_A Newspaper Report_
|IT had become their habit in the Longuet flat to play dominoes in the
evening. M. Adolphe was a good player, and always he used the Norman
provincial names. When he played the double six, he would call the
“double negro”; the five was “the dog that bites,” and so on.
Marceline was always amused by these terms, and was always ready to
play.
It happened on this particular evening that Théophraste lost his game,
and after a short argument he began to sulk, and refused to play more.
Seating himself in a chair near the window, he began reading the paper.
He had strong political opinions.
Suddenly he was attracted by a strange headline. He read it and re-read
it, and could not resist an exclamation. “Strange! Is not Cartouche
dead, then?”
He could not help smiling. This hypothesis was so absurd. Then he ran
over the first lines of the article and said: “My dear Adolphe,
have you read this article? ‘Is not Cartouche dead, then?’ It is a
strange, a surprising article.”
Adolphe and Marceline could hardly prevent a start, and looked at him
with uneasiness.
Théophraste began to read the article aloud, as follows:
“‘For some days the police have been occupying themselves with one
of the greatest of mysteries that have occurred in Paris, and with a
series of odd crimes. They are endeavoring to hide from the public
the most curious sides. Those crimes and the manner in which their
perpetrator escapes from the police at the moment they think they
have him, recall, point by point, the manner in which the celebrated
Cartouche committed his crimes. If he was not enacting a thing so
reprehensible, one could admire the perfect art with which the model is
imitated. It is Cartouche to a finish! The police themselves have never
dealt with a more mysterious bandit. Nevertheless, the administration,
very mysteriously, but, we admit, very intelligently, has sent by
some of them an abstract of Cartouche’s history, compiled from the
manuscripts of the National Libraries. They thought, subtly, that the
history of Cartouche would be useful to them, not only in the present
task, which is to prevent the criminal outrages of the new Cartouche,
and to arrest him, but also that Cartouche’s history ought to form a
part of the general instruction to all the agents of police.
“‘Finally the news was brought to us that M. Lepine, Prefect of
Police, has ordered them to devote several evenings in the Prefecture
to listen to lectures on the authentic history of the illustrious
bandit.’
“What do you say to that?” demanded Théophraste with merriment.
“It is a merry farce, and the journalists are great fellows to issue
such fibs.”
Neither Adolphe nor Marceline smiled. Marceline’s voice trembled
slightly when she begged Théophraste to continue. He began to read
again quietly:
“‘The first crime of the new Cartouche did not at all present the
horror that we shall find in some of the others. It was a polite crime.
Let us say at once that all the crimes of which we have any knowledge,
and which they attribute to the new Cartouche, have been accomplished in
the last fifteen days, at the North, and always from eleven o’clock in
the evening to four o’clock in the morning.’”
Mme. Longuet rose, very pale. M. Lecamus made her sit down again, by a
knowing shake of the head, and commanded her to be silent.
Théophraste said: “What is this that they want to tell with their new
Cartouche? As for me, I only know the old one. After all, let’s see
the gallant polite crime,” and he read it over more and more calmly:
“‘A pretty woman, well known in Paris, where her literary salon is
frequented by all those who interest themselves with debates and
with matters spiritualistic, was proceeding, toward morning, with her
toilette for bed, and preparing to take a well-earned rest, following
the fatigue which had wearied her that evening there with the disorder
of a conference at home of the most illustrious of our pneumatics, when
suddenly the casement of her balcony was opened quickly by a man with a
figure a little over the medium, still young and vigorous (this last is
in the report of the police), but with perfectly white hair. He had in
his hand a brilliant nickel revolver.
“‘“Madame,” said he to the terrified woman, “compose yourself.
I do not wish to do you any evil. Consider me the most humble of your
servants. My name is Louis Dominique Cartouche, and I have no other
ambition than to sup at your side. By the tripes of Mme. de Phalaris, I
have the hunger of all the devils!” and he began to laugh.
“‘Mme. de B.—let us call her Mme. de B.— believed that she was
dealing with a crazy man, but he declared he was only determined to take
supper with her, which peculiar favor he had long desired. That man was
much more dangerous than a crazy man, for it might be necessary to kill
him on account of the brilliantly nickeled revolver.
“‘“Go,” said the man, “and call your people, and tell them to
bring here to you a good supper. Do not give them a single explanation
which would be likely to cause me any embarrassment or trouble, for if
you do you will be a dead woman.”
“‘Mme. de B. then took her departure, for she was brave, with a
mind sufficiently elevated to enable her to face the most unexpected
adventures. She rang for the chambermaid, and a quarter of an hour later
the man with the white hair and Mme. de B. were seated opposite each
other in proper style, and apparently the best of friends. The supper
was prolonged through the night (we do not wish to affirm anything as to
this point, which is so interesting—but are a little skeptical as
to the veracity of this story), so that the man did not descend by the
sheet from the balcony until about sunrise. The beautiful Mme. de B. had
not had supper, and so she did not complain about that forced supper,
which she ended by partaking of in very good grace, nor had she seen the
necessity of reporting her adventure to the Police Commissioner. And
we see what the circumstances were. Some days later the Commissioner was
announced at Mme. de B.’s. He told her that the ring that she wore on
her finger, in which a magnificent diamond glittered, was the property
of Mlle. Emily de Bescancon. Mme. de B. was of course ignorant of its
value—or where it came from. It had been presented to her. But Mlle.
Emily de Besancon, who had seen it on the finger of Mme. de B. the day
before at a charity sale, claimed it formally as hers. She had furnished
all sorts of proofs of it, and the diamond was set in such a unique way
that there could be no doubt of it. Mme. de B. was infinitely troubled,
and was obliged to relate the adventure which had befallen her. She
spoke of the unknown, of the balcony, of the supper, of the gratitude he
had shown her for his supper, and his placing the magnificent diamond
on her finger, which he had obtained, he said, from a woman he had loved
very much, a Mme. de Phalaris, who had been dead for some time. Mme.
de B. could not be suspected. She furnished a proof—the nickel-plated
revolver that the unknown had left on the table that night. Finally
she begged the Commissioner of Police to take away from her house the
hundred bottles of champagne of every choice brand that the unknown had
sent to her the day after the eventful night, under the pretext that the
supper had been exquisite, and that the only thing that could have been
desired was champagne. She feared that the champagne, as well as the
ring, had been stolen. The Commissioner acquitted the beautiful Mme.
de B. He could do nothing at the time, the news being in everybody’s
mouth, as the world at large would henceforth interest itself in the new
Cartouche.
“‘This little adventure, which is the least important of those we
have to relate, is the reproduction of what happened on the night of the
13th of July, 1721, at the house of Mme. la Maréchale de Boufflers.
She also was occupied in making her toilette. The young man, who came
unexpectedly by way of the balcony, had no revolver in his hand, but he
carried six English pistols. He demanded supper after presenting himself
as Louis Dominique Cartouche, and the widow of Louis François, Duke of
Boufflers, peer and Marshal of France, one of the heirs of Lille and of
Malplaquet, supped with Cartouche, and late at night.
“‘Cartouche only complained of the champagne, and Mme. de Boufflers
received a hundred bottles of it the next day. She had them taken, by
her butler Patapon, into the cellars of a great financier.
“‘Some time after that one of Cartouche’s bands stopped an
equipage in the streets of Paris. Cartouche leaned into the carriage to
recognize the faces. It was Mme. la Maréchale de Boufflers. He turned
toward his people. “Give them liberty to pass on, now and always, Mme.
de la Maréchale de Boufflers!” ordered he in a ringing voice, and he
bowed very low to the Maréchale, after he had slipped on her finger a
magnificent diamond that he had probably stolen from Mme. de Phalaris.
_Mme. de Phalaris never saw it again_.
“‘Now let us pass on to the crime in the Rue du Bac.’”