"The Corsican Brothers" is one of the most famous of Dumas'
shorter stories. It was published in 1845, when the author was
at the height of his powers, and is remarkable not only for
its strong dramatic interest, but for its famous account of
old Corsican manners and customs, being inspired by a visit to
Corsica in 1834. The scenery of the island, and the life of
the inhabitants, the survival of the vendetta, and the fierce
family feuds, all made strong appeal to his imaginative mind.
Several versions of the story have been dramatised for the
English stage, and as a play "The Corsican Brothers" has
enjoyed a long popularity; but Dumas himself, who was fond of
adapting his works to the stage, never dramatised this story.
_I.--The Twins_
I was travelling in Corsica early in March 1841. Corsica is a French
department, but it is by no means French, and Italian is the language
commonly spoken. It is free from robbers, but it is still the land of
the vendetta, and the province of Sartene, wherein I was travelling, is
the home of family feuds, which last for years and are always
accompanied by loss of life.
I was travelling alone across the island, but I had been obliged to take
a guide; and when at five o'clock we halted on a hill overlooking the
village of Sullacro, my guide asked me where I would like to stay for
the night. There were, perhaps, one hundred and twenty houses in
Sullacro for me to choose from, so after looking out carefully for the
one that promised the most comfort, I decided in favour of a strong,
fortified, squarely-built house.
"Certainly," said my guide. "That is the house of Madame Savilia de
Franchi. Your honour has chosen wisely."
I was a little uncertain whether it was quite the right thing for me to
seek hospitality at a house belonging to a lady, for, being only
thirty-six, I considered myself a young man. But I found it quite
impossible to make my guide understand my feelings. The notion that my
staying a night could give occasion for gossip concerning my hostess, or
that it made any difference whether I was old or young, was
unintelligible to a Corsican.
Madame Savilia, I learnt from the guide, was about forty, and had two
sons--twins--twenty-one years old. One lived with his mother, and was a
Corsican; the other was in Paris, preparing to be a lawyer.
We soon arrived at the house we sought. My guide knocked vigorously at
the door, which was promptly opened by a man in velvet waistcoat and
breeches and leather gaiters. I explained that I sought hospitality, and
was answered in return that the house was honoured by my request. My
luggage was carried off, and I entered.
In the corridor a beautiful woman, tall, and dressed in black, met me.
She bade me welcome, and promised me that of her son, telling me that
the house was at my service.
A maid-servant was called to conduct me to the room of M. Louis, and as
supper would be served in an hour, I went upstairs.
My room was evidently that of the absent son, and the most comfortable
in the house. Its furniture was all modern, and there was a well-filled
bookcase. I hastily looked at the volumes; they denoted a student of
liberal mind.
A few minutes later, and my host, M. Lucien de Franchi, entered. I
observed that he was young, of sunburnt complexion, well made, and
fearless and resolute in his bearing.
"I am anxious to see that you have all you need," he said, "for we
Corsicans are still savages, and this old hospitality, which is almost
the only tradition of our forefathers left, has its shortcomings for the
French."