THEOPHRASTUS SHOWS THE BLACK FEATHER
From that day the conversations of Theophrastus, Marceline, and Adolphe
were of fascinating interest to them. They pored and pored over the
document; they discussed over and over again the "Cock," the "Gall,"
"Chopinettes," and the "Betrayal of April 1st" of the mysterious
document. They soon left Azure Waves Villa and returned to Paris to
ransack the libraries.
Adolphe, the great reader, was much better adapted to historical
research than either Marceline or Theophrastus; and their patience was
exhausted long before his.
One Sunday they were strolling along the Champs-Elysées; and both
Theophrastus and Marceline had been complaining bitterly of their
failure at the libraries, when Adolphe said thoughtfully:
"What use would it be to us to find approximately the spot in which the
treasures are buried _unless Theophrastus had his Black Feather_?"
"What Black Feather? What do you mean?" said Marceline and Theophrastus
with one voice.
"Let's stroll back towards the Rond-Pont; and I'll tell you what I
mean," said Adolphe.
When they were under the trees, among the throng of careless strollers,
Adolphe said:
"You've heard of the water-finders?"
"Of course," they said promptly.
"Well, owing to some phenomenon, of which the explanation has not yet
been discovered, these water-finders, equipped with forked hazel-twigs
which they hold over the ground they are crossing, are able to _see_,
through the different strata of the soil, the position of the spring
sought, and the spot where the well must be sunk. I don't despair of
getting Theophrastus to do for his treasures what the water-finders
do for their springs. I shall take him to the place, and he will say,
'Here's where you dig for the treasures.'"
"But all this does not explain what you mean by my Black Feather,"
interrupted Theophrastus.
"I'm coming to it. I shall bring to this spot you, the treasure-seeker,
as one brings the water-finder to the spot where one suspects the
presence of water. I shall bring you there _when you have your Black
Feather_."
He paused, and then went on in his professorial tone:
"I shall have to talk to you about Darwin; but you needn't be uneasy:
I shan't have to talk about him for long. You'll understand at once.
You know that Darwin devoted a great part of his life to some famous
experiments of which the most famous were his experiments with
pigeons. Desirous of accounting for the phenomena of heredity, he
studied closely the breeding of pigeons. He chose pigeons because the
generations of pigeons follow one another so closely that one can draw
conclusions from them in a comparatively short space of time. At the
end of a certain number, call it X, of generations he found once more
the same pigeon. You understand, the same pigeon, with the same defects
and the same qualities, the same shape, the same structure, and _the
same black feather_ in the very place where the first pigeon had a
black feather. Well, I, Adolphe Lecamus, maintain, and I will prove it
to you, that to eyes opened by Darwin it is the same with souls as with
bodies. At the end of a number X of generations, one finds the same
soul, exactly as it was originally, with the same defects and the same
qualities, _with the same black feather_. Do you understand?"
"Not quite," said Theophrastus apologetically.
"Yet I'm lowering myself to the level of your intelligence," said
Adolphe, impatient but frank. "But it is necessary to distinguish
between the soul which appears hereditarily and that which returns by
reincarnation."
"What do you mean?" said Theophrastus rather faintly.
"An hereditary soul which revives the ancestor _has always its
black feather_, owing to the fact that it is the result of a unique
combination, since it exists in the sheath, the body, which is
hereditary to the same extent. Is that clear?"
"I notice that whenever you say, 'Is that clear?' my dear Adolphe,
everything seems to go as dark as pitch," said Marceline humbly.
Adolphe ground his teeth, and raised his voice:
"Whereas a soul which returns in the course of reincarnation finds
itself in a body in which nothing has been prepared to receive it. The
aggregate of the materials of this body have their origin in--I take
Theophrastus as example--several generations of cabbage-planters--"
"Gardeners--market-gardeners!" interjected Theophrastus gently.
"--at Ferté-sous-Jouarre. The aggregate of the materials of this body
may for a while impose silence on this soul, originally perhaps--I am
still taking Theophrastus as an example--belonging to one of the first
families in France. But there comes a time when the soul gets the upper
hand; then it speaks, and shows itself in its entirety, exactly as it
was originally, _with its black feather_."
"I understand! I understand the whole business!" cried Theophrastus
joyfully.
"Then when this soul speaks in you," cried Adolphe, warming to
eloquence, "you're no longer yourself! Theophrastus Longuet has
disappeared! It's the Other who is there! The Other who has the
gestures, the air, the action, and _the Black Feather_ of the Other!
It's the Other who will recall exactly the mystery of the treasures!
It's the Other who remembers the Other!"
"Oh, this is wonderful!" cried Theophrastus, almost in tears of joy. "I
grasp now what you mean by my _Black Feather_. I shall have _my Black
Feather_ when I'm the Other!"
"And we will help you in the matter, dear friend," said Adolphe with
unabated warmth. "But till we have disentangled the Unknown who is
hidden in Theophrastus Longuet, until he is alive before our very eyes
with the right amount of force, daring, and energy, until, in a word,
he appears with _his Black Feather_, let us calmly devote ourselves to
the study of this interesting document which you brought back from the
Conciergerie. Let us make it our pastime to penetrate its mystery, let
us fix the limits of the space in which these treasures were buried.
But let us wait before ransacking the bowels of the earth till the
Other, who is asleep in you, awakes and cries, 'It is here!'"
"You speak like a book, Adolphe!" cried Marceline, overwhelmed with
admiration. "But can we really expect the soil in which the treasures
were buried to have remained undisturbed all these years--over two
hundred?"
"Woman of little faith," said Adolphe sternly, "they have been
disturbing the sacred soil of the Roman Forum for over two thousand
years as the soil of Paris has never been disturbed; and it was only
a few years ago that they brought to light the famous rostrum from
which Caius and Tiberius poured forth their eloquence... Ah, here's M.
Mifroid, my friend the Commissary of Police, whom I've so long wanted
you to know. Well, this is lucky!"
A man of forty, dressed in the height of fashion and as neat as a new
pin, with one white lock drawn carefully down on his unwrinkled brow,
came up to them smiling, raised his hat, and shook Adolphe warmly by
the hand.
"How are you?" said Adolphe cordially. "Let me introduce you to my
friends. M. Mifroid--Madame Longuet--M. Longuet."
From the glance of respectful admiration which he bestowed on her
charming face Marceline gathered that the Commissary of Police was also
a squire of dames.
"We have often heard our friend M. Lecamus speak of you," she said with
a gracious smile.
"I feel that I have known you for a long time. Every time I meet him,
he talks about his friends of Gerando Street, and in such terms that
the good fortune which this moment befalls me, this introduction, has
been my most fervent desire," said M. Mifroid gallantly.
"I hear that you are an accomplished violinist," said Marceline,
delighted with his politeness.
"Accomplished? I don't know about accomplished: I _play_ the violin;
and I am something of a sculptor and a student of philosophy--a taste
which I owe to our friend M. Lecamus here. And when I passed you just
now, I heard you discussing the immortality of the soul," said M.
Mifroid, who wished to shine before the eyes of the pretty Marceline.
"Adolphe and I love to discuss these serious questions; and just now
we were discussing the body and soul and the relations between them,"
said Theophrastus with a very fair imitation of the professorial air of
Adolphe.
"Haven't you got beyond that?" said M. Mifroid, burning to shine. "In
the eyes of Science matter and spirit are one and the same thing, that
is to say, they constitute the same unity in the same Force, at once
result and phenomenon, cause and effect, moving towards the same end:
the Progressive Ascent of Being. You two gentlemen are the only people
left to make this distinction between matter and spirit."
Theophrastus was a trifle huffed: "We do the best we can," he said
stiffly.
The little party had come into the Place de la Concorde. At the top
of the Rue Royale there was a large crowd of people, shouting and
gesticulating.
At once Theophrastus, like a true Parisian, was on fire to learn what
was going on, and plunged into the heart of the crowd.
"Mind you don't get your pockets picked!" cried Marceline after him.
"Oh, you needn't be afraid of getting your pocket picked when you're in
the company of Commissary Mifroid," said that gentleman proudly.
"That's true," said Marceline with an amiable smile. "You are here; and
we run no risk at all."
"I don't know about that," said Adolphe slyly. "My friend Mifroid
appears to me more dangerous than all the pickpockets on the face of
the earth--to the heart."
"Ah, he will have his joke!" said M. Mifroid laughing; but he assumed
his most conquering air.
Theophrastus kept them standing there for fully ten minutes before he
emerged from the crowd with his eyes shining very brightly.
"It's a cab-driver who has locked his wheel with that of a motor car,"
he said.
"And what has happened?" said Marceline.
"Why, he can't unlock it," said Theophrastus.
"And all this crowd about a trifle like that! How silly people are!"
said Marceline.
Thereupon she invited M. Mifroid to come home and dine with them.
He needed but a little pressing to accept the invitation; and they
strolled slowly back to Gerando Street.
The dinner was very lively, for M. Mifroid was still bent on shining;
and his example spurred Adolphe to splendid emulation. It was when
they were taking their coffee at the end of dinner that M. Mifroid
suddenly seemed uneasy. He felt in all his pockets, trying to find his
handkerchief. His search was vain; it was not there. After a final
search in the pockets in the tails of his frock-coat, he ground his
teeth, gave his moustache a despairing tug, and took a deep breath.
Two minutes later Theophrastus blew his nose. Marceline asked him where
he had got that pretty handkerchief. M. Mifroid looked at it and saw
that it was his. He laughed somewhat awkwardly, declared that it was an
excellent joke, took it from Theophrastus, and put it in his pocket.
Theophrastus could not understand it at all.
Suddenly M. Mifroid turned pale, and felt in his left-hand breast
pocket.
"Goodness! What has become of my pocket-book?" he cried.
The explanation of its absence was entirely simple: someone had picked
the pocket of the Commissary of Police of his pocket-book with five
hundred francs in it. M. Mifroid did not so much regret the loss of
the five hundred francs as he was furious to find himself ridiculous.
Marceline made fun of him gently as she condoled with him on its loss;
she could not help it. He was furious indeed.
"Let me lend you any money you want for to-night, M. Mifroid," said
Theophrastus amiably.
He pulled out a pocket-book. M. Mifroid uttered a sharp cry: it was his
own pocket-book!
Theophrastus turned a rich scarlet. M. Mifroid stared at him, took the
pocket-book from his trembling fingers, recovered his five hundred
francs, and put them in his pocket.
Then he forthwith began to make a hundred pressing occupations his
excuse for taking a hurried leave of them, and said good-bye.
As he was clattering down the staircase, he called back up it, with
some heat, to his friend Adolphe, who had hurried out of the flat after
him:
"Whoever are these people you have introduced me to?"
Adolphe said nothing; he wiped his perspiring brow.
The clattering footsteps of M. Mifroid died away down the stairs;
and he went slowly back into the dining-room. Theophrastus had just
finished turning out his pockets. On the table lay three watches, six
handkerchiefs, four pocket-books, containing considerable sums of
money, and eighteen purses!