The adventures of Harlequin

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.

“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.