_Cartouche’s Past_
|THE following day Théophraste and Marceline returned to the quiet life
of the Villa Flots-d’Azure. Théophraste had not mentioned a word of
the discovery, and his wife refrained from questioning him. Marceline
knew nothing yet of the terrible discovery. Théophraste’s face was
full of consternation, and it was evident to Marceline that he had
terrible things on his mind.
Adolphe was to join them in a few days; two days passed very quietly in
the villa. Marceline attended to her household duties, and Théophraste
silently prepared his fishing tackle, as he had promised Adolphe a few
days’ fishing in the Marne. On the third day, Théophraste, who had
passed a good night, showed a less agitated countenance, and began to
smile and was cheered at the prospect of Adolphe’s coming. M. Lecamus
arrived before noon, and they both received him with delight.
Taking their places at lunch their conversation turned on angling, but
nothing was said of the mysterious proceedings of the week before. After
lunch they prepared for their fishing expedition; Théophraste took care
of the lines, the rods and the bait, and Adolphe took the nets.
Going down to the water’s edge, Théophraste turned to Adolphe and
said, “Tell me, have you any news? While we are fishing I will listen
to you. I have prepared a lot of sport, but I don’t think we will do
very much to-day, if you have important news for me.”
Adolphe replied, “There is some good, and some bad news. But I must
tell you that there is more bad than good. No doubt many stories have
been invented about you, but the real truth is not entirely pleasant.”
“Are you well informed, and is your information authentic?”
“I have been to the very fountain-head, I have seen the authentic
documents. I am going to tell you what I know. If I am mistaken, correct
me.”
Théophraste threw his half-prepared bait into the water, and said,
“Go on. I must have a full explanation.”
“First,” said Adolphe, “you were born in the month of October,
1693. You were called Louis Dominique Cartouche.”
“But it is needless to call me Cartouche, no one need know that. Call
me L’Enfant. I like it much better and no one will understand.”
“Yes,” insisted Adolphe, “but you know that your name is
Cartouche. It is not an assumed name. It is said that you studied hard
in Clermont College. That you were the schoolfellow of Voltaire, and
there is a legend that while you learned to read, in the course of time,
thanks to the gypsies who taught you reading, you were never able to
write.”
“Well, that’s funny,” cried Théophraste, “for if I never
learned to write, how could I have drawn up the document in the dungeon
of the Conciergerie?”
“At the time of your trial, you declared that you did not know how
to write. You signed your depositions with a cross and you have never
written a line to show who it was.”
“But,” Théophraste said, “it was never necessary to write. In my
position I should have dreaded to compromise myself. But the document is
there.”
“Evidently. Let us return to your eleventh year. One day you were in
the Saint Laurent Faire, with some comrades, when you fell in with a
band of gypsies. The gypsies carried you away. They stole you. They
taught you the play of the cudgel, the sword, to shoot a pistol,
to jump, and to rob the pockets of the bourgeoisie without being
discovered. At your twelfth year you were an adept at this, and without
an equal for bringing back handkerchiefs, snuff boxes, and watches. The
band of gypsies found themselves at Rouen, when little Louis Dominique
fell ill. He was taken to a hospital in Rouen, and it was there that an
uncle discovered him. He recognized him, and swore to restore him to his
parents.”
Here Théophraste interrupted with a word as to his uncle, and Lecamus
becoming impatient, begged him to cease his continual interruptions,
declaring it would take some time to tell the story of Cartouche if he
would not listen to it silently.
“I would like to see you in my place,” said Théophraste.
Adolphe continued: “In a while Cartouche became the chief of a band
of brigands. He commanded about three thousand men, had more than
fifty lieutenants; it was their habit to dress exactly alike, in
cinnamon-colored coats, and doublets of silk and amaranthine, showing a
piece of black taffeta underneath the left eye. They brought against him
more than one hundred and fifty personal assassinations, and put a price
upon his head. He was tried and broken on the wheel.” “Upon hearing
this Théophraste showed evident signs of alarm. He dropped his fishing
tackle, losing it in the swift current of the river. He could not give
his mind to fishing any more that day, and so they resolved to give
up the attempt. They did not wait for sundown, to return to the Villa
Flots-d’Azure. Swinging their meagre spoils lightly in their nets
they sadly retraced their steps. Cartouche filled their minds, and their
return journey was occupied in thoughts of this dual personality.