Part 5

“You shall, you shall,” said Pierrot. “Indeed, I have already thought of something. I daren’t stay to tell it you now. But trust Pierrot, Columbine.”

“I will,” Columbine answered. “Dear Pierrot, you are very good to me.”

Pierrot sighed.

[Illustration]

That evening, when his master was shut up in his study, poring over his books of medical lore, he slipped out of the house and ran to Burattino’s inn.

Pierrot was afraid, indeed, that his errand might be a vain one; for it seemed to him likely that, after the events of the morning, Harlequin would have quitted the neighbourhood.

But Harlequin had no intention of doing so. Come what might of it, he was determined to remain near Columbine. Besides, as Scaramouche and Violetta had pointed out, it was very improbable that Pantaloon would take any serious steps against him. The last thing the Doctor would want would be that the story of the trick which had been played upon him should become public; for that would not only make him the laughing-stock of Venice, but put an end to all hopes of a marriage between his daughter and so proud and particular a gentleman as Lelio.

Pierrot put his head round the door of the inn parlour, where Scaramouche was playing to the guests and Violetta was waiting on them. Harlequin was sitting in a corner; for the first time in his life he did not feel inclined to dance. When he saw Pierrot beckoning, he came to him at once.

“What news?” he asked.

“Come outside,” said Pierrot. “I want to talk to you privately.”

They went out into the dark street, and Pierrot told Harlequin how cruelly Pantaloon was using Columbine, keeping her locked in her room and allowing her only dry bread to eat and water to drink.

“I know quite well what his game is,” said Pierrot. “He intends to force her into marrying Lelio.”

“She will never do that,” cried Harlequin.

“Never willingly,” Pierrot replied. “But her spirit may be broken. If she thinks that she has lost you for good, she may fall into despair. You must get to her again, Harlequin.”

“I mean to,” said Harlequin stoutly. “If only I could think of a way! But I am surprised to hear you talk like this, Pierrot. I should have thought you would have been glad to be rid of me.”

Pierrot shook his head.

“I want Columbine to be happy,” he said.

Harlequin seized him by the hand.

“What a good fellow you are!” he said warmly. “I never expected to find a friend in you.”

“I thought harshly of you at first; and, of course, I am jealous of you now,” said Pierrot with a sad little smile. “But I know it is only you who will make Columbine happy: so I have no choice but to help you if I can. And I think that perhaps I can. At least, I have a little suggestion to make.”

“Oh, what is it?” cried Harlequin eagerly.

“Well,” said Pierrot, “of course it is out of the question for you to come to the house, or even within sight of it, in your own person. Pantaloon is not so short-sighted but what he would be sure to discover you--those clothes of yours make you so conspicuous--and I saw him loading his blunderbuss this afternoon. He is not a bad marksman, either.”

“What do you propose that I should do, then?” Harlequin asked.

“You must disguise yourself,” said Pierrot.

“Is that all you have to suggest?” said Harlequin, in tones of disappointment. “What would be the use, if no man is ever allowed inside Pantaloon’s house?”

“I never thought of that,” said Pierrot.

He felt crestfallen, for he had considered his plan a very good one. Though well-meaning, Pierrot was not very quick-witted.

“But is it really true that Pantaloon never lets any one into his house?” said Harlequin.

“Only his patients,” replied Pierrot.

“Thanks,” said Harlequin. “I have had enough of Pantaloon’s doctoring.”

“Of course there is Lelio,” Pierrot went on. “Naturally he comes and goes as he chooses.”

“Why--that is it,” exclaimed Harlequin. “I will disguise myself as Lelio.”

“Oh, no!” cried Pierrot. “That would never do. What would happen if the real Lelio came while you were there?”

“That would certainly be awkward,” Harlequin admitted. “But are you sure that Pantaloon has no other visitors than Lelio? Do none of Lelio’s friends ever come, for instance?”

“No,” said Pierrot, “none. Of course, Lelio always brings his servant with him, as befits his station in life.”

“Does he?” cried Harlequin joyfully. “Then, by Venus! I will enter Lelio’s service. Lelio’s livery shall be my passport to happiness. What fun!”

“But how about Lelio’s present servant, Coviello?” said Pierrot.

“He must be disposed of,” Harlequin replied airily. “What sort of a fellow is he?”

“A stupid, greedy creature,” said Pierrot, “who would do anything for gold.”

“Then gold he shall have,” said Harlequin. “I have made plenty of gold by my dancing, and I would give every piece of it to see Columbine again. How can I get word with this Coviello?”

“You may find him any morning idling outside his master’s palace,” said Pierrot. “For Lelio, like all great folk, sleeps till midday.”

Harlequin embraced Pierrot very heartily.

“You have earned my eternal gratitude,” he cried. “If any one ever maltreats you, let me know, and, by Bacchus! he shall feel this little wand of mine.”

“Thank you very much, Harlequin,” said Pierrot.

[Illustration]

_How Harlequin Took Service with Lelio_

Violetta was very doubtful whether Harlequin’s new scheme would be successful, and Scaramouche tried to throw cold water on a course of action which would rob him of the dancer’s assistance in his performances.

“I thought you were so keen to make your fortune,” he said. “And just as you are fairly on the road to it, you give it up for the sake of a girl. What folly!”

But nothing could stop Harlequin from setting off, on the morning after his conversation with Pierrot, to Lelio’s palace. He found it easily enough, for it was one of the grandest in Venice. On the broad steps before the great bronze doors lounged at least a dozen lackeys all wearing Lelio’s splendid livery of blue and silver. Some of them were asleep, some throwing dice, others bandying jests. Some were fat and some were lean, some were tall and others short, but they all, even the lean ones, had the comfortable look of men who live easily at the expense of a rich and lavish lord. It was vain for Harlequin to try to guess which of them was Coviello, so he asked one who seemed less pre-occupied than the rest to point him out.

“Coviello?” said the man. “There he is--asleep as usual.” And he indicated a loutish fellow who lay on his back with his eyes shut and his mouth wide open.

Harlequin went up to him and prodded him lightly with his wand.

Coviello opened his eyes, blinked stupidly, and sat up.

“Who are you?” he said. “And what do you want?”

“A private word with you, sir, if you will so far honour me,” replied Harlequin politely.

Coviello looked at him doubtfully.

“It will be to your advantage if you will listen to me,” said Harlequin; and he chinked the gold in his pocket.

An expression of greed came into Coviello’s heavy eyes.

“Well,” he repeated. “What do you want?”

“Is there no place where we can talk more secretly than here?” asked Harlequin. “What I have to say is not for every one’s ears.”

Coviello rose to his feet.

“Come this way,” he said, and led Harlequin up a narrow lane at the side of the palace. “No one will interrupt us here--though I warn you that if you mean mischief there are a dozen stout friends of mine within call.”

“I mean you no mischief,” laughed Harlequin. “On the contrary, it is a service which I propose to do you. Tell me, does Lelio pay you well?”

“Not badly, I suppose,” said Coviello grudgingly, “as things go.”

“But you have to work for your money, I warrant,” said Harlequin.

“I should think I did,” cried Coviello. “It is nothing but fetch and carry all day long, and often all night too. It is a dog’s life, I can tell you.”

“In short,” said Harlequin, “if you could have the pay without the work, you would find life more to your liking.”

“Who wouldn’t?” said Coviello.

“Why,” Harlequin answered, “I am not sure that I should. In fact, I have a fancy to serve your master Lelio. Will you let me take your place?”

Coviello gazed at him in amazement.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What I say,” replied Harlequin. “Let me wear your clothes and do your work, and you shall do nothing from morn to night--and have twice the money that Lelio pays you into the bargain.”

He showed Coviello a handful of gold pieces. The lackey gazed at them eagerly.

“But Lelio would never mistake you for me,” he said, scratching his head.

“I should think not,” cried Harlequin, eyeing the other’s clumsy figure with disdain. “Nor need he. I will tell him that sudden business has called you away, and that I, your cousin, have come to take your place during your absence.”

“What business should the likes of me have?” said Coviello.

“I will say that you have been summoned to your grandmother’s funeral,” said Harlequin.

“But I have no grandmother living,” Coviello objected.

“Of course she is not living,” replied Harlequin, “or she could not be having a funeral.”

Such reasoning was altogether beyond Coviello. Again he scratched his head, looking Harlequin dubiously up and down.

“If you are to wear my clothes,” he asked at last, “do you expect me to wear yours?”

“Certainly not,” said Harlequin decidedly. The mere idea of his beautiful suit on Coviello’s back made him shudder. “But you shall have a brand new suit at my expense.”

“You seem to have plenty of money,” said Coviello. “I hope it was honestly come by.”

“Little you care about that,” retorted Harlequin, “so long as some of it finds its way into your pocket.”

“That is true enough,” Coviello admitted.

“Then let us find a tailor’s shop,” said Harlequin.

Coviello took him to one, and there a smart new suit was purchased; into which the delighted lackey changed on the spot, while Harlequin donned the blue and silver livery. His own clothes he kept on underneath it, for he felt he would hardly be Harlequin without them. His mask he put in his pocket. “I should suppose it was the first time any one disguised himself by _taking off_ a mask,” he thought.

“Now how am I to come to Lelio?” he asked Coviello.

“He will send for you fast enough when he wants you,” Coviello replied. “You had best go back to the steps and wait.”

So, leaving Coviello to spend his easily earned money, Harlequin returned to the palace. Several of the other lackeys, seeing him in their livery, stared at him; but they were too lazy or too intent on their own affairs to ask questions. Harlequin sat down on the bottom step, and presently a page came to the door and shouted for Coviello.

Harlequin rose and mounted the steps.

“But you are not Coviello,” said the page.

“That is no business of yours, my lad,” said Harlequin. “Show me the way to your master.”

He followed the page through the vast and sumptuously furnished entrance hall, up many stairs, and along several passages. Outside a closed door the page stopped.

“This is Lelio’s room,” said the page.

Harlequin opened the door and boldly entered. He found himself in a beautiful bedroom, of which the walls were hung with Lelio’s colours of blue and silver, and the ceiling was painted blue and powdered with silver stars. At the far end of the room was a silver bed with curtains of blue damask; in which, propped against a great pillow, wearing a frilled nightshirt of the finest cambric, with a brightly-coloured night-cap on his head and a little cup of steaming chocolate in his delicate hand, reclined the most aristocratic-looking gentleman whom Harlequin had ever seen.

[Illustration]

“Ah, Coviello!” said Lelio in a languid voice, as the dancer approached. When he realised that it was not Coviello, he uttered an exclamation of surprise.

Harlequin hastened to explain about Coviello’s grandmother, and how he had come to take his place.

“Upon my soul!” cried Lelio. “You don’t mean to say that Coviello has a grandmother? How extraordinary! I suppose the fellow will be claiming a coat of arms next. What is your name, by the way?”

“Truffaldino, sir,” said Harlequin.

“And have you a grandmother, too?” Lelio asked.

“Certainly not, sir,” replied Harlequin promptly.

“And yet you are Coviello’s cousin,” said Lelio, looking puzzled.

“Only in a manner of speaking, sir,” said Harlequin.

“So much the better,” said Lelio, “if qualities, as they say, run in families. For Coviello was the worst servant I ever had. Had I not been so lazy I should have got rid of the oaf long ago. I hope you will do better, Truffaldino.”

“It is my devoutest wish, sir,” said Harlequin, bowing low, “to give you perfect satisfaction.”

“Well,” said Lelio, “you may as well set about it.” And he got out of bed.

Coviello had given Harlequin some hints as to his new duties; and the dancer, being naturally quick-witted, even on this first day was far less at a loss than might have been expected. He dressed Lelio and shaved him, and afterwards waited on him at breakfast; and Lelio, liking his light touch and graceful movements after Coviello’s clumsiness, had by the evening made up his mind to take him permanently into his service, and to leave Coviello to mourn for his grandmother, if he chose, for the rest of his life.

_Harlequin Sees Columbine Once More_

Harlequin waited impatiently for the day when Lelio would visit Columbine, or send him to her with a message; but Lelio, though he really intended to marry the Doctor’s daughter, felt it beneath his dignity to go too often to so humble a house as Pantaloon’s. He saw no cause to press his suit, for, coldly as Columbine always welcomed him, he could not believe that she would refuse a husband of his rank and elegance. He admired her the more for her reserve. In his view, a courtship should be a slow and dignified business. Harlequin’s methods would have deeply shocked him.

About a week after the dancer had entered his service, however, he decided that the time was come for another visit; and he set out for Pantaloon’s house, Harlequin walking behind him with a great bouquet of flowers which Lelio was going to present to Columbine. Harlequin was in high hopes of once more setting eyes on his beloved. He wondered whether she would recognise him under his disguise. Great was his disgust when, on arriving at their destination, Lelio entered the house alone and left him to kick his heels in the street. He did not even get a chance of speaking to Pierrot, to whom he had intended to make himself known. “If this is how things are to be,” he thought, “I might as well have stayed at Burattino’s.”

But Harlequin was not easily defeated. While he waited for Lelio, he set his nimble wits to work; and that evening, as his master sat yawning over his wine, he asked him whether he would like to see him dance.

From any other of his servants, Lelio would have considered such a suggestion a great impertinence, but “Truffaldino” was already high in his favour. Being a true Venetian he liked, above all things, to be amused; and Coviello’s cousin was certainly an amusing fellow.

“Can you dance, Truffaldino?” he asked.

“A little,” said Harlequin modestly.

“Go on, then,” said Lelio. “Let me see what you can do.”

What his new servant could do in the way of dancing amazed him. Since he had jilted Isabella for Columbine, Lelio went very little into the world, and so it chanced that he had never seen the mandoline-player and the dancer whose performances were so popular in fashionable Venice.

“I must confess that you dance very well, Truffaldino,” he said, taking a pinch of snuff. “Where did you learn the art?”

“I was born dancing,” said Harlequin, “and I daresay I shall die dancing.”

“Then I hope it will be with your feet on the ground,” laughed Lelio.

Seeing his master in so good a humour, Harlequin thought that he might venture a little further.

“I wonder if I might take a great liberty, sir,” he said.

“I will tell you that when you have taken it,” replied Lelio. “You do it at your own risk, remember.”

“Well, sir,” said Harlequin, “is it not possible that my dancing might afford some entertainment to the lady whom you visited this morning? Ladies are often very partial to dancing.”

Lelio frowned, and Harlequin feared that he had angered him. But Lelio was not angry: he was only thinking.

“That is not a bad idea,” he said at length. “I noticed that she seemed rather out of spirits this morning. Perhaps your dancing would divert her. Yes, Truffaldino, you shall come with me next time I visit her.”

Harlequin had difficulty in restraining himself from showing his joy. As for Lelio, he also was pleased; for the notion of going courting attended by a dancer--and so good a dancer as “Truffaldino”--struck him as extremely elegant.

Thus it was that Harlequin again saw his beautiful Columbine. He was very much grieved to observe how pale she was and how unhappy she looked; but he could not help being gratified by the listless air with which she accepted Lelio’s well-turned compliments.

[Illustration:]

It was clear that at first she did not recognise her lover; but when, at Lelio’s command, he began to dance, he saw a puzzled look come into her face--and then she blushed--and then she trembled a little. She knew him!

Harlequin got no chance of speaking to her alone that day. But little by little, as his position with Lelio grew more and more privileged, he managed to contrive means of going without his master to the Doctor’s house. He would suggest, so tactfully that Lelio thought that the idea was his own, that it would be a graceful thing to send a present of sweetmeats or flowers, or even a jewel, to Columbine. And Lelio liked always to act gracefully.

Harlequin insisted on delivering the presents into Columbine’s own hands. He said that it was his master’s desire, and Pantaloon, so churlish with every one else, was all complaisance to Lelio’s lightest whim. It is true that he was usually present at the lovers’ meetings, but one who had the honour to wear Lelio’s livery was, in the Doctor’s eyes, a person worthy to be trusted; and when, as sometimes happened, a patient called while the dancer was in the house, Pantaloon quite happily left “Truffaldino” with his daughter. Pierrot, too, whom Columbine had told who the pretended lackey really was, became quite clever at inventing reasons to get his master out of the way.

So once more Harlequin and Columbine enjoyed some happy moments, and the roses returned to Columbine’s cheeks. But they were very short moments and they did not occur very often; and the lovers, who were both more in love than ever, were far from being satisfied. Nothing, indeed, would content them but that they should run away together--and how were they to do that, when it was impossible to leave the house, to draw the creaking bolts and loosen the clanking chains, without Pantaloon hearing them?

Harlequin, on his way back to the palace, sometimes called at Burattino’s, but though Violetta and Scaramouche were always glad to see him, they had no new suggestions to make.

As Harlequin became better acquainted with his master’s private affairs, however, he got to know certain things which set him thinking. One was that Lelio, though he was as devoted to Columbine as so languid a gentleman was capable of being, was not a little inclined to regret his break with Isabella. A marriage between himself and the great heiress would have been so fitting a match. Their wedding might have been the most splendid ever seen in Venice. He did not propose to have very much ceremony when he married Columbine; for he was afraid that his friends would only come to laugh at him, and he did not at all relish the notion of being laughed at.

Naturally the Lady Isabella’s name was not very often spoken in Lelio’s presence, but when by chance it was, Harlequin noticed that his master was far more interested than he pretended to be, and that when any one was mentioned as paying court to her, he could scarcely conceal his annoyance. Isabella had many suitors, though she gave them but little encouragement.

Another thing which the observant Harlequin discovered was that, although Lelio was acknowledged to be the finest gentleman in Venice, there was a certain Leandro who ran him a close second. There had, indeed, been an ardent rivalry between the two young men as to which of them should be the leader of fashion, and though hitherto the palm had always gone to Lelio, now that he was seen so little Leandro was beginning to usurp his place. Lelio sometimes thought seriously of reasserting himself, but he dare not go much into society for fear of meeting Isabella. When he heard, however, of some new triumph of his rival’s--some particularly delightful entertainment which he had given or some specially exquisite suit which he had worn--he almost wished that he had never seen the fascinating Columbine.

[Illustration]

These feelings Harlequin did all he could to foster. From his fellow servants and the servants of the other great houses whom he met in the taverns he heard many stories of what was happening in the fashionable world, and such stories he would repeat to his master while he was dressing him. Nor did they lose in the repetition.

One day, when he thought the time was ripe, Harlequin said to Lelio: “I wonder, sir, whether you have heard the latest news.”

“What is it?” asked Lelio.

“Why, sir,” said Harlequin, in a very innocent voice, “that there is likely soon to be a great wedding in Venice.”

“Indeed,” said Lelio, “between whom?”

“Between the Lord Leandro and the Lady Isabella,” said Harlequin.

Lelio, who was being shaved, started from his chair so violently that he gashed his chin badly on the razor in his servant’s hand. But he was far too excited to notice the fact, though the blood quite ruined his beautiful shirt.

“Nonsense!” he cried. “It is impossible!”

“I only tell you what I have heard, sir,” said Harlequin. “I had it from one of the Lord Leandro’s own servants.”

Lelio was in a fume. If Leandro and Isabella married, and their two great houses were united, his own proud position would be gone for ever.

“You must find out more of this, Truffaldino,” he cried; and then, realising how much beneath his dignity it was to talk in this strain to a mere lackey, he added more calmly: “I have a special and important reason for wishing to have certain knowledge in this matter.”

“I will do my best, sir,” said Harlequin, deftly applying a piece of cotton-wool to his master’s chin.

_Pantaloon’s Dinner Party_

“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?”