When I woke the next morning, the new soldier who served me told me that La Valeur was better. The physician had declared him out of danger.
At dinner, the conversation turned naturally to the resurrected prince. I said nothing.
Two days later, the general ordered him to be moved to a comfortable apartment. He sent him a servant, had him clothed properly, and then, to complete the comedy, paid him a visit.
That was enough.
The naval commanders followed. The officers followed the commanders. M. D. R. went with the crowd.
The general curiosity was excited, there was a rush to see the new prince.
Madame Sagredo then stirred the ladies, and they too began their pilgrimage. Only Madame F. abstained.
"I will not pay him a visit," she said to me, laughing, "unless you consent to introduce me."
"I beg you to excuse me, madam."
The knave was now called "your highness." He received it with admirable ease and styled Madame Sagredo his princess, who seemed charmed by the honour.
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 imposture would soon have collapsed if anyone in Corfu 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.
A week after his metamorphosis into a prince, the madcap La Valeur began to walk outside.
He dined and supped every day with the general, and every evening appeared at the reception. His highness, however, had one princely weakness: he drank too much and invariably fell asleep.
It was a strange sight to see officers, ladies, and flatterers gathered round a man who, after receiving their homage, rewarded them with snores.
Yet two things sustained the imposture.
The first was his perfect calm about the news expected from Venice. The proveditore had written there at once after the discovery, and everyone waited for the answer. La Valeur seemed not at all afraid of it.
The second reason was that he demanded that the bishop punish the priest who had betrayed his secret by violating the seal of confession.
The poor priest had already been thrown into prison, and the proveditore had not courage enough to defend him.
All the naval officers invited the new prince to dinner.
D. R., however, had not yet resolved to follow their example. Madame F. had warned him clearly that, on the day La Valeur was invited, she would dine at home.
I had also, with all possible respect, intimated that on that same day I would take the liberty of dining elsewhere.
One day, as I was coming out of the old fortress leading towards the esplanade, I met the prince.
He stopped, and reproached me for not having called upon him.
I laughed.
"My dear La Valeur, think less of visits and more of your safety. News will soon arrive from Venice, and when your comedy is unmasked, the proveditore will certaintly treat you rather severely."
His face darkened.
"I offer you good advice," I continued. "There is a Neapolitan captain whose ship is ready to sail. I can have you hidden on board and help you leave Corfu before the storm breaks."
The fool, instead of accepting my offer, loaded me with insults.
I left him.
He was then making court to Madame Sagredo, who received him very well. She was proud that a French prince had preferred her to all the other ladies.
One day, during a formal dinner at M. D. R.'s house, she turned to me.
"Why did you advise 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 meantime, 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," she said, hesitating, "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 he is very sober," I said.
"You are joking," Madame Sagredo replied. "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 he knows nothing about it."
We had scarcely left the table when the prince was announced.
He entered with that insolent ease which his new dignity had given him. Madame Sagredo, eager to make mischief and perhaps to defend her illusion, lost no time.
"Prince," she said, "here is M. Casanova. He pretends that you do not know your own armorial bearings."
La Valeur turned towards me.
He came up with a sneer, called me a coward, and gave me a smack on the face.
The blow almost stunned me.
For a moment the room, the lights, the faces, all seemed to draw back. I heard M. D. R. cry out to the servants to throw the madman from the window.
I did not speak. I did not even look at Madame Sagredo. I took my hat, my cane, and left the room slowly.
There are insults which must not be answered among ladies.
I went downstairs, crossed the palace door, and walked to the esplanade.
There I waited.
My cheek burned. My hand closed around the head of my cane. The rage in me had become cold, which is the worst temperature for rage.
When I saw him come out, I went straight to him.
He had no time for words. I struck him with my cane, and the first blow fell with such force that it might have killed him. He staggered back. I struck again.
He retreated, stumbled, and found himself trapped between two walls.
There, if he had possessed the courage of the rank he had stolen, he would have drawn his sword. I expected it. I wanted it. His blade would have justified mine, and the affair would have ended cleanly.
But the coward did not even think of his weapon.
He covered himself as he could. I continued until he fell, bloodied and groaning, at my feet.
Then I left him.
A crowd had gathered, but it formed a line for me to pass.
I went to the coffee-house, where I drank a glass of lemonade, without sugar to precipitate the bitter saliva which rage had brought up from my stomach.
In a few minutes, I found myself surrounded by all the young officers of the garrison, who joined in the general opinion that I ought to have killed him, and they at last annoyed me, for it was not my fault if I had not done so, and I would certainly have taken his life if he had drawn his sword.
I had been in the coffee-house for half an hour when the general's adjutant came in.
"His excellency orders you to put yourself under arrest on board the bastarda."
The bastarda was a galley where prisoners sat with irons on their legs, like common slaves.
The dose was rather too strong to be swallowed, and I did not feel disposed to submit to it.
"Very good, adjutant," I replied, "it shall be done."
He left.
A moment later, I left also.
At the end of the street, instead of turning towards the esplanade and the galley, I turned towards the sea and walked quickly along the shore.
I walked along the beach for a quarter of an hour, and finding a boat empty, but with a pair of oars, I got in her, and unfastening her, I rowed as hard as I could towards a large caicco, sailing against the wind with six oars.
When I reached it, I climbed aboard and spoke at once to the carabouchiri.
"Put before the wind," I said, "and take me to that large wherry there, the one making for Vido Rock."
I abandoned the rowboat and paid the master of the caicco generously. Then I climbed into the wherry, made my bargain with the skipper, and watched him unfurl three sails.
In less than two hours, Corfu lay fifteen miles behind us.
The wind then failed.
I made the men row against the current. They obeyed for some time, grumbling at first, then panting, then falling into that heavy silence.
Towards midnight they told me they could go no farther.
"We are worn out," said the skipper. "but we can sleep until daybreak."
"No. Put me ashore."
"Here?"
"Here."
They looked at one another.
I added a little money, and the difficulty vanished. I did not ask where I was in order not to raise their suspicions.
It was enough that I was twenty miles from Corfu, in a place where where nobody could imagine me to be.
The moon was shining.
I saw a small church, a house adjoining it, a long barn open at both ends, and a flat space of ground shut in by hills. Beyond that, nothing.
I found straw in the barn, lay down, and slept until daybreak.
The cold woke me.
It was the first of December. Corfu has a mild climate, but mildness is a poor cloak when one wears only a thin uniform and has spent the night on straw. My limbs were stiff and my hands numb.
Then the bells began to toll.
I rose and went towards the church.
A long-bearded Greek priest appeared. He was surprised at my appearance. He enquired whether I am Romeo (a Greek); I told him that I am Fragico (Italian)
He turned his back, went into his house, and shut the door without listening to another word.
I turned towards the sea and saw a boat leave a tartan anchored barely a hundred yards from the island.
It had four oars and soon reached the shore.
The passengers landed: a good-looking Greek, a woman, and a boy of ten or twelve. I went towards them and addressed the man in Italian.
"Have you had a good passage? Where do you come from?"
"From Cephalonia," he said. "This is my wife, and this is my son. We are going to Venice."
"And you have landed here?"
"To hear mass at Our Lady of Casopo, and to learn whether my father-in-law is still alive, and whether he will pay the dowry he promised me for my wife."
"How can you learn that here?"
"Papa Deldimopulo will tell me. He will faithfully report the oracle of the Holy Virgin."
I said nothing.
I followed him into the church.
The Greek spoke to the priest and gave him money. The priest said mass, then entered the sanctuary. A quarter of an hour later he came out again, mounted the altar steps, turned towards us, and stood there in silence for a moment, stroking his long beard.
Then he delivered the oracle in a dozen words.
The Greek from Cephalonia, who certainly could not boast of being as wise as Ulysses, appeared perfectly satisfied. He gave more money to the impostor.
We left the church.
"Well," I asked, "are you satisfied with the oracle?"
"Oh! quite satisfied. I know now that my father-in-law is alive, and that he will pay me the dowry, if I consent to leave my child with him. I am aware that it is his fancy and I will give him the boy."
"Does the papa know you?"
"No; he is not even acquainted with my name."
"Have you any fine goods on board your tartan?"
"Yes; come and breakfast with me; you can see all I have."
"Very willingly."
Delighted to find that oracles were not yet defunct, and and satisfied that they will endure as long as there are in this world simple-minded men and deceitful, cunning priests, I followed my Cephalonian to his tartan.
He gave me an excellent breakfast.
His cargo was useful and varied: cotton, linen, currants, oil, and very good wines. He had also nightcaps, stockings, Eastern cloaks, umbrellas, and sea biscuits, which I liked extremely.
In those days I had thirty teeth, and a finer set would have been difficult to find. Alas, I have only two left now. The other twenty-eight are gone with other tools quite as precious.
I bought a little of everything except cotton, for which I had no use. I did not dispute his price. He asked thirty-five or forty sequins, and I paid at once.
My generosity pleased him, and he added six beautiful botargoes as a present.
During our conversation I happened to praise the wine of Zante, which he called generoydes. He told me that if I would accompany him to Venice, he would give me a bottle of it every day, quarantine included.
Always superstitious, I was on the point of accepting, and that for the most foolish reason-namely, that there would be no premeditation in that strange resolution, and it might be the impulse of fate.
Such was my nature in those days; alas; it is very different now.
They say that it is because wisdom comes with old age, but I cannot reconcile myself to cherish the effect of a most unpleasant cause.
I was on the point of accepting when the Greek, proposed to sell me a handsome gun.
"I will sell it to you for ten sequins," he said. "In Corfu, anyone would be glad to have it for twelve."
Corfu.
The word Corfu upset all my ideas on the spot! I fancied I heard the voice of my genius telling me to go back to that city.
I bought the gun for ten sequins.
My honest Cephalonian, pleased with my fair dealing, added to the bargain a handsome Turkish pouch, well filled with powder and shot.
Thus equipped, with the gun in my hand, a warm cloak over my thin uniform, and a large bag containing my purchases, I took leave of him.
He had me put ashore.
I landed determined on obtaining a lodging from the cheating papa, by fair means or foul.
The good wine of my friend the Cephalonian had excited me just enough to make me carry my determination into immediate execution.
In my pockets I carried four or five hundred copper gazzette. They were heavy, but I had bought them from the Greek on purpose, foreseeing that small coins might prove useful during my stay on the island.
I hid my bag in the barn.
Then, gun in hand, I walked towards the priest's house.
The church was closed.