The Double Life

“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.

CHAPTER XVII
They Decide to Kill

MELIPHASTE had been reasoning with Théophraste, and using all the arguments of spiritualists to persuade him to make an effort to rid himself of the spirit of Cartouche.

“However,” said Théophraste, “I thank you for the interest you have taken in me, and for your sympathy; but I tell you, you can do nothing for me. You say I am sick, but I am not. If I were you could cure me. You also say that I am to drive away this Cartouche; but, though that is easily said, I can assure you that it is not so easily done. It is impossible, my dear M. Eli-phaste.”

“And yet,” said M. Eliphaste, “it is necessary. For if we do not succeed in driving him out, we must kill him. That is an operation the result of which I cannot vouch. It is a delicate operation, and full of dangers.”

M. Eliphaste had hoped that this obsession of Cartouche was only imaginary, and so by reasoning he could drive it away. But, alas, the reality of it was only too true, and Théophraste, while willing to help him, could not get himself to believe M. Eliphaste’s arguments.

“You understand,” said M. Eliphaste, “your case is most extraordinary. Everybody in the world has lived before, and will live again. This is the Law of Karma. It may be possible to find some one who was a friend of Cartouche’s. The true object of that wonderful evolution of souls through the bodies, is to develop and qualify them to enjoy the perfect happiness which will finally be the inheritance of the fortunate ones who will enter into the Kingdom of Heaven. It is thought that at each birth, the personality differs from the preceding one, but it is only the veritable, divine and spiritual I. These divers personalities are in some measures only the links of the infinite chain of life, which constitutes, throughout the ages, our immortal individuality.”

The admirable wisdom of the teaching appealed to Théophraste immensely. Eliphaste had shown himself so much the master of his thoughts, that he could not understand why he had remained ignorant so long, without even having suspected these wonderful truths. He saw the great difference between Eliphaste and Adolphe, the difference, as he said, “between the Man of Reason and the Learned Ape.”

Eliphaste continued: “When one is persuaded of this great truth, one need not be astonished at the wonderful things that happen in the present-if they recall events of former times. But to live according to the Law of Wisdom, one must live in the present, and not look behind.”

Théophraste had too often looked behind. His mind had occupied itself with thoughts of the past. If this had continued, in a very short time Théophraste would have gone quite mad.

And so Théophraste thought: “I must either forget Cartouche, throw him off completely, or develop all his characteristics.”

M. Eliphaste told them that what men call vocations to-day were only a latent revelation of the past, and they could only be explained that way. He told them that what was called facility among men to-day was nothing else but retrospective sympathy for some objects that they knew better than others, having studied them better before the real and actual life. He said that we even assume the gesture of the past without knowing it. He himself had seen, on the eve of the Battle of the Bourget, two young men fall near him, handsome as demigods, brave as Castor and Pollux, and who succumbed with grace that the heroes showed in dying at Salamis, Marathon, or at Platies. M. Eliphaste then pressed Théophraste to his heart, breathed on his forehead and his eyes, and then asked him if he was quite persuaded of the truth. He said that to be happy we must seek to give an account of ourselves, as to the perpetual changes of our condition, and that by this we learned to live in the present, and to comprehend that the future belonged to us entirely. Are we not the children of the Eternal, in whose eyes a thousand years are as a day, and a day as a thousand years?

Théophraste said to him that he was not at all astonished at having been Cartouche-it seemed so natural to his mind-that he would never more dwell on it, and he declared that at present Cartouche was driven away.

Thereupon Marceline asked what time it was, and Adolphe told her it was eleven o’clock, and so they rose to take their leave. However, just before leaving, an incident occurred which went to prove too clearly that the spirit of Cartouche had not left Théophraste.

Upon Adolphe’s declaring that it was eleven o’clock, Théophraste took out his watch and contended that it was half after eleven, and after a few words, he said, “You can cut off my right hand if I am wrong.”

Turning to M. Eliphaste, that gentleman confirmed M. Lecamus’ statement, whereupon Théophraste picked up a small knife which was lying near, and would have severed his right hand but for M. Eliphaste, who, grasping the situation, seized Théophraste’s uplifted hand with dexterity and incredible strength. He ordered him to drop the knife, and told him that he was not keeping to the compact. M. Eliphaste felt that it was no good arguing with him on the matter of the spirit of Cartouche, and despaired of ever ridding him of the spirit by reasoning. He turned to Adolphe and said, “Let us go. It is too late. There is nothing to do but to kill him.”

CHAPTER XVIII
The Operation

THIS savage onslaught, which but for the presence of mind of M. Eliphaste would have terminated in the amputation of M. Longuet’s hand, proved to them that the sanguine imagination of Cartouche had so completely invaded the brain of M. Longuet that it seemed to them the only remedy for such a misfortune was the death of Cartouche.

M. Eliphaste did not hesitate. He had reasoned with him in vain, and had even hoped at one time that he had been victorious, but this incident undoubtedly proved otherwise. He rose and looked at Théophraste, giving him a long, steady glance, which seemed to pierce the uttermost depths of his soul. Théophraste sighed several times and began to tremble violently, when M. Eliphaste cried, “Cartouche, I order you to sleep.” Théophraste fell as if stricken on the armchair which stood behind him, and did not make another move. His respiration was so silent that they doubted if he still lived. Marceline ran to him alarmed, but M. Eliphaste restrained her, saying, “All is well. The operation of the death of Cartouche has begun.”

Adolphe knew, from several examples, that there is always a great risk when one wishes to kill a reincarnated soul-that is to say, to throw it back toward the past. There is a risk of killing the body in which it is reincarnated. And so he knew that trying to kill the soul of Cartouche without killing Théophraste was a great undertaking.

It needed all the authority, and all the science of M. Eliphaste, to calm them in the extremity in which they found themselves. He was the most intellectual and scientific spiritualist of the day. He had the most absolute and domineering will that the world had seen since Jacques Molay, to whom he had succeeded, by the supreme direction of the secret order of Temphis. He had made an allegorical demonstration of his last treatise on “Psychic Surgery,” and had analyzed the subject in his pamphlet on “Astral Scalpel.”

It is necessary to enumerate all the accomplishments of M. Eliphaste, for it gives Adolphe a chance of refuting in advance the reproach put upon him for letting him treat his best friend with the utmost severity. The criminal eccentricities of M. Longuet, of which Signor Petito was the first victim, made him dread the most irremediable catastrophes, and it was for this reason that he was led to consider the operation of Cartouche as a benefit, not only possible, but probable, without too great a risk to Théophraste. As to Mme. Longuet, her faith in M. Eliphaste was so great that at first she only made a few remarks, so as to relieve her of any responsibility, and then the terror that she had of sleeping with Cartouche made her, over and above everything, desire his death.

M. Eliphaste told Adolphe to take Théophraste’s heels, and he took and held him under the armpits, and they carried him into the sub-cellar, where a laboratory had been fitted up, which was lighted in the day by gas, with large, red, hissing flames.

Mme. Longuet followed. They placed Théophraste on a bed, and bound him down with straps. He was still under the mesmeric influence. M. Eliphaste stood over him, watching him closely, for a quarter of an hour, during which time there was a deep silence in the room. At length a voice was heard. It was M. Eliphaste praying. The prayer began in this way:

“In the beginning there was silence. Oh, age Eternal, source of all ages–”

When the prayer was ended, M. Eliphaste took Théophraste by the hand and seemed to command him without speaking. He questioned Théophraste by the strength of his domineering spirit -only by the answers Théophraste made could they understand what he had been commanded to tell. Théophraste said, without effort, “Yes, I see. Yes, I am. I am M. Théophraste Longuet; in an apartment of the Rue Gerondeau.” M. Eliphaste turned toward Adolphe and Marceline. “The operation is a bad one,” he said in a deep voice. “I have put Cartouche to sleep, and Théophraste answers me. He is sleeping in the present. We must not precipitate matters. It will be dangerous.”

“I am in the Rue Gerondeau-in the apartment under mine-and I see stretched on the bed a man without ears. In front of him a woman; a dark woman-she is pretty-she is young-her name is Regina-the woman is saying to the man, ‘Signor Petito, as true as I am called Regina, and that you have lost your ears, you will cease to see me in forty-eight hours if you have not found the means to give me a little comfort, to which I have a right. When I married you, you basely deceived me, both as to your fortune and as to your intelligence. Your fortune rested only in hopes which have not been realized. What are you going to do?’

“Signor Petito replies, ‘My dear Regina, you puzzle me. Leave me in peace to find a trace of the treasures that the imbecile above is incapable of snatching from the profound depths of the earth.’”

Théophraste made them understand, in his sleep, that the imbecile referred to was Cartouche. M. Eliphaste turned toward them, saying, “I expect that word to make him quit the present. Now, madam, the time has come. I am going to tempt God.” And then he spoke in a commanding voice, in a voice that it seemed impossible not to obey. “Cartouche,” said he, extending his hand above the strapped bed with a commanding majesty, “Cartouche, where wast thou on the night of the first of April, 1721, at ten o’clock?”

“On the night of April first, 1721, at ten o’clock, I struck two light blows on the door, with the intention of making them open the door of the Tavern Reine Margot. I never should have believed that I could have reached the ironmonger’s shop so easily. But I had killed the horse of the French guardsman, and I had thrown those who had followed him into the Seine. At the Reine Margot I found Paleton, Gatelard, and Guenal Noire. La Belle Laittiere was with them. I related the story to them while emptying a bottle of wine. I had confidence in them, and I told them that I suspected Va de Bon Cour-and perhaps Marie Antoinette-of having whispered something to the spies. They cried out, but I cried out louder than they. I announced to them that I had decided to deal summarily with all who gave me cause to suspect them. I became very angry, and La Belle Laittiere told me that I was no longer bearable. Was it my fault? Every one had betrayed me. I could not sleep two nights consecutively in one place. Where, then, were the days when all Paris was with me? Where, then, was the day of my wedding to Marie Antoinette, when we sang the air of ‘Tout joli belle menniere, Tout joli moulin’? Where was now my uncle Taton? Shut up in a castle. And his son? Killed by me because he was going to denounce me. I had done it quickly. A pistol shot, and his corpse was under a pile of rubbish. Then I was sure of his silence. I killed the robber Pepin, and the police officer Huron. I did not ask anything, only that they leave me alone to police Paris for the security of everybody. My great council,” this he murmured to himself, “did not pardon me for having Jacques le Febrere executed. I am no longer bearable, and that is because I wish to live. After that which had come to pass,” continued Théophraste in his hypnotic sleep, “and the miraculous way in which I escaped in spite of treachery and the precautions taken by the spies, I did not conceal from Gate-lard or from Guenal Noire that I had decided to leave them.

“I soon left them and opened the door of the Reine Margot. Not a soul in the ironmonger’s shop. I was saved. I did not even stop Magdelen, whom I passed while walking along the walls of the cemetery, where I was going to sleep that night. Truth was, I was going to pass the night like a robber in my hole in the Rue Amelot. It was pouring with rain.”

It would be difficult to describe the strange tone in which this narrative was related. The undulation of the phrases, their stops and their stations, then the peculiar monotone in which the words fell from Théophraste’s lips while he was in the hypnotic sleep. His face sometimes expressed anger, sometimes contempt, and sometimes terror.

M. Lecamus, who had seen Cartouche’s portrait, recalled that at certain times there was a striking resemblance to that of Théophraste. Just as he was relating the incident of passing Magdelen, and the downpour of rain, Théophraste’s face showed a most peculiar expression, changing from joy to most overwhelming despair.

M. Eliphaste, leaning over the bed, asked him: “What then, Cartouche?”

Théophraste replied in a rattling voice: “I killed a passerby.”

The operation continued, but it was only by degrees that M. Eliphaste wished to bring Cartouche to the hour of his death. Before making him live his death, it was necessary to make him live a little of his life. That was the reason that M. Eliphaste had thrown the spirit of Cartouche back to the month of April, 1721.

Though the minutes following were terrible for the onlookers, they were worse for Cartouche, who was passing through the end of his career the second time.

It was not until October 11, 1721, that the treason bore fruit.

Coustard, sergeant in the company of Cha-bannes, took forty men and four sergeants with him, all of whom were designated by Duchatelle, Cartouche’s lieutenant, who had betrayed him. This little army, in citizen clothes, concealing its arms very mysteriously, surrounded the house pointed out by Duchatelle.

It could not have been more than nine o’clock in the evening when they arrived in sight of the tavern, Au Pictolet, kept by Germain Tassard and his wife, near the Rue des Trois Bornes. Tassard was smoking his pipe on the doorstep, when Duchatelle came up and demanded, “Is there nobody upstairs? No? Where are the four ladies?”

Tassard, who expected this question, said, “Go up.”

The little troop rushed in, and when they came to the room above, they found Boloquy and Cartouche drinking wine before the fireplace. Gaillard was in bed, and Cartouche was seated on the bed, mending his breeches.

They rushed upon him. The attack was so sudden that he had no time to make any resistance. They tied him with strong ropes, and, placing him in the coach, took him prisoner to Monsieur the Secretary of State. Then he was taken to the Grande Châtelet.

He was in his shirt, having had no time to put on his breeches. He kept cool, congratulating the lieutenant who had betrayed him on the fine livery he wore.

As the coach passed down the road, it nearly crushed some poor wretch who was in the way, and Cartouche, seeing his plight, shouted to him that phrase which he seemed to have affected, “It is necessary to look out for the wheel.”

All the people ran out to see him on his way to the house of M. the Secretary of State. They cried out, “It is Cartouche! It is Cartouche!” only half believing it, as they had so often been deceived.

While in the prison awaiting trial, Cartouche received many illustrious visitors. The Regent came; the courtesan Emilie and the Mme. le Maréchale de Boufflers followed one after the other to pay the prisoner small attentions. Some one had composed a play, and Quinnato, the famous actor of the time, who filled the principal rôle in it, came to ask him for suggestions about the chief scene.

When Cartouche had been sufficiently amused, he began to think of making his escape. He intended doing this in spite of the very close watch that was being kept over him.

After getting out of his dungeon, and just as he was pushing the last bar which separated him from the street and liberty, he was discovered and caught.

Thinking that the Grande Châtelet was not strong enough for so ingenious a man, he was bound securely in chains and taken to the Conciergerie, in the most formidable corner of the tower of Montgomery.

CHAPTER XIX
The Torture Chamber

IT is only the basest of literature that describes without adequate reason the weird, the horrible. However, many authors find it necessary to dilate upon the most satanic personalities of men, and the worst cruelties imaginable.

Therefore, it is only with the knowledge that the recital of the misfortunes of Théophraste is destined to throw a light on the most obscure problems of psychic surgery that the author of these lines proceeds with this description of the most frightful tortures, moral and physical, that have ever been endured by man.

The operation to be performed was a singular one, and full of the gravest of dangers. However, M. Eliphaste was in the habit of performing the most complicated of psychic operations, and the delicacy of his astral scalpel was universally acknowledged. But the difficulty was the delay.

Had M. Lecamus brought Théophraste earlier, the danger would have been less, but now M. Eliphaste recognized the gravity of the case, and he said that to kill Cartouche without killing Longuet was to tempt God. It was the gravest responsibility.

However, he knew how to lead M. Longuet’s mind quietly and without haste to the subject of his death, and thus he prepared him for death.

He made him live his death the moment that he made him die his death. Then, at the psychological moment, he made a certain gesture, the double sign which precipitated in death the spirit of the dead, and brought back to life the living mind.

These were the details of the operation to be performed, and the preliminaries, which consisted in making Théophraste live through the last months of Cartouche’s life, having been started, M. Eliphaste began asking Théophraste a series of questions. The latter was lying, groaning, on the bed in the laboratory, which was lighted by the hissing scarlet flames.

M. Lecamus and Mme. Longuet sat on a low bench at one side of the room. M. Eliphaste stood beside the bed.

“Where did they take you, Cartouche?”

“In the torture room. My trial is ended. I am condemned to die on the wheel. Before the torture they wish me to confess the names of my accomplices, my friends, my mistresses. I should rather die on the wheel twice! They shall know nothing!”

“And now, where are you, Cartouche?”

“I am going down a small stairway, at the end of the ‘Walk of the Pillory.’ I open a grating. I am in the dark cellars. These dungeons do not frighten me. I know them well! Ah! Ah! I was shut up in that dungeon under Phillippe le Bel!”

Then with a terrible power M. Eliphaste cried out, “Cartouche! Thou art Cartouche! Thou art in the dungeons by order of the Regent.” Then he repeated to himself, “Phillippe le Bel?” and then to Théophraste again, “Where are we going? Where are we? My God! We must not lose our way! And now where are you, Cartouche?”

“I advance in the darkness of the cellars. There are about me, walking in the dark, so many guardsmen that I cannot tell the number. I see below, far, far below, a ray of light that I know well. It is a square ray of light that the sun has forgotten since the beginning of the history of France. My guards are not French guardsmen. They mistrust all French guardsmen. My guards are commanded by the Lieutenant of the Short Robe of the Châtelet.”

“Where art thou now, Cartouche?”

“I am in the torture chamber. There are before me men clothed in long robes, but I cannot distinguish their faces. They are my commissioners, who have been entrusted with the verifications, as appeared to be the custom. But why do they call it verifications? The thought makes me smile.” (Théophraste really smiled as he said this.) “Where are you now, Cartouche?”

“They put me on the criminal stool. They have put my legs in backings. With incredibly strong cords, they have bound small planks about my legs. I believe truly that the rascals wish to make me suffer to the limit, and the whole day’s work will be rough. But I have a heart hardened by courage. They shall not break it!” At this point M. Longuet, on his strapped bed, uttered a fearful cry. His mouth was wide open, and he groaned incessantly. Adolphe and Marceline leaned over him and asked with horror when that howling would cease, and when that mouth would close. But M. Eliphaste only said, “The torture has begun. But if he howls like that at the first blow of the mallet, there is going to be trouble.” M. Eliphaste was not expecting those groans. He paid no attention to the howling. He calmed M. Lecamus and Mme. Longuet with a supreme gesture. He spoke to Théophraste, something they never knew, for the howling prevented them from hearing anything.

At last the howling became groaning, and eventually the groaning itself stopped. Théophraste’s face had become comparatively placid.

“Why do you cry out in that way, Cartouche?” “I scream because it is a punishment that I cannot denounce my accomplices. I have their names on the end of my tongue! They do not see that if I do not denounce them it is because I cannot move the end of my tongue! I cannot! I cannot! I cannot! And they struck with their mallet again! And they sunk the pieces of wood into my legs again! It is unjust! I cannot move the end of my tongue!”

“What are they doing to you now, Cartouche?” “The doctor and the surgeon are leaning over me and feeling my pulse. They are congratulating themselves on having chosen that kind of torture, which is, they are saying to the commissioners, the least dangerous to life and the least susceptible to accidents.”

“And now, Cartouche, what are they doing to you?”

“They are doing nothing to me, and I regret it, for they have decided to bury the second wedge in me only a half hour after the first, and let the pain which it produced pass away, and the sensibility be entirely restored. I am looking at my judges. They have black mouths. I like the face of the executioner better. He is no more amused than I. He wants to be somewhere else. But there he comes with the second judge. They are all around me. They are over me! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!…”

Never had Théophraste looked so terrible. His mouth was wide open, and his tongue seemed paralyzed. Foam was around his lips, and his eyes seemed to start out of his head.

M. Lecamus looked across to M. Eliphaste, who said, when the second howl had died away, “Why do you scream, Cartouche?”

“Because these torturers will not listen to the names that are on the end of my tongue.”

“But you have not told us any names. You have only screamed.”

“It is Cartouche they are torturing and Longuet who screams,” answered Théophraste.

M. Eliphaste was taken aback by this last response. He turned toward the two silent onlookers and said in a low, trembling voice, “Then it is he who is suffering.”

There was no room for doubting this truth. The fearful expressions on Théophraste’s face as he imagined the executioner forcing the wedge in, showed too plainly that though it was Cartouche whom they tortured, it was Théophraste who really suffered.

M. Eliphaste seemed very concerned. Never before had such a case come before his astral scalpel. The identity of the soul had been proven, and suffering Cartouche had cried out in distress after two centuries. This cry had waited to come from the lips of Théophraste.

M. Eliphaste leaned his head on his hands and prayed. After a short silence he turned to M. Lecamus and said, “We are only at the second wedge, and there are seven of them.”

“Do you think my husband will have the strength to bear them?” asked Marceline.

M. Eliphaste leaned over the prostrate form of Théophraste and examined his head, just as the doctor had done to Cartouche in the torture chamber.

“The man is all right,” said he. “I don’t believe there is anything to fear now. We must kill Cartouche.”

“I think so, too,” said Lecamus. “It is necessary for the future security and definite happiness of M. Longuet.”

M. Eliphaste then continued his interrogations:

“And now what are they doing to you, Cartouche?”

“They are questioning me. I cannot reply. Why doesn’t that man in the corner of the dungeon do his duty? I have not yet seen his face. He turned his back to me and made a noise with old irons. The executioner is very quiet. He is leaning against the wall, yawning. There is a lamp on the table which gives light to two men, who write incessantly. Behind the man who is making the noise I see a little red light. The executioner’s assistant has loosened the knots in the cords a little, which gives me a relief for which I am grateful… But… but… but the assistant on the other side pulls and pulls. If he continues to pull the cords so he will cut my legs off. They bring a crucifix for me to kiss. Behind the man who turned his back on me I hear something like crackling embers, and there are small red flames which lick the stone walls. Between the two men who are writing there is a man who makes a sign. The executioner has a kind face. I sign to him for some water. I could bear the pain better if I had not such a thirst. The executioner raises his mallet! I swear I cannot say the names which are at the end of my tongue. They will not leave me. I cannot speak! Oh! why cannot you hear them? Take them from me!”

By this time his mouth had become closed, but the lips were opened in such a way as to make it appear that he had no lips. The teeth were locked and welded together tightly. A muffled cry of suffering came from the throat, but could not escape through the closed teeth. Suddenly there was a sharp grinding, and his teeth began to break under the great pressure of that closed jaw. Pieces of teeth were scattered over the bed, and blood issued from his mouth. His horrible groaning continued, and Théophraste showed signs of weakening under the great strain.

At this horrible spectacle M. Eliphaste declared wearily that he had never assisted or suspected that he could assist at such suffering. He confessed that until to-day he had never operated on a reincarnated soul of less than five hundred years. It was obvious that in spite of all his science and all his experience the illustrious medium was nonplussed.