The Double Life

by Gaston Leroux

By this time they had reached the house, and Marceline, in neat dishabille, smilingly opened the door and greeted them.

Théophraste had a great desire to see and touch that waxen mask that had been made from his face, and the desire was still greater when Adolphe entered into the details of it. He told him that it had been in the Chateau de St. Germain en Laye, since the 24th of April, 1849.

“It appears that the portrait was given by an abbot, one Viallier, to be inherited by one Richot, an old officer of the Hussars of King Louis XVI. M. Richot died at St. Germain. He owned the portrait for many years, one most precious, especially as it had belonged to the royal family. The wax mask was moulded by a Florentine artist some days before Cartouche’s punishment. The head-dress was a woolen or coarse felt cap, his clothing was a shirt of very coarse linen, a waistcoat, and another vest, and a doublet of black camelot. But the most remarkable thing of all was that Cartouche’s hair was cut off of his corpse and pasted on the waxen mask. The whole was shut up in a gilded wooden chest, large and deep, of beautiful workmanship. A Venetian glass protected the portrait, and one could still see the escutcheon of the arms of France on the chest.”

Théophraste asked Adolphe where he had found such precise details, and was told that they were the result of two days’ searching in the forgotten archives of the most noted libraries and museums of Paris. There he found his hair, his moustache, and his clothes, two hundred years old.

In spite of the horror which these relics of a man so monstrous ought to have inspired in him, Théophraste could not control his impatience to see them, to touch them. Here was Théophraste Longuet, whose name was synonymous with honor, who had always feared the shedding of blood, cherishing in his heart the coarse remains of the greatest brigand on earth. When he had again command of his senses, he did not find in the bottom of his soul a feeling of absolute despair, but of great pity, a pity so keenly felt that he did not weep only for himself, Théophraste, but also moved him to pity Cartouche. He asked himself which was the more dominant, honest Théophraste, carrying with him the brigand Cartouche, or the brigand Cartouche, shut up within honest Théophraste. “It is necessary that we should understand each other,” he said aloud. He felt that he should not have uttered that sentence which must have seemed odd, but which expressed so well the double and yet unique preoccupation of his soul that he could not restrain himself. A great light dawned upon him at the same time, that recalled the theory of reincarnation that had been explained to him by M. Lecamus. He connected reincarnation with the natural evolution of things, and of individuals, that which was no other than transformation. “Does it not point to the fact that souls reincarnate themselves in order to pass according to natural law to advancement to a better state? It is the progressive step of being. Well, the natural law which certain persons call God, did not find anything better on the earth than the body of Théophraste Longuet through which to make the criminal soul of Cartouche evolve to a better state.”

When that idea got a firm hold on him, in place of the deepest despair, which had led him to faint, he found himself prompted by a sentiment almost akin to pride. He was entrusted with the destiny of the world. He, the humble but honest Théophraste, entrusted with the regeneration in ideal splendor, of the soul of shadows and of the bloody Louis Dominique Cartouche, called L’Enfant. He accepted this unexpected task willingly, since he could not do otherwise, and he put himself at once on his guard. Instead of saying, “It is necessary for us to understand each other,” he immediately ordered Cartouche to obey Théophraste, and he promised himself to lead him a life so hard that he could not say without smiling, “Poor Cartouche.” He had charged M. Lecamus to write everything possible about Louis Dominique Cartouche in such a way that he could not be ignorant of anything that could be known of his life. With that and with what his black feather and his memory had taught him, he justly thought he could resist in spirit the Other One, which would allow him to act accordingly. He partly confided his reflections to Adolphe, who approved of them, but warned him against a tendency he had to separate Théophraste from Cartouche.

“You must not forget,” said he, “that they are one. You have the instincts of the gardeners of the Ferte-sous-Jonarre. Those instincts are good, but you have the soul of Cartouche, which is detestable. Take care. You are his declared enemy, the question is raised as to who will vanquish- the soul of former years, or the instincts of today.”

Théophraste asked Adolphe if the soul of Cartouche was really altogether detestable, and was happy to learn that it had some good points. Adolphe said that Cartouche had expressly forbidden to kill or even wound passers-by without cause. When he operated in Paris with some of his bands, and they brought victims to him, he spoke to them with so much politeness and kindness, that they always returned a part of the booty to him. Sometimes they would limit matters to a simple exchange of clothes. When he found letters or pictures in the pockets of the coats thus exchanged, he ran after the ex-proprietors to return them. It was a maxim of that extraordinary individual, that a man ought not to be robbed twice in the same night, nor were they to be too severely treated, so as not to prevent the Parisians from going out in the evening. Therefore he ordered his men to take the utmost care not to kill any one without good reason. At this time the man was not yet thoroughly wicked. Up to then he had always had a reason for every act. It is to be regretted, however, that he had had one hundred and fifty reasons to assassinate.

Let us return to the wax mask.

Théophraste and Adolphe were going down the stairs in the station of St. Germain-en-Laye, when suddenly Théophraste thought he saw a familiar figure ahead of him, among a group of travelers. Moved by a feeling over which he had no control, he ran rapidly towards the group, but the figure had disappeared. Where had he seen that figure before? It was so repulsive to him. Adolphe asked him the cause of his agitation, and he recovered himself at once.