The adventures of Harlequin

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.

“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.”

“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.