why Harlequin Ran Away from Home_ + + +Harlequin was a very imp of mischief. Whatever naughtiness was afoot, +he must take his part in it, and he soon became the ringleader among +boys who were, many of them, twice his age and size. He showed a +diabolical ingenuity in devising tricks to play upon the good folk of +Bergamo. Incredibly active and fleet of foot, no policeman could hope +to catch him, and no bird’s nest was safe from him: he went up church +towers like a steeplejack. In his coloured suit he pirouetted joyfully +about the town like a bright butterfly, working havoc wherever he went. + +His mother laughed at his doings, and even his father, though he +scolded him, could not at first help rather admiring him for them. +“I was just such a young rascal at his age,” he would say; though it +was difficult to believe that the stout fruit-seller had ever looked +anything like his quicksilver son. + +But when the boy’s devilries began to affect his trade, he took a more +serious view of the matter. Harlequin liked nothing better than to sit +in the window above the shop and pelt the customers with cherry-stones +or even rotten oranges. Naturally the customers were annoyed, and some +of them began to buy their fruit at the new shop over the way. + +This made the fruit-seller very angry, and he decided that he must +teach his son a lesson. So he went to the carpenter’s and bought +a lath, or wand, of white wood, long and thin and flexible. And +Harlequin, dancing into the shop, whistling and gay as usual, +unexpectedly received his first thrashing. + +His mother cried; which surprised Harlequin. It was not she who was +being whipped. That himself should cry, which he did most lustily, was +no wonder; for his father’s arm was strong, and those pretty clothes of +his fitted him very tightly. + +Still, he did not mend his ways. He lived for fun; and the fun which +he got out of life was, he decided, well worth an occasional whipping. +And, in spite of his mother’s tears, he was whipped pretty often. + +As Harlequin grew older he discovered new kinds of mischief. By the +time he was fifteen he was well known in all the taverns of Bergamo. He +diced and played cards, kissed the girls, and was, altogether, as wild +a youth as could be found in Lombardy. + +“The gallows will be the end of him,” said his father. + +“Oh, don’t say so!” cried his mother. + +“Well, it is not my fault, my dear,” her husband replied. “I am sure +I have done my best to bring him up properly, and I was always sober +enough myself. I can’t imagine where he gets his wicked ways from.” + +And the fruit-seller looked severely at his wife, for he could not +help thinking that her merry disposition--and she was still as merry +as ever when she was not worrying about Harlequin--was in some degree +responsible for their son’s levity. + +“Of one thing I am quite certain,” the fruit-seller concluded, “and +that is that he will never be any use to me in the shop. Heaven only +knows what is to become of him.” + +His wife sighed. What was to become of her precious, scapegrace +Harlequin? It certainly was a problem. + +Harlequin himself solved the problem for them, quite suddenly. + +[Illustration] + +One day there was a procession in Bergamo, a very magnificent affair. +All the dignitaries of the town took part in it: among them the +fruit-seller, who was now a person of great importance--and looked it, +as he rode proudly on his white horse, in his fur-trimmed cloak of +black velvet, with his gold chain about his shoulders. + +[Illustration] + +The cavalcade was approaching the cathedral, and everything seemed to +be going as it should. But suddenly there was a flash and a bang; then +another; then a regular fusillade. For a moment people thought that +some enemy, the French perhaps, had taken advantage of the holiday to +make an attack on the town. The horses reared, threw their riders, +and dashed into the crowd. Women screamed, men shouted, and all was +confusion. + +Harlequin flung his last cracker into an old woman’s market basket, +paused a moment to laugh as she scuttled away as though the devil +himself were after her, and then slipped up a deserted side street. + +He was pleased with the success of his plot, but he was not sure that +it had not been too successful. Of course, every one would guess who +had been the author of it, and, if any one were seriously hurt, he +would certainly be called to account. For the first time in his life he +felt frightened. + +“I very much doubt whether the air of Bergamo will be good for my +health for some time to come,” he said to himself as he hurried back +to the shop, which he knew he would find empty; for his mother was in +a window in the great square, watching the procession. He filled his +pockets with fruit and with the contents of the till. Also he took that +long, flexible wand, of the virtue of which, as a weapon of attack, he +had had such painful experience. He could not help shivering as he made +it whistle through the air. + +Until nightfall he hid in an empty stable on the outskirts of the town, +where he and his friends had often gone to play their devilries. As +soon as it was dark enough he took the road. + + + + +[Illustration:] + + + + +_Harlequin Meets Scaramouche_ + + +Harlequin walked on through the darkness. The cool night breeze made +him feel very cheerful. He whistled and skipped, and every now and +then turned a somersault. Presently the moon rose, and it seemed to +Harlequin that she was smiling at him. He took this for a good omen, +for he knew that the moon could exercise what influence she would upon +the lives of men, and it was by no means improbable that he might need +a friend ere long. He bowed to her respectfully, and then, since he was +not at all respectful by nature, blew her an airy kiss. + +“She can take which greeting she prefers,” he said to himself. + +The moon winked, and Harlequin, judging her by the girls he had known +in Bergamo, guessed that it was his second salutation which she liked +best. + +He was not really very much worried by the idea of pursuit. In the +first place, it was quite likely that the Bergamese, including his +father, would be too glad to think that they had seen the last of him +to try to get him back again, even for the pleasure of hanging him. In +the second, he knew that he could show any pursuer, afoot or mounted, a +clean pair of heels. He threw up his heels at the very idea and turned +another somersault. + +About dawn, he was set upon by a couple of footpads. But they were +heavy country fellows, and they could not even touch the agile +Harlequin, who flew round and round them like a ring of flame. He had +only his light wand against their bludgeons, but he made it whirl and +flash so in the dawning light that they thought it was a sword of the +finest steel. He flicked one man on the cheek, who ran away screaming +that he was dead. The other he caught across the ankles, and the fellow +fell on his hands and knees and crawled off as fast as he could. So +sure was he that both his feet were gone that he did not try to get up +until he had crawled for more than a mile. + +He must have looked very silly when he discovered his mistake, but +Harlequin was not there to see him. He had gone on his own way, +extremely pleased with his exploit, munching one of his father’s apples +and whistling a merry tune whenever his mouth was empty enough. + +At the first town he came to he bought a black mask. + +“Just in case my father should catch me up,” he said. “Besides, there +are lots of situations in which a mask is useful; and if I don’t sooner +or later find myself in one of them my name is not Harlequin.” + +Having eaten a sausage and drunk a flagon of wine, he set out once more +on his journey. Nor had he gone very far before he heard, coming from +round a bend of the road ahead of him, the sound of such infectious +music that his feet were fairly caught up into the tune, so that when +he came into sight of the player he was waltzing and pirouetting like a +goat stung by a tarantula. + +The player, who was sitting by the roadside, laid down his instrument, +which was a mandoline hung with gay ribbons, and stared at Harlequin. +He was a round-faced, roguish-looking fellow, dressed all in black, +except for a white frill round his neck, and wearing a black cap +rakishly on one side. + +“Who in the name of Bacchus may you be?” he asked. + +Harlequin was too out of breath to think of a lie, so he told the truth. + +“You swear by a very admirable god,” he added. + +“None better,” the other replied. + +“And now--name for name, sir,” cried Harlequin. + +“That is but fair,” said the musician, rising to his feet, and making a +ceremonious bow. “I am Scaramouche, at your service. You may have heard +of me.” + +“I am afraid not,” said Harlequin. + +“Indeed?” said Scaramouche, looking surprised. “Where, if I may ask, do +you hail from?” + +“From Bergamo.” + +“Ah!” said Scaramouche contemptuously; “a poor, inconsiderable town, +where art has never been cherished. You may have noticed,” he went on, +“that I am something of a performer on the mandoline.” + +“Indeed, yes,” said Harlequin. “Such playing I never heard before.” + +Scaramouche smiled. + +“Thank you,” he said. “I see that, although a Bergamese, you are a +person of unusual discernment. But I can very honestly return your +compliment. In all my wanderings, and I have visited the most famous +cities of Italy, I have never met a dancer who was your equal.” + +“Really?” said Harlequin, delighted. + +“Never one who could hold a candle to you,” cried Scaramouche. “We are +a pair well met. Together, we should conquer the world.” + +“I should like that,” said Harlequin. + +“Then listen to me,” said Scaramouche. “But, by the way, you have not +told me whither you are journeying.” + +“Nowhere in particular,” Harlequin replied. “I go where adventure +calls.” + +“Then you could not travel in better company than mine,” laughed +Scaramouche. “For, by Bacchus!--whom we must duly honour at the +earliest opportunity--I have never yet found adventure far from where I +was.” + +“But your plan, sir?” + +“It is simple enough. You must know that I am a musician not only by +nature, but by profession. My mandoline is my means of livelihood.” + +“Then you should be a rich man,” said Harlequin. + +“Thank you,” said Scaramouche. “You certainly have a very pretty way +of putting things. As you say, I _should_ be a rich man, a very rich +man indeed; nay, the richest man in the world. For art is the greatest +gift in the world, and music is the greatest of the arts, and, I think +I may say it without vanity, I am the greatest musician in Italy, and +therefore, of course, in the world. So you see ...” + +“Quite,” said Harlequin, who knew nothing about art and was impatient +to learn Scaramouche’s plan. + +“But, alas!” Scaramouche went on, “there are so few people who can +appreciate music for its own sake. Wherever I play, whether in the +humblest tavern or the most magnificent palace--and I am equally +at home in either--it is the same thing. ‘You play beautifully, +Scaramouche,’ they say, ‘but what a pity you do not sing or dance +as well! It would be so much more amusing.’ But, unfortunately, I +sing like a frog and dance like an elephant. Perhaps you can sing, +Harlequin?” + +[Illustration] + +“Not very well,” said Harlequin. + +“What one cannot do very well, is not worth doing at all,” replied +Scaramouche sententiously. “But your dancing is certainly worth doing. +With me to play and you to dance, we shall earn not twice, but ten +times as much as I could earn alone. It will be gold instead of silver, +silver instead of coppers, and we shall make our fortunes. But maybe +you are rich already?” + +“On the contrary,” said Harlequin, “when I have paid for my next meal, +I shall hardly have a penny in my pocket.” + +“Good!” said Scaramouche. “You will dance all the better if your +supper depends on it. Are you ready to start?” + +“To make my fortune? With all my heart. But where are you going to +begin?” + +“In Venice,” said Scaramouche. “Venice is the place where fortunes are +made. Why, the merchants there are richer than princes anywhere else. +Have you never been there?” + +“Until last night I had never been outside Bergamo,” Harlequin replied. + +“You don’t say so?” said Scaramouche. “Well, I will not ask you why you +have left it now. I observe you wear a mask.” + +“There is a reason for that,” said Harlequin, feeling rather a fine +fellow. + +“Quite so. And far be it from one gentleman to ask another why he +chooses to go disguised. As a matter of fact,” Scaramouche added, +“your mask will not come amiss to our work. A touch of mystery always +appeals--especially to the women. You like women, Harlequin?” + +“Why, yes,” said Harlequin, thinking of certain pretty lips in Bergamo. + +“I did myself once,” said Scaramouche, “but nowadays I find them too +much trouble. A flagon of wine is more to my taste. Give me comfort and +a flagon of wine, and I want nothing more--until the flagon is empty. +But you are young. You will like Venice.” + +“Then Venice be it,” said Harlequin. + + + + +_At Burattino’s Inn_ + + +So Venice it was; and Harlequin not only liked Venice, as Scaramouche +had predicted, but found it a most astonishing city. Having never +before been outside Bergamo, he had, of course, never seen the sea. +And here was a town actually built on the sea; where the houses had +their feet in the water and people went about their business in boats. + +Scaramouche took him to an inn kept by a certain Burattino, where he +had often stayed before. + +“Burattino is a bit of an old rascal,” he told Harlequin, “but his +beds are soft and he keeps a good table. We could not do better than +make our headquarters with him. Also,” he added, “he has a very pretty +daughter.” + +It was by this daughter of Burattino’s, whose name was Violetta, that +the travellers were welcomed. + +Scaramouche kissed her. + +[Illustration] + +“Well, my dear,” he said, “it is nice to see you again. How do you find +yourself?” + +“Blooming,” said the girl. And she looked it, with her plump, ruddy +cheeks and her sparkling eyes. + +“This is my young friend Harlequin,” said Scaramouche. “He is a famous +dancer.” + +“How do you do, sir?” said Violetta, and offered Harlequin her lips, +which he was not slow in saluting. + +“I like your kisses better than Scaramouche’s,” she said. “He kisses +like an uncle. There is something of the lover in your way.” + +“Naturally,” said Harlequin. + +Violetta made him a merry curtsy. + +“Neither of you seems to be wasting much time,” said Scaramouche. + +“Play us a tune, Scaramouche,” said Violetta. “I want to see Harlequin +dance.” + +So Scaramouche played, and Harlequin danced, and presently the girl +joined in. + +“You dance beautifully,” Harlequin told her, when they had stopped. + +“Nonsense,” retorted Violetta. “Wait till you see Columbine. She is +worthy to dance even with you.” + +“Who is Columbine?” Harlequin asked. + +But before Violetta could tell him, her father, who had been awakened +from his afternoon nap by Scaramouche’s music, came bustling out of the +inn. An enormous fellow was Burattino, round as a wine-cask and as red +and hearty as the wine of Burgundy. + +“I guessed it was you, Scaramouche,” he cried. + +“That was easy guessing,” said Scaramouche. “You heard me playing.” + +“But I cannot guess who this young man may be, who seems on such +excellent terms with my flibbertigibbet of a daughter.” + +Scaramouche introduced Harlequin to Burattino, and then they all went +indoors. + +“We want two of your best beds, Burattino,” said Scaramouche. + +“For as long as you like, my dear Scaramouche,” said the innkeeper; for +he knew that with Scaramouche there to make music his parlour would +always be full. When he learned of Harlequin’s wonderful dancing he +grew more cordial than ever, and hastened to set before his guests the +choicest of his cates and wine. + +At present there was only one person besides themselves in the parlour; +but that was a very magnificent person indeed. He was a tall, gaunt +man, dressed in a gorgeous military uniform, with a great sword at his +side and an enormous pair of moustachios which he twirled continually. +He did not look at all pleased to see the newcomers, and glared at +them fiercely from under eyebrows which were fit companions to his +moustachios. Scaramouche, who had met him before, bowed to him, as +Harlequin thought, in rather a mocking manner. The soldier nodded +curtly. + +“Who is that?” whispered Harlequin. + +“That,” replied Scaramouche, “is the most illustrious Captain Spavente. +_What_ he is, I have no doubt you will find out for yourself before +long. Anyway, I am far too hungry to tell you about him now.” + +He fell to work upon his dinner, and Harlequin followed his example. + +“Ah!” said Scaramouche, when they had finished, “that was good. +Tramping the roads is all very well in its way. But there is nothing +like a cosy inn, good food and drink, and a comfortable bed to follow. +Were it not that I feel it would be cruel to deprive the rest of Italy +of my talent, I should be very much inclined to settle down here for +good.” + +“You are a lazy fellow,” said Harlequin. “Certainly this is a very +excellent inn, and I am in no hurry to leave it. For one thing I look +forward to bettering my acquaintance with the fair Violetta. But I also +look forward to seeing the rest of the world, which I hope you have not +forgotten, Scaramouche, we are to conquer together.” + +Scaramouche’s only answer was a snore. + +Presently Violetta came to clear away the dishes. She laughed when she +saw Scaramouche. + +“He makes music even when he is asleep,” she said. “Are you asleep, +too, Harlequin? It is so hard to tell with that mask of yours.” + +“As if I should close my eyes when there is a chance of looking at +you!” said Harlequin. + +“Flattery again,” said Violetta, and sat herself on Harlequin’s knee. +As she did so, she threw a mischievous glance towards Captain Spavente, +who still sat glowering on the other side of the room. + +“Did you like your dinner?” she asked. + +“I never ate a better,” cried Harlequin. + +“’Twas I who cooked it,” said Violetta. “Have you no reward for me?” + +“Only kisses,” said Harlequin, and gave her one. + +“They are all I want,” said Violetta. + +“You shall have as many as you will take, my dear,” said Harlequin, and +gave her another. + +This was too much for Spavente. With a tremendous oath, he rose from +his seat, and, rattling his sword and twisting his moustachios faster +than ever, came striding across the room. + +“Put that young lady down, sir,” he cried. + +“You may have observed,” said Harlequin, “that she put herself up +of her own accord. I should be glad to learn by what authority you +presume to interfere with her freedom of action. You cannot be her +father, for I have met him. Perhaps you are her grandfather?” + +This suggestion made Spavente furious. Although, for all his fine +clothes, he was but a battered veteran, he prided himself on his +youthful appearance. + +“Do you know to whom you are speaking, sir?” he shouted. + +“Well,” replied Harlequin, “my sleepy friend here did mention your +name, but such interesting things have happened since”--and he gave +Violetta a squeeze--“that I have clean forgotten it.” + +“My name is Spavente,” said the other superbly. “Captain Spavente, of +the army of his Most Glorious Majesty, the King of Spain. I should +have thought that my fame, which has spread to the four corners of +Europe, would have reached even your miserable ears. For I have slain +my thousands on the field of battle and my hundreds on the duelling +ground. Now, sir, you know by what authority I bid you put that young +lady down. By the authority of a soldier and a gentleman to protect +innocent womanhood from insult.” + +“Don’t be silly, Spavente,” said Violetta. “If I am innocent, it is not +your fault.” + +“And if I refuse to put her down,” said Harlequin, “what then?” + +“Why, then,” cried Spavente, “I shall be compelled to give you the +soundest drubbing that you ever had in your life. I scorn to stain +with your base gore the sword which has bathed in the bluest blood in +Christendom, but, though you are unworthy of its edge, you shall make +most intimate acquaintance with the flat of it.” + +“Perhaps I had better put you down, after all,” Harlequin said to +Violetta. + +“What!” she cried contemptuously. “Do you mean to say that you are +afraid of that wind-bag?” + +“He seems to be a very redoubtable warrior, my dear,” Harlequin +replied, as he set her on her feet and got on to his own. + +Violetta turned angrily away. + +“Ah, ha!” said Spavente, twirling his moustachios in triumph. “I +thought I should soon bring you to a proper frame of mind.” + +[Illustration] + +“You mentioned a drubbing,” said Harlequin. “If that is an exercise in +which you are interested, I have a little thing here which may amuse +you.” He picked up his wand, bent it almost double, and let one end go +again with a swish. “A pretty toy, is it not?” he said, and advanced, +smiling, towards the Captain. + +Spavente stepped back. The colour had left his cheeks, and even his +moustachios seemed to droop. + +“My dear sir!” he cried. “Do be careful. That is a most dangerous thing +to play with.” + +“You were talking of drubbings,” Harlequin began again. + +“But you misunderstood me,” the soldier interrupted him, through +chattering teeth, “I assure you, you quite misunderstood me. I was +only jesting.” + +“I am something of a jester myself,” said Harlequin, and whirled the +wand round Spavente’s head, missing his nose by a bare inch. + +Violetta clapped her hands. + +Spavente backed and backed, and, step for step, Harlequin followed him. +Once the wand just tweaked the Captain’s ear, and he set up such a roar +as awakened Scaramouche, who all this time had been peacefully asleep. + +“What is the matter?” he asked, stretching himself and yawning. “Oh, +I see--the Captain. I told you you would soon find out about him, +Harlequin.” + +Seeing his tormentor’s attention for a moment diverted, Spavente made a +bolt for the door. But in his haste he failed to notice a bench which +lay across his path. Over it he went, with a crash and a clatter; and +as he sprawled, face downwards, Harlequin, quick as lightning, seized +his opportunity. Swish fell the wand, and again and yet again, while +the Captain bellowed for mercy; till at last Violetta, though she +could hardly speak for laughing, took pity on his unhappy plight. + +“That is enough, Harlequin,” she said. “Let him go now.” + +So Harlequin stayed his hand, and the crestfallen soldier crept +blubbering from the room. + +“That was charming,” said Harlequin. “It reminded me of my boyhood.” + +“It made me thirsty,” said Scaramouche. “Such a dust!” And he sent +Violetta for wine. + +Spavente did not appear again that evening; but the next day he was +back in his accustomed place, entertaining Burattino’s customers with +the story of the terrible thrashing which he had given Harlequin. + +It was to be noted, however, that whenever Scaramouche, or Violetta, or +Harlequin himself happened to come into the room, he was seized with a +sudden fit of modesty. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_The Lady Isabella’s Entertainment_ + + +Scaramouche seemed to be in no hurry to start making that fortune of +which he had talked so eloquently to Harlequin. He was too comfortable +at the inn to care to stir far abroad. Harlequin, however, did not +mind; he was quite happy flirting with Violetta and poking fun at the +Captain. + +Nevertheless, the two artists were not altogether idle. Every evening +they played and danced for the amusement of the company in the inn +parlour; and soon the excellence of their performance was the talk of +Venice. Harlequin became as famous as Scaramouche; folk flocked to +see him, and Burattino rubbed his fat hands with delight. Every one +was pleased except Spavente, to whose tales of his own prowess no one +would listen when the musician and the dancer were at work. He hated +Harlequin, which was not surprising, and vowed to be revenged on him. + +It was not long before invitations began to come from the rich +merchants. Then Harlequin thought that he was indeed on the high road +to fortune, but Scaramouche said it was only a beginning. + +“These tradesmen,” he said, “have certainly plenty of money, but they +know its value too well. Wait till the nobles begin to take notice of +us. However poor they may be--and some of them are little better than +beggars--they always seem to have gold to fling about. And fling it +about they do--like dirt.” + +One day he came to Harlequin with his face as solemn as so round and +merry a face was capable of being. + +“You will have to dance your best to-night, my friend,” he said. “We +are going to the Lady Isabella’s. Her palace is one of the finest +in Venice, and she is the greatest heiress--none of your upstart +merchant’s daughters, but a lady of the most ancient blood. If I am not +very much mistaken, we shall come home with a hat full of gold.” + +So Harlequin practised some new pirouettes, Scaramouche tuned his +mandoline, and at the appointed hour they set forth. + +On arriving at Isabella’s palace they were received by an immense +negro, clad in crimson velvet and gold lace, who led them through many +apartments, larger and more magnificent than any that Harlequin had +ever seen before, until they came to the largest and most magnificent +of all. + +The walls were hung with rose-coloured brocade and panelled with long +mirrors in gilded and fantastically carven frames. The floors were +parquetted with rare woods and strewn with rugs from the East. A +thousand candles blazed in the candelabras of crystal which hung from +the moulded ceiling. + +Nor was the company less handsome than its setting. Ladies, in +exquisite silks and laces, sat or reclined on gilded chairs and +couches. Gentlemen, dressed in the very latest fashion, stood before +them, or leaned confidentially over their shoulders. The ladies +fluttered their fans, the gentlemen toyed with their snuff-boxes, and +there was a babble of talk and easy laughter, punctuated at intervals +by the shrill yapping of a pampered and beribboned little lap-dog, +which ran from one group to another seeking sweetmeats and caresses. + +Harlequin and Scaramouche performed on a platform at one end of the +room. At first, Harlequin was mortified to observe, very little notice +was taken of them, and the talking and laughter went on undiminished. +But gradually, fascinated by the sweet strains of Scaramouche’s +mandoline and by his companion’s graceful agility, the frivolous throng +grew more and more silent and attentive; and, when the dancing was +over, there was warm and genuine applause. Several of the dainty ladies +spoke to Harlequin, praising his skill, and he delighted them with the +aptness of his replies. + +One of them asked him why he wore a mask. + +“Ah, madam!” he said mysteriously, “I have the best of reasons.” + +“I am sure you have,” cried the lady, tapping him with her fan. “For +I can see your eyes in spite of your mask, and they are the eyes of a +wicked fellow.” + +And out of her own very beautiful eyes she shot him a killing glance. + +There was only one note of discord in this brilliant scene. A little +apart from the rest of the company sat a lady who, though she was +handsomer and more richly dressed than any of the others, showed no +signs of gaiety. She had watched the dancing but listlessly, and when +any one addressed her she answered with few words and the faintest +and most melancholy of smiles; nor would she touch the delicious +refreshments which the servants, clad in the same gorgeous livery of +crimson and gold as the negro porter, carried round on silver trays. + +[Illustration] + +Her sadness distressed Harlequin, who considered the world a merry +place and thought that every one else should be of the same opinion. + +On the way back to the inn, whither, as Scaramouche had predicted, they +sped with heavily laden pockets, he asked the musician who she was. + +“Why, did you not know?” cried Scaramouche. “That was our hostess, the +Lady Isabella.” + +“The Lady Isabella!” exclaimed Harlequin. “You astound me, Scaramouche. +What cause can she have for sadness? She is rich, she is beautiful, +she has a thousand gay and elegant friends. Why should one so fortunate +be sad?” + +[Illustration] + +“You are young, Harlequin,” said Scaramouche. + +“You have told me that before,” Harlequin retorted. + +“The truth cannot be told too often,” said Scaramouche, in his most +pompous manner. “And, being young,” he continued, “you as yet know +little of those mischances against which neither wealth nor beauty nor +friends are any protection.” + +“What mischance has befallen the Lady Isabella?” Harlequin asked. + +“That I cannot tell you,” replied Scaramouche. “It is some time since I +was in Venice, and much happens here in a little while. Ask your friend +Violetta. She always knows all the gossip.” + +So Harlequin asked Violetta. + +“Ah, poor Isabella!” said the girl, heaving a sigh. “Hers is, indeed, +a hard lot. She was betrothed to one of the most noble and quite the +handsomest young man in Venice. And he jilted her.” + +“The scoundrel!” cried Harlequin. “What was his name?” + +“Lelio,” said Violetta. “Such a lovely young man!” + +“Lovely or not,” answered Harlequin, “I call him a scoundrel--to jilt +so beautiful a lady.” + +“I suppose he could not help it, poor fellow,” said Violetta. “He saw +Columbine.” + +“Who in the name of my great-grandmother is this Columbine?” cried +Harlequin. “You mentioned her the day I arrived here, and I meant to +get you to tell me about her, but I forgot.” + +“You won’t forget Columbine when once you have seen her,” said +Violetta. “It is Violetta who will be forgotten then.” + +“I shall never forget my little Violetta,” Harlequin protested. “Never. +Never. Never.” And after each “Never” he gave the girl a kiss. + +Violetta laughed, and shook her pretty head. + +“You are a nice boy, Harlequin,” she said. “You mean what you say, I am +sure. But I know men. I have no doubt that Lelio meant to be faithful +to Isabella--until he met Columbine.” + +“What is there so wonderful about her?” Harlequin impatiently asked. + +“Her charm is impossible to describe,” said Violetta. “But it is +wonderful. She is more like a fairy than a mortal girl.... All the +same, I would not be her for a thousand crowns. She leads the most +wretched of lives--shut up all day in a poky little house with no +one to talk to but her old curmudgeon of a father and that foolish +Pierrot.” + +“Who is her father?” cried Harlequin. “And who is Pierrot?” + +“Ah!” said Violetta, “you are beginning to get interested. Columbine’s +father is Pantaloon, the doctor; and Pierrot is his assistant. Though +of what assistance he can be I am unable to imagine; for his wits are +always in the clouds. Of course, like every one else, he is in love +with Columbine, who only laughs at him.” + +“Does she laugh at Lelio, too?” Harlequin asked. + +“I can’t imagine any one laughing at Lelio,” said Violetta. “He is far +too magnificent. Whether she loves him or not I cannot say; but whether +she loves him or not, Pantaloon is determined that she should marry +him.” + +“Would he marry her against her will?” cried Harlequin. + +“That he would,” Violetta replied. “Pantaloon is a proper old villain. +He has always been a most unnatural father, keeping Columbine as close +as though she were a nun. And since Lelio appeared on the scene he has +been worse than ever. I suppose he is afraid she will fall in love with +some one else. Of course it would be a fine thing for him to get a rich +nobleman for a son-in-law. He would be able to shut up his books, and +pour his physic into the gutter, which, I dare say, would be the best +place for it.” + +“Does he never let Columbine out of the house?” asked Harlequin. + +“Never but in his own company. Sometimes he takes her for a little +walk. I suppose he is afraid that she would else grow fat, and lose her +beauty. They pass this way occasionally, for their house is only at the +end of the street--the little white house at the corner.” + +“Poor Columbine!” said Harlequin. + +“Poor Harlequin,” said Violetta, “if ever he sees Columbine! And poor +Violetta! I must make the most of you while I still have you.” + +And she flung her arms round his neck. + + + + +_How Harlequin First Saw Columbine_ + + +A day or two later, while Harlequin sat chatting with Scaramouche, he +heard Violetta calling him. + +“Harlequin!” she cried. “Come here to the window. Quick!” + +“What is it?” he asked. + +“Pantaloon and Columbine are passing.” + +Harlequin hurried to the window. + +“There they go,” said Violetta. “Isn’t she lovely?” + +She certainly was very lovely, Harlequin thought. He had never seen +any one like her. Violetta was pretty; Isabella was handsome; but +Columbine was adorable. There was no other word for her. She was rather +small, but perfectly proportioned; every limb and feature were most +exquisitely made; her complexion was of the daintiest rose and cream; +her hair, a great golden coil round her beautiful little head, glinted +in the sunshine. Except for the rosebuds in her tiny straw hat, she was +dressed all in white, and her skirt was of some light gossamer stuff +which seemed to float its wearer through the air. + +Harlequin remembered that Violetta had said that Columbine would +be worthy to dance even with him. “I should just think she would,” +he thought. “Why, she would make me look a clodhopper. She is +lighter-footed even than my mother. She hardly touches the ground at +all.” + +Watching her till she was out of sight, he had no eyes for her +companion. Yet Pantaloon, in his own way, was well worth looking +at, for he was as ugly as his daughter was beautiful, as ungainly as +she was graceful. Wrapped in his rusty doctor’s cloak, with his great +spectacles on his great beak of a nose, he stumped goutily along at her +side, leaning heavily upon his silver-headed cane. + +[Illustration] + +“Well,” said Violetta, “what do you think of her?” + +“She is quite a pretty little thing,” said Harlequin carelessly. + +Violetta laughed. + +“My dear Harlequin,” she cried, “you can’t take me in so easily as +that. I saw the way you looked at her.” And away she went to her work +in the kitchen, humming a merry little tune. + +There was not a grain of jealousy in Violetta’s nature. Besides, +Harlequin was by no means the only string to her bow. She was not even +annoyed when, that evening, he forgot to kiss her good-night. + +He forgot to kiss Violetta because, as she had foretold, he could think +of nothing but Columbine. Scaramouche noticed his absent-mindedness. + +“What is the matter, Harlequin?” he said. “I believe you are in love.” + +“Of course I am,” replied Harlequin quickly. “With Violetta.” + +“Rubbish!” Scaramouche retorted. “That isn’t the way one loves +Violetta. You have been seeing Columbine.” + +“How on earth did you guess?” cried Harlequin. + +“I know the symptoms,” said Scaramouche. “But you would do far better +to stick to Violetta, my dear fellow. Columbine is not for you.” + +“Don’t you make too sure of that,” said Harlequin, and fell to musing +again. + +Scaramouche went to sleep, but presently he was awakened by a prod from +Harlequin’s long finger. + +“Listen to this, Scaramouche,” said the dancer: + + “A dainty Venus rising from a sea + Which foams in furbelows and breaks in frills: + I’d simply love to take her on my knee ... + +You didn’t know I was a poet, did you?” + +“I am not sure that I know it now,” replied Scaramouche. “Any way, what +is the use of a poem without an ending?” + +“I can’t think of the last line,” said Harlequin. + + “And simply hate to pay her washing bills,” + +Scaramouche chanted, after a moment’s reflection, “How would that do?” + +“It wouldn’t do at all,” Harlequin said. “You are a base old +materialist.” + +“That is a very comfortable thing to be,” replied Scaramouche. “Far +better than being in love.” And he went off to bed. + +Harlequin sat up for some time longer, racking his brains for an ending +to his poem. But all he could think of was: + + “And simply hate to take her father’s pills,” + +which, if anything, was worse than Scaramouche’s suggestion. + +“Perhaps I am not a poet, after all,” he said to himself, as he +lighted his candle and made his way upstairs, hoping to dream of +Columbine. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Harlequin Visits the Doctor_ + + +Next morning, when neither Scaramouche nor Violetta was looking--for he +was terribly afraid that they would laugh at him--Harlequin slipped out +of the inn and walked as far as Pantaloon’s house. + +“It is certainly an unpromising citadel to try to storm,” he thought, +as he observed the closed door and the heavily curtained windows, +through which, even if Columbine were behind them, there was not the +least chance of catching a glimpse of her. + +“How on earth does one get into a house into which one has no sort of +an excuse for getting?” Harlequin asked himself. Then he recollected +that Pantaloon was a doctor. + +“Why,” he cried, “what a fool I am! It is the simplest thing in the +world.” + +So he pulled his face into a very miserable expression, and knocked at +the door. + +He had to knock three times, and even then it was only after a great +rattling of chains and creaking of bolts that the door was opened. +Round it peered a long, white face, made all the whiter by the black +skull-cap which crowned it, a pair of big, melancholy eyes, and a +little scarlet mouth shaped like an O. This, as Harlequin immediately +guessed, was Pierrot. + +“What do you want?” asked a thin, wavering voice. + +“I am very ill,” said Harlequin. “I want to see Dr. Pantaloon.” + +“Oh, do you?” said Pierrot. “Are you really very ill?” + +“Dreadfully,” said Harlequin. “I feel as though I should die.” + +“Well,” said Pierrot doubtfully, “I will ask him if he will see you. He +doesn’t see every one, you know.” + +He shut the door in Harlequin’s face, and went away. + +“What a heartless fellow!” thought Harlequin. “For all he cares I might +die in the street. And what a loon he looks! No wonder Columbine laughs +at him!” + +Presently Pierrot opened the door again. + +“You may come in,” he said. “This way.” + +He led Harlequin into an untidy room, surrounded by shelves full of +curious contrivances and bottles containing liquids of various colours. +In one corner stood a skeleton, which grinned so stupidly and looked +so unsteady on its legs, that Harlequin wondered whether its owner had +died after a drinking bout. From the ceiling hung a stuffed crocodile +and some dried, outlandish fishes. There was a very unpleasant smell. + +After a few minutes Pantaloon came stumping in. He glared fiercely at +Harlequin through his great horn-rimmed spectacles. + +“Well,” he said, “what can I do for you?” + +“I am very ill,” Harlequin repeated. “I want you to cure me.” + +“But you are not one of my regular patients,” said Pantaloon. “I only +attend to my regular patients.” + +“But one cannot very well be a regular patient,” replied Harlequin, +“until one has paid you a first visit. Can one?” + +“No,” said Pantaloon thoughtfully; “that is true enough. I see you are +a logician, sir.” + +“Logician or not,” said Harlequin, “I like to have the best of +everything. So, naturally, being ill, I came to you.” + +“Quite so, quite so,” said Pantaloon, more amiably than he had yet +spoken. “But who told you to come to me?” + +“Why,” cried Harlequin, “all Venice. For all Venice talks of the skill +and learning of Dr. Pantaloon.” + +The doctor smiled, or at any rate grinned. + +“I shouldn’t wonder if the bony gentleman in the corner was his +brother,” Harlequin thought. + +“Well, young man,” said Pantaloon, “I will do what I can for you. Let +me look at your tongue.” Harlequin put out his tongue, which was as red +as a beetroot. Pantaloon peered at it. + +“Horrible!” he said. “I am afraid you are very bad. Let me feel your +pulse.” + +He took Harlequin’s wrist in one hand, and an enormous watch from his +pocket in the other. + +“Tut-tut,” he said, “what a rate it is going!” + +Harlequin noticed, however, that, whatever his pulse was doing, the +watch was not going at all. + +“Have you any pain?” asked the Doctor. + +“Yes,” said Harlequin, “a horrible pain.” And he rubbed himself +eloquently in the middle. + +“It is a good thing you came to me,” said Pantaloon. “There is no one +else in Venice who could have saved your life.” + +He took a bottle down from one of the shelves, and poured some pink +liquid into a glass. To this he added some green and then a little +purple. It was a very pretty mixture. + +“Drink this,” he said to Harlequin. “It will do you a lot of good.” + +“Mayn’t I take it home with me?” said Harlequin. + +“Certainly not,” said Pantaloon. “All depends on your drinking it at +once.” + +So Harlequin screwed up his face and gulped the stuff down: there was +nothing else to be done. He screwed up his face even more when he had +finished the draught. + +[Illustration] + +“Ugh!” he said. + +“That will make you ever so much better,” said Pantaloon. + +“It has made me ever so much worse,” the patient retorted, sinking into +a chair and clasping his head in his hands. “Oh, my poor head!” he +cried. + +“What is the matter with it?” asked Pantaloon. + +“It aches terribly,” said Harlequin. + +“That is just as it should be,” said Pantaloon complacently. “The +medicine has driven the pain upwards. In a minute or two it will come +out at the top and you will be all right.” + +“But I have a particularly sensitive head,” said Harlequin. “I have +been subject to these dreadful headaches ever since I was a baby. There +is only one thing that will cure them.” + +“What is that?” Pantaloon asked. + +“If a woman strokes my forehead with her soft hands,” Harlequin +replied. “That always makes me better. I suppose you have no one in the +house who would do it?” + +“Certainly not,” said Pantaloon decidedly. “What a suggestion!” + +“I only wondered,” said Harlequin innocently. “I thought perhaps your +daughter...” + +“What do you know about my daughter?” cried Pantaloon, in a great rage. +“You are an impudent fellow. Get out of my house, sir! You have wasted +quite enough of my time. I don’t believe you are ill at all.” + +“If I wasn’t when I came,” Harlequin retorted, “I am now--after your +disgusting medicine.” + +“How dare you, sir?” the Doctor shouted. “It is the most excellent +medicine in the world--far too good to be poured down your worthless +gullet. Now be off with you.” + +“With all the pleasure in life,” said Harlequin, and made for the door. + +“Not so fast,” cried Pantaloon. “Before you go, I want my fee. A crown, +if you please.” + +“A crown!” exclaimed Harlequin. “A crown for that vile potion? You +ought to pay me for drinking it.” + +“If you don’t pay up,” said Pantaloon, in a threatening voice, “I will +call the police and have you arrested for the rogue you are.” + +Harlequin realised that there was nothing to be gained by making the +Doctor any angrier, so he reluctantly gave him a crown and took his +departure. + +Pierrot, who had been present, silent and melancholy, during the whole +interview, let him out of the house. + +“That isn’t the way to go to work, my friend,” he said, as he unbolted +the door. + +“What do you mean?” asked Harlequin sharply. + +“I know quite well what you are after,” said Pierrot, in his mournful +little voice. “But it is no use. Even if you could get near her (which +you can’t), it wouldn’t be any use. She wouldn’t look at you. She won’t +look at me.” + +“That is a very different thing,” said Harlequin contemptuously. + +All the same he had to admit to himself that he had not made a very +successful beginning. He had failed to see Columbine, made an enemy of +her father, and been forced, into the bargain, to pay a crown for the +nastiest drink he had ever tasted. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Violetta Sets Her Wits to Work_ + + +“Wherever have you been all this time?” asked Violetta, as Harlequin +entered the inn. + +“Nowhere in particular,” said Harlequin carelessly. + +Violetta laughed. + +[Illustration] + +“That means that he has been somewhere very particular indeed,” she +said to Scaramouche. “I shouldn’t mind wagering twenty crowns that he +has been trying to see Columbine.” + +“And I shouldn’t mind wagering fifty that he has not succeeded,” +replied Scaramouche. + +“Did you, Harlequin?” Violetta asked. + +“No, I didn’t,” Harlequin admitted. “But I made the acquaintance of her +papa.” + +“I am sure he was delighted to make yours,” said Scaramouche +sarcastically. “He is noted for his hospitality.” + +“He certainly insisted on giving me a drink,” said Harlequin, pulling a +wry face. + +“Do tell us what happened,” cried Violetta. + +So Harlequin told them; and before he had finished they were both +nearly dying of laughter. + +“I don’t see that it was as funny as all that,” said Harlequin sulkily. + +“Poor Harlequin!” said Violetta. “What a shame! But I should have +thought you were too clever to go such a simple way to work.” + +“Well,” said Harlequin, “since Columbine hardly ever goes outside the +house, I thought my best chance of seeing her was to get inside.” + +“Pantaloon was quite right,” said Scaramouche, “you are a logician, +Harlequin. Unfortunately, things don’t always happen logically in this +casual and rather ridiculous world.” + +“You know a lot of long words, Scaramouche,” said Violetta, “but they +won’t help Harlequin to see Columbine.” + +“Is it absolutely necessary that he should see her?” Scaramouche asked. + +“Of course it is,” replied Violetta. “He wants to; and Harlequin is +one of those people who must always have what they want. Aren’t you, +Harlequin?” + +“How well you know me, Violetta!” said Harlequin. + +“But Columbine might not like him if she did see him,” objected the +sceptical Scaramouche. + +“Nonsense!” said Violetta. “Who could help liking Harlequin?” + +“Violetta, you are a darling,” cried Harlequin, and kissed the girl. + +“You haven’t done that for more than twenty-four hours,” she said. + +“It won’t be twenty-four seconds before I do it again,” Harlequin +retorted. And it wasn’t. + +“You seem to be getting away from the matter in hand,” Scaramouche +remarked drily. + +“Oh, no, we aren’t,” replied Violetta. “Harlequin is only rehearsing.” + +“Don’t be unkind, Violetta,” said Harlequin, giving her waist a gallant +squeeze. “I am not sure that I want to meet Columbine after all.” + +“Now you are being silly, Harlequin,” said Violetta. “You know you want +to meet her. Of course you like kissing me--who wouldn’t? But wait till +you have kissed Columbine.” + +“It appears that I shall have to wait,” said Harlequin. + +“You are a faint-hearted fellow,” said Scaramouche, “to be put off at +the first check. Why don’t you try again when Pantaloon is out?” + +“That is no good,” said Violetta scornfully. “Pantaloon very rarely +goes out--except when he is summoned to a patient. And when he does go, +he locks the door on the outside--so that neither Columbine nor Pierrot +can open it.” + +“Do you mean to say that he locks them up alone together?” cried +Harlequin. “But after all,” he added, “why shouldn’t he? That +white-faced moon-gazer is more like a girl than a boy--and more like a +ghost than either.” + +“Poor Pierrot!” said Violetta. “I pity him.” + +“You pity everybody,” said Harlequin rather shortly. + +“Violetta has a very large heart,” said Scaramouche. + +“And a tolerably long head,” the girl retorted. “Harlequin doesn’t seem +to be able to help himself; and you are far too lazy to try to help +him. But I have a notion that I can.” + +“Have you?” cried Harlequin eagerly. “Oh, do tell me! Quick!” + +“Well,” said Violetta, “the important thing is not that Columbine +should see you, but that she should see you dancing. She adores dancing +more than anything else in the world, though it is not much that she +gets of it, poor lamb! There is no one to dance with her, and I am sure +she has little heart for dancing alone. Pierrot, though he sings very +nicely, can’t dance a bit; and as for Lelio, if looks go for anything, +he is far too stiff and solemn for anything livelier than a minuet. So +to see a dancer like you, Harlequin, would be a wonderful treat for +her. And if you could only dance together, she would be yours for ever.” + +“What bliss!” exclaimed Harlequin. “But how is it to be managed? How +can we ever dance together?” + +“That we must think about later,” said Violetta. “It is no use being +impatient: we must take one step at a time. If only we can contrive +that she should see you, that would be a great thing.” + +“But can we?” Harlequin asked. + +“I think so,” Violetta answered. “You can dance in the street as well +as in a house, I suppose?” + +“Of course,” said Harlequin. + +“And Columbine can look out of a window,” said Violetta. “The point +is to get her to look out of the window at the same time that you are +dancing in the street.” + +“That ought to be easy,” said Harlequin. + +“It isn’t in the least easy,” replied Violetta. “How are we to let her +know that you are going to be there?” + +“By sending her a letter, I suppose,” said Harlequin. + +“By sending her a letter!” repeated Violetta in contemptuous tones. +“Why, Pantaloon would be the first to read it. All the same, a letter +it must be--only it mustn’t be _sent_: it must be delivered straight +into Columbine’s own hands by some one we can trust.” + +“Whom can we trust?” asked Harlequin, who was beginning to despair. + +“Only ourselves,” said Violetta. “You--I--and Scaramouche. At least I +suppose we can trust you, Scaramouche?” + +“You can count on me, my dear,” said the musician. “I am no +spoil-sport.” + +“But which of us is to deliver the letter?” said Harlequin. + +“Well, you have seen what luck you had when you tried to get near the +young lady,” said Violetta. “And Scaramouche would fare no better. It +is plain that it will have to be me.” + +“Oh, will you?” cried Harlequin. “Dear Violetta!” + +“I will try, at any rate,” the girl replied. “But it is not going to be +easy even for me. Besides, there is another thing.” + +“Oh dear!” said Harlequin. “There seems to be no end to the +difficulties. What is this one?” + +“Pantaloon himself,” said Violetta. “Of course he must be got out of +the way. It wouldn’t help us much if he were to catch you at your +capers, would it?” + +“I’ll look after Pantaloon,” said Scaramouche. + +[Illustration:] + + + + +_Violetta Plots and Columbine Wonders_ + + +So Violetta set out for Pantaloon’s house. She would not tell Harlequin +and Scaramouche exactly what she meant to do, but they noticed that she +carried under her arm a bottle of the best wine in her father’s cellar. + +“Good afternoon, Pierrot,” she said, when the doctor’s pale assistant +had opened the door to her. + +“Good afternoon, Violetta,” said Pierrot. “What brings you here? I hope +you are not ill.” + +“Dear me, no,” replied Violetta. “I only want to see Pantaloon.” + +“He is very busy at his books,” said Pierrot doubtfully. + +“Tell him my father has sent him a present,” said Violetta, and held +up the bottle. “That will fetch him, I know.” + +“Couldn’t I take it to him?” Pierrot asked. + +“No,” said Violetta. “I don’t trust you.” + +“Oh, Violetta!” Pierrot protested. “What a thing to say! I daresay I +have my faults, like other people; but I am not a thief. Besides, I +never drink wine. Half a glass makes me tipsy.” + +“That is just why I don’t trust you,” said Violetta. “You have such a +weak head. Why, you would go dreaming along and drop the bottle before +you had got it to Pantaloon.” + +“You have a very poor opinion of me, haven’t you, Violetta?” said +Pierrot pathetically. + +“Now don’t stay arguing,” cried Violetta. “Run along and fetch +Pantaloon, that is a good boy.” + +When Pantaloon heard what Violetta had brought him, he came out of his +study without delay. + +“This is very kind of Burattino,” he cried, gazing affectionately +at the bottle. “Very kind, indeed.... Why, my dear, whatever is the +matter?” + +For Violetta had suddenly uttered a desperate groan. + +“Oh dear! Oh dear!” she cried. Clutching at her bodice, she gave +another groan more harrowing than the first, and leaned against the +wall as though she could not stand without support. + +“She is fainting,” said Pierrot. + +“I am afraid she is,” said Pantaloon. “We must bring her indoors.” + +Together, though neither of them was very strong and Violetta was a +solidly built young woman, they got her into the house; while all the +time Violetta gasped and groaned and clutched at her dress. + +“She will suffocate, if she goes on like this,” said Pantaloon. “We +must undo her stays.” + +At that Violetta gave forth a shriek of horror. + +[Illustration] + +“No, no!” she cried. “I won’t let you! I am a modest girl.” Then she +groaned again. + +“You must let us,” said Pantaloon. “Otherwise you will stifle.” + +“I would rather stifle,” said Violetta obstinately, “than let you touch +me.” + +“You can’t stifle in my house,” said Pantaloon. “Think of my +reputation.” + +Violetta only groaned worse than ever. + +“I must undo them,” said Pantaloon. + +“No,” cried Violetta. “Not for the world!” + +“Then undo them yourself,” said the Doctor crossly. + +“I can’t,” Violetta moaned. “I feel too weak.” + +“What is to be done?” cried Pantaloon. + +“There is only one thing to be done, master,” said Pierrot. “We must +call Columbine. After all, it is only a girl.” + +“I suppose there is nothing else for it,” said Pantaloon reluctantly. +“If the young woman dies here, that old gossip Burattino will tell +everybody, and I shall be ruined. Fetch Columbine, Pierrot.” + +So Pierrot fetched Columbine, and Pantaloon told her what she was to +do. + +“You must turn your backs,” said Violetta to Pantaloon and Pierrot. + +“Very well,” said Pantaloon. “You are a very particular young lady--for +an innkeeper’s daughter. Turn round, Pierrot.” + +Columbine was looking very much alarmed, but so soon as the men’s backs +were turned Violetta gave her an encouraging smile and beckoned her +to come close. Columbine prepared, with timid fingers, to do what she +supposed was expected of her, but the other girl impatiently stopped +her. + +“Never mind about that,” she whispered. “Here, take this.” And she +thrust a twisted scrap of paper into Columbine’s hands. “Hide it! +Quick!” + +Columbine, blushing and bewildered, thrust the note into the top of her +dress. + +“We have finished,” said Violetta. “You may turn round now.” + +“You have not been long,” said Pantaloon. + +“Of course not,” replied Violetta scornfully. “Columbine is a +woman--not a clumsy man.” + +“Well,” said Pantaloon. “I hope you feel better.” + +“Much better, thank you,” said Violetta. “I can’t think what made me +come over so queer. How much have I to pay you?” + +“I charge nothing to Burattino’s daughter,” Pantaloon answered with a +grin. He quite believed that he had saved the girl’s life, and hoped +that her father would show his gratitude with another bottle, or +perhaps a whole cask. + +Violetta took her departure, and Columbine hurried back to her room. +She wanted to be alone to read that mysterious note. + +It was a very short note indeed. This was all that was in it: + + “_Next time your father goes out, look out of the window at the side + of the house._” + +Nothing more--not even a signature. Columbine, who had never received +a letter before, found it very exciting. What could it mean? She would +certainly do as it told her, though unfortunately, she reflected, she +might have to wait a long time. Sometimes her father did not leave the +house for days together. Naturally kind hearted as she was, Columbine +could not help hoping that some one might soon be taken ill and send +for him. + +The door opened and Pierrot entered. Columbine had only just time to +hide the note. + +“I wish you would knock before you come into my room,” she said +severely. + +“You have never asked me to do that before,” said Pierrot, with his +melancholy smile. + +“Perhaps not,” replied Columbine. “But I am grown up now, remember.” + +“You have grown up very suddenly,” said Pierrot. “I wonder if Violetta +helped you to grow up?” + +“What do you mean?” cried Columbine. + +“I only wondered,” said Pierrot. + +[Illustration] + +“I don’t believe you turned your back properly,” said Columbine angrily. + +“Oh, yes I did,” Pierrot answered. “I always do what I am told. But my +eyes can see a long way round the corner, you know.” + +Columbine looked at him. His long, narrow eyes certainly were very far +apart. + +“What did you see?” she asked. + +Pierrot smiled. + +“I am not at all sure that I ought not to tell your father,” he said. + +“Oh, Pierrot!” cried the girl, in a panic. “You wouldn’t do that!” + +“It may be my duty,” said Pierrot solemnly. “I always like to do my +duty.” + +“But what _did_ you see?” Columbine repeated. + +Again Pierrot only smiled. + +“I don’t believe you saw anything at all,” said Columbine. “You are +simply teasing me.” + +“It is not what one sees, my dear,” Pierrot began still more solemnly. + +“I am not your dear,” said Columbine, stamping her little foot. + +“Yes, you are,” said Pierrot. “You may not think you are--you may not +want to be--but you are. And it is a very good thing for you that you +are. But to go on with what I was saying when you interrupted me--it is +not what one sees that is important: it is what one feels. And I feel +that there is mischief brewing.” + +“I am sure I hope there is,” said Columbine rebelliously. + +“Oh, Columbine!” said Pierrot, shocked. + +“Well,” said Columbine, “it is about time something happened. I am +sick and tired of being cooped up here with nothing to do, never going +anywhere, and seeing no one but you and Papa.” + +“And Lelio,” Pierrot put in. + +“Oh, don’t talk to me of Lelio,” said Columbine, frowning. + +“I am sure I don’t want to talk of him,” said Pierrot. “He is no friend +of mine. He treats me like a dog.” + +“It’s a shame,” cried Columbine. + +“I don’t really mind that,” said Pierrot sadly. “I am used to it. It +doesn’t matter how he treats me. But he is going to take Columbine +away. That is what I can’t forgive him.” + +“He is going to do nothing of the kind,” said Columbine decidedly. “I +will never marry Lelio, Pierrot.” + +“I don’t know what your father will do if you don’t,” Pierrot said. + +“I don’t care what he does,” replied Columbine. Pierrot had never +seen her in so rebellious a mood, and he thought that it made her, +if possible, lovelier than ever. “He can lock me up and feed me on +bread and water,” she went on. “He can make me take all his nastiest +medicines every day. But I won’t marry Lelio.” And again she stamped +her foot. + +“You know very well that I don’t want you to marry him,” said Pierrot. +“But all the same, I can’t help thinking that the sooner you are safely +settled in life, the better it will be. I am quite sure there is +mischief brewing. I feel it in my bones.” + +“I don’t know where else you would feel it,” Columbine scoffed. “You +are nothing else but bones.” + +“I have a heart, too, Columbine,” said Pierrot, sighing. + +“Please don’t start talking about your heart, Pierrot,” said Columbine. +“I have heard about it so often.” + +“Cruel Columbine!” sighed Pierrot. + +Columbine pirouetted round the room. + +“I can’t help it, Pierrot,” she said. “When you begin making love to me +I always want to laugh. Do you really love me very much, Pierrot?” + +“You know I do,” cried Pierrot. + +“Then will you do something for me?” + +“Anything in the world,” said Pierrot, striking a lovelorn attitude. + +“Then,” said Columbine, “promise me that whatever you have guessed, and +whatever you notice during the next few days, you will say nothing to +Papa.” + +“Oh, Columbine!” cried Pierrot; “you are not going to do anything +dreadful?” + +“I don’t know what I am going to do,” Columbine laughed. “I don’t know +what is going to happen. But promise. If you don’t you shall never +come into this room again, whether you knock or not.” + +“I promise,” said Pierrot. + +“Then you may kiss ... my hand,” said Columbine. + +Pierrot, grateful for small mercies, fell on his knees. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Harlequin’s Opportunity_ + + +Violetta returned to the inn, extremely well pleased with the success +of her ruse. She found the others eagerly awaiting her, and told them +what she had accomplished. + +“Bravo!” cried Scaramouche. “You are a clever wench, Violetta.” + +As for Harlequin, he was so delighted that he danced about the room and +made Violetta dance with him until she was breathless. + +“You should save your breath for dancing to Columbine,” she panted, +when at last he had let her go. + +“I am ready to begin now,” cried Harlequin, who could dance all day +without tiring. “What about your plan for getting old Pantaloon out of +the way, Scaramouche?” + +“It is too late to carry it out this evening,” replied the musician. + +“Upon my soul,” exclaimed Harlequin, “you are incorrigibly lazy!” + +“You mustn’t be so impatient, Harlequin,” said Violetta. “It is much +too late. It is nearly dark--and what on earth would be the use of your +dancing before Columbine’s window if she could not see you?” + +Harlequin could not help acknowledging the force of this argument: so +he made up his mind to wait till the morning with as much patience as +he could muster. But he was far too excited to sleep. He spent half the +night inventing new and fantastic dance steps--greatly to the annoyance +of Scaramouche, who shared a bedroom with him. + +“If you don’t leave off jigging about there, and get into bed, I won’t +stir a finger to help you,” yawned the sleepy musician. + +That quieted Harlequin; but though he lay down, he did not go to sleep, +and he dragged his friend out of bed at a very early hour. + +“This is the last time I shall ever offer to assist any one in their +love affairs,” Scaramouche grumbled, as he pulled on his clothes. + +After breakfast, over which, in spite of Harlequin’s growing +impatience, Scaramouche absolutely refused to hurry, the musician told +the dancer to go and hide near Pantaloon’s house. + +“Be sure,” he added, “that you choose a spot where you cannot be seen, +but from which you can yourself see who goes in and out.” + +Harlequin picked up his wand, kissed Violetta, and skipped away. + +“That is the last of Harlequin,” said Violetta a little wistfully. + +“But he will come back,” said Scaramouche. + +“His body may,” Violetta replied, “but his heart will stay with +Columbine.” + +“I don’t believe Harlequin has a heart,” said Scaramouche. + +“Columbine will find one,” said Violetta. + +Presently Spavente, who always slept late, swaggered in, and sent +Violetta for his breakfast. + +Scaramouche strolled across to his table. + +“Good morning, my dear Captain,” he said. “I hope you are feeling well +this fine morning.” + +“Perfectly well, I thank you, sir,” replied Spavente, a good deal +surprised at the other’s unaccustomed politeness. + +“I am very glad to hear you say so,” said Scaramouche, in a doubtful +tone. “Very glad indeed. In fact, I am very much relieved.” + +“Why?” cried Spavente. “Don’t I look well?” + +“Since you ask me,” said Scaramouche, “I feel obliged to confess that +you don’t. In my opinion, you look far from well.” + +These words threw the Captain into a state of the utmost alarm; which +was exactly what the wily musician had hoped they would do, for he knew +that Spavente was as big a coward about his health as in other ways. + +“Dear, dear!” said the unhappy Spaniard; “now that you mention it, I +really don’t think that I am altogether up to the mark.” + +“I should say you were very much below it,” said Scaramouche. + +“Yes,” said Spavente. “I am afraid I am.” + +At that moment Violetta entered with his breakfast. + +“Take it away,” cried Spavente, shuddering. “I can’t look at it.” + +“Why, Captain,” Violetta asked, “whatever is the matter?” + +“I am far too ill to eat anything,” said Spavente. + +“Ill?” said the girl, in unfeigned surprise, for she was not in +Scaramouche’s secret. “It is nothing catching, I hope?” + +“I don’t know what it is,” wailed the soldier. “I wish I did.” + +“I think you ought to send for the doctor, my friend,” said Scaramouche. + +“Yes, I think I ought,” agreed Spavente. “For whom had I better send?” + +“Why, for Pantaloon, of course,” said Scaramouche, winking at +Violetta, who, immediately understanding what was afoot, winked +gleefully back. “He is the best doctor in Venice. Besides, he lives so +near. Let me fetch him for you.” + +“Would you be so kind?” said Spavente. “I should take it as a great +favour if you would.” + +“Say no more about that,” cried Scaramouche heartily. “Now just you go +back to bed, and I will have Doctor Pantaloon to you in ten minutes.” + + * * * * * + +Harlequin, watching from his hiding-place, saw Scaramouche arrive at +the Doctor’s door, which, after the usual delay, was opened by Pierrot. +Scaramouche went inside, but it was not long before he came out again, +and, to the dancer’s joy, he was accompanied by Pantaloon. + +The Doctor, in fact, had been in no way loath to visit Spavente. +Knowing him only by sight, he judged him from his clothes to be a +very fine gentleman indeed, and scented a profitable patient. Had he +seen the length of the score chalked up against the Captain’s name on +Burattino’s slate, he would undoubtedly have stayed at home. + +As it was, however, he hurried towards the inn as fast as his gouty +feet would carry him. And luckily he did not look round; or he would +have seen Harlequin blowing him a derisive kiss as he skipped towards +the window at which Violetta had told him that he might hope to see +Columbine. + +Harlequin looked up at the window, and he was not disappointed. For no +sooner had Columbine heard the door close behind her father and his +visitor, than she had made haste to follow the instructions contained +in that mysterious and exciting letter. So Harlequin had a glimpse of a +golden head peeping timidly from behind the curtains. + +Then he began to dance, as never in his life he had danced before. The +great ladies who had applauded him at Isabella’s and other houses would +have been amazed if they could have seen him. He had given them of his +best, but the hope of pleasing Columbine inspired him to something +far better than his best. He found himself doing beautiful intricate +steps which he did not know that he knew. Tunes came into his head more +delicious than any that had ever flowed from Scaramouche’s mandoline, +and his feet followed them of their own accord. + +All the time, he was watching Columbine’s window. At first he could see +nothing but that glimpse of golden hair. Little by little, however, the +heavy curtains parted, and presently the casement was thrown open, and +Columbine, her timidity lost in wonder and delight, leaned far out over +the sill. Indeed, she leaned so far that Harlequin grew nervous and +stopped dancing. + +For a few moments they looked at one another without speaking. Then +Harlequin made his most graceful bow. + +“Well,” he said, “did you like it?” + +“Oh, it was perfect,” cried Columbine. “I have never seen anything like +it before. But who are you? What is your name?” + +Harlequin told her. + +“I know yours,” he added. + +“Do you?” said Columbine. But her thoughts were still on the wonderful +dancing. + +“I never imagined any one could dance like that,” she said. + +“You could yourself,” said Harlequin. + +“Oh, no!” Columbine protested. + +“Violetta says you could,” Harlequin replied. “She says you love +dancing.” + +“I do,” cried Columbine, “above all things. But I can’t dance like you.” + +“Try,” said Harlequin. “Let us dance together.” + +“How can we?” Columbine asked. “I can’t get out.” + +“But I could get in,” said Harlequin, “if you would let down a rope.” + +“Oh, I daren’t!” cried Columbine. “Supposing my father should catch us?” + +For his own part Harlequin was prepared to risk even that, so anxious +was he to get nearer to Columbine; but seeing that she was really +frightened by his suggestion, he did not press it. + +“Well, then,” he said, “I will dance down here, and you shall dance up +there. How would that be?” + +“Yes,” said Columbine. “Let us do that.” + +So Harlequin began dancing again, and Columbine, after watching him for +a moment, joined in. She followed him perfectly, repeating even his +most intricate movements with exquisite grace. + +They were still dancing, he on the ground and she at the window, when +Violetta appeared on the scene. She clapped her hands in admiration, +and then she put one of them on Harlequin’s shoulder. + +“That was very pretty,” she cried, “but you must stop now. Pantaloon +will be here in a minute or two.” + +Harlequin said something exceedingly rude about Pantaloon, and +Columbine turned as white as her dress. + +“Never mind, Columbine,” said Harlequin, who was incapable of being +anything but cheerful for more than ten seconds together, “I shall come +again. Next time you must have that rope handy. You dance divinely.” + +“Do I, Harlequin?” Columbine murmured shyly. + +“Of course you do,” said Harlequin. “How could you do anything except +divinely? For you are divine yourself. You are an adorable little +goddess.” + +Columbine went as rosy as she had before been white, and hung her +golden head. + +“I am sorry to interrupt,” said Violetta, “but you really must come +away.” + +“Very well,” said Harlequin reluctantly. “Good-bye, Columbine.” + +“Good-bye, Harlequin.” + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Pierrot Sings to Columbine_ + + +“Not that way, stupid,” said Violetta, as Harlequin, with one last look +back towards Columbine’s window, started to take the usual road to the +inn. “We should run straight into Pantaloon.” + +She led him up a side street, and as they made their roundabout way +homewards, gave him an account of the Doctor’s interview with Spavente, +to which she had listened through the keyhole. + +“It really was very funny,” she said. Pantaloon had kept asking +Spavente what was the matter with him, and Spavente, of course, had +been unable to say. But Scaramouche had kept suggesting all sorts of +aches and pains, which no sooner had he mentioned than Spavente was +quite sure that he felt them. In the end, Pantaloon had come to the +conclusion that the Captain was very ill indeed, and had ordered him to +stay in bed until his next visit. + +“But I don’t believe you are listening,” said Violetta crossly. + +“I am, Violetta, I am,” protested Harlequin, who, as a matter of fact, +had not been listening very closely, for his mind kept wandering away +to Columbine. “You said something about Pantaloon’s next visit, didn’t +you?” + +“Yes,” said Violetta. “He is going to call on Spavente again to-morrow +morning.” + +“Oh, how splendid!” Harlequin cried. He threw his wand high into the +air and neatly caught it as it fell. “I shall be able to go to see +Columbine again.” + +“Yes,” said Violetta, “and I shouldn’t be surprised if you were able +to do so every day for a week at least. You see, Scaramouche told +Pantaloon that Spavente was a nobleman in his own country, and had a +great estate there. So, of course, the old villain won’t let him get +better in a hurry. He looks forward to sending in a nice long bill. I +hope he may get it paid!” + +“I’ll pay it myself, as a thank-offering for my good fortune,” cried +Harlequin. “A week! Why, anything may happen in a week.” + +“A good deal has happened in a morning, I fancy,” said Violetta. “You +have won Columbine already, Harlequin.” + +“Do you really think so?” cried Harlequin. “Oh, Violetta, how +wonderful! The mere thought makes me want to dance for joy. Let us +dance the rest of the way home, Violetta.” + +“No, thank you,” said Violetta shortly. “I don’t feel inclined to +dance.” + +Harlequin looked at her in surprise. + + * * * * * + +So soon as Harlequin was out of sight, and Columbine, still blushing, +had left the window, Pierrot entered her room. He gazed at Columbine +reproachfully out of his big, sad eyes. + +“I was watching, too,” he said. “Downstairs.” + +“Indeed!” said Columbine, as calmly as she could. “I hope you enjoyed +yourself.” + +“Enjoyed myself!” exclaimed Pierrot. “As if I could, with that fellow +trying to dance the heart out of your body.” + +“What nonsense you talk, Pierrot!” Columbine cried. + +[Illustration] + +“I wish it was nonsense,” said Pierrot. “He was not only trying, but +by the colour of your cheeks I am rather inclined to think that he +succeeded.” + +Columbine stamped her foot. + +“You are very impertinent,” she cried, in the prettiest of rages. + +“It is all for your good, my dear,” said Pierrot. + +Columbine was too angry for words. + +“Do you know who the fellow is?” Pierrot asked her. + +Columbine did not reply. + +“There,” said Pierrot, “you talk out of the window with a man about +whom you know nothing. I am surprised at you, Columbine.” + +“I do know something about him,” said Columbine defiantly. “I know his +name, anyway.” + +“And a queer, outlandish name it is,” Pierrot retorted. “No one with +a name like that could possibly be up to any good. Then look at his +extraordinary clothes. And why, I should like to know, does he wear a +mask?” + +“I think his clothes are beautiful,” said Columbine, “and his mask +makes him all the more interesting.” + +“He would have no cause to wear it if he were an honest man,” said +Pierrot. + +“I believe _you_ know something about him, Pierrot,” cried Columbine. + +“Nothing to his credit,” Pierrot replied, and he told her how Harlequin +had come to Pantaloon shamming sick, and how he had asked for Columbine +to cure his headache. + +Columbine found this extremely thrilling. Evidently, Harlequin had +wanted to make her acquaintance very much indeed. + +“But how did he know about me?” she wondered. + +“He must have seen you passing Burattino’s,” said Pierrot. “He is +living there.” + +“Living at Burattino’s?” cried Columbine. “So that was why +Violetta----” She stopped in confusion. + +“Ah, ha!” said Pierrot. “So Violetta did bring you a message, did she? +The minx! I suppose she was shamming, too. And it was that old rogue +Scaramouche who fetched your father away this morning. He is hand in +glove with this Harlequin. Why, the whole thing is clearly a plot. Oh, +Columbine, be careful!” + +“But it is so exciting,” said Columbine. + +“It will be exciting enough when your father finds out,” said Pierrot. + +“He must never find out,” said Columbine in a frightened voice. “You +won’t tell him, will you, Pierrot? Remember your promise.” + +“Yes,” said Pierrot slowly. “I have not forgotten it. But I am so +afraid, Columbine.” + +“There is nothing to be afraid of, you goose,” laughed Columbine. “I am +not afraid. I think I am very happy.” + +“I wish I could be,” said Pierrot mournfully. + +“I wish you would try to look a little more cheerful, any way,” said +Columbine. “Sing me something. Haven’t you made any new songs lately?” + +“Yes,” Pierrot said. “I made one last week. I don’t suppose you will +like it.” + +“I can’t tell that till I have heard it, can I?” said Columbine. “Sing +it to me.” + +So in his melancholy voice, to a melancholy, wandering tune, Pierrot +sang his song: + + Blue shadows everywhere + Fuse the foliage into fairy walls-- + A dusky curtain, which falls + Between us and all real things. + Some one sings + Somewhere a plaintive air, + Plucking lightly the while from a mandoline’s strings + Delicate melodies. + + Nearer, among the trees, + A shimmer of white and pink, + A dryad in silk and lace: + It is Clotilde, I think, + Though I cannot see her face, + Which is turned away + Where some one is saying the things she loves to hear. + + Once it was I who whispered thus in her ear. + Last year? Or yesterday? + No days nor years are here-- + Only late afternoon, + Where Clotilde and a lover play + And wait for the moon. + +Pierrot’s voice trailed away into silence. + +“Who is Clotilde?” Columbine asked, a little jealously. + +“A dream lady,” said Pierrot. + +“What a strange boy you are, Pierrot!” said Columbine. “And what +strange songs you make! You will have to make a merrier one for my +wedding with Harlequin.” + +“Oh, don’t talk of such a thing,” cried Pierrot. + +At that moment Pantaloon’s raucous voice was heard calling up the +stairs for his assistant. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_Captain Spavente Makes Mischief_ + + +Pantaloon found Spavente’s illness very puzzling. Usually all he had +to do was to tell his patient in long words what the patient had told +him in short words, concoct a mixture from his bottles, and pocket his +fee. But Spavente could only tell him what Scaramouche suggested, and +Scaramouche’s suggestions were so astonishing, and varied so from day +to day, that the poor Doctor was quite bewildered. He felt that even +if he mixed together the contents of all the bottles on his shelves, +the concoction would hardly meet so complicated a case. He continued, +however, to visit the Captain every morning, gloating over the thought +of the bill which was piling up and enjoying the glass of wine which +that amiable girl Violetta never forgot to bring him. + +And every morning Harlequin danced outside Columbine’s window, while +she danced behind it; though, as the days went on, they spent less and +less of their precious time in dancing, and more and more in talking. +They found that they had a great deal to say to one another. + +Pierrot, watching from his lower window (unnoticed by Harlequin), grew +more and more anxious. + +Harlequin never ceased trying to persuade Columbine to let down a rope +to him. For several days she only shook her golden head, but at last +she yielded to his entreaties, and Pierrot, leaning out and looking +upwards, saw the dancer’s many-coloured legs disappear into the room +above. He cast up his eyes and threw up his hands in despair. + +Harlequin took Columbine in his arms. + +“Oh, you lovely child!” he said. + +Then he kissed her, and it was quite a different kiss from any that he +had given to Violetta or the girls in Bergamo. + +“I love you, Columbine,” he said. + +“And I love you, Harlequin,” said Columbine. + +After a while they began to dance together, and never had either of +them so much enjoyed dancing, or danced so beautifully, before. + +Violetta, coming as usual to warn Harlequin of Pantaloon’s return, +and not seeing him anywhere, wondered what had happened. She thought +for a moment that he must have quarrelled with Columbine, and so gone +away. When she caught sight through the window of the lovers waltzing +together, she was as horrified as Pierrot. + +“Harlequin! Harlequin!” she called; “how can you be so rash? Come down +at once. Pantaloon will be here in a minute.” + +Reluctant as he was to tear himself away, Harlequin knew that delay +might well be fatal; so, with one last long kiss for Columbine, he slid +down the rope, which, so soon as he was on the ground, Columbine drew +quickly through the window. + +[Illustration:] + +As they walked back to the inn, Violetta lectured Harlequin very +severely on his imprudence. But she might have spared her breath; for +from that day forward the rope was always let down, and Harlequin and +Columbine passed many a happy hour together. They trusted the faithful +Violetta. Nor, chide as she might, did she ever fail them. + +Nevertheless, Pantaloon did find out about their meetings. One evening +Spavente, as he lay in bed wondering how much longer he had to live, +heard Harlequin and Scaramouche talking in the parlour, which was +immediately under his room. He could not make out what they were +saying, but more than once he thought he caught his own name, and this +aroused his curiosity to such a degree that at length, in spite of the +Doctor’s orders and his own fear of the consequences, he rose from his +bed, knelt down on the floor, and put his ear to a crack between the +boards. + +What he heard filled him at once with rage and glee. Scaramouche was +entertaining his friend with a lively description of Pantaloon’s visits +and boasting of his own cleverness in keeping up the pretence of the +Captain’s illness; and the discovery of the trick which had been played +upon him naturally threw Spavente into a fury. But when he learned the +reason of the trick--which he very soon did, for Harlequin could not +refrain for long from singing Columbine’s praises--the Captain rubbed +his hands. Here, at last, was the chance for which he had been waiting. +Harlequin should be well paid for having given him that humiliating and +painful drubbing. + +Spavente returned to his bed. Now that he knew that he had never really +been ill at all, he felt in the best of health, but it was his turn to +practise a little deception. So he waited for Pantaloon, and when the +Doctor arrived, he invented an excuse for getting Scaramouche out of +the room. Then he revealed what he had heard. + +Pantaloon’s wrath knew no bounds. He grew purple in the face, and +raved and spluttered until Spavente was quite frightened. When he had +recovered himself a little, his first notion was to rush off at once +and catch Harlequin red-handed. But suddenly a new thought struck him, +and he turned to Spavente. + +“Since you are not ill after all,” he said, “there will be no need for +me to visit you any more.” + +“No,” said Spavente, “of course not.” + +“Well, then,” said Pantaloon, “I think you might as well settle my +account now. Let me see--it will be ...” + +“Stop a minute,” cried the Captain. “Your account is no affair of mine. +It was not I who called you in, and you have done nothing for me. You +had better present your account to Scaramouche.” + +“As if I could get a penny out of that rogue!” cried Pantaloon. + +“Then what about Harlequin?” said Spavente. “It seems that it is he who +has benefited most by your visits.” + +“Would you mock me, sir?” shouted the Doctor. + +“And if I did,” replied Spavente, “it would be no more than a doctor +who does not even know whether his patient is ill or not deserved!” + +“That is no worse than a patient who does not know it himself,” +Pantaloon retorted. + +“Well,” said Spavente, laughing rather foolishly, “perhaps we are +quits.” + +“We are not quits until you have paid my fee,” said Pantaloon. + +“How can I pay your fee when I have no money?” Spavente asked. + +“No money!” exclaimed the Doctor in surprise. “Why--Scaramouche told me +you were a wealthy nobleman.” + +“I am a nobleman, it is true,” replied Spavente, although it was not +true at all. “And by rights I should be wealthy. But, alas! there are +scoundrels in Spain as well as elsewhere.” + +“It appears that they sometimes come to Italy,” said Pantaloon. + +This was too much for the haughty Captain. + +“What!” he cried. “Do you dare to insult Spavente, you base +apothecary?” And, springing out of bed, he caught up his sword. He felt +that he was perfectly safe in threatening one so old and decrepit as +Pantaloon. + +Nor was he wrong. Even in his nightgown, the soldier, with his +bristling moustachios, his rolling eye, and his naked sword, was a +terrifying figure; and the Doctor, forgetting both his fees and his +gout, made a dash for the door. Down the stairs he fled, and out into +the street. + +Violetta, busy in the kitchen and not expecting him for another half +hour at least, unfortunately did not see him go. + + + + +_Columbine’s Punishment and Harlequin’s New Plan_ + + +Harlequin and Columbine were happily at their dancing and love-making +when Pierrot burst into the room with a look of the utmost +consternation on his long pale face. + +“Fly, Harlequin!--you must fly at once!” he cried. “Pantaloon is +letting himself into the house.” + +“The devil he is!” cried Harlequin; and Columbine uttered a little +shriek. + +“Hush!” whispered Pierrot. “He will hear you. For love’s sake, go, +Harlequin. There is not a moment to lose.” + +Harlequin sprang to the window, from which the rope by which he had +entered still hung. + +“You must come with me, Columbine,” he said. + +“Oh, no!” said poor Columbine. “I dare not.” + +“But I will look after you, my dear,” said Harlequin. + +“I know you would, Harlequin,” replied Columbine. “But I daren’t.” + +They heard the front door slam, and Pantaloon heavily mounting the +stairs. + +“You really must get out, Harlequin,” said Pierrot. + +“Yes,” said Columbine. “Please go, my love.” + +Harlequin hesitated another moment, and then, realising that he would +only make matters worse by staying, vaulted over the window-sill and +slid down the rope. As he reached the ground, Pantaloon threw open the +door. + +In spite of his spectacles, the Doctor’s sight was not very good; and, +seeing Pierrot standing by Columbine’s side, he thought that he had +caught the villain whom he was after. + +“Ah, so I have got you, you scoundrel!” he roared, and rushed at his +assistant with uplifted cane. + +“But that is only Pierrot, Papa,” said Columbine in a faint voice. + +“Why, so it is,” said Pantaloon, somewhat taken aback. Then he turned +fiercely on Pierrot again. “And what are you doing here, I should like +to know?” he cried. “You are always hanging about Columbine. It is my +belief that you aid her in her wickedness. Get back to your work, sir, +I will talk to you presently.” + +Pierrot, who was as timid as a mouse, crept out of the room. + +When he had gone, Pantaloon seized his daughter roughly by the arm. + +“That scoundrel Harlequin has been here,” he cried. “Don’t try to +deceive me, miss--I know he has. I know all about your goings-on. How +long is it since he left you?” + +Columbine, who had never told a lie in her life, did not know what to +say. So she said nothing. + +“Perhaps he has not left,” said her father. “Perhaps you are hiding him +somewhere.” + +He began to look into cupboards and under chairs, but of course he did +not find Harlequin. Then he looked out into the street, but he did not +see Harlequin there either; for the dancer was already half-way back to +Burattino’s. What Pantaloon did see, was the rope which Columbine had +not had a chance of pulling in. + +“Ho, ho!” he cried. “So this is the road by which your lover visits +you, is it? You wicked, unprincipled girl! A rope indeed! You deserve +to be soundly whipped with the end of it.” + +But it would be painful to relate all the harsh things which the +enraged Doctor said to his unhappy daughter, how he abused and stormed +at her. When he had finished, he locked her into the room, leaving her +weeping bitterly. + +After a little while, she heard a light rapping on the door. + +“Who is it?” she asked. + +“It is I--Pierrot,” came the answer in a whisper. “Don’t cry, +Columbine. It will all come right, I am sure. I will do all I can to +help you.” + +“But what can you do, Pierrot?” said Columbine. “Oh, I am so miserable! +I know I shall never see Harlequin again.” + +“You shall, you shall,” said Pierrot. “Indeed, I have already thought +of something. I daren’t stay to tell it you now. But trust Pierrot, +Columbine.” + +“I will,” Columbine answered. “Dear Pierrot, you are very good to me.” + +Pierrot sighed. + +[Illustration] + +That evening, when his master was shut up in his study, poring over +his books of medical lore, he slipped out of the house and ran to +Burattino’s inn. + +Pierrot was afraid, indeed, that his errand might be a vain one; for it +seemed to him likely that, after the events of the morning, Harlequin +would have quitted the neighbourhood. + +But Harlequin had no intention of doing so. Come what might of it, +he was determined to remain near Columbine. Besides, as Scaramouche +and Violetta had pointed out, it was very improbable that Pantaloon +would take any serious steps against him. The last thing the Doctor +would want would be that the story of the trick which had been played +upon him should become public; for that would not only make him the +laughing-stock of Venice, but put an end to all hopes of a marriage +between his daughter and so proud and particular a gentleman as Lelio. + +Pierrot put his head round the door of the inn parlour, where +Scaramouche was playing to the guests and Violetta was waiting on them. +Harlequin was sitting in a corner; for the first time in his life he +did not feel inclined to dance. When he saw Pierrot beckoning, he came +to him at once. + +“What news?” he asked. + +“Come outside,” said Pierrot. “I want to talk to you privately.” + +They went out into the dark street, and Pierrot told Harlequin how +cruelly Pantaloon was using Columbine, keeping her locked in her room +and allowing her only dry bread to eat and water to drink. + +“I know quite well what his game is,” said Pierrot. “He intends to +force her into marrying Lelio.” + +“She will never do that,” cried Harlequin. + +“Never willingly,” Pierrot replied. “But her spirit may be broken. If +she thinks that she has lost you for good, she may fall into despair. +You must get to her again, Harlequin.” + +“I mean to,” said Harlequin stoutly. “If only I could think of a way! +But I am surprised to hear you talk like this, Pierrot. I should have +thought you would have been glad to be rid of me.” + +Pierrot shook his head. + +“I want Columbine to be happy,” he said. + +Harlequin seized him by the hand. + +“What a good fellow you are!” he said warmly. “I never expected to find +a friend in you.” + +“I thought harshly of you at first; and, of course, I am jealous of you +now,” said Pierrot with a sad little smile. “But I know it is only +you who will make Columbine happy: so I have no choice but to help you +if I can. And I think that perhaps I can. At least, I have a little +suggestion to make.” + +“Oh, what is it?” cried Harlequin eagerly. + +“Well,” said Pierrot, “of course it is out of the question for you to +come to the house, or even within sight of it, in your own person. +Pantaloon is not so short-sighted but what he would be sure to discover +you--those clothes of yours make you so conspicuous--and I saw him +loading his blunderbuss this afternoon. He is not a bad marksman, +either.” + +“What do you propose that I should do, then?” Harlequin asked. + +“You must disguise yourself,” said Pierrot. + +“Is that all you have to suggest?” said Harlequin, in tones of +disappointment. “What would be the use, if no man is ever allowed +inside Pantaloon’s house?” + +“I never thought of that,” said Pierrot. + +He felt crestfallen, for he had considered his plan a very good one. +Though well-meaning, Pierrot was not very quick-witted. + +“But is it really true that Pantaloon never lets any one into his +house?” said Harlequin. + +“Only his patients,” replied Pierrot. + +“Thanks,” said Harlequin. “I have had enough of Pantaloon’s doctoring.” + +“Of course there is Lelio,” Pierrot went on. “Naturally he comes and +goes as he chooses.” + +“Why--that is it,” exclaimed Harlequin. “I will disguise myself as +Lelio.” + +“Oh, no!” cried Pierrot. “That would never do. What would happen if the +real Lelio came while you were there?” + +“That would certainly be awkward,” Harlequin admitted. “But are you +sure that Pantaloon has no other visitors than Lelio? Do none of +Lelio’s friends ever come, for instance?” + +“No,” said Pierrot, “none. Of course, Lelio always brings his servant +with him, as befits his station in life.” + +“Does he?” cried Harlequin joyfully. “Then, by Venus! I will enter +Lelio’s service. Lelio’s livery shall be my passport to happiness. What +fun!” + +“But how about Lelio’s present servant, Coviello?” said Pierrot. + +“He must be disposed of,” Harlequin replied airily. “What sort of a +fellow is he?” + +“A stupid, greedy creature,” said Pierrot, “who would do anything for +gold.” + +“Then gold he shall have,” said Harlequin. “I have made plenty of gold +by my dancing, and I would give every piece of it to see Columbine +again. How can I get word with this Coviello?” + +“You may find him any morning idling outside his master’s palace,” said +Pierrot. “For Lelio, like all great folk, sleeps till midday.” + +Harlequin embraced Pierrot very heartily. + +“You have earned my eternal gratitude,” he cried. “If any one ever +maltreats you, let me know, and, by Bacchus! he shall feel this little +wand of mine.” + +“Thank you very much, Harlequin,” said Pierrot. + +[Illustration] + + + + +_How Harlequin Took Service with Lelio_ + + +Violetta was very doubtful whether Harlequin’s new scheme would be +successful, and Scaramouche tried to throw cold water on a course +of action which would rob him of the dancer’s assistance in his +performances. + +“I thought you were so keen to make your fortune,” he said. “And just +as you are fairly on the road to it, you give it up for the sake of a +girl. What folly!” + +But nothing could stop Harlequin from setting off, on the morning after +his conversation with Pierrot, to Lelio’s palace. He found it easily +enough, for it was one of the grandest in Venice. On the broad steps +before the great bronze doors lounged at least a dozen lackeys all +wearing Lelio’s splendid livery of blue and silver. Some of them were +asleep, some throwing dice, others bandying jests. Some were fat and +some were lean, some were tall and others short, but they all, even +the lean ones, had the comfortable look of men who live easily at the +expense of a rich and lavish lord. It was vain for Harlequin to try +to guess which of them was Coviello, so he asked one who seemed less +pre-occupied than the rest to point him out. + +“Coviello?” said the man. “There he is--asleep as usual.” And he +indicated a loutish fellow who lay on his back with his eyes shut and +his mouth wide open. + +Harlequin went up to him and prodded him lightly with his wand. + +Coviello opened his eyes, blinked stupidly, and sat up. + +“Who are you?” he said. “And what do you want?” + +“A private word with you, sir, if you will so far honour me,” replied +Harlequin politely. + +Coviello looked at him doubtfully. + +“It will be to your advantage if you will listen to me,” said +Harlequin; and he chinked the gold in his pocket. + +An expression of greed came into Coviello’s heavy eyes. + +“Well,” he repeated. “What do you want?” + +“Is there no place where we can talk more secretly than here?” asked +Harlequin. “What I have to say is not for every one’s ears.” + +Coviello rose to his feet. + +“Come this way,” he said, and led Harlequin up a narrow lane at the +side of the palace. “No one will interrupt us here--though I warn you +that if you mean mischief there are a dozen stout friends of mine +within call.” + +“I mean you no mischief,” laughed Harlequin. “On the contrary, it is a +service which I propose to do you. Tell me, does Lelio pay you well?” + +“Not badly, I suppose,” said Coviello grudgingly, “as things go.” + +“But you have to work for your money, I warrant,” said Harlequin. + +“I should think I did,” cried Coviello. “It is nothing but fetch and +carry all day long, and often all night too. It is a dog’s life, I can +tell you.” + +“In short,” said Harlequin, “if you could have the pay without the +work, you would find life more to your liking.” + +“Who wouldn’t?” said Coviello. + +“Why,” Harlequin answered, “I am not sure that I should. In fact, I +have a fancy to serve your master Lelio. Will you let me take your +place?” + +Coviello gazed at him in amazement. + +“What do you mean?” he asked. + +“What I say,” replied Harlequin. “Let me wear your clothes and do your +work, and you shall do nothing from morn to night--and have twice the +money that Lelio pays you into the bargain.” + +He showed Coviello a handful of gold pieces. The lackey gazed at them +eagerly. + +“But Lelio would never mistake you for me,” he said, scratching his +head. + +“I should think not,” cried Harlequin, eyeing the other’s clumsy figure +with disdain. “Nor need he. I will tell him that sudden business has +called you away, and that I, your cousin, have come to take your place +during your absence.” + +“What business should the likes of me have?” said Coviello. + +“I will say that you have been summoned to your grandmother’s funeral,” +said Harlequin. + +“But I have no grandmother living,” Coviello objected. + +“Of course she is not living,” replied Harlequin, “or she could not be +having a funeral.” + +Such reasoning was altogether beyond Coviello. Again he scratched his +head, looking Harlequin dubiously up and down. + +“If you are to wear my clothes,” he asked at last, “do you expect me to +wear yours?” + +“Certainly not,” said Harlequin decidedly. The mere idea of his +beautiful suit on Coviello’s back made him shudder. “But you shall have +a brand new suit at my expense.” + +“You seem to have plenty of money,” said Coviello. “I hope it was +honestly come by.” + +“Little you care about that,” retorted Harlequin, “so long as some of +it finds its way into your pocket.” + +“That is true enough,” Coviello admitted. + +“Then let us find a tailor’s shop,” said Harlequin. + +Coviello took him to one, and there a smart new suit was purchased; +into which the delighted lackey changed on the spot, while Harlequin +donned the blue and silver livery. His own clothes he kept on +underneath it, for he felt he would hardly be Harlequin without them. +His mask he put in his pocket. “I should suppose it was the first time +any one disguised himself by _taking off_ a mask,” he thought. + +“Now how am I to come to Lelio?” he asked Coviello. + +“He will send for you fast enough when he wants you,” Coviello replied. +“You had best go back to the steps and wait.” + +So, leaving Coviello to spend his easily earned money, Harlequin +returned to the palace. Several of the other lackeys, seeing him in +their livery, stared at him; but they were too lazy or too intent on +their own affairs to ask questions. Harlequin sat down on the bottom +step, and presently a page came to the door and shouted for Coviello. + +Harlequin rose and mounted the steps. + +“But you are not Coviello,” said the page. + +“That is no business of yours, my lad,” said Harlequin. “Show me the +way to your master.” + +He followed the page through the vast and sumptuously furnished +entrance hall, up many stairs, and along several passages. Outside a +closed door the page stopped. + +“This is Lelio’s room,” said the page. + +Harlequin opened the door and boldly entered. He found himself in a +beautiful bedroom, of which the walls were hung with Lelio’s colours of +blue and silver, and the ceiling was painted blue and powdered with +silver stars. At the far end of the room was a silver bed with curtains +of blue damask; in which, propped against a great pillow, wearing a +frilled nightshirt of the finest cambric, with a brightly-coloured +night-cap on his head and a little cup of steaming chocolate in his +delicate hand, reclined the most aristocratic-looking gentleman whom +Harlequin had ever seen. + +[Illustration] + +“Ah, Coviello!” said Lelio in a languid voice, as the dancer +approached. When he realised that it was not Coviello, he uttered an +exclamation of surprise. + +Harlequin hastened to explain about Coviello’s grandmother, and how he +had come to take his place. + +“Upon my soul!” cried Lelio. “You don’t mean to say that Coviello has a +grandmother? How extraordinary! I suppose the fellow will be claiming a +coat of arms next. What is your name, by the way?” + +“Truffaldino, sir,” said Harlequin. + +“And have you a grandmother, too?” Lelio asked. + +“Certainly not, sir,” replied Harlequin promptly. + +“And yet you are Coviello’s cousin,” said Lelio, looking puzzled. + +“Only in a manner of speaking, sir,” said Harlequin. + +“So much the better,” said Lelio, “if qualities, as they say, run in +families. For Coviello was the worst servant I ever had. Had I not been +so lazy I should have got rid of the oaf long ago. I hope you will do +better, Truffaldino.” + +“It is my devoutest wish, sir,” said Harlequin, bowing low, “to give +you perfect satisfaction.” + +“Well,” said Lelio, “you may as well set about it.” And he got out of +bed. + +Coviello had given Harlequin some hints as to his new duties; and +the dancer, being naturally quick-witted, even on this first day +was far less at a loss than might have been expected. He dressed +Lelio and shaved him, and afterwards waited on him at breakfast; and +Lelio, liking his light touch and graceful movements after Coviello’s +clumsiness, had by the evening made up his mind to take him permanently +into his service, and to leave Coviello to mourn for his grandmother, +if he chose, for the rest of his life. + + + + +_Harlequin Sees Columbine Once More_ + + +Harlequin waited impatiently for the day when Lelio would visit +Columbine, or send him to her with a message; but Lelio, though he +really intended to marry the Doctor’s daughter, felt it beneath his +dignity to go too often to so humble a house as Pantaloon’s. He saw +no cause to press his suit, for, coldly as Columbine always welcomed +him, he could not believe that she would refuse a husband of his rank +and elegance. He admired her the more for her reserve. In his view, a +courtship should be a slow and dignified business. Harlequin’s methods +would have deeply shocked him. + +About a week after the dancer had entered his service, however, he +decided that the time was come for another visit; and he set out for +Pantaloon’s house, Harlequin walking behind him with a great bouquet of +flowers which Lelio was going to present to Columbine. Harlequin was +in high hopes of once more setting eyes on his beloved. He wondered +whether she would recognise him under his disguise. Great was his +disgust when, on arriving at their destination, Lelio entered the house +alone and left him to kick his heels in the street. He did not even +get a chance of speaking to Pierrot, to whom he had intended to make +himself known. “If this is how things are to be,” he thought, “I might +as well have stayed at Burattino’s.” + +But Harlequin was not easily defeated. While he waited for Lelio, +he set his nimble wits to work; and that evening, as his master sat +yawning over his wine, he asked him whether he would like to see him +dance. + +From any other of his servants, Lelio would have considered such a +suggestion a great impertinence, but “Truffaldino” was already high in +his favour. Being a true Venetian he liked, above all things, to be +amused; and Coviello’s cousin was certainly an amusing fellow. + +“Can you dance, Truffaldino?” he asked. + +“A little,” said Harlequin modestly. + +“Go on, then,” said Lelio. “Let me see what you can do.” + +What his new servant could do in the way of dancing amazed him. Since +he had jilted Isabella for Columbine, Lelio went very little into the +world, and so it chanced that he had never seen the mandoline-player +and the dancer whose performances were so popular in fashionable +Venice. + +“I must confess that you dance very well, Truffaldino,” he said, taking +a pinch of snuff. “Where did you learn the art?” + +“I was born dancing,” said Harlequin, “and I daresay I shall die +dancing.” + +“Then I hope it will be with your feet on the ground,” laughed Lelio. + +Seeing his master in so good a humour, Harlequin thought that he might +venture a little further. + +“I wonder if I might take a great liberty, sir,” he said. + +“I will tell you that when you have taken it,” replied Lelio. “You do +it at your own risk, remember.” + +“Well, sir,” said Harlequin, “is it not possible that my dancing might +afford some entertainment to the lady whom you visited this morning? +Ladies are often very partial to dancing.” + +Lelio frowned, and Harlequin feared that he had angered him. But Lelio +was not angry: he was only thinking. + +“That is not a bad idea,” he said at length. “I noticed that she seemed +rather out of spirits this morning. Perhaps your dancing would divert +her. Yes, Truffaldino, you shall come with me next time I visit her.” + +Harlequin had difficulty in restraining himself from showing his joy. +As for Lelio, he also was pleased; for the notion of going courting +attended by a dancer--and so good a dancer as “Truffaldino”--struck him +as extremely elegant. + +Thus it was that Harlequin again saw his beautiful Columbine. He was +very much grieved to observe how pale she was and how unhappy she +looked; but he could not help being gratified by the listless air with +which she accepted Lelio’s well-turned compliments. + +[Illustration:] + +It was clear that at first she did not recognise her lover; but when, +at Lelio’s command, he began to dance, he saw a puzzled look come into +her face--and then she blushed--and then she trembled a little. She +knew him! + +Harlequin got no chance of speaking to her alone that day. But little +by little, as his position with Lelio grew more and more privileged, he +managed to contrive means of going without his master to the Doctor’s +house. He would suggest, so tactfully that Lelio thought that the idea +was his own, that it would be a graceful thing to send a present of +sweetmeats or flowers, or even a jewel, to Columbine. And Lelio liked +always to act gracefully. + +Harlequin insisted on delivering the presents into Columbine’s own +hands. He said that it was his master’s desire, and Pantaloon, so +churlish with every one else, was all complaisance to Lelio’s lightest +whim. It is true that he was usually present at the lovers’ meetings, +but one who had the honour to wear Lelio’s livery was, in the Doctor’s +eyes, a person worthy to be trusted; and when, as sometimes happened, +a patient called while the dancer was in the house, Pantaloon quite +happily left “Truffaldino” with his daughter. Pierrot, too, whom +Columbine had told who the pretended lackey really was, became quite +clever at inventing reasons to get his master out of the way. + +So once more Harlequin and Columbine enjoyed some happy moments, and +the roses returned to Columbine’s cheeks. But they were very short +moments and they did not occur very often; and the lovers, who were +both more in love than ever, were far from being satisfied. Nothing, +indeed, would content them but that they should run away together--and +how were they to do that, when it was impossible to leave the house, +to draw the creaking bolts and loosen the clanking chains, without +Pantaloon hearing them? + +Harlequin, on his way back to the palace, sometimes called at +Burattino’s, but though Violetta and Scaramouche were always glad to +see him, they had no new suggestions to make. + +As Harlequin became better acquainted with his master’s private +affairs, however, he got to know certain things which set him thinking. +One was that Lelio, though he was as devoted to Columbine as so languid +a gentleman was capable of being, was not a little inclined to regret +his break with Isabella. A marriage between himself and the great +heiress would have been so fitting a match. Their wedding might have +been the most splendid ever seen in Venice. He did not propose to have +very much ceremony when he married Columbine; for he was afraid that +his friends would only come to laugh at him, and he did not at all +relish the notion of being laughed at. + +Naturally the Lady Isabella’s name was not very often spoken in Lelio’s +presence, but when by chance it was, Harlequin noticed that his master +was far more interested than he pretended to be, and that when any one +was mentioned as paying court to her, he could scarcely conceal his +annoyance. Isabella had many suitors, though she gave them but little +encouragement. + +Another thing which the observant Harlequin discovered was that, +although Lelio was acknowledged to be the finest gentleman in Venice, +there was a certain Leandro who ran him a close second. There had, +indeed, been an ardent rivalry between the two young men as to which +of them should be the leader of fashion, and though hitherto the palm +had always gone to Lelio, now that he was seen so little Leandro was +beginning to usurp his place. Lelio sometimes thought seriously of +reasserting himself, but he dare not go much into society for fear of +meeting Isabella. When he heard, however, of some new triumph of his +rival’s--some particularly delightful entertainment which he had given +or some specially exquisite suit which he had worn--he almost wished +that he had never seen the fascinating Columbine. + +[Illustration] + +These feelings Harlequin did all he could to foster. From his fellow +servants and the servants of the other great houses whom he met in the +taverns he heard many stories of what was happening in the fashionable +world, and such stories he would repeat to his master while he was +dressing him. Nor did they lose in the repetition. + +One day, when he thought the time was ripe, Harlequin said to Lelio: “I +wonder, sir, whether you have heard the latest news.” + +“What is it?” asked Lelio. + +“Why, sir,” said Harlequin, in a very innocent voice, “that there is +likely soon to be a great wedding in Venice.” + +“Indeed,” said Lelio, “between whom?” + +“Between the Lord Leandro and the Lady Isabella,” said Harlequin. + +Lelio, who was being shaved, started from his chair so violently that +he gashed his chin badly on the razor in his servant’s hand. But he was +far too excited to notice the fact, though the blood quite ruined his +beautiful shirt. + +“Nonsense!” he cried. “It is impossible!” + +“I only tell you what I have heard, sir,” said Harlequin. “I had it +from one of the Lord Leandro’s own servants.” + +Lelio was in a fume. If Leandro and Isabella married, and their two +great houses were united, his own proud position would be gone for ever. + +“You must find out more of this, Truffaldino,” he cried; and then, +realising how much beneath his dignity it was to talk in this strain to +a mere lackey, he added more calmly: “I have a special and important +reason for wishing to have certain knowledge in this matter.” + +“I will do my best, sir,” said Harlequin, deftly applying a piece of +cotton-wool to his master’s chin. + + + + +_Pantaloon’s Dinner Party_ + + +“I think I see a way out of our troubles at last, my dear,” said +Harlequin next time he was alone with Columbine. + +“Oh, Harlequin!” cried Columbine. “How?” + +Harlequin told her what was in his mind, and she listened with eager +attention. + +“But it sounds dreadfully dangerous,” she said, when he had finished. + +“Don’t you think it is worth the risk?” Harlequin asked. + +“Yes, yes,” cried Columbine, “of course I do. Oh!--to be away with my +Harlequin--to have him all to myself--what happiness!” + +Harlequin kissed her tenderly. When he had left her, he went to the inn +and had a long and earnest conversation with Scaramouche and Violetta. + +“Good luck to you, Harlequin,” cried the innkeeper’s daughter, as he at +last took his departure. “So noble a plot deserves to succeed.” + +“I suppose I must wish you good luck, too,” growled the musician, “but +I think you would have done far better to stay with me.” + +Pantaloon, now that he believed that Harlequin had gone away for good, +was treating Columbine with less severity; but he was none the less +determined that she should marry Lelio, and was very vexed that she +showed as little inclination as ever to comply with his wishes. His +manner towards her, therefore, if not actually cruel, was far from +affectionate, and usually there was but little conversation between +father and daughter. + +So the old Doctor was greatly surprised when that evening after supper +the girl came to him and perched herself upon his knee. + +“I am afraid, Papa,” she said timidly, “that you do not think that I am +a very good daughter to you.” + +Pantaloon, who was really very fond of his child, and believed that +the way he treated her was only for her good, was quite moved by this +display of affection. + +“Nay, my dear,” he said, patting her hand, “except on one point you are +the best of daughters.” + +“Ah!” said Columbine, “but you consider that one point the most +important of all, do you not?” + +“Why, of course,” said Pantaloon. “There are few doctors’ daughters +who are sought in marriage by lords. I cannot think how you can be so +foolish as to scorn such good fortune.” + +“But if I do not love him, Papa?” said Columbine. + +“Love!” replied Pantaloon scornfully. “What is love compared with a +position like Lelio’s? Besides, you will come to love him in time--so +handsome and gallant a gentleman.... I hope, Columbine”, he went on, +more sternly, “that you are not still thinking of that scoundrelly +dancer?” + +“Oh, no, Papa,” said Columbine, blushing. “I see now how wrongly I +behaved, and to make amends for my naughtiness, I have determined to +marry Lelio ...” + +“You have?” cried Pantaloon in delight. + +“... When he asks for me,” Columbine went on demurely. “He has not +asked for me yet, you know.” + +“Not in so many words,” said the Doctor. “But he will soon enough, if +you will only smile on him. You are always so cold to him, and he is +far too proud to care to risk the rejection of his suit.” + +“I will try to smile on him,” said Columbine meekly. “Do you not think, +Papa, that it would be a good idea to ask him to dinner? One feels so +much more friendly at dinner-time.” + +“Ask Lelio to dine at my humble table!” exclaimed Pantaloon. “What a +notion! Where is my plate? What wine have I fit for him to drink? Who +would wait upon him?” + +“If Lelio really loves me,” Columbine replied, “he will not mind eating +off porcelain for once in his life, while as for wine, I daresay +that Violetta, when she hears who is to be our guest, would persuade +Burattino to let us have some good wine at a cheap rate. And Pierrot +can wait at table.” + +“A pretty mess he would make of it,” cried Pantaloon; but he was in +such good humour that Columbine had little difficulty in persuading him +to comply with her wish. + +So Pierrot was despatched to the palace with a letter inviting Lelio +to dine at the Doctor’s house on the morrow. + +Lelio laughed when he read it. + +“What is the world coming to?” he cried. “Pantaloon invites me, +Lelio, to dine with him. I suppose he thinks that since his daughter +pleases me, he is my equal in rank! I see that if I marry Columbine +I shall have to pay her father to live at the other end of the +country--otherwise I shall be plagued out of my life with his +impertinences.” + +At first, to Harlequin’s concern, he was for refusing the invitation. +Then it occurred to him that it would be a new and perhaps amusing +experience to dine at such a house as the Doctor’s, and he decided to +accept it. The pleasure of seeing Columbine did not seem to enter into +his consideration, but Harlequin knew that he was so much worried by +what he had heard about Leandro and Isabella that he had little thought +for anything else. + +When the time came to dress his master for the dinner-party, Harlequin +presented himself with a very solemn expression on his face. + +“How now, Truffaldino?” said Lelio. “What is the matter?” + +“I have just heard something which I think will interest you, sir,” he +said. “The Lord Leandro has invited the Lady Isabella to accompany him +this evening in his gondola, and she has consented.” + +“A gondola party?” Lelio asked. + +“No, sir,” replied Harlequin. “I am told they are to be alone.” + +“Good heavens!” cried Lelio. “This is too much! This must be stopped!” + +“He fetches her within the half-hour,” said Harlequin. + +“Then there is no time to lose,” said Lelio. + +“You have not forgotten, sir,” said Harlequin, “that you dine with +Doctor Pantaloon?” + +“I can’t go!” cried the excited young nobleman. “I won’t go! You must +take a message. Say--oh! say what you will. But first order my gondola +to be prepared immediately.” + +[Illustration] + +“Yes, sir,” said Harlequin, and he bowed and went out. When he +returned, he found his master muffled to the eyes in a great cloak and +examining his sword. He conducted him to his gondola, saw him start +down the canal in the direction of Isabella’s palace, and then hurried +back to Lelio’s room. + +Harlequin changed into one of his master’s richest suits, and he, too, +donned a cloak which hid his face. + +Lelio’s coach was at the door, with the coachman on the box and the +footman in attendance. Harlequin, copying his master’s languid air +to the life, got into the coach, and the coachman, who had already +received his instructions from “Truffaldino,” whipped up the horses. + +As they bowled along, Harlequin took from his pocket a little phial +containing a white powder, examined it carefully, and replaced it in +his pocket. + +The first thing that happened when the coach had stopped at Pantaloon’s +was an accident. As Harlequin stepped on to the street, the Doctor, +who had long been on the watch for his distinguished guest, ran from +the house with words of effusive welcome. These Harlequin acknowledged +by raising his hat with so magnificent a gesture that the brim of it +swept Pantaloon’s spectacles from his nose. Harlequin darted forward to +pick them up, but in so doing he unluckily trod on them, grinding the +glasses to a thousand atoms. + +“My dear Pantaloon,” cried Harlequin, in what was not at all a bad +imitation of Lelio’s voice. “How careless of me! How intolerably +clumsy! Can you forgive me?” + +“It does not matter at all,” said Pantaloon. He spoke as though the +greatest favour had been conferred on him. But for the rest of the +evening he saw very little of what was going forward. + +Nevertheless, the dinner was a great success. Pantaloon was surprised +at his guest’s liveliness; for usually Lelio had not very much to say +for himself. The food, which Columbine had prepared with Violetta’s +assistance, was really excellent; the wine from Burattino’s was good +enough for Lelio’s own table; and even Pierrot, though he did spill +some soup on Lelio’s coat, at which the affable gentleman laughed +heartily, acquitted himself not nearly so ill as Pantaloon had +feared. Columbine, it is true, was almost silent, but this her father +attributed to a becoming modesty. + +The Doctor was therefore in high good humour when his guest rose and, +in happily chosen words, proposed the health of his charming hostess. + +“This is a toast,” he concluded, turning to Pantaloon, “to drink which +you and I must exchange our glasses--in token of the closer bond which +I hope will ere very long unite us.” + +As he spoke he quickly drew the little phial from his pocket and +emptied its contents into his glass. Then, taking Pantaloon’s in +exchange, he handed the glass to his host, who, blind but beaming, +raised it aloft and drained it at a draught. + +Pantaloon’s last thought was that it was his turn now to make a speech. +He tried to rise to his feet; instead of which, he fell heavily +forward, his head sunk upon the table, and so he stayed. + +“Oh, Harlequin,” cried Columbine in a fright, “is he dead?” + +“No,” said Harlequin, “he is only asleep. And, unless the chemist has +played me false, he will sleep for some hours to come. All the same, we +had better not delay. Are you ready, my dear?” + +Columbine ran from the room. When she returned, she was cloaked and +carrying a little bag, in which she had put the few things which she +wanted to take with her into her new life. + +She gazed for a moment at her father. + +“Poor Papa!” she sighed, and kissed the top of his head. + +Then she turned to accompany Harlequin. + +Pierrot saw them out. He managed to wish them a fairly cheerful +good-bye; but as he watched them disappear into the darkness two big +tears coursed down his white cheeks. + +[Illustration:] + + + + +_Concerning Lelio and Pantaloon_ + + +There was certainly a gondola outside Isabella’s palace, and on the +palace steps a man was standing. The gondola was not Leandro’s, and the +man looked stouter than that elegant young nobleman, who prided himself +on his slimness; but he was masked, and so completely muffled in his +cloak that it was impossible to see what his figure was really like. +It was natural, too, that for the adventure on which Lelio believed +Leandro to be embarked he should not use his own smart gondola, which +every one in Venice knew. Lelio, at any rate, had no doubt that what +“Truffaldino” had told him was true; and he was surer of it than ever +when, as he approached, a woman, also cloaked and masked, stepped out +from the shadow of the palace. The two got into the gondola and entered +its cabin, and the gondolier pushed out into the stream. + +Lelio had formed no definite plan of action, but he was determined to +discover whither Leandro and Isabella were going. So he told his own +gondolier to keep their craft in sight, but to stay far enough behind +it not to be observed. Then the game began. + +It was a long game, and for Lelio a very wearisome one. It soon +appeared that Leandro and Isabella were going nowhere in particular. +They merely rowed up and down and in and out of the canals, apparently +without purpose. Lelio, who had not dined, grew hungrier and hungrier, +and the hungrier he grew the worse became his temper. He fingered his +sword in a way which boded very ill for Leandro. + +At last, after several hours, the wandering gondola drew up quite +suddenly at a landing-stage in a little side-canal, and the two +occupants got out. Lelio was only a few moments behind, and he leaped +to land just as his quarry was moving away. He hurried after them, +crying to them in a very threatening manner to stop. He was so angry +that he was for having the matter out there and then, regardless of +consequences. + +At the sound of his voice, the man and woman turned round, at the same +time removing their masks. + +“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the man politely. “Did you address us?” + +Lelio was dumbfounded. Whoever they might be, they were not Leandro and +Isabella. + +His first impulse was to vent his rage upon them nevertheless, but he +realised in time that to do so would make him look very ridiculous. It +was not their fault--at least he did not know that it was--that he had +been following them. + +“I--I beg your pardon,” he stammered. “I fear I have made a mistake.” +And without more ado he dashed back to his gondola and told the +gondolier, in a furious voice, to take him home. + +Homewards, too, went Scaramouche and Violetta, so soon as their +merriment had abated sufficiently to allow them to walk. + + * * * * * + +Pantaloon, having slept for about four hours, woke up. At first he did +not know where he was, but gradually, seeing the remains of the feast +on the table, the broken meats and empty glasses, he recollected the +earlier events of the evening. Then he observed Pierrot sitting in the +window, his white face made whiter by the moonlight which streamed +through the panes. + +“What has happened?” asked Pantaloon. + +“You have been asleep, sir,” said Pierrot. + +“I know that,” replied the Doctor testily. “Where is Columbine?” + +Pierrot looked at him in melancholy and frightened silence. + +“Where is Columbine?” Pantaloon repeated. + +“She has gone,” said Pierrot in a hollow voice. + +“Gone!” cried Pantaloon. “What do you mean? Gone where?” + +“I don’t know,” said Pierrot. + +“You are talking nonsense,” shouted Pantaloon. “She can’t have gone. +Columbine wouldn’t do such a thing.” + +But he was soon convinced that she had, for he searched every room in +the house and could find no trace of his daughter. + +“The villain!” he cried, as he returned to the parlour. “To steal her +from under my very nose! I suppose he thinks that a fine gentleman like +him can treat a mere physician as he pleases. But he shall learn his +mistake, if I have to burn his palace down to teach him.” + +To this Pierrot said nothing. If Pantaloon believed that it was Lelio +who had carried Columbine away, so much the better. It would make the +lovers’ chance of escape all the surer. + +His silence, however, did not save his own skin. For suddenly the +infuriated Doctor turned upon his pale assistant. + +“You are in this, too,” he stormed. “I know you are, you scoundrel. You +helped that dancing rascal to play his tricks, and now you have helped +Lelio. Out of my house, you wretch! Never let me see your moon-face +again!” + +And with kicks and cuffs of surprising vigour for one so old and +infirm, he drove Pierrot out of the room, out of the house and into the +street, and slammed the door against him. + +[Illustration] + +When he had recovered a little from his bewilderment, Pierrot made his +way to Burattino’s. He arrived there at the same moment as Scaramouche +and Violetta, who were still laughing over the dance which they had led +Lelio. They took him into the inn, and while Violetta plastered his +broken head, he told them how matters had gone at Pantaloon’s dinner +party. + +Violetta clapped her hands when she heard that Harlequin and Columbine +had got safely away. + +“We did our part well, too, didn’t we, Scaramouche?” she said. + +“Not at all badly, my dear,” replied the musician. “But it was hungry +and thirsty work.” + +Violetta took the hint, and laid the table for supper. + +“As for you, Pierrot,” she said, “you must stay here with us. You shall +have Harlequin’s bed.” + +“Yes,” said Scaramouche, “and you shall do Harlequin’s work. Where he +danced, you shall sing; and you shall make that fortune which he so +foolishly abandoned.” + +“I feel as though I could never sing again,” said Pierrot. + +“Nonsense!” said Scaramouche, and filled his glass for him. + + * * * * * + +The first thing next morning Pantaloon went straight to Lelio’s palace. +Lelio, of course, was still in bed, but the Doctor was so insistent in +his demands to see him that at last a message was taken up to him. + +“Let him come,” said Lelio indifferently. He wondered sleepily what the +old gentleman wanted. Not that it mattered very much. After the way his +dignity had been upset on the previous night, nothing seemed to matter +very much to Lelio. + +Pantaloon came striding to his bedside. + +“Give me my daughter,” he said in a threatening voice. + +“My good fellow, what on earth are you talking about?” said Lelio, +sitting up. “I haven’t got your daughter.” + +“You can’t deceive me, sir,” shouted Pantaloon. + +“You are making a great deal of noise,” said Lelio. + +“Who wouldn’t make a noise,” Pantaloon retorted, “when his daughter had +been stolen by his own guest after he himself had been drugged at his +own table? For shame, sir! It was a trick unworthy of a nobleman.” + +“No doubt,” said Lelio calmly. “But perhaps you would explain yourself +a little more clearly.” + +“It strikes me that it is your business to explain,” said the Doctor. +“Do you deny my charge?” + +“Most certainly,” Lelio replied. + +“I suppose you will deny that you dined with me last night,” Pantaloon +sneered. + +“Why!” exclaimed Lelio. “Are you in your dotage, Pantaloon? Don’t you +remember that I sent you a message to express my regret that important +business”--here Lelio blushed--“prevented me from having that pleasure? +Didn’t Truffaldino give you that message?” + +“He did not,” said Pantaloon. “And what is more, you did dine with me +last night, my Lord Lelio.” + +“I give you my word of honour I did nothing of the kind,” said Lelio +haughtily. + +Pantaloon was silent. Who was he to doubt the word of honour of a +nobleman? + +“There is evidently some mystery here,” Lelio went on. “Perhaps +Truffaldino can throw light upon it. Which reminds me, I have seen +nothing of the fellow since I came home last night.” + +As a matter of fact, Lelio had been so put out of countenance by his +misadventure that he had not cared to face even his servant. Contrary +to his custom, therefore, he had not sent for him but, for the first +time in his life, had undressed and gone to bed without assistance. + +He rang the bell by his bedside, and a page appeared. + +“Send Truffaldino,” said Lelio. + +The page went away, but no Truffaldino came. Lelio was getting very +impatient when the boy returned to say that the lackey was nowhere to +be found. + +“This is very strange,” said Lelio; and then it occurred to him that +it was Truffaldino who had told him the story which had led to his +humiliating wild-goose chase. “I am afraid there is something queer +about that fellow,” he added. “I suppose I ought to have found out more +about him when I took him into my service.” He turned to the page. “Do +you happen to know where Coviello is?” he asked. + +“No, sir,” said the boy, “but I do not think it would be very hard to +find him. He will be in some tavern or other, if I know Coviello.” + +“Visit every tavern in Venice if necessary,” said Lelio, “but bring him +to me. If you will wait,” he said to Pantaloon, “perhaps we may get an +explanation of this extraordinary occurrence.” + +It was not so very long before the page came back, and behind him +slouched Coviello. Nor was it very long before Lelio had drawn from his +old lackey an account of how he had been bribed to give his place and +his livery to a stranger. + +“And you did not bury your grandmother after all?” Lelio asked. + +“I never had a grandmother,” said Coviello. + +“I thought not,” said Lelio. + +“I hope you will forgive me, sir,” said Coviello, “and take me back +into your service.” + +“Well,” said Lelio, “since Truffaldino has apparently gone for good, I +suppose I might as well. You are a bad servant, but at least you know +my ways. You had better get into your livery again.” + +“Truffaldino had my livery,” said Coviello. + +“So he had, the scamp!” said Lelio. “You will have to have a new one. +Are those Truffaldino’s clothes that you are wearing?” + +“No, sir,” replied Coviello. “He bought them for me. He was wearing +the funniest clothes--as tight as his skin and all the colours of the +rainbow.” + +At this Pantaloon uttered such a cry that Lelio nearly jumped out of +bed. + +“Whatever is the matter now?” he asked. + +“He has got her after all!” cried Pantaloon, wringing his hands. “The +villain! The scoundrel! Oh, why didn’t I guess?” + +“Guess what?” said Lelio. + +“That Truffaldino was Harlequin,” wailed the Doctor; and, though he +was so enraged that he could hardly speak coherently, he poured into +Lelio’s ears the tale of Harlequin’s wickedness. + +“You seem to have been nicely tricked, my friend,” said Lelio, when he +had finished. + +“You too,” cried Pantaloon. + +Lelio raised his eyebrows. He could not deny that he had been tricked, +but to be coupled with Pantaloon did not please him at all. + +“There is no time to lose,” the Doctor went on. “We must rescue +Columbine from your rival’s clutches.” + +“My rival!” exclaimed Lelio. “Thank you. I pretend to no rivalry with +dancers and lackeys.” + +“But surely,” cried Pantaloon in surprise, “you are going to help me to +find Columbine?” + +“I really shouldn’t dream of interfering so far in your family +affairs,” said Lelio coldly. And very deliberately he lay down in his +bed again and turned his back on the Doctor. + +Pantaloon gazed at him for a moment in speechless indignation, and then +stamped out of the room. + +“This is what comes of mixing with the lower classes,” Lelio murmured, +as he heard the door slam behind the old gentleman whom less than +twenty-four hours ago he had regarded as his future father-in-law. “I +might have known that a girl of Columbine’s birth could not be worthy +of me.... But she was very charming,” he sighed. + +Presently he raised himself on his elbow and called to Coviello, who +was still waiting his pleasure. + +“Dress me, Coviello,” he said, “and dress me very carefully. I have an +important visit to pay.” + + + + +_The Married Life of Harlequin and Columbine_ + + +The very first thing that Harlequin did when he and Columbine were +fairly out of Venice was to strip off Lelio’s grand clothes and throw +them into a ditch. Seeing him once more in the well-known suit of many +colours Columbine laughed for joy. + +“Now you are more like my Harlequin,” she exclaimed. + +Harlequin put on his mask and brandished his wand, which had been +concealed in the folds of Lelio’s cloak. + +“Now you are really and truly my Harlequin,” cried Columbine, and +floated into his arms. + +They walked on through the moonlit night and in the morning came to a +village. Having broken their fast at the inn, they sought the priest, +who married them in the little village church. + +Then they continued their journey, though they minded but little +whither they went. They were quite content to walk side by side and +love one another. Sometimes they stopped to dance, and sometimes they +paused to kiss. By evening they found themselves in an orange grove, +and there they rested. + +When Columbine awoke, she saw that Harlequin was busy carving something +on the trunk of the tree under which they had slept. She rose and +looked over his shoulder, and this is what she read. + + Dear orange tree, whose leafy tent + Has served our love for hiding-place, + Take, and let never Time deface, + These lines, a lover’s testament. + + And say to all who wend their way, + Happy and idle, down this glade: + If pleasure had the power to slay, + I should have died beneath thy shade. + +“Oh, Harlequin,” said Columbine, “how beautiful! I never guessed that +you were a poet.” + +“I was not, until you made me one,” said Harlequin, kissing her. + +Their wandering honeymoon lasted for several weeks. Sometimes they +slept in the open, sometimes at inns, and when they needed money they +had only to dance for it. + +It was a jolly life, and they were both very happy, but one day +Columbine said to her husband: “Harlequin, I should like to see your +home. Won’t you take me there? I am sure your parents must have +forgiven you by now.” + +“Whether they have or not,” said Harlequin, “they will certainly do so +when they see what a beautiful wife I have married.” + +So they turned their steps towards Bergamo, where they arrived after +two or three days. As they walked through the streets, Harlequin +pointed out to Columbine, who was, of course, very much interested, the +scenes of his boyish exploits. When they reached the shop, Harlequin +was surprised to see that it was twice as big as it had been when he +left it. One half was still filled with fruit, while the other was +filled with flowers most tastefully arranged. + +“That is my mother’s doing, I know,” he said. “And there she is +herself.” + +Skipping into the shop, he took his mother into his arms. + +“Oh, my precious Harlequin!” she cried, when she had a little recovered +from her surprise. “You have come back at last.” + +She was too much delighted to utter a single word of reproach for his +long truancy. + +When she saw Columbine, and learned that the lovely girl was +Harlequin’s wife, she was more delighted than ever: and Columbine loved +her at once, for she was quite as charming, and almost as pretty, as +when she had married the fruit-seller. + +“But where is my father?” Harlequin asked. + +“Alas!” replied his mother, “your poor father is dead.” + +“Dead!” cried Harlequin; and “Oh dear!” murmured Columbine. + +“I hope it was not my running away that killed him,” said Harlequin. + +“No,” said his mother. “Of course he was very angry about that, but I +think he was really glad to be rid of so disgraceful a son”--and she +smiled at Harlequin as though she did not consider him in the least +disgraceful. “It was this way,” she continued. “Having become such an +important person in Bergamo, he had to go to a great many banquets. As +you will remember, Harlequin, he was always a very full-blooded man; +and in the end an apoplexy carried him off.” + +The widow sighed, for she had been very fond of the fruit-seller; but +with Harlequin home again, she could not feel sad for long. + +“I shall give up the shop to you, Harlequin,” she said presently. “It +will keep you out of mischief. Besides, I am getting old.” + +She did not look at all old, but Harlequin was quite willing to mind +the shop or do anything else, so long as Columbine was with him. +So he sold the fruit, and Columbine the flowers, and they drove a +brisker trade than even the old fruit-seller had done. The beauty of +Harlequin’s wife was soon the talk of Bergamo, and people came to buy +just for the sake of looking at her. In the evening, when the shop was +shut, Harlequin and Columbine used to dance, and very often the widow +would join them. She danced as delightfully as ever. + +During the day, she sewed alternately at a little patchwork suit and a +little frilled white dress. In due course both were needed. + +One morning, when Harlequin was arranging his fruit, he heard the sound +of a mandoline coming from down the street. + +“There is only one man in all Italy who can play like that,” he cried, +and, dropping his basket of apples, he ran as fast as he could in the +direction of the music. + +In a minute he was back again, and with him was Scaramouche, plump and +merry as of old. Columbine welcomed the musician warmly, and asked him +eagerly for news of Venice. + +“Why, my dear,” said Scaramouche, “many things have happened there +since you ran away. But what will interest you most, I expect, is that +there have been two weddings--of both of which your departure was the +cause. For neither of the bridegrooms would have looked elsewhere had +Columbine’s bright eyes still been there to draw their gaze.” + +Columbine blushed. + +“The marriage of Lelio and Isabella,” Scaramouche proceeded, “was a +very magnificent affair indeed. The other was not so gorgeous, but it +was merry enough. I saw to that.” + +“Whose marriage do you mean?” Columbine asked. “Surely not Pierrot’s?” + +“Yes, Pierrot’s,” replied Scaramouche. + +“Pierrot is never married!” exclaimed Harlequin. + +“He is, though,” said Scaramouche. “And married to Violetta. I myself +opposed the notion at first. For Pierrot sings very nicely, and our +performances together were becoming as popular as yours and mine +used to be. And I knew that, once married, he would be lost to me. +But Violetta insisted that he needed a wife to look after him--and +Violetta, as you know, is a young woman of determined character.” + +[Illustration] + +“Are they happy?” asked Columbine. + +“The happiest couple in the world, by all appearances,” said +Scaramouche. + +“Except one,” said Harlequin, and again Columbine blushed. + +“Of course I should have excepted present company,” laughed +Scaramouche. “But, really, they are most devoted. Indeed, I got quite +tired of their billing and cooing. I felt out of it. That is why I am +on the road again.” + +“And have you any news of my father?” Columbine asked. + +“No,” said Scaramouche, “none. He left Venice to look for you, the very +day after your flight, and nothing has been heard of him since.” + +“Poor Papa!” said Columbine, sighing. “I hope no evil has befallen him. +I wish I could see him again.” This was perfectly true, for in her +happiness she had quite forgotten Pantaloon’s unkindness and remembered +only that he was her father. + +It was not so very long before her wish was fulfilled. All this time +Pantaloon had been searching for his daughter through the length and +breadth of Italy, and at last he came to Bergamo. Riding on his donkey, +he arrived at the shop, looking so old and tired that Columbine cried +when she saw him. As for the Doctor, he was so glad to have found +his daughter again that he never even thought of saying the harsh +things which he had intended to say to her; nor, seeing Columbine +so prosperous and contented, could he do anything else but forgive +Harlequin on the spot. + +Thenceforth Pantaloon lived above the fruit shop, where Columbine and +Harlequin’s mother looked after him. He spent most of his time playing +with his grandchildren, and his only quarrel with his son-in-law was +that he was never allowed to give them physic. + + +FINIS + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + +[Illustration:] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77170 *** |