The adventures of Harlequin

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.

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.”