THE suggestion quite accorded with my inclination to compare the
chambers of the brothers, and I did not hesitate to adopt it. I
followed my host, who, opening the door, paused in front of me to show
me the way.
This time I found myself in a regular arsenal. All the furniture was
of the fifteenth or sixteenth century--the carved and canopied
bedstead, supported by great posts, was draped with green damask _à
fleur d'or;_ the window curtains were of the same material. The walls
were covered with Spanish leather, and in the open spaces were
sustained trophies of Gothic and modern arms.
There was no mistaking the tastes of the occupant of this room: they
were as warlike as those of his brother were peaceable.
"Look here," he said, passing into an inner room, "here you are in
three centuries at once--see! I will dress while you amuse yourself,
for I must make haste or supper will be announced."
"Which are the historic arms of which you spoke amongst all these
swords, arquebuses, and poignards?" I asked.
"There are three. Let us take them in order. If you look by the head
of my bed you will find a poignard with a very large hilt--the pommel
forms a seal."
"Yes, I have it."
"That is the dagger of Sampietro."
"The famous Sampietro, the assassin of Vanina?"
"The assassin! No, the avenger."
"It is the same thing, I fancy."
"To the rest of the world, perhaps--not in Corsica."
"And is the dagger authentic?"
"Look for yourself. It carries the arms of Sampietro--only the
fleur-de-lis of France is missing. You know that Sampietro was not
authorized to wear the lily until after the siege of Perpignan."
"No, I was not aware of that fact. And how did you become possessed of
this poignard?"
"Oh! it has been in our family for three hundred years. It was given
to a Napoleon de Franchi by Sampietro himself."
"Do you remember on what occasion?"
"Yes. Sampietro and my ancestor fell into an ambuscade of Genoese, and
defended themselves like lions. Sampietro's helmet was knocked off,
and a Genoese on horseback was about to kill Sampietro with his mace
when my ancestor plunged his dagger into a joint in his enemy's
armour. The rider feeling himself wounded spurred his horse, carrying
away in his flight the dagger so firmly embedded in his armour that he
was unable to withdraw it, and as my ancestor very much regretted the
loss of his favourite weapon Sampietro gave him his own. Napoleon took
great care of it, for it is of Spanish workmanship, as you see, and
will penetrate two five-franc pieces one on top of another."
"May I make the attempt?"
"Certainly."
Placing the coins upon the floor, I struck a sharp blow with the
dagger. Lucien had not deceived me.
When I withdrew the poignard I found both pieces pierced through and
through, fixed upon the point of the dagger.
"This is indeed the dagger of Sampietro," I said. "But what astonishes
me is that being possessed of such a weapon he should have employed
the cord to kill his wife."
"He did not possess it at that time," replied Lucien; "he had given it
to my ancestor."
"Ah! true!"
"Sampietro was more than sixty years old when he hastened from
Constantinople to Aix to teach that lesson to the world, viz., that
women should not meddle in state affairs."
I bowed in assent, and replaced the poignard.
"Now," said I to Lucien, who all this time had been dressing, "let us
pass on from Sampietro to some one else."
"You see those two portraits close together?"
"Yes, Paoli and Napoleon."
"Well, near the portrait of Paoli is a sword."
"Precisely so."
"That is his sword."
"Paoli's sword? And is it as authentic as the poignard of Sampietro?"
"Yes, at least as authentic; though he did not give it to one of my
male ancestors, but to one of the ladies."
"To one of your female ancestors?"
"Yes. Perhaps you have heard people speak of this woman, who in the
war of independence presented herself at the Tower of Sullacaro,
accompanied by a young man?"
"No, tell me the story."
"Oh, it is a very short one."
"So much the worse."
"Well, you see, we have not much time to talk now."
"I am all attention."
"Well, this woman and this young man presented themselves before the
Tower of Sullacaro and requested to speak with Paoli; but as he was
engaged writing, he declined to admit them; and then, as the woman
insisted, the two sentinels repulsed her, when Paoli, who had heard
the noise, opened the door and inquired the cause."
"'It is I,' said the woman; 'I wish to speak to you.'
"'What have you to say to me?'
"'I have come to tell you that I have two sons. I heard yesterday that
one had been killed for defending his country, and I have come twenty
leagues to bring you the other!!!'"
"You are relating an incident of Sparta," I said.
"Yes, it does appear very like it."
"And who was this woman?"
"She was my ancestress."
"Paoli took off his sword and gave it to her.
"'Take it,' he said, 'I like time to make my excuses to woman.'"
"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.