“Why should the father confessor kill him?”
“To escape the galleys to which your excellency would not fail to send him for having violated the secrecy of the confessional.”
Everybody burst out laughing, but the foolish old general knitted his brows. The guests retired soon afterwards, and Madame F–, whom I had preceded to the carriage, M. D– R– having offered her his arm, invited me to get in with her, saying that it was raining. It was the first time that she had bestowed such an honour upon me.
“I am of your opinion about that prince,” she said, “but you have incurred the displeasure of the proveditore.”
“I am very sorry, madam, but it could not have been avoided, for I cannot help speaking the truth openly.”
“You might have spared him,” remarked M. D– R–, “the cutting jest of the confessor killing the false prince.”
“You are right, sir, but I thought it would make him laugh as well as it made madam and your excellency. In conversation people generally do not object to a witty jest causing merriment and laughter.”
“True; only those who have not wit enough to laugh do not like the jest.”
“I bet a hundred sequins that the madman will recover, and that, having the general on his side, he will reap all the advantages of his imposture. I long to see him treated as a prince, and making love to Madame Sagredo.”
Hearing the last words, Madame F–, who did not like Madame Sagredo, laughed heartily, and, as we were getting out of the carriage, M. D– R– invited me to accompany them upstairs. He was in the habit of spending half an hour alone with her at her own house when they had taken supper together with the general, for her husband never shewed himself. It was the first time that the happy couple admitted a third person to their tete-a-tete. I felt very proud of the compliment thus paid to me, and I thought it might have important results for me. My satisfaction, which I concealed as well as I could, did not prevent me from being very gay and from giving a comic turn to every subject brought forward by the lady or by her lord.
We kept up our pleasant trio for four hours; and returned to the mansion of M. D– R– only at two o’clock in the morning. It was during that night that Madame F– and M. D– R– really made my acquaintance. Madame F– told him that she had never laughed so much, and that she had never imagined that a conversation, in appearance so simple, could afford so much pleasure and merriment. On my side, I discovered in her so much wit and cheerfulness, that I became deeply enamoured, and went to bed fully satisfied that, in the future, I could not keep up the show of indifference which I had so far assumed towards her.
When I woke up the next morning, I heard from the new soldier who served me that La Valeur was better, and had been pronounced out of danger by the physician. At dinner the conversation fell upon him, but I did not open my lips. Two days afterwards, the general gave orders to have him removed to a comfortable apartment, sent him a servant, clothed him, and the over-credulous proveditore having paid him a visit, all the naval commanders and officers thought it their duty to imitate him, and to follow his example: the general curiosity was excited, there was a rush to see the new prince. M. D– R– followed his leaders, and Madame Sagredo, having set the ladies in motion, they all called upon him, with the exception of Madame F–, who told me laughingly that she would not pay him a visit unless I would consent to introduce her. I begged to be excused. The knave was called your highness, and the wonderful prince styled Madame Sagredo his princess. M. D– R– tried to persuade me to call upon the rogue, but I told him that I had said too much, and that I was neither courageous nor mean enough to retract my words. The whole imposture would soon have been discovered if anyone had possessed a peerage, but it just happened that there was not a copy in Corfu, and the French consul, a fat blockhead, like many other consuls, knew nothing of family trees. The madcap La Valeur began to walk out a week after his metamorphosis into a prince. He dined and had supper every day with the general, and every evening he was present at the reception, during which, owing to his intemperance, he always went fast asleep. Yet, there were two reasons which kept up the belief of his being a prince: the first was that he did not seem afraid of the news expected from Venice, where the proveditore had written immediately after the discovery; the second was that he solicited from the bishop the punishment of the priest who had betrayed his secret by violating the seal of confession. The poor priest had already been sent to prison, and the proveditore had not the courage to defend him. The new prince had been invited to dinner by all the naval officers, but M. D– R– had not made up his mind to imitate them so far, because Madame F– had clearly warned him that she would dine at her own house on the day he was invited. I had likewise respectfully intimated that, on the same occasion, I would take the liberty of dining somewhere else.
I met the prince one day as I was coming out of the old fortress leading to the esplanade. He stopped, and reproached me for not having called upon him. I laughed, and advised him to think of his safety before the arrival of the news which would expose all the imposture, in which case the proveditore was certain to treat him very severely. I offered to help him in his flight from Corfu, and to get a Neapolitan captain, whose ship was ready to sail, to conceal him on board; but the fool, instead of accepting my offer, loaded me with insults.
He was courting Madame Sagredo, who treated him very well, feeling proud that a French prince should have given her the preference over all the other ladies. One day that she was dining in great ceremony at M. D– R–‘s house, she asked me why I had advised the prince to run away.
“I have it from his own lips,” she added, “and he cannot make out your obstinacy in believing him an impostor.”
“I have given him that advice, madam, because my heart is good, and my judgment sane.”
“Then we are all of us as many fools, the proveditore included?”
“That deduction would not be right, madam. An opinion contrary to that of another does not necessarily make a fool of the person who entertains it. It might possibly turn out, in ten or twelve days, that I have been entirely mistaken myself, but I should not consider myself a fool in consequence. In the mean time, a lady of your intelligence must have discovered whether that man is a peasant or a prince by his education and manners. For instance, does he dance well?”
“He does not know one step, but he is the first to laugh about it; he says he never would learn dancing.”
“Does he behave well at table?”
“Well, he doesn’t stand on ceremony. He does not want his plate to be changed, he helps himself with his spoon out of the dishes; he does not know how to check an eructation or a yawn, and if he feels tired he leaves the table. It is evident that he has been very badly brought up.”
“And yet he is very pleasant, I suppose. Is he clean and neat?”
“No, but then he is not yet well provided with linen.”
“I am told that he is very sober.”
“You are joking. He leaves the table intoxicated twice a day, but he ought to be pitied, for he cannot drink wine and keep his head clear. Then he swears like a trooper, and we all laugh, but he never takes offence.”
“Is he witty?”
“He has a wonderful memory, for he tells us new stories every day.”
“Does he speak of his family?”
“Very often of his mother, whom he loved tenderly. She was a Du Plessis.”
“If his mother is still alive she must be a hundred and fifty years old.”
“What nonsense!”
“Not at all; she was married in the days of Marie de Medicis.”
“But the certificate of baptism names the prince’s mother, and his seal—”
“Does he know what armorial bearings he has on that seal?”
“Do you doubt it?”
“Very strongly, or rather I am certain that