Harlequin

... what they probably look like under all that hair.

Um, but you find the wild man is the inspiration for Harlequin.

So if you, I've traced this in the book, in the history of this, this is where you get the first proto clown coming from a tradition out of Italy.

So in Italy, there was a band of, uh, improvised actors who all had masks, okay? And these masks were like stock characters that represented well-known characters of modern Western civilization.

So you had all these characters, these well-known stock characters here.

Um, and it had masks to represent them.

Now, the one there on the far right, right now, that's just off-screen a little bit, that's Harlequin.

Okay?

tidbit it's so cool it's so great because obviously painted all the cars were painted so it's like a door and a trunk and all this stuff

that's super cool yeah so obviously we're laughing because volkswagen harlequin and additions in the mark three i wonder if that has any tieback or any homage to that but okay so either way that's super cool so those are the I didn't

look up the etymology of the word Harlequin.

I doubt it's this alone.

I was curious about

It's some type of like mismatched parts, right?

It's got to be.

Or Harlequin is like, well, I think of Harlequin from Batman.

The curtain was up, and the performance had started.

Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage, and as usual they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

The theatre was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two marionettes.

the play continued for a few minutes and then suddenly without any warning harlequin stopped talking turning toward the audience he pointed to the rear of the orchestra yelling wildly at the same time look look am i

"'Pinocchio, come

up

to me!' shouted Harlequin.

"'Come to the arms of your wooden brothers!' at such a loving invitation pinocchio with one leap from the back of the orchestra found himself in the front rows with another leap he was on the orchestra leader's head with a third he landed on the stage it is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy the warm embraces the knocks and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of dramatic actors and actresses receive pinocchio It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the play had stopped, became angry and began to yell, The play! The play! We want the play! The yelling was of no use, for the marionettes, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up Pinocchio on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph.

Holy shit.

What is it? Like a Harlequin?

And there's a black kid in it.

Like if you'd done a white kid, it would have been a

The curtain was up, and the performance had started.

Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage, and as usual they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

The theatre was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two marionettes.

The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Harlequin stopped talking.

Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time, "'Look, look! Am I asleep

or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?' "'Yes, yes, it is Pinocchio!'

"'It is Pinocchio! It is our brother

Pinocchio! Hurrah

Thus far the story, which is improbable enough to be an allegory Now many centuries after these events did not happen, a certain worthy citizen, an illiterate fellow but none the worse for that, made them into a pantomime.

To wit Saint George and the Dragon or Harlequin Tom Thumb And the same was duly played at a provincial theater with a lightly clad chorus of Egyptian lasses in glaring contradiction of the dearth of such in the fable; and a Sabra who sang to them a topical song about the County Council Curiously enough in private life Sabra although her name was Miss on the posters Was really a miss She was quite as young and pretty as she looked too And only rouged herself for the sake of stage perspective I don't mean to say she was as beautiful as the Egyptian princess Who was as straight as a cedar and wore her auburn hair In wanton ringlets But she was a sprightly little body With sparkling eyes and A complexion that would have been a good advertisement To any soap on earth But better than Sabra's skin was Sabra's heart Which though as yet untouched by man Was full of love and tenderness And did not faint under the burden Of supporting her mother and the household For instead of having a king for a sire Sabra had a drunken scene-shifter for a father Everybody about the theatre liked Sabra From the actor manager [who played St. George] To the stage door keeper [who played St. Peter].

Even her understudy Did not wish her ill Needless therefore to say It was Sabra who made The dragon semi-sentimental Not in 'the book,' of course Where his desire to eat her remained purely literal Real dragons keep themselves Aloof from sentiment But a stage dragon is Only human Such a one may be entirely the slave of sentiment And it was perhaps to the credit of our dragon That only half of him was in the bonds The other half--and that the better half Was saturnine and teetotal And answered to the name of Davy Brigg Davy was the headman On the dragon He played the anterior parts Waggled the head and flapped the wings And sent gruesome grunts and penny squibs Through the fire-breathing jaws He was a dour middle-aged But stage-struck Scot Very proud of his rapid rise in the profession For he had begun As a dramatist The rear of the dragon Was simply known as Jimmy Jimmy was a wreck His past was a mystery His face was a brief record of baleful experiences And he had the aspirates of a gentleman He had gone on the stage To be out of the snow and the rain Not knowing this The actor manager paid him ninepence a night His wages just kept him in beer money The original Sabra Tamed two lions But perhaps it was a greater feat To tame this half of a dragon Jimmy's tenderness for Sabra began At rehearsal When he saw a good deal of her And felicitated himself on the fact That they were on in the same scenes After awhile however he perceived This to be a doleful drawback For whereas at rehearsal he could jump Out of his skin and breathe Himself and feast his eyes on Sabra when the dragon Was disengaged On the stage he was forced to remain Cramped in darkness while Ptolemy was clowning Or St. George executing a dance step Sabra was invisible Except for an odd moment or two Between the scenes when he caught sight of her Gliding into her dressing room Like a streak of discreet sunshine Still he had his compensations Her dulcet notes reached his darkness Mellowed by the painted canvas And the tin scale sewn over it As the chant of the unseen cuckoo reaches The woodland wanderer Sometimes when she sang that song About the county council he forgot to wag his tail Thus was Love blind While Indifference [in the person of Davy Brigg] Looked its fill through the mask That stood for the monster's head After a bit Jimmy conceived A mad envy of his superior's privileges He longed to see Sabra through the dragon's mouth He was so weary of the Little strip of stage Under the dragon's belly which even if he Peered through the breathing holes In the patch of paint disguised gauze Let into its paunch was the most he Could see One night he asked Davy to change places with Him Davy's look of surprise And consternation was Beautiful to see "Do I hear aright?" he asked "Just for a night," said Jimmy abashed "But do you know ken this is a speaking part" "I did ...not...know that..." faltered Jimmy "Where's your ears mon?" inquired Davy sternly "Dinna ye hear me growlin' An' grizzlin' an' squealin' an' skirlin'" "Ye-es," said Jimmy "but I thought You did it at random." "Thought I did it at random!" cried Davy holding up his hands in horror "And maybe also Ye thought anybody could do't." Jimmy's shamed silence gave consent Also to this unflinching Interpretation of his thought "Ah weel," said Davy with melancholy resignation "This is the artist's reward For his sweat and labour Why mon let me tell ye Ilk a note it's not ainly timed But modulated to the dramatic Interest o' the moment And that I practised the squeak hours At a time wi' a bagpiper Tak my place indeed Are ye fou again Or hae ye tint your senses" "But you could Do the words all the same I only want to See for once." "And how d'ye think the words should sound Coming from the creature's Belly? And what should ye see? Ye shouldna ken where to go I warrant Come I'll speir ye Where do you come in for the fight with St.

George Is it R2E or LUE" "LUE," replied Jimmy feebly "You donnard old runt!" cried Davey triumphantly.

It was a vision of dazzling splendour that made his eyes blink a beautiful glittering figure in tights and tinsel the prancing prince of pantomime For an infinitesimal fraction of a second frank had the horror of the thought that he had come into the wrong house Good evening George! The Prince cried I had almost given you up Great god Was the voice indeed lucy's Frank grasped at the mantel Sick And blind The world tumbling about his ears The suspicion that he lacked worldly Wisdom Became a certainty Slowly he turned his head To face the waves Of dazzling colour That tossed Before his dizzy Eyes The Prince's outstretched hand Dropped suddenly A startled shriek Broke from the painted lips The reunited lovers Stood staring half blindly At each other More than the Atlantic Rolled between Them Lucy broke the terrible silence Brute It was his Welcome home Brute He echoed interrogatively In a low hoarse whisper Brute and cad Said the Prince vehemently The musical tone Strident With anger Is this your faith Your loyalty To sneak back Home like a thief To peep Through the keyhole To see If I was a good Little girl Lucy Don't He interrupted In anguished tones As there is a heaven Above us I had No Suspicion But You Have Now The Prince Interrupted With a bitter laugh Neither Made Any Attempt To Touch The Other Though They Were But a few inches Apart Out With It Lucy I have nothing To say against you How Should I I know Nothing It is for you To Speak For pity Sake Tell me All What is This Masquerade This Masquerade She Touched Her Pink Tights He Shuddered At the touch These are She Paused Why Not tell The easy Lie and Be done With the whole Business and Marry the Dear Devoted Boy But the mad instinct of revolt and resentment swept over her in a flood that dragged the truth from her heart and hurled it at him.

These are the legs of Prince Pretty Pet.

If I am lucky, I shall stand on them in the pantomime of The Enchanted Princess or Harlequin Dick Turpin at the Oriental Theatre.

The man who has the casting of the part is coming to see how I look.

The curtain was up, and the performance had started.

Harlequin and Pulcinella were reciting on the stage, and as usual they were threatening each other with sticks and blows.

The theatre was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two marionettes.

The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Harlequin stopped talking.

Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time, "'Look, look! Am I asleep

or awake? Or do I really see Pinocchio there?' "'Yes, yes, it is Pinocchio!'

"'It

is Pinocchio! It is our brother Pinocchio! Hurrah for Pinocchio!' "'Pinocchio, come up to me!'

Punchinelle, an old magician, read by Adrian Stephens.

Harlequin, read by Alan Mapstone.

Little girl, read by Jasmine Selma.

Stage directions, read by Larry Wilson.

Now tell us about Pierrot.

What shall I tell you about Pierrot? His mind is like a sunbeam which has fallen into a globe of crystal and clear water, and all the colors are there in it, except one, which is constancy.

You see today he imagines he is a philosopher, but out of his philosophy roses spring, so that our comedy which begins with a sigh ends with an embrace, or rather with two embraces, because Harlequin, after he has sung his song so earnestly and to such utter disdain, consoles himself for love by loving, and for the kisses which he cannot get by those the girls will give.

For this is the proper way all love songs should end.