The Corsican Brothers

“She was worthy of both – is it not so?”

“And now this sabre?”

“That is the one Buonaparte carried at the battle of the Pyramids.”

“No doubt it came into your family in the same manner as the poignard and the sword.”

“Entirely. After the battle Buonaparte gave the order to my grandfather, who was an officer in the Guides, to charge with fifty men a number of Mamelukes who were at bay around a wounded chieftain. My grandfather dispersed the Mamelukes and took the chief back a prisoner to the First Consul. But when he wished to sheath his sword he found the blade had been so bent in his encounter with the Mamelukes that it would not go into the scabbard. My grandfather therefore threw sabre and sheath away as useless, and, seeing this, Buonaparte gave him his own.”

“But,” I said, “in your place I would rather have had my grandfather’s sabre, all bent as it was, instead of that of the general’s, which was in good condition.”

“Look before you and you will find it. The First Consul had it recovered, and caused that large diamond to be inserted in the hilt. He then sent it to my family with the inscription which you can read on the blade.”

I advanced between the windows, where, hanging half-drawn from its scabbard, which it could not fully enter, I perceived the sabre bent and hacked, bearing the simple inscription —

“Battle of the Pyramids, 21st of July, 1798.”

At that moment the servant came to announce that supper was served.

“Very well, Griffo,” replied the young man; “tell my mother that we are coming down.”

As he spoke he came forth from the inner room, dressed, as he said, like a mountaineer; that is to say, with a round velvet coat, trowsers, and gaiters; of his other costume he had only retained his pouch.

He found me occupied in examing two carbines hanging opposite each other, and both inscribed —

“21st September, 1819: 11 A.M.”

“Are these carbines also historical?” I asked.

“Yes,” he answered. “For us, at least, they bear a historical significance. One was my father’s – ”

He hesitated.

“And the other,” I suggested.

“And the other,” he said, laughing, “is my mother’s. But let us go downstairs; my mother will be awaiting us.”

Then passing in front of me to show me the way he courteously signed to me to follow him.

CHAPTER V

I MUST confess that as I descended to the supper-room I could not help thinking of Lucien’s last remark, “The other is my mother’s carbine;” and this circumstance compelled me to regard Madame de Franchi more closely than I had hitherto done.

When her son entered the salle à manger, he respectfully kissed her hand, and she received this homage with queenly dignity.

“I am afraid that we have kept you waiting, mother,” said Lucien; “I must ask your pardon.”

“In any case, that would be my fault, madame,” I said, bowing to her. “Monsieur Lucien has been telling me and pointing out many curious things, and by my reiterated questions I have delayed him.”

“Rest assured,” she said, “I have not been kept waiting; I have but this moment come downstairs. But,” she continued, addressing Lucien, “I was rather anxious to ask you what news there was of Louis.”

“Your son has been ill, madame?” I asked.

“Lucien is afraid so,” she said.

“Have you received a letter from your brother?” I inquired.

“No,” he replied, “and that is the very thing that makes me uneasy.”

“But, then, how can you possibly tell that he is out of sorts?”

“Because during the last few days I have been suffering myself.”

“I hope you will excuse my continual questions; but, really, your answer does not make matters any clearer.”

“Well, you know that we are twins, don’t you?”

“Yes, my guide told me as much.”

“Were you also informed that when we came into the world we were joined together?”

“No; I was ignorant of that circumstance.”

“Well, then, it was a fact, and we were obliged to be cut asunder. So that, you see, however distant we may be, we have ever the same body, so that any impression, physical or moral, which one may receive is immediately reflected in the other. During the last few days I felt triste, morose, dull, and without any predisposing cause, so far as I am aware. I have experienced terrible pains in the region of the heart, and palpitations, so it is evident to me that my brother is suffering some great grief.”

I looked with astonishment at this young man, who affirmed such a strange thing without the slightest fear of contradiction, and his mother also appeared to entertain the same conviction as he did.

Madame de Franchi smiled sadly, and said, “The absent are in the hands of God, the great point is that you are certain that he is alive.”

“Yes,” replied Lucien, calmly, “for if he were dead I should have seen him.”

“And you would have told me, would you not, my son?”

“Oh, of course, mother, at once.”

“I am satisfied. Excuse me, monsieur,” she continued, turning to me, “I trust you will pardon my maternal anxiety. Not only are Louis and Lucien my sons, but they are the last of their race. Will you please take the chair at my right hand? Lucien, sit here.”

She indicated to the young man the vacant place at her left hand.

We seated ourselves at the extremity of a long table, at the opposite end of which were laid six other covers, destined for those who in Corsica are called the family; that is to say, the people who in large establishments occupy a position between the master and the servants.

The table was abundantly supplied with good cheer. But I confess that although at the moment blessed with a very good appetite, I contented myself with eating and drinking as it were mechanically, for my senses were not in any way attracted by the pleasures of the table. For, indeed, it appeared to me that I had entered into a strange world when I came into that house, and that I was now living in a dream.

Who could this woman be who was accustomed to carry a carbine like a soldier?

What sort of person could this brother be, who felt the same grief that his brother experienced at a distance of three hundred leagues?

What sort of mother could this be who made her son declare that if he saw the spirit of his dead brother he would tell her at once?