“Do go and attend to your government duties! I am certain there are more than a score of reports lying on your table, waiting for a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ from you, and I do not choose to have it said all over Europe that I am trying to turn you into a ‘Roi fainéant,’ so that I may reign4 in your stead.”
These remarks always suffered from the drawback of being dropped at the most inopportune moment—that is to say, just when his Highness had overcome his natural shyness and was enjoying himself very much, acting5 some charade6. Twice a week there were parties in the country, to which the princess, on the plea of reconquering the affections of his people for the young sovereign, invited the prettiest women of the middle class. The duchess, who was the soul of the merry court, was in hopes that these fair ladies, who all looked with an eye of mortal jealousy7 on the success of their fellow bourgeois8, Rassi, would make the prince acquainted with some of that minister’s endless rascalities. For, among other childish notions, the prince claimed to possess a moral ministry9.
Rassi had too much good sense not to realize how much harm these brilliant parties, managed by his enemy at the princess’s court, were likely to do him. He had not chosen to make over the perfectly10 legal sentence passed on Fabrizio, to Count Mosca. It had therefore become necessary that either he or the duchess should disappear from court.
On the day of that popular tumult11, the existence of which it was now the correct thing to deny, money had certainly been circulated among the people. Rassi made this his starting-point. Dressed even more shabbily than was his wont12, he found his way into the most wretched houses in the city, and spent whole hours in close confabulation with their poverty-stricken denizens13. His efforts were richly rewarded. After a fortnight spent in this fashion, he had made certain that Ferrante Palla had been the secret leader of the insurrection, and further, that this man, who had been as poor as a great poet should be, all his life, had sent eight or ten diamonds to be sold at Genoa.
Among others, five valuable stones were mentioned, really worth more than forty thousand francs, but for which thirty-five thousand francs had been accepted ten days before the prince’s death, because, so the vendors14 said, the money was wanted. The minister’s transports of delight over this discovery were indescribable. He had perceived that fun was being constantly poked15 at him in the princess dowager’s court, and several times over, when the prince was talking business with him, he had laughed in his face, with all the artlessness of youth. Rassi, it must be confessed, had some singularly vulgar habits. For instance, as soon as he grew interested in a discussion, he would cross his legs, and take hold of his shoe. If his interest deepened he would spread out his red cotton handkerchief over his knee. The prince had laughed heartily16 at a joke played by one of the prettiest women of Rassi’s own class, who, well aware that she herself possessed17 a very pretty leg, had given him an imitation of the graceful18 gesture habitual19 to the Minister of Justice.
“Would your Highness be disposed to give a hundred thousand francs to know the exact nature of your august father’s death? With that sum we should be able to bring the culprits to justice, if they exist.”
The prince’s answer was a foregone conclusion.
Within a short time, Cecchina informed the duchess that she had been offered a large sum of money if she would allow a jeweller to see her mistress’s diamonds—a proposal which she had scornfully refused. The duchess scolded her for having refused, and a week later Cecchina was able to show the diamonds. On the day fixed21 for their inspection22, Count Mosca placed two reliable men to watch every jeweller in Parma, and toward midnight he came to tell the duchess that the inquisitive23 jeweller was no other than Rassi’s own brother. The duchess, who was in very gay spirits that evening (there was acting going on at the palace—a commedia dell’arte, in which each personage invents the dialogue as he proceeds, only the general plan of the play being posted up in the side scenes), the duchess, who was playing one of the parts, was to be supported, as the lover of the piece, by Count Baldi, the former friend of the Marchesa Raversi, who was present. The prince, who was the shyest man in his dominions24, but very good-looking, and exceedingly soft-hearted, was under-studying Count Baldi’s part, which he desired to play at the second performance.
“I have very little time,” said the duchess to the count. “I come on in the first scene of the second act. Let us go into the guard-room.”
There, in the presence of a score of the body-guard, sharp fellows every one of them, and eagerly watching the colloquy25 between the Prime Minister and the mistress of the robes, the duchess said to her friend, with a laugh:
“You always scold me if I tell secrets which need not be told. It is I who brought Ernest V to the throne. I wanted to avenge26 Fabrizio, whom I loved much more than I do now, though very innocently, even then. I know very well you have not much belief in my innocence27, but that matters little, since you love me in spite of my crimes. Well, this crime is a very real one. I gave all my diamonds to a very interesting kind of madman, by name Ferrante Palla, and I even kissed him, so as to induce him to destroy the man who wanted to have Fabrizio poisoned. Where was the harm?”
“Ah, then that’s how Ferrante got the money for his revolt!” said the count. “And you tell me all this in the guard-room!”
“I’m in a hurry, you see, and this fellow Rassi is on the track of the crime. It’s very true that I never hinted at insurrection, for I abhor28 Jacobins. Think it all over, and tell me your advice, after the play is over.”
“I will tell you at once that you must make the prince fall in love with you … but in all honour, of course!”
The duchess was being called for on the stage, and fled.
A few days later, the duchess received, by post, a long ridiculous letter, signed with the name of a person who had once been her waiting-maid. The woman asked for employment about the court, but at the first glance the duchess realized that neither the writing nor the style were hers. When she unfolded the sheet, to read the second page, the duchess saw a little miraculous29 picture of the Madonna folded within another leaf, that seemed to belong to an old printed book, flutter to her feet. After having glanced at the picture, the duchess read a few lines of the old printed leaf. Her eyes began to shine; these were the words she had read:
“The tribune took a hundred francs a month, no more. With the rest he strove to stir the sacred flame in souls which had been frozen by selfishness. The fox is on my track; that is why I made no attempt to see the adored being for the last time. I said to myself: ‘She has no love for the republic—she, who is so superior to me in mind, as in grace and beauty.’ And besides, how can I set up a republic where there are no republicans? Can I have been mistaken? In six months I shall be wandering, microscope in hand, through the small American towns. So shall I discover whether I should continue to love your sole rival in my heart. If you receive this letter, baroness30, and if no profane31 eye has seen it before yours, cause one of the young ash trees which grow twenty paces from the spot where I first dared to address you, to be broken down. Then I will cause to be buried, under the great box tree in the garden, which you once noticed, in my happy days, a coffer containing those things which bring slander32 on men of my opinions. Be sure I should never have ventured to write this, but that the fox is on my track, and may possibly reach that angelic being. Look under the box tree a fortnight hence.”
“If he has a printing press at his command,” said the duchess, “we shall soon have a collection of sonnets33! God knows what name he will give me in them!”
The duchess’s vanity inspired her with an experiment. She was laid up for a week, and there were no parties at court. The princess, who was very much scandalized by all that the fear of her son had forced her to do during the earlier period of her widowhood, spent that week in a convent attached to the church where the late prince had been buried. This break in the series of entertainments threw an enormous amount of time on the prince’s hands, and brought about an evident diminution34 in the credit of the Minister of Justice. Ernest V realized all the dulness that threatened him if the duchess should leave his court, or even cease to shed gaiety upon it. The evening parties began again, and the prince took more interest than ever in the commedia dell’arte. He was dying to play a part himself, but did not dare to acknowledge this desire. At last, one day, he said to the duchess, reddening very much, “Why should I not act, too?”
“We are all at your Highness’s command. If you will honour me with the order I will have the plan of a play made out. All your Highness’s chief scenes shall be with me, and as every beginner must hesitate a little, if your Highness will be good enough to watch me a little closely, I will suggest the answers you should make.” Thus everything was settled, and in the most skilful35 manner. The prince, shy as he was, was ashamed of his shyness, and the care the duchess took to prevent his suffering from this inherent nervousness impressed the young sovereign deeply.
On the day of his first appearance, the performance began earlier than usual, and when the company moved into the[451] theatre there were not more than eight or ten elderly women in the drawing-room. Their faces caused the prince no particular alarm, and besides, they had all been brought up at Munich, in the most thoroughly36 monarchical37 principles, and applauded dutifully. The duchess, by virtue38 of her authority as mistress of the robes, locked the door by which the mass of the courtiers usually passed into the theatre. The prince, who had considerable literary intelligence, and was very good-looking, got through his first scenes very well, cleverly repeating the sentences he read in the duchess’s eyes, or which she suggested in an undertone. Just when the few spectators were applauding with all their might, the duchess made a sign; the great doors were thrown open, and in a moment the room was filled with all the pretty women of the court, who, thinking the prince’s face charming, and his whole demeanour thoroughly happy, burst into applause. The prince flushed with delight. He was playing the part of lover to the duchess. Far from suggesting words to him, she was soon obliged to beg him to shorten his scenes. He dilated39 on “love” with a fervour which frequently put the actress quite out of countenance40; some of his speeches were five minutes long. The duchess was no longer the dazzling beauty she had been a year previously41. Fabrizio’s imprisonment42, and still more, her stay on the Lago Maggiore with the Fabrizio who had grown gloomy and silent, had added ten years to the fair Gina’s appearance. Her features had grown sharper; there was more intelligence, and less juvenility43, about them. Very seldom, nowadays, did they display the sprightly44 humour of her youth. Yet on the stage, rouged45, and with the advantage of all that art does for an actress’s appearance, she was still the prettiest woman at the court. The prince’s passionate46 speeches roused the courtiers’ suspicions. That evening, every man said to his neighbour, “This is the Balbi of the new reign.” The count raged within himself. When the play was over, the duchess said to the prince, before the whole court:
“Your Highness acts too well. People will begin to say you are in love with a woman of eight-and-thirty, and that will spoil my marriage with the count. So I will not act any more with your Highness unless your Highness will promise you will only address me as you would a woman of a certain age—the Marchesa Raversi, for instance.”
The performance was repeated three times over. The prince was wild with delight, but one evening he looked very much worried.
“Unless I am very much mistaken,” said the mistress of the robes to the princess, “Rassi is trying to play us some trick. I would suggest that your Highness should have some acting to-morrow night. The prince will act badly, and in his despair, he will tell you something.”
As a matter of fact the prince did act very ill; he was hardly audible, and could not contrive47 to wind up his sentences. By the end of the first act the tears were almost standing48 in his eyes. The duchess kept close beside him, but she was cold and unmoved. The prince, finding himself alone with her for a moment in the green room, went over to the door and shut it. Then he said:
“I shall never be able to get through the second and third acts. I will not submit to being applauded out of good nature. The applause I was given to-night almost broke my heart. Advise me. What am I to do?”
“I will go upon the stage; I will make a deep courtesy to her Highness, and another to the audience, and I will announce that the actor who was playing the part of Lelio has been taken suddenly ill, and that therefore the play will be wound up with a little music. Count Rusca and the little Ghisolfi will be too delighted to have a chance of showing off their thin voices before such a brilliant assembly.”
The prince seized the duchess’s hand and kissed it passionately49. “Why are you not a man?” he cried. “You would give me good advice! Rassi has just laid a hundred and eighty-two depositions50 against the persons accused of murdering my father on my writing-table, and besides the depositions there is an indictment51 which covers more than two hundred pages. I shall have to read them all, and further, I have given my word not to say anything about them to the count. All this is sure to end in executions. Already he is pressing me to have Ferrante Palla, that great poet whom I admire so much, carried off from a place near Antibes, in France, where he is living under the name of Poncet.”
“From the day when your Highness hangs a Liberal, Rassi will be bound to the ministry by iron chains, and that is what he most earnestly desires. But it will not be safe for your Highness to let it be known you are going to take a drive, two hours before you start. Neither the princess nor the count shall hear, through me, of the cry of anguish52 which has just escaped you, but as my oath forbids me to keep any secret from the princess, I shall be glad if your Highness will tell your mother what you have just permitted me to hear.”
This idea diverted the sovereign’s mind from the distress53 with which his failure as an actor had overwhelmed him.
“Very good. Go and call my mother. I will go straight to her cabinet.”
The prince left the theatre, crossed the drawing-room leading to it, and haughtily54 dismissed the great chamberlain and the aide-de-camp in waiting, who had followed him. The princess, on her part, hastily left the auditorium55. As soon as she had reached her own apartments the duchess courtesied profoundly to mother and son, and left them alone together. The excitement of the courtiers may be conceived; that is one of the things which makes a court so entertaining. In an hour’s time, the prince himself appeared at the door of the cabinet, and summoned the duchess. The princess was in tears, the prince looked very much disturbed.
“Here are two weak beings in a bad temper,” said the mistress of the robes to herself, “and looking about for some good pretext56 for being angry with somebody else.” To begin with, mother and son took the words out of each other’s mouth in their anxiety to relate all the details of the matter to the duchess, who, when she answered, was most careful not to put forward any idea. For two mortal hours the three actors in this wearisome scene never ceased playing the parts we have just indicated. The prince himself went to fetch the two huge portfolios58 Rassi had laid upon his writing-table. Coming out of his mother’s[454] cabinet, he found the whole court waiting for him. “Take yourselves off and leave me alone!” he exclaimed with a rudeness which had never been known in him before. The prince did not choose to be seen carrying the portfolios himself—a prince must never carry anything. In the twinkling of an eye the courtiers disappeared. When the prince came back, he found nobody in the apartment except the footmen, who were putting out the candles. He packed them off in a rage, and treated poor Fontana, the aide-de-camp in waiting, who, in his zeal59, had stupidly stayed behind, in the same fashion.
“Every soul is set on trying my patience this evening,” he said to the duchess crossly, as he re-entered the cabinet. He believed in her cleverness, and was furious at her evident determination not to put forward any opinion. She, on her part, was quite resolved she would say nothing unless her advice was expressly asked. Thus another full half-hour went by before the prince, who was keenly alive to his own dignity, could make up his mind to say, “But you say nothing, madam!”
“I am here to wait on the princess, and to forget everything that is said before me, instantly.”
“Very good, madam,” said the prince, reddening deeply. “I command you to give me your opinion.”
“The object of punishing crimes is to prevent a repetition of them. Was the late prince poisoned? That is very doubtful. Was he poisoned by the Jacobins? That is what Rassi pines to prove; for thenceforward he becomes indispensable to your Highness for all time. In that case your Highness, whose reign is just opening, may expect many an evening like this one. The general opinion of your subjects, and it is a perfectly true one, is that your Highness’s nature is full of kindness. So long as your Highness does not have any Liberal hanged, this reputation will remain to you, and you may be very certain that no one will think of giving you poison.”
“Your conclusion is quite clear,” exclaimed the princess peevishly60. “You don’t desire to have my husband’s murderers punished.”
“Madam, that, I suppose, is because I am bound to them by ties of the tenderest friendship.”
The duchess read clearly in the prince’s eyes that he believed her to be thoroughly agreed with his mother on some line of conduct to be dictated61 to him. A somewhat rapid succession of bitter repartees was exchanged between the ladies, at the end of which the duchess vowed63 she would not say another word, and to this resolution she steadily64 adhered. But the prince, after a long discussion with his mother, ordered her once more to tell him her opinion.
“I can assure both your Highnesses I will do nothing of the kind.”
“Duchess, I beg you will speak,” said the princess with much dignity.
“I beg your Highness will excuse my doing so. But,” continued the duchess, addressing herself to the prince, “your Highness reads French beautifully. To soothe66 our agitated67 feelings, would your Highness read us one of La Fontaine’s fables68?”
The princess thought the expression “us” exceedingly impertinent, but she looked at once astonished and amused when the mistress of the robes, who had calmly gone over to the bookcase and opened it, came back carrying a volume of La Fontaine’s Fables. She turned over the leaves for a few minutes, and then, handing the prince the book, she said: “I beseech70 your Highness to read the whole fable69.”
LE JARDINIER ET SON SEIGNEUR
Un amateur de jardinage
Demi-bourgeois, demi-manant,
Possédait en certain village
Un jardin assez propre, et le clos attenant.
Il avait de plant vif fermé cette étendue:
Là croissaient à plaisir l’oseille et la laitue,
Peu de jasmin d’Espagne et force serpolet.
Fit qu’au seigneur du bourg notre homme se plaignit.
Ce maudit animal vient prendre sa goulée
Soir et matin, dit-il, et des piéges se rit;
Les pierres, les bâtons y perdent leur crédit:
Il est sorcier, je crois.—Sorcier! je l’en défie,
Repartit le seigneur: fût-il diable, Miraut,
En dépit de ses tours, l’attrapera bientôt.
Je vous en déferai, bonhomme, sur ma vie.
—Et quand?—Et dès demain, sans tarder plus longtemps
La partie ainsi fuite, il vient avec ses gens.
—Çà, déjeunons, dit-il: vos poulets sont-ils tendres?
…
L’embarras des chasseurs succède au déjeuné.
Chacun s’anime et se prépare;
Les trompes et les cors font un tel tintamarre,
Que le bonhomme est étonné.
Le pis fut que l’on mit en piteux équipage
Le pauvre potager. Adieu planches, carreaux;
Adieu chicorée et poireaux;
Adieu de quoi mettre au potage.
…
Le bonhomme disait: Ce sont là jeux de prince.
Firent plus de dégât en une heure de temps
Que n’en auraient fait en cent ans
Tous les lièvres de la province.
Petits princes, videz vos débats entre vous;
De recourir aux rois vous seriez de grands fous.
Il ne les faut jamais engager dans vos guerres,
Ni les faire entrer sur vos terres.
After the reading a long silence ensued. The prince put the book back in its place himself, and began to walk up and down the room.
“No, indeed, madam; not until his Highness has appointed me his minister. If I were to speak here I should run the risk of losing my post as mistress of the robes.”
Silence fell again, for a full quarter of an hour. At last the princess bethought her of the part once played by Marie de Medicis, mother of Louis XIII. Every day, for some time previously, the mistress of the robes had caused Mons. Bazin’s excellent History of Louis XIII to be read to her Highness. The princess, vexed74 though she was, considered[457] that the duchess might very likely leave the country, and that then Rassi, of whom she was horribly afraid, would quite possibly follow Richelieu’s example, and induce her son to banish75 her. At that moment the princess would have given anything she had on earth to be able to humiliate76 her mistress of the robes. But she was powerless. She rose from her seat, and with a smile which had a touch of exaggeration about it she took the duchess’s hand, and said:
“Come, madam, prove your affection for me by speaking!”
“Two words then, and no more. All the papers collected by that viper77 Rassi should be burned in this fireplace, and he must never know they have been burned.” Whispering in the princess’s ear, she added, with a familiar air:
“Rassi may be a Richelieu.”
“But, devil take it,” cried the prince, much vexed, “these papers have cost me more than eighty thousand francs!”
“Prince,” replied the duchess passionately, “now you see what it costs you to employ low-born rogues78! Would to God you might lose a million rather than that you should ever place your faith in the vile79 scoundrels who robbed your father of his peaceful sleep for the last six years of his reign!”
The word low-born had given great pleasure to the princess, who held that the count and his friend were somewhat too exclusive in their esteem80 for intelligence—always nearly related to Jacobinism.
During the short moment of deep silence filled up by the princess’s reflections, the castle clock struck three. The princess rose, courtesied profoundly to her son, and said: “My health will not permit me to prolong this discussion any further. Never employ a low-born minister! You will never convince me that Rassi has not stolen half the money he made you spend on espionage81.” The princess took two tapers82 out of the candlesticks, and set them in the fireplace, so that they still remained alight. Then, drawing nearer to her son, she added: “In my case, La Fontaine’s fable over-rides my just longing83 to avenge my husband. Will your Highness give me leave to burn these writings?”
The prince stood motionless.
“He really has a stupid face,” said the duchess to herself. “The count is quite right, the late prince would never have kept us till three o’clock in the morning before he could make up his mind.”
The princess, who was still standing, continued:
“That lawyer-fellow would be very proud if he knew his papers, all of them crammed84 with lies, and cooked up to secure his own advancement85, had kept the two greatest personages in the state awake all night!”
The prince flew at the portfolios like a fury, and emptied their contents on to the hearth86. The weight of the papers very nearly stifled87 the two candles; the room was filled with smoke. The princess saw in her son’s eyes that he was sorely tempted88 to seize a water-bottle, and save the documents that had cost him a hundred thousand francs.
She called to the duchess sharply, “Why don’t you open the window?” The duchess hastened to obey. Instantly all the papers flamed up together; there was a great roar in the chimney, and soon it became evident that it, too, had caught fire.
In all money matters, the prince was a mean man. He fancied he saw his palace blazing, and all the treasures it contained destroyed. Rushing to the window, he shouted for the Guard, and his tone was quite wild. At the sound of the prince’s voice, the soldiers ran tumultuously into the court. He came back to the fireplace, up which the air from the open window was rushing, with a noise that was really alarming. He lost his temper, swore, took two or three turns up and down the room, like a man beside himself, and finally ran out of it.
The princess and her mistress of the robes were left standing, facing each other, in the deepest silence.
“Is she going to be in a rage again?” said the duchess to herself. “Well, my cause is won, at any rate!” and she was just making up her mind to return very impertinent answers, when a thought flashed across her—she had noticed[459] the second portfolio57 standing untouched. “No, my cause is only half won,” she thought, and she addressed the princess, somewhat coldly, “Have I your Highness’s commands to burn the rest of these papers?”
“And where will you burn them, pray?” inquired the princess crossly.
“In the drawing-room fireplace. If I throw them in one after the other there will be no danger.”
The duchess thrust the portfolio, bursting with papers, under her arm, took a candle in her hand, and went into the adjoining drawing-room. She gave herself time to make sure that this particular portfolio held the depositions, hid five or six packets of papers under her shawl, burned the rest very carefully, and slipped out without taking leave of the princess.
“Here’s a fine piece of impertinence,” she said with a laugh. “But with her affectations of inconsolable widowhood, she very nearly brought my head to the scaffold.”
When the princess heard the noise of the duchess’s carriage, she was filled with anger against her mistress of the robes.
In spite of the lateness of the hour, the duchess sent for the count. He had gone to the fire at the palace, but he soon appeared, bringing news that it was all over. “The young prince really showed a great deal of courage, and I paid him my heartiest89 compliments.”
“Look quickly over these depositions, and let us burn them as fast as we can.”
The count read and turned pale.
“Upon my word, they had got very near the truth. The investigation90 has been most skilfully91 conducted. They are quite on Ferrante Palla’s track, and if he speaks, we shall have a difficult card to play.”
“But he won’t speak,” cried the duchess. “That man is a man of honour! Now into the fire with them!”
“Not yet. Let me take down the names of ten or fifteen dangerous witnesses, whom I shall take the liberty of spiriting away, if Rassi ever attempts to begin again.”
“Let me remind your Excellency that the prince has given his word not to tell the Minister of Justice anything about our nocturnal performance.”
“Now, my dear friend, this night’s work has done a great deal to hasten on our marriage. I never would have brought you a trial in the criminal courts as my dowry, more especially for a wrong I did on account of my interest in another person.”
The count was in love. He caught her hand protestingly; tears stood in his eyes.
“Before you leave me, pray give me some advice about my behaviour to the princess. I am worn out with fatigue93. I have been acting for an hour on the stage, and for five hours in her Highness’s cabinet.”
“The impertinent manner of your departure has avenged94 you amply for the princess’s disagreeable remarks, which were only a proof of weakness. When you see her to-morrow, take the same tone as that you used this morning. Rassi is neither an exile nor a prisoner yet, nor have we torn up Fabrizio’s sentence.
“You pressed the princess to make a decision; that always puts princes, and even prime ministers, out of temper. And besides, after all, you are her mistress of the robes; in other words, her humble95 servant. A revulsion of feeling which is invariable with weak natures will make Rassi’s favour higher than ever within three days. He will strive to ruin somebody, but until he has compromised the prince, he can be sure of nothing.
“There was a man hurt at the fire to-night—a tailor. Upon my soul, he showed the most extraordinary courage. To-morrow I will suggest that the prince should walk out, leaning on my arm, and pay a visit to that tailor. I shall be armed to the teeth, and I will keep a sharp lookout96. And, indeed, so far, no one hates this young prince. I want to give him the habit of walking about in the streets—a trick I shall play on Rassi, who will certainly succeed me, and who will not be able to allow him to do anything so imprudent. On our way back from the tailor’s house, I’ll bring the prince past his father’s statue; he’ll see how the stones have broken the skirt of the Roman tunic97 with which the fool of a sculptor98 has adorned99 the figure, and he must be a prince of very limited intelligence indeed if he is not inspired with the remark, ‘This is what one gets by hanging Jacobins,’ to which I shall reply, ‘You must either hang ten thousand, or not a single one; the massacre100 of St. Bartholomew destroyed Protestantism in France.’
“To-morrow, dearest friend, before I start on my expedition, you must wait upon the prince, and say to him: ‘Last night I acted as your minister; I gave you advice, and in obeying your orders I incurred101 the displeasure of the princess. You must reward me.’ He will think you are going to ask him for money, and will begin to knit his brows. You must leave him to struggle with this unpleasant thought as long as possible. Then you will say: ‘I entreat102 your Highness to give orders that Fabrizio shall be tried after hearing both parties—that is to say, that Fabrizio himself shall be present—by the twelve most respected judges in your dominions,’ and without losing a moment you will beg his signature to a short order written by your own fair hand, which I will now dictate62 to you. Of course I shall insert a clause to the effect that the first sentence is annulled103. To this there is only one objection, but if you carry the business through quickly, it will not occur to the prince.
“He may say, ‘Fabrizio must give himself up again at the fortress104.’ You will reply, ‘He will give himself up at the city jail’ (you know I am master there, and your nephew will be able to come and see you every evening). If the prince answers, ‘No; his flight has smirched the honour of my citadel105, and as a matter of form, I insist on his going back to the room he occupied there,’ you in your turn will say, ‘No; for there he would be at the mercy of my enemy Rassi,’ and by one of those womanly hints you know so well how to insinuate106, you will make him understand that to work on Rassi, you might possibly inform him as to this night’s auto107 da fé. If the prince persists, you will say you are going away to your house at Sacca for ten days.
“You must send for Fabrizio, and consult with him about this step, which may bring him back into his prison. We must foresee everything, and if, while he is under lock and key, Rassi loses patience, and has me poisoned, Fabrizio might be in danger. But this is not very probable.
“You know I have brought over a French cook, who is the cheeriest of men, always making puns; now, punning is incompatible108 with murder. I have already told our Fabrizio that I have discovered all the witnesses of his brave and noble behaviour. It is quite clear it was Giletti who tried to murder him. I had not mentioned these witnesses to you, because I wanted to give you a surprise. But the plan has failed; I could not get the prince’s signature. I told our Fabrizio I would certainly procure109 him some high ecclesiastical position, but I shall find that very difficult if his enemies at the court of Rome can put forward an accusation110 of murder against him. Do you realize, madam, that if he is not tried in the most formal manner, the name of Giletti will be a bugbear to him all the days of his life? It would be a very cowardly thing to avoid a trial when one is quite sure of one’s innocence. Besides, if he were guilty I would have him acquitted111. When I mentioned the subject, the eager young fellow would not let me finish my story; he laid hands on the official list, and together we chose out the twelve most upright and learned of the judges. When the list was complete we struck out six of the names, and replaced them by those of six lawyers who are my personal enemies, and as we could only discover two of these, we made up the number with four rascals112 who are devoted113 to Rassi.”
The count’s remarks filled the duchess with deadly and not unreasonable114 alarm. At last she submitted to reason, and wrote the order appointing the judges, at the minister’s dictation.
It was six o’clock in the morning before the count left her. She tried to sleep, but all in vain. At nine she was breakfasting with Fabrizio, whom she found consumed with longing to be tried; at ten she waited on the princess, who was not visible; at eleven she saw the prince, who was holding his lever, and who signed the order without making the[463] slightest objection. The duchess sent off the order to the count, and went to bed.
I might give an entertaining account of Rassi’s fury when the count obliged him, in the prince’s presence, to countersign115 the order the prince himself had signed earlier in the morning. But events press too thickly upon us.
The count discussed the merits of each judge, and offered to change the names. But my readers may possibly be growing as weary of my details of legal procedure as of all these court intrigues116. From all of them we may draw this moral—that the man who comes to close quarters with a court imperils his happiness, if he is happy, and in any case, risks his whole future on the intrigues of a waiting-woman.
On the other hand, in a republic, such as America, he must bore himself from morning to night by paying solemn court to the shopkeepers in the street, and grow as dull as they are, and then, over there, there is no opera for him to go to.
When the duchess left her bed that evening, she endured a moment of extreme anxiety. Fabrizio was not to be found. At last, toward midnight, during the performance of a play at the palace, she received a letter from him. Instead of giving himself up at the city jail, which was under the count’s jurisdiction117, he had gone back to his old room in the fortress, too delighted to find himself once more in Clelia’s neighbourhood.
This was an immensely important incident, for in that place he was more than ever exposed to the danger of poison. This piece of folly118 drove the duchess to despair, but she forgave its cause—her nephew’s wild love for Clelia—because that young lady was certainly to be married, within a few days, to the wealthy Marchese Crescenzi. By this mad act Fabrizio recovered all his former influence over the duchess.
“That cursed paper I made the prince sign will bring about Fabrizio’s death! What idiots men are, with their notions of honour! As if there were any necessity for thinking about honour under an absolute government in a country where a man like Rassi is Minister of Justice! We ought[464] simply and solely119 to have accepted the pardon which the prince would have given, just as willingly as he gave the order convoking120 this extraordinary court. What matter is it, after all, whether a man of Fabrizio’s birth is accused, more or less, of having killed a strolling player like Giletti with his own hand and his own sword?”
No sooner had the duchess received Fabrizio’s note, than she hurried to the count. She found him looking quite pale.
“Good God, my dear friend!” he cried. “I certainly bring bad luck to this poor boy, and you will be frantic121 with me again. I can give you proofs that I sent for the keeper of the city jail yesterday evening. Your nephew would have come to drink tea with you every day. The awful thing is that it is impossible for either you or me to tell the prince we are afraid of poison, and poison administered by Rassi. He would regard such a suspicion as immoral122 to the last degree. Nevertheless, if you insist upon it, I am ready to go to the palace. But I know what answer I shall receive. I will say more; I will offer you a means which I would not use for myself. Since I have held power in this country I have never caused a single man to perish, and you know I am so weak-minded in that particular, that when evening falls I sometimes think of those two spies I had shot, a trifle hastily, in Spain. Well, do you wish me to rid you of Rassi? There is no limit to Fabrizio’s danger at his hands. Therein he holds a certain means of driving me to take my departure.”
The suggestion was exceedingly pleasing to the duchess, but she did not adopt it.
“I do not choose,” said she to the count, “that in our retirement123 under the beautiful Neapolitan sky your evenings should be darkened by sad thoughts.”
“But, dearest friend, it seems to me we have nothing but sad thoughts to choose from. What will become of you, what is to become of me, if Fabrizio is carried off by illness?”
There was a fresh discussion over this idea. The duchess closed it with these words: “Rassi owes his life to the fact that I love you better than I do Fabrizio. No; I will not poison every evening of the old age we are going to spend together.”
The duchess hurried to the fortress. General Fabio Conti was delighted to have to refuse her admittance, in obedience124 to the formal provisions of military law, whereby no one can enter a state prison without an order signed by the prince.
“But the Marchese Crescenzi and his musicians come into the citadel every day.”
“That is because I have obtained a special order for them from the prince.”
The poor duchess was unaware125 of the extent of her misfortune. General Fabio Conti had taken Fabrizio’s escape as a personal slight upon himself. He had no business to admit him when he saw him enter the citadel, for he had no orders to that effect.
“But,” thought he, “Heaven has sent him to me, to repair my honour, and save me from the ridicule126 which would have blighted127 my military career. I must not lose my chance. He will be acquitted—there is no doubt of that—and I have only a few days in which to wreak128 my vengeance129.”
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1
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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2
alteration
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| n.变更，改变；蚀变 | |
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par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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4
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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5
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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6
charade
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| n.用动作等表演文字意义的字谜游戏 | |
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7
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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bourgeois
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| adj./n.追求物质享受的(人)；中产阶级分子 | |
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ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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10
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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denizens
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| n.居民，住户( denizen的名词复数 ) | |
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14
vendors
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| n.摊贩( vendor的名词复数 )；小贩；（房屋等的）卖主；卖方 | |
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15
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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17
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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18
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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19
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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20
craved
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| 渴望，热望( crave的过去式 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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22
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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23
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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dominions
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| 统治权( dominion的名词复数 )； 领土； 疆土； 版图 | |
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colloquy
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| n.谈话，自由讨论 | |
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avenge
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| v.为...复仇，为...报仇 | |
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27
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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28
abhor
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| v.憎恶；痛恨 | |
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29
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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30
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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31
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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32
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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33
sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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diminution
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| n.减少；变小 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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36
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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monarchical
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| adj. 国王的，帝王的，君主的，拥护君主制的 =monarchic | |
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38
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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39
dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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40
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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41
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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42
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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43
juvenility
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| n.年轻，不成熟 | |
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44
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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45
rouged
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| 胭脂，口红( rouge的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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47
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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50
depositions
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| 沉积（物）( deposition的名词复数 )； （在法庭上的）宣誓作证； 处置； 罢免 | |
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51
indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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52
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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53
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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54
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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55
auditorium
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| n.观众席，听众席；会堂，礼堂 | |
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56
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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57
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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58
portfolios
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| n.投资组合( portfolio的名词复数 )；（保险）业务量；（公司或机构提供的）系列产品；纸夹 | |
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59
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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60
peevishly
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| adv．暴躁地 | |
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61
dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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62
dictate
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| v.口授；(使)听写；指令，指示，命令 | |
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63
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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64
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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66
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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67
agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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68
fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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70
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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71
bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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72
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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73
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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74
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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75
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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76
humiliate
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| v.使羞辱，使丢脸[同]disgrace | |
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77
viper
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| n.毒蛇；危险的人 | |
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78
rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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79
vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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80
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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81
espionage
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| n.间谍行为，谍报活动 | |
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82
tapers
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| （长形物体的）逐渐变窄( taper的名词复数 )； 微弱的光； 极细的蜡烛 | |
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83
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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84
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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85
advancement
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| n.前进，促进，提升 | |
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86
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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87
stifled
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| （使）窒息， （使）窒闷( stifle的过去式和过去分词 )； 镇压，遏制； 堵 | |
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88
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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89
heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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90
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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91
skilfully
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| adv. (美skillfully)熟练地 | |
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92
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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93
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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94
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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95
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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96
lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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97
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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98
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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103
annulled
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| v.宣告无效( annul的过去式和过去分词 )；取消；使消失；抹去 | |
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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111
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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112
rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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countersign
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| v.副署，会签 | |
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116
intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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jurisdiction
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| n.司法权，审判权，管辖权，控制权 | |
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118
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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convoking
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| v.召集，召开（会议）( convoke的现在分词 ) | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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immoral
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| adj.不道德的，淫荡的，荒淫的，有伤风化的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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125
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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blighted
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| adj.枯萎的，摧毁的 | |
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128
wreak
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| v.发泄；报复 | |
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vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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