Edgar Allan Poe and the Jewel of Peru

by Karen Lee Street

  Dupin looked to me and I knew he was wondering the same thing that I was—were they the men we had seen at the Mermaid on Saturday night with Billy Sweeney?

  “Do these two priests ever frequent the Mermaid?” I asked.

  Davey nodded. “They like their drink all right.”

  “And pay for it with coin that falls into their laps direct from Heaven,” Mrs. Mermaid guffawed.

  “How convenient,” Dupin said with a cynical smile.

  “And were these priests friends of Professor Renelle?” I asked Davey.

  The boy frowned. “I wouldn’t call them friends. In fact I don’t think they liked each other at all. The priests continued on the expedition when Professor Renelle stopped in Cuzco.”

  Dupin became focused, like a dog that catches its quarry’s scent. “The professor stayed in Cuzco? Why?”

  “He got very sick on the journey from Lima to Cuzco. He said someone poisoned his water.”

  “Why didn’t they call off the expedition if Professor Renelle was ill?” Dupin asked.

  “He wanted to call it off, but Jeremiah and the two priests refused. Jeremiah said that his job was to collect birds and plants for his employer in England who had paid for most of the expedition, and the priests said that the Church had made a big contribution too, and they would go with Jeremiah to the lost city. They took the professor to stay with priests they knew who were living in Cuzco.”

  “Augustinians?” Dupin asked.

  Davey considered the word for a moment, then nodded. “That’s it. They were in Cuzco to turn people Catholic.”

  “And what about you, Davey? We established that you didn’t truly go to the lost city, but I presume you went to Cuzco from what you observed. Did you stay with Professor Renelle and the Augustinians?” I asked.

  Davey shook his head. “I stayed with Jeremiah’s aunt. I wanted to go to the lost city, but Jeremiah said it was too dangerous. And he wanted me to keep an eye on Professor Renelle, so I did.” The boy smiled, proud that he’d done his friend’s bidding.

  “What did the professor do in Cuzco?” I asked.

  “At first, nothing, because he was sick. A Peruvian lady Jeremiah’s aunt knows brought him special tea and after a week he was better. The professor wanted to go after them to the lost city, but he couldn’t get anyone to take him there, and not even he dared go into the mountains on his own. No one knew when Jeremiah and the others would come back, so after a few days waiting and causing a fuss everywhere, the professor decided to return to Philadelphia.”

  “Presumably it was not a decision he was pleased to make,” I said.

  “He was very angry. He said he hoped they would all die in the mountains.” A smile twitched at the boy’s lips. “The priests from the mission all went straight to the grog house after the professor left and raised a few to thank the Lord for persuading him to go back to whatever Hell he came from.”

  Dupin huffed at that. “And how did Professor Renelle get back to Philadelphia? The ship on which you sailed to Lima?”

  “No, sir, not on the Santa Theresa. The ship waited for the expedition party. Professor Renelle made his own way back, but on what ship I do not know.”

  “If Renelle had sailed away on the Santa Theresa he would not have been able to claim he was with the expedition party and might have forfeited any share he negotiated in specimens or artifacts collected on the expedition,” Dupin suggested.

  “And in lying about his participation in the expedition, he preserved the right to keep that share?”

  Dupin nodded. “Although I suspect he only realised this when arguing his right to sail away on the Santa Theresa with the ship’s captain in Lima.”

  “From what we have heard and pieced together, Professor Renelle seems to be a man with an unpleasant temper who is accustomed to getting his own way.” I turned back to Davey. “Thank you for your help. You’re a good lad. We will do our best to secure justice for Jeremiah Mathews.” I patted the boy on the shoulder, then turned to the formidable Mrs. Mermaid. “And thank you, madam. We appreciate your help.”

  “It was my pleasure,” she said grandly.

  Dupin stood and dipped his head to the lady. “Madame, the pleasure was entirely ours. Good day to you.”

  As we turned to go, Davey’s voice piped up. “Do you know if the lady in England received Jeremiah’s book with his drawings?”

  “She did, Davey, and she is very grateful,” I assured him.

  The boy smiled. “Jeremiah would be pleased at that.”

  I did not tell him that Miss Loddiges was held captive by the man who, in all probability, had Jeremiah Mathews killed.

  35

  All above us was cerulean, like some exotic sea, with the buildings of Philadelphia set out in stark relief against that tranquil expanse. Dupin, Sissy and I were walking down Seventh Street, each silently enjoying the pure beauty of that fantastical hour just after sunset when the veil between earth and heaven seems at its most fragile. I felt Sissy jump, as did I, when a dark cloud burst up from the horizon and swarmed across the glowing blue. At first I thought it to be a flock of night birds, then realized from the creatures’ strange darting and wheeling that it was in fact a colony of bats.

  “Eptesicus fuscus, I believe,” Dupin said as if in response to my silent query. “Large brown bats.” Sissy gave a small huff of disgust, which amused him. “Useful creatures, these bats. They consume insects that destroy food crops.”

  “I fear I can only perceive them as birds with teeth,” Sissy muttered.

  “In truth, bats are mammals, not birds,” Dupin began.

  “And, in truth, that does not comfort me at all,” my wife countered as we turned onto Chestnut Street. “Let us think of more palatable things, please. For example, we are approaching some of the most important buildings in Philadelphia. I presume you and Eddy did not take the time to admire them during your first visit to the Philosophical Hall?”

  “You are quite correct,” Dupin said with a faint smile.

  Moments later, Sissy came to a halt and indicated an imposing rectangular brick building with a tall clock tower and a smaller building with arched windows and a stately cupola. “Independence Hall and City Hall. While gaslight lends a certain romantic charm to our surroundings, it is more rewarding to visit by daylight,” she added. It seemed she did not recall the tales I had told her of Dupin’s predilection for nocturnal wanderings through his home city.

  “I hope I will have time to see the city as a tourist might once Miss Loddiges is safe,” Dupin said.

  “Then let us do our best to secure an invitation to Professor Renelle’s residence.” I turned to continue our journey to the Philosophical Hall, but Dupin raised a hand to halt me.

  “May I suggest that you and your wife enter the lecture hall first and that I follow separately? I believe it would be to our advantage to pretend we are not acquainted. I will conceal myself at the back. Once the lecture has concluded, let us rendezvous at your home.”

  “Yes, fine. And I will do my utmost to arrange a meeting with Professor Renelle.”

  “The sooner the better.” Dupin retrieved his meerschaum from his pocket and lit it, then turned away to examine the grand buildings before him, as the last tint of cerulean turned to black.

  Sissy and I made our way around the corner to Fifth Street and found ourselves amongst a group of people waiting to enter the Philosophical Hall. The mood of the crowd was convivial and I overheard remarks about Professor Renelle’s great courage, intellect and expertise in all to do with the exploration of South America.

  Once inside, we made our way upstairs, where we passed by a table at which Mr. Blackwell was stationed, collecting what was essentially an admission fee but which he deemed a small contribution to help finance Professor Renelle’s next wondrous expedition.

  “Good evening, sir,” Mr. Blackwell said, when we arrived at the table. “I hope you will enjoy the presentation and look forward to hearing your opinion.”
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  “I will certainly let you know what I think,” I replied, handing him the entry fee.

  Sissy and I entered the spacious lecture room and made our way to the front, where there was a table arranged with what I presumed were Peruvian artifacts: pottery, some jewelry made with exotic plumage, brightly colored textiles and a few ornaments in the shape of indigenous animals fashioned in gold and silver.

  “Do you think that is a chieftain’s necklace?” Sissy wondered, indicating an odd, woven piece with a cascade of strings tied with knots that formed a pattern.

  “I would imagine this is more likely to be worn by a chieftain.” I indicated a golden bird of prey that was about five inches across with its wings outstretched, suspended by a collar of that same precious metal. “Perhaps this one is a quipu, if you recall the woven object described in Fernández’s book.”

  Sissy nodded. “It does seem to resemble his description. I suppose we will soon know,” she said, smiling.

  We took seats in the second row and the chairs around us quickly filled with chattering people. It was clear that Professor Renelle’s presentation was highly anticipated and as I eavesdropped on my fellow audience members, I learned that he was considered a noteworthy speaker and there was no shortage of interest in the next expedition he wished to undertake.

  At a few minutes before seven o’clock, the professor himself entered the room, exuding an air of supreme confidence, and made his way up the path through the audience, tapping the floorboards firmly with his walking stick as if to direct everyone’s attention to him. Mr. Blackwell trotted after him and a third man pushed a wooden trolley, on which was situated a very handsome magic lantern. Professor Renelle indicated that it should be placed to the left of the table, facing the white wall in front of the audience. Mr. Blackwell fussed until all was to the professor’s liking, then cleared his throat pointedly.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the American Philosophical Society, the first learned society in our nation,” Mr. Blackwell announced with a flourish, which was duly met with enthusiastic applause. “We are delighted to have with us tonight Professor Frederic Renelle, scholar of the ancient civilizations of South America, expedition leader and collector of antiquities. Professor Renelle has traveled extensively through Mexico and Peru, along the great Amazon River and into remote mountain regions. Tonight he will present a lecture on his travels through the Chachapoyas region of Peru in pursuit of the lost cities of the Cloud Warriors.” Mr. Blackwell took a step to the side, raising his hands to applaud Professor Renelle, and we followed his lead.

  But before the professor could begin his presentation, the door at the back of the hall opened and, with a dramatic rustling of skirts, a lady made her entrance, which was met by low gasps of surprise.

  “It’s Mrs. Reynolds!” my wife whispered, and I heard others sitting around us echo the same hushed exclamation.

  I watched as the actress scanned the room, pausing to soak up the adulation. She was dressed in a velvet frock the color of lilacs, decorated with flurries of lace and heavily embellished with white silk embroidered blossoms. Violet plumes adorned her hair, and her pale face had clearly been enameled by the enterprising Mrs. Laird for the occasion.

  “I am sorry we were delayed, Professor Renelle,” she announced, her voice reaching every corner of the room as if it were a theater.

  Professor Renelle glared at the lady, before forcing his lips into a false smile “I am sure your delay was unavoidable,” he said with just enough sarcasm that the actress’s eyes narrowed. “Please, we have seats reserved for you.”

  Mr. Blackwell rushed to escort Mrs. Reynolds to her chair, and as she stepped further into the room my heart dropped, for she was followed by the man I had hoped never to see again, scrivener turned playwright, Mr. George Reynolds, who wished me nothing but bad fortune. Worse still, Mr. Blackwell was leading the couple toward the two empty chairs at the center of the row in front of us, and there seemed little chance of George Reynolds missing my presence. All waited patiently as the actress settled in, pleased to be in such close proximity to the “Undisputed Queen of the Theater Boards”, as she was known on the playbills, while I fervently wished I had selected seats at the back of the room.

  My wife perceived my tension, for she gently squeezed my hand and murmured, “Let us focus on our task, my dear.”

  I nodded my agreement and did my best to comply with her wise advice.

  “Now that we are all settled,” the professor announced in a sonorous voice made less pleasant by its nuance of self-entitlement, “thank you for coming to my presentation.” His gaze was fierce and aimed at the crowd, yet did not seem to attach itself to any individual—it was as if he were a lion surveying his kingdom.

  As Professor Renelle pronounced the usual platitudes to ingratiate himself with his audience, I focused on the man’s appearance rather than his words, determined to memorize every detail of him. His features were unremarkable, but his expression was haughty. He was very well dressed in a black suit, elegant white shirt and an expensive waistcoat that was overly showy, with vivid stripes of cobalt, lavender and gold. A very large diamond pin glinted from his neckcloth, his shoes were buffed to a mirror finish, and he wore a ring on the smallest finger of his right hand with a large dark-blue cabochon stone—perhaps lapis lazuli.

  My scrutiny was interrupted when Professor Renelle turned his attention to the magic lantern, lighting its Argand lamp, then raising his hand to someone at the back of the room. The illumination from the chandelier was extinguished, leaving us in momentary shadow.

  “The land of Peru is untamed and hostile and our small troop relied on native guides to take us along pathways few had dared to traverse. The journey was arduous but to explore the unexplored in the name of science made it worthwhile.”

  Moments later an image appeared on the wall in front of us, a scene that might have been taken from Las Costumbres de la Gente de las Nubes. In the foreground was a small troop of explorers, those riding mules following others with machetes in hand, and in the background were the tall Chachapoyan mountains, luminous green in color, surrounded by a bright blue sky. The picture was skillfully drawn and so beautifully tinted it appeared that we were looking through a window into that very world.

  “And yet, despite the dangers battled, I observed flora and fauna of astonishing beauty and encountered species hitherto unknown to science. Some we merely recorded, but we also brought back numerous plant and bird samples for scientists to study and for the public to examine in our museums.”

  The audience burst into spontaneous applause as exotic flowers bloomed upon the wall: brightly colored orchids that were beautiful and strange, some resembling insects and one with the face of a monkey. There were peculiar blossoms shaped like lobster claws in vibrant sunset colors, torch gingers with showy magenta petals and graceful ferns in soothing green.

  When the first bird appeared on the wall, it seemed that it had flown from the lantern itself to open sky before us. Sissy and I both gasped, for not only was the emerald and topaz hummingbird, exquisite and seemingly alive, it was identical to one of the birds depicted so beautifully by Andrew Mathews on a page from his journal. The audience echoed our gasp of surprise as Renelle managed, with some trickery of the lantern, to make it appear that the hummingbird was rapidly flittering its wings. Several other gem-colored hummingbirds appeared before us, flying above verdant foliage or sipping nectar from luminous flowers. These were followed by birds we had seen on display at the Academy of Natural Sciences—a pair of vibrant trogons, a charm of finches, a parrot, the strange tangerine-and-black cock-of-the-rocks, a soaring condor—and somehow they seemed far more real than any taxidermied specimens due to Renelle’s wizardry with the magic lantern and the artistry of Andrew Mathews’s ornithological drawings transferred onto glass. It was a magical display and Professor Renelle knew his audience well, for all were utterly engaged as he spoke.

  “But there is much more t
o find in the wild mountains of Peru, not just strange new birds and flowers, but something even more startling. Civilized man had not ventured into this terrain in three centuries and imagine my wonderment when I discovered a lost city high up in the Chachapoyas.”

  The next image could have been plucked from my own fantasy, for it was of eight peculiar sarcophagi with enormous heads and dark, empty eyes stationed on a vertiginous clifftop. A chill went through me, so unearthly were the creatures suspended before us, and my disquiet was shared by those around me, as the audience murmured and shuffled with unease.

  “This is the final refuge of the Cloud Warriors, a war-like race feared by the other natives of the region. Consider our astonishment when we came upon these.” Renelle pointed at the monstrous-looking creatures. “The Cloud Warriors constructed these idols—these immense clay statues of their gods—upon an almost inaccessible cliff face, to terrify their enemies and keep their people safe.” Renelle paused for a moment and gazed at the crowd before him. “But they failed. The Cloud Warriors are no more, defeated by the Spanish conquistadors and the Peruvian Inca tribe three hundred years ago.”

  Professor Renelle let his audience absorb this, and then a new image appeared, a masterly portrait of a fair-skinned man with blue eyes and long, straight black hair. Upon his head was a golden crown shaped from two emerald-studded serpents that faced each other, jaws agape to hold between them an emerald the size of a turkey egg. A life-sized golden hummingbird in flight was mounted above the emerald, as if perched upon it.

  “This is a reproduction of a drawing of the last king of the Cloud Warriors by a sixteenth-century Spanish priest. The Spaniards came across this very city soon after it was abandoned and found valuable artifacts within a chamber behind these statues. They heard a legend told amongst the natives of the region that the Cloud Warrior king was buried in a tomb filled with treasure, including his crown, which was set with an enormous, magical emerald—the jewel of Peru. It was also said that the Cloud Warriors made a map—a derrotero—that revealed the secret location of the king’s tomb with its treasure.” Professor Renelle paused dramatically, and moments later a new image appeared on the wall that made the entire audience cry out, for it was a hideous depiction of a skull that appeared to be screaming, its hands held up in horror by its face.