THE WAX MASK
At this point I let Theophrastus once more take up the narrative.
"I had the strongest desire," he writes, "to see and touch that
wax which had been moulded on my own skin; and this desire grew,
if possible, stronger when Adolphe told me that the Château of
Saint-Germain-en-Laye had contained the wax portrait of the famous
Cartouche since the 25th of April, 1849. It had been presented to it
by an Abbé Niallier, who had inherited it under the will of a Monsieur
Richot, an Officer of the Household of Louis XVI, who had had it for
many years. It was all the more valuable for having belonged to the
Royal Family.
"This bust was moulded by a Florentine artist a few days before my
execution. On it is a cap of wool or rough leather; and it is dressed
in a coarse linen shirt covered with soot, and a waistcoat and a jacket
of black camlet. But the most extraordinary thing about it is, that
my hair and moustache were cut off after I was executed, and glued on
to my mask! The portrait is enclosed in a large, deep, gilded frame,
a very pretty piece of work. A sheet of Venetian glass protects the
portrait; and one can still see on the frame faint traces of the arms
of France.
"I asked Adolphe how he had obtained these exact details. He answered
that they were the result of two days' work in the National Library.
"My hair! my moustache! my clothes! All as they were two hundred
years ago! In spite of the horror with which the relics of a man who
had committed so many crimes should have inspired me, I could hardly
contain myself in my impatience to see and touch them. O mystery of
Nature! Profound abyss of the soul! Giddy precipice of the heart! I,
Theophrastus Longuet, whose name is the synonym of honour, I who was
always afraid of bloodshed, I already _cherished_ in my heart the
relics of the greatest brigand in the world!
"When I recovered my senses after the sight of the portrait in
Guénégaud Street, I was at first amazed not to find myself in a state
of despair bitter enough to disgust me with life, and plunge me once
more into the tomb. No: I did not dream of suppressing this envelope,
with the face of an honest man, which in the twentieth century was
labelled 'Theophrastus Longuet,' which enclosed and bore about the
world the soul of Cartouche. Undoubtedly at the first moment of such a
revelation the least I could do was to faint; and I did so. But instead
of finding despair in my heart I found a great compassion, which not
only drew tears from me for the misfortune of myself, Theophrastus,
but also for Cartouche. I asked myself in fact which was having the
best time of it, the honest Theophrastus dragging the brigand Cartouche
about inside him or the brigand Cartouche shut up in the honest
Theophrastus.
"'We must try and understand one another,' I said out loud.
"The words had scarcely passed my lips when a dazzling light broke on
me, as I recalled the theory of Reincarnation which M. Lecamus had
revealed to me.
"The whole object of evolution is the evolution of the reincarnate soul
towards the Better. It is the Progressive Ascent of Being of which
Commissary Mifroid had spoken to us with such delightful earnestness.
It was quite plain that the powers who regulate the process of
reincarnation had found nothing more honest on earth than the body of
Theophrastus Longuet to enable the criminal soul of Cartouche to evolve
towards the Better.
"I must admit that when this idea took hold of me, instead of
the childish despair which had caused me to faint, I felt myself
filled with a sentiment more akin to pride. I was charged by the
Planetary Logos, I, the humble, honest Theophrastus, to regenerate
in ideal splendour that soul of darkness and of blood, the soul of
Louis-Dominique Cartouche, known as the _Child_. I accepted willingly,
since I could not do otherwise, this unexpected mission and at once I
was on my guard. I did not repeat the phrase, 'We must understand one
another'; but I at once commanded Cartouche to obey Theophrastus; and
I promised myself that I would give him such a time of it that I could
not prevent myself from saying with a smile: 'Poor old Cartouche!'
"I confided these reflections to Adolphe, who received them with
approval, but at the same time warned me against my tendency to
separate Theophrastus from Cartouche.
"'You must not forget,' he said, 'that they are one. You have the
instincts of Theophrastus, that is to say, of the cabbage-planters
(gardeners, market-gardeners) of Ferté-sous-Jouarre. These instincts
are good. But you have also the soul of Cartouche, which is detestable.
Take care: war is declared. The question is, which will conquer, the
soul of long ago or the instincts of to-day.'
"I asked him if the soul of Cartouche was truly altogether detestable,
which would have grieved me. I was pleased to learn that it had its
good points.
"'Cartouche,' said he, 'expressly forbade his men to kill, or even
wound, wayfarers without some reason. When he was at work in Paris with
any of his bands, and his men brought him prisoners, he spoke to them
with the utmost politeness and gentleness and made them restore a part
of their spoil. Sometimes the affair was confined to a mere exchange
of clothes. When he found in the pockets of the coat thus exchanged
letters of importance, he ran after its late owner to give them back to
him, wished him a pleasant evening, and gave him the password. It was
a maxim of this extraordinary man that no one ought to be robbed twice
on the same night, or treated too harshly, in order that the Parisians
might not take a dislike to going out in the evening.'
"Since, then, he was opposed to unreasonable murder, it is clear that
this man was not utterly wicked. I regret, however, that, as far as he
himself was concerned, he should have had in the course of his life a
hundred and fifty reasons for assassinating his contemporaries.
"But to come back to the wax mask, my friend Adolphe and myself had
just descended from the train at Saint-Germain station when I fancied
that I saw among a group of passengers a figure which I knew. Moved by
a sentiment which was not altogether under my control, I dashed towards
the group, but the figure had disappeared.
"'That form is essentially repugnant to me. Where have I seen it?' said
I to myself; and Adolphe asked me the reason of my excitement. All at
once I remembered.
"'I could swear that it was Signor Petito, the Professor of Italian who
lives in the flat above us!' I cried. 'What is Signor Petito up to at
Saint-Germain? He had better not get in my way!'
"'What is it he's done?' said Adolphe, in some surprise at the emphasis
with which I uttered the last sentence.
"'Oh, nothing--nothing. Only if he gets in my way I swear to you _I'll
clip his ears for him_!'
"_And I would have done as I said, you know._
"We went on then, without bothering any more about Signor Petito, to
the Château, that wonderful Château. We went into the museum; and I
was extremely annoyed to find that those chambers which knew the whole
history of France, and would have served as the frame of our past, even
had they been empty, should be serving to-day as a bazaar for Roman
plaster casts, prehistoric arms, elephants' tusks, and bas-reliefs from
the Arch of Constantine. But my annoyance turned to fury when I learnt
that the mask of Cartouche was not there. I had just stealthily thrust
the ferule of my green umbrella into the eye of a plaster legionary and
smashed it, when an old custodian came to us and said that he was sure
there was a mask of Cartouche at Saint-Germain and he thought it was in
the library; but that had, for a week, been closed for repairs.
"We decided that we would return at a more favourable opportunity; for
the further the mask withdrew itself, the fiercer I burned to touch it.
"We went out on to the terrace, for it was a glorious day, and plunged
into the forest, down a magnificent aisle of it, which brought us to
the lodges built in front of the Château by the desire of Queen Anne of
Austria.
"As we reached the left corner of the wall, I thought I once more
recognised, slinking into a thicket, the abominable silhouette and
repulsive face of Signor Petito. Adolphe maintained that I was mistaken.
"Was it because I was treading this old soil which I knew, because I
found myself in that friendly forest among those familiar trees, or
was it the result of a long, suggestive conversation about old times
and the people of long ago? Of a sudden memory sprang to birth in me,
a very pleasant memory, as sometimes a moving remembrance of one's
youthful days comes back to one, days which one believed for ever lost,
buried in the memory. And then I saw quite clearly that I was _the
same_ soul, for I recalled Cartouche as if we had not been separated
_by two hundred years of death_.
"Yes, I had the same soul, a long same soul indeed: at one end was
Cartouche, at the other Theophrastus.
"I remembered the old days; and above all I remembered them when we
had passed the northern wall, plunging always deeper into the forest.
I threw myself down on the turf at the foot of an immemorial tree, my
eyes sparkling with an amazing youthful fire, and looking round the
spot I knew so well, I said:
"'Ah, Adolphe! the last time I was here my fortune was at its height. I
was feared and loved by all. I was even loved, Adolphe, by my victims,
I plundered them so gracefully that afterwards they went about Paris
singing my praises. I was not yet a prey to that dreadful thirst for
blood which was some months later to drive me to commit the most
atrocious crimes. Everything went well with me, feared and loved by
all, I was happy, light-hearted, of a splendid daring, magnificent in
love, of the finest nature in the world, and _master of Paris_.
"'Do you remember that glorious September night when we broke into the
house of the Ambassador of Spain, made our way into his wife's bedroom,
took all her embroidered robes of silk and velvet, a buckle set with
twenty-seven large diamonds (one might almost fancy that it happened
yesterday), a necklace of fine pearls, six gold plates, six gold knives
and forks, and ten silver-gilt goblets (what a thing what a wonderful
thing, my dear Adolphe, the phenomenon of memory is!)? Do you remember
how we wrapped up the jewels and plate in napkins, and went off to
supper (oh, what an evening it was!) at La Belle Hélène's, who, _you
remember_, kept the Heart tavern?
"Now why, I wonder, did I say '_You remember_'? It must be that I
regard you as a friend I had in those days, as trusty as yourself, of
whom I was just as fond--Old Easy-Going--my favourite friend. _By the
throttle of Madame Phalaris!_ he was a fine fellow--sergeant of the
City Guard and one of my lieutenants. What a lot of those City Guards I
did have among my men! Why, when I was arrested, _a hundred and fifty
of them, officers and men, fled to the colonies_ for fear I should
split. They had no need to: torture never drew a word from me!
"'Do you remember the night you were on duty at the Palais-Royal and
stole the Regent's silver-gilt candlesticks?'"
The voice of Theophrastus died dreamily away down the vistas of the
past; but M. Adolphe Lecamus said nothing: his face was flushed; and he
was breathing heavily.
Presently Theophrastus woke from his dream to tell his friend of yet
another outrageous exploit, the theft of Mississippi Bonds to the value
of a million and three hundred thousand francs from the great financier
Law. He ended the story by saying, "How two hundred years do change a
man!"
Then he began to laugh at the phrase. He was joking, positively joking.
That is the way with the Parisian tradesman of to-day: he begins by
being scared to death by a mere nothing, and ends by laughing at
everything. Theophrastus Longuet had reached the point of laughing at
himself. The preternatural and terrifying antithesis between Cartouche
and Longuet, which had at first plunged him into the gloomiest terror,
a few days later became a joke! The wretched man was insulting Destiny!
He was mocking the thunder! His excuse is that he did not realise the
gravity of his case.
Adolphe showed but little appreciation of his humour. At dusk they
returned to Paris; and as they came out of Saint-Lazare station, he
said to Theophrastus:
"Tell me, Theophrastus, when you're Cartouche and are walking about
Paris and observing its life, what astonishes you most? Is it the
telephone, or the railway, or the motorcars, or the Eiffel Tower?"
"No, no!" said Theophrastus quickly. "It's the policemen!"