Hungry Death by Robin Blake

Author:Robin Blake [Blake, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House
Published: 2022-01-14T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FOUR

The small orchestra, consisting of viols, recorders, trumpets and drums, struck up and a young man dressed in a tight costume, though with strange protuberances on the shoulders and a bell on his cap, came a little shyly onto the stage. The crowd cheered, recognizing Harlequin himself. Standing with a pathetic expression on his face, and his knees turned in, he opened his mouth. The crowd fell silent to hear him sing a song of the moment – one that I had last heard on the lips of Tom Tootall.

My darling Delia blooming fair,

Let not a heart in flame consume

That’s kindled with thy charming air.

Oh sooth my soul or death’s my doom.

The voice was not unpleasant, though a little thin, nasal and continuously quavering.

I gazed I loved in raptures fell

Your sparkling eye has pierced me through

No poet’s song, no tongue can tell,

How many beauties shine in you.

I felt secretly for Elizabeth’s hand, and grasped it, thinking of the early days of our courtship. She looked at me as if to say, Please, please, do not embarrass me! I got out a handkerchief and blew my nose.

The song continued into a final verse expressing the singer’s sobbing affirmative love.

Let Kingdoms the ambitious fire,

Their wealth and Power I despise,

To nobler conquests I aspire,

For Delia’s the more glorious prize.

The audience cheered wildly and Harlequin gave a rapid bow before shuffling off the stage. His movements were hesitant, he wore a hang-dog face, and even in his quavering song gave the impression of being an ingénu wholly unused to acting, singing, or any kind of stage work, and was resigned to suffering all the catcalls and verbal impertinence that an audience is capable of. In fact, of course, they loved him, because he was Harlequin and they all knew in advance what was going to happen. Each time Harlequin came back he would be a little bolder, a little more impudent, until by the climax of the show he would be leaping about, making farting sounds, grinning, pulling faces and making mock of everything around him.

Now it was the turn of Madame Strozza, who, carrying three clubs, strode out to a loud roll of the drum. The same drum then began to beat rather faintly at first in the rhythm of a minuet. The viol and the bass viol soon joined in, as did the recorders, while Madame Strozza started to dance, swaying her wide bottom while throwing the clubs into the air and catching them in a sequence that became increasingly complex. Then her associate at the side of the stage threw her a fourth club which she caught and integrated into her juggling with ease, to a heady cheer from the crowd. At the climax of the dance a fifth club was tossed at her and this too was juggled smoothly with the rest. Then one by one she tossed the clubs back to her partner, made one last turn of the dance and sank into a curtsey. There was more applause.

Now

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