The adventures of Harlequin

“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.”

“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.