The Double Life

CHAPTER XXXI
Lost in the Catacombs

WHEN M. Longuet had recovered from the emotion that M. Mifroid’s explanation of the train had caused him, he went through his pockets and handed over to M. Mifroid a revolver and a large knife that he had found in Signor Petito’s pocket.

He was now perfectly rational and felt free from the influences of Cartouche. He, however, dreaded the return of these fancies, and asked M. Mifroid to accept these articles in order to defend himself should he again be possessed with this evil spirit.

Continuing the search through his pockets, he produced seven lamps like those of M. Mifroid, and so between them they had thirteen of these lights, which would give them 520 hours of continuous light. They, however, worked out that they could do ten hours a day without light on account of sleep, and their calculations gave them fourteen hours of light per day.

“M. Longuet,” said M. Mifroid, “you are wonderful. Cartouche himself could not have done better; but what is the good of carrying them around with us? They will only be a nuisance. Are you hungry, M. Longuet? How long do you think you could remain without food?”

“I am sure,” he declared, “that I could remain this way forty-eight hours.”

“Well, you will have to remain like this for seven days, perhaps. I will throw these ten lamps away, as after the third one I am afraid we shall not have much need of the rest.”

“Where are you going?” asked M. Longuet. “No matter where,” answered his companion; “but we must go anywhere rather than stay here, for there is not a ray of hope here. We will reflect while walking. Walking is our only salvation, but by walking seven days we will risk all chance of arriving anywhere, unless we make a plan.” “Why not make an exact plan?” asked M. Longuet.

“Because I have observed in all the stories of the catacombs there were always marked plans which the unfortunate wanderers have lost. They were confused by the marked places, and not understanding anything about it, they became overwhelmed with despair. In our situation it is necessary to shun all causes for despair. You are not without hope, M. Longuet?”

“Oh, by no means, M. Mifroid. I will add, even, that were I not so hungry, your pleasant society aiding, I should not at all regret the roofs of the Rue Gerondo. You must tell me some stories of the catacombs, M. Mifroid, to let me forget my hunger.”

“Why, certainly, my friend. There is the story of the ‘Jailer,’ and the story of the ‘Four Soldiers.’”

“With which will you begin?”

“I am first going to tell you of the catacombs in general; this will make you understand why it is necessary to walk a long time to get out of them.”

Here M. Longuet interrupted him, asking why in ending his sentences he always made a gesture with the thumb of his right hand.

“That means, M. le Commissioner, that the gesture has become a habit with you-putting on thumb-screws?”

M. Mifroid declared that that was not the reason. He often gave himself up to sculpture, and he explained to him that it was the habit of a modeler. He buried his hand in his discoveries, just as he did in his clay.”

M. Longuet expressed astonishment that a police commissioner should interest himself in sculpture. However, it afterward transpired that M. Mifroid’s knowledge of this art was the means of their final escape from the catacombs.

M. Mifroid, in reporting, the events of the catacombs, wrote as follows:

“The way that we were following was a vast passage of four or five meters high. The walls were very dry, and the electric light which lit our way allowed us to see a hard stone, devoid of all vegetation, even of moisture. That proof was not one to rejoice M. Longuet’s heart, for he was beginning to be very thirsty. I knew that in the catacombs there were some threads of running water. I thanked heaven for not putting us on one of these threadlike streams, for we should only have lost time in imbibing there, and, moreover, as we could not carry away any water, it would only have made us more thirsty.

“M. Longuet objected to the idea that we were walking without caring where. I resolved to make him understand the necessity of walking on anywhere, in relating to him that which was the truth, that the engineers, when repairing the track, had descended into the catacombs, and had sought in vain to discover their limits, and to find an outlet they were obliged to give it up, and they built those pillars as supports, and built the arch with masons’ materials; they descended directly into the hole, before closing it finally over our heads. Not to discourage M. Longuet, I informed him that, to my knowledge, we could count on at least 520 kilometers of catacombs, but there was not a single reason why they should not have had more. Evidently, if I had not warned him immediately of the difficulty of getting out of there, he would have manifested his despair the second day of the walk.

“‘I think, then,’ I said to him, ‘that they have dug this soil from the third to the seventeenth century. For during 1400 years, man had removed from under the soil the materials that were necessary to construct above. If at any time there was not enough above, there was always more below. That above returns below, and goes out thence,’ and as we still found ourselves under the ancient Quarter d’Enfer, I recalled to him that in 1777 a house in the Rue d’Enfer was swallowed up by the earth below. It was precipitated to 28 meters below the soil in its court. Some months later, in 1778, seven persons met death in a similar caving in. I cited still several more recent examples, dwelling upon the accident to persons. He understood, and said to me: ‘In short, it is often more dangerous to walk above than below.’

“I kept on, seeing that he was impressed, and he spoke no more of his hunger, and forgot his thirst. I profited by it to make him lengthen his step, and I burst into the most entrancing song which came into my mind. He took it up, and we sang in chorus:

 
“‘Au pas, comerade, au pas,
La route est belle!
J’aura du frictiti la bas,
Dans la gamelle!’
 

“It was this which made him keep step.

“One gets tired of singing very quickly in the catacombs, because the voice does not carry; so when we had got tired M. Longuet asked a hundred more questions. He asked me how many meters there were over our heads. I told him that that could vary, from the latest reports, from 5m.82 and 79 meters. Sometimes, I told him, the crust of earth was so thin that it was necessary to extend the foundations of the tombs as far as the bottom of the catacombs. So that we might, in the course of our peregrinations, encounter the pillars of Saint Sulpice de St. Etienne du Mont, of the Pantheon of the Val de Grace, of the Odeon. These monuments are erected in some way on the subterranean pilings.

“‘Really, in the course of our peregrinations we risk encountering some of these subterranean pilings.’ But he had his own fixed idea.

“‘And in the course of our peregrinations, is there any chance of our coming upon an exit? Are there many ways out of the catacombs?’

“‘There are not,’ I replied; ‘there is need of them. First of all, there are egresses into the quarter.’

“‘So much the better,’ he interrupted.

“‘And other ways out that some know of, but by which none are ever admitted, but which exist, nevertheless, in the caves of the Pantheon, in those of the College of Henry IV, of the Hospital of the Undi, of some houses in the Rue d’Enfer, of Vangirard, of the Tombe Issoire at Passy, at Chaillot, at Saint Maur, at Clarenton, at Gentilly-more than sixty. In order to safeguard building construction, an ordinance was made which closed all the openings to the catacombs.

It is that ordinance, my dear M. Longuet, which has almost walled us in.’

“At that moment we struck an enormous pillar. I examined its construction, and said without stopping: ‘Here is a pillar which was used by the architects of Louis XVI in 1778, then of the Consolidation.’

“‘Poor Louis XVI!’ said M. Longuet. ‘He had better have consolidated royalty.’

“M. Longuet had taken the electric lamp from my hands, and did not cease to throw the rays to the right and left, as if he was looking for something. I asked him the reason of this, which would fatigue the eyes.

“‘I am looking for some corpses,’ he said.

“‘Some corpses!’

“‘Skeletons. I have heard that the walls of the catacombs are hung with skeletons.’

“‘Oh, my friend’-I already called him friend, his serenity in such a serious emergency delighting me so much-’that ghastly tapestry is only a little longer than a kilometer. That kilometer justly called an ossuary, on account of the skulls, the radius, the cubitus, tibias, shin-bones, phalanges, the thorax, and other small bones which were made into unique ornaments. But what ornaments! Ornaments of three million skeletons, that were brought from the cemeteries and acropolis of Saint Midard Clucy, Saint Lamdry of the Carmelites, the Benedictines, and of the Innocents.

“‘All bones, the little bones well sorted, arranged, co-ordinated, classified, labeled, which made on the walls and in the cross passages, roses, parallelopipides, triangles, rectangles, volutes, crevices, and many other figures of marvelous regularity.

“‘Let us wish, my friend, to reach that domain of the dead. It will be life. For there there are always a number of people. It is much frequented. But we are not there. What is one kilometer of dead men’s bones in five hundred?’

“‘Clearly! How many kilometers do you think we have made, M. Mifroid?’

“‘We have made nine.’

“‘What are nine kilometers in five hundred?’

“I induced M. Longuet not to make these useless calculations, and he begged me to tell him the story of the ‘Jailer’ and that of the ‘Four Soldiers.’

“That made two histories which were not very long in telling. There were only a few words in the first. There was once a jailer of the catacombs who became lost in the catacombs. They found his corpse eight days later. The second related to four soldiers of the Val-de-Graces, who were descending, by the aid of a cord, into a well of eighty meters. They were in the catacombs, and as they did not reappear some drummers were sent down, who made the greatest noise that they could with their drums, but in the catacombs sound does not carry, and no one responded to the rolling. They hunted, and at the end of forty hours they found them dying in a blind alley.

“‘They had no moral courage,’ said Théophraste.

“‘They were foolish,’ I added. ‘Whoever is foolish enough to wander into the catacombs deserves no pity.’

“We were by this time come to a crossway, and M. Longuet turned to ask which way we would follow.

“I could answer him without delay. I said:

“‘Here are two galleries; which are you going to take? One goes almost directly back to our starting-point, the other directly away from it.’ As our design was to go away from our starting-point, M. Longuet showed me the first gallery.

“‘I was sure of it!’ I exclaimed. ‘But you disregard the entire principle. The experimental method has for centuries demonstrated that at the bottom of the catacombs all individuals who wish to come back to their point of setting out (to the entrance of the catacombs) go away from it; then the whole logic of it is, to go away from one’s point of starting out, one must take the way which apparently brings one back to it.’ And so we decided on the gallery which seemed to us to bring us back over our steps, so we were sure of not having made a useless trip. That system was excellent, for it led us into a certain region of the catacombs that no one had visited before, since the fourteenth century, otherwise it would have been known.”

CHAPTER XXXII
A Dissertation on Fish

M. LONGUET had from the first been complaining of his great hunger. He was getting very weak, and the end of the thirty-sixth hour saw him cursing their misfortune. However, what would have been the good of a little food? They were buried alive, and food would have been like a buoy to a shipwrecked sailor, alone in the middle of the ocean. It could only serve to prolong the agony.

M. Mifroid was more philosophical. He said that if there had been anything to eat to give them strength to continue their way, he would have been the first to suggest their stopping. But, with the exception of some mushrooms, probably poisonous, that his watchful eye had seen, there was nothing, so he urged M. Longuet to tramp on. M. Longuet, however, was unreasonable; he said he was hungry, and yet did not seem able to exert himself to get out of the catacombs.

He asked M. Mifroid question after question as to the catacombs and what he could eat to stay his terrible hunger. M. Mifroid tried to keep him interested by telling him of a visit he had made to the laboratory in the catacombs of M. M. Edwards. He told him of the fauna and the flora in obscure and cavernous places, of which, if necessary, he could make a meal.

Although the conversation was in vain, as far as its effects on Théophraste were concerned, M. Mifroid kept on. Hungry men are always eager to talk of things to eat, and although he didn’t wish to acknowledge his hunger, he spoke of these things, and in endeavoring to put spirit into Théophraste allayed his own feelings.

“My dear friend,” said he to Théophraste, “it may be that even if we don’t get out of the catacombs we will not die of hunger. There is a stream somewhere here, and I have heard that there are certain fishes therein. They are not large fish, but there are incalculable quantities of them. They are of different sizes, and are not unpleasant to taste.”

“Have you seen them?” asked Théophraste.

“No; but my friend, M. Edwards, told me about them when I visited the Fountain of the Fanaisetan.”

“Is that far from here?”

“I can’t tell you just now-all that I know is that this fountain was constructed in 1810 by M. Hericourt de Thury, engineer of the subterranean quarries. This fountain is inhabited by the cope-podes.”

“Are they fish?”

“Yes, they present some very singular modifications of tissues and colorative. They have a beautiful red eye. That is why they are called cyclops. That this fish has only one eye ought not to astonish you, for the asellus aquaticus, which lives as well in the running water of the catacombs, is a small isopode aquatic, which often has no eyes at all. Many species have, instead of an eye, only a small red pig snout; others have not a trace of one. They do not need to see clearly, since they live in darkness. Nature is perfect, and never found wanting. It only gives eyes to those who can use them, and does not give them to those to whom they are unnecessary.”

Théophraste was struck by M. Mifroid’s words.

“Then,” said he, “if we continue to live in the catacombs we will end by not having eyes!”

“Evidently we will commence to lose the use of our sight and eventually become blind.”

Then Théophraste insisted upon M. Mifroid continuing his talk on these fish that could be found in the catacombs, and which they would, perhaps, have to eat. He was thus induced to give a sort of lecture on the modifications of the organs, and their excessive development, or their atrophy, following the ways frequented by individuals.

He continued: “So the fish of which I speak have no eyes. Their sense organs present modifications. For instance, the asellus aquaticus, even of the normal species, is armed with small, flat organs, terminated by a pore, that are considered olfactory organs. They are veritable olfactory cudgels, and these very fish which do not see know the space around them as well, possibly better, than if they could see in the light, so perfectly developed are these olfactory and tactile organs. Yes, my dear Théophraste, there are circumstances in the lives of some living things where the nose takes the place of the eyes, and the nose can thus acquire perfectly incredible dimensions. In the wells of Padirac there was found an asellide which possessed olfactory cudgels of an amazing length.”

“Are there none in the running waters of the catacombs?” demanded Théophraste.

“No, none at all. Yet there are found many sorts of cavernical fish, such, for example, as the niphugus puleamus, and this is found in great abundance. Their ocular organs are atrophied.”

This, however, did not interest Théophraste, who had got his own idea.

“Do you know how they fish for them?” he asked.

“I cannot say,” said Mif roid; “but we can surely get some sort of bait from the surrounding vege-matter.”

In a little while they both fell asleep, dreaming of this water which was to bring them relief. However, though their dreams were pleasant enough, there were surprises for them when they awoke.

CHAPTER XXXIII
The Meeting of the Talfa

THEY had been sleeping on a soft soil or decayed vegetable matter, the sight of which had drawn from M. Mifroid the remark that it was a good omen for the near future. Their travels up to the present had been without incident, except for some differences of opinion between them. The subterranean galleries, lit up by the electric lamps, were sometimes vast, sometimes straight, sometimes rounded out like the vault of a cathedral, then square and regular, and so narrow that they had to crawl on their knees to get through. They had by this time become silent, except for a remark or two upon the variety of the strata they were passing through. Here was rock, here clay, here sand, and so on.

It could not, however, last much longer. For forty-eight hours they had been walking, without coming across any water. M. Mifroid, however, hoped on, and we will soon see how justified he was. He hoped at least to come across some water or vegetation.

They estimated it to be about four o’clock in the afternoon, when Théophraste rose, and, tightening his belt, prepared to start on another tramp. This time he did not speak of his hunger or thirst, but walked on in that silence which weakness brings on men. They had been walking about an hour when it was noticed that the temperature had become much higher, and they both involuntarily took off their coats. Soon the perspiration began to pour off their foreheads, and they began to wonder how this change could have come about. Were they going toward the center of the earth? How could it be accounted for? In two hours the temperature had risen from 60 to 90 degrees Fahrenheit. M. Mifroid knew of some galleries 79 meters below the ground, but who could estimate what depth they were at now?

Their electric lamps spread their brilliancy around them as they advanced, now discussing the cause of this phenomenon. Suddenly the walls of the galleries spread out, and they found themselves in a cave of such large dimensions that even with their strong lights they could not see the farther ends. What was their joy and amazement when they found before them a beautiful lake, the banks of which were covered with a thick carpet of moss, and in the crystal transparency of which they saw fish with beautifully colored scales. The fish had no eyes, and did not appear timid. They disported themselves in the water, coming quite close to where the two astonished men stood. They could easily catch them by leaning over. A flock of ducks were swimming about in the enchanted water.

M. Théophraste wept with joy on seeing this wonderful sight, and cried out softly, for he was afraid of disturbing them: “My friend, what did I say? Isn’t this better than all earthly scenes?”

M. Mifroid felt somewhat humiliated at not knowing this before, but soon regained his influence over Théophraste, who was beginning to get excited over this wonderful sight. He made him sit down on the bank, so as not to frighten the ducks, and began explaining to him that what they saw was quite natural. He explained that it was caused by the soil, and that the water had collected here by the action of the heat.

Théophraste was for throwing himself into the water at once, and would have done so if they had not suddenly seen a sight which riveted them to the very ground. Neither of them spoke. Their tongues were paralyzed. Their electric light revealed, far ahead of them, but not far enough for them to lose a single detail, the figure of a woman. She was quite naked, and had her back toward them. Never before had they seen a form so elegant and so graceful.

This first view, however, lasted only an instant, for she threw herself into the water and swam away with the grace and ease of a swan.

The apparition had the effect of making them forget the ducks, and they both forgot the hunger which gnawed at their vitals. They had hoped that she would not vanish, and that their presence would remain unnoticed.

After several plunges, the nymph, shaking the pearly drops from her beautiful body into the sleeping waters, emerged not far away from where they stood, but always with her back turned.

What quarry of Carrara ever gave to the world more precious or purer a marble? By what miracle of the divine fires can we contemplate those lines of definitive beauty? It was the form of a Greek statue, and her arms were as graceful as one could wish to imagine on the Venus de Milo.

They waited in silence for her to turn around, while she disported herself on the green moss. Soon their curiosity was satisfied, and she suddenly turned. Neither of them could restrain a cry of horror, which made the Venus plunge back into the water. She had no eyes, and there was nothing in their place. Her ears, which were hidden from their sight by the profusion of hair, stood out like horns. But that which terrified them most was her enormous, snout-like red nose.

They had hardly recovered from their first surprise when another young female, clothed in a light tunic, came unexpectedly on the bank, holding in her arms a long gown. She also had a nose like the other, and no eyes.

The Venus came toward her companion on the bank, and the latter said: “They are silent now, and not saying a word.”

“Ha, Saint Mary, they shall have no pardon! They are traitors. Do you know what our people are doing? Go and find out; I want to know.” She spoke in the purest French of the fourteenth century, and the delicacy and sweetness of her voice was like the rippling water of a brook. The two men watched and listened in amazement. They stood still and stared before them. They felt that a great miracle was being wrought.

Suddenly they were surrounded by thirty or more men, who seemed to have come from out of the very rocks. They stood around them, gesticulating and talking vehemently, but in very low voices. They too had no eyes, but their ears were developed to a surprising size. On each of their hands they had ten fingers, and they had ten toes to each foot. As they came into the glare of the electric light, they held their hands up to their red snouts, as if they had smelled a disagreeable odor. They all mumbled in half-audible tones: “Lady Jane de Montfort, Demoiselle de Coucy,” and it was easy to see that they referred to the ladies who had been disturbed. As they passed they felt the faces of the two men. They just touched them lightly, and in doing so moved away in an apologetic way. It seemed as if they were curiosities. They felt their eyes, their noses, and their ears, and some of them even put their fingers down their ears. It was evident they could not understand the smallness of their features.

Then one of them addressed M. Mifroid, and while apologizing for their curiosity, said he was astonished at their want of beauty.

By this time Lady Jane de Montfort and Demoiselle de Coucy were dressed, and M. Mifroid and M. Théophraste were presented to them.

The two men begged a thousand pardons for their intrusion, and were about to explain their intrusion, when Demoiselle de Coucy took Théophraste by the arm, and Lady Jane took M. Mifroid, and they were conducted through the vaults surrounded by the crowd of men. It was difficult for them to prevent the men from poking their eyes out as they fumbled over their faces.

They had been forty-eight hours without food, and their hunger was extreme, and now they were to be taken away from where there was food.

The two women had taken possession of their lamps under the pretext of being troubled by the odor.

They tried to tell the people that they were exhausted, but so many questions were put to them that no opportunity presented itself.

They had by this time reached a large chamber. There was a dull light, and they felt the presence of thousands of people. M. Mifroid managed to get one of the lamps, and quickly pressing the button, lit up the vast hall, in which were crowded thousands of these weird men, all with the large noses and ears, but with no eyes. Some of them walked on all fours, and some had such long noses that they looked like pelicans.

Finally they were informed that they were at the entrance to the meeting hall.