The Corsican Brothers

CHAPTER XVII

WE reached Vincennes at five minutes to nine.

Another carriage, that of Chateau Renaud, arrived at the same time.

We proceeded into the wood by different paths. Our carriages were to await us in the broad avenue. A few minutes later we met at the rendezvous.

“Gentlemen,” said Louis, “recollect that no arrangement is possible now.”

“Nevertheless – ,” I said

“Oh, my dear sir,” he replied, “after what I have told you, you should be the last person to think that any reconciliation is possible.”

I bowed before this absolute will, which for me was supreme.

We left Louis near the carriages, and advanced towards M. de Boissy and M. de Chateaugrand.

The Baron de Giordano carried the case of pistols.

The seconds exchanged salutes.

“Gentlemen,” said the Baron, “under these circumstances the shortest compliments are the best, for we may be interrupted any moment. We were requested to provide weapons – here they are. Examine them if you please. We have just procured them from the gunsmith, and we give you our word of honour that M. Louis de Franchi has not even seen them.”

“Such an assurance is unnecessary, gentlemen,” replied Chateaugrand, “we know with whom we have to deal,” and taking one pistol, while M. de Boissy took the other, the seconds examined the bore.

“These are ordinary pistols, and have never been used,” said the Baron; “now the question is, how shall the principals fire.”

“My advice,” said M. de Boissy, “is that they should fire just as they are accustomed to do, together.”

“Very well,” said the Baron Giordano, “then all chances are equalized.”

“Will you advise M. de Franchi, then, and we will tell M. de Chateau Renaud, monsieur.”

“Now that is settled, will you have the goodness to load the pistols?”

Each one took a pistol, measured carefully the charges of powder, took two bullets at hazard, and rammed them home.

While the weapons were being loaded, I approached Louis, who received me with a smile.

“You won’t forget what I asked you?” he said, “and you will obtain from Giordano a promise that he will say nothing to my mother, or even to my brother. Will you take care, also, that this affair does not get into the papers, or, if it does, that no names are mentioned.”

“You are still of opinion, then, this duel will prove fatal to you?” I said.

“I am more than ever convinced of it,” he replied, “but you will do me this justice at least, that I met death like a true Corsican.”

“My dear de Franchi, your calmness is so astounding that it gives me hopes that you yourself are not convinced on this point.”

Louis took out his watch.

“I have but seven minutes to live,” he said; “here is my watch, keep it, I beg of you, in remembrance of me.” I took the watch, and shook my friend’s hand.

“In eight minutes I hope to restore it to you,” I said.

“Don’t speak of that,” he replied. “See, here are the others.”

“Gentlemen,” said the Viscount de Chateaugrand, “a little distance from here, on the right, is an open space where I had a little practice of my own last year; shall we proceed thither – we shall be less liable to interruption.”

“If you will lead the way,” said the Baron Giordano, “we will follow.”

The Viscount preceded us to the spot indicated. It was about thirty paces distant, at the bottom of a gentle slope surrounded on all sides by a screen of brushwood, and seemed fitted by nature as the theatre of such an event as was about to take place.

“M. Martelli,” said the Viscount, “will you measure the distance by me?” The Baron assented, and thus side by side he and M. de Chateaugrand measured twenty ordinary paces.

I was then left for a few seconds alone with M. de Franchi.

“Apropos,” he said, “you will find my will on the table where I was writing when you came in this morning.”

“Good,” I replied, “you may rest quite easy on that score.”

“When you are ready, gentlemen,” said the Viscount de Chateaugrand.

“I am here,” replied Louis. “Adieu, dear friend! thank you for all the trouble you have taken for me, without counting all you will have to do for me later on.” I pressed his hand. It was cold, but perfectly steady.

“Now,” I said, “forget the apparition of last night, and aim your best.”

“You remember de Freyschutz?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you know, then, that every bullet has its billet. Adieu!”

He met the Baron Giordano, who handed him the pistol; he took it, and, without looking at it, went and placed himself at the spot marked by the handkerchief.

M. de Chateau Renaud had already taken up his position.

There was a moment of mournful silence, during which the young men saluted their seconds, then their adversary’s seconds, and finally each other.

M. de Chateau Renaud appeared perfectly accustomed to these affairs, and was smiling like a man sure of success; perhaps, also, he was aware that Louis de Franchi never had fired a pistol in his life.

Louis was calm and collected, his fine head looked almost like a marble bust.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Chateau Renaud, “you see we are waiting.”

Louis gave me one last glance, and smiling, raised his eyes to heaven.

“Now, gentlemen, make ready,” said Chateaugrand. Then, striking his hands one against the other, he cried —

“One! Two! Three!”

The two shots made but one detonation.

An instant afterwards I saw Louis de Franchi turn round twice and then fall upon one knee.

M. de Chateau Renaud remained upright. The lappel of his coat had been shot through.

I rushed towards Louis de Franchi.

“You are wounded?” I said.

He attempted to reply, but in vain. A red froth appeared upon his lips.

At the same moment he let fall his pistol, and pressed his hand against his right side.

On looking closely, we perceived a tiny hole not large enough for the point of a little finger.

I begged the Baron to hasten to the barracks, and bring the surgeon of the regiment.

But de Franchi collected all his strength, and stopping Giordano, signed that all assistance would be useless. This exertion caused him to fall on both knees.

M. de Chateau Renaud kept at a distance, but his seconds now approached the wounded man.

Meanwhile, we had opened his coat and torn away his waistcoat and shirt.

The ball had entered the right side, below the sixth rib, and had come out a little above the left hip.

At each breath the wounded man drew, the blood welled out. It was evident he was mortally hurt.

“M. de Franchi,” said the Viscount de Chateaugrand, “we regret extremely the issue of this sad affair. We trust you bear no malice against M. de Chateau Renaud.”

“Yes, yes,” murmured the wounded man, “I forgive him.”

Then turning towards me with an effort he said,

“Remember your promise!”

“I swear to you I will do all you wish.”

“And now,” he said, smiling, “look at the watch!”

He breathed a long sigh, and fell back. That sigh was his last.

I looked at the watch, it was exactly ten minutes past nine.

I turned to Louis de Franchi – he was dead.

We took back the body to the Rue de Helder, and while the Baron went to make the usual declaration to the Commissary of Police, I went upstairs with Joseph.

The poor lad was weeping bitterly.

As I entered, my eyes unconsciously turned towards the timepiece; it marked ten minutes past nine.

No doubt he had forgotten to wind it, and it had stopped at that hour.

The Baron Giordano returned almost immediately with the officers, who put the seals on the property.

The Baron wished to advise the relatives and friends of the affair, but I begged him, before he did so, to read the letter that Louis had handed to him before we set out that morning.

The letter contained his request that the cause of his death should be concealed from his brother, and that his funeral should be as quiet as possible.

The Baron Giordano charged himself with these details, and I sought MM. de Boissy and de Chateaugrand, to request their silence respecting the unhappy affair, and to induce Chateau Renaud to leave Paris for a time, without mentioning my reason for this last suggestion.

They promised me to do all they could to meet my views, and as I walked to Chateau Renaud’s house I posted the letter to Madame de Franchi, informing her that her son had died of brain fever.

CHAPTER XVIII

CONTRARY to custom, the duel was very little talked about; even the papers were silent on the subject.

A few intimate friends followed the body to Père la Chaise. Chateau Renaud refused to quit Paris, although pressed to do so.

At one time I thought of following Louis’ letter to Corsica with one from myself, but although my intentions were good, the misleading statements I should have to make were so repugnant to me that I did not do so. Besides, I was quite convinced that Louis himself had fully weighed before he had decided upon his course of action.

So at the risk of being thought indifferent, or even ungrateful, I kept silence, and I was sure that the Baron Giordano had done as much.

Five days after the duel, at about eleven o’clock in the evening, I was seated by my table in a rather melancholy frame of mind, when my servant entered and shutting the door quickly behind him said, in an agitated whisper, that M. de Franchi desired to speak with me.

I looked at him steadily; he was quite pale.

“Whom did you say, Victor?” I asked.

“Oh, monsieur, in truth I hardly know myself.”

“What M. de Franchi wishes to speak to me?”

“Monsieur’s friend. The gentleman who was here two or three times.”

“You are mad, my good man. Do you not know that I had the misfortune to lose my friend five days ago?”

“Yes, sir; and that is the reason I am so upset. He rang, I was in the ante-chamber, and opened the door, but recoiled at his appearance. However, he entered, and asked if you were at home. I replied that you were, and then he said, ‘Go and announce M. de Franchi, who wishes to speak with your master,’ and so I came.”

“You are stupid, Victor, the ante-chamber is not properly lighted. You were asleep, no doubt, and did not hear correctly. Go, and ask the gentleman his name.”

“It would be useless, sir. I swear to you I am not deceived. I heard him, and saw him, distinctly.”

“Then go and show him in.”

Victor turned tremblingly to the door, opened it, and then standing still in the room, said —

“Will monsieur be kind enough to come in?”

I immediately heard the footsteps of my visitor crossing the ante-chamber, and sure enough, at the door there appeared M. de Franchi.

I confess that I was terrified, and took a step backwards as he approached.

“I trust you will excuse my appearance so late,” said my visitor; “I only arrived ten minutes ago, and you will understand that I could not wait till tomorrow without seeing you.”

“Oh, my dear Lucien,” I exclaimed, advancing quickly, and embracing him. “Then it is really you.” And, in spite of myself, tears really came into my eyes.

“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.