_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.”
“Well,” said Théophraste, “my name is Cartouche. But it has
been believed for a long, long time that this name was given to me as a
nickname.”
“You are not Cartouche,” said Eliphaste.
“Your name is Théophraste Longuet. You will pardon me, but there is
no longer any need for confusion; you were formerly called Cartouche,
but now you are called Théophraste Longuet.”
M. Théophraste then recalled a number of personages with whom he
had, in the spirit of Cartouche, been speaking. They were all of the
eighteenth century—Gatelard, Marie Antoinette Neron, and others, and
it was evident that his mind was dwelling on that period, and he was
living in the present a life of the past.
Théophraste was still talking of these times, when the half shadows
which seemed to envelop him were suddenly dissipated, and the room
appeared in the splendid brightness of day. He looked around with
evident satisfaction, first at his wife, and then at Adolphe, and
finally at M. Eliphaste. Eliphaste had entirely lost his supernatural
aspect, his astral mantle had disappeared, and if his features had still
their sublime and unusual pallor, he seemed, nevertheless, a man like
other men.
“Ah, this is better,” said Théophraste, sighing.
“It is not necessary for you to think any more of old Paris,”
said M. Eliphaste. “You have nothing more to do with it. You are
Théophraste, and it is the year of grace, 1899.”
“Possibly,” replied Théophraste, who was obstinate; “but the
question is, what about my treasure? I have a perfect right to look at
a plan of old Paris, for I can follow the place where I buried it
formerly, and find the place where I must look.”
Eliphaste, speaking to Lecamus, said, “I have often witnessed the
crises of Karma, but never has it been given to me to study one of such
strength.”
Eliphaste reflected, and then leading Théophraste to the right, he
brought him before a map of real Paris. “Behold,” said he, “the
exact point where Le Fouches de Mount Fançons were. As to the mouth of
the Choppinettes, and of the Coq, they were at those two points of the
Monte St. Chaumont. The forks were found on a small eminence on the side
of the principal mound, but far to the right of where the Protestant of
the Rue de Crimee stands to-day. To find your treasure again, my friend,
it will be necessary to search in that triangle. The mounds, as you say,
have been the remains of a filled-in ditch, and I doubt very much if
your treasure could still be found there. I specified for you the old
space on a modern plan to disillusion you. You must clear your mind.
Think no more on your treasures. Do not live in the past. You must
live in the present, and for the future. You must drive away Cartouche,
because Cartouche is no more. It is Théophraste Longuet who is.”
M. Eliphaste pronounced these words with great force.