Гастон Леру
The Double Life
CHAPTER XIV
Petito Loses His Ears
WE will now go downstairs to the flat below, into the apartment occupied by Signor and Signora Petito. Signora Petito is saying, “I do not understand M. Longuet’s conduct at the dinner at all. He spoke such vague, peculiar words.”
“Well,” answers Signor Petito, “he has this treasure which may be found in the environs of Paris, and he is thinking of it. It is certainly very interesting, and I would like to find it myself. According to the document, my opinion is that one ought to look either at the side of Montrouge, or at the side of Montmartre. I am inclined to think that it is Montmartre, on acount of the ‘Coq.’ There was a castle ‘Coq de Percherons’ there. You will find it if you look at this plan of old Paris.”
They looked at the plan, and after a short silence Signor Petito added, “It is still very vague. For myself, I think that one ought to attach importance to the words ‘Le Four.’”
“My dear, then it is more and more vague,” said his wife, “for there are many furnaces around Paris. There were plaster furnaces, and quicklime furnaces, and many others.”
“My idea,” said Signor Petito, “is that Le Four does not mean ‘the furnaces.’ I remember that there was a space after the word ‘Four,’ on the paper. Pass my dictionary.” Signora Petito, noiselessly, and with great care, brought him the lexicon. They looked over all the words beginning with the syllable ‘Four.’ On account of the article, le, they decided not to pay any attention to feminine words.
Just then the clock on the mantel-shelf struck midnight. Signora Petito got up, and said to the Signor, “Now is the time. We will find some useful information on the floor above. They cannot hear you in your stockinged feet. I will watch behind their door at the head of their stairway. You know there is no danger, they are still in the country.”
Two minutes later a form glided over the landing at M. Longuet’s door, put a key into the lock stealthily, and went into the vestibule. M. Longuet’s apartment was arranged exactly like Signor Petito’s, and so the latter easily found his way into the dining-room. He acted with perfect composure, believing the apartment to be uninhabited. He pushed the office door open. As it was evidently the lock of the desk that he wished to reach. Signor Petito took the ornament which inconvenienced him and placed it on the tea-table. Then he quitted the room noiselessly, and entered the dining-room, from there into the vestibule, for he seemed to hear a voice on the stairway. He was without doubt mistaken, for he listened intently for some time without hearing a sound. When he came back into the office, he found the cat again on the desk, and purring. His hair seemed to stand on end, for the horror which had seized upon him was not to be compared to the horror which had seized upon those in the next room.
Signor Petito remained immovable in the bluish moonlight. With a timid hand he seized the little black cat. The movement caused by this made the cat purr again. Now he understood that in the cat’s pasteboard body there was a little ball, balanced in such a manner that it ingeniously simulated the purring of a cat when it was moved.
How frightened he had been! He felt a fool. All was explained. Did he not remove the cat before returning to the vestibule? Instead of having placed the cat on the table, as he thought, he must have replaced it on the desk. That was a simple explanation, and he paid the strictest attention this time when he placed it on the table.
While he was doing this there was a fresh noise on the stairway. It was only Signora Petito, who had very incautiously sneezed.
Signor Petito went hurriedly and silently back into the vestibule, and when he was reassured, went back into the office again.
The black cat had been returned to the desk again!
He thought that he would die of fright. A miraculous intervention had arrested him on the verge of a great crime, and he uttered a hurried prayer in which he promised heaven never to do it again. However, another quarter of an hour passed, and he attributed these surprising events to his conscience, and returning, placed the cat back again on the table.
Just then the door of the room was violently opened, and Signor Petito fell into the arms of M. Longuet, who did not express the least astonishment.
M. Longuet threw Signor Petito on the floor in disgust, and picking up the ornament, opened the window, and threw it out into the street. During this time, Signor Petito, who had gotten up, could hardly compose his features, for Mme. Longuet, in her chemise, was threatening him with a revolver. He could only stammer, “I beg your pardon, I really thought that you were in the country.”
M. Longuet went up to him, and taking him by one of his ears, said, “Now, my dear Signor Petito, we must talk.”
Marceline lowered the barrel of her revolver, and felt pleased at seeing her husband show such courage.
“You see, my dear Signor Petito,” continued Théophraste, “that I am calm. A little while ago I was getting angry, but it was only at that little cat which was keeping me from going to sleep, and which I have thrown out of the window. Rut be assured, my dear Signor, I shall not throw you out of the window. You have not kept me from sleeping, you have even taken the precaution to put on slippers. Many thanks. But why, my dear Signor, do you make that ridiculous grimace? It is without doubt on account of your ear. I have some good news to tell you which will perhaps put you at ease about your ears. Your ears will make you suffer no more.”
Having finished his sarcastic talk, Théophraste begged his wife to pass him a cloth, and ordered Signor Petito to go into the kitchen. “Do not be surprised that I receive you in the kitchen. I prize my carpets very much, and you will probably bleed like a pig.”
M. Longuet drew towards him a white wooden table, which he placed in the middle of the kitchen. He asked Marceline to place an oil-cloth over the table, and get him a large bowl. He then asked for a carving set, which he said she would find in the dresser drawer, which stood in the dining-room. Marceline tried to ask for an explanation, but her husband looked at her so coldly and so strangely, that, shuddering, she could only obey. Signor Petito, in a cold perspiration, tried to reach the door of the kitchen, but M. Longuet stood between him and the means of exit, and commanded him to be seated.
“Signor Petito,” said he, in a tone of the most sarcastic politeness, “you have a face which displeases me. It is not your fault; but then it is not mine, either. Certainly you are by far the most cowardly and the most despicable of thieves. But what does that matter? But do not smile, Signor Petito.” It is certain that Signor Petito had no intention of smiling.
“You have ridiculously large ears, and surely with such ears, you dare not pass by the corner of the Guiliere.”
Signor Petito clasped his hands and stammered, “But my wife awaits me.”
“What are you doing, Marceline?” Théophraste cried impatiently. “Do not you see that Signor Petito is in a hurry? His wife is waiting for him. Have you the carving set?”
“I could not find the fork,” answered Marceline in a trembling voice. (The truth was, Marceline did not know what to say, for she believed that her husband had become completely insane, and between Signor Petito the house-breaker, and Théophraste mad, she was in anything but an enviable position.) She had hidden herself behind a cupboard door, and her distress was so extreme, that in turning suddenly, when Théophraste hurled a volley of insults at her, she upset her favorite vase, which made a loud noise, thus adding to the confusion.
Théophraste resorted once more to oaths and insults, and called Marceline in such a tone that she ran to him in spite of herself. The spectacle which awaited her in the kitchen was atrocious. Signor Petito was lying on the wooden table, his eyes bursting from their orbits, a handkerchief in his mouth, which nearly suffocated him. Théophraste had had the time, and was possessed with the extraordinary strength to tie his hands and ankles with cords. Signor Petito’s head hung a little beyond the edge of the table, and under it there was a bowl which M. Longuet had placed there to prevent soiling anything. The latter with palpitating nostrils had caught Signor Petito by the hair with his left hand. In his right he clasped the handle of a notched kitchen knife.
Gnashing his teeth, he cried out, “Strike the flags.”
As he said this he made the first cut at the right ear. The cartilage resisted. Signor Petito’s muffled groans could just be heard. M. Longuet, who was still in his night-shirt, worked like a surgeon bent upon a difficult operation. Marceline’s strength failed her, and she fell upon her knees. Signor Petito, in attempting to struggle, threw the blood from his ears across the kitchen, and Théophraste, letting go his hair, struck him a blow across the head. “Be a little careful,” said he, “you are splashing the blood all over everything.”
The cartilage still resisted, so taking the right ear in his left hand, with a strong blow with the notched knife he tore it away. He placed the ear in a saucer which he had previously placed on the sink, and allowed the water to flow over it. Then he came back to the second ear. Marceline groaned very loudly, but he silenced her with a glance. The second ear was cut off much more easily, and with more dispatch.
By this time Signor Petito had swallowed half of the handkerchief, and was suffocating. Théophraste took the handkerchief out of his mouth and threw it out into the clothes-basket near by. He then untied his ankles and wrists, and signed to him to leave the apartment as soon as possible. He had the forethought to wrap his head in a dish-cloth, so that the blood would not stain the stairway or the janitor’s family. As Signor Petito passed by, in agony, Théophraste put the washed ears into his vest pocket.
“You forgot something,” he said. “What would Signora Petito say if you went back without your ears?” He closed the door. Looking at Marceline, who was on her knees, paralysed with horror, he wiped the bloody knife on his sleeve.
CHAPTER XV
Adolphe Consulted
THEOPHRASTE, the next day, seemed to have forgotten all the incidents of the night before, or at least to attach very little importance to them.
As to Marceline, she was far too agitated to make any direct mention of it. However, she knew Adolphe would be calling at noon and she was resolved to find out the cause of Théophraste’s actions before he came so that she could tell Adolphe the best to act. The thing that struck her most was Théophraste’s sudden show of courage and strength. Before he had shown excessive lack of courage, and he was naturally physically weak. Suddenly, to be seized with all the nerve necessary to meet a burglar and then to have the strength to gag and bind him and cut off his ears, was unnatural. He had always recoiled from the sight of blood, and here he was fairly reveling in it. What could all this mean? He had suddenly turned from a quiet, inoffensive citizen to a ghoul.
It was with these thoughts that she approached Théophraste and demanded an explanation. He at first was loath to tell her, but her entreaties prevailed, and he eventually told her that it was the spirit of Cartouche that had seized him and forced him to do these horrible actions. He told her with a sort of bravado that there had been more than one hundred and fifty assassinations laid to his account.
Marceline was in a terrible state of mind and shrank from him. She declared that nothing in the world would make her live with him. She would apply for a divorce. She thought she had married an honest man, and now she had discovered him to be a thief and murderer. Here were enough grounds for a separation, and she declared her intention of securing it.
At this Théophraste became very melancholy, and entreated her to think of his side of the calamity. He told her how necessary her help was to him, and with Adolphe’s and her assistance he thought he could throw off this evil influence. By this time he had become quite rational, and they decided to consult Adolphe, and if necessary, have him live with them.
Marceline readily acquiesced in this suggestion. Adolphe arrived about 1 o’clock, and she took him into the sitting-room and was soon in earnest and animated council with him. Théophraste went into his office and waited anxiously for them to join him. After some time they returned, and Marceline insisted that Théophraste should do all that Adolphe should ask of him, which he readily consented to do, having confidence in his friend.
Later on in the afternoon Théophraste and Adolphe went for a walk into the city. Théophraste immediately began asking questions as to Adolphe’s progress in the search for the treasures. He, however, was in no mood to tell much. Marceline’s story of the night before had driven all thoughts of the treasure out of his head, and he answered somewhat abruptly that nothing of importance had been found, and that he must think of Théophraste’s health first, before taking any further steps.
It was obvious to Théophraste that Adolphe was evading the subject, and he was determined to find out more of the matter.
He felt that Adolphe had more information, and so pressed him to speak. Adolphe then told how he had discovered that after the war most of the soldiers who had been serving with Cartouche had been discharged, and were left with no means of livelihood, and so, recognizing him as having the talent of a leader, they formed themselves into a party of bandits, and placed him at their head. At this time the police force of Paris was quite inadequate to cope with the many crimes; therefore Cartouche and his comrades resolved to turn their attention to this. He divided his men into troops, and gave them each a quarter, to guard over which he placed an intelligent lieutenant. When anybody was found out after curfew he was politely accosted and requested to turn over a sum of money, or if he had no money on him, to part with his coat. In exchange for this he was given a pass which entitled him to walk through Paris in perfect security at any time he pleased. He would have nothing to fear from Cartouche’s men. If he showed any resistance he was immediately killed. Cartouche had the clergy on his side, and was often able to make good use of them. One priest named Le Ratichon, was even hanged for him.
On reaching the Hotel de Ville, Adolphe stopped and asked Théophraste if he cared to cross the Place de l’Hotel de Ville.
He answered, “If you wish, certainly we will.”
“Have you often crossed the place?” said Adolphe.
“Yes, very often,” replied Théophraste.
“And nothing unusual has happened? Is there any place in Paris which you have some difficulty in passing?”
“Why, no, of course not. What is there to hinder me from going anywhere?”
However, Adolphe’s look made him reflect, and then he recalled having several times walked up the Place de l’Ordson, and when in front of the Institute he changed his mind and retraced his steps. He accounted for this rather by his absent-mindedness than by anything unusual. He recalled that he had never passed through the Rue Mazarine or crossed the Pont-Neuf. Neither had he crossed the Petit Pont. He had always turned at the corner of the Rue Ville du Temple, near the house with the grated windows.
“Why,” Adolphe asked, “can’t you pass these places?”
“I think it is because the paving stones are red; and I dislike that color.”
“You remember the Place de Grere?”
“Why, yes. It was there that the pillory and scaffold were erected. The wheel was placed there on execution days in front of the Rue Vanniere. There was the old coal harbor. I never passed that place without counselling my comrades to avoid the wheel. However, I will wager not one profited by it.”
“Nor you either,” said Adolphe. “It was there that you suffered the final torment. It was there that you were racked and expired by the tortures of the wheel.”
CHAPTER XVI
On Private Ground
AMONG all the paper that I found in the oaken chest, those which related to the death of Cartouche were by far the most curious, and presented the highest interest, in that they partly contradicted history. They denied with such persuasive strength, and such undeniable logic, that it is difficult to see how the great historians could have overlooked the real details, and the generations which have succeeded since the year 1721, should not have suspected the truth. History teaches us that Cartouche, after having suffered the rack in its most cruel form, during which he confessed nothing, not even a name or a fact, this Cartouche, who had only to die, and nothing to gain from his confession, nothing to soften his last moments, was brought to torment in the Place de la Grere, and it was there that he decided to speak. That they took him back to the Hotel de Ville, and that it was there that he betrayed his principal accomplices, after which he was racked and fastened to the cross, where he expired.
Immediately after this 360 persons were arrested, with the result that they were tried, and judicially massacred, the last one of them being executed two years after Cartouche.
Now in following the papers of Théophraste, we are not doing full justice to Cartouche. While Cartouche was an object of terror, he was at the same time an object of admiration. His courage knew no bounds, and he proved it at the time of his torture. At the moments when his sufferings were greatest, he did not speak. It was said that he only wished to die bravely. The great ladies of the court and of the city had hired windows and points of vantage from which to witness his death, and he did not wish to show them on the scaffold, a cowardly dastard, but the most daring and bravest of bandits. It is an historical fact that of the 360 persons who were arrested after his death, it was found that Cartouche was loved by all. The official report showed women throwing themselves in the arms of L’Enfant at the Hotel de Ville, even after the denunciation.
It is not necessary to mention all the protests that M. Longuet made against the dishonorable death attributed to Cartouche, but some of the preceding lines seem to show that he was right.
It was while conversing on this question that Théophraste and his friend arrived at the Rue de le Petit Pont, without passing over the bridge.
“My dear friend,” said Théophraste, “look at that house at the side of the hotel, which has the sign, ‘To the rendezvous of the Maraiches,’ and tell me if you find anything remarkable about it.” They were then in front of a low, narrow and dirty old house, a hotel. The door on the ground floor disclosed a counter for the sale of drinks. Above the door was a notice, “To the rendezvous of the kitchen-gardeners.” The hotel was leaning against a vast building of the eighteenth century, which Théophraste pointed out with his green umbrella. This building had a balcony of iron, wrought in a delicate design of the period.
“I observe a beautiful balcony, of which the feature in the design seems to be the quiver of the god of love.”
“Anything more?” asked Théophraste.
“I do not notice anything further,” said Adolphe.
“Do you notice the large gratings on the windows? There was a time, my dear Adolphe, when windows that had gratings on were very much in vogue. There were never so many grilled windows in Paris as in the year 1720, and I would swear that these were placed there the day after the affair of the Chateaux Augustins. The Parisians always protected their ground floor, but this did not trouble us very much, for we had Simon L’Auvergnat.”
Adolphe took the opportunity of asking Théophraste exactly who this Simon L’Auvergnat was. He was always referring to him, and without any obvious reasons.
“He was a very useful person,” said Théophraste, “he was the base of my column.”
“What do you mean by the ‘base of your column’?”
“You do not understand. Wait, and you soon will. Imagine yourself to be Simon L’Auvergnat. Stand like this,” and he indicated the position, against the wall of the house, that Adolphe was to take. He spread his legs and lowered his head, and raising his arms, leaned against the wall. “I will place you here,” said he, “on account of the cornice which is to the left. I remember that it was very convenient. Now, since you are the base of my column, I lean on that base and then–”
Before M. Lecamus had had time to see what was going to happen, Théophraste gripped his shoulders, leaped on the cornice of the hotel, from there to the balcony of the hotel at the side, and entered a room of which the window had been opened.
M. Lecamus, stupefied, looked up into the air, and was wondering to himself how on earth his friend could have disappeared in such a way, when suddenly piercing cries came from the room, and a voice yelled out, “Help! Robbers! Murder! Help!” Fearing some dreadful act, Adolphe rushed into the hotel. The passers-by were stopping in the street, and before long a crowd had collected. He leapt over the vast stairway with the agility of a young man, and arrived on the first landing at the moment the door opened, and Théophraste appeared, hat in hand. He was bowing to an old lady, whose teeth were chattering from fright, and whose hair was all done up in curl papers. “Dear madame,” he was saying, “if I had believed for one instant that I would have caused you such surprise, I would have remained downstairs. I am neither a robber, nor an assassin, my dear madam. All this is the fault of my friend Adolphe, who wanted me to show him how Simon L’Auvergnat could serve me as the base of a column.”
Adolphe had already seized his arm, and was drawing him toward the stairway. He made signs to the lady from behind Théophraste trying to make her understand that his friend was off his head. Thereupon, she fell unconscious into the hands of a chambermaid, and the stairway was soon filled with a crowd.
Adolphe profited by this to take Théophraste away. They passed through without hindrance, and were soon in the street again. Adolphe seemed not to hear Théophraste’s protests. With one hand he dragged him towards the Rue Huchette, and with the other dried the sweat which was running down his forehead.
“Where are you taking me to?” asked Théophraste.
“To the house of one of my friends in the Rue Huchette.”
When they reached the house in the Rue Huchette, they passed under a red porch, and into a very old house. Adolphe seemed to know the people, for he did not wait to be ushered in. He made Théophraste climb half a dozen stone steps which were extremely worn, and pushed open a thick door which was at the end of the court.
They were now in a sort of vestibule, lighted by a large lamp in the shape of a huge ball, suspended by iron chains from the stone ceiling.
“Wait for me here,” said Adolphe, after having closed the door by which they had entered. He promised not to be long and disappeared.
Théophraste seated himself in a large armchair, and looked around him. What he saw on the wall amused him. There was an incredible quantity of words painted in black letters. They seemed to cover the whole surface of the wall, in no sort of order at all. He spelt some of them. There was Iris, Thabet, Rush, Jakin, Bokez, Thebe, Paracaler, and the word “Iboah,” which appeared in many places. Turning toward the other wall, against which he had been leaning, he saw a Sphinx and the Pyramids.
An immense arch arose, and in the center of this was Christ, His arms extended out into a circle of flowers. On the arch were the words, “Amphitheater of the wise eternal son of Truth.” It was the arch of the “Rose Cross.” Below was this inscription, “There are none so blind as those who will not see.” Looking around he came across another inscription, in letters of gold: “As soon as you have won a fact, apply yourself to it with your whole mind. Look for the salient points in it. Behold the knowledge which is in it. Give way to the hypothesis. Hunt for the fault in it.” (Instructions to the clinic of the Hotel Dieu, Prof. Trousseau.) Besides this he saw figures of forles and vultures and jackals, men with birds’ heads, beetles, and the emblem of Osiris-an ass, and an eye. Finally he read these words in blue letters: “The more the soul is rooted in her instincts, the more will she be forgotten in the flesh, the less consciousness she will have of her immortality, and the more she will remain a prisoner in living corpses.”
Impatient at the absence of his friend, and becoming a little frightened, he attempted to raise the drapery behind which Adolphe had disappeared. But as he ascended the step his head struck an object which was suspended in the air, and looking up he found it was a skeleton.
We have said that M. Lecamus had applied himself to the occult sciences, and practiced spiritualism, but from what we know of M. Lecamus’ character, we feel that he was only an amateur in these things. He only practiced spiritualism for show, for snobbery, and to make an impression at the parties which he used to frequent. He believed no more in spiritualism than he believed in love. The day came, however, when his heart gave way, and when his spirit humiliated itself. It was the day that he met Marceline and M. Eliphaste de St. Elm. He met Marceline at a seance, where they had made him the father spirit. At this séance M. Eliphaste was recognized as the chief. However, this gentleman was rarely seen. He led a most retired and mysterious life at the foot of the Rue Huchette.
Marceline had attended this seance by the will of M. Longuet, who, having been to the Salon Pneumatics, insisted that Marceline should be presented there. He thought that it was a kind of worldly society, where such subjects as pneuma-tology were discussed.
The day that Marceline made her entrance to the Salon M. Eliphaste de St. Elm was to read a paper on the Gourse. Mme. Longuet found herself by chance next to M. Lecamus, and after discussing a good many points in the lecture, they found that they had a great many things in common, and by a curious chance M. Lecamus discovered that he was an old college chum of M. Longuet’s. It was thus that he became welcomed into the family circle of M. Longuet.
This preamble is necessary for us to understand the presence of M. Lecamus and Marceline together in the house of M. Eliphaste de St. Elm, at the foot of the Rue de Huchette, while Théophraste was waiting for him wearily in the vestibule. The visit was the result of a conversation between M. Lecamus and Mme. Longuet, early that morning. She had hidden nothing from him regarding the events of the nights before, and the history of Signor Petito’s ears showed to M. Lecamus the necessity of taking precautions against the spirit of Cartouche. At the bottom of his heart M. Lecamus felt to a certain extent guilty for the follies of Théophraste, and he had been asking himself, lately, just how far he could let this reincarnated soul go, for M. Lecamus was a novice at spiritualism, and it was his intention to experiment with Théophraste and Cartouche.
He was no sooner assured of having in his hands a reincarnated soul, than his curiosity aroused in him a desire to make use of it. This was exactly what he had done in putting the reincarnated soul of Cartouche before his portrait, without taking any precautions, and now he did not know how he could stop that which he had unconsciously set in motion. He knew how to arouse such a spirit, but he did not know how to stop it.
It was for this reason that he and Mme. Longuet had come this morning to beg M. St. Elm to exercise his influence, for there was not a cleverer guide for reincarnated souls in Paris.
In the meantime, Théophraste had been locked up in the vestibule, and when he struck his head against the skeleton, he began to think that it would be more tranquil in a mound at St. Chaumont. The corridor in which he found himself did not have a single window. A red gloom lighted it from one end to the other. It came from the cellar, and penetrated the thick pavement glass. The corridor had crevices and angles. He came to a corner and stopped abruptly. He was impatient to go ahead, and went into one of the two branching passageways which ran from the corridor. Five minutes later he found himself at the same cross passage. Then he went up the first corridor again, taking the direction that he had followed in coming out to the vestibule, but to his great surprise he could not find the vestibule. He wandered about for what seemed to him several hours, and he was just giving up hope of ever getting out of this labyrinth, when he saw Adolphe in the distance. He ran up to him and was on the point of reproving him for having kept him waiting so long, when Adolphe said to him sadly: “Come, Marceline is in there; we are going to present you to a good friend.”
Théophraste found himself in a large, dark room, where his attention was attracted by a great light which fell on the figure of a man. But strange to say, the light did not seem to fall on the man, but rather to radiate from him. In fact, when the figure moved it seemed to carry the light with it. Before the flambeau a woman was standing in a humble attitude, with clasped hands and bowed head.
Then Théophraste heard a voice, a friendly voice, a manly voice, a voice sweeter than the sweetest voice of woman, which said to him: “Come to me without fear.”
That which astonished M. Longuet above all else was the astral light which showed up the noble features of M. Eliphaste de St. Elm. He was a person of divine elegance, as elegant as a Christ on the Tripoli.
“I do not know where I am,” said Théophraste, “but it gives me confidence to see my friend Adolphe, and my wife, Marceline, at your side. However, I should like to know your name.”
“My dear sir,” said the harmonious voice, “I am called M. Eliphaste de St. Elm.”
