The Corsican Brothers

“Yes,” he said, “it is I.”

I made a calculation of the time that had elapsed, and could scarcely imagine that he had received the letter – it could hardly have reached Ajaccio yet.

“Good Heavens! then you do not know what has happened?” I exclaimed.

“I know all,” was his reply.

“Victor,” I said, turning towards my servant, who was still rather embarrassed, “leave us, and return in a quarter of an hour with some supper. You will have something to eat, and will sleep here of course.”

“With great pleasure,” he replied. “I have eaten nothing since we left Auxerre. Then, as to lodgings, as nobody knew me in the Rue de Helder, or rather,” he added, with a sad smile, “as everybody recognized me there, they declined to let me in, so I left the whole house in a state of alarm.”

“In fact, my dear Lucien, your resemblance to Louis is so very striking that even I myself was just now taken aback.”

“How,” exclaimed Victor, who had not yet ventured to leave us. “Is monsieur the brother – ”

“Yes,” I replied, “go and get supper.”

Victor went out, and we found ourselves alone.

I took Lucien by the hand, and leading him to an easy chair seated myself near him.

“I suppose (I began) you were on your way to Paris when the fatal news met you?”

“No, I was at Sullacaro!”

“Impossible! Why your brother’s letter could not have reached you.”

“You forget the ballad of Burger, my dear Alexander —the dead travel fast!”

I shuddered! “I do not understand,” I said.

“Have you forgotten what I told you about the apparitions familiar to our family?”

“Do you mean to say that you have seen your dead brother?” – “Yes.” – “When?”

“On the night of the 16th inst.”

“And he told you everything?” – “All!”

“That he was dead?”

“He told me that he had been killed. The dead never lie!”

“And he said in what way?”

“In a duel.”

“By whom?”

“By M. de Chateau Renaud.”

“Oh no, Lucien, that cannot be,” I exclaimed, “you have obtained your information in some other way.”

“Do you think I am likely to joke at such a time?”

“I beg your pardon. But truly what you tell me is so strange, and everything that relates to you and your brother so out of ordinary nature, that – ”

“That you hesitate to believe it. Well, I can understand the feeling. But wait. My brother was hit here,” he continued, as he opened his shirt and showed me the blue mark of the bullet on his flesh, “he was wounded above the sixth rib on the right side – do you believe that?”

“As a matter of fact,” I replied, “that is the very spot where he was hit.”

“And the bullet went out here,” continued Lucien, putting his finger just above his left hip.

“It is miraculous,” I exclaimed.

“And now,” he went on, “do you wish me to tell you the time he died?”

“Tell me!”

“At ten minutes past nine.”

“That will do, Lucien;” I said, “but I lose myself in questions. Give me a connected narrative of the events. I should prefer it.”

CHAPTER XIX

LUCIEN settled himself comfortably in his arm-chair and looking at me fixedly, resumed: —

“It is very simple. The day my brother was killed I was riding very early, and went out to visit the shepherds, when soon after I had looked at my watch and replaced it in my pocket, I received a blow in the side, so violent that I fainted. When I recovered I found myself lying on the ground in the arms of the Orlandini, who was bathing my face with water. My horse was close by.

“ ‘Well,’ said Orlandini, ‘what has happened?’

“ ‘I know no more about it than you do. Did you not hear a gun fired?’

“ ‘No.’

“ ‘It appears to me that I have received a ball in the side,’ and I put my hand upon the place where I felt pain.

“ ‘In the first place,’ replied he ‘there has been no shot fired, and besides, there is no mark of a bullet on your clothes.’

“ ‘Then,’ I replied, ‘it must be my brother who is killed.’

“ ‘Ah, indeed,’ he replied, ‘that is a different thing.’ I opened my coat and I found a mark, only at first it was quite red and not blue as I showed you just now.

“For an instant I was tempted to return to Sullacaro, feeling so upset both mentally and bodily, but I thought of my mother, who did not expect me before supper time, and I should be obliged to give her a reason for my return, and I had no reason to give.

“On the other hand, I did not wish to announce my brother’s death to her until I was absolutely certain of it. So I continued my way, and returned home about six o’clock in the evening.

“My poor mother received me as usual. She evidently had no suspicion that anything was wrong.

“Immediately after supper, I went upstairs, and as I passed through the corridor the wind blew my candle out.

“I was going downstairs to get a light when, passing my brother’s room, I noticed a gleam within.

“I thought that Griffo had been there and left a lamp burning.

“I pushed open the door; I saw a taper burning near my brother’s bed, and on the bed my brother lay extended, naked and bleeding.

“I remained for an instant, I confess, motionless with terror, then I approached.

“I touched the body, he was already dead.

“He had received a ball through the body, which had struck in the same place where I had felt the blow, and some drops of blood were still falling from the wound.

“It was evident to me that my brother had been shot.

“I fell on my knees, and leaning my head against the bed, I prayed fervently.

“When I opened my eyes again the room was in total darkness, the taper had been extinguished, the vision had disappeared.

“I felt all over the bed, it was empty.

“Now I believe I am as brave as most people, but when I tottered out of that room I declare to you my hair was standing on end and the perspiration pouring from my forehead.

“I went downstairs for another candle. My mother noticed me, and uttered a cry of surprise.

“ ‘What is the matter with you,’ she said, ‘and why are you so pale?’

“ ‘There is nothing the matter,’ I replied, as I returned upstairs.

“This time the candle was not extinguished. I looked into my brother’s room; it was empty.

“The taper had completely disappeared, nor was there any trace of the body on the bed.

“On the ground was my first candle, which I now relighted.

“Notwithstanding this absence of proof, I had seen enough to be convinced that at ten minutes past nine that morning my brother had been killed. I went to bed in a very agitated frame of mind.

“As you may imagine, I did not sleep very well, but at length fatigue conquered my agitation and I got a little rest.

“Then all the circumstances came before me in the form of a dream. I saw the scene as it had passed. I saw the man who had killed him. I heard his name. He is called M. de Chateau Renaud.”

“Alas! that is all too true,” I replied; “but what have you come to Paris for?”

“I have come to kill the man who has killed my brother.”

“To kill him?”

“Oh, you may rest assured, not in the Corsican fashion from behind a wall or through a hedge, but in the French manner, with white gloves on, a frilled shirt, and white cuffs.”

“And does Madame de Franchi know you have come to Paris with this intention?”

“She does.”

“And she has let you come?”

“She kissed me, and said, ‘Go.’ My mother is a true Corsican.”

“And so you came.”

“Here I am.”

“But your brother would not wish to be avenged were he alive.”

“Well, then,” replied Lucien, smiling bitterly, “he must have changed his mind since he died.”

At this moment the valet entered, carrying the supper tray.

Lucien ate like a man without a care in the world.

After supper I showed him to his room. He thanked me, shook me by the hand, and wished me good-night.

Next morning he came into my room as soon as the servant told him I was up.

“Will you accompany me to Vincennes?” he said. “If you are engaged I will go alone.”

“Alone!” I replied. “How will you be able to find the spot?”

“Oh, I shall easily recognize it. Do you not remember that I saw it in my dream?”

I was curious to know how far he was correct in this. “Very well,” I said, “I will go with you.”

“Get ready, then, while I write to Giordano. You will let Victor take the note for me, will you not?”

“He is at your disposal.”

“Thank you.”

Ten minutes afterwards the letter was despatched. I then sent for a cabriolet and we drove to Vincennes.

When we reached the cross-paths Lucien said, “We are not far off now, I think.”

“No; twenty paces further on we shall be at the spot where we entered the forest.”

“Here we are,” said the young man, as he stopped the carriage.

It was, indeed, the very spot!

Lucien entered the wood without the least hesitation, and as if he had known the place for years. He walked straight to the dell, and when there turned to the eastward, and then advancing he stopped at the place where his brother had fallen: stooping down he perceived the grass wore the red tinge of blood.

“This is the place,” he said.

Then he lightly kissed the spot where his brother had lain.

Rising with flashing eyes he paced the dell to the spot whence Chateau Renaud had fired.

“This is where he stood,” he said, stamping his foot, “and here he shall lie to-morrow.”

“How!” I exclaimed. “To-morrow!”

“Yes, unless he is a coward. For to-morrow he shall give me my revenge.”

“But, my dear Lucien,” I said, “the custom in France is, as you are aware, that a duel cannot take place without a certain reason. Chateau Renaud called out your brother who had provoked him, but he has had nothing to do with you.”

“Ah, really! So Chateau Renaud had the right to quarrel with my brother because he offered his arm to a woman whom Chateau Renaud had scandalously deceived, and according to you he had the right to challenge my brother. M. de Chateau Renaud killed my brother, who had never handled a pistol: he shot him with the same sense of security that a man would shoot a hare; and yet you say I have no right to challenge Chateau Renaud. Nonsense!”

I bowed without speaking.

“Besides,” he continued, “you have nothing to do with it. You may be quite easy. I wrote to Giordano this morning, and when we return to Paris all will have been arranged. Do you think that M. de Chateau Renaud will refuse?”

“M. de Chateau Renaud has unfortunately a reputation for courage which may serve to remove any doubt you may entertain on that score.”

“All the better,” said Lucien. “Let us go to breakfast.”

We returned to the road, and entering the cabriolet, I told the man to drive to the Rue Rivoli.

“No,” said Lucien, “you shall breakfast with me. Coachman, the Café de Paris; is not that the place where my brother usually dined?”

“I believe so,” I replied.

“Well, that is where I requested Giordano to meet us.”

“To the Café de Paris, then.”

In half an hour we were set down at the restaurant.

CHAPTER XX

LUCIEN’S appearance created quite a sensation in consequence of his remarkable likeness to his brother.

The news of Louis’ death had gone abroad – not, perhaps, in all its details, but it was known, and Lucien’s appearance astonished many.

I requested a private room, saying that we were expecting the Baron Giordano, and we got a room at the end.

Lucien began to read the papers carelessly, as if he were oblivious of everything.

While we were seated at breakfast Giordano arrived.

The two young men had not met for four or five years, nevertheless, a firm clasp of the hand was the only demonstration they permitted themselves.

“Well, everything is settled,” he said.

“Then M. de Chateau Renaud has accepted?”

“Yes, on condition, however, that after he has fought you he shall be left in peace.”

“Oh, he may be quite easy; I am the last of the de Franchi. Have you seen him, or his seconds?”

“I saw him; he will notify MM. de Boissy and de Chateaugrand. The weapons, the hour and the place will be the same.”

“Capital, sit down and have some breakfast.”

The Baron seated himself, and we spoke on indifferent topics.

After breakfast Lucien begged us to introduce him to the Commissioner of Police, who had sealed up his brother’s property, and to the proprietors of the house at which his brother had lived, for he wished to sleep that night, the last night that separated him from his vengeance, in Louis’ room.

All these arrangements took up time, so it was not till five o’clock that Lucien entered his brother’s apartment. Respecting his grief, we left him there alone.

We had arranged to meet him again next morning at eight o’clock, and he begged me to bring the same pistols, and to buy them if they were for sale.

I went to Devismes and purchased the weapons. Next morning, at eight o’clock I was with Lucien.

When I entered, he was seated writing at the same table, where his brother had sat writing. He smiled when he saw me, but he was very pale.

“Good morning,” he said, “I am writing to my mother.”

“I hope you will be able to write her a less doleful letter than poor Louis wrote eight days ago.”

“I have told her that she may rest happy, for her son is avenged.”

“How are you able to speak with such certainty?”

“Did not my brother announce to you his own approaching death? Well, then, I announce to you the death of M. de Chateau Renaud.”

He rose as he spoke, and touching me on the temple, said —

“There, that’s where I shall put my bullet.”

“And yourself?”

“I shall not be touched.”

“But, at least, wait for the issue of the duel, before you send your letter.”

“It would be perfectly useless.”

He rang, the servant appeared.

“Joseph,” said he, “take this letter to the post.”

“But have you seen your dead brother?”

“Yes,” he answered.

It is a very strange thing the occurrence of these two duels so close together, and in each of which one of the two combatants was doomed. While we were talking the Baron Giordano arrived. It was eight o’clock, so we started.

Lucien was very anxious to arrive first, so we were on the field ten minutes before the hour.

Our adversaries arrived at nine o’clock punctually. They came on horseback, followed by a groom also on horseback.

M. de Chateau Renaud had his hand in the breast of his coat. I at first thought he was carrying his arm in a sling.

The gentlemen dismounted twenty paces from us, and gave their bridles to the groom.

Monsieur de Chateau Renaud remained apart, but looked steadfastly at Lucien, and I thought he became paler. He turned aside and amused himself knocking off the little flowers with his riding whip.

“Well, gentlemen, here we are!” said MM. de Chateaugrand and de Boissy, “but you know our conditions. This duel is to be the last, and no matter what the issue may be, M. de Chateau Renaud shall not have to answer to any one for the double result.”

“That is understood,” we replied. Then Lucien bowed assent.

“You have the weapons, gentlemen?” said the Viscount.

“Here are the same pistols.”

“And they are unknown to M. de Franchi?”

“Less known to him than to M. de Chateau Renaud who has already used them once. M. de Franchi has not even seen them.”

“That is sufficient, gentlemen. Come, Chateau Renaud!”

We immediately entered the wood, and each one felt, as he revisited the fatal spot, that a tragedy more terrible still was about to be enacted.

We soon arrived in the little dell.

M. de Chateau Renaud, thanks to his great self-command, appeared quite calm, but those who had seen both encounters could appreciate the difference.

From time to time he glanced under his lids at Lucien, and his furtive looks denoted a disquietude approaching to fear.

Perhaps it was the great resemblance between the brothers that struck him, and he thought he saw in Lucien the avenging shade of Louis.

While they were loading the pistols I saw him draw his hand from the breast of his coat. The fingers were enveloped in a handkerchief as if to prevent their twitching.

Lucien waited calmly, like a man who was sure of his vengeance.

Without being told, Lucien walked to the place his brother had occupied, which compelled Chateau Renaud to take up his position as before.

Lucien received his weapon with a joyous smile.

When Chateau Renaud took his pistol he became deadly pale. Then he passed his hand between his cravat and his neck as if he were suffocating.

No one can conceive with what feelings of terror I regarded this young man, handsome, rich, and elegant, who but yesterday believed he had many years still before him, and who to-day, with the sweat on his brow and agony at his heart, felt he was condemned.

“Are you ready, gentlemen?” asked M. de Chateaugrand.

“Yes,” replied Lucien.

M. de Chateau Renaud made a sign in the affirmative.

As for me I was obliged to turn away, not daring to look upon the scene.

I heard the two successive clappings of the hands, and at the third the simultaneous reports of the pistols. I turned round.

Chateau Renaud was lying on the ground, stark dead; he had not uttered a sound nor made a movement.

I approached the body, impelled by that invincible curiosity which compels one to see the end of a catastrophe.

The bullet had entered the dead man’s temple, at the very spot that Lucien had indicated to me previously.

I ran to him, he was calm and motionless, but seeing me coming towards him he let fall the pistol, and threw himself into my arms.

“Ah, my brother, my poor brother!” he cried as he burst into a passion of sobs.

These were the first tears that the young man had shed.