“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:]