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Title: Krakatit

Author: Karel Čapek

Translator: Lawrence Hyde


        
Release date: July 18, 2026 [eBook #79127]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: The MacMillan Company, 1925

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79127

Credits: Lukas Bystricky and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)


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KRAKATIT


[Illustration]

  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  NEW YORK—BOSTON—CHICAGO—DALLAS
  ATLANTA—SAN FRANCISCO

  MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
  LONDON—BOMBAY—CALCUTTA
  MELBOURNE

  THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
  TORONTO




                                 KRAKATIT

                                    BY
                                KAREL ČAPEK

                              _Translated by_
                               LAWRENCE HYDE

                                 New York
                           THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
                                   1925

                           _All rights reserved_

                             COPYRIGHT, 1925.
                         BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

                            Set up and printed.
                         Published October, 1925.

                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
                        THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY




KRAKATIT




CHAPTER I


With the evening the fog of the cold, damp day grew thicker. You felt
as if you were making your way through some thin, moist substance which
closed behind you again for good. You wished you were at home. At home by
your lamp in a box of four walls. Never before had you felt so forsaken.

Prokop felt his way along the embankment. He was chilled and his forehead
was damp with the sweat of weakness; he wanted to sit down on that wet
seat but he was afraid of the policemen. He felt as if he was twisting
round; yes, near the Old Town mill a man made a detour to avoid him as
though he were a drunkard. He exerted all his strength to walk straight.
And now there came another man, walking towards him with his hat drawn
down over his eyes and his collar turned up. Prokop set his teeth,
furrowed his brow and strained all his muscles in the attempt to pass him
successfully. But when he was just a step away from the other there was
suddenly a darkness inside his head and the whole world began to revolve
with him; suddenly he saw ever so near a pair of penetrating eyes which
were fixed on him. He struck against some one’s shoulder, murmured a
word of apology and moved away with a sort of convulsive dignity. A few
paces further he stopped and looked round. The other man stood regarding
him fixedly. Prokop pulled himself together and moved off a little more
quickly; but it was no good, he was obliged to give another glance back.
The man was still standing and watching him, sticking his head out of his
collar like a tortoise. “Let him look,” thought Prokop uneasily, “now I
shan’t turn round again.” And he went on as best he could. The man with
the turned-up collar followed him. It seemed that he was running. Prokop
took to flight in terror.

The world again began to revolve with him. Breathing heavily, with
chattering teeth, he leaned against a tree and closed his eyes. He felt
horribly ill and was afraid that he would fall, that his heart would
burst and that the blood would spurt out of his lips. When he opened his
eyes he saw the man with the turned-up collar standing right in front of
him.

“Aren’t you Engineer Prokop?” asked the man, as though repeating the
question.

“I ... I haven’t been there,” answered Prokop, trying to lie.

“Where?” asked the man.

“There,” said Prokop, and indicated with his head some place in the
direction of Strahov. “What do you want of me?”

“Don’t you know me? I’m Thomas. Thomas from the Polytechnic. Don’t you
know, now?”

“Thomas,” repeated Prokop, utterly indifferent to what the name might
signify. “Yes, Thomas, of course. And what do you want from me?”

The man with the turned-up collar seized him by the arm. “Wait, first of
all you must sit down. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Prokop, and allowed himself to be led to a seat. “I ... that
is to say ... I’m not well, you see.” He suddenly drew out of his pocket
a hand bound up with a piece of dirty rag. “Wounded, see? A confounded
business.”

“And doesn’t your head ache?” asked the man.

“It does.”

“Now listen, Prokop,” said the other. “You’ve got a fever or something of
the sort. You must go to the hospital, see? Anyone can tell you’re in a
bad way. But at least do remember that we know one another. I’m Thomas.
We did chemistry together. My dear fellow, do remember!”

“I know Thomas,” echoed Prokop weakly. “That rotter. What about him?”

“Nothing,” said Thomas. “He is talking to you. You must go to bed, see?
Where do you live?”

“There,” Prokop attempted to say, and made a gesture with his head. “Near
... near Hybsmonka.” Suddenly he attempted to stand up. “I don’t want to
go there! Not there! There—there is ... there is....”

“What?”

“Krakatit,” breathed Prokop.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I shan’t say. No one must go there. Or ... Or....”

“What?”

“Ffft, bang!” said Prokop, and threw his hand up in the air.

“What’s that?”

“Krakatoe. Kra-ka-tau. A volcano, see? It ... tore off my finger. I don’t
know what....” He stopped and added slowly: “A frightful thing, you know.”

Thomas watched him carefully as if he were waiting for something. “And
so,” he began after a moment, “you’re still on explosives?”

“Yes, always have been.”

“With success?”

Prokop gave a queer kind of laugh. “You’d like to know, eh? No, my
friend, it won’t do that way ... not that way,” he repeated, swaying his
head in a drunken manner. “My friend, by itself—by itself—it....”

“What?”

“Kra-ka-tit. Krakatit. Krrakatitt. And by itself—I only left a little
powder on the table, see? All the rest I col—collected in a snuff-box.
There was only a l-l—little powder left on the table, and suddenly....”

“It exploded.”

“Exploded. Only a trace, only the powder that I had dropped. It was
hardly visible. Then the electric light globe—a kilometre away. It wasn’t
that. And I—in the arm-chair, like a bit of wood. Tired, you know. Too
much work. And suddenly ... crash! I was thrown on to the floor. The
window was blown out, and the globe wasn’t there. A detonation like—the
explosion of a lyddite cartridge. Terrible energy. I ... I thought at
first that it was the por-porcel-por-ce-lain, polcelain, porcelene ...
the white insulator, you know, that had exploded. Aluminium silicate.”

“Porcelain.”

“Snuff-box. I thought it had exploded. So I strike a match and there
it is unharmed, unharmed, unharmed. And I stay there like a post ...
until the match burns my fingers. And then—across country—in the dark to
Brevnov or Stresovic—and somewhere on the way the word Krakatoe, Krakatit
came into my head. Kra-ka-tit. No, no, it wasn’t li—like that. When it
went up, I fell on the floor and shouted out Krakatit. Krakatit. Then I
forgot it. Who’s that there? Who—who are you?”

“Thomas.”

“Thomas, aha! That lousy fellow! We used to lend one another our notes.
He never gave me back a chemistry notebook. Thomas, what was his first
name?”

“George.”

“I know now, George. You’re George, I know. George Thomas. Where’s my
notebook? Wait a moment and I’ll tell you something. If the rest goes up
there’ll be trouble. Man, it’ll flatten out the whole of Prague. Wipe it
away. Blow it off the earth—f-t! When that por-ce-lain box explodes, see?”

“What box?”

“You are George Thomas, I know. Go to Karlin or to Vysocany and watch it
explode. Run, run!”

“Why?”

“I made a hundred-weight of it. A hundred-weight of Krakatit. No, about
three ounces. Up there, in that porcelain box. When it explodes, man—but
wait a minute, that’s impossible. It’s senseless,” mumbled Prokop,
clutching his head.

“Well?”

“Why—why—why didn’t it explode also in the box? If the powder exploded
by itself—wait a moment, on the table there’s a sheet of zinc—why did it
explode on the table? Wa-it, be quiet, be quiet,” said Prokop. His teeth
chattered, and he rose up unsteadily.

“What’s up with you?”

“Krakatit,” muttered Prokop. He made a twisting movement with his whole
body and fell on the ground unconscious.




CHAPTER II


The first thing of which Prokop was conscious was that everything in him
was being shaken and rattled and that some one was holding him firmly
round the waist. He had a terrible fear of opening his eyes; he had an
idea that everything would collapse on top of him. And when this didn’t
happen he opened them and saw in front of him a vague square about which
were moving misty balls and strips of light. He was unable to explain it;
confusedly he watched the phantom shapes as they jumped about and slid
away, having patiently resigned himself to anything which might be in
store for him. Then he realized that the rattling was that of the wheels
of a cab and that outside lights were slipping past in the fog. Exhausted
by this act of observation he again closed his eyes and allowed himself
to be carried away.

“Now lie down,” said a quiet voice above his head; “swallow an aspirin
and you’ll be better. In the morning I’ll fetch a doctor, yes?”

“Who’s that?” asked Prokop sleepily.

“Thomas. You’re lying down at my place, Prokop. You’ve a fever. Where
does it hurt you?”

“Everywhere. I feel giddy. So, you see....”

“Just lie quiet. I’ll boil you some tea and you’ll go off to sleep. It’s
the result of excitement, see? A sort of nervous fever. It’ll be gone
before morning.”

Prokop knitted his brows in the effort to remember. “I know,” he said
carefully, after a moment. “Listen, some one must throw that box into the
river. So that it won’t explode.”

“Don’t worry. Now stop talking.”

“Perhaps I could sit up. Aren’t I heavy?”

“No, lie down.”

“—and you’ve got my chemistry notebook,” Prokop remembered suddenly.

“Yes, you’ll get it back. But now stay quiet, do you hear?”

“My head’s so heavy.”

Meanwhile the cab was rattling up Jecna Street. Thomas was softly
whistling a tune and looking out of the window. Prokop was breathing
heavily and moaning quietly. The fog made the pavements damp and
insinuated itself under one’s coat with its cold, wet slime. It was late
and the streets were deserted.

“Here we are,” said Thomas loudly. The cab bumped more noisily over a
square and turned off to the right. “Wait, Prokop, can you manage a
couple of steps? I’ll help you.”

With an effort Thomas dragged his guest up to the second floor. Prokop
seemed to himself to be without weight, and allowed himself to be quickly
wafted up the stairs; but Thomas was breathing heavily and wiped the
sweat from his forehead.

“See, I’m like a thread,” said Prokop, surprised.

“Well,” said Thomas, panting, and opened the door of his flat.

Prokop felt like a little child while Thomas was undressing him. “My
mother,” he began, “when my mother, ever so long ago ... father sat at
the table, and mother carried me to bed, see?”

Then he was in bed, covered up to the chin, his teeth chattering and
watching Thomas rapidly making a fire. He could have cried from self-pity
and weakness, and he babbled the whole time; then a cold compress was
placed on his forehead and he quieted down. He looked about the room;
there was a scent of tobacco and women.

“You’re a rogue, Thomas,” he exclaimed seriously, “always having women.”

Thomas turned round. “Well?”

“Nothing. What exactly are you doing just now?”

Thomas waved his hand. “It’s bad, my friend. No money.”

“You womanize.”

Thomas only shook his head.

“And it’s a pity, you know,” began Prokop, with concern. “You could
have—look, I’ve been at it for twelve years.”

“And what have you got out of it?” retorted Thomas sharply.

“Well, something here and there. I sold some explosive dextrine this
year.”

“For how much?”

“For ten thousand. But that’s nothing. Rubbish. Only an explosive for
mines. But if I had wished to....”

“Do you feel better now?”

“Fine. I’ve found out some methods for you! Nitrate of cerium, there’s
an excitable monster for you, man; and chloride, chloride, tetrachloride
of nitrogen, that’s exploded by light. You turn on the light, and bang!
But that’s nothing. Listen,” he exclaimed, suddenly sticking his thin,
terribly mutilated hand out of the bedclothes, “when I take anything in
my hand, so ... I feel the vibration of the atoms. Just like ants. Each
kind of substance creeps differently, see?”

“No.”

“That’s power, see? Power in matter. Matter is terribly powerful. I
... I feel it moving. It holds together ... with an enormous effort.
Once you loosen it inside, it disintegrates. Bang! Everything is an
explosive. Every thought is a sort of explosion inside the head. When you
give me your hand I feel as if something is exploding inside you. I’ve
an extraordinary touch, man. And hearing. Everything is bubbling like
effervescent powder. Tiny explosions again. There’s a noise going on in
my head.... Ratata, like a machine gun.”

“Yes?” said Thomas. “And now swallow this aspirin.”

“Yes. Ex—explosive aspirin. Perchlorated acetylsalicacid. That’s
nothing. Man, I’ve discovered an exothermic explosive. Water. Water
is an explosive. Every material is really an explosive. The feathers
in a feather bed are explosives. At present, you see, this has only
a theoretical significance. And I’ve discovered atomic explosions.
I—I—I—I’ve made alpha explosions. It disintegrates into plus electrons.
No thermochemistry. Des-truc-tion. Destructive chemistry, man. That’s a
tremendous thing, Thomas, purely scientific. At home I’ve got tables....
If only I had apparatus! But I’ve only eyes ... and hands.... Wait, let
me write it down!”

“Don’t you want to sleep?”

“I do. To-day—I’m—tired. And what have you been doing all this time?”

“Nothing. Life.”

“Life is an explosive, see? Bang, and a man is born and then, bang, he
falls to pieces. And we think it lasts some years, see? Wait a moment,
I’ve got something mixed, haven’t I?”

“It’s all right, Prokop. To-morrow, perhaps, we’ll make an explosion.
That is, if I haven’t any money. But it’s all the same, just go to sleep.”

“I’ll lend it you if you like.”

“No, thanks, it wouldn’t be enough. Perhaps my father——” Thomas waved his
arm.

“So you’ve still got a father,” said Prokop after a moment with sudden
gentleness.

“Well, yes. A doctor in Tynice.” Thomas stood up and began to walk up and
down the room. “I’m up against it. But don’t worry about me. I—I’ll do
something. Sleep!”

Prokop quieted down. Through his half-closed eyes he watched Thomas sit
down at the table and rummage among some papers. It was somehow delicious
to listen to the rustling of paper and the quiet noise of the fire in the
stove. The man bent forward over the table, supported his head with his
hand and, it seemed, was hardly breathing; and to Prokop it was as if he
was at home and looking at his elder brother, Joseph, studying electrical
engineering in preparation for the examination the next day. He fell into
a feverish sleep.




CHAPTER III


He dreamed that he heard a noise made by innumerable wheels. “It’s some
factory or other,” he thought and ran up the steps. All at once he found
himself standing in front of a large door, on which was a glass plate
with the name: Plinius. Inordinately delighted, he went in. “Is Mr.
Plinius in?” he asked of a girl sitting at a typewriter. “He’ll be here
in a moment,” she answered and directly afterwards there appeared a tall,
clean-shaven man with enormous circular spectacles. “What can I do for
you?” he asked.

Prokop glanced inquiringly at his extraordinarily expressive face. His
mouth was of the British variety, his forehead was covered with lines and
had a wart the size of a sixpence, his chin was that of a cinema artist.
“Are y—you Mr. Plinius?”

“Please,” said the tall man, and with an abrupt gesture indicated the way
to his study.

“I am extremely ... it’s a great honour for me,” stammered Prokop, taking
a seat.

“What is it you want?” the tall man interrupted him.

“I’ve disintegrated matter,” announced Prokop. Plinius remained silent;
he only played with a steel key and, behind his spectacles, closed his
heavy lids.

“It’s like this,” began Prokop impetuously. “E-e-everything is
disintegrating, you understand? Matter is fragile. But I can make it
disintegrate all at once, bang! An explosion, if you comprehend me? Into
smithereens. Into molecules. Into atoms. And I’ve also broken up atoms.”

“A pity,” said Plinius, after consideration.

“Why a pity?”

“It’s a pity to break anything. Even an atom. Well, go on.”

“I ... break up the atom. I am aware that Rutherford has already.... But
that was only donkey work with radiation, you know. That’s nothing. The
thing must be done _en masse_. If I were asked to I could explode a ton
of bismuth in that way. It would blow up the whole world. Would you like
me to?”

“Why would you do it?”

“It’s ... scientifically interesting,” said Prokop, confused. “Wait,
how shall I.... It’s amazingly interesting.” He clutched his head.
“One moment, my he-head’s splitting; it will be scientifically
enormously interesting, eh? Aha!” he burst out, relieved, “now I can
explain. Dynamite—dynamite smashes up matter into pieces, lumps, but
benzoltrioxozonid reduces it to dust; it makes only a small hole but it
disintegrates matter into submicroscopic fragments, see? That’s through
the quickness of the explosion. Matter hasn’t time to get out of the way,
it can’t even bl—break up, see? But I ... I’ve accelerated the speed of
detonation. Argonozonid. Chlorargonoxozonid. Tetrargon. And so on and on.
And suddenly, after a certain speed, the power of explosion increases
terribly. It increases ... quadratically. I watch it, as if I were an
idiot. Where does it come from, this energy?” demanded Prokop feverishly.
“Tell me.”

“Well, perhaps from the atom,” suggested Plinius.

“Aha,” cried Prokop exultantly, and wiped the sweat away from his face.
“That’s the amusing part of it. Simply from the atom. It throws the
atoms together ... and t-t-t—tears off the Beta layer ... and the core
disintegrates. It’s an Alpha explosion. Do you realize who I am? I am
the first man, sir, who has overcome the coefficient of compressibility.
I ... I have extracted tantalum from bismuth. Listen, do you know the
amount of power there is in one gramme of mercury? Four hundred and
sixty-two millions of kilogramometres. Matter is frightfully powerful.
Matter is a regiment which is marching without moving: one two, one two;
but give it the right order and the regiment will attack. _En avant!_
That’s the explosion, you understand? Hurrah!”

Prokop was pulled up by his own exclamation; the beating in his head was
so loud that he ceased to understand anything. “Excuse me,” he said, in
order to cover his confusion, and with a shaking hand felt for his cigar
case. “You smoke?”

“No.”

“Even the ancient Romans used to smoke,” Prokop assured him, and opened
his case. Inside was nothing but some heavy fuses.

“Light up,” he urged, “this one’s a small Nobel Extra.” He himself bit
off the end of a tetryl cartridge and looked round for matches. “Never
mind,” he said, “but have you ever heard of explosive glass? A pity.
Listen, I can make you explosive paper. You write a letter, someone
throws it into the fire, and crash! The whole of the place collapses.
Would you like that?”

“What for?” asked Plinius, raising his eyebrows.

“Well, I don’t know. Power must out. I’ll tell you something. If you
were to walk on the ceiling, what would happen to you? To begin with I
have no use for the theory of valency. Everything is possible. Listen,
you hear that noise outside? That’s the grass growing; nothing but
little explosions. Every seed is an explosive cartridge which goes off.
_Poof_, like a rocket. And those fools think that there is no such thing
as tautomerism. I’ll show them such merotropy that they’ll go off their
heads. Pure laboratory experience, my dear sir.”

Prokop suddenly had a dreadful feeling that he was babbling nonsense. He
tried to extricate himself from his position, but only jabbered all the
more quickly, mixing everything up. Plinius nodded his head seriously and
finally inclined his body forward more and more, as if he were bowing.
Prokop gabbled confused formulæ, unable to stop himself, his eyes fixed
on Plinius who was swinging backwards and forwards with increasing speed,
like a machine. The floor began to move and lift under him.

“But stop it, man,” roared Prokop, terrified, and woke up.

       *       *       *       *       *

Instead of Plinius he saw Thomas who grunted, “Don’t shout, please,”
without turning round from the table.

“I’m not shouting,” said Prokop, and closed his eyes. Inside his head the
blows had become faster and more painful.

It appeared that he was moving with the minimum velocity of light;
in some way his heart was compressed. But that was only the
Fitzgerald-Lorentz contraction, he explained to himself; soon he would
become as flat as a pancake. And suddenly there appeared in front of
him countless glass prisms; no, they were only endless, highly polished
planes which intersected at sharp angles like models of crystals. He
was thrown against the edge of one of them with terrible speed. “Look
out!” he shouted to himself, for in a thousandth of a second he would
be smashed to pieces; but at that moment he flew at an enormous speed
towards the apex of a huge pyramid. Thrown back from this like a beam
of light, he was cast against a wall as smooth as glass, slid along it,
whizzed madly along walls set at angles, was hurled back against he knew
not what. Cast away again he was falling on to a sharp angle, but at
the last moment was thrown upwards again. Now he struck his head on a
Euclidean plane and now fell headlong downwards, downwards into darkness.
A sudden blow, a painful shuddering of his whole body, but he immediately
picked himself up and took to flight. He tore along a labyrinthine
passage and heard behind him the noise made by his pursuers; the passage
became narrower and narrower, its walls came together with a frightful
and inevitable movement; he became as thin as an awl, held his breath
and dashed along in horror, so as to escape before the walls crushed him.
They crashed behind him with a stony impact, while he whirled into a
chasm. A frightful blow, and he lost consciousness. When he awoke he was
in black darkness; he groped along the slimy stone walls and cried for
help, but no sound came from his lips. Such was the darkness.

Shivering with fear, he stumbled about the bottom of the pit. He came
upon a path along the side and followed it. Actually it consisted of
steps, and above, an incredible distance away, there gleamed a tiny
opening, as in a mine. Then he ran up endless and terribly steep stairs;
but at the top there was nothing but a platform, a light metal platform
which trembled above the dizzy abyss, and downwards there descended
endless spiral steps of iron plates. And again he heard behind him the
panting breath of his pursuers. Beside himself with fear he dashed down
the twisting stairs, and behind him the steps of his enemies clanged
upon the iron. Suddenly the spiral steps ended sharply in a void. Prokop
shrieked, extended his arms and, still turning, fell into the gulf. His
head spun, he saw and heard nothing; with legs that seemed to be bound
he ran he knew not whither, dominated by a blind and terrible impulse to
reach some place before it was too late. He ran more and more quickly
along an endless vaulted corridor; from time to time the number changed
on a semaphore, and always higher: 17, 18, 19. Suddenly he realized that
he was running in a circle and that the numbers represented the circuits
he had made. 40, 41! He was seized with the intolerable fear that he
would never get away; he whizzed round at an insane speed, so that the
semaphore moved like telegraph poles seen from an express train; and
still more rapidly! Now the semaphore ceased to move and recorded at
a lightning speed thousands and tens of thousands of revolutions, and
still there was no exit from this tunnel, and the tunnel was smooth and
polished and, as well, was itself rotating. Prokop sobbed with fear.
This was Einstein’s universe and he must get there before it was too
late! Suddenly there resounded a frightful cry. Prokop was aghast; it was
the voice of his father, whom somebody was murdering. He tried to run
still more quickly, the semaphore disappeared and everything was dark.
Prokop felt along the walls and discovered a closed door, and behind it
he again heard desperate wails and the noise of furniture being thrown
about. Crying out with horror, he dug his nails into the door, scratched
it and tore it into pieces, to find behind it the familiar stairs which
led him every day to his room when he was little. And upstairs his father
was being suffocated, someone was strangling him and dragging him along
the floor. Prokop flew upstairs, saw the familiar pail, his mother’s
bread-cupboard, and the half-opened door into the kitchen, and there,
inside, his father was making a rattling noise in his throat and begging
someone not to kill him. Prokop wished to go to his aid, but some blind,
mad force obliged him again to run in a circle, faster and faster,
laughing convulsively, while the wailing of his father slowly died away.
Incapable of escaping from this dizzy, senseless circle, he suddenly
burst into a laugh of horror.

He woke up, covered with sweat, his teeth chattering. Thomas was standing
over him in the act of laying another cold compress on his burning
forehead.

“That’s good, that’s good,” mumbled Prokop, “now I shan’t sleep any
more.” And he lay quietly and watched Thomas sitting near the lamp.
George Thomas, he said to himself, and then Duras, and Honza Buchta,
Sudik, Sudik, Sudik, and who else? Sudik, Trlica, Trlica, Pesek,
Jovanovic, Madr, Holoubek, who wears spectacles, that was our year at
chemistry. God, and who’s the other? Aha, Vedral, who was killed in
’sixteen, and behind him there sat Holoubek, Pacovsky, Trlica, Seba, all
the men of the year. Then he suddenly heard the words: “Mr. Prokop to be
examined.”

He became terribly frightened. At the desk sat Professor Wald, pulling
with a dry hand at his beard, as usual. “Let’s hear,” said Professor
Wald, “what you know about explosives.”

“Explosives, explosives,” began Prokop nervously, “their explosiveness
lies in the fact that—that—that—that a large volume of gas is suddenly
liberated which—which expands from the much smaller volume of the
explosive mass.... I beg your pardon, that’s not right.”

“What?” asked Wald severely.

“I—I—I’ve discovered _alpha_ explosives. The explosion takes place, that
is to say, through the disintegration of the atom. The parts of the atom
fly ... fly.”

“Rubbish,” the professor interrupted him. “There are no such things as
atoms.”

“There are, there are, there are,” said Prokop through his teeth.
“Please, I’ll demonstrate to you....”

“An obsolete theory,” said the professor gruffly. “There are no such
things as atoms, only gumetals. Do you know what a gumetal is?”

Prokop sweated with fear. He had never heard the word in his life.
Gumetal? “I don’t know,” he said in confusion.

“There you are,” said Wald dryly. “And yet you presume to offer yourself
for examination. What do you know about Krakatit?”

Prokop stopped uneasily. “Krakatit,” he whispered, “that is ... that is
... a completely new explosive, which ... which up to the present....”

“How is it ignited? How? How does it explode?”

“By Hertzian waves,” croaked Prokop with relief.

“How do you know?”

“Because the Krakatit which I prepared exploded for no reason at all.
Because ... because there was no other reason. And because....”

“Well?”

“... I synthesized it ... du—du—during high frequency oscillation. This
isn’t yet explained, but I think that ... that there were some sort of
electro-magnetic waves.”

“There were. I know. Now write down the chemical formula for Krakatit.”

Prokop took up a piece of chalk and scribbled his formula on the board.

“Read it.”

Prokop read the formula aloud. Then Professor Wald stood up and suddenly
said in a voice which was somehow completely different: “How does it run?”

Prokop repeated the formula.

“Tetrargon?” inquired the professor rapidly. “How much Pb?”

“Two.”

“How is it prepared?” inquired the voice, this time extraordinarily
close. “The method! How is it prepared? How? How do you prepare Krakatit?”

Prokop opened his eyes. Thomas was bending over him with a pencil and
notebook in his hand and breathlessly watching his lips.

“What?” mumbled Prokop uneasily. “What do you want? How ... is it
prepared?”

“You’ve got some strange idea into your head,” said Thomas and hid the
notebook behind his back. “Sleep, man, sleep.”




CHAPTER IV


“Now I’ve blurted something out!” Prokop realized with the fragment
of his brain that was most clear; but otherwise he was completely
indifferent on the subject; all he wanted was to sleep, to sleep
inordinately. He saw in front of him a sort of Turkey carpet, the pattern
of which continually changed. It was nothing important and yet it somehow
agitated him. Even in sleep he yearned to meet Plinius again. He tried
to rid himself of his image; instead, he saw before him an abominable
grinning face, which ground its yellow, rotten teeth until they were
crushed, and then spat them out in pieces. He wanted to get away from
this picture. The word “fisherman” came into his head, and _presto_ there
appeared to him a fisherman sitting above some grey water with a net full
of fish. He said to himself “scaffolding,” and he actually perceived
scaffolding to the last hook and rope. For a long time he amused himself
by thinking of words and looking at the pictures which they called up;
but then not even by exerting all his powers could he recall a single
one. He made the most strenuous efforts to remember at least one word
or thing, but in vain; and then through the horror of impotence he came
out in a cold sweat. He decided that he must go to work methodically;
he must begin from the beginning or he was lost. Luckily he remembered
the word “fisherman”; but now there appeared before his eyes an empty
petroleum tin. It was horrible. He said to himself “chair,” and he saw
with astonishing clearness the tarred fence of a factory with a patch
of dreary, dusty grass and some rusty hoops. This is insanity, he said
to himself with cold clearness; this, gentleman, is typical madness,
hyperofabula ugongi dugongi Darwin. This technical term for some unknown
reason appeared to him to be excruciatingly funny. He positively gulped
with laughter and woke up.

He was covered with sweat and had kicked off his bedclothes. With
feverish eyes he watched Thomas, who was moving quickly about the room
and throwing a few things into a suitcase; but he did not recognize
him. “Listen, listen,” he began, “here’s a funny thing, listen, wait
a moment, you must listen——” He wanted to tell him as a great joke
this extraordinary technical designation, and was already smiling in
anticipation; but for the life of him he was unable to recall how exactly
it had run. He became annoyed and was silent.

Thomas put on an ulster and a cap; but when he had already picked up the
suitcase he hesitated and sat down on the end of Prokop’s bed. “Listen,
old chap,” he said with concern, “I’ve got to go away now. To my father,
in Tynice. If he doesn’t give me any money I shan’t come back, see? But
don’t be worried about that. The doorkeeper’s wife will come in the
morning and bring you a doctor, yes?”

“What’s the time?” asked Prokop indifferently.

“Four. Five past four. Perhaps ... there’s nothing you want, is there?”

Prokop closed his eyes, resolved to take no further interest in anything
in the world. Thomas covered him up carefully and all became quiet.

Suddenly he opened his eyes again fully. Above him he perceived an
unfamiliar ceiling round the edge of which there ran an ornament which
he had not seen before. He stretched out his hand for the table at his
bedside, but groped in the air. Frightened, he turned round and saw, in
the place of his laboratory desk, some sort of table with a small lamp.
Where there used to be a window there was a screen; in the place of the
wash-stand some door or other. This confused him enormously; he could
not understand what was happening to him, or where he was. Conquering
his giddiness, he sat up in bed. Slowly he realized that he was not at
home, but could not remember how he got to be where he was. “Who is
that?” he asked aloud on chance, controlling his tongue with difficulty.
“Drink,” he said, after a moment, “drink.” It was painfully quiet. He got
out of bed and, a little unsteadily, started to look for water. On the
wash-stand he found a carafe and drank from it greedily; but when he was
returning to the bed his legs gave way and he sank into a chair, unable
to do any more. He sat there for a good hour, perhaps; then he began to
shiver with cold, and became overwhelmed with self-pity, thinking that
he was in some strange place, that he was not capable of even reaching
the bed, and that he was alone, helpless, and without anyone to give him
counsel. Suddenly he began to cry convulsively like a child.

When he had cried in this way for a bit his head became clearer. At last
he was able to get to the bed and lie down with his teeth chattering; no
sooner had he got some warmth into his body than he went off into a deep,
swoon-like, dreamless sleep.

When he woke up the grey light of day was coming through the window;
someone had pulled up the blind and created a certain amount of order
in the room. He was unable to comprehend who had done this; but, on the
other hand, he remembered the explosion of the day before, Thomas, and
his departure. His head was splitting, he felt a weight on his chest,
and he was tortured by a tearing cough. That’s bad, he said to himself,
that’s really bad; I ought to have gone home and gone to bed there.
He got up and began to dress himself with long pauses. He felt as if
something was exercising a horrible pressure on his chest. Then he sat
down, indifferent to everything and breathing heavily.

Suddenly the bell rang briefly and lightly. With an effort he remembered
himself and went to open the door. Outside was standing a young girl with
a veil over her face.

“Does ... Mr. Thomas live here?” she asked rapidly and confusedly.

“Please,” said Prokop and made way for her. When, hesitating a little,
she had passed close by him into the room, he became conscious of a faint
and elegant perfume which he inhaled with delight.

He gave her a seat by the window and sat down opposite her, holding
himself as straight as he was able to. He felt that through this very
effort he must appear to be severe and frozen, which embarrassed both
the girl and himself exceedingly. Behind her veil she bit her lip and
cast down her eyes; oh, the delicious smoothness of her face, oh, what
small hands and how extraordinarily excited! Suddenly she raised her eyes
and Prokop held his breath with ecstasy, so beautiful did she seem to him.

“Mr. Thomas isn’t at home?” asked the girl.

“Thomas has gone away,” said Prokop, with some hesitation. “Last night.”

“Where?”

“To Tynice, to his father.”

“And he returns?”

Prokop shrugged his shoulders.

The girl bent her head down, her hands pulling at something. “And did he
tell you why ... why?”

“He did.”

“And you think that ... that he will do it?”

“What?”

“That he will shoot himself.”

In a flash Prokop remembered that he had seen Thomas put a revolver into
his suitcase. “To-morrow, perhaps, we’ll make an explosion,” he again
heard him mutter through his teeth. He did not wish to say anything. He
looked very serious.

“Oh my God!” said the girl, “but this is terrible. Tell me....”

“What?”

“If only somebody could follow him! If only somebody could say—could give
him—you understand, don’t you, that he mustn’t do it! If only somebody
could go after him to-day——”

Prokop looked at her hands which were twisting desperately.

“I will go there for you,” he said quietly. “As it happens I’ve got to go
somewhere in that direction. If you wish it I——”

The girl raised her head. “Could you really?” she cried joyfully, “could
you...?”

“I’m an old ... colleague of his, you see,” explained Prokop. “If you
would like to send him a message ... or send ... I would willingly....”

“You are really very good,” breathed the girl.

Prokop reddened a little. “That’s nothing,” he defended himself. “As it
happens ... I’ve some free time.... I should like to go away somewhere
and also, generally speaking——” He waved his hand in embarrassment. “It’s
not worth talking about. I will do anything that you wish.”

The girl blushed and looked quickly in another direction. “I really
don’t ... know how to thank you,” she said in confusion. “I am really
very sorry that ... you.... But it is so important—you’re his friend.
Don’t you think perhaps that I myself——” Then she got control of herself
and turned her clear eyes on Prokop. “I must send him something. From
somebody else. I cannot tell you.”

“There is no need to,” said Prokop quickly. “I shall give it him and
that’s all there is about it. I am so glad that I am able ... that I can
help him.... Is it raining then?” he asked suddenly, looking at the drops
of moisture on her fur.

“Yes, it is.”

“That’s good,” said Prokop. He was actually thinking how pleasantly cool
it would be if he could put his forehead against the fur.

“I haven’t got it with me,” she said, standing up. “It will only be a
small parcel. If you could wait ... I’ll bring it you in two hours’ time.”

Prokop bowed; and in doing so he was afraid of losing his equilibrium. In
the doorway she turned round and gave him a direct look. “_Au revoir._”
She was gone.

Prokop sat down and closed his eyes. The drops of rain on the fur; a
thick and bedewed veil; a curiously distant voice; scent; uneasy hands
in small tight gloves; a clear and disturbing glance from beneath firm,
elegant eyebrows; her hands on her lap; the soft folds of her dress
over her strong knees. Oh, little hands in tight gloves! Scent, a dark
and vibrant voice, a smooth, pale face. Prokop dug his teeth into his
quivering lips, sad, and confused and brave. Blue-grey eyes, eyes clean
and full of light. Oh God, how her veil pressed against her lips!

Prokop groaned and opened his eyes. “And she’s Thomas’s girl,” he said
to himself, with blind fury. “She knew the way; it wasn’t the first time
she had been there. Perhaps here ... here in this very room....” Prokop
dug his nails into his palms in intolerable agony. “And I, like a fool,
suggest that I shall go after him! I, idiot that I am, am to take him a
letter! What ... have I to do with her?”

Then he had a saving thought. I will dash off home to my laboratory at
the top of the house—and she—let her come here! Let her do what she
wants to! Let ... her go after him herself, if ... it’s so important to
her——

He looked round the room; he saw the tumbled bed and straightened it a
little as he was accustomed to at home. Then it seemed to him that it
was not tidy enough, so he did it again, smoothed it and then set about
cleaning up the whole place, even trying to arrange the curtains in nice
folds. After which he sat down with a dizzy head and a chest which was
thumping painfully, and waited.




CHAPTER V


It seemed to him that he was walking about in an enormous kitchen
garden. All around was nothing but cabbage heads, not simply heads, but
heads which grinned and were slimy from the creatures which had crawled
over them; gibbering heads, blear-eyed, monstrous, watery, pimpled and
swollen. They were growing on cabbage stumps, and creeping over them were
repulsive green caterpillars. And now across the garden there ran towards
him the girl with the veil over her face. She raised her skirts a little
and jumped over the heads. But under each of them there suddenly sprouted
bare, horribly thin and hairy hands, which clutched at her feet and her
skirts. The girl screamed in fear, and raised her skirts still higher,
above her strong knees, showing her white legs, and tried to spring out
of the way of these grasping tentacles. Prokop closed his eyes; he could
not bear the sight of her white strong legs and was nearly mad with
dread lest those green heads should defile her. He cast himself on the
ground and chopped off the first head with his clasp-knife. It squeaked
like an animal and snapped at his hand with its rotten teeth. Now the
second and the third head. Christ! would he be able to mow the enormous
field before the girl reached the other end? Springing madly about, he
trampled them down and kicked them; his feet become entangled in their
thin sucker-like claws, he fell, was seized, torn and suffocated. Then
everything disappeared.

Everything disappeared in whirling confusion. And suddenly he heard
quite near the veiled voice: “I have brought you the parcel.” He sprang
up and opened his eyes, and before him stood the girl from Hybsmonka,
squint-eyed and pregnant, her stomach damp, and gave him something
wrapped up in a damp rag. “It’s not her!” groaned Prokop painfully,
and suddenly he saw before him the tall, dreary saleswoman who used to
stretch his gloves for him on wooden sticks. “It’s not her!” Prokop
repeated, and there appeared before him a puffy child on legs bent with
rickets who ... who shamelessly offered herself to him! “Go away,” cried
Prokop, and then he saw an overturned can in the middle of a dried-up
lawn and some cabbages covered all over with the traces of snails, and
this picture would not disappear in spite of all his efforts to banish it.

At that moment the bell rang quietly, with a noise like the piping of
a bird. Prokop dashed to the door and opened it. In the passage was
standing the girl with the veil, pressing the parcel to her breast and
panting for breath. “So it’s you,” said Prokop gently and, without
knowing why, was profoundly touched. The girl came in, brushing him with
her shoulder as she went past. Her scent moved Prokop painfully.

She remained standing in the middle of the room. “Don’t be angry,
please,” she said quietly and somehow hastily, “that I have given you
such a commission. You see you have no idea why ... why I—if it’s really
causing you any trouble——”

“I will go,” said Prokop in a hoarse voice.

The girl turned her clear serious eyes on him. “Don’t think anything bad
of me. I am only afraid that Mr. ... that your friend may do something
which would drive a certain person to death. I have so much confidence in
you.... You will save him, won’t you?”

“I shall be ever so glad to,” said Prokop softly in an uncertain voice
which was not his own; to such an extent was he overcome with excitement.
“I ... what you wish....” He turned his eyes away; he was afraid that he
would blurt something out, that perhaps she would hear the loud beating
of his heart. He was ashamed of his uncouthness.

And the girl also was infected by his confusion; she blushed terribly and
did not know what to do with her eyes. “Thank you, thank you,” she tried
to say in a voice which was also somehow uncertain, and she gripped the
sealed packet which she held in her hand. There was a silence, a silence
which induced in Prokop a sweet and painful dizziness. He felt feverishly
that the girl was watching his face askance; and when he suddenly
turned his eyes on her he saw that she was looking down on the ground,
waiting till she was able to endure his look. Prokop felt that there was
something which he ought to say to save the situation; instead he only
moved his lips uneasily and trembled with his whole body.

Finally the girl touched his hand and whispered, “That parcel——” Then
Prokop forgot why he was holding his right hand behind his back and
reached out for the large parcel. The girl turned pale and recoiled.
“You are wounded,” she burst out. “Show me!” Prokop hastily hid his hand
again. “It’s nothing,” he assured her quickly; “I just got a slight ...
slight wound.”

The girl, quite pale, drew in her breath sharply as if she herself felt
the pain. “Why don’t you go to a doctor?” she said abruptly. “You mustn’t
travel anywhere! I ... I will send somebody else!”

“It’s healing already,” said Prokop, as if something precious were being
taken away from him. “Really it’s almost ... right again, only a scratch,
and anyway what nonsense! Why shouldn’t I go? And then, in such matters
... you can’t very well send a stranger. Really it doesn’t even pain
me,—look!” And he shook his right hand.

The girl made a movement of sympathy which was yet severe. “You mustn’t
go! Why didn’t you tell me? I ... don’t allow it! I don’t want——”

Prokop became extremely unhappy. “Look here,” he said hotly, “it really
is nothing; I am used to such things. Look here,” and he showed her his
left hand, almost the whole of the little finger of which was missing,
while another had a twisted scar on the joint. “That’s the sort of
occupation I have, you see?” He did not even notice that the girl shrank
away from him with pale lips and was looking at a deep scar on his
forehead stretching from the eyes to the hair. “There’s an explosion and
there you are. Like a soldier, I get up and run off as fast as I can, you
understand? Nothing can happen to me now. Give it to me!” He took the
parcel out of her hand, threw it into the air and caught it again. “No
need for anxiety. I’ll go like a gentleman. Do you know, it’s a long time
since I have been anywhere. Do you know America?”

The girl remained silent and watched him with a pained expression.

“It’s all very well for them to say that they have new theories,”
muttered Prokop feverishly through his teeth, “but wait; I’ll show them
something when I have finished my calculations. It’s a pity that you
don’t understand that sort of thing; I could explain it to you. I trust
you, I trust you but not him. Don’t trust him,” he said earnestly, “take
care. You are so beautiful,” he breathed enthusiastically.

“Up there I never speak to anybody. Only a sort of hut made of planks,
you understand? Ha! ha! How frightened you were of those heads! But I
won’t give you up! Don’t be frightened of anything! I won’t give you up.”

She looked at him with eyes distended with horror. “But you simply must
not go!”

Prokop grew dispirited and became suddenly weak. “No, you mustn’t take
any notice of what I’m saying. I’ve been talking nonsense, haven’t I? I
simply wanted you not to think about that hand. So that you shouldn’t
be frightened. It’s all over now.” He got control of himself again and
became stiff and almost sulky through his very concentration. “I shall go
to Tynice and find Thomas. I shall give him the parcel and say that it
comes from a young lady whom he knows. Is that right?”

“Yes,” said the girl with some hesitation, “but really you must not——”

Prokop tried to muster a supplicatory smile. His heavy scared face
suddenly grew beautiful. “Leave it to me,” he said quietly, “it’s ... for
you.”

The girl blinked her eyes; a sharp feeling had suddenly driven her nearly
to tears. She inclined her head silently and gave him her hand. He raised
his shapeless left hand. She looked at him interrogatively and pressed it
warmly. “Thank you so much,” she said quickly, “good-bye!”

In the doorway she stopped as if she wished to say something. Twisting
the handle, she waited.

“Am I to ... to convey any greeting to him?” asked Prokop with a wry
smile.

“No,” she said quietly and gave him a quick glance. “_Au revoir._”

The door closer behind her. Prokop looked after her and suddenly he felt
mortally heavy and weak, his head began to swim, and it cost him an
immense effort to take a single step.




CHAPTER VI


At the station he had to wait an hour and a half. He sat down in the
corridor shivering with cold. His wounded hand pulsated painfully. He
closed his eyes and immediately it seemed to him that this aching hand
was growing, that it was as big as a head, as a gourd, as a cauldron, and
that all over it the flesh was twitching feverishly. At the same time
he felt oppressively faint and a cold sweat kept on breaking out on his
forehead. He did not dare to look at the dirty, muddy floor covered with
spittle—his stomach would have risen. He tore off his collar and fell
half asleep, gradually overpowered by an infinite indifference. He had
the impression that he was a soldier, lying wounded in the open field;
where ... where are they fighting all the time? Then there sounded in his
ears a loud ringing, and someone shouted ... “Tynice, ... Duchcov, ...
Moldava! Take your seats!”

Now he was sitting in the railway carriage next to the window and feeling
inordinately gay, as if he had got the better of somebody or had escaped
from them; yes, now he was on the way to Tynice and nothing could stop
him. Almost giggling with delight he settled down in his corner and
began to observe his fellow-travellers with amazing eagerness. In front
of him sat some sort of a tailor with a thin neck, a slight dark woman,
and then a man with an extraordinarily expressionless face; next to
Prokop was a terribly fat gentleman whose stomach could not settle down
between his legs, and, further away, somebody else, but that didn’t
matter. Prokop did not dare to look out of the window—it made him feel
giddy. Ra-ta-ta-ra-ta-ta the train thumped out, vibrating and rattling
with the feverishness of its movement. The head of the tailor swung to
the right, to the left, to the right, to the left; the dark lady in
some curious fashion bounced stiffly up and down on the same spot, the
expressionless face vibrated and jerked like a bad film in a cinema. And
his fat neighbour was simply a heap of jelly which jumped, shook and
hopped in the most extraordinarily entertaining manner. Tynice, Tynice,
Tynice, scanned Prokop to the beat of the wheels; faster, faster! The
train grew heated through its haste; it became warm in the carriage and
Prokop began to sweat; the tailor had now two heads on two thin necks;
both heads shook and knocked against one another until they rattled. The
dark lady jumped up and down on her seat in the most amusing and yet
offensive way; she deliberately put on the expression of a wooden doll.
The expressionless face disappeared; in its place there sat a body with
its arms folded in a dead manner on its lap; the hands jumped about, but
the body had no head.

Prokop exerted all his strength in order to see it properly. He pinched
his leg, but it was no use; the body remained headless and lifelessly
responded to the vibration of the train. Prokop became horribly
uncomfortable. He nudged his fat neighbour with his arm; but the
neighbour only quivered still more like a jelly. It seemed to Prokop
that the fat body was voicelessly tittering at him. He was unable to look
at it any longer; he turned to the window, but there, out of the void,
appeared a human face. At first he could not make out why it disconcerted
him so; he stared at it with wide-open eyes to realize finally that
it was another Prokop whose eyes were fixed on him with terrible
earnestness. “What does he want?” said Prokop, terror-stricken. “My God!
have I left that parcel in Thomas’s room?” He hastily went through his
pockets and found the parcel in the inside one of his coat. Then the
face in the window smiled and Prokop felt better. Finally he plucked up
courage to look at the headless body and saw that all that had happened
was that the man had pulled over his face a coat that was hanging from
the rack and was asleep behind it. Prokop would have done the same but
was afraid that some one would take the sealed package out of his pocket.
And yet it was important for him to sleep; he was intolerably tired; he
would never have been able to imagine that it was possible for him to
be so tired. He dropped off, awoke with a start and dropped off again.
The dark lady had one head bobbing on her shoulder and held the other
in her lap with both hands; and as for the tailor, instead of him there
were sitting empty, bodyless clothes, out of the top of which projected
a porcelain pestle. Prokop fell asleep but suddenly started up with a
feverish conviction that they were already in Tynice. Somebody outside
had shouted the name out, or the train had stopped.

He rushed out and saw that it was already evening; two or three people
were getting out at a tiny station with blinking lights behind which was
an unknown and foggy darkness. They told Prokop that he could only get
to Tynice by a post-wagon, if there was still room in it. The post-wagon
proved to consist of a coach-box behind which was a trough for packages,
and the postman and some passenger or other had already taken their seats.

“Will you take me to Tynice, please?” said Prokop.

The postman shook his head in infinite dejection. “Can’t be done,” he
answered after a moment.

“Why ... how is that?”

“There’s no more room,” said the postman, having considered the matter.

Tears of self-pity came into Prokop’s eyes. “How far is it ... on foot?”

The postman reflected sympathetically. “Well, an hour,” he said.

“But I ... can’t walk it! I’ve got to get to Dr. Thomas’s!” protested
Prokop, crushed.

The postman thought for a moment. “Are you ... going ... as a patient?”

“I feel bad,” mumbled Prokop; actually, he was trembling with weakness
and fever.

The postman again considered the matter and shook his head. “But it can’t
be done,” he said finally.

“If only you could make ... a little room....”

On the coach-box there was no sound. The postman pulled at his beard;
then, without saying a word, he got down, did something at the side
and silently went off to the station. The passenger on the coach-box
remained motionless.

Prokop was so exhausted that he was obliged to sit down on the edge of
the pavement. “I shall never get there,” he felt desperately; “I shall
remain here until ... until....”

The postman returned from the station bringing with him an empty tub.
Somehow he attached it to the platform of the coach-box and looked at it
reflectively. “Sit down there,” he said finally.

“Where?” asked Prokop.

“Well ... on the coach-box.”

By some superhuman effort, as if some magical power were lifting him up,
Prokop got on to the coach-box. The postman did something with the reins
and there he was sitting in the tub with his legs hanging down over the
side. “Hey,” said he.

The horse made no movement, but only trembled.

The postman made another thin, guttural “r-r-r.” The horse whisked its
tail.

“R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r.”

The post-wagon moved off. Prokop convulsively gripped a railing at his
side; he felt that it was beyond his strength to keep his place on the
coach-box.

“R-r-r-r-r.” It seemed that this high, whirring note somehow galvanized
the old horse. It limped along, twitching its tail.

“R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r.” They were going along an avenue of bare trees. It was
pitch dark, save where the flickering strip of light from the lantern
moved over the mud. Prokop clung to the railing feeling that he had
already completely lost control of his body, that he must be careful not
to fall, that he was infinitely weak. Some lighted window or other, an
avenue, a dark field. “R-r-r-r.” The horse trotted along, moving its legs
stiffly and unnaturally, as if it had already been dead for a long time.

Prokop cast a surreptitious glance at his fellow-traveller. He was an
old man with a scarf wrapped round his neck. All the time he was chewing
something, rolling it about in his mouth and periodically spitting. And
then Prokop remembered that he had seen this face somewhere before. It
was the loathsome face from the dream, which ground its rotten teeth
until they crumbled and then spat them out in fragments. It was wonderful
and horrible.

“R-r-r-r-r-r.” There was a turn in the road, they climbed up a hill and
then descended again. Somebody’s estate,—the barking of a dog,—a man
passing along the road and wishing them good-night. The houses increased
in number; they were reaching the top of the hill. The post-wagon swung
round, another high “R-r-r-r-r” and it suddenly drew up.

“This is where Dr. Thomas lives,” said the postman.

Prokop wished to say something but was unable to do so. He wanted to let
go of the railing, but could not. His fingers were frozen.

“Well, here we are,” said the postman again. Once more he called out, and
Prokop slipped down from the coach-box, trembling with his whole body.
As if performing a remembered action, he opened the gate and rang at the
door. Inside there was to be heard a fierce barking and a young voice
called out: “Honzik, quiet!” The door opened and, scarcely able to move
his tongue, Prokop inquired, “Is the doctor at home?”

A moment of silence; then the young voice said, “Come in.”

Prokop stood in the warm sitting-room. On the table was a lamp, supper
was laid, there was a smell of beech wood. An old gentleman with his
spectacles pushed up on to his forehead rose from the table, came over to
Prokop and said: “Well, what can I do for you?”

Prokop tried to remember dully what exactly it was that he had come for.
“I ... that is to say ...” he began, “is your son at home?”

The old gentleman looked at Prokop attentively. “He isn’t. What do you
want with him?”

“George ...” mumbled Prokop, “I’m ... his friend and I am bringing
him.... I have to give him....” He hunted about in his pocket and found
the sealed package. “It’s ... an important matter and ... and....”

“George is in Prague,” the old gentleman interrupted him. “But do sit
down.”

Prokop was profoundly astonished. “But he said ... he said ... that he
was coming here. I mu—must give him....” The floor began to sway beneath
his feet and he started to slip forward.

“A chair, Annie,” shouted the old gentleman in an extraordinary voice.

Prokop still had time to hear himself cry out before he collapsed on
to the ground. A boundless darkness swept over him and then there was
nothing.




CHAPTER VII


There was nothing; only when the mist lifted, as it were, for a time,
there appeared the pattern which was painted on the walls, the carved
cornice of a cupboard, the top of the curtains or the frieze on the
ceiling. Or somebody’s face bent over him as if over the mouth of a
well; but its features were not to be discerned. Things were happening,
somebody from time to time moistened his hot lips or raised his helpless
body, but everything disappeared in snatches of dreaming which continued
to drift away from him. And there were landscapes, patterns of carpets,
differential calculations, balls of fire, chemical formulæ. From time
to time something rose to the surface and took the form for a moment of
a clearer dream, but immediately afterwards it dissolved again into the
wide current of unconsciousness.

Finally there came moments when he awoke fully. Then he saw above him
the warm ceiling with its stucco pattern; his eyes lighted on his own
thin, deathly white hands, resting on the coloured coverlet. Beyond there
appeared the frame of the bed, the cupboard and a white door; everything
somehow pleasant, quiet and already familiar. He had not a notion where
he was. He wanted to consider this problem; but his head was hopelessly
weak. Everything began to grow confused again and he closed his eyes and
rested, resigning himself to his weakness.

The door opened gently. Prokop opened his eyes and sat up a little
in bed, as if something had raised him up. And there at the door
was standing a girl, slender and bright, with clear eyes with an
extraordinarily astonished look in them, lips half open with surprise,
and holding to her breast a pile of white linen. Embarrassed, she
remained motionless, only moving her long lashes, while her rosy face
began shyly and uncertainly to smile.

Prokop’s face darkened. He made an effort to find something to say, but
his head was completely empty. He moved his lips voicelessly and looked
at the girl with severe eyes that were trying to recall something.

“I supplicate thee, O Queen,” came from his lips rapidly and
involuntarily in Greek, “if indeed thou art a goddess of them that keep
the wide heaven; to Artemis, then, the daughter of great Zeus, I mainly
liken thee, for beauty and stature and shapeliness. But if thou art one
of the daughters of men who dwell on earth, thrice blessed are thy father
and thy lady mother, and thrice blessed thy brethren. Surely their souls
ever glow with gladness each time they see thee entering the dance, so
fair a flower of maidens.”

The girl made no movement. As if she were turned to stone, she listened
to this greeting in an unknown language. On her smooth forehead there
was so much confusion, her eyes blinked so childishly and with so much
apprehension that Prokop continued with increased warmth to deliver
the speech of Odysseus when cast on the shore, himself only vaguely
realizing the meaning of the words.

“But he is of heart the most blessed,” he continued quickly, “beyond all
other who shall prevail with lips of wooing, and lead thee to his home.
Never have mine eyes beheld such an one among mortals, neither man nor
woman; great awe comes upon me as I look on thee.”

The girl blushed deeply as if she understood the greeting of the Greek
hero. An invincible and delightful embarrassment held her limbs. Prokop,
twisting his hands on the coverlet, spoke as if he were praying.

“Yet in Delos,” he continued rapidly, “once I saw as goodly a thing;
a young sapling of a palm tree springing by the altar of Apollo. For
thither too I went, and much people with me, on that path where my
sore troubles were to be. Yea, and when I looked thereupon, long time
I marvelled in spirit,—for never grew there yet so goodly a shoot from
ground,—even in such wise as I wonder at thee, lady, and am astonished
and do greatly fear to touch thy knees, though grievous sorrow is upon
me.”

Yes, he was terribly frightened; but the girl was frightened too, and
continued to press the linen to her breast without taking her eyes from
Prokop, who hastened to continue his invocation.

“Yesterday, on the twentieth day, I escaped from the wine-dark deep, but
all that time continually the wave bare me, and the vehement winds drave,
from the isle Ogygia. And now some god has cast me on this shore, that
hereto, methinks, some evil may betide me; for I trow not that trouble
will cease. The gods ere that time will yet bring many a thing to pass.”

Prokop sighed deeply and raised his wasted hands in fear. “But, Queen,
have pity on me, for after many trials and sore to thee first of all am I
come, and of the other folk, who hold this city and land, I know no man.
Nay, show me the town, give me an old garment to cast about me, if thou
hadst, when thou camest here, any wrap for the linen.”

Now the girl’s face became a little brighter, her moist lips opened.
Perhaps Nausicaa was speaking, but Prokop still wanted to bless her for
the cloud of sympathy which made her face so rosy. “And may the gods
grant thee all thy heart’s desire; a husband and a home, and a mind at
one with his may they give—a good gift, for there is nothing mightier and
nobler than when man and wife are of one heart and mind in a house, a
grief to their foes and to their friends great joy, but their own hearts
know it best.”

Prokop scarcely more than breathed the concluding words. He himself only
understood with difficulty what he was saying; effortlessly it flowed out
from some forgotten corner of memory. It was almost twenty years since
he had heard that sweet melody of the Sixth Book. It afforded him almost
physical relief to let it reel itself off in this manner; his head became
lighter and clearer, he was almost in ecstasy in this pleasant weakness.
An embarrassed smile trembled on his lips.

The girl smiled too, made a slight movement and said: “Well?” She made a
step towards him and then burst out laughing. “What did you say?”

“I don’t know,” said Prokop uncertainly.

Then the door, which had not been completely closed, was burst open and
there dashed into the room something small and shaggy which whined with
delight and jumped on to Prokop’s bed.

“Honzik!” cried the girl apprehensively. “What are you doing?” But the
little animal was already licking Prokop’s face and in excited joy had
snuggled down into the coverlet. Prokop wiped his face with his hand
and was disconcerted to find that he had a full beard. “Bu—but,” he
stammered, and became silent with surprise. The dog was in the seventh
heaven; with overflowing devotion he bit at Prokop’s hands, yelped, and
snorted, thrusting his wet muzzle up to his chest.

“Honzik!” cried the girl, “you’re mad! Leave the gentleman alone!” and
she ran to the bed and took the dog in her arms. “Honzik, you _are_
stupid!”

“Leave him alone,” said Prokop.

“But you’ve got a bad hand,” objected the girl with great seriousness,
pressing the struggling dog to her breast.

Prokop regarded his right hand doubtfully. Across the palm there
stretched a broad scar covered with a new, thin, red membrane which was
pleasantly itching. “Where ... where am I?” said he in surprise.

“At our house,” said the girl, as if it were the most self-evident thing
in the world, and Prokop was reassured at once. “At your house,” he said
with relief, although he had no idea where that might be. “And how long?”

“Three weeks. And all the time——”, she wanted to say something but
stopped herself. “Honzik has been sleeping with you,” she added
hurriedly, and for some reason or other blushed, holding the dog as if it
were a little child. “Do you know about it?”

“I don’t,” replied Prokop. “Have I been asleep?”

“All the time,” she said quickly. “You were able to have a full sleep.”
Then she put the dog down on the ground and drew nearer to the bed. “Do
you feel better.... Do you want anything?”

Prokop shook his head; he could think of nothing which he wanted.

“What’s the time?” he asked doubtfully.

“Ten. I don’t know what you are allowed to eat; wait till father
comes.... Father will be so glad.... Don’t you want anything then?”

“A mirror,” said Prokop hesitatingly.

The girl burst out laughing and ran off.

There was a humming in Prokop’s head; he was continually trying to recall
what had happened and it was continually escaping him. And now here was
this girl again, she said something and handed him a mirror. Prokop tried
to lift his hand; but it couldn’t be done. The girl placed the handle
between his fingers but the mirror fell on to the coverlet. Then the girl
suddenly became pale, grew anxious, and herself put the mirror in front
of his eyes. Prokop looked and saw a face covered with hair and almost
unrecognizable; he looked and was unable to understand and his lips began
to tremble.

“Lie down, lie down again at once,” she ordered him in a tiny voice,
almost crying, and quickly her hands placed the pillow ready for him.
Prokop let himself fall on to his back and closed his eyes; just for a
moment he would doze, he thought to himself, and then there would be a
deep, lovely silence.




CHAPTER VIII


Someone pulled at his sleeve. “Well, well,” said this someone, “we
mustn’t sleep any more, eh?” Prokop opened his eyes and saw an old
gentleman with a pink-bald head and a white beard, gold spectacles up on
his forehead, and an extraordinarily bright look in his eyes. “No more
sleep, my friend,” he said. “You’ve done that long enough; you don’t want
to wake up in the next world.”

Prokop looked darkly at the old gentleman; he wanted to dream on a little
longer. “What do you want?” he said finally in an irritated tone. “And
... with whom have I the honour?...”

The old gentleman burst out laughing. “Dr. Thomas, if you please.... You
haven’t yet deigned to recognize me, eh? But don’t bother about that.
What may your name be?”

“Prokop,” said the invalid ungraciously.

“Well, well,” said the doctor contentedly. “I thought that you were the
Sleeping Beauty. And now, Mr. Engineer,” he said energetically, “we must
have a look at you. Don’t get cross.” He whisked a thermometer from under
Prokop’s armpit and made a self-satisfied noise. “Ninety-nine. You’re
like a fly, man. We must feed you up, what? Don’t move.”

Prokop felt on his chest a bald pate and a cold ear, which moved from one
shoulder to the other and from his stomach to his neck, accompanied by
an animated grunting.

“Well, thank God,” said the doctor finally, and settled his spectacles
on his nose. “We’ll fix up that little wheezing in the chest, and the
heart—well, that’ll adjust itself, eh?” He bent over Prokop, poked his
fingers through his hair and raised and lowered his eyelids with his
finger. “No more sleeping, see?” he said, and at the same time looked at
the pupils of his eyes. “We’ll get some books and do some reading. We’ll
eat a little, drink a glass of wine and keep still. I shan’t bite you.”

“What’s the matter with me?” asked Prokop timidly. The doctor drew
himself up. “Well, nothing now. Listen, where did you come from?”

“What?”

“We picked you up from the floor, and ... where did you come from, man?”

“I don’t know. From Prague, perhaps,” Prokop recalled.

The doctor shook his head. “By train from Prague! With the membrane of
your brain inflamed? Were you mad? Do you know what it is?”

“What?”

“Meningitis. The sleeping form of it, and added to that inflammation of
the lungs. 104, eh? My friend, one doesn’t go out on expeditions when one
has that sort of thing. And do you know that—well, shew me your right
hand, quick!”

“That ... was only a scratch,” Prokop justified himself.

“A nice sort of scratch. Blood poisoning, you understand? When you
are well I shall tell you that you were ... an ass. Forgive me,” he
said with dignified warmth. “I very nearly said something stronger. An
educated man, and he doesn’t know that he’s ill enough for three! How
were you able anyway to keep on your feet?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Prokop, ashamed.

The doctor wished to go on talking but instead grunted and waved his
hand. “And how do you feel?” he said sternly. “A little drunk, eh? No
memory, eh? And,” he tapped his forehead, “a little weak, eh?”

Prokop remained silent.

“And now, Mr. Engineer,” said the doctor, “don’t do anything about it.
It will last for some time. You understand me? You mustn’t over-work
your head. No thinking. It’ll come back ... in bits. Only a temporary
disturbance, a slight loss of memory, you see?”

The doctor shouted, sweated and grew agitated as if he were struggling
with a deaf-mute. Prokop continued to watch him and then said quietly,
“Shall I remain always weak-minded?”

“But no, no, no,” said the doctor excitedly. “Completely out of the
question. Simply ... for a certain time ... a disturbance of the memory,
disassociation, exhaustion and certain symptoms, you understand me?
Irregularities in co-ordination, see? Rest. Quiet. Do nothing. You must
thank God, my friend.”

“Survived,” he went on after a moment and in his delight blew his nose
loudly. “Listen, I’ve never had such a case before. You arrived here
completely delirious, crashed on to the ground and _finis_! What was I
to do with you? It’s a long way to the hospital and the girl howled so
much, and besides you came as a guest ... to see George, eh? So we left
you, you understand? Well, it didn’t bother us. But I’ve never had such
an entertaining guest before. To sleep for twenty days! When my colleague
cut your hand open you didn’t even stir, what do you think of that? A
quiet patient, upon my soul. But that’s nothing, the great thing is that
you are out of it.” The doctor slapped his thigh. “But, for God’s sake,
no more sleeping! My friend, you might have gone to sleep for good and
all, do you hear? For goodness’ sake try and get yourself under control!
Drop it, see?”

Prokop nodded his head weakly; he felt as if a curtain had been drawn
between him and actuality, a curtain which shrouded, disturbed and muted
everything.

“Annie!” came an agitated voice. “The wine! Bring the wine!” Some quick
steps, a conversation which seemed to be going on under water, and the
cool flavour of wine caressed his throat. He opened his eyes and saw the
girl bending over him. “You mustn’t sleep,” she said excitedly and her
long hair trembled as if to the beating of her heart.

“I won’t sleep any more,” said Prokop submissively.

“I should like you not to,” said the doctor gruffly from the end of the
bed. “A specialist is coming from the town for a consultation. We’ll let
him see that we provincial medicos know something, too, eh? You must
behave yourself nicely.” With unexpected dexterity he lifted Prokop
up and thrust a pillow behind his back. “There, now you can sit up;
and you won’t want to sleep until after dinner, what? I must go to my
patients. And you, Annie, sit down now and gossip about something or
other. Generally your mouth goes like a wheelbarrow, eh? And if he tries
to sleep, call me. I shall know how to deal with him.” In the doorway
he turned round and grunted.... “But ... I’m glad about it, see? So be
careful!”

Prokop’s eyes wandered to the girl. She sat a short distance away, her
hands in her lap, and for the life of her could not think what to talk
about. Then she raised her head and opened her lips slightly. One heard
that she was saying something, but she was confused, gulped, and lowered
her head still more. Her long eyelashes trembled on her cheeks.

“Father is so abrupt,” she said finally. “He’s so used to shouting ... to
scolding ... the patients.” Here, unfortunately, she ran out of material;
on the other hand—as if by a happy inspiration—she became conscious of
her apron between her fingers, and began to arrange it in all sorts of
interesting folds, her eyelashes still trembling.

“What’s that noise?” asked Prokop after a long pause.

She turned her head to the window; she had beautiful light hair and her
lips were attractively moist. “It’s the cows,” she said with relief.
“There’s a yard there, you see? Father has a horse and cart there.... His
name is Fritz.”

“Whose?”

“The horse. You’ve never been to Tynice, have you? There’s nothing
here. Only avenues and fields.... When mummy was still alive it was more
cheerful; George used to come here.... But he hasn’t been here for over
a year. He had a quarrel with father and ... he doesn’t even write. We
aren’t even allowed to speak of him—do you see him often?”

Prokop shook his head decidedly.

The girl sighed and became reflective. “He’s ... I don’t know. Funny,
somehow. He did nothing but go about with his hands in his pockets,
yawning. I know that’s nothing, but yet.... Father is so glad that you
are with us,” she concluded quickly and somewhat disconnectedly.

Somewhere outside a young cock began to crow hoarsely and comically.
Immediately afterwards all the chickens became very excited and one
could hear a wild “ko-ko-ko” and the triumphant yelping of a dog. The
girl sprang up. “Honzik is chasing the chickens!” But she sat down again
at once, having resolved to leave them to their fate. It was pleasantly
silent.

“I don’t know what to talk about,” she said with the most beautiful
simplicity. “Would you like me to read you the paper?”

Prokop smiled. She fetched the paper and started confidently on the
leading article. The financial equilibrium, the Budget, uncovered
credits ... her charming and uncertain voice quietly read out these
extraordinarily important items, and Prokop, who simply was not listening
at all, was better off than if he had been soundly asleep.




CHAPTER IX


And now Prokop was able to get out of bed for an hour or so every day;
so far he was only capable of dragging his legs along somehow and there
was not much question of talking to him. Whatever you said to him, he
answered in a niggardly manner, excusing himself with a weak smile.

At mid-day—it was the beginning of April—he sat down on a seat in the
garden. Next to him the wiry-haired terrier Honzik grinned for all he
was worth, obviously proud of his function as companion, and through
sheer delight he licked himself, and blinked his eyes when Prokop’s
scarred left hand smoothed his warm, shaggy head. About this time the
doctor usually ran out of his consulting room, his skull-cap slipping
about his bald head, squatted down on his haunches and planted vegetables
in the garden. With his short fat fingers he worked the heaps of soil
and carefully arranged the beds for the young buds. Every now and then
he became excited and grunted; he had stuck his pipe into the ground
somewhere and was unable to find it. At this point Prokop arose and with
the astuteness of a detective (for he spent his time in bed reading
detective stories) went straight to it. Whereat Honzik shook himself
noisily.

About then also Annie used to come and water her father’s flower-beds.
Her right hand carried the can, her left swung in the air. A silver
stream of water hissed into the new soil, and if Honzik happened to be
near he caught it on his back or on his stupid, good-natured head, which
led him to yelp desperately and seek protection with Prokop.

The whole of the morning patients kept on arriving at the
consulting-room. In the waiting-room they coughed or were silent, each
one thinking about his own suffering. Sometimes a terrible cry was to
be heard when the doctor was pulling out the teeth of some little boy.
Then Annie in a panic took shelter behind Prokop, pale, and quite beside
herself, her long lashes trembling in her anxiety, waiting until the
frightful affair was over. Finally the boy ran off wailing and Annie
awkwardly apologized for her tender-heartedness.

It was different when there drew up before the doctor’s house a cart
on the bottom of which straw had been spread and two old men carefully
carried a seriously wounded man up the steps. He had a crushed hand or
a broken foot, or his head had been split open by the kick of a horse.
A cold sweat poured down his terribly pale forehead and he was quietly
groaning with heroic self-control. A tragic silence descended upon
the whole house; something serious was silently taking place in the
consulting-room. The fat, jovial servant went about on the tips of her
toes. Annie’s eyes were full of tears and her fingers trembled. Then the
doctor would burst into the kitchen and shout for rum, wine, or water,
and with redoubled gruffness cover up his acute sympathy. And the whole
of the next day he would be silent, fly into rages and slam the doors.

But there was also a holiday, the splendid annual function of the
provincial doctor, the inoculation of the children. A hundred mothers
nursed their squalling, yelling, or sleeping children; they filled up
the consulting-room, the passage, the kitchen, and the garden. Annie was
wildly excited and wanted to nurse, swaddle, and play with all these
toothless, downy children in an ecstasy of exuberant motherhood. The
doctor’s bald pate seemed to shine more than ever. From early in the
morning he went about without his spectacles, so as not to frighten these
scamps, and his eyes were filled with exhaustion and happiness.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night the bell would ring excitedly. Then
voices were heard in the doorway, the doctor grumbled and Joseph had to
harness the horse. Somewhere in the village, behind a lighted window,
a new being was about to enter the world. It was already morning when
the doctor returned, tired out, but contented, and strongly smelling of
carbolic. Annie liked him best of all like that.

There were other people about the place; the fat, garrulous Nanda in
the kitchen, who sang and clattered the whole day and was always being
doubled up with laughter. Then the serious, whiskered coachman, Joseph.
A historian, he was always reading history books and was delighted to
expound the Hussite wars or the historical secrets of the country. Then
the gardener from the castle, a great one for the girls, who appeared
every day in the doctor’s garden, pruned his roses, clipped his bushes
and convulsed Nanda with laughter. Then the above-mentioned shaggy and
excited Honzik, who followed Prokop about, chased fleas and chickens
and, best of all, liked to sit on the doctor’s coach-box. Fritz was an
old horse, a little grey, a friend of the rabbits, good-natured and
reliable. It was the height of pleasantness to smooth his warm and
sensitive nostrils. Then a dark-haired boy who helped in the yard, in
love with Annie, who, together with Nanda, made fun of him mercilessly.
The foreman, an old fox, who played chess with the doctor, who became
excited, grew angry and always lost the game. And other local characters,
among whom an extraordinarily tedious surveyor with political interests
who bored Prokop on the strength of being also a professional man.

Prokop read a lot, or at least pretended to. His scarred, heavy face did
not reveal much, especially nothing of his desperate secret struggle
with his disturbed memory. The last few years of study had particularly
suffered; the most simple formulæ and processes were lost and Prokop
jotted down in the margin of his book fragments of formulæ which came
into his head when he was least thinking of them. Then he would leave the
book and go to play billiards with Annie, since this was a game during
which one had no need to talk. Annie was impressed by his leathery and
impenetrable seriousness. He played with concentration, aimed with his
eyebrows severely drawn together, and when the ball, as if on purpose,
went in the wrong direction he opened his mouth in astonishment and
indicated the proper destination with a movement of his tongue.

Evenings by the lamp. Most talkative of the three was the doctor,
an enthusiastic scientist without any knowledge of the subject. He
was especially fascinated with the deeper mysteries of the universe:
radio activity, the boundlessness of space, electricity, relativity,
the origins of matter and of prehistoric man. He was an out-and-out
materialist, and just for this reason experienced a sweet and secret fear
when confronted with unsolved problems. Occasionally Prokop could not
contain himself and corrected the German _naïveté_ of his views. The old
gentleman listened piously, and began to have an inordinate admiration
for Prokop, especially when he could no longer understand what he was
talking about—potentials of resonance or the quantum theory. Annie sat
quietly, resting her chin on her hands. She did not even blink and,
large-eyed, looked at Prokop and her father in turn.

And the nights, the nights were wide and quiet, as everywhere in the
country. Now and then one could hear the rattle of chains from the
cowshed or, nearer or farther away, the barking of a dog. A falling
star flashed across the sky, the spring rain hissed in the garden or
water dropped with a silver note into the deserted well. A clear, deep
cold came in through the open window and one fell into a blessed sleep,
untroubled by dreams.




CHAPTER X


Now things were better. Life returned to Prokop day by day. He felt a
dulness in his head and he was always a little as if in a dream. There
was nothing to do but to shew his appreciation of the doctor’s services
and go on his own way. He announced this decision one day after supper
but everybody received it in stubborn silence. Then the old man took
Prokop by the arm and led him into the consulting-room. After a certain
amount of beating about the bush he said gruffly that Prokop must not
leave, that it was better for him to rest, that the battle was not yet
won—in short, that he was to remain. Prokop vaguely defended himself; the
fact was that he did not yet feel himself in the saddle and that he was
a little demoralized by comfort. All talk of going away was postponed
indefinitely.

Every afternoon the doctor shut himself up in his consulting-room. “Come
in and see me, eh?” he said to Prokop casually. And Prokop found him
surrounded by all sorts of bottles, crucibles, and powders. “There’s
no apothecary in the town, you know,” explained the doctor, “I have to
prepare the medicines myself.” And with his fat, trembling fingers he
laid some powder on the pan of the small balance. His hand was uncertain,
the scales twisted and jumped about; the old gentleman became agitated,
wheezed, and small drops of sweat appeared on his nose. “I can’t see as
well as I used to,” he said, excusing his old fingers. Prokop watched for
a moment and then, saying nothing, took the scales from him. Two little
taps and the powder was weighed to a milligram. And a second and a third
powder in the same way. The delicate balance simply danced in Prokop’s
fingers. “Just look at that,” said the doctor with admiration and watched
Prokop’s crushed, knotty hands with their shapeless knuckles, broken
nails, and short stumps in the place of one or two missing fingers. “Your
fingers are wonderfully nimble, man!” In the course of a few moments
Prokop had spread some ointment, measured off some drops of liquid, and
heated a test-tube. The doctor glowed with pleasure, and stuck on the
labels. In half-an-hour all the medicines were ready, and, in addition,
there was a pile of powders in reserve. In a few days Prokop could read
the doctor’s prescriptions and make them up. _Bon!_

One evening the doctor was poking about in the garden in the loose soil.
Suddenly there was a frightful report in the house, and a moment after
the noise of falling glass. The doctor dashed indoors and in the passage
ran into the terrified Annie. “What has happened?” he cried.

“I don’t know,” replied the girl. “In the consulting-room.” ... The
doctor ran there and found Prokop on all fours picking potsherds and
pieces of paper off the floor.

“What have you been doing?” cried the doctor.

“Nothing,” said Prokop, and got up guiltily. “A test-tube burst.”

“And what, in God’s name, does this mean?” thundered the doctor, stopping
suddenly; a stream of blood was pouring from Prokop’s left hand. “How did
you tear your finger?”

“Only a scratch,” Prokop protested and hid his left hand behind his back.

“Show me,” cried the doctor and dragged him to the window. Half of one
finger was hanging by the skin. The doctor rushed to the cupboard for
his scissors and in the open door saw Annie, deathly pale. “What do you
want?” he rapped out. “Be off, quick!” Annie did not move; she pressed
her hands to her breast and looked as if she might swoon away any moment.

The doctor turned to Prokop. To begin with he did something with some
wadding and then snapped the scissors. “Light,” he shouted to Annie.
Annie dashed to the switch and turned it on. “And don’t stay here,”
roared the old gentleman, dipping a needle into some benzine. “What can
you do here? Some thread, quick!” Annie sprang to the cupboard and gave
him a box full of thread. “And now away with you!”

Annie looked at Prokop’s back and did something else instead; she stepped
closer, took the wounded hand and held it in both of hers. The doctor at
the moment was washing his hands; he turned to Annie and was going to
burst out with something but instead grunted: “All right, hold it firmly!
And nearer the light!” Annie held the hand, her eyes blinking. When there
was nothing to be heard but the doctor’s heavy breathing she ventured
to raise them. Below, where her father was working, all was bloody and
revolting. She hastily glanced at Prokop; his face was turned away and
twitched with pain. Annie shivered and swallowed her tears.

Meanwhile Prokop’s hand grew larger and larger; quantities of wadding,
silk, and a good kilometre of bandages; finally an enormous white lump.
Annie continued to hold the hand. Her knees shook; it seemed to her that
this terrible operation would never be over. Suddenly her head began to
swim and the next thing that she heard was her father saying: “Drink
this quickly!” She opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the
arm-chair in the consulting-room and that her father was handing her a
glassful of some stuff or other while Prokop was standing behind him,
smiling and holding his bound hand, which looked like a huge doll, across
his chest. “Drink it up,” repeated the doctor through his teeth. She
swallowed the contents of the glass and nearly choked with coughing; it
was murderously strong cognac.

“And now you,” said the doctor, and gave the glass to Prokop. Prokop was
a trifle pale and valiantly awaited the scolding which was due to him.
Finally the doctor himself drank, cleared his throat and said, “What
exactly have you been doing?”

“An experiment,” said Prokop with the twisted smile of a guilty person.

“What? What experiment? Experiment with what?”

“Only ... something with potassium chlorate.”

“What were you making?”

“An explosive,” whispered Prokop with the humiliation of a sinner.

The doctor’s eyes moved to his bandaged hand. “And you’ve paid for it, my
friend! It might have torn your hand off, eh? Does it hurt? But it suits
you,” he added bloodthirstily.

“But, father,” said Annie, “leave him alone now!”

“What’s that to do with you?” grunted the doctor and caressed her with a
hand which smelt of carbolic and iodoform.

       *       *       *       *       *

After that the doctor kept the key of the consulting-room in his pocket.
Prokop ordered a parcel of scientific books, went about with his arm in a
sling and spent the whole day in study. The cherries had already begun to
blossom, the sticky young leaves were glistening in the sun, the golden
lilies were putting out heavy buds. Annie went about the garden with a
buxom girl friend, their arms round one another’s waists, laughing all
the time. They put their red faces together, whispered something, burst
out laughing and began to kiss one another.

At last Prokop felt bodily well again. Like an animal, he basked in the
sun, blinking his eyes. Then he would sigh and sit down to work, but
would at once feel an inclination to move about and wander far into
the country, passionately giving himself up to the joy of breathing.
Sometimes he would meet Annie about the house or in the garden and try
to say something. Annie would look at him out of the corner of her eye
and not know what to do. Prokop would be equally at a loss and cover his
embarrassment by speaking in a gruff voice. He felt better, or at least
more sure of himself, when he was alone.

In the course of his studies he noticed that there was a great deal that
he had missed. There were all sorts of new developments, and he was
obliged to orientate himself again. Chiefly he was afraid of not being
able to remember his own work, for it was in connection with this that
his memory suffered most. He worked like a mule, or else gave himself up
to dreaming. He dreamt of new laboratory methods, and at the same time
he was fascinated by bold and delicate theoretical calculations. When
his dull brain proved incapable of splitting the thin hair of a problem
he would grow angry with himself. He was conscious of the fact that
his laboratory “destructive chemistry” opened up the most marvellous
vistas in the theory of the constitution of matter. He came up against
unexpected correlations, immediately afterwards to be oppressed by the
laboriousness of his methods. Disgusted, he would throw everything down
and plunge into reading some stupid novel; but even here he was haunted
by the atmosphere of the laboratory. Instead of words he read only
chemical symbols, mad formulæ full of elements hitherto undiscovered,
which disturbed him even in his sleep.




CHAPTER XI


That night he dreamed; it seemed to him that he was studying a highly
technical article in the _Chemist_. He came across the symbol _An Ni_
and did not know what to make of it. He reflected, bit his knuckles and
suddenly realized that it stood for Annie. And then he saw her in the
room, smiling, with her arms clasped at the back of her head. He went
across to her, took her in his arms and began to kiss her on the lips.
Annie fought wildly with her elbows and knees while he held her brutally
and with one hand tore her clothes into long strips. He already had his
hands on her young flesh. Annie struggled desperately, her hair fell over
her face, and now, now she suddenly became weak and drooped.... Prokop
threw himself upon her; but instead found in his arms nothing but long
rags and bandages. He tore them and ripped them up, trying to disengage
himself from them, and then he woke up.

He was exceedingly ashamed of his dream, dressed quietly, sat down at
the window and waited for the dawn. There is no frontier between night
and day. The sky becomes the slightest bit pale; there is still neither
light nor sound; but the signal has been given to nature to awake! Now,
while it is still night, morning has begun. The cocks crow, the animals
move in their sheds. The sky turns to pearl, grows brighter and then
rose-coloured; the earliest red streak appears in the east; the birds
begin to chirp and the first man to go to work sets out with a swinging
step.

The man of science also sat down to work. For a long time he bit his
penholder, and then decided to set down the first words. For this
was to be a big affair, the result of twelve years of experiment and
reflection, work really paid for with his own blood. Of course this would
only be a rough draft, or rather a sort of physical philosophy or poem,
or a confession of faith. It would be a picture of the world composed
of figures and equations. But these figures of an astronomical order
measured something other than the sublimity of the firmament; he was
calculating the instability and destructibility of matter.

Everything that exists is a dull, latent explosive; but whatever the
index of its inertia may be, it represents only an insignificant fraction
of its explosive power. Everything which takes place, the movement of the
stars, tellurian work, entropy, active and insatiable life itself, all
this is only on the surface, while invisibly and incalculably there is
gnawing beneath it that explosive force which is called matter. Consider
now that the cord which binds it is nothing more than a cobweb on the
limbs of a sleeping titan. Give him strength to disturb it and he will
tear the surface off the globe, and hurl Jupiter on to Saturn. And you,
humanity, you are only a swallow which laboriously builds a nest under
the roof of the cosmic powder magazine; you twitter in the eastern sun
while in the casks beneath you there vibrates silently the terrible
potential of explosion....

Naturally Prokop did not write these things down; to him they were only
a secret melody, which lent wings to the heavy phrases of the technical
exposition. For him there was more phantasy in a bare formula and more
blinding beauty in an index of explosiveness. And so he wrote his poem in
symbols, figures, and the frightful jargon of scientific terminology.

He did not come down to breakfast. Annie came in and silently brought it
to him. He thanked her, and then remembered his dream and was somehow
unable to look at her. He stared obstinately into a corner. God knows how
it was possible, but he nevertheless saw every golden hair on her bare
arms. He had never noticed them so much before.

Annie was standing quite near him. “Are you going to write?” she asked in
some uncertainty.

“I am,” he muttered and wondered what she would say if he were suddenly
to put his head on her breast.

“The whole day?”

“The whole day.”

She was moving off, greatly impressed. She had firm, small and broad
breasts, a fact of which she was probably unaware. But what did it matter!

“Is there anything you want?”

“No, nothing.”

It was silly. He would have liked to bite her arm or something. Women
never seem to realize how much they disturb men.

Annie shrugged her shoulders, a little offended. “All right then.” And
she was gone.

He got up and began to walk up and down the room. He was angry with
himself and with her; and, the chief thing, he did not want to write any
more. He collected his thoughts; but it simply would not go. He grew
annoyed, and, in a bad frame of mind, strode from wall to wall with the
regularity of a pendulum. One, two hours. Downstairs there was a rattling
of plates; they were preparing lunch. He sat down at his papers again and
put his head in his hands. A moment afterwards the servant came in and
brought him his meal.

He pushed the food away almost untouched and cast himself irritably on
the bed. It was clear that they had already had enough of him, that he
also was tired of it all and that it was time to depart. Yes, the very
next day. He made a few plans for his future work, without realizing why
the process was so painful, and why he felt ashamed, and ended by falling
into a deep sleep. He woke up late in the afternoon, with his soul
clogged and his body demoralized by abominable slothfulness. He wandered
about the room, yawned and, unable to think, became infinitely bored. It
grew dark, and he did not even light the lamp.

The servant brought him his supper. He left it to grow cold and listened
to what they were doing downstairs. He heard the chink of forks, the
doctor grumbling and, directly after supper, slam the door of his room.
All became quiet.

Convinced that he would meet nobody, Prokop pulled himself together and
went into the garden. It was a moist and clear night. The lilac was
already in blossom; Bœtius stretched his starry arms across the sky;
it was quiet but for the distant barking of a dog. Something white was
leaning against the stone wall in the garden. Of course it was Annie.

“It’s a beautiful night,” he remarked, in order to say something, and
leant against the wall next to her. Annie said nothing but only turned
her face away and her shoulders trembled in an anxious and unaccustomed
manner.

“That’s Bœtius,” said Prokop hoarsely. “And above it ... the Dragon and
Cepheus, and over there is Cassiopeia, those four stars together. But you
must look higher.”

Annie turned away from him and rubbed something away near her eyes.
“There, where it’s clear,” said Prokop hesitatingly, “is Pollux, one of
the twins. You mustn’t be angry with me. Maybe I was a bit rough with
you, eh? I’m ... something was worrying me, you see? You mustn’t take it
to heart.”

Annie sobbed loudly. “And what’s ... that one over there?” she said in a
quiet, timid voice. “The brightest one of all, low down.”

“That’s Sirius, in the Great Dog. They also call it Alhaboa. And there
right away to the left are Arcturus and Spica. There’s a falling star.
Did you see it?”

“Yes. Why were you so angry with me this morning?”

“I wasn’t. I’m perhaps ... sometimes ... a bit crude; but I’ve had a hard
life you know, too hard; always alone and ... like an outpost. I can’t
even talk properly. To-day I wanted ... to write something beautiful ...
a sort of scientific prayer, so that everybody should understand it. I
thought that ... that I’d read it to you; and then, everything dried up
in me—one becomes ashamed of getting so excited. Or at least one should
be able to say something. I’m stale, so to speak. You understand? I’m
already growing grey.”

“But it suits you,” said Annie softly.

This aspect of the question took Prokop by surprise.

“Well, you know,” he said, in confusion. “It isn’t pleasant. It is
already time ... to bring one’s harvest home. What wouldn’t another do
with all that I know! And I’ve got nothing, nothing, nothing from it
all. I’m only ... ‘_berühmt_’ and ‘_célèbre_’ and ‘_highly esteemed_’;
and nobody here ... knows anything about me. I think, you know, that
my theories are pretty bad; I haven’t got a head for theory. But what
I have discovered isn’t without value. My exothermic explosives ...
diagrams ... and explosions of atoms ... have a certain worth. And I
have only published about a tenth of what I know. What wouldn’t another
have done with it! I ... don’t even understand their theories; they are
so subtle, so rich ... they only confuse me. My spirit is that of the
kitchen. Put some stuff under my nose and I can tell by smelling it what
to do with it. But to realize what follows from that ... theoretically
and philosophically, that I can’t do. I only know ... facts; I _create_
them; they’re my facts, do you understand? But still ... I ... feel some
sort of truth in them; a great general truth ... that changes everything
... until it explodes. And this great truth is hidden in facts and not
in words. And so one must go for facts, even if both one’s arms are torn
off....”

Annie, leaning against the wall, was scarcely breathing. Their gloomy
guest had never said so much before—and, principally, had never spoken
about himself. He had to struggle hard with words. There was wrestling
within him an enormous pride, but also pain and shyness; and even when
he spoke in terms of integral numbers Annie understood that something
interior and humanly lacerated was taking place before her.

“But the worst of it is,” mumbled Prokop, “that sometimes ... and
especially now, it all seems to me to be stupid ... and worthless.
Even this final truth ... in fact everything. It’s never happened
to me before. Why?... Perhaps it would be wiser to give in ... to
everything”—(he indicated with his hands something surrounding them).
“Simply to Life. A man mustn’t be happy; it softens him, you understand?
Then everything else appears to be useless, small ... and senseless. The
best things ... the best things are done by a man through desperation.
Through anger, loneliness, being stunned. So nothing’s enough for him. I
used to work like a maniac. But now, now I’ve begun to be happy. I’ve now
learnt that perhaps ... there’s something better than thinking. Here one
only lives ... and sees that it is something tremendous just to live.
Like your Honzik, like a cat, like a chicken. Every animal understands
that ... and it seems to me so terrific, as if I have never lived before.
And so ... so I’ve again lost twelve years.”

His deformed right hand, sewn up God knows how many times, trembled on
the wall. Annie was silent; she was resting her arms on the brick wall
and looking up at the stars. Then something rustled in the shrubbery and
Annie became frightened; she threw herself on Prokop’s shoulder. “What’s
that?”

“Nothing; probably a marten; they come right into the yard after the
chickens.”

Annie was reassured. Her young breasts, full and soft, were resting
against Prokop’s right hand. She, perhaps, did not realize the fact
herself, but Prokop was more aware of it than of anything else in the
world. He was terribly afraid of moving his hand, for, in the first
place, Annie would think that he had put it there on purpose, and in the
second place, she would draw away from him. Curiously enough, as a result
of this circumstance, he was unable to talk any further about himself and
his wasted life. “I’ve——” he stammered in confusion, “I’ve never been
so glad ... so happy, as I am now. Your father is the finest man in the
world, and you ... you are so young....”

“I thought that you found me ... too stupid,” said Annie quietly and
happily. “You never spoke like that with me before.”

“True, never before,” said Prokop gruffly. Both became silent. He felt
against his hand the light rising and falling of her breasts. He kept
perfectly still and held his breath, and she, it seemed, was also holding
her breath and trembling quietly, her eyes fixed on some spot in the
distance. Oh, to caress and embrace her! Oh, the ecstasy of touching her
for the first time! Involuntary and burning delight! Had you ever any
adventure more intoxicating than this unconscious and self-sacrificing
devotion? Timid and delicate body, like a drooping bud! If you could
realize the agonizing tenderness of this rough youth’s hand which,
without moving, is caressing and holding you!

Annie suddenly drew herself up with an unnatural movement. “Ah! girl,
you haven’t realized anything!” “Good-night,” said Annie quietly, her
face pale and indistinct, and rather stiffly she gave him her hand. He
stretched out his own faintly, as if it were broken, and stared fixedly
in another direction. Didn’t she really wish to linger a little? No, she
was already going. She hesitated; no, she stood still and pulled at the
edges of some leaves. What more was there to be said? Good-night, Annie,
and sleep better than I shall.

For there was certainly no question of going to bed now. Prokop threw
himself down on the seat and put his head in his hands. Nothing, nothing
had succeeded. Annie was pure and unconscious as a young doe, but enough
of that; he was not a raw lad. Then a light showed in a window on the
first floor. It was Annie in her bedroom.

Prokop’s heart beat wildly. He knew that it was shameful to watch her
secretly; certainly as a guest he should not do such a thing. Finally he
attempted to cough so that she should hear him; but somehow he found
this to be false, and sat motionless like a statue, unable to take his
eyes from the golden window. Annie moved to and fro, bent down, took a
long time to do something or other. Aha! she was making her bed. Then
she stood at the window, looking into the darkness, her hands behind her
head exactly as he saw her in his dream. Now, now he would so gladly
have liked to call to her; why did he not do so? But it was too late.
Annie turned away and began to move about again. She was still there; no,
she was sitting with her back to the window and slowly and reflectively
taking her shoes off. Now, at least, he might depart, but instead he
climbed up on to the seat, so as to see better. Annie turned round,
already half undressed; she raised her bare arms and began to comb her
hair. She moved her head and it all fell over her shoulder, gave it a
shake and all this wealth of hair tumbled over her face and she set to
work with the comb and brush until her head was as smooth as an onion.

Annie, a white virgin, stood motionless, with bent head, and braided her
hair into two plaits. Her eyes were lowered and she whispered something
to herself, smiled, and became ashamed. The strap of her chemise
threatened to slip down. Plunged in reflection, she rubbed her white
shoulder with a sort of delight, trembling with the cold.

The shoulder strap slipped still more dangerously, and the light was
extinguished.

Never had he seen anything more white, more beautiful than that lighted
window.




CHAPTER XII


Early in the morning he found her scouring Honzik in a trough full of
soapsuds. The little dog struggled desperately; but Annie, inexorable,
laughing and splashed with water, soaped him energetically. “Look out!”
she cried when Prokop was still some way off, “he will splash you!”

She looked like a young, enthusiastic mother. Oh God, how simple and
beautiful everything is in this sunny world!

Even Prokop was unable to bear continued idleness. He remembered that
the bell was out of order, and went off to repair the battery. He was
just scraping some zinc when she softly approached him. Her sleeves were
turned up above the elbows and her hands were wet from washing. “It
won’t explode?” she asked with anxiety. Prokop was obliged to smile. She
also smiled and splashed him with soapsuds; then with a serious face she
came over to him and rubbed the splashes of soap off his hair. The night
before she would not have ventured to do such a thing.

At mid-day she and Nanda carried a basket of washing into the garden to
be bleached. Prokop shut his book with relief; he would not allow her to
carry the heavy watering-can. He possessed himself of it and began to
sprinkle the linen. The thick stream bubbled joyously on to the folds of
table-cloths, white coverlets and the widely spread arms of shirts; the
water hissed, guttered and formed little fiords and lakes. Prokop began
to water white petticoats and other interesting things; but Annie took
the can out of his hands and did it herself. Meanwhile Prokop sat down
on the grass, inhaling with delight the damp smell and watching Annie’s
beautiful and active hands.

Σοὶ δὲ Θεοὶ τόσα δοῖεν, he remembered piously, σέβας μ’ ἔχει εἰσορόωντα.

Annie sat down on the grass next to him. “What were you thinking about?”
She blinked her eyes happily, dazzled by the brightness of the sun,
blushed, and for some reason was inordinately happy. Plucking a full
handful of fresh grass, she tried exuberantly to throw it on to his hair;
but for some reason or other she suddenly felt a sort of shyness before
this shaggy hero. “Have you ever been in love?” she asked inconsequently
and quickly looked in another direction.

Prokop laughed. “I have. And you surely have already loved somebody?”

“I was silly once,” said Annie, and against her will grew red.

“A student?”

Annie only nodded and sucked a blade of grass. “It was nothing,” she said
quickly. “And you?”

“I once met a girl who had the same sort of eyelashes that you have.
Perhaps she was rather like you. She sold gloves or something of the
sort.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing. When I went there again to buy some gloves, she was gone.”

“And ... were you fond of her?”

“I was.”

“And ... did you ever...?”

“Never. Now my gloves are made by some one else.”

Annie concentrated her attention on the ground. “Why do you always hide
your hands from me?”

“Because ... because they are so knocked about,” said Prokop, and the
poor fellow grew red.

“They are just as nice that way,” whispered Annie with her eyes cast down.

“Din—ner, din—ner,” cried Nanda from the house. “Goodness, already,” said
Annie, and reluctantly got up.

       *       *       *       *       *

After dinner the old doctor rested for a bit. “You know,” he excused
himself, “I’ve been slaving this morning like a dog.” And a moment
afterwards he was snoring away. They signalled to one another with their
eyes and left the room on tiptoe; and even in the garden they spoke
quietly, as if they respected his repose.

Prokop was obliged to narrate the story of his own life. Where he was
born, where he grew up, that he had been as far as America, the poverty
which he had endured, what he had done and where. It did him good to go
over his life in this way; he was astonished to find that it was more
wonderful and complicated than he had imagined; but there was much which
he was silent about, especially certain emotional experiences since, in
the first place, they were of no significance, and, in the second, every
man has certain things of which he cannot speak. Annie was as quiet as
a mouse. It seemed to her somehow curious and amusing that Prokop had
once been a child and a youth and something different from the gruff and
extraordinary person by the side of whom she felt herself to be so small.
Now she ceased to be afraid of touching him, tying his cravat and combing
his hair. And for the first time she became conscious of his thick nose,
his heavy and severe lips and his sombre, bloodshot eyes. It all seemed
to her extraordinarily wonderful.

And now it was her turn to speak of her life. She had already taken
breath and opened her lips; but suddenly she burst out laughing. What
could she say about such an insignificant life, especially to a person
who had once been buried by a shell for twelve hours in the War, had been
in America, and who knows what else? “I have nothing to say,” she said
directly. But is not such a “nothing” as valuable as the experience of a
man?

It was late in the afternoon when they set off together on a sun-warmed
path across the fields. Prokop was silent, and Annie caressed the prickly
heads of the wheat with her hand as she went along. She brushed him with
her shoulder, lingered and stopped—and then set off again two steps
in front of him, pulling at the wheat with some curious compulsion to
destruction. This sun-lit solitude finally weighed her down and made her
nervous. We shouldn’t have come here, they both thought secretly, and
in this oppressive disharmony they dragged out a shallow, fragmentary
conversation. Finally here was their objective, a little chapel between
two ancient lime trees. It was late in the afternoon, the time when the
herdsmen begin to sing. In front of the chapel was a seat placed there
for pilgrims; they sat down and became more silent than ever. A woman
was kneeling on the steps of the chapel and praying, certainly for her
family. Scarcely had she left when Annie knelt in her place. There was
in this action something obviously and eternally feminine. Prokop felt
himself to be very young by the side of the mature simplicity of this
time-worn and sacred gesture. Finally Annie stood up, grew more serious,
as it were ripened, having decided something, reconciled herself to
it; it was as if she had become aware of something, as if she were
heavy-laden, preoccupied, changed in some way. She carried something new
within her; when they wandered back home in the twilight she answered
only in monosyllables in a sweet and hushed voice.

During supper neither she nor Prokop spoke. Perhaps they were wondering
when the old gentleman would go away to read his newspaper. The old
gentleman muttered and scrutinized them over his spectacles; something
had put him out, was not as it should be. The evening dragged on and on
until the bell rang and a person from Sedmidoli or Lhota called for the
doctor to attend a confinement. The old man was far from delighted, and
finally forgot even to grumble. When already in the doorway with his bag
in his hand he hesitated and said tersely ... “Go to bed, Annie.”

Without a word she got up and slipped away from the table. For a long,
long time she was occupied with something in the kitchen. Prokop smoked
nervously, and was already about to go away. Then she returned, pale, as
if frozen, and said with heroic self-control: “Would you care for a game
of billiards?”—which meant that there was no question of going in the
garden that evening.

It was a wretched game. Annie was terribly formal, played blindly,
forgot her turn and scarcely spoke at all. And when she had missed a
particularly easy shot Prokop showed her how she should have played ...
the left hand so, the cue held nearer the end. In showing her he touched
her hand with his. Annie gave him a sharp, dark look, threw the cue on
the ground, and ran out of the room.

What should he do? Prokop walked up and down the room, smoked and became
annoyed. A curious girl; and why should she confuse him? Her stupid
mouth, her narrow eyes, her smooth and burning face—well, a man isn’t
made of wood. Why should it be wrong to stroke her face, to kiss her
red cheeks, stroke her hair, her delicate hair at the nape of her young
neck—a man isn’t made of wood. To caress her, take her in one’s arms, and
kiss her reverently? How stupid, thought Prokop, annoyed; I’m an ass;
I ought to be ashamed of myself—such a child, who never thinks of such
things—Good; Prokop considered that he had dealt with this temptation,
but it was not to be managed so quickly.

He stood still in front of the glass, sombre, biting his lips and
bitterly considering his age.

Go to bed, old bachelor; you’ve saved yourself from being insulted; this
young, stupid girl would laugh at you. More or less decided in his mind,
Prokop stumped upstairs to his bedroom; the only thing which oppressed
him was that he was obliged to go past Annie’s door. He went on tiptoe;
perhaps the child was already sleeping. And suddenly he stopped with
his heart beating wildly. The door of Annie’s room ... was not closed.
Inside there was darkness. What could this mean? And then inside he heard
something like weeping.

He had an impulse to rush into the room; but something stronger sent
him hurriedly downstairs and out into the garden. He stood in the thick
shrubbery, pressing his hand to his heart, which was beating hard. Thank
Christ that he did not go in to her! Annie was certainly kneeling, half
dressed and crying into her pillow; why? And if he had gone in what would
have happened? Nothing; he would have smoothed, smoothed her bright hair,
already loose on her shoulders—O God! why did she leave the door open?

A light shadow glided out of the house towards the garden. It was Annie.
She was dressed and her hair was not loose, but she pressed her hand
to her temples to cool her burning forehead; and she was still sobbing
from her recent crying. She went past Prokop as if she had not seen him,
but made no resistance when he took her by the arm and led her to the
seat. Prokop mustered a few words of consolation (but, in God’s name,
on account of what?) Then suddenly he felt her head on his shoulder;
once more she cried convulsively and in the midst of her sobs assured
him that “it was nothing.” Prokop put his arms round her as if he were
her uncle and not knowing what to say muttered something to the effect
that she was a good girl and wonderfully lovable; upon which the sobs
changed to long sighs (he felt somewhere on his arm a hot dampness) and
it was all right. O Night, Queen of heaven, you lighten the breast of the
afflicted and loosen the heavy tongue; you quicken, bless, endow with
wings the quietly beating heart, oppressed and silent; the thirsty can
drink of your endlessness. At some tiny point of space, somewhere between
the pole and the Southern Cross, the Centaur and Lyra, something tender
is taking place; some man for no reason at all feels himself to be the
sole protector of this girl, with her face moist with tears, strokes
her head and says—what exactly?—that he is so happy, so happy, that he
loves so dearly, so terribly dearly this creature which is sobbing on his
shoulder, that he will never leave her, and so on, in that vein.

“I don’t know what happened to me,” said Annie through her tears. “I—I so
wanted to talk to you before....”

“And why did you cry?” asked Prokop.

“Because you took such a long time to come to me,” ran the surprising
answer.

Something in Prokop weakened, the will or something of the sort. “Do ...
you ... love me?” he said with difficulty, and his voice was as confused
as that of a boy of thirteen. The head buried itself in his shoulder
quickly and nodded.

“Perhaps ... I should have come to you,” whispered Prokop, crestfallen.
The head shook decidedly. “Now ... I feel better,” sighed Annie after a
moment. “Here it is so beautiful!” Most people would find it difficult to
understand what there was attractive about a man’s shabby coat, smelling
of tobacco; but Annie thrust her head into it and for nothing in the
world would she have turned to look up at the stars, so pleasant was
it in this dark and smoky resting place. Her hair tickled Prokop under
the nose and had about it an exquisite fragrance. Prokop smoothed her
drooping shoulders, smoothed her young neck and breast, and encountered
nothing but palpitating devotion; then, forgetting everything, he roughly
and brutally seized her head and began to kiss her on her moist lips.
And, lo! Annie defended herself wildly, became quite paralyzed with fear
and gasped out “No, no, no!” She again buried her face in his coat and he
could almost hear the frightened beating of her heart. Prokop suddenly
realized that she had probably been kissed for the first time.

Then he became ashamed of himself, grew extraordinarily serious and did
not venture to do more than smooth her hair. This one may do ... God,
she’s still just a child and quite _naïve_! And now not a word that might
besmirch this innocent young creature; not a thought which would coarsely
interpret the confused emotions of this evening! In truth he did not know
what he was saying; it had a crude melody and no syntax; it touched in
turn upon the stars, love, God, the beauty of the night and some opera
or other the name of which Prokop was quite incapable of recalling, but
the notes of which were sounding intoxicatingly in his head. A few
moments after it seemed to him that Annie had fallen asleep; he remained
silent until he felt again on his shoulder the exquisite breath of sleepy
attention.

At last Annie drew herself up, folded her hands in her lap and became
reflective. “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” she said. “It seems
to me impossible that it should have happened.”

Across the sky a star fell in a streak of light. There was a scent of
honeysuckle, the peony slept closed up in a ball, a heavenly breath
rustled through the tops of the trees. “I should like to stay here,”
whispered Annie.

Once more Prokop had a silent struggle with temptation. “Good-night,
Annie,” he said. “If ... your father were to return....”

Annie obediently stood up. “Good-night,” she said and hesitated; and
they stood opposite one another, not knowing what to do or how to come
to an end. Annie was pale, her eyelids fluttered in agitation and she
looked as if she were preparing herself for some heroic deed; but when
Prokop, this time completely losing his head, took hold of her elbow she
recoiled apprehensively and left him. He followed her along the garden
path about a yard behind; when they reached the place where the shadow
was darkest they evidently lost the way or something of the sort since
Prokop struck somebody’s forehead with his teeth, kissed a cold nose and
finally found with his mouth a pair of desperately closed lips. Forcing
them apart, he violently kissed their moaning, burning moistness. Then
Annie tore herself out of his arms, ran to the garden gate and began to
sob. Prokop dashed after her to comfort her, covered her ears, hair and
neck with kisses, but it was of no avail; she asked to be released, and
turned to him a moist face, eyes full of tears, and a sobbing mouth. He
kissed and caressed her and suddenly saw that she had ceased to resist
him, that she had given herself up to whatever might come and perhaps was
crying because of her own abruptness. Prokop became filled with masculine
gallantry and, infinitely moved, kissed nothing but her desperate
fingers, trembling and damp with tears. Now, now it was better. Now she
again rested her face on his rough paw and he kissed her soft, hot mouth
and she was reluctant for him to cease.

And now he held his breath, overcome with painful tenderness.

Annie raised her head. “Good-night,” she said softly, and quite simply
offered him her mouth. Prokop bent down and implanted on it the most
delicate kiss of which he was capable. He did not dare to accompany her
farther but stood quite still for a moment and then took himself off
to the other end of the garden, untouched by any ray of light from her
window. There he remained motionless as if he were praying. But he was
not praying; it was only the most wonderful night of his life.




CHAPTER XIII


When it grew light he found it impossible to stay in the house ... he
thought he would go out and pick some flowers; then he would lay them
outside Annie’s door, and when she came out.... On wings of delight
Prokop crept downstairs while it was still hardly after four o’clock.
Outside it was beautiful; every flower sparkled like an eye (she has
large, calm eyes like a cow) (she has also long lashes) (now she is
sleeping, her eyelids are as delicate in color as pigeons’ eggs) (God!
if I could know her dreams) (if her hands are crossed on her breast they
will rise and fall with her breathing; but if they are under her head
then certainly her sleeve has fallen back and one can see her rosy elbow)
(she said the other day that up to now she has been sleeping in the
green bed she had when a child) (she said that she would be nineteen in
October) (she has a birthmark on her neck) (how is it possible that she
loves me?—it is so wonderful); in fact there is nothing more beautiful
than a summer morning, but Prokop looked down at the ground, smiled as
far as he was able to do so, and made his way to the river, still full of
his reflections. There appeared—but near the other bank—the buds of some
water-lilies. Scornful of all dangers he undressed, threw himself into
the muddy torrent, cut his feet on some insidious stump and returned
with an armful of the plants.

The water-lily is a poetical flower, but it exudes an unpleasant liquid
from its juicy stalks. Still Prokop ran home with his poetic booty and
wondered how he could make an attractive bouquet out of the flowers. He
saw that the doctor had left a copy of yesterday’s _Politika_ on the seat
in front of the house. Fiercely he tore it into pieces, casually noticing
something about a mobilization in the Balkans, a crisis in some Ministry
or other, the notice, framed in black, of somebody’s death, bemoaned of
course by the whole nation, and wrapped up the wet stems in these items
of news. Just as he was preparing, however, to gaze with pride at his
work, he got a sudden shock. At the back of the paper he discovered one
word. It was KRAKATIT.

For a moment he stared, stupefied, unable to believe his own eyes.
Then with feverish haste he unrolled the paper, scattering all the
glory of the lilies on to the ground, and finally found the following
announcement: “KRAKATIT! Will Eng. P. send his address? Carson, Poste
Restante.” Nothing more. Prokop’s eyes bulged, and he read again. “Will
Eng. P. send his address ... Carson.” What in heaven’s name!... Who is
this Carson? And how on earth can he possibly know?... For the fiftieth
time Prokop re-read the mysterious announcement.... “KRAKATIT! Will Eng.
P. send his address?” and then “Carson, Poste Restante.”

Prokop sat down as if he had been struck with a club. Why—why did I ever
take that cursed paper into my hands? flashed desperately through his
head. How did it run? “KRAKATIT! Will Eng. P. send his address?” Eng. P.,
that means Prokop; and Krakatit, that is the cursed place, that foggy
place somewhere in his head, that morbid swelling in his brain which
he did not like to think about, which led him to go about running his
head into walls, that which had ceased to have a name—what was it there?
“KRAKATIT!” Prokop’s eyes again grew wide through the interior blow which
he had received. Suddenly he saw ... a certain lead salt, and in a flash
there unrolled before him the film that had become blurred in his memory;
a desperate, unduly protracted contest in the laboratory with this heavy,
dull, apathetic substance; blind and foolish attempts when everything
failed him, a corrosive feeling when in his anger he triturated it in his
fingers, a sticky taste on the tongue and a caustic smoke, exhaustion, so
that he had dropped off to sleep in his chair, cold; and suddenly—perhaps
in his sleep, or at least it seemed like it—a final inspiration, a
paradoxical and miraculously simple experiment, a physicist’s trick which
he had never employed before. He saw thin white crystals which he finally
collected in a porcelain box, convinced that he would be able to explode
them finely the next day when he had buried the box in a hole in the sand
out in the open fields where he had his thoroughly illegal experimental
station. He saw the arm-chair in his laboratory, out of which there stuck
wire and pieces of stuffing. He curled up in it like an exhausted dog and
evidently dropped off to sleep, for it was completely dark when, to the
accompaniment of a frightful explosion and the jingle of falling glass,
he was thrown out of the chair on to the ground. Then came that sharp
pain in his right hand, for something had cut it open; and then—then——

Prokop furrowed his brow painfully in the act of violently recollecting
all this. There the scar was across his hand. And afterwards he had tried
to turn on the light, but the electric bulb had been broken. Then he
had felt about in the darkness to see what had happened; the table was
covered with débris and there, where he had been working, the sheet of
zinc covering the desk was torn to pieces, twisted and fused, and the oak
table split as if had been struck by lightning. And then he came across
the porcelain box and found it—intact, and this gave him a fright. Yes,
that was Krakatit. And then——

Prokop was unable to remain seated; he strode over the scattered lilies
and ran about the garden, nervously gnawing at his fingers. Then he had
run somewhere or other, into the open country, over ploughed fields,
several times fell over,—God! wherever did he go? At this point the
sequence of his recollections was definitely broken; the only thing which
he could remember with certainty was the terrible pain in his forehead
and some affair or other with the police, after which he spoke with
George Thomas, and walked to his place—no, took a cab. Then he was ill
and George looked after him. George was all right. My God, what a long
time ago that was! George Thomas said that he was going here, to his
father, but he did not do so; now that’s odd; after that he slept or
something——

Then the bell rang, briefly and gently; he went and opened the door and
outside was standing a girl with a veil over her face.

Prokop groaned and covered his face with his hands. He forgot completely
that he was sitting on the very seat where the night before he had been
caressing and consoling somebody else. “Does Mr. Thomas live here?” she
asked, out of breath; probably she had been running, her fur was covered
with rain drops and suddenly, suddenly she raised her eyes——

Prokop nearly cried out with pain. He saw her as she had been that
evening; hands, little hands in tight gloves, drops of moisture from her
breath on her thick veil, a clear glance, full of suffering; beautiful,
sad and brave, “you will save him, won’t you?” She looked at him with
serious, troubled eyes, and all the time was gripping in her hand some
sort of a package, a sealed package, pressing it to her bosom agitatedly
and trying to keep control of herself.

It was as if Prokop had received a blow in the face. Where did I put that
package? Whoever that girl may be, I promised her that I would take it to
Thomas. While I was ill ... I forgot everything; because I ... or rather
... he did not like to think about it. But now—now I must find it, that’s
clear.

He rushed up to his room and pulled out all the drawers. No, no, no,
it’s not here. For the twentieth time he rummaged through all his
possessions, piece by piece; then he sat down in the midst of the
frightful disorder that he had created, as above the ruins of Jerusalem,
and corrugated his brow. Perhaps it had been taken by the doctor or by
the guffawing Nanda; how else could it have disappeared? When he had
discovered, however, that this was not the case he experienced a sort
of compulsion or confusion in his head, and, as if in a dream, made his
way to the stove, groped in the recess behind it and pulled out ... the
missing parcel. And as he did so he had a vague impression that some
time or other he must have put it there himself, some time when he was
not yet ... completely well; he also remembered that in that condition
of swooning and delirium he had insisted on having it in the bed with
him the whole time and fell into a rage when they tried to take it away
from him, and that at the same time he had been in a painful state of
anxiety about it. Evidently, with the astuteness of the madman, he had
hidden it from himself, so as to be left in peace. But it was impossible
to penetrate these secrets of his unconsciousness; anyway, here it was,
this carefully packed parcel with five seals, on which were written the
words, “for Mr. George Thomas.” He tried to deduce something more from
this inscription but instead saw before him the veiled girl, holding the
parcel in her trembling fingers; now, now she was again raising her eyes
... he passionately smelt the package. There clung to it an evanescent
and remote fragrance.

He put it down on the table and began to walk up and down the room. He
would have given a lot to know what it contained under its five seals;
certainly some weighty secret, some fateful and urgent relationship. She
certainly said ... that she was doing it for somebody else; but she was
so agitated— But that she could love Thomas was incredible. Thomas was
a good-for-nothing, he assured himself with blind fury; he was always
getting what he wanted from women, a cynic. All right, he would find him
and give him this love letter, and that would be the end of it.

Suddenly a thought flashed through his head. There must be some
connection between Thomas and that—what’s his name—that cursed Carson!
Because nobody else had ever heard anything about Krakatit, only George
Thomas and this other. A new picture introduced itself uninvited into the
blurred film of his memory: he, Prokop, was muttering something in his
fever (it must have been in Thomas’s room), and George bent over him and
wrote something down in a notebook. “Without the slightest doubt that
must have been my formula!” he cried. “He wheedled it out of me, stole
it, and probably sold it to that Carson!” Prokop grew cold at the thought
of such baseness. Christ! and that girl had fallen into the hands of a
man like him! If anything in the world was clear it was that she must be
protected at any cost!

Good! To begin with he must find Thomas, that criminal. He would give him
the sealed package and in addition he would smash his face for him. Also,
he would get him in his power. Thomas would have to tell him the name and
address of that girl and promise—no; no promises from such a waster. But
he would go to her and tell her everything. And then he would disappear
from her eyes forever.

Satisfied with this cavalier decision, Prokop got up. Ah, to find
out—that was the only thing—where the girl lived! He saw her again,
standing elegant and strong; nothing in her glance betrayed any contact
with Thomas. Was she capable of lying with such eyes...?

Then, drawing in his breath with pain, he broke the seals, and tore off
the paper and string. Inside was a letter and some bank-notes.




CHAPTER XIV


Meanwhile Doctor Thomas was sitting at breakfast grunting and puffing
after working hard at a difficult delivery. From time to time he threw
anxious and inquisitorial glances at Annie, who sat motionless, neither
eating nor drinking, simply unable to believe that Prokop had not yet put
in an appearance. Her lips were trembling and she was evidently about
to cry. Then Prokop came in, with inappropriate buoyancy, pale, and
incapable even of sitting down, as if he were in a hurry. He greeted her
perfunctorily, giving her a casual glance as if he had never seen her
before, and immediately asked with impulsive impatience: “Where’s your
George?” The doctor swung round, disconcerted.... “What?”

“Where is your son now?” repeated Prokop, and devoured him with
threatening eyes.

“How should I know?” grunted the doctor. “I don’t want to hear of his
existence.”

“Is he in Prague?” insisted Prokop, clenching his fists. The doctor was
silent but within him something was working swiftly.

“I must see him,” said Prokop incoherently. “I must, do you hear? I must
go and see him now, at once! Where is he?”

The doctor made a chewing movement with his jaws and walked towards the
door.

“Where is he, where does he live?”

“I don’t know,” shouted the doctor in a voice which was not his own, and
slammed the door.

Prokop turned to Annie. She sat frozen and looked into the distance with
her large eyes.

“Annie,” said Prokop feverishly, “you must tell me where your George is.
I—I must go and see him, do you understand? that is to say ... it’s a
question of.... To cut it short, it’s to do with ... I.... Read this,”
he said quickly, and stuck in front of her eyes the crumpled fragment of
newspaper. But Annie saw nothing but some circles or other.

“That’s my discovery, do you see?” he explained nervously. “A certain
Carson is looking for me—where’s your George?”

“We don’t know,” whispered Annie. “It’s two ... quite two years since he
wrote to us——”

“Ah!” growled Prokop and angrily crushed the paper into a ball. It was as
if the girl had turned to stone, only her eyes grew larger and between
her half-closed lips she breathed out something confused and painful.

Prokop would have liked to sink through the ground. “Annie,” he said at
last, breaking the painful silence, “I shall come back. I ... in a few
days.... You see, this is a very important business. A man ... after all
must consider ... his work. And he has, you know, certain ... certain
obligations....” (God, how he had botched it!) “Consider that ... I
simply must,” he cried suddenly. “I would rather died than not go, you
see?”

Annie only nodded her head slightly. Ah, if she had moved it more it
would have sunk on the table and she would have burst out crying; but, as
it was, her eyes only filled with tears.

“Annie,” cried Prokop in desperation, and took shelter near the door, “I
won’t even take leave of you; look, it isn’t worth it; in a week, a month
I shall be here again ... see——” He could not help watching her; she sat
perfectly still, with relaxed shoulders; he could not see her eyes; it
was painful to look at her. “Annie,” he tried again, and again was unable
to go on. The last moment in the doorway seemed to him to be endless;
he felt that there was still something which he should say or do, but
instead he forced out of himself an “_Au revoir_” and stole miserably
away.

He left the house like a thief, on tiptoe. For a moment he hesitated
outside the door behind which he had left Annie. Inside all was quiet,
a fact which caused him unspeakable agony. In the porch he stopped
short like a person who has forgotten something and went softly to the
kitchen—thank God, Nanda was not there!—and picked up the _Politika_.
“... ATIT! ... address Carson, Poste Restante.” Thus it ran on a fragment
of newspaper which the cheerful Nanda had used for covering a shelf.

Prokop left a handful of money in return for her services and made off.

Prokop, Prokop, you are not the only man who intends to return in a week!

       *       *       *       *       *

“We’re off, we’re off,” beat the wheels of the train. But its noisy,
vibrating pace did not suffice for human impatience; human impatience
desperately twisted about, drew his watch out of his pocket and nervously
kicked his feet about. One, two, three, four ... telegraph posts.
Trees, fields, trees, a watchman’s house, trees, the bank of a river,
a fence and fields. Eleven-seventeen. Fields of turnips, women in blue
aprons, a house, a little dog which took it into its head to race the
train—fields—fields—fields. Eleven-seventeen. God, how the time stood
still! Better to think of something; to close one’s eyes and count up to
a thousand; to recite a _paternoster_ or repeat some chemical formula.
“We’re off, we’re off!” Eleven-eighteen. God! what is one to do?

Prokop started. “KRAKATIT” stared him in the eyes, until he grew
frightened. Where was it? Aha! the man opposite was reading a paper and
on the back was that announcement. “KRAKATIT! Will Eng. P. give his
address? Carson, Poste Restante.” I wish that Mr. Carson would leave
me alone, thought Eng. P.; all the same at the next station he bought
all the papers which his country produced. It was in all of them and in
all of them the same. “KRAKATIT! Will Eng. P. give his address? Carson,
Poste Restante.” “My godfathers!” said Eng. P. to himself, “there’s some
demand for me! But what does he want me for, when Thomas has sold him the
secret?”

But instead of solving this fundamental problem he looked to see if he
was observed, and then, perhaps for the hundredth time, drew out the
familiar package. With all possible delays, delays which gave him acute
pleasure, after all sorts of reflections and hesitations, he pulled out
of it the sealed-up money and that letter, that priceless letter, written
in a mature and energetic hand. “Dear Mr. Thomas,” he again read with
excitement, “I am not doing this for you, but for my sister. She has been
nearly off her head since you sent her that terrible letter. She would
have sold all her clothes and jewels in order to send you money; I had
to use all possible force to prevent her from doing something which she
would afterwards have been unable to hide from her husband. What I am
sending you is my own money; I know that you will take it without making
unnecessary difficulties and beg you not to thank me for it.—L.” Then a
hasty postscript: “For the love of God, after this leave M. in peace! She
has given all that she has; she gave you more than what belonged to her;
I am horrified to think of what would happen if it all were discovered.
I beseech you not to abuse your terrible influence over her! It would
be too base if you were to——” The rest of the phrase was struck out and
there followed still another postscript: “Please convey my thanks to your
friend, who is bringing you this. He was unforgettably kind to me at a
time when most of all I needed human help.”

Prokop was simply overpowered by an excess of happiness. So she was
not Thomas’s! And she had nobody to whom she could turn! A brave and
generous girl. She got together forty thousand to save her sister from
... evidently from some humiliation. Thirty thousand of it was from the
bank; it still had a band round it as when she had drawn it—why the
devil didn’t the band have on it the name of the bank? And the other
ten thousand she scraped together nobody knows how; for it was made up
of small notes, miserable, soiled five-crown notes, tousled rags from
God knows whose hands, shabby money from women’s purses. God! what a
frightful time she must have had before she got this handful of money
together! “He was unforgettably kind to me....” And that moment Prokop
would have pounded Thomas to death, that low, shameless scoundrel; but at
the same time he somehow forgave him ... since he was not her lover! She
did not belong to Thomas ... that certainly signified at the least that
she was a pure and beautiful angel; and it was as if some unknown wound
suddenly healed in his heart.

Yes, to find her; before everything ... before everything he must return
her her money (he was not in the least ashamed of forming such a pretext)
and say that ... that, in short ... she could depend on him.... “He was
unforgettably kind.” Prokop clasped his hands.... God! what would he not
do to earn such words from her——

Oh, how slowly the train was going!




CHAPTER XV


Directly he arrived at Prague he made for Thomas’s rooms. Outside the
Museum he pulled himself up ... curse, where exactly did Thomas live? He
walked, yes, he walked, shaking with fever, along the road by the Museum;
but from where? From which street? Swearing, Prokop wandered round the
Museum looking for the most probable direction; he found nothing and
went to the Inquiry Office of the police. George Thomas; the dusty
official looked through a number of books. Engineer Thomas, George, that,
please, is Smichov, such and such a street. Evidently an old address.
Nevertheless Prokop flew into Smichov to such and such a street. The
caretaker shook his head when he asked for George Thomas. He certainly
used to live here, but more than a year ago; where he lived now nobody
knew; incidentally he had left all sorts of debts behind him——

Crestfallen, Prokop wandered into a coffee-house. “KRAKATIT” hit him
in the eyes from the back of a paper. “Will Eng. P. give his address?
Carson, Poste Restante.” Well, this Carson will certainly know about
Thomas ... there must be some connection between them. All right then....
“Carson, Poste Restante. Be at such and such coffee-house to-morrow at
mid-day.—Eng. Prokop.” Directly he had written this a new idea came
into his head ... the debts. He rushed off to the courts, the Inquiry
Department. Yes, they knew Mr. Thomas’s address very well ... a whole
pile of undelivered circulars, official reminders, etc.; but it appeared
that this Thomas, George, had disappeared without leaving a trace, and,
especially, had furnished no one with his new address. All the same
Prokop dashed off to the new address. The caretaker’s wife, encouraged
by an adequate tip, at once recognized Prokop, who on one occasion had
spent the night there. She informed him quite voluntarily that Mr.
Engineer Thomas was a crook and a good-for-nothing. Further, that on that
occasion he had gone off in the night and left him, the gentleman, in her
care; that she had come upstairs three times to ask whether he needed
anything, but that he, the gentleman, remained asleep and kept on talking
to himself, and finally disappeared. And where on earth was Mr. Thomas?
That night he had gone off and left everything lying about and had still
not returned. All he had done was to send her some money from somewhere
abroad, but he was still in debt for the new quarter. She had heard that
they were going to sell his effects in the State Lottery if he didn’t
report by the end of the month. He was nearly a quarter of a million in
debt, so they said, and had made off. Prokop subjected the worthy woman
to a cross-examination ... did she know anything about a certain young
lady who was supposed to have relations with Mr. Thomas, who came to his
rooms and so on? The caretaker’s wife could not tell him anything; as far
as women went, as many as twenty came to the place, some with veils over
their faces and others “made up,” and all sorts. It was a scandal for
the whole street. Prokop paid for the new quarter himself and in return
obtained the key of the flat.

Inside there was the musty smell of rooms which have long been unoccupied
and from which almost all life has departed. Only now did Prokop realize
that he had wrestled with his fever amidst the most extraordinary luxury.
Everywhere Bokhara or Persian carpets, on the walls tapestries and nude
studies, a divan, arm-chairs, the dressing-table of a _soubrette_, the
bathroom of a high-class prostitute, a mixture of luxury and vulgarity,
lewdness and dissoluteness. And here, in the middle of all these
abominations, she had stood pressing the package to her bosom, her clear,
woeful eyes cast on the ground. And now, my God! she raised them in brave
devotion.... What on earth could she have thought of him when she found
him in this den? He must find her at least ... at least to return her her
money; even if it was for nothing else, for nothing more important ... it
was absolutely necessary to find her!

That is easy enough to say, but how? Prokop bit his lips in obstinate
reflection. If he only knew where to look for George, he said to himself;
finally he came upon a pile of correspondence which was waiting there
for Thomas. Most of it consisted, naturally, of commercial letters,
obviously chiefly bills. Then a few private letters which he turned
over and sniffed with some hesitation. Perhaps in one of them there
was a clue to his whereabouts, an address or something of the sort,
which would enable him to find him ... or to find her! He heroically
repressed the inclination to open at least one letter; but he was
alone there behind dirty windows, and everything seemed to exhale an
atmosphere of base and secret corruption. And then, quickly overcoming
all his scruples, he began to tear open the envelopes and read one letter
after the other. A bill for Persian carpets, for flowers, for three
typewriters; urgent reminders regarding goods given on commission; some
mysterious transaction relating to a horse, foreign currency and twenty
wagons of wood somewhere near Kremnice. Prokop could not believe his
eyes; according to these documents Thomas was either a smuggler on a
large scale, or an agent dealing in Persian carpets, or a speculator on
the Exchange, very probably all three. In addition he did business in
motor-cars, export certificates, office furniture and, obviously, all
sorts of things. In one letter there was something about two million
crowns, while in another, soiled and written in pencil, there was a
threat of a complaint regarding some antique or other which he had
wheedled from somebody. Everything together pointed to a long succession
of deceptions, embezzlements, falsifications of export documents, as far
as Prokop was able to understand; it was simply amazing that it had not
all come out. One solicitor intimated briefly that such and such a firm
had brought an action against Mr. Thomas for embezzling forty thousand
crowns; it was in Mr. Thomas’s own interest to appear at his office,
etc. Prokop was horrified; if it were all once found out what would not
be the ramifications of this unutterable turpitude? He thought of the
quiet house in Tynice and of the girl who had stood in the very room,
desperately determined to protect that third person. He took up all
Thomas’s commercial correspondence and ran to burn it in the stove, which
he found full of charred papers. It was evident that Thomas himself had
simplified conditions in this way before he left.

Good; that dealt with the commercial papers; there remained a few
purely private letters, tender or dreadfully scrawled, and over these
again Prokop hesitated in burning shame. But what on earth else was he
to do? He was suffocating with embarrassment but he boldly opened the
remaining envelopes. “Darling, I remember,” “a further meeting,”—and so
on. A certain Anna Chvalova stated with the most touching orthographical
mistakes that Jenicek had died “of an erruption.” Somebody else intimated
that “he knew something that might interest the police but that he would
be willing to discuss the question,” and that Mr. Thomas “certainly knew
the price of his discretion”; there followed an allusion to “that house
in Bret Street where Mr. Thomas knew whom to speak to if the affair was
to be kept secret.” Then something about some business or other, the
sale of some bills, signed “your Rosie.” The same Rosie stated that her
husband had gone away. The same handwriting as in No. 1, a letter from a
watering-place, nothing but bovine sentimentality, the unbridled passion
of a fat and mature blonde, sweetened all over with ahs! reproofs,
and lofty sentiments, apart from “sweetheart” and “ducky” and other
abominations. Prokop positively felt bilious. A German letter, signed
“G,” a deal in foreign currency, “sell these papers, I await your reply,
P.S. Achtung, K. aus Hambourg eingetroffen.” The same “G”; a hasty and
offended letter, the frigid use of the second person plural. “Send back
that ten thousand, sonst wird K. dahinter kommen.” H’m. Prokop was deeply
ashamed at having to penetrate into the malodorous obscurity of these
disreputable affairs, but it was no good stopping now. Finally four
letters signed M.; tearful, bitter and miserable, from which emerged
the passionate history of some blind, airless, servile love. There were
passionate demands, crawlings in the dust, desperate incriminations,
frightful offerings of the writer’s self and more terrible self-torture;
references to the children, the husband, the offer of a further loan,
obscure allusions and the all too clear wretchedness of a woman at
the mercy of passion. So this was her sister! To Prokop it was as if
he saw before him the cruel and mocking lips, the taunting eyes, the
aristocratic, proud, self-confident head of Thomas; he would have liked
to smash it with his fist. But it was of no use; the miserable love of
this woman told him nothing about ... about this other one, who was for
him so far without a name and whom he must seek out.

Nothing was left but to find Thomas.




CHAPTER XVI


To find Thomas ... as if that were a simple matter! Prokop again made a
general examination of the whole flat; he rooted in all the cupboards and
drawers, finding old bills, love letters, photographs and other relics of
Thomas’s youth, but nothing which was likely to help him with his quest.
Well, it was natural enough that a person who had brought down so much on
himself would have to disappear very definitely!

He again cross-questioned the caretaker’s wife; he certainly learnt all
sorts of stories, but nothing which put him on Thomas’s trail. He tried
to find out from the caretaker from where Thomas had sent the money
from abroad. He had to listen to a whole sermon from an ungracious and
rather unpleasant old man, who had suffered from every possible sort of
catarrh and who enlarged upon the depravity of the young men of to-day.
At the price of superhuman patience Prokop finally learnt that the money
in question was not sent by Mr. Thomas but by an agent of the Dresdner
Bank “Auf Befehl des Herrn Thomas.” He dashed off to the solicitor who
had a claim prepared against the delinquent. The solicitor withdrew to
an unnecessary extent into his professional secrecy; but when Prokop
stupidly blurted out that he had some money to give to Thomas, the
solicitor became more alive and demanded that he should hand it over to
him. It cost Prokop a good deal of trouble to get away.

This taught him not to search for Thomas among people who had any sort of
commercial connection with him.

At the next corner he stopped; what now? There remained only Carson. An
unknown quantity who knew something and wanted something. Good. Carson
then. Prokop found in his pocket the letter which he had forgotten to
post and ran off to a letter-box.

But once there his hand dropped. Carson, Carson—yes, but he ... what
he wants is hardly a trifle. Devil take it, that fellow knew something
about Krakatit and had got something up his sleeve—God knows what. Why
was he looking for _him_? Evidently Thomas didn’t know everything, or he
didn’t want to sell everything, or he laid down impossible conditions,
and he, Prokop, like an ass, had to sell himself more cheaply. It must
be something like that; but (and here Prokop for the first time grew
terrified at the extent to which he was involved) what could he do with
Krakatit when he got it? To begin with he must know very well what the
substance is for, how it is handled, etc. Krakatit, my friend, is not
snuff or a sleeping-powder for children. And in the second place, in the
second place it was ... too strong a tobacco for this world. Just imagine
what could be done with it ... let us say in a war. Prokop began to get
frightened of the whole business. What devil was bringing that cursed
Carson here? On all accounts he must stop, cost what it may——

Prokop clutched at his head so markedly that passers-by stopped to
look at him. For he remembered that up there in his laboratory shed in
Hybsmonka he had left nearly four ounces of Krakatit! That is to say
enough to blow off the earth I don’t know what,—the whole district! He
became frozen with horror and ran for a tram. What did not hang upon
these few minutes! He went through hell before the tram took him across
the river; then he climbed the street as fast as he possibly could and
finally reached the shed. It was locked up and Prokop vainly hunted in
his pockets for something resembling a key; then, taking advantage of the
twilight like a burglar, he broke open the window, pulled back the bolts
and crawled home through the window.

He only needed to strike a match to see that the place had been plundered
in the most methodical way possible. Certainly the bedding and a few
sticks of furniture remained; but all the flasks, test-tubes, crushers,
mortars, dishes and apparatus, spatulas and balances, all his primitive
chemical kitchen, everything which had contained material upon which he
had experimented, anything on which there might be left the slightest
sediment or trace of any chemical, had disappeared. There was missing
also the porcelain box containing Krakatit. He pulled out a drawer of
the table; all his papers and notes, every scrap of paper on which he
had scribbled, the smallest relic of twelve years of experimental work,
all had gone. Finally, even the spots and splashes had been scraped off
the floor, and his overall, that ancient, ragged covering, positively
encrusted with chemicals, had also been taken away. He found himself
nearly crying.

Until late in the night he remained sitting on his soldier’s palliasse
and blankly stared at his looted work-room. At moments he consoled
himself by thinking that he would remember everything that he had made a
note of in the course of twelve years; but when he tried to repeat some
experiment in his head he found, in spite of his most desperate efforts,
that it was impossible; then he gnawed his mutilated fingers and groaned.

Suddenly he was awakened by the rattling of a key. It was fully light,
and as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world a man came into
the room and made towards the table. He sat down with his hat still on,
muttering and scratching at the zinc on the table. Prokop cried out from
the palliasse: “What do you want here, man?”

Extraordinarily surprised, the man turned around and looked at Prokop
without a word.

“What do you want here?” repeated Prokop excitedly. The man said nothing;
to crown everything he put on his spectacles and gazed at Prokop with
enormous interest.

Prokop ground his teeth, for there was prepared within him a fearful
insult. But at this point the man glowed with the most human feeling,
sprang out of the chair and suddenly looked as if he were joyfully
wagging his tail. “Carson,” he said rapidly introducing himself, and
added in German: “God, I am glad that you have come back! You undoubtedly
read my announcement?”

“I did,” answered Prokop in his stiff and ponderous German. “And what do
you want here?”

“You,” said his guest completely delighted. “Do you know that I’ve
been chasing you for six weeks? All the newspapers, all the detective
institutes,—ha, ha, my dear sir, what do you say to that? Herr Gott, I am
glad! How are you? Well?”

“Why have you stolen my things?” said Prokop gloomily.

“What do you mean, please?”

“Why have you stolen my things?”

“But, Mister Engineer,” said the cheerful little man, not in the least
put out, “what are you saying? Stolen! Carson! That’s good, aha!”

“Stolen,” repeated Prokop meaningly.

“Tut, tut, tut,” protested Mr. Carson. “It’s all carefully stored. I
arranged everything in order. My dear sir, how could you possibly leave
it lying about like that? Anybody might have stolen it from you—what? Of
course they could, my dear sir. They could have stolen it, sold it, made
it public, eh? That goes without saying. They could have done that. But
I’ve stored it for you, do you understand? Honestly, I have. That’s why
I have been looking for you. You shall have everything back. Everything.
That is,” he added with some hesitation and something steely flashed
under his shiny spectacles, “that is ... if you will be reasonable. But
we shall come to an understanding, eh?” He added quickly: “You must
become qualified. A wonderful career. Atomic explosions, disintegration
of elements. Magnificent! Science, before everything science! We shall
come to an understanding, eh? Honestly, you shall have everything back.
So.”

Prokop was silent, overpowered by this avalanche of words, while Mr.
Carson waved his arms and circulated about the laboratory inordinately
delighted. “I’ve preserved everything, everything,” he said exuberantly.
“Every fragment from the floor. Sorted out, stored away, ticketed,
sealed. Aha! I could have gone off with everything, eh? But I’m
honourable, my dear sir. I shall return everything. We must come to an
understanding. You trust Carson. A Dane by birth, formerly a lecturer
in Copenhagen. And I’ve also studied theology. What does Schiller say?
Dem Einen ist sie—ist sie—I’ve forgotten, but it’s something to do with
science; amusing, eh? But don’t thank me. Later. So.”

Prokop had had no idea of thanking him, but Mr. Carson glowed like a
self-righteous benefactor. “In your place,” he said enthusiastically, “in
your place I should get——”

“Where is Thomas now?” Prokop interrupted him.

Mr. Carson gave him a searching look. “Well,” he said through his teeth
after consideration, “we know about him. Oh, yes,” he said quickly, “you
should provide yourself ... provide yourself with the largest laboratory
in the world. The very best instruments. The World’s Institute of
Destructive Chemistry. You are right, a university chair is a stupidity.
They only repeat old facts, eh? A waste of time. Institute a laboratory
in the American style. An enormous laboratory, a brigade of assistants,
everything that you want. And you mustn’t worry about money. Where do
you _déjeuner_? I should so much like you to be my guest.”

“What do you really want?” Prokop burst out.

Then Mr. Carson sat down on the palliasse next to him, took him
extraordinarily warmly by the hand and said suddenly in quite a different
voice: “Keep cool. You can make millions and millions.”




CHAPTER XVII


Prokop looked at Mr. Carson in amazement. He was surprised to find that
his face was no longer an insipid one, glowing with kindliness; it had
grown serious and severe, the eyes of this zealous man had disappeared
behind his heavy lids and only for an instant now and then did they flash
out sharply. “Don’t be foolish,” he said emphatically. “Sell us Krakatit
and the thing is done.”

“But how do you know...?” said Prokop hoarsely.

“I’ll tell you everything, honestly everything. Mr. Thomas came to us;
he brought four ounces and the formula. Unfortunately he was not able to
tell us the process. Neither he nor our chemists have so far been able to
discover it, to discover how to make the stuff. Some sort of a trick, eh?”

“Yes.”

“H’m. Maybe we may come upon it without your assistance.”

“You won’t.”

“Mr. Thomas ... knows something about it, but keeps it a secret. He
worked for us behind locked doors. He’s a terribly bad chemist, but more
artful than you are. At least he doesn’t blurt out what he knows. Why did
you tell him? All he knows is to cadge money out of people. You should
have come yourself.”

“I didn’t send him to you,” muttered Prokop.

“Aha!” said Mr. Carson, “extremely interesting. Your Mr. Thomas came to
us——”

“Where exactly?”

“To us. Factories in Balttin. Do you know it?”

“No.”

“A foreign concern. Marvellously up to date. An experimental laboratory
for new explosives. We make keramit, methylnitrate, and such things.
Chiefly military, you see? You’ll sell us Krakatit. Yes?”

“No. And is Thomas still with you?”

“Aha! Mr. Thomas; wait, that’s amusing. Now he comes to us and says:
This is the legacy of my friend, Prokop, a chemist of genius; he died
in my arms, and with his last breath, aha! he bequeathed it me. Aha!
magnificent,—what?”

Prokop only smiled wryly. “And is Thomas still ... in Balttin?”

“Wait a moment. Naturally, to begin with we kept him ... as a spy. We get
hundreds of them, you know. And we had this powder, Krakatit, tested.”

“And the result?”

Mr. Carson raised his hands to heaven. “Magnificent!”

“What’s the speed of detonation? How did you find Q? And t? The figures!”

Mr. Carson let his hands fall, so that they slapped on his knees and
opened his eyes very wide. “What figures, man! The first attempt
... fifty per cent starch ... and the crusher gauge was blown to
smithereens. One engineer and two assistants ... also in smithereens.
Would you believe it? Attempt No. 2 ... a Trauz block, ninety per cent
vaseline, and bang! The roof went up and one workman was killed; nothing
of the block remained but a fragment. Then we let the soldiers have a
go at it; they laughed at us ... said we knew as much about it as ... a
village blacksmith. We gave them a little; they rammed it into a gun with
a lot of sawdust. Splendid results. Seven gunners blown up including a
N.C.O. ... they found one leg three kilometres away. Twelve dead in two
days, there’s figures for you. Aha! magnificent, eh?”

Prokop wanted to say something, but gulped it down. Twelve dead in two
days—the devil!

Mr. Carson rubbed his knees and glowed with pleasure. “The third day we
gave it a rest. It makes a bad impression, you know, when ... you have
many such incidents. Then we only took a little Krakatit ... about three
decigrams ... in glycerine and that sort of thing. The idiot of a lab.
boy left a pinch lying about in the night when the laboratory was shut——”

“It exploded?” cried Prokop.

“Yes. At ten thirty-five. The laboratory chemist was torn to shreds,
not to speak of a couple of blocks of buildings.... About three tons of
methylnitrate went up with it—in short about sixty killed. Naturally
enough a tremendous investigation and all the rest of it. It turned out
that nobody had been in the laboratory and that evidently it must have
exploded——”

“—by itself,” interrupted Prokop, scarcely breathing.

“Yes. Was it the same with you?”

Prokop nodded gloomily.

“There you are,” said Carson quickly. “And not without a reason. Terribly
dangerous stuff. Sell it to us and you won’t have to worry any more. What
would you have done with it?”

“And what would _you_ have done with it?” said Prokop through his teeth.

“We’ve ... made arrangements about that. What does it matter blowing up a
few fellows—but it would be a pity if you were to suffer.”

“But the Krakatit in the porcelain box didn’t explode,” said Prokop,
still obstinately reflecting.

“Thank God, no. I should think not!”

“And it was at night,” Prokop reflected further.

“At ten thirty-five, precisely.”

“And ... those few grains of Krakatit were lying on a zinc ... on a metal
plate,” Prokop went on.

“It was nothing to do with that,” burst out the little man with a
worried expression, and he bit his lips and started pacing up and down
the laboratory. “It was ... perhaps only oxidization,” he said after a
moment. “Some sort of chemical process. It didn’t explode when mixed with
glycerine.”

“Because it isn’t a conductor,” jerked out Prokop. “Because it doesn’t
ionize—I don’t know.”

Mr. Carson stopped and stood over him with his hands behind his back.
“You’re very astute,” he said appreciatively. “You deserve to get a lot
of money. It’s a pity you’re stuck here.”

“Is Thomas still in Balttin?” asked Prokop, exerting all his strength so
as to appear indifferent.

Something flashed behind Mr. Carson’s spectacles. “We’ve got our eye on
him,” he said evasively. “He certainly won’t come back here. Come to us
... you may find him, if—you—want him so very badly,” he said slowly and
emphatically.

“Where is he?” repeated Prokop obstinately, making it quite clear that he
would talk of nothing else.

Mr. Carson waved his hand airily. “Well, he’s made off,” and he gave
Prokop an inscrutable glance.

“Made off?”

“Faded away. He wasn’t supervised carefully enough, and he was an artful
bird. He undertook to prepare Krakatit for us. Experimented with it ...
about six weeks. Cost us a frightful amount of money. Then disappeared,
the rotter. Didn’t know what to do,—what? Knows nothing.”

“And where is he?”

Mr. Carson bent over Prokop. “A rotter. Now he is offering Krakatit to
some other state. And at the same time he stole our methylnitrate, the
swine. Now he is playing the same trick on them.”

“Where?”

“Mustn’t say. Honestly, I mustn’t. And when he bolted I went, aha! to
visit your grave. Piety—what? Chemist of genius, unknown to anyone here.
That was a job if you like. Had to keep on advertising in papers like an
idiot. Naturally the others got on to it, see? You understand me?”

“No.”

“Come and have a look,” said Mr. Carson briskly, and crossed to the
opposite wall. “Here,” he said and tapped the boarding.

“What is it?”

“A spy-hole. Some one came here.”

“And who shot at him?”

“Well, I did. If you had crept through the window the same way a
fortnight ago some one ... would have let fly at you.”

“Who?”

“That’s all the same, this or that state. A good many foreign powers,
my friends, have been knocking at this door. And meanwhile you were
somewhere, aha! catching fish, eh? Marvellous fellow! But listen, my
dear sir,” he said with sudden seriousness, “kindly give up coming here.
Never, do you understand?”

“Rubbish!”

“Wait. You won’t find a grenadier waiting for you. Very
unpretentious-looking people. Nowadays this sort of thing ... is done
very discreetly.” Mr. Carson stopped near the window and drummed with his
fingers on the glass. “You can’t believe how many letters I got in answer
to my advertisement. About six Prokops introduced themselves.... Come and
look, quick!”

Prokop came over to the window. “What is it?”

Mr. Carson silently pointed at the road with his short finger. On it
a young man was twisting about on a bicycle in a desperate attempt to
maintain his equilibrium, each wheel exhibiting a strong inclination to
go in a different direction. Mr. Carson looked at Prokop inquiringly.

“Apparently learning to ride,” said Prokop doubtfully.

“Frightfully inept, eh?” said Mr. Carson and opened the window. “Bob.”

The youth on the bicycle stopped instantly: “Yessr.”

“Go to the town for our car!” said Mr. Carson in English.

“Yessr.” And the young cyclist whisked off towards the town.

Mr. Carson turned away from the window. “An Irishman. Very smart lad.
What was I going to say? Aha! About six Prokops appeared—meetings in
different places, especially at night—amusing, eh? Read this.”

“Come to my laboratory at ten o’clock to-night, Eng. Prokop,” read Prokop
as if in a dream. “But this is ... practically ... my handwriting!”

“You see,” grinned Carson. “My friend, things are warm. Sell the stuff,
and be left in peace!”

Prokop shook his head.

Mr. Carson gave him a heavy, fixed look. “You can ask ... let us say ...
twenty million. Sell us Krakatit.”

“No.”

“You will get everything back. Twenty million. Sell it, man!”

“No,” said Prokop heavily. “I don’t want anything to do ... with your
wars.”

“What’s your position here? A chemist of genius ... and lives in a wooden
hut! That’s the way your countrymen appreciate you! I know. A great man
has no countrymen. Don’t let yourself be worried! Sell it and——”

“I don’t want to.”

Mr. Carson stuck his hands into his pockets and yawned. “Wars! Do you
think they can be stopped? Pche! Sell it and don’t worry. You’re a
scientist ... what does the rest matter to you? Wars! Don’t be silly.
While people have nails and teeth——”

“I shan’t sell it,” said Prokop through his teeth.

Mr. Carson shrugged his shoulders. “As you like. We shall discover it
ourselves. Or Thomas will. Good.”

There was a moment of silence. “It’s all the same to me,” said Mr.
Carson. “If you prefer it we’ll offer it to France, to England, where you
like, even to China. Together, see? No one would buy it here. You would
be a fool to sell it for twenty million. Trust Carson, eh?”

Prokop shook his head decisively.

“Character,” said Mr. Carson appreciatively. “All honour to it. I like
that sort of thing enormously. Listen, I’ll tell you. An absolute secret.
I swear it.”

“I’m not asking you for your secrets,” muttered Prokop.

“Bravo. A discreet fellow. Just my type, my dear sir.”




CHAPTER XVIII


Mr. Carson sat down and lit a very fat cigar, after which he reflected
for a time. “Tchah!” he said at last. “So it exploded with you also. When
was that? The date?”

“I can’t say now.”

“The day of the week?”

“I don’t know. I think ... two days after Sunday.”

“Tuesday then. And at what time?”

“About ... some time after ten in the evening.”

“Correct.” Mr. Carson thoughtfully blew out some smoke.

“With us it exploded ... as you were pleased to express it, ‘by itself’
... on Tuesday at ten thirty-five. Did you notice anything at the time?”

“No. I was asleep.”

“Aha! It also explodes on Fridays, about half-past ten. On Tuesdays and
Fridays. We tested it,” he explained in answer to Prokop’s fascinated
look. “We left a milligram of Krakatit lying exposed and watched it day
and night. It exploded on Tuesday and Friday at half-past ten. Seven
times. Once also on a Monday at ten twenty-nine. So.”

Prokop was inwardly horrified.

“A sort of blue spark appears on it,” added Mr. Carson, absorbed, “and
then it explodes.”

It was so quiet that Prokop could hear the ticking of Carson’s watch.

“Tchah!” sighed Mr. Carson and rummaged desperately with his hand in his
brush of red hair.

“What does it mean?” Prokop burst out.

Mr. Carson only shrugged his shoulders. “And what did you,” he said,
“what did you think yourself when it exploded ... ‘by itself,’ eh?”

“Nothing,” replied Prokop evasively. “I didn’t speculate ... so far.”

Mr. Carson mumbled something uncomplimentary.

“That is,” Prokop corrected himself, “I thought that perhaps ... it was
done by electro-magnetic waves.”

“Aha! Electro-magnetic waves. We thought so too. A splendid idea, only
idiotic. Unfortunately completely idiotic. So.”

Prokop was completely at a loss.

“To begin with,” continued Mr. Carson, “wireless waves don’t pass over
the world only on Tuesdays and Fridays at half-past ten! And secondly,
my friend, you must imagine that we at once experimented accordingly.
With short, long, all possible waves. And your Krakatit didn’t alter that
much,” and he indicated a minute spot on his own nail. “But on Tuesdays
and Fridays at half-past ten it conceived the idea of exploding ‘by
itself.’ And do you know what besides?”

Prokop of course did not. “This. For some time ... about six months
or something of the sort ... the European wireless stations have been
horribly annoyed. Something is interfering with their conversations, you
know. Really. And as it happens ... always on Tuesdays and Fridays at
half-past ten in the evening. What did you say?”

Prokop had said nothing, but only rubbed his forehead.

“Well, on Tuesdays and Fridays. They call it disturbed conversations.
Something begins to crackle in the telegraphists’ ears, and there we
are; it’s enough to send the fellows off their heads. Sad, eh?” Mr.
Carson removed his spectacles and began to clean them with extreme care.
“To begin with ... to begin with they thought it was magnetic storms
or something of the sort. But when they found that its office hours
were always Tuesday and Friday ... to cut the story short, Marconi S.F.
Transradio, and various Ministries of Posts and Marine, Commerce, the
Interior and I don’t know what, have agreed to pay twenty thousand pounds
sterling to the smart fellow who can find out the cause of it.” Mr.
Carson replaced his spectacles and smiled broadly. “They think that there
is some illegal station in existence which amuses itself by interfering
with conversations on Tuesdays and Fridays. Rubbish! A secret station
which uses up twenty kilowatts for a joke! Fi!” And Mr. Carson spat
contemptuously.

“On Tuesdays and Fridays,” said Prokop, “that is, regularly....”

“Extraordinary, eh?” leered Mr. Carson. “I’ve got it written down: on
Tuesday on such and such a date at ten thirty-five and so many seconds a
disturbance at all stations from Reval onwards, and so on. And a certain
amount of your Krakatit explodes at the same instant ‘by itself,’ as you
are good enough to express it. Eh? What? The same the next Friday at ten
twenty-nine and a few seconds; a disturbance and an explosion. The next
Tuesday at ten thirty-five explosion and disturbance. And so on. As an
exception, not in accordance with the programme as it were, a disturbance
on Monday at ten twenty-nine minutes, thirty seconds. Ditto explosion.
Comes on the second. Eight times in eight cases. A joke, eh? What do you
think about it?”

“I d—don’t know,” mumbled Prokop.

“There’s one thing,” said Mr. Carson after reflecting for a long time.
“Mr. Thomas was working with us. He has no knowledge, but he has got hold
of something. Mr. Thomas had a high frequency generator installed in his
laboratory and shut the door in front of our noses. A rotter. It’s the
first time I’ve heard of high frequency machines being used in ordinary
chemistry, eh? What’s your idea?”

“Well ... naturally,” said Prokop doubtfully, with an uneasy glance at
his own brand-new generator in the corner.

Mr. Carson did not fail to notice this. “H’m,” he said. “You’ve the same
sort of toy, eh? A pretty little transformer. What did it cost you?”

Prokop grew sullen, but Mr. Carson began to glow. “I think,” he said
with growing expansiveness, “that it would be a magnificent thing if
one could produce in some substance ... let’s say with the help of high
power currents ... certain vibrations, set it in violent motion, loosen
its interior structure so that one only had just to tap it, from a
distance ... with some waves or other ... by an explosion, oscillations,
or the devil knows what, and it would fly to pieces,—what? Bang! From a
distance! What do you say to that?”

Prokop said nothing, and Mr. Carson, pulling at his cigar in delight,
feasted his eyes on him.

“I’m not an electrician, you know,” he began after a moment; “it was
explained to me by an expert, but I’ll be damned if I understood it.
The fellow was all over me with electrons, ions, elementary quanta and
I don’t know what; and, to finish up with, this professorial luminary
stated that, to make a long story short, the thing was impossible. My
friend, you’ve made a howler! You’ve done something which according to
the greatest authorities is impossible....

“I tried to explain it myself,” he continued, “but not like that. Let
us suppose that some one takes it into his head to ... to make an
unstable compound ... from a certain lead salt. The salt in question
does not behave as it should; it refuses to combine, eh? Then this
chemist of ours tests everything possible ... like a madman; and then
remembers, let us say, that in the January number of the Chemist there
was something about the said phlegmatic salt being a first-class coherer
... a detector of electric waves. He gets an inspiration. An idiotic and
sublime inspiration—that perhaps by the use of electric waves he can
bring that cursed salt into a better frame of mind, eh? A man gets his
finest inspirations through being stupid. So he gets hold of some comic
transformer and sets to work; what he did is at present his secret, but
in the end ... he will achieve the synthesis he wants. He’ll achieve it.
Or at least, the oscillation will do it. Man, I shall have to go down on
all fours and start learning physics in my old age; I’m talking rubbish,
eh?”

Prokop muttered something completely unintelligible.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Mr. Carson calmly. “As long as it
holds together. I’m dull and I imagine that it has some sort of
electro-magnetic structure. If this structure is disturbed, then ... it
disintegrates, eh? Luckily about ten thousand regular wireless stations
and several hundred illegal ones preserve in our atmosphere the sort of
electro-magnetic climate, the sort of—eh—eh—oscillatory bath which suits
this structure. And so it holds together....”

Mr. Carson reflected for a moment. “And now,” he began again, “imagine
that some devil has a means by which he can thoroughly disturb electric
waves. Obliterate them or something of the sort. Imagine that—God knows
why—he does this regularly on Tuesdays and Fridays at half-past ten
o’clock at night. At that minute and second all wireless communication
is interrupted all over the world; but at that minute and second
something also happens in this unstable compound, in so far as it is
not isolated.... In a porcelain box, for example; something in it is
disturbed ... cracks, and it ... it....”

“... explodes,” cried Prokop.

“Yes, explodes, disintegrates. Interesting,—what? One learned gentleman
explained to me that—hell, what did he say? That—that——”

Prokop sprang up and seized hold of Mr. Carson’s coat. “Listen,” he burst
out, violently excited, “if one were to ... sprinkle ... some Krakatit
about ... here, let us say ... or simply about the place....”

“... then the next Tuesday or Friday at half-past ten it would explode.
Tja. Don’t strangle me, man.”

Prokop released Mr. Carson and paced up and down the room gnawing his
fingers in consternation.

“That’s quite clear,” he muttered, “that’s quite clear! Nobody must
prepare Krakatit——”

“Besides Mr. Thomas,” suggested Carson sceptically.

“Leave me alone,” said Prokop. “He won’t be able to prepare it!”

“Well,” said Mr. Carson doubtfully, “I don’t know how much you told him.”

Prokop stopped as if rooted to the ground. “Imagine,” he said feverishly,
“imagine, for instance ... a war! Anyone who possessed Krakatit could ...
could ... whenever he liked....”

“At present only on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“... blow up ... whole towns ... whole armies ... everything! All that is
necessary is to sprinkle—can you imagine?”

“I can. Magnificent!”

“And therefore ... for the sake of the world ... I shall never, never
give it up.”

“In the interest of the world,” repeated Carson, “do you know, in the
interest of the world the first thing is to get on the track of that——”

“What?”

“That cursed anarchist wireless station.”




CHAPTER XIX


“Do you mean to say,” stammered Prokop, “that ... that perhaps....”

“_We know_,” Carson interrupted, “that there exist various transmitting
and receiving stations. That regularly on Tuesdays and Fridays they
certainly say something more than good-night. That they have at their
disposition certain forces at present unknown to us: explosions,
oscillations, sparks, rays or some other cursed things. Or certain
counter-waves, counter-oscillations or whatever they may be called,
something which just obliterates our waves, you understand?” Mr. Carson
glanced about the laboratory. “Aha!” said he, and took up a piece of
chalk. “It may be like this,” he went on, drawing a long arrow on the
floor with the chalk, “or like this,” and he scribbled over the whole of
the board and added, by wetting his finger, a dark streak. “So or so,
you understand? Positive or negative. They either send new waves into
our medium or interfere with ours at fixed intervals, you see? In both
cases they can do without our control. Both systems are at present though
technically and physically ... a pure mystery. Hell!” said Mr. Carson
and in a sudden access of anger broke the chalk into pieces, “that’s too
much! To send secret messages by secret waves to a secret addressee who
is doing—what do you think?”

“Perhaps the Martians,” said Prokop, forcing himself to jest; but he was
certainly not in the mood for doing so.

Mr. Carson looked at him with hostility and then neighed exactly like
a horse. “Let us say the Martians. Magnificent! But let us rather say
somebody on the earth. Let us say that some earthly power is sending out
its secret instructions. Let us say that it has extremely serious reasons
for escaping human control. Let us say that there exists some sort of ...
international service or organization, or the devil knows what, and that
it has at its disposal certain mysterious forces, secret stations and
the rest. In any case ... in any case we have the right to be interested
in those secret messages, eh? Whether they are from hell or from Mars.
It’s simply in the interests of human society. You can imagine.... Well,
my dear sir, they certainly won’t be wireless messages about Little Red
Riding Hood. So.”

Mr. Carson moved rapidly up and down the shed. “One thing is certain to
begin with,” he said loudly, “that the transmitting station in question
is somewhere in Central Europe, approximately in the middle of the areas
where these disturbances occur, eh? Relatively, it’s not very strong, as
it only talks at night. All the worse; there’s no difficulty in finding
the Eiffel Tower or Nauen, eh? My friend,” he shouted suddenly and stood
still: “Imagine that in the very heart of Europe something extraordinary
is being prepared. The organization has branches and offices, and the
branches are in touch with one another; it has technical devices unknown
to us, secret powers and, that you may know,” roared Mr. Carson, “it has
also Krakatit, so!”

Prokop jumped up like a madman. “What!”

“Krakatit. Nine grammes and thirty-five decigrammes. All that we had
left.”

“What did you do with it?” said Prokop fiercely.

“Experiments. We handled it as carefully as if ... as if it were
something very precious. And one evening——”

“What?”

“It disappeared. Including the porcelain box.”

“Stolen?”

“Yes.”

“And who—who——”

“Obviously the Martians,” grinned Mr. Carson. “Unfortunately through
the base collusion of a lab. boy who has disappeared—of course with the
porcelain box.”

“When did that happen?”

“Well, just before they sent me here in search of you. An educated man, a
Saxon. He left us not even a grain of powder. Now you know why I came.”

“And you think that it fell into the hands ... of these mysterious
people?”

Mr. Carson only snorted.

“How do you know?”

“I am certain. Listen,” said Mr. Carson, jumping about on his short legs,
“do I look like a timid person?”

“N—no.”

“But I tell you that this frightens me. Honestly, I’m terrified. Krakatit
... that’s bad enough; and that unknown wireless station is still worse;
and if they both fall into the same hands, then ... good-morning. Then
Mr. Carson will pack his bag and go off to the cannibals of Tasmania. You
know, I shouldn’t like to see the end of Europe.”

Prokop only rubbed his hands together between his knees. “Christ,
Christ,” he whispered to himself.

“Well, yes,” said Mr. Carson. “I’m only surprised, you know, that nothing
... nothing large has gone up in the air already. All you have to do is
to press some button or other and two thousand kilometres away—bang! And
there you are. What else do you expect?”

“That’s clear,” said Prokop feverishly. “Krakatit mustn’t be given up.
And Thomas—Thomas must be stopped....”

“Mr. Thomas,” said Carson rapidly, “would sell Krakatit to the Devil
himself if he paid him for it. At the present moment Mr. Thomas is one of
the most dangerous people in the world.”

“My God,” muttered Prokop desperately, “what are we to do now?”

Mr. Carson waited for some time. “It’s clear,” he said finally. “Krakatit
must be given up.”

“N-n-no! Never!”

“Given up. Simply because it’s a ... decipher-ink key. It’s the very
moment to do so, my dear sir. For goodness sake give it to anybody you
like, only don’t make all this fuss about it. Give it to the Swiss or to
the League of Aged Virgins or to the Devil’s grandmother; it will take
them six months to realize that you are not insane. Or give it to us.
We’ve already set up a receiving apparatus at Balttin. Just consider ...
infinitely rapid explosions of microscopic fragments of Krakatit. Ignited
by an unknown current. Directly they turn on the switch somewhere the
whole business starts off: t-r-r-r ta ta t-r-r-r t-r-r-r ta t-r-r-r ta
ta. And there you are. Decipher it and you have the message. If only one
had Krakatit!”

“I won’t give it up,” Prokop replied, covered with a cold sweat. “I don’t
believe you. You would ... make Krakatit for yourself.”

Mr. Carson only pulled down the corner of his mouth. “Well,” he said,
“it’s only a question of ... we’ll call a Conference. The League of
Nations, The World Postal Union, The Eucharistic Congress or anything
you like. For the sake of being in peace. I’m a Dane and have no use for
politics. So. And you can give Krakatit to an International Commission.
What’s the matter?”

“I—I’ve been ill for a long time,” Prokop excused himself, deathly pale.
“I don’t feel quite well ... and ... I haven’t eaten for two days.”

“Weakness,” said Mr. Carson, sitting down next to him and putting his arm
round his neck. “It’ll soon pass. You must go to Balttin. A very healthy
region. And then you must go after Mr. Thomas. You shall have as much
money as a millionaire. You’ll be a big man. Well?”

“Yes,” whispered Prokop like a little child, and meekly allowed himself
to be rocked.

“So so. Too much strain, see? That’s nothing. The chief thing ... is
the future. You’ve had a lot of poverty, man, eh? You’re a good chap,
see? Now you’re better.” Mr. Carson smoked reflectively. “The future is
something tremendous. You’ll get tons of money. You’ll give me ten per
cent, eh? An international custom. You need Carson as well....”

In front of the shed there resounded the horn of a motor-car.

“Thank God,” said Carson with relief, “here’s the car. Well, my dear sir,
we’ll be off.”

“Where?”

“For the moment, to eat.”




CHAPTER XX


The next day Prokop woke up with a terribly heavy head and at first could
not realize where exactly he was; he waited for the sound of the clucking
of the chickens or the resonant barking of Honzik. Slowly he realized
that he was no longer in Tynice; that he was in bed in the hotel to
which Carson had brought him completely drunk, roaring like an animal.
Only when he put his head under a stream of cold water did he recall the
happenings of the evening and could have sunk through the ground with
shame.

They drank even during the meal, but only a little, enough to make them
both very red in the face, and then went somewhere in the car along the
edge of some woods so as to clear their heads. Prokop chattered the whole
time without respite while Carson chewed the end of his cigar, nodded
from time to time and said: “You will be a big man.” “Big man,” “big
man,” echoed in Prokop’s head like the note of a gong; if only in such
glory he could be seen by ... that girl with the veil! He nearly burst
with importance in talking to Carson, who only nodded his head like a
mandarin and added fuel to the flame of his insane pride. In his ardour
Prokop nearly fell out of the car; he was explaining his conception of
the World Institute for Destructive Chemistry, Socialism, Marriage,
the Education of Children and other nonsense. But in the evening they
began with a vengeance. Where it was they drank, God alone knows; it was
terrible. Carson, his face inflamed and his hat pushed down over his
eyes, paid for all sorts of strangers, while some girls were dancing.
Somebody broke some glasses and Prokop, sobbing, told Carson about his
terrible love for the mysterious woman. On remembering this, Prokop
clutched his head with shame and mortification.

Then they put him, shouting “Krakatit,” into the car. Heaven knows where
they went; they dashed along endless roads, while beside Prokop there
jumped up and down a fiery red spot which must have been Mr. Carson with
his cigar. Mr. Carson, who hiccoughed “quicker, Bob” or something of the
sort. Suddenly at a corner two lights rushed at them, some voices cried
out, the car swung off the road, and Prokop was thrown head first on the
grass, which brought him to his senses. There was a sound of several
violently disputing voices, accusations of drunkenness. Mr. Carson swore
terribly and muttered “now we must go back,” upon which, with thousands
of precautions, they carried Prokop, as if he were seriously wounded,
into the other car. Mr. Carson sat down next to him and they set out for
home, Bob remaining with the injured vehicle. Half-way back the seriously
wounded man began to sing rowdily, and just before reaching Prague found
that he was thirsty again. They were obliged to go with him to several
bars before he quieted down.

Prokop studied his disfigured face in the glass with dark aversion.
In this painful occupation he was interrupted by the hotel porter who,
with due apologies, brought him a registration form to fill up. Prokop
put down the necessary particulars and hoped that he had dealt with the
matter; but scarcely had the porter read his name than he became excited
and begged Prokop not to leave the room. A certain gentleman from abroad
had asked him to telephone to him at his hotel the moment he learned that
Eng. Prokop had arrived. If Mr. Eng. would allow it, etc. Mr. Eng. was so
furious with himself that he would have allowed him to cut his throat. He
sat down to wait, painfully resigning himself to enduring the pain in his
head. In a quarter of an hour the porter was back and handed him a card.
On it was printed:

                            SIR REGINALD CARSON
                      President of the International
                           Wireless Corporation
                                  LONDON

“Show him in,” ordered Prokop, and he was extremely surprised that that
fellow Carson had not told him the evening before about his honours and
that to-day he should have arrived so ceremoniously; he was also a little
curious to see how Carson would look after that wild night. Then his
eyes simply started out of his head with astonishment. There came into
the room a completely strange gentleman, a good foot taller than the Mr.
Carson of yesterday.

“Very glad to see you,” said the strange gentleman slowly, and bowed just
as low as if he had been a telegraph pole.

Prokop made an indeterminate noise and gave him a seat. The gentleman
sat down on it squarely and began very leisurely to peel off a pair of
magnificent kid gloves. He was a very tall and extraordinarily serious
gentleman with a horse-like face with very precise lines on it. In his
tie-pin was an enormous Indian opal, on his gold watch-chain an antique
cameo. He had the enormous feet of a golf player, and was, in brief,
every inch an English gentleman. Prokop was stupefied. “Please?” he
managed to say finally, when the silence had become unbearable.

The gentleman was in no hurry. “Without doubt,” he began slowly in
English, “without doubt you must have been surprised when you first came
across my announcement in the paper. I assume that you are Eng. Prokop,
the author of some extremely interesting articles on explosives.”

Prokop nodded silently.

“I am very glad to meet you,” said Sir Reginald without haste. “I have
been wanting to see you in connection with a matter of great scientific
interest and practically of great importance for our company, the
International Wireless Corporation, whose president I have the honour to
be. It is of no less importance for the International Union for Wireless
Telegraphy, who have been so good as to elect me as their general
secretary. You will certainly be somewhat astonished,” he continued
without being out of breath, “that these important concerns should have
sent me to see you when your distinguished work is in quite another
field. Allow me.” With these words Sir Reginald opened his crocodile
leather wallet and pulled out some papers, a writing block and a gold
pencil.

“About nine months ago,” he began slowly, putting a pair of gold
pince-nez on his nose so as to see better, “the European wireless
stations noticed the fact——”

“Pardon me,” Prokop interrupted him, unable to control himself, “did you
put those announcements in the papers?”

“Certainly I did. The stations became aware, then, of certain regular
disturbances——”

“—on Tuesdays and Fridays, I know. Who told you about Krakatit?”

“I proposed to come to that later,” said this venerable gentleman
somewhat reproachfully. “Well, I will pass over the details, assuming
that to a certain extent you are informed regarding our aims and
oh—eh—ah——”

“—regarding a secret international conspiracy, eh?”

Sir Reginald opened his pale blue eyes very wide. “Excuse me, but to what
conspiracy do you refer?”

“Well, to those secret messages at night, to the secret organization
which sends them out——”

Sir Reginald cut him short. “Fantasy,” he said regretfully, “pure
fantasy. I am aware that the _Tribune_ when our company advertised such a
relatively large reward ... circulated the report——”

“I know,” said Prokop quickly, afraid that this leisurely gentleman would
begin to discuss the point.

“Yes. Pure invention. The whole business has nothing but a commercial
basis. It is in the interests of a certain person to demonstrate the
unreliability of our stations, if you understand me. He wishes to
undermine public confidence. Unfortunately our receivers and—ah—coherers
are unable to discover the particular type of waves which bring this
disturbance about. And since we have received reports to the effect that
you have in your possession a certain substance or chemical which reacts
in the most remarkable way to these disturbances——”

“Reports from whom?”

“From your colleague, Mr.—ah—Mr. Thomas. Mr. Thomas—ah.” Sir Reginald
extracted a letter from the bundle of papers he had brought with him.
“‘Dear Sir,’” he read with a certain amount of effort, “‘I have seen in
the newspapers an announcement of a reward, etc., etc. As at the present
moment it is impossible for me to leave Balttin, where I am at work in
connection with a certain discovery, and as a matter of such importance
cannot be dealt with by letter, I beg you to seek out in Prague a friend
of mine with whom I have worked for many years, Mr. Eng. Prokop, who is
in possession of a newly discovered substance, Krakatit, the tetrargon
of a certain lead salt, the synthesis of which is made by utilizing the
effect of a high frequency current. Krakatit reacts, as various exact
experiments have demonstrated, to certain mysterious disturbing waves by
a powerful explosion, from which it follows that it will have decisive
significance for determining the nature of the waves in question. In view
of the importance of the matter I would suggest, on behalf of myself and
my friend, that the reward offered should be considerably rai——’” Sir
Reginald cleared his throat. “That is really all,” he said. “We could
discuss the question of the reward separately. Signed by Mr. Thomas in
Balttin.”

“H’m,” said Prokop, possessed by a sudden serious suspicion, “that such
a personal ... unreliable ... fantastic report should suffice for the
International Wireless Corporation.”

“I beg your pardon,” retorted Sir Reginald, “needless to say we have
received very precise reports regarding certain experiments in Balttin——”

“Aha! from a certain Saxon laboratory assistant, eh?”

“No. From our own representative. I’ll read you it now.” Sir Reginald
again rummaged in his papers. “Here we are. ‘Dear Sir, the local stations
have so far been unable to overcome the disturbances in question.
Attempts at using greater power for transmission purposes have completely
failed. I have received a report from a reliable informant to the effect
that the military works in Balttin have acquired a certain quantity of
some substance——’”

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” said Prokop, and the waiter
entered with a visiting card: “Some gentleman is asking——”

On the card were the words:

                                MR. CARSON
                                  Balttin

“Show him in,” said Prokop, suddenly violently angry and completely
ignoring Sir Reginald’s gesture of protest.

A moment afterwards the Mr. Carson of yesterday, his face bearing evident
marks of lack of sleep, walked into the room and made towards Prokop,
evidently delighted to see him again.




CHAPTER XXI


“One moment,” Prokop stopped him, “allow me to introduce you. Mr. Carson,
Sir Reginald Carson.”

Sir Reginald drew himself up but remained seated with unruffled dignity;
but Mr. Carson, whistling with surprise, sank into a chair like a man
whose legs have suddenly failed him. Prokop leaned against the door and
stared at both of them with uncontrolled hostility. “Well?” he asked
finally.

Sir Reginald began to put his papers away in his wallet. “Undoubtedly,”
he said slowly, “it would be better for me to visit you some other time——”

“Please stay,” Prokop interrupted him. “Excuse me, gentlemen, are you by
any chance related?”

“Certainly not,” said Mr. Carson. “On the contrary.”

“Which of you is the real Carson?”

Nobody answered; there was a painful silence.

“Ask this gentleman,” said Sir Reginald coldly, “perhaps he will show you
his papers.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” hissed Mr. Carson, “but after the other
gentleman has done so first. So.”

“And which of you inserted that announcement in the papers?”

“I,” said Mr. Carson without the least hesitation, “my inspiration, my
dear sir. I see that even in our sphere one comes across the unheard-of
depravity of exploiting some one else’s idea. So.”

“Allow me,” Sir Reginald turned to Prokop with real moral indignation,
“this is really too much. What would it have looked like if still another
announcement had been made under another name! I was therefore obliged to
accept the situation created by the other gentleman.”

“Aha!” burst out Mr. Carson aggressively, “and so the gentleman assumed
my name for his purposes!”

“All I want to say is,” Sir Reginald defended himself, “that this
gentleman is simply not named Carson.”

“What is his name then?” asked Prokop quickly.

“... I don’t know exactly,” said Sir Reginald contemptuously through his
teeth.

“Carson,” said Prokop, turning to the engineer, “and who is this
gentleman?”

“Competition,” said Mr. Carson with bitter humour. “This is the gentleman
who wished to trap me with false documents. He certainly wanted to make
me acquainted with some very charming people.”

“With the local military police,” muttered Sir Reginald.

Mr. Carson’s eyes flashed maliciously and he coughed warningly: “I beg
you not to speak about it! Certainly——”

“Would the gentlemen like to explain anything to one another?” grinned
Prokop from the door.

“No, nothing further,” said Sir Reginald with dignity; so far he had not
considered the other Carson worthy of a single glance.

“Now,” Prokop began, “first of all I should like to thank you both for
your visit. Secondly, I am extremely glad to hear that Krakatit is in
good hands, that is to say, in my own; for if you had the slightest hope
of getting hold of it otherwise I should not have been so much in demand,
eh? I am extremely obliged to you for the information which you have
involuntarily given me.”

“Don’t exult too soon,” muttered Mr. Carson, “there remains——”

“—him?” said Prokop, indicating Sir Reginald.

Mr. Carson shook his head. “Good gracious, no! But a certain third
person——”

“Excuse me,” said Prokop, annoyed, “you don’t surely think that I believe
anything of what you told me last night?”

Mr. Carson shrugged his shoulders regretfully. “Well, as you like.”

“Thirdly,” Prokop continued, “I should be obliged if you would kindly
tell me where Thomas is at present.”

“But I told you already,” said Mr. Carson quickly, “that I am not allowed
to do so. Come to Balttin and there you are.”

“And you, sir,” Prokop turned to Sir Reginald.

“I beg your pardon,” said the latter, “but I prefer to keep that to
myself.”

“Fourthly, I entreat you not to devour one another while I go out——”

“—for the police,” said Sir Reginald. “Quite right.”

“I am delighted that you share my opinion. Pardon my locking you in while
I am away.”

“Oh, please,” said Sir Reginald politely, while Mr. Carson would have
protested desperately.

Greatly relieved, Prokop locked the door behind him and further
stationed two waiters outside it, while he himself ran off to the
nearest police-station; for he thought it best to let them know what had
happened. It transpired that the matter was not to be arranged so easily.
He was unable to accuse either of the strangers of having committed even
any crime so unimportant as that of stealing silver spoons or playing
faro; it cost him a great deal of effort to allay the suspicions of the
official at the police-station, who evidently regarded him as insane.
Finally—probably for the sake of being left in peace—he allotted Prokop a
shabby and taciturn plain clothes detective. When they reached the hotel
they found both waiters still valiantly guarding the door, surrounded
by a group consisting of the entire _personnel_ of the establishment.
Prokop unlocked the door and the detective, having blown his nose loudly,
stepped quietly into the room as if he were going to buy a pair of
braces. It was empty. Both the Carsons had disappeared.

The taciturn individual merely blew his nose again and made his way to
the bathroom, which Prokop had completely forgotten. From there there was
a window looking out on to the well of the hotel, and on the opposite
wall was a window in the wall of the lavatory. The taciturn individual
then proceeded to the lavatory. This led to another flight of steps. The
door was locked, and the key had disappeared. The detective undid the
door with a pass-key and opened it; inside he found it empty, but there
were footmarks beneath the window. The taciturn individual locked the
door again and said that he would go and fetch his superior.

His superior, an active little man and a first-rate criminal expert,
did not take long to grasp the situation. He spent a good two hours in
trying to extract from Prokop an explanation of his relation to the two
gentlemen. It appeared that he had a strong desire to arrest at least
Prokop, who had become terribly embarrassed in his explanation of his
dealings with the two foreigners. Then he questioned the doorkeeper and
the waiters and instructed Prokop to report himself at the police-station
at six o’clock that evening, intimating that he would do better not to
leave the hotel meanwhile.

Prokop spent the rest of the day in wandering about the room and
reflecting with horror that he would probably be imprisoned; for how
could he furnish an adequate explanation when he was determined not
to mention Krakatit at any cost? The devil only knew how long such a
detention might last; and then, instead of looking for her, the unknown
one with a veil ... Prokop’s eyes were full of tears; he felt so weak
and soft that he grew positively ashamed. Finally he mustered all his
determination and set out for the police-station.

They led him at once into an office which was furnished with a thick
carpet, leather arm-chairs and a large box of cigars—that of the
President. Near the writing-table Prokop was confronted with an enormous
back like that of a boxer, inclined over some papers, a back which at
the first glance inspired him with terror and submissiveness. “Sit down,
Mr. Engineer,” said the back in a friendly tone, and there turned to
Prokop a face no less monumental in build, appropriately placed on the
neck of a wild bull. The powerful gentleman studied Prokop for a moment
and then said: “Mr. Engineer, I will not force you to tell me what you
have decided, after consideration, to keep to yourself. I know about your
work. I have the impression that the matter had to do with a certain
explosive prepared by you.”

“Yes.”

“The substance has a certain ... shall we say military significance?”

“Yes.”

The powerful gentleman got up and shook hands with Prokop. “I should just
like to express my thanks to you, Mr. Engineer, for not selling it to
foreign agents.”

“Is that all?” breathed Prokop.

“Yes.”

“Have you arrested them?” Prokop burst out.

“Why?” smiled the gentleman. “We have no right to do so. So far it is
only a matter of your secret and not of one belonging to our army....”

Prokop took the delicate hint and became confused. “The matter ... hasn’t
yet matured....”

“I believe you. I have confidence in you,” said the powerful man and
again shook his hand.

That was all.




CHAPTER XXII


“I must set to work methodically,” Prokop decided. Good; and after
reflecting for a long time and having a series of remarkable inspirations
he evolved a course of action....

To begin with, he inserted the following announcement in all the papers:
“Mr. Thomas. The messenger with a wounded hand asks the lady in the
veil for her address. Very important. P. Write ‘40,000’ to Box Office.”
This formulation of the inquiry seemed to him to be very ingenious; he
certainly did not know whether the young lady read the newspapers, and
especially advertisements, at all, but still, who knows? Chance is a
powerful factor. But instead of chance, circumstances came about which
could have been foreseen, but which Prokop had not anticipated. In answer
to the advertisement he received piles of correspondence, consisting
mostly of bills, reminders, threats and insults addressed to the missing
Thomas: “Let Mr. Thomas in his own interest furnish his address....” and
so on. Further, there wandered into the office of the paper a lean person
who, when Prokop called for the answers to his advertisement, stepped
up to him and asked him where Mr. Thomas lived. Prokop was as rude to
him as the circumstances permitted, whereupon the lean person produced
his authority out of his pocket and emphatically warned Prokop not to
misbehave himself. It was a question of a certain embezzlement and other
disreputable matters. Prokop was able to convince the lean person that
he himself was inordinately desirous of knowing where Mr. Thomas lived;
after this adventure and after studying the replies to his advertisement
his faith in the efficacy of such a method was seriously weakened. In any
case the replies steadily decreased in number, becoming on the other hand
more threatening in tone.

The next thing he did was to go to a private detective agency. There
he explained that he was looking for a mysterious girl in a veil and
attempted to describe her. The agency was quite prepared to furnish him
with perfectly discreet information regarding her if only he could tell
them her name, or address. There was nothing for him to do but to go away.

Then he got an inspiration of genius. In the package, which never left
him day or night, there was, besides a number of smaller bank-notes,
thirty thousand crowns done up in a wrapper, as is usually the custom
when banks pay out large sums of money. The name of the bank was not
on it; but it was at least highly probable that the girl had drawn the
money from some institution or other the day that Prokop left for Tynice.
Well, all he had to do was to find the exact date and then go round all
the banks in Prague and ask them to give him the name of the person who
on that day drew out thirty thousand crowns or something about that
figure. Yes, to find the exact date; Prokop was certain that Krakatit
had exploded on a Tuesday and it was probable that the girl had drawn the
money on a Wednesday; but Prokop was uncertain of both the week and the
month; it might have been in February or in March.

He made a tremendous effort to remember, or at least to calculate, when
it was; but all his speculations were nullified by the fact that he
had no idea how long he had lain ill. Good; they certainly must know
at Tynice what week it was in which he descended upon them. Dazzled by
this new hope, he sent a telegram to old Dr. Thomas: “Please telegraph
date when I arrived at your house. Prokop.” He had scarcely sent off
the wire when he was overcome with a feeling of remorse at having
behaved so badly. To the telegram he obtained no answer. Just as he was
about to abandon this trail it occurred to him that the caretaker’s
wife at Thomas’s flat might remember the date. He flew off there; but
the caretaker’s wife insisted that it was a Saturday. Prokop became
desperate; then he received a letter written in the large and careful
characters of a schoolgirl, to the effect that he had arrived at Tynice
on such and such a day but that “father mustn’t know that I have written
to you.” Nothing more. It was signed by Annie. For some reason Prokop’s
heart was torn by this couple of lines.

Now, having at last found the date he wanted, he rushed off to the
nearest bank; could they tell him who on such and such a day had drawn,
say, thirty thousand crowns? They shook their heads, saying that it was
not the custom to furnish such information; but when they saw that he
was completely disconcerted they consulted somebody behind and then
asked him on whose account the money had been taken out; for certainly
it had been drawn on a cheque, a deposit account or something of that
sort. Naturally Prokop did not know. Further, they told him, it was
possible that the person in question had only sold certain bills, in
which case there would be no record of his name in their books. And when,
finally, Prokop informed them that he had simply no idea whether the
money was paid out by this particular bank or not they burst out laughing
and inquired whether he was going round the two hundred and fifty-odd
financial institutions, agencies and exchanges in Prague with the same
question. So Prokop’s marvellous inspiration proved a complete failure.

There only remained the fourth possibility, the chance that he would
meet her. Prokop tried to introduce method even into this possibility;
he divided the map of Prague into sections and examined each one twice
daily. One day he calculated the number of people he would meet in this
way in one day and arrived at a total of nearly forty thousand; bearing
in mind the total population of the city it worked out that the chances
were one in twenty that he would meet her. Even this small probability
gave him hope. There were certain streets and places in which she was
more likely to reside, or along which she was likely to be walking;
streets with acacias in bloom, venerable old squares, intimate corners of
deep and serious life. It was surely impossible that she should be found
in the sort of noisy and dreary street along which one only hurried.
Nor amid the symmetrical desolation of characterless flats. Why, was
it not possible that she lived behind those large, dark windows beyond
which was to be found a shaded and refined quiet? Wandering as if in a
dream, Prokop realized for the first time in his life what there was to
be discovered in this town in which he had spent so many years of his
existence; God! how many beautiful spots, where life unrolls itself,
peaceful and mature, and entices one when one is distraught!

Numberless times Prokop dashed off in pursuit of young women who gave him
the impression from a distance, for some reason, of being she whom he had
only seen twice. He ran after them with a wildly beating heart; what if
it should prove to be she! Heaven knows what instincts of divination led
him to go after them. They were certainly mysterious, sad and beautiful,
absorbed in themselves and wrapped in some sort of inaccessibility. Once
he was almost certain that it was she; he was so excited that he had to
stop for a moment to take breath; and at that moment the woman got into
a tram and disappeared. For three days afterwards he waited near the
stopping place, but never saw her again.

Worst of all were the evenings when, completely exhausted, he sat rubbing
his hands on his knees and trying to evolve a new plan of campaign. God!
he would never abandon the search for her; it may be that it was an
obsession; that he was a lunatic, an idiot, a maniac; but he would never
give up. The more she evaded him—the greater efforts would he make; it
was ... simply fate ... or something.

Once he awoke in the middle of the night and it suddenly became
inevitably clear to him that he would never find her in this way; that he
would have to set out in search of George Thomas, who knew about her and
could tell him what he wanted. Although it was the middle of the night
he clothed himself, unable to wait until morning. He was unprepared for
the incredible difficulties that awaited him in obtaining a passport; he
could not understand what they wanted of him and alternately cursed and
grew dejected in feverish impatience. Finally, finally the night came
when an express carried him across the frontier. And now, to begin with,
to Balttin!

Now it will be decided, Prokop felt.




CHAPTER XXIII


It was decided very differently from the way he imagined.

He had conceived a plan of seeking out in Balttin the person who had
given himself out to be Carson and of saying to him something like this:
“Whatever happens, I spit on your money; lead me at once to George
Thomas, with whom I have business, and in return you shall get a good
explosive, say fulminate of iodine with a guaranteed detonation of some
eleven thousand metres per second, or a certain acid with a good thirteen
thousand, my dear sir, and you can do with it what you like.” They would
simply be mad not to take advantage of such an offer.

From the outside the factory in Balttin seemed to him to be positively
enormous; he was rather startled when, instead of a porter, he came upon
a military sentry. He asked for Mr. Carson (of course that was not the
fellow’s real name!); but the soldier passed him on without a word to his
N.C.O. The latter said little more and led Prokop to the officer. “We’ve
never heard of Engineer Carson here,” said the latter, “and what might
the gentleman want with him?” Prokop announced that, strictly speaking,
he wished to see Mr. Thomas. This made such an impression on the officer
that he sent for the commandant.

The commandant, a very fat and asthmatic person, questioned Prokop in
detail as to who he was and what he wanted; by this time there were at
least five military persons in the office and they all stared at Prokop
so hard that he simply sweated. It was evident that they were waiting
for somebody, for whom they had meanwhile telephoned. When this somebody
suddenly dashed into the room he proved to be nobody else but Mr. Carson;
they addressed him as director, but Prokop never learned his real name.
He cried out with delight when his eyes fell on Prokop, saying that he
had been waiting for him for a long time and various other things. He at
once telephoned to the “Castle” for the guest’s suite to be prepared,
took Prokop by the arm and conducted him all over the factory. It
appeared that what Prokop had taken for the factory was nothing but the
guard’s and firemen’s quarters at the entrance; from there they went
along a long road, bordered on each side by a fence about thirty feet
high. Mr. Carson led Prokop to the end of this road and only then did
he realize what the Balttin factories were really like: a whole town
of munition sheds, designated by numbers and letters, hillocks covered
with grass which, he told him, were magazines, a little farther on a
siding with cranes and ramps, and behind it a number of buildings made
of wood. “You see that wood over there?” said Mr. Carson pointing to the
horizon. “Behind it are the first experimental laboratories. And there
where you see those sand hills is the range. So. And here in the park
is the castle. You’ll open your eyes when I show you the laboratories.
Absolutely up to date. And now we’ll go to the castle.”

Mr. Carson chattered on happily, but said nothing about what had happened
or what was to happen in the future; they passed through the park and he
showed him a rare variety of Amorphophallus and next to it a particular
species of Japanese cherry; and then they came in sight of the Castle
of Balttin, all overgrown with ivy. At the entrance was waiting a quiet
and gentle old man in white gloves named Paul, who led Prokop straight
to the guest’s apartments. Prokop had never been in such surroundings in
his life: parquet flooring, empire style, everything old and valuable,
so that he was afraid even to sit down. And before he had had time to
wash his hands there was Paul with eggs, a bottle of wine and a glass,
which he set down on the table as carefully as if he were waiting on a
princess. Beneath the window was a yard covered with pale yellow sand;
a groom in top boots was training a large dapple grey horse; beside him
there stood a slight, dark girl who was watching the trotting of the
horse through half-closed eyes and from time to time giving the groom
some sort of brief orders, after which she knelt down and felt the
animal’s hocks.

Mr. Carson then appeared with the swiftness of the wind, saying that he
must now introduce Prokop to the general manager. He led him along a long
white passage, adorned exclusively with antlers and lined with black
carved chairs. A red-faced page wearing white gloves opened the door for
them, Mr. Carson pushed Prokop inside into a sort of reception room and
the door closed behind them. At a desk there was seated a tall old man,
extraordinarily erect, as if he had just been taken out of a cupboard
and prepared for the interview.

“Mr. Eng. Prokop, your Excellence,” said Mr. Carson, “Prince
Hagen—Balttin.”

Prokop’s brow darkened and he jerked his head angrily, a movement which
he evidently regarded as constituting a bow.

“Very—pleased—to welcome you,” said Prince Hagen and stretched out an
inordinately long hand. Prokop again jerked his head.

“I—hope that—you will—enjoy yourself—among us,” continued the Prince, and
then Prokop noticed that he was paralyzed in half his body.

“Do—honour us—with your presence at dinner,” continued the Prince, with
evident anxiety on the score of his artificial teeth.

Prokop moved his feet nervously. “Excuse me, Prince,” he said finally,
“but I am unable to stay here; I—I must leave this very day——”

“Impossible, quite impossible,” cried Mr. Carson from behind.

“I must leave to-day,” repeated Prokop obstinately. “I only wanted ... to
ask you the whereabouts of Thomas. I should be ... pleased to offer you
in return——”

“What?” cried the Prince, and looked at Mr. Carson with eyes wide with
complete lack of comprehension. “What—does he want?”

“Leave that for the moment,” said Mr. Carson in Prokop’s ear. “Mr.
Prokop means to say, your Excellence, that he was not prepared for
your invitation. That doesn’t matter,” he went on, turning quickly to
Prokop. “I’ve arranged for that. We shall dine to-day out on the lawn,
so there is no question of evening clothes; you can go as you are. I’ve
telegraphed for a tailor; no need for anxiety, my dear sir. Everything
will be arranged by to-morrow. So.”

It was now Prokop’s turn to open his eyes wide. “What tailor? What does
this mean?”

“It will be—a particular honour—for us,” the Prince concluded and gave
Prokop his lifeless fingers.

“What does this mean?” raged Prokop when they were outside in the passage
and seized Carson by the shoulder. “Tell me now, man, or——”

Mr. Carson neighed like a horse and slipped out of his grasp like a
street urchin. “Or—what?” he laughed and flew off, bouncing like a ball.
“If you can catch me I’ll tell you everything, honestly.”

“You clown,” thundered Prokop, furious, and set off after him. Mr.
Carson, still neighing, flew down the stairs and slipped past the row of
armoured knights into the park. There he squatted down like a hare in
mockery of his pursuer. “Well,” he cried, “what will you do to me?”

“I’ll smash you to a jelly,” Prokop burst out, falling on him with his
full weight. Carson slid away, squeaked with delight and leapt about the
lawn like a hare. “Quick,” he sang out, “here I am,” and again he slipped
out of Prokop’s hands and cried “I see you!” from behind the stump of a
tree.

Prokop again set off after him silently with clenched fists, as serious
and threatening as Ajax. He was already panting for breath when, looking
round, he saw the dark Amazon watching him from the castle steps with
half-closed eyes. He became exceedingly ashamed of himself, stopped, and
had a sudden foolish fear that the girl would come across and feel his
hocks.

Mr. Carson, suddenly quite serious again, strolled over to him with his
hands in his pockets and said in a friendly manner: “Not enough training.
You shouldn’t spend the whole day sitting. Exercise your heart. So.
A-a-a-a,” he sang out, glowing, “haholihoo! The daughter of the old man,”
he added softly. “Princess Willy, that is Wilhelmina Adelaide Maud and
so on. An interesting girl, twenty-eight years old, a great horsewoman.
I must introduce you,” he said aloud and dragged the protesting Prokop
up to the girl. “Princess,” he called when they were still some distance
away, “let me introduce to you—to a certain extent against his will—our
guest, Engineer Prokop. A terribly irate person. Wants to kill me.”

“Good-morning,” said the Princess, and turned to Mr. Carson: “Do you know
that one of Whirlwind’s hocks is inflamed?”

“My God!” said Mr. Carson, horrified. “Poor Princess!”

“Do you play tennis?”

Prokop was frowning darkly and did not even realize that the remark was
addressed to him.

“He doesn’t,” Carson answered for him and dug him in the ribs. “You must
play. The Princess lost to Lenglen by only one set, eh?”

“Because I was playing against the sun,” said the Princess, a little
piqued. “What do you play?”

Again Prokop did not realize that he was being addressed.

“Mr. Prokop is a scientist,” said Carson warmly. “He’s discovered atomic
explosions and that sort of thing. A marvellous mind. Compared with him
we’re nothing but helps in the kitchen. Scraping potatoes. But he,” and
Mr. Carson whistled with amazement, “he’s a pure magician. If you want
him to he’ll prepare hydrogen from bismuth. So, madame.”

The half-closed grey eyes glanced casually at Prokop, who stood still,
thoroughly embarrassed and furious with Carson.

“Very interesting,” said the Princess and at once looked elsewhere. “Ask
him to teach me about these things some time. We meet again then at
mid-day, eh?”

Prokop bowed just in time and Carson dragged him off into the park.
“Race,” he said appreciatively. “That woman has breeding. Haughty, eh?
Wait till you know her better.”

Prokop stopped. “Listen, Carson, so that you will get it clear. I
don’t intend to get to know anybody better. I am going away to-day or
to-morrow, you understand?”

Mr. Carson chewed a piece of grass. “A pity,” he said. “It’s very nice
here. Well, it can’t be helped.”

“The long and short of it is, where is Thomas——?”

“Wait until you are leaving. How did you like the old man?”

“What interest have I in him?” growled Prokop.

“Well, yes, an antique. There for show. Unfortunately he has a paralytic
stroke nearly every week. But Willy’s a marvellous girl. Then there’s
Egon, a hobbledehoy, eighteen. Both orphans. Then the guests, some second
cousin, Prince Suwalski, all sorts of officers, Rohlauf, Von Graun, you
know, Jockey Club and Dr. Krafft, the tutor, and various others. You
must come and see us this evening. Drink, none of the aristocracy, our
engineers and people of that sort, see? Over there in my villa. It’ll be
in your honour.”

“Carson,” said Prokop severely, “I want to speak seriously with you
before I go.”

“There’s no hurry. Just rest yourself. Well, I must get back to my work.
Do just what you like. No formalities. If you want to bathe, there’s a
lake over there. We’ll talk seriously later. Make yourself comfortable.
So.”

And he was gone.




CHAPTER XXIV


Prokop wandered about the park, irritable and yawning through lack of
sleep. He wondered what they wanted with him and contemplated with
dissatisfaction his huge, ungainly boots and worn-out trousers. Absorbed
in these reflections he very nearly walked on to the tennis court, where
the Princess was playing with two girls in white dresses. He hastily
turned aside and set off towards what he imagined was the end of the
park. But in that direction the park ended in a sort of terrace; a stone
balustrade and below it a wall nearly forty feet high. From the terrace
one had a view of the pine woods and of a soldier who was pacing up and
down below with a fixed bayonet.

Prokop then set off to the part of the park which sloped away from the
castle. There he found a lake with some bathing sheds, but overcoming the
temptation to bathe, he went on into a beautiful coppice of birch trees.
Here he came upon a lattice-work fence and a half effaced path leading to
a gate; the gate was not completely closed and it was possible to pass
through it into a pine wood. He walked quietly along over the slippery
pine cones until he reached the edge of the wood. And there, damnation,
was a fence surmounted by barbed wire, a good twelve feet high. How
strong, he wondered, was the wire? He tested it carefully with his hands
and feet until he noticed that his conduct had begun to interest a
soldier with a fixed bayonet who was standing on the other side.

“A hot day, eh?” said Prokop, to pass it off.

“You are not allowed here,” said the soldier; and Prokop swung round
and set off farther along the barbed-wire fence. The pine wood turned
into scattered young trees, behind which were a few sheds and stables,
evidently the yard belonging to the castle. He looked through the fence
and inside there immediately began a frightful howling, yelping and
barking, and a good dozen dogs, bloodhounds and wolfhounds, hurled
themselves at the fence. Four pairs of unfriendly eyes looked out of
four different doors. Prokop made some sort of greeting and wished to go
farther, but one of the servants ran after him, saying that “You’re not
allowed here,” after which he led him back to the gate at the end of the
birch wood.

All this put Prokop into a very bad frame of mind. Carson must tell him
which was the way out, he decided; he was not a canary, to be kept in
a cage. Making a detour to avoid the tennis court he made his way to
the road through the park, along which Carson had first led him to the
castle. No sooner had he reached it than a fellow in a flat cap, who
looked as if he had stepped out of a film, came up to him and asked where
the gentleman might be going.

“Outside,” said Prokop shortly; but “You’re not allowed here!” exclaimed
the fellow in the cap; “this is the road to the munition barracks and
anyone who wants to go along it must have a _laissez-passer_ from the
management. The gate leading outside directly from the castle is back
there on the main road and to the left, please.”

Prokop went along the main road and to the left, please, until he was
brought up by a large gate with a grating in it. The old doorkeeper went
forward to open it for him. “Have you a ticket, please?”

“What sort of ticket?”

“A pass.”

“What sort of pass?”

“A ticket, giving you permission to go out.”

Prokop became furious. “Am I in a prison, then?”

The old man shrugged his shoulders regretfully: “I was instructed this
morning, please.”

Poor wretch, thought Prokop, as if he could prevent anyone going out! A
movement of the hand——

From the window of the doorkeeper’s house there looked out a familiar
face, recalling that of Bob. Prokop left his train of thought unfinished,
turned back, and wandered again towards the castle. The devil, he said
to himself, they’re up to some curious tricks; it almost looks as if one
were a prisoner here. Good; I’ll discuss this with Carson. To begin with,
I’m not going to take any notice of their hospitality and shan’t join
them at dinner. I’m not going to sit down with those young ladies who
laughed at me behind my back on the tennis court. Infinitely dejected,
Prokop returned to the rooms which had been assigned to him and threw
himself down on a divan, giving himself up to his anger. A moment later
Mr. Paul knocked at the door and asked with great kindness and concern
whether the gentleman was going down to lunch.

“No, I’m not,” growled Prokop.

Mr. Paul bowed and disappeared. In a minute he had returned, pushing
before him a little table on wheels, covered with glasses, fragile
porcelain and silver. “What wine, please?” he asked tenderly. Prokop
muttered something so as to be left in peace.

Mr. Paul went on tiptoe to the door and there took from two white paws a
large dish. “_Consommé de tortue_,” he whispered and poured some out for
Prokop, upon which the dish was borne away in the white claws. By the
same route there arrived fish, meat, salad, and things which Prokop had
never eaten in his life and did not even know how to deal with; but he
was shy of exhibiting his embarrassment before Mr. Paul. To his surprise
his wrath had somehow disappeared. “Sit down,” he ordered Paul, savouring
the dry white wine with his nose and palate. Mr. Paul bowed considerately
but remained standing.

“Listen, Paul,” Prokop continued, “do you think that I’m in prison here?”

Mr. Paul politely shrugged his shoulders: “I am unable to say, please.”

“Which is the way out?”

Mr. Paul reflected for a moment. “Along the main road and then to the
left, please. Will the gentleman take coffee?”

“Well, perhaps.” Prokop burnt his throat with the superior Mocha, after
which Mr. Paul handed him all the perfumes of Araby, contained in a
cigar-box and a silver lighter. “Listen, Paul,” Prokop began again,
biting the end of a cigar, “thank you. Did you ever know a certain Thomas
here?”

Mr. Paul raised his eyes to heaven in an effort of recollection. “I
didn’t, please.”

“How many soldiers are there here?”

Mr. Paul considered and made a calculation. “In the main guard about
two hundred. That’s the infantry. Then the field militia, I don’t know
how many. In Balttin-Dortum a squadron of hussars. Some gunners at the
artillery ground in Balttin-Dikkeln.”

“Why do they have field militia here?”

“This is a military camp, please. In connection with the munition
factory.”

“Aha! And there’s only a guard just round this place?”

“Here there are only patrols, please. The chain is further away, behind
the wood.”

“What chain?”

“The protective zone, please. No one is allowed to go there.”

“And if anyone wants to leave the place——”

“Then he must obtain a permit from the camp commandant. Does the
gentleman require anything more?”

“No, thank you.”

Like a satiated Eastern potentate, Prokop stretched himself out on the
divan. Well, we shall see, he said to himself; so far things were not so
bad. He wished to reflect on the matter but instead could only remember
the way in which Carson had jumped about in front of him. Supposing he
hadn’t caught him? he thought and set off in pursuit. It was only a
question of a jump of about fifteen feet; but Carson soared up like a
grasshopper and flew smoothly over a clump of bushes. Prokop stamped
his feet and rose after him, but he had scarcely raised his feet when
he found himself skimming over the tops of the bushes. Another jump and
he was flying God knows whither, not worrying any more about Carson. He
glided about amongst trees, as light and as free as a bird; he tried a
few movements with his legs and found himself rising higher. This pleased
him inordinately. With powerful strokes he circled up and up. Below him,
like a beautiful map, there appeared the prospect of the castle park
with its arbours, lawns and serpentine paths; one could distinguish the
tennis courts, the pond, the roof of the castle, the birch wood; over
there was the yard with the dogs, and the pine wood and the wired fence,
and to the right began the munition sheds and behind them the high wall.
Prokop made his way through the air over the part of the park which he
had not yet visited. On the way there he saw that what he had regarded
as a terrace was really the old fortifications of the castle, a powerful
bastion with a moat, evidently formerly filled from the lake. He was
principally interested in that part of the park between the main entrance
and the bastion; there there were overgrown paths and wild bushes, and
a wall a good nine feet high, beneath which was some sort of a rubbish
heap; beyond was a kitchen garden and round it a wall in which was a
green gate; the other side of the gate ran the main road. “I’ll have a
look in that direction,” said Prokop to himself, and descended a little.
But at this point there appeared on the road a squadron of cavalry with
drawn sabres, advancing directly upon him. Prokop drew his knees up to
his chin, so that they should not slash at him; but through this movement
received such an impulse that he once more flew up to a height like an
arrow. When he looked down again he saw everything small as on a map;
down on the main road there was moving a tiny battery of artillery, the
polished muzzle of a gun was turned upwards, a small white cloud appeared
and bang! The first shell flew over Prokop’s head. They’re firing at me,
he thought, and quickly waved his arms so as to descend. Bang! Another
shell whizzed passed Prokop’s nose. He took to flight as quickly as he
was able. Bang! A third shell struck away his wings and Prokop shot head
downwards to earth and woke up. Some one was knocking at the door.

“Come in,” cried Prokop, and sprang up, not knowing what it was all about.

There entered the room a white-haired aristocratic-looking gentleman in
black, who bowed deeply.

Prokop remained standing and waited to see what the distinguished
gentleman might say.

“Drehbein,” said the minister (at least!) and bowed again.

Prokop bowed equally deeply. “Prokop,” he introduced himself. “What can I
do for you?”

“If you will kindly remain standing for a moment.”

“Please,” said Prokop, frightened as to what was going to happen to him.

The white-haired gentleman studied Prokop attentively for a moment; then
he walked round him and became absorbed in the contemplation of his back.

“If you would kindly draw yourself up a little.”

Prokop became as rigid as a soldier; what the devil——

“Allow me,” said the gentleman, and knelt down in front of Prokop.

“What do you want?” gasped out Prokop, recoiling.

“To take your measure.” And he drew out of his coat tails a tape measure
and began to consider Prokop’s trousers.

Prokop receded as far as the window. “Stop it, will you?” he said,
irritated. “I’ve ordered no clothes.”

“I’ve already received instructions,” said the gentleman respectfully.

“Listen,” said Prokop, recovering control of himself, “go to—I don’t want
any clothes and that’s that! Do you understand?”

“Please,” agreed Mr. Drehbein, and he squatted down in front of Prokop,
lifted his waistcoat and began to measure the top of his trousers. “Two
inches more,” he noted, getting up. “Allow me.” And he slipped his hand
along to Prokop’s armpit in a professional manner. “A little more free.”

“Good,” muttered Prokop and turned his back on him.

“Thank you,” said the gentleman and smoothed out a crease on the back of
his coat.

Prokop swung round, furious. “Take your hands away, man, or——”

“Excuse me,” said the gentleman and gently passed his arms round his
waist. Before Prokop had time to fell him to the ground he had loosened
his waistcoat strap, had stepped back and was regarding Prokop’s waist
with his head on one side. “So,” he said, completely satisfied and bowed
deeply. “I beg to take leave of you.”

“Go to the devil,” cried Prokop after him, and “It won’t be to-morrow
now,” he said to himself, after which he began to pace from one corner
of the room to the other. “Holy smoke, do these people imagine that I am
going to stay here for six months?”

Then there was a knock at the door and Mr. Carson entered with a
completely innocent face. Prokop, his hands behind his back, stopped
him and measured him with melancholy eyes. “Who are you, man?” he said
sharply.

Mr. Carson did not even blink, crossed his hands on his chest and bowed
like a Turk.

“Prince Aladdin,” he said, “I am a djin, your slave. Instruct me and
I will carry out your every wish. You’ve been to bye-byes? Well, your
Excellence, how do you like it here?”

“Enormously,” said Prokop bitterly. “I should only like to know whether
I’m a prisoner here, and if so, by what right.”

“A prisoner?” said Mr. Carson, astounded. “Good heavens, surely nobody’s
been preventing your going into the park?”

“No, but going out of the park.”

Mr. Carson shook his head sympathetically. “Unpleasant, eh? I’m terribly
upset that you’re dissatisfied. Did you bathe in the lake?”

“No. How do I get out?”

“By the main exit, of course. Go straight on and then to the left——”

“And there I’ve to show a pass, eh? Only that I have none.”

“A pity,” said Mr. Carson. “Such pretty country round about.”

“Mostly masses of soldiers.”

“A lot of soldiers,” agreed Mr. Carson. “Well said.”

“Listen,” burst out Prokop and his forehead twitched with anger, “do
you think that it’s pleasant to come upon a bayonet or a barbed-wire
entanglement every few yards?”

“Where’s that?” said Mr. Carson, astonished.

“Everywhere at the edge of the park.”

“And what in God’s name is taking you to the edge of the park? You can
walk about the middle; what more do you want?”

“So I am a prisoner?”

“God preserve us! So I shan’t forget it, here’s a pass for you. A
_laissez-passer_ to the factory, see? In case by any chance you would
like to have a look at it.”

Prokop took the pass from him and became amazed; on it was his
photograph, evidently taken the same day. “And with this I can get
outside?”

“No,” said Mr. Carson quickly. “I shouldn’t advise you to. Generally
speaking, I should be careful if I were you, eh? You understand? Come
and look,” he said from the window.

“What is it?”

“Egon is learning to box. Phew, he’s caught it! That’s Von Graun, see?
Aha! that kid’s got some spirit!”

Prokop looked with revulsion into the yard, where a half-naked lad,
bleeding from the mouth and nose, and sobbing with pain and anger, was
hurling himself again and again at an older opponent, to be thrown back
every time more bloody and pitiful than ever. What he found particularly
revolting was that the performance was being watched by the old Prince
from a bathchair, laughing for all he was worth, while Princess Willy was
chatting calmly all the time with a magnificently handsome man. Finally,
Egon collapsed into the sand completely stupefied and allowed the blood
to pour from his nose.

“Brutes!” roared Prokop, addressing the remark to no one in particular,
and clenched his fists.

“You mustn’t be so sensitive here,” said Mr. Carson. “Severe discipline.
Life ... as in the army. We don’t treat anybody gently here,” he added,
so pointedly that it seemed like a threat.

“Carson,” said Prokop seriously. “Am I here ... as it were ... in prison?”

“Good gracious, no! You’re only in a concern which is under supervision.
A powder factory isn’t quite the same sort of thing as a barber’s shop,
what? You must adapt yourself to the position.”

“I leave to-morrow,” Prokop burst out.

“Ha, ha!” laughed Mr. Carson and slapped him on the stomach. “A great
wag! You’ll come and see us this evening, eh?”

“I won’t go anywhere! Where’s Thomas?”

“What? aha! your Thomas. Well, at the moment a long way away. Here’s the
key of your laboratory. Nobody will disturb you. I’m sorry I’ve no time.”

“Carson!” Prokop wished to stop him, but he drew back before a gesture so
commanding that he did not venture to come nearer; and Mr. Carson slid
out of the room whistling like a trained starling.

Prokop made his way with his pass to the main entrance. The old man
studied it and shook his head; the pass, he said, was only valid for exit
C, the exit leading to the laboratories. Prokop went to exit C; the man
out of the film with a flat cap examined the pass and pointed: straight
ahead, then the third cross-road to the north. Prokop of course took
the first road to the south; but after five steps he was stopped by a
soldier: back and the third road to the left. Prokop ignored the third
road to the left and went straight ahead across a meadow; in a moment
three people appeared in front of him. He was not allowed to go this
way. Then he obediently went along the third road to the north, and when
he thought that there was no one watching him again turned off the road
between some munition sheds. Here he encountered a soldier with a fixed
bayonet who told him to go to cross-roads No. B11 Road N.6. Prokop tried
his luck at each cross-road; he was always stopped and sent back to road
B11 N.6; finally he learned reason and realized that a pass on which
were the letters “C3n.wF.H.A.V11.N6.barV.7.F.b!” had some secret and
unescapable significance which he was bound to recognize. So he now went
where they directed him. The munition sheds were left behind, and instead
were small concrete structures, all marked with numbers, evidently
experimental laboratories or something of the sort, distributed amongst
the sand dunes and pine woods. His path led to a completely isolated hut
numbered V.7. On the door was a brass plate marked “Eng. Prokop.” Prokop
brought out the key which Carson had given him and went inside.

He was confronted with a perfectly equipped laboratory for the chemistry
of explosives—so complete and modern that Prokop held his breath with
the delight of a specialist. On a nail there hung his old overall, in
the corner was a military palliasse like the one he had had in Prague,
and in the drawers of a magnificently appointed writing-table there
lay, carefully classified and catalogued, all his printed articles and
manuscript notes.




CHAPTER XXV


It was six months since Prokop had had any chemical apparatus in his
hands.

He examined one instrument after another; everything of which he had
ever dreamed was there, gleaming, brand-new and arranged with pedantic
precision. There was a desk and a technical library, an enormous table
covered with chemicals, cupboards containing delicate instruments, a
chamber for experimental explosions, a room containing transformers, and
apparatus of which he had never even heard. He had looked over about
half these marvels when, following a sudden impulse, he rushed to the
table for a certain barium salt, some nitrate acid, a few other things,
and began an experiment in the course of which he succeeded in burning
his fingers, smashing a test-tube to fragments and burning a hole in his
coat. Satisfied with this beginning he sat down at the writing-table and
jotted down two or three notes.

Then he had another look round the laboratory. It reminded him rather of
a newly instituted perfumery. Everything was arranged too carefully; but
after changing the places of a few things it became more to his taste,
more intimate. In the midst of the most intense work he suddenly stopped
himself.

“Aha!” he said, “this is how they’re trying to catch me! In a minute
Carson will arrive and begin talking about becoming a big man and that
sort of thing.”

He sat down morosely on the palliasse and waited. When no one appeared he
sat like a thief at the desk and began again on the barium salt. Anyway,
he was here for the last time, he told himself. The attempt proved
perfectly successful: the stuff burst with a long tongue of flame and
cracked the glass case containing the balance. “Now I shall catch it,” he
said to himself guiltily, when he saw the extent of the damage, and crept
out of the laboratory like a schoolboy who had broken a window. Outside
it was already dusk and a fine rain was falling. Ten paces in front of
the shed stood a military guard.

Prokop slowly walked back to the castle along the road by which he had
come. The park was deserted; a fine rain hissed in the branches of the
trees, lights began to appear in the castle and the triumphant notes of
a piano resounded in the darkness. Prokop made his way to a lonely part
of the park between the main entrance and the terrace. Here all the paths
had been overgrown and he plunged into the wet underbrush like a boar,
every now and then stopping for a moment to listen and then making a way
for himself again through the crackling bushes. At last he reached the
edge of this jungle where the bushes stretched over an old wall not more
than nine feet high. Prokop seized an overhanging branch so as to drop
from it onto the other side of the wall; but under his solid weight the
branch gave way with a sharp crack like a pistol shot, and Prokop fell
heavily onto a sort of rubbish heap. He remained seated with a beating
heart. Surely someone would come after him now. But he heard nothing more
than the dripping of the rain. He picked himself up and noticed a wall
with a green gate, as he had seen it in his dream.

It was just the same save in one detail; the gate was open. He was
greatly disconcerted. Either some one had just gone out of it or was
shortly returning; in either case it meant that there was a person in
the vicinity. What should he do? Suddenly decided, Prokop kicked the
gate open and came out on the main road; and, sure enough, there outside
was stumping about a short man in a mackintosh, smoking a pipe. They
stood opposite one another, somewhat embarrassed as to how to begin.
Naturally the more agile Prokop was the first to take action. Having
chosen instantaneously one of a number of possibilities, he threw himself
with all his force on the man with a pipe, and, butting him like a goat,
threw him into the mud. Then he pressed his chest and elbows into the
ground, rather doubtful as to what to do next; for he could hardly wring
his neck like a chicken’s. The man underneath him never even let the pipe
fall from his mouth and evidently was awaiting developments. “Surrender!”
roared Prokop; but at that moment he received a blow from the man’s knee
in the stomach and another from his fist under the chin, as a result of
which he rolled into a ditch.

When he began to pick himself up he was greeted with another blow, while
the man with the pipe remained quietly watching him from the road.
“Again?” he said through his teeth. Prokop shook his head. Then the
fellow fetched out an extraordinarily dirty handkerchief and began to
clean Prokop’s clothes. “Mud,” he remarked and rubbed him assiduously.

“Back!” he said finally, and indicated the green gate. Prokop weakly
assented. The man with the pipe led him as far as the old wall, and bent
down, his hands on his knees. “Climb up,” he ordered. Prokop clambered
on to his shoulders, the man drew himself up sharply with an “Up!” and
Prokop, seizing an overhanging branch, found himself on the top of the
wall. He was almost crying with shame.

And, to add to everything, when, scratched and swollen, and covered
with mud, he crept humiliated up the steps of the castle to his suite,
he met Princess Willy on the stairs. Prokop tried to pretend that he
wasn’t there, or that he did not recognize her, or something of the sort,
omitted to salute her and dashed upstairs like a statue made of mud. But
just as he was passing her he caught her astonished, haughty, highly
offended look. He stopped stock-still. “Wait,” he cried and rushed up to
her. “Go,” he cried, “and tell them, tell them that ... that I don’t care
twopence for them and that ... I don’t consent to be imprisoned, see? I
don’t consent!” he roared and brought down his fist on the banisters so
that they rattled, after which he dashed into the park again, leaving the
Princess behind him pale and dumbfounded.

A few moments later some one almost obliterated by mud rushed into the
porter’s house, knocked the old man over with an oak table, seized Bob
by the throat and dashed his head against the wall so violently that
he lost consciousness, after which he possessed himself of the key,
opened the door and ran out. Outside he came up against a sentry, who
immediately challenged him and raised his rifle, but before he could
fire somebody was shaking him violently, tore the gun out of his hands
and broke his collar-bone with the butt. Then two sentries on duty near
by ran up; the black being threw the rifle at them and slipped back into
the park. Almost at the same moment the night guard at exit C was also
attacked; something large and black, appearing from nowhere, suddenly
began to hammer his lower jaw. The sentry, a blonde giant, was too
astonished for a moment to whistle for assistance. Then this somebody,
cursing terribly, let him go and ran back into the dark park. The guard
was called out and a number of patrols began to search the grounds.

At about midnight somebody demolished the balustrade on the terrace and
threw stones twenty pounds in weight at the guard, which was passing
thirty feet below. A soldier fired, producing from above a string of
political insults—and then all was quiet. At that moment a detachment of
cavalry arrived from Dikkeln, while the whole of the Balttin garrison
were occupied in thrusting their bayonets into the underbrush. In the
castle nobody attempted to sleep. At one A. M. an unconscious soldier
without a rifle was found on the tennis court. Shortly afterwards an
exchange of shots was heard in the birch wood; luckily nobody was
injured. Mr. Carson, with a serious and careworn expression, insisted on
sending Princess Willy back to the castle. Trembling through the cold
more than anything else, she had ventured, for some reason or other, on
to the battle-field. But the Princess, her eyes unusually widely open,
asked him to be so good as to leave her alone. Mr. Carson shrugged his
shoulders and let her have her own mad way.

Although people were gathered round the castle as thick as flies,
somebody continued to break the windows methodically from the bushes.
There was a panic, accentuated by the fact that at the same time three
or four rifle shots were heard from the main road. Mr. Carson looked
exceedingly anxious.

Meanwhile the Princess was silently walking along an avenue of beech
trees. Suddenly there appeared before her an enormous black creature,
which stood still for a moment, clenched its fists, muttered something
to the effect that it was a shame and a scandal, and then dived into the
bushes again. The Princess turned back and stopped the patrol, saying
that there was nobody there. Her eyes were wide and shining, as if she
were feverish. A moment afterwards firing was heard from the bushes
behind the lake; according to the noise it came from shot-guns. Mr.
Carson grumbled, saying that if the yard boys mixed themselves up in it
he would pull their ears for them. He did not know that at that moment
somebody had thrown a heavy stone at a valuable Danish hound.

At dawn they found Prokop sleeping soundly on a bench in the Japanese
summer-house. He was terribly scratched and befouled and his clothes hung
in rags; on his forehead he had a lump as big as his fist and his hair
was clotted with blood. Mr. Carson shook his head over the sleeping hero
of the night. Then Mr. Paul shuffled forward and carefully covered the
snoring sleeper with a warm rug, produced a basin full of water, a towel,
some clean linen and a brand-new tweed suit made by Mr. Drehbein and went
away on tiptoe.

Two inconspicuous persons in plain clothes, with revolvers in their
hip pockets, strolled up and down in the neighbourhood of the Japanese
summer-house until morning with the unconcerned air of people who are
waiting to observe the sunrise.




CHAPTER XXVI


Prokop was waiting for all sorts of things to happen as a result of
the night’s activity; nothing took place, except that he found himself
followed about by the man with the pipe—the one being whom Prokop for
some reason or other feared. This person bore the name of Holz—a name
which was very expressive of his quiet and observant nature. Wherever
Prokop went, Holz was five paces behind him. This drove him nearly mad
and he tormented his attendant for a whole day in the most refined
manner, running hither and thither up and down a short path and waiting
fifty and a hundred times for Mr. Holz to get tired of turning face about
every few steps. Mr. Holz, however, did not get tired. Then Prokop took
to flight and ran three times round the whole park. Mr. Holz silently
followed him without even taking his pipe out of his mouth, while Prokop
became completely out of breath.

Mr. Carson did not show himself that day. Evidently he was too angry.
Towards evening Prokop collected himself and went to his laboratory,
accompanied, of course, by his silent shadow. Once in the laboratory,
he wanted to lock himself in; but Mr. Holz stuck his foot in the door
and came in with him. And, since an arm-chair had been provided in the
hall, it was evident that Mr. Holz would remain there. Well, good. Prokop
busied himself with some secret business while Mr. Holz coughed shortly
and dryly in the hall. About two hours before dawn Prokop sprinkled some
sort of fabric with petroleum, lit it and dashed outside as fast as he
was able. Mr. Holz instantly sprang out of the arm-chair and followed
him. When they were a hundred yards away from the building Prokop threw
himself into a ditch with his face on the ground; Mr. Holz remained
standing over him and began to light his pipe. Prokop raised his head,
and was about to say something to him, but stopped on remembering that
conversation with Holz was forbidden on principle. Instead he stretched
out his hand and pulled his legs from under him. “Look out!” he roared,
and at that moment there was an explosion in the shed and fragments of
stone and glass whistled over their heads. Prokop stood up, cleaned
himself more or less and quickly, and ran off, followed by Mr. Holz. At
the same moment there appeared the guard and a fire engine.

This was the first warning addressed to Mr. Carson. If he didn’t come and
negotiate now, worse things would happen.

Mr. Carson did not come; instead there arrived a new pass for another
experimental laboratory. Prokop was furious. All right, he said to
himself, this time he would show them what he could do. He ran off to his
new laboratory, reflecting on the form which his protest would take. He
decided for explosive potash, ignited by water. But, arrived at the new
laboratory, he found himself helpless. That Carson was a devil!

Adjacent to the laboratory were the quarters of the factory guard. In
the garden a good dozen children were playing about in the dirt, and
a young mother was endeavouring to appease a little red-faced creature
that was yelling vigorously. On seeing Prokop’s irate visage it suddenly
stopped. “Good-evening,” muttered Prokop, and wandered back with his
fists clenched. Mr. Holz followed him five paces behind.

On the way to the castle he ran into the Princess on horseback
accompanied by a whole cavalcade of officers. He would have turned off
down a side path, but the Princess in a flash had ridden up to him. “If
you would like to ride,” she said quickly, and her dark face flushed,
“Premier is at your disposition.”

Prokop edged away from the careering Whirlwind. He had never been on a
horse in his life, but would not have admitted this for anything in the
world. “Thank you,” he said, “but there is no need ... to sweeten ... my
imprisonment.”

The Princess frowned. It was certainly out of place to refer to the
matter so directly in speaking to her; however, she controlled herself
and, suavely combining a reproach and an invitation, answered: “I beg you
not to forget that at the castle you are my guest.”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” mumbled Prokop obstinately, watching every
movement of the nervous horse.

The Princess, irritated, made a movement with her foot; Whirlwind snorted
and began to rear. “Don’t be frightened of him,” Willy threw out with a
smile.

Prokop, furious, struck the horse a blow on the muzzle; the Princess
raised her whip as if she wished to slash at his hand. All the blood
rushed to Prokop’s head. “Look out,” he said through his teeth, his
bloodshot eyes fixed on the Princess’s flashing ones. But at this point
the officers became aware of the unfortunate incident, and cantered up to
the Princess. “Hallo, what’s up?” cried the one who was riding in front
on a black mare and made straight for Prokop. Prokop saw the horse’s head
above him, seized hold of the bridle, and with all his force dragged
it aside. The horse screamed with pain and reared up on its hind legs,
while the officer flew into the arms of the tranquil Mr. Holz. Two sabres
flashed in the sun; but quickly the Princess placed Whirlwind between
Prokop and the officers. “Stop!” she ordered, “he is my guest!” and,
giving Prokop a black look, she added: “Incidentally he is afraid of
horses. Let me introduce you to one another. Lieutenant Rohlauf. Engineer
Prokop. Prince Suwalski. Von Graun. The affair is settled, eh? When
Rohlauf has mounted again we will go. Premier is at your disposition,
sir. And please remember that here you are a guest. _Au revoir!_” The
whips swished through the air, Whirlwind twisted round, and the cavalcade
disappeared round the corner of the road. Only Mr. Rohlauf pranced round
Prokop on his horse, fixing him with angry eyes, saying finally in a
voice choked with anger: “You shall give me satisfaction, sir.”

Prokop swung round on his heel, returned to his room, and locked himself
in. Two hours later a message was carried by the fragile Paul from the
guest’s suite to the management. Immediately Mr. Carson ran to Prokop
with a severe expression on his face; with a commanding gesture he pushed
back Mr. Holz, who was quietly dreaming in an arm-chair outside the room,
and went inside.

Mr. Holz took a seat in front of the castle and lit his pipe. From within
there came a terrible roar, but Mr. Holz paid no attention to it; his
pipe was not drawing properly. He unscrewed the stem, and in an expert
manner cleaned it with a stalk of grass. From the guest’s suite could be
heard the growling of two tigers whose teeth were fixed in one another;
both roared, there was a sound of furniture being overturned, a moment
of silence, and then a frightful cry from Prokop. People appeared from
the garden; but Mr. Holz waved them away, and continued to occupy himself
with his pipe. The uproar inside increased, both tigers roared still
louder and threw themselves on one another in fury. Mr. Paul ran out of
the castle as white as a sheet, lifting his terrified eyes to heaven. At
that moment the Princess cantered up with her escort. When she heard the
unholy turmoil in the guest’s wing of the castle she smiled nervously,
and quite unnecessarily gave Whirlwind a cut with the whip. Then the
noise quieted down a little; one could hear the thundering of Prokop,
who was threatening something and striking the table with his fist.
Interspersed with this came the sound of a sharp voice which threatened
and commanded. Prokop shouted passionate protests; but the sharp voice
answered quietly and decidedly.

“By what right?” cried Prokop’s voice. The authoritative voice
explained something with quiet and terrible emphasis. “But in that
case, you understand, you’ll all go up in the air,” roared Prokop,
and the uproar again became so terrific that Mr. Holz suddenly stuck
his pipe in his pocket and ran into the castle. But again all became
quiet. Only the sharp voice gave orders and enunciated clear phrases,
to the accompaniment of a dark and threatening murmur; it was as if
the conditions of an armistice were being dictated. Twice more there
resounded Prokop’s frightful roar; but the sharp voice remained calm,
apparently sure of its victory.

An hour and a half later Mr. Carson burst out of Prokop’s room, purple
and covered with sweat, snorting and sombre, and hurried round to the
Princess’s apartments. Ten minutes afterwards Mr. Paul, trembling with
respect, announced to Prokop, who was gnawing at his fingers in his room:
“Her Excellence.”

The Princess entered in evening dress, deathly pale, her eyebrows drawn
with anxiety. Prokop came forward to meet her, and wished, apparently,
to say something; but the Princess stopped him with a movement of her
hand that was full of command and protest, and said in a strangled
voice: “I’ve come ... sir, to apologize to you for striking at you. I am
infinitely sorry that it happened.”

Prokop flushed, and again wished to say something, but the Princess
continued: “Lieutenant Rohlauf is leaving to-day. The Prince begs you to
join us at dinner occasionally. Please forget the incident. _Au revoir._”
She quickly gave him her hand; Prokop touched the ends of her fingers.
They were cold, and as if dead.




CHAPTER XXVII


The fight with Carson seemed to clear the air a little. Prokop certainly
announced that he intended to escape at the first opportunity; but he
solemnly undertook that until that time he would refrain from any resort
to force or to threats. In recognition of this, Mr. Holz was removed to a
distance of fifteen paces, and Prokop was allowed, accompanied by him, to
move freely in a circle of three miles from seven in the morning to seven
in the evening, to sleep in the laboratory, and to dine where he wished.
On the other hand, Mr. Carson quartered a woman and two children in the
laboratory (as it happened, she was the wife of a workman who had been
killed by an explosion of Krakatit), as a sort of moral guarantee against
any “carelessness.” In addition Prokop was assigned a large salary, paid
in gold, and he was left free to work or amuse himself as he wished.

Prokop spent the first few days after this adventure in studying the
terrain within the three miles’ limit with a view to the possibilities
it afforded of escape. In view of the protective zone, which functioned
quite perfectly, the chances were exceedingly poor. Prokop thought out a
few methods of murdering Mr. Holz; but luckily he discovered that this
dry and sturdy being was supporting five children besides a mother and
a lame sister—and that, in addition, he had behind him three years’
imprisonment for manslaughter.

It was a certain satisfaction to Prokop that he had won the passionate
devotion of Mr. Paul, a retired butler, who was delighted that he again
had some one to wait on; for the dear old man was very pained by the
fact that he was considered too slow to wait at the Prince’s table.
Prokop at times became nearly desperate at his oppressive and respectful
attention. Further, Dr. Krafft, Egon’s tutor, who was as ruddy as a
fox, and had been terribly unfortunate in his life, had also become
attached to Prokop. He had received an unusual education, was a bit of a
theosophist, and as well the most absurd idealist which it is possible
to imagine. He approached Prokop with shyness, and admired him without
shame, since he regarded him as at least a genius. He had been acquainted
for some time with Prokop’s technical articles, and had even based on
them a theosophical theory of the lowest plane of manifestation, or, in
more ordinary language, of matter. He was also a pacifist, and, like all
people with too exalted views, a bore.

Prokop finally grew sick of wandering aimlessly about inside the
protective zone and began to visit the laboratory more and more. He
studied his old notes, filled up a lot of gaps in them, and prepared
and afterwards destroyed a large number of explosives, whose structure
confirmed his most daring hypothesis. At this time he was almost happy,
but in the evening he avoided people and languished under the calm glance
of Mr. Holz, looking up at the clouds, the stars, and at the horizon.

One other thing interested him enormously. Directly he heard the beat
of horses’ hoofs he stepped to the window and watched the rider—whether
it was a yard boy, some officer or other, or the Princess (with whom
he had not exchanged a word since that day), with attentive eyes. He
observed that the rider did not actually sit down as in a chair, but to a
certain extent might be said to stand in the stirrups; that he used his
knees and not his back; that he did not allow himself to be passively
shaken about like a sack of potatoes by the movement of the horse, but
actively adapted himself to it. Practically the process was probably very
simple, but for the technical engineer who was watching the mechanism
it appeared to be enormously complicated, especially when the horse
began to rear, prance, or dance about in thoroughbred shyness. Prokop
studied all this for hours, sheltered behind the window curtains; and one
fine morning he ordered Paul to have Premier saddled. Mr. Paul became
extremely disconcerted. He explained that Premier was a high-spirited and
restless animal which had never been fully broken in, but Prokop merely
repeated the order. His riding things were ready in the cupboard; he put
them on with a faint feeling of vanity and went downstairs. Premier was
already there, prancing about and dragging a groom round with him. Prokop
endeavoured to appease the animal by stroking his nostrils, as he had
seen other people do. The creature grew a little more calm, though his
feet still dug into the sand. Prokop approached his side in a calculating
manner, and was just raising his foot to the stirrup when Premier struck
out like lightning with his hind legs, so that Prokop only just had time
to get out of the way. The groom broke into a short laugh. That was
enough. Prokop hurled himself at the horse, somehow got his foot into
the stirrup and heaved himself into the saddle. For the next few moments
he had no idea what was happening; everything spun round, somebody
shouted, Prokop had one foot in the air while the other remained for
some incredible reason in the stirrup. At last Prokop got established
in the saddle, and gripped with his knees with all his strength. He did
this just in time, for immediately afterwards Premier suddenly bucked
violently; Prokop hastily leant back and feverishly tugged at the bridle.
As a result the beast stood up on his hind legs; Prokop tightened his
knees like a vice and put his face forward right between the horse’s
ears, taking great care not to throw his arms around its neck, as he was
afraid that this would appear foolish. He was practically only hanging
on by his knees. Premier ceased to rear and began to twist round and
round like a wolf dog; Prokop utilized this to get his other foot into
the stirrup. “Don’t squeeze him so tightly,” shouted the groom; but
Prokop was glad to feel the horse between his knees. The animal, more
desperately than spitefully, made another attempt to throw his strange
rider; he twisted and kicked, scattering the sand, and all the personnel
of the kitchen ran out to watch this extraordinary circus. Prokop
caught a glimpse of Mr. Paul, who was pressing a napkin to his lips in
consternation, and then Dr. Krafft dashed out, his ruddy hair gleaming
in the sun, and, at the risk of his own life, attempted to seize hold
of Premier’s bridle. “Leave him alone,” shouted Prokop, inordinately
proud, and dug his spurs into the horse’s side. Premier, to whom this
had never happened before, shot off like an arrow into the park. Prokop
drew in his head, so as to fall lightly if it came to the worst; he stood
in the stirrups inclined forward, involuntarily adopting the seat of a
jockey. When flashing past the tennis court in this manner, he noticed
there several white figures; this filled him with fury, and he began to
belabour Premier’s haunches with his whip. At this the animal completely
lost his head. After a number of disturbing sidelong jumps he sat down
on his haunches so that it seemed that he would fall over; but instead
he got up and flew across the lawn. Prokop realized that everything now
depended on holding his head, if they were not both to turn a somersault.
He dragged at the bit for all he was worth. Premier stopped short
suddenly, covered with sweat, and then began to move at a reasonable
trot. Victory was secured.

Prokop was extraordinarily relieved. Now at last he was able to apply
what he had studied so carefully theoretically. The trembling horse
allowed himself to be directed as his rider wished, and Prokop, as proud
as a god, rode him back along the twisting paths of the park towards
the tennis court. He caught a sight of the Princess, racket in hand,
the other side of a bush, and spurred Premier into a gallop. At that
moment the Princess clicked her tongue, Premier rose into the air and
flew towards her like an arrow over the tops of some shrubs; and Prokop,
completely unprepared for this advanced exercise, flew out of the saddle
and descended on to the grass. He felt something go, and the next moment
his senses were obliterated by pain.

When he recovered consciousness he saw in front of him the Princess,
and three men in the embarrassed position of people who do not know
whether to laugh at a joke or run for assistance. Prokop tried to move
his left leg, which lay underneath him, twisted in a surprising manner.
The Princess was watching him with an inquiring and at the same time
frightened expression on her face.

“Now,” said Prokop firmly, “you’ve broken my leg for me.” He was in
great pain, and the shock had confused his mind; nevertheless, he tried
to stand up. When, for the second time, he came to, he was lying in the
Princess’s lap, and she was wiping his sweat-covered forehead with a
strongly scented handkerchief. In spite of the frightful pain in his leg,
he was half in a dream. “Where is ... the horse?” he babbled, and began
to groan. Two gardeners lifted him on to a stretcher and carried him into
the castle. Mr. Paul changed into everything in the world: an angel, a
nurse, a mother. He ran about, arranged the pillows under Prokop’s head,
and poured cognac down his throat; then he sat down at the head of the
bed and allowed Prokop to crush his hand in his spasms of pain. Dr.
Krafft stood near with eyes filled with tears, and Mr. Holz, evidently
touched, cut away Prokop’s riding breeches and applied cold compresses to
his thigh. Prokop groaned quietly, smiling for a moment now and then with
his blue lips at Krafft or Mr. Paul. Then there appeared the regimental
doctor, or rather butcher, accompanied by an assistant, who very soon
started work on Prokop’s leg. “H’m,” he said, “compound fracture of the
femur and so on; at least six weeks in bed, my friend.” He produced two
splints and then began a very unpleasant business. “Stretch his leg
out,” ordered the butcher of his assistant, but Mr. Holz politely pushed
aside the excited beginner and himself seized hold of the broken member
with all his strength. Prokop bit into the pillows so as not to scream
with agony like an animal, and caught sight of the pained face of Mr.
Paul in which was reflected all his own torture. “A bit more,” said the
doctor in a bass voice, feeling the fracture; Holz tugged silently and
violently. Krafft ran out of the room gasping out something in complete
desperation. Then the butcher quickly and adroitly fixed the splints in
position, muttering something about putting the cursed leg into plaster
the next day. At last it was all over; the pain was still terrible, and
the stretched-out leg seemed to be dead, but at least the butcher had
gone away. Mr. Paul still walked about the room on tiptoe, doing all he
could to relieve the patient.

Then Mr. Carson dashed up in a car, and, mounting the steps four at a
time, flew into Prokop’s room, which became filled with his sparkling
sympathy. He was gay and comradely, chattered all sorts of nonsense at a
tremendous speed, and suddenly began to smooth Prokop’s bristly hair in a
friendly, and at the same time timid, manner. Prokop forgave his obdurate
adversary and tyrant nine-tenths of his sins. Then something heavy was
heard coming up the stairs, the door flew open and two lackeys with white
gloves led in the crippled Prince. While still at the door he waved a
preternaturally long and emaciated hand as if to prevent Prokop out of
respect for him rising by some miracle and coming over to greet him; then
he allowed himself to be placed on a chair and delivered himself of a few
phrases of courtly sympathy.

Scarcely had this apparition disappeared than someone tapped at the
door and Mr. Paul whispered something to a chambermaid. A moment after
the Princess came in, still in her tennis things, her face expressing
a mixture of obstinacy and repentance. She had come voluntarily to
apologize for her clumsiness. But before she could say anything Prokop’s
homely, hard, rough-cast face broke into a childish smile. “Now,” said
the proud patient, “am I afraid of a horse or not?”

The Princess blushed so deeply that she became confused and angry with
herself. But she soon regained her self-control, and at once became
again the charming hostess. She told him that a distinguished surgeon
was coming to see him, and inquired what he would like to eat, read, and
so on, further instructing Paul to send a report on the patient’s health
twice a day. Then, after putting something straight on the bed, she left
the room with a brief nod of the head.

When, not long afterwards, the famous surgeon arrived in a car, he was
obliged to wait for some hours, however much he might shake his head over
it. Mr. Eng. Prokop had fallen into a deep sleep.




CHAPTER XXVIII


Needless to say, the distinguished surgeon did not recognize the work of
the military butcher. He stretched out Prokop’s leg again, put it into
plaster, and concluded by saying that he would probably be lame for life.

There began for Prokop a succession of delightful and lazy days. Krafft
read him passages from Swedenborg and Mr. Paul and others from the
Court Calendar, while the Princess saw to it that the patient’s bed
was surrounded by a magnificent selection of volumes from the world’s
literature. Finally Prokop got tired even of the Calendar, and began
to dictate to Krafft a systematic work on destructive chemistry.
Curiously enough he became most fond of Carson, whose insolence and
lack of consideration impressed him more and more, for beneath it he
found the grandiloquent plans and crazy fantasy of an out-and-out
international militarist. Mr. Paul was in an ecstasy of delight. He was
now indispensable night after night, and could dedicate every breath and
every step of his faltering legs to Prokop’s service.

You lie encased in matter, like the stump of a tree; but can you not feel
the crepitation of terrible and unknown forces in that inert matter which
binds you? You luxuriate on magnificent pillows charged with more power
than a cask of dynamite; your body is a sleeping explosive, and even the
faded, trembling hand of Mr. Paul contains more explosive force than a
capsule of melinite. You lie motionless in an ocean of immeasurable,
unanalyzable, unutilized forces; you are surrounded not by the walls of
the room, quiet people and the rustling branches of trees, but by an
ammunition store, a cosmic magazine prepared for the most frightful deed.
You tap matter with your finger as if you were testing casks of ekrasite
to see if they are full.

Prokop’s hands had become transparent through lack of use, but on the
other hand they had acquired an extraordinary sense of touch. They
felt and detected the potential power of detonation of what-every
they encountered. A young body had an enormous explosive tension,
while Dr. Krafft, an enthusiast and an idealist, had a relatively weak
capacity for explosion. Carson’s index of detonation approached that of
tetranitraniline, and Prokop recalled with a shudder the cool touch of
the Princess’s hand, which revealed to him the terrible explosive power
of this haughty amazon. He racked his brains in trying to decide whether
the potential explosive energy of the organism depended upon the presence
of certain enzymotic or other substances or on the chemical composition
of the cells themselves, which constituted charges _par excellence_. Be
that as it may, he would have liked to know how that dark proud girl
would explode.

And now Mr. Paul wheeled Prokop about the park in a bathchair. Mr. Holz
proved superfluous, but was active, as he had revealed great talent as a
masseur, and Prokop felt a beneficial explosive force flowing from his
powerful fingers. If the Princess came across the patient in the park she
said something with complete and precisely calculated politeness, and
Prokop to his annoyance never understood how she managed to do it, for
he himself was always either too rough or too friendly. The rest of the
household regarded Prokop as a marvel; this gave them the right not to
take him seriously, and allowed him to be as rude to them as he liked.
On one occasion, the Princess drew up near him with the whole of her
escort; she left the gentlemen to wait, sat down by Prokop’s side, and
asked him about his work. Prokop, wishing to be as obliging to her as
possible, embarked on a long technical explanation, as if he were giving
a lecture before an international chemical congress. Prince Suwalski
and some cousin or other began to laugh and nudge one another, at which
Prokop grew furious, turned to them, and said that it was not them whom
he was addressing. All eyes turned on Her Excellency, for it was her task
to put this unpolished plebeian in his place; but the Princess smiled
indulgently, and sent them off to play tennis. While she was looking
after them with eyes narrowed to a slit Prokop scrutinized her out of
the corner of his eye; for the first time he really noticed what she
was like. She was rigid, thin, and with an excess of pigmentation in
her colouring, strictly speaking not beautiful. She had small breasts,
ungainly legs, magnificent hands indicative of race, a scar on her proud
forehead, deep-set eyes with a sharp glance, dark brown under her sharp
nose, full and haughty lips; well, yes, after all almost pretty. What
were her eyes really like?

Then she turned fully round and Prokop became confused. “They say that
you are able to discover the character of things by touching them,”
she said quickly. “Krafft was talking about it.” Prokop smiled at this
feminine description of his peculiar chemotaxis. “Well, yes,” he said,
“one feels how much force a thing has; that’s nothing.” The Princess gave
a quick glance at his hand, and then looked round the park; there was
nobody about.

“Show me,” muttered Prokop, and opened his scarred hand. She laid on it
the smooth tips of her fingers; a sort of flash passed through Prokop,
his heart began to beat violently, and the mad idea came into his head:
“Supposing I closed my hands!” Then he proceeded to knead and press in
his rough paw the firm, burning flesh of her hand. His head suddenly
became filled with a drunken giddiness; he saw the Princess close her
eyes and draw her breath sharply through her half-open lips, while he
also closed his eyes and, setting his teeth, whirled down into the
swirling darkness. Her hand struggled feverishly and wildly with its thin
sinuous fingers, fingers which were writhing to get free, which twisted
like serpents, which dug their nails into his skin, and then suddenly
pressed convulsively against his flesh; Prokop’s teeth chattered with
ecstasy; the trembling fingers played on his wrist, red circles appeared
before his eyes, a sudden sharp and burning pressure and the thin hand
tore free from his grasp. Exhausted, Prokop opened his eyes; there was
a noisy beating inside his head; the green and golden garden again
presented itself to his eyes, which were blinded by the light of day. The
Princess had grown deathly pale, and bit her lips with her sharp teeth;
through the slits of her eyes there flashed a boundless resistance.

“Well?” she said sharply.

“Virginal, unfeeling, libidinous, proud and capable of violent
anger—inflammable as tinder—and wicked. You are wicked; you are fiery
through your very cruelty, arrogant and heartless; you are wicked and
overcharged with excitability; inaccessible, filled with curiosity, hard,
hard on yourself, fire and ice, ice and fire——”

The Princess nodded silently. “Yes.”

“Of no use to anybody; haughty, incapable of loving, poisoned and
burning—ardent, and everything around you leaves you indifferent.”

“I must be severe with myself,” whispered the Princess. “You don’t
know——” She waved her hand and got up. “Thank you. I will send Paul to
you.”

       *       *       *       *       *

Having thus relieved himself of his personal offended bitterness, Prokop
began to think of the Princess more kindly. Finally he became annoyed
that she now evidently avoided him. He prepared some friendly phrases to
say to her at the first opportunity, but the opportunity did not offer
itself.

At the castle there arrived Prince Rohn, known as _Mon Oncle Charles_,
the brother of the late Princess, a refined and polished cosmopolitan,
amateur of everything possible, _très grand artiste_, as they say. He
had written a number of historical novels, and was an extraordinarily
pleasant personality. He exhibited a particular liking for Prokop, and
spent whole hours with him. Prokop profited a great deal from his contact
with this charming old gentleman, acquired from him a certain finish, and
realized that there were other things in the world besides destructive
chemistry. _Mon Oncle Charles_ possessed an enormous fund of anecdotes.
Prokop turned the conversation on to the Princess, and heard with
interest what a malicious, madcap, proud, and magnanimous girl she was,
how on one occasion she had fired at her dancing master and on another
had wanted to have a piece of her skin cut off for transplantation on to
the limb of a nurse who had received some burns; when permission to do
this was refused, in her rage she smashed a window of the most valuable
glass. _Le bon oncle_ also brought young Egon along to Prokop, whom he
set up as an example to the young man with such extravagant praise that
the unfortunate Prokop became as confused as Egon himself.

After five weeks he was going about on crutches. He visited the
laboratory more and more, working like a nigger until the pain in his
foot began again, so that on the way home he literally hung on the
attentive Holz. Mr. Carson glowed with pleasure when he saw Prokop again
so peaceable and industrious, and from time to time threw out allusions
to Krakatit; but this was a subject which Prokop positively would not
hear about.

One evening there was an important soirée at the castle. Prokop
prepared a coup for this occasion. The Princess was standing in a
group of generals and diplomatists when the doors opened and there
entered—without a stick—the obstinate prisoner, who was thus making his
first visit to the company in the castle. _Oncle Charles_ and Carson ran
forward to meet him while the Princess confined herself to giving him
a quick discriminating glance over the head of the Chinese Minister.
Prokop had imagined that she would come to greet him, but when he saw
that she remained with two old ladies, both of them with their dresses
cut incredibly low, his brow clouded, and he retired into a corner,
bowing with a bad grace to the distinguished personages to whom Carson
introduced him as “a distinguished scientist,” “our eminent guest,”
and the like. It was as if Mr. Carson had assumed the rôle of Holz,
for he never left Prokop for a moment. As the evening went on Prokop
became desperately bored; he retired still deeper into his corner and
glowered at the whole world. Now the Princess was talking with various
dignitaries, one of them an admiral and the other some famous foreign
lion. The Princess glanced quickly in the direction in which Prokop was
standing sullenly, but at that moment the claimant to some lost throne or
other came up to her and led her off in the opposite direction. “Well,
I’m off home,” muttered Prokop, and decided in the depths of his dark
soul that within three days he would make a further attempt to escape.
Just then the Princess approached him and held out her hand. “I’m so glad
that you are well again.”

Prokop forgot all the education he had received from _Oncle Charles_.
Making a heavy movement with his shoulders which was intended for a bow,
he said in a surly tone: “I thought that you did not even see me.” Mr.
Carson disappeared as quickly as if he had sunk through the earth.

The Princess wore a low-necked dress which had the effect of confusing
Prokop. Whichever way he might look he saw her firm swarthy flesh and
smelt the fragrance of her delicate scent.

“I hear that you are working again,” said the Princess. “What exactly are
you doing?”

“Well, one thing and another,” answered Prokop, “nothing particularly
important.” Here was a chance to repair his insulting behaviour in
seizing her hand, but what on earth could he say by way of expiation? “If
you would like me to,” he mumbled, “I could ... make an experiment with
your powder.”

“What sort of experiment?”

“An explosive. You’ve enough on you to charge a cannon.”

The Princess smiled. “I didn’t know that powder was an explosive?”

“Everything is an explosive ... if you treat it properly. You yourself——”

“What?”

“Nothing. A latent explosion. You are terribly explosive.”

“When I am treated properly,” smiled the Princess, and suddenly grew
serious. “Wicked, unfeeling, violent, curious, and proud, eh?”

“A girl who wants to sacrifice her skin ... for an old woman.”

The Princess flared up. “Who told you that?”

“_Mon Oncle Charles_,” babbled Prokop.

The Princess grew stiff, and was suddenly a hundred miles away. “Ah,
Prince Rohn,” she corrected him dryly. “Prince Rohn talks a great deal.
I’m glad that you are all right.” A brief nod of the head and Willy
glided across the room at the side of some one in uniform, leaving Prokop
to rage in a corner.

Nevertheless, the next morning Mr. Paul brought Prokop something
precious, which the Princess had sent by her _femme de chambre_.

It was a box of brownish powder, with a penetrating scent.




CHAPTER XXIX


Prokop, working inclined over this box of powder, was disturbed and
excited by this strong feminine scent; it was as if the Princess herself
was in the laboratory and was bending over his shoulder.

In his youthful ignorance he had never realized that powder was nothing
but starch; he had regarded it as inorganic colouring. Well, starch is
a magnificent thing, let us say, for damping too powerful explosives,
because in itself it is dull and unresponsive; even more so when it
becomes an explosive itself. He had no idea how to begin with it, and
buried his head in his hands, pursued by the penetrating scent of the
Princess. He did not leave the laboratory even at night.

The people at the castle whom he liked best ceased to visit him, as he
was always shut off from them by his work and treated them impatiently,
absorbed all the time in the cursed powder. What the devil was he to try
next? After five days he began to see the light; he feverishly studied
aromatic nitro-amines, after which he began the slowest synthetic work
which he had ever done in his life. One night the powder lay in front of
him, unchanged in appearance and exuding its penetrating scent; a brown
powder, reminiscent of a woman’s healthy complexion.

He stretched himself out on the divan, completely exhausted. It seemed
to him that he saw a placard with the inscription “Powderite, the finest
explosive powder for the complexion,” and on the placard was a picture of
the Princess putting out her tongue at him. He tried to turn away, but
two bare brown arms stretched out from the placard and, medusa-like, drew
him towards her. He pulled a clasp-knife out of his pocket and ripped
it up. Then he had a fear that he had committed a murder, and dashed
away along the street in which he had lived years before. He came upon a
panting motor-car and leapt into it shouting, “Drive quickly.” The car
started off, and only then for the first time did he notice that the
Princess was sitting at the wheel with a leather helmet on her head in
which he had not seen her before. At a turning in the road someone threw
himself in front of the car, evidently to stop it; there was an unearthly
cry, the wheels lurched over something soft, and Prokop woke up.

He realized that he was feverish, got up, and looked about the laboratory
for some kind of drug. He found nothing except pure alcohol; he took a
good pull at it, burnt his mouth and throat, and again lay down with his
head spinning. He saw before him a few formulæ, some flowers, Annie, and
a confused train journey; then everything became fused, and he fell into
a deep sleep.

In the morning he obtained permission to make an experiment on the
artillery ground, a fact which caused Carson extraordinary delight.
Prokop refused the help of a single laboratory assistant, and saw to it
himself that a passage was dug in the sandstone as far from the castle
as possible, in the part of the ground where there were not even any
electrical wires, so that a special fuse was necessary. When everything
was prepared he informed the Princess that at four o’clock precisely
he would explode her box of powder. He gave particular instructions to
Carson to clear the sheds in the vicinity and unconditionally prohibited
the presence of anybody within a circle of half a mile; he further
demanded that on this occasion he should not be accompanied by Holz. Mr.
Carson considered all this fuss to be somewhat excessive, but conceded
all Prokop’s demands.

A quarter of an hour before the appointed time Prokop carried the box of
powder to the seat of the explosion with his own hands, sniffed for the
last time with a certain satisfaction at the Princess’s scent and put
it in the hole. Then he placed beneath it a mercury capsule, connected
with a Bickford cord timed for five minutes, took up his position a short
distance away, and waited with his watch in his hand until it should be
five minutes to four.

Aha, now he would show this proud girl what he could do. This would be an
explosion really worth while, something different from the pop-guns on
the White Mountain, when one had to keep one’s eye open for a policeman
the whole time; it would be a magnificent detonation, a column of fire
reaching up to Heaven, a marvellous force, a noise like thunder; the
heavens would be cleaved by a fiery power and lightning made by the hand
of man.

Five minutes to four. Prokop quickly lit the cord and made off for all he
was worth with his watch in his hand, limping slightly. Three minutes;
quicker! Two minutes, and then he saw to his right the Princess,
accompanied by Carson, making her way to the site of the explosion. For
a second he was rigid with terror, and then shouted to them a warning.
Mr. Carson stopped, but the Princess went on without even looking round.
Carson trotted after her, evidently trying to persuade her to turn back.
Overcoming the sharp pain in his leg, Prokop dashed after her. “Lie
down,” he roared, “for God’s sake lie down!” His face was so terribly
distorted with anger and horror that Mr. Carson turned pale, made two
leaps, and lay down at the bottom of a deep ditch. The Princess continued
her way; she was now not more than two hundred yards from the hole.
Prokop dashed his watch on the ground, seizing hold of her shoulder. “Lie
down,” he yelled. The Princess swung round, giving him a terrible look
for having taken such a liberty. Then Prokop took her in both his hands,
threw her on to the ground, and fell on top of her with all his weight.

Her wiry lean body wriggled desperately beneath him. “Serpent,” hissed
Prokop, and breathing heavily forced the Princess back with all the
strength of his chest. The body underneath him arched itself and slipped
to the side. Strangely enough not a word came through the closed lips
of the Princess; she only breathed shortly and quickly, struggling
feverishly. Prokop thrust his knees between her legs, so that she
should not slip away, and placed his palms over her ears, realizing in
a flash that the explosion might break her ear-drums. Her sharp nails
dug into his neck, and in his face he felt the savage gnawing of four
sharp eye-teeth. “Beast,” gasped Prokop, and attempted to shake off
this aggressive animal; but she would not allow him. A hoarse noise
came from her throat, and her body braced itself and undulated in wild
convulsions. The familiar penetrating scent overpowered Prokop’s senses;
his heart beat agitatedly, and he had a wild desire to jump up, ignoring
the explosion which would take place now in a few seconds. Then he felt
the struggling knees pressing themselves to his leg and two arms twined
themselves convulsively round his neck; on his face he felt the hot,
moist, trembling contact of her lips and tongue. He moaned with agony,
and sought the Princess’s lips with his own. At this moment there was
a frightful explosion, and a column of earth and stones was torn out
of the earth. Something gave Prokop a violent blow on the crown of the
head, but he hardly realized it, for at that instant he was kissing her
mouth, tongue, teeth, her parted and trembling lips. Suddenly her elastic
body collapsed beneath him, shuddering. He had an impression that Mr.
Carson had stood up and was watching him, but hastily threw himself on
the ground again. Trembling fingers caressed Prokop’s neck with wonderful
and intolerable sweetness; parched lips kissed his face and eyes with
tiny trembling kisses, while Prokop thirstily thrust his lips against the
beating warmth of a fragrant neck. “Darling, darling,” came a hot whisper
into his ears, delicate fingers were passed through his hair, and a soft
body pressed its full length against him. Prokop pressed his lips on hers
in an endless kiss.

Sss! Thrust away by her elbow, Prokop jumped up and rubbed his forehead
as if he were drunk. The Princess sat up and arranged her hair. “Give me
your hand,” she ordered coolly, hastily looked round, and then quickly
pressed the hand which he had stretched out against her burning face.
Suddenly she pushed it away, stood up, and, rigid, gazed with large
eyes into the distance. Prokop felt quite embarrassed. He was about to
approach her again, but she made a nervous movement with her shoulder, as
if she were shaking something off. He saw that she was biting her lips
deeply. Only then did he remember Carson, whom he found some distance
away lying on his back—but not in the ditch—and gazing up happily at the
blue sky. “Is it all over?” he said, without getting up, and twiddled
his thumbs on his stomach. “I’m frightfully afraid of such things. Can
I get up now?” He jumped up and shook himself like a dog. “Magnificent
explosion,” he said enthusiastically, and again looked, as it were
casually, at the Princess.

The Princess turned round; she was as white as a sheet, but had herself
completely under control. “Was that all?” she asked carelessly.

“My God,” cried Carson, “as if that were not enough! One little box of
powder! Man, you’re a magician, a devil, the king of hell or some one
like that. What? Really. The king of matter. Princess, behold the king! A
genius, eh? A unique person. Honestly, compared to him we’re ragpickers.
What name have you given to the stuff?” The disconcerted Prokop regained
his equilibrium. “Let the Princess christen it,” he said, glad to be able
to rise to the occasion. “It’s ... hers.”

The Princess trembled. “You might call it ‘Vicit,’” she said sharply
through her teeth.

“What?” cried Mr. Carson. “Aha! Vicit. That means ‘he conquered,’ eh?
Princess, you’re a genius! Vicit! Magnificent. Aha! Hurrah!”

But through Prokop’s head there flashed another and a terrible etymology.
Vitium. Vice. He looked with horror at the Princess, but it was
impossible to read any answer on her strained face.




CHAPTER XXX


Mr. Carson ran ahead to the seat of the explosion. The Princess—evidently
on purpose—behind. Prokop thought that she had something to say to him,
but she only pointed with her finger at his face. Prokop quickly felt his
face; on it he found the bloody traces of her teeth, and, picking up a
handful of soil, rubbed it over the marks, as if he had been struck by a
clod at the explosion.

The hole in which the powder had been placed had become a crater about
fifteen feet across. It was difficult to calculate the power of the
explosion, but Carson estimated it at five times that of oxy-liquid.
“Fine stuff,” he said, “but a bit too strong for ordinary usage.” Mr.
Carson took the whole conversation in hand, slipping adroitly over
its serious gaps. When on the way back he took leave of them with an
affability that was somewhat too evident, saying that he had this and
that to do, Prokop became conscious of an oppressive weight. What was he
to talk about now? For some curious reason he had the impression that he
must not refer in any way to the dark and mysterious happening which took
place at the same time as the explosion when “the heavens were cleft by
a fiery power.” He entertained a bitter and unpleasant feeling that the
Princess had coldly dismissed him like a lackey with whom—with whom——
He clenched his fists in his disgust, and began to mumble something of
secondary interest about the horses; the words stuck in his throat,
and the Princess accelerated her step noticeably, evidently wishing to
get back to the castle as soon as possible. Prokop limped heavily, but
did not let her see that he was doing so. Having reached the park, he
wished to take leave of her, but the Princess turned down a side path. He
followed her irresolutely; then she drew close to his shoulder, turned
back her head and placed her thirsty lips on his own.

The Princess’s chow, Toy, scented the approach of his mistress, and,
whining with delight, rushed towards her across the lawn. And here he
was! But what was this? He stopped. The Big Unfriendly Person was shaking
her, they were biting one another, swaying in a silent and desperate
struggle. Oho! his Lady was beaten, her arms sank, and she lay moaning in
the arms of the Big Person; now he was crushing her. And Toy began to cry
“Help! help!” in his dog’s language.

The Princess tore herself out of Prokop’s arms. “Even the dog, even the
dog,” she smiled nervously. “Let’s go!” Prokop’s head was spinning; it
was only with the greatest difficulty that he could make a few steps.
The Princess hung on to him (Insanity! Supposing somebody....), drawing
him along, but her legs suddenly failed her; she gripped his arm with
her fingers, as if she wished to tear it or something of the sort, drew
in her breath sharply, knitted her brows, and a dark light came into her
eyes. Then with a hoarse sob, seeking his lips, she flung her arms round
his neck, so that he staggered. Prokop crushed her in his arms; a long
breathless embrace, and her body, stretched taut like a bow, collapsed
softly and helplessly against him. She lay on his breast with closed
eyes. Sweet and meaningless phrases came from her lips; she allowed her
face, neck and hair to be covered with his violent kisses, moving her
head as if she were intoxicated and did not know what she was doing.
Submissive, half swooning, utterly tender; perhaps happy at this moment
with an inexpressible happiness. O God, what a trembling and lovely smile
there was on her lips!

Suddenly she opened her eyes widely and slipped out of his embrace. They
were two yards away from the main avenue. She passed her hands over her
face, like a person awakening from a dream, moved away, and leaned her
forehead against the trunk of an oak. Scarcely had Prokop released her
from his rough hands than his heart began to beat violently with emotion,
with an emotion of shame and degradation. Christ! for her he was only a
servant whom she used to excite her emotions when she had nothing better
to do, when she was unable to bear her solitude, or something of the
sort. Now she had kicked him away, like a dog, so that ... she could do
the same thing again with somebody else. He went up to her and put his
hand firmly on her shoulder. She turned round gently with a shy, almost
frightened and humiliated smile. “No, no,” she whispered, twisting her
fingers. “Please, not——”

Prokop’s heart swelled with a sudden wave of tenderness. “When shall I
see you again?” he asked.

“To-morrow, to-morrow,” she murmured anxiously, and turned back towards
the castle. “I must go. Now I can’t——”

“When to-morrow?” insisted Prokop.

“To-morrow,” she repeated nervously, drew her cloak more closely round
her shivering body, and hurried off, Prokop at her side. In front of the
castle she held out her hand to him. “_Au revoir._”

Her fingers were still twisting feverishly; he would have drawn her again
towards him. “You mustn’t, you mustn’t,” she whispered, and left him with
a last burning kiss.

       *       *       *       *       *

No greater damage than this was done by the explosion of Vicit. A few
chimneys were knocked over on the adjacent barracks, and the rush of air
burst a number of windows. The large windows in Prince Hagen’s room were
also broken. The crippled old gentleman had with great difficulty risen
to his feet, and stood like a soldier waiting for a further catastrophe.

       *       *       *       *       *

The company in the castle were sitting over their coffee one evening when
Prokop entered, his eyes searching for the Princess. He was unable to
bear the devouring torture of uncertainty. The Princess turned pale, but
the jovial Uncle Rohn at once grasped Prokop’s hand and congratulated
him on his magnificent achievement, etc., etc. Even the haughty Suwalski
inquired with interest whether it was true that the gentleman was able
to turn every substance into an explosive. “Take sugar, for instance,”
he said, and was simply astounded when Prokop grunted something to the
effect that sugar had been used as an explosive even during the Great
War. For some time Prokop was the centre of interest; but he stammered,
and, although he answered all the questions that were put to him, was
chiefly occupied in trying to ascertain the meaning of the provocative
glances of the Princess. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on her with
terrible attention. The Princess was as if on thorns.

Then the conversation changed, and Prokop had the impression that nobody
any longer took any interest in him. These people understood one another
so well, conversed so easily, and touched lightly and with enormous
interest on things which he simply did not understand or had never even
heard of. Even the Princess became quite animated; there you are, you
see, she had a thousand times as much in common with these gentlemen as
she had with him! His brow darkened, he did not know what to do with
his hands, a blind anger began to rage within him. Then he put down his
coffee cup so violently that it cracked.

The Princess turned horrified eyes on him, but the charming _Oncle
Charles_ saved the situation by telling a story about a sea captain
who was able to crush a beer bottle in his fingers. Some fat person, a
cousin of sorts, asserted that he could do the same thing. Thereupon they
ordered a bottle to be brought in, and one after the other attempted to
smash it in this manner. The bottle was a heavy one of black glass, and
no one was able to break it.

“Now you,” ordered the Princess, with a quick glance at Prokop.

“I shan’t be able to,” muttered Prokop, but the Princess drew up her
eyebrows in such a commanding way that Prokop got up and seized the
bottle by its neck. He stood motionless, did not, like the others,
contort himself with the effort which he was making, but the muscles
in his face stood out as if they were going to burst. He looked like
a primitive man who was preparing to kill somebody with a club. His
lips were twisted with the strain, his face as it were intersected with
powerful muscles, his shoulders loose, as if he were defending himself
with the bottle against the attack of a gorilla, and he turned his
bloodshot eyes on the Princess. There was a silence. The Princess got up
with her eyes fixed upon him. Her lips were drawn back over her clenched
teeth, and the tendons stood out on her swarthy face. Her eyebrows were
drawn and she breathed quickly, as if she, too, were making a terrible
physical effort. They stood opposite one another in this manner, their
faces contorted, looking into one another’s eyes like two desperate
opponents. Convulsive tremors ran through their bodies from head to heel.
No one breathed; nothing was to be heard but the hoarse panting of these
two. Then there was a crunching sound, the jingle of breaking glass, and
the bottom of the bottle fell with a crash on to the floor.

The first to recover himself was _Mon Oncle Charles_, who paced up and
down for a moment and then rushed up to the Princess. “Minnie,” he
whispered rapidly, and lowered her, almost fainting, into an arm-chair.
Kneeling in front of her, by exerting all his strength he opened her
convulsively clenched fists; her palms were covered with blood, so deeply
had she driven the nails into the flesh. “Take that bottle out of his
hand,” ordered _le bon Prince_, and drew back one of the Princess’s
fingers after the other.

“Bravo!” cried Prince Suwalski and began to applaud loudly. Meanwhile Von
Graun had seized Prokop’s right hand, which was still grasping fragments
of the bottle, and forced open his fingers. “Water,” he cried, and the
fat cousin, agitatedly looking round, grasped a table cover, soaked it in
water and put it on Prokop’s forehead.

“Ahahah!” cried Prokop with relief. The attack was over but his head was
still swirling from the sudden flow of blood and his knees trembled with
weakness.

_Oncle Charles_ was massaging on his knees the twisted, quivering fingers
of the Princess. “Games of this sort are dangerous,” he muttered, while
the Princess, completely exhausted, was hardly able to draw her breath.
But on her lips there trembled a wry but victorious smile. “You helped
him,” said the fat cousin, “that’s what it was.”

The Princess stood up, hardly able to move her legs. “The gentlemen will
excuse me,” she said weakly, giving Prokop such a burning glance with
her eyes that he grew terrified lest the others should notice it. She
left the room on the arm of Uncle Rohn. It was now necessary to celebrate
Prokop’s feat somehow or other. The company was a good-natured one,
consisting largely of young men who were only too ready to show their
appreciation of such a heroic deed. Prokop rose enormously in their
estimation through the fact that he had broken the bottle and afterwards
demonstrated his ability to consume an incredible quantity of wine and
liqueurs without finding himself under the table. By three o’clock in the
morning Prince Suwalski was triumphantly kissing him, and the fat cousin,
almost with tears in his eyes, was addressing him familiarly in the
second person singular. Then they began jumping over chairs and kicking
up a frightful row. Prokop smiled at everyone and his head was in the
clouds. But when they tried to take him off to the only _fille de joie_
to be found in Balttin, he broke free of them, announced that they were
drunken cattle and that he was off to bed.

But instead of executing this sensible project he wandered into the dark
park and for a long time examined the front of the castle, looking for
a certain window. Mr. Holz stood dreaming fifteen yards away, leaning
against a tree.




CHAPTER XXXI


The next day it rained. Prokop wandered about the park, angry with
himself at the thought that as a result he probably would not see the
Princess at all. But she ran out bareheaded into the rain. “Only for five
minutes,” she whispered, out of breath, and was about to kiss him. Then
she caught sight of Mr. Holz. “Who’s that man?”

Prokop looked round quickly. “Who?” By this time he was so accustomed to
his shadow that he had ceased to realize that it was always with him.
“That’s ... my guard, see?”

The Princess turned her commanding eyes on Mr. Holz, who instantly
thrust his pipe into his pocket and retired some distance away. “Come,”
whispered the Princess and drew Prokop into a summer-house. They sat
there, not daring to kiss one another, for Mr. Holz was waiting near by,
steadily getting soaked. “Your hand,” ordered the Princess quietly, and
her passionate fingers grasped the disfigured stumps of Prokop’s paw.
“Darling, darling,” she said, and went on: “you mustn’t look at me like
that in front of people. I simply don’t know what to do. One day I shall
throw my arms round your neck in public and then there’ll be a scandal, O
God!” The Princess was simply aghast at the thought.

“Did you go to those girls last night?” she asked suddenly. “You
mustn’t, now you’re mine. Darling, darling, it’s so hard for me—why don’t
you speak? I’ve come to tell you that you must be careful. _Mon Oncle
Charles_ is already on our track. Yesterday you were wonderful!” Her
voice betrayed impatience and anxiety. “Do they watch you all the time?
Everywhere? Even in the laboratory? Ah, _c’est bête_! When you broke
that bottle yesterday I could have come over and kissed you. You were so
magnificently angry. Do you remember the night when you broke your chain?
Then I went after you blindly, blindly——”

“Princess,” Prokop interrupted her in a hoarse voice, “there is something
you must tell me. Is all this the whim of a great lady or...?”

The Princess let go of his hand. “Or what?”

Prokop turned his desperate eyes to her. “Are you only playing with me——”

“Or?” she concluded, with evident delight in torturing him.

“Or do you—to a certain extent——”

“—Love you, eh? Listen,” she said, placing her hands behind her head and
looking at him through half-closed eyes, “if at any time it seemed to
me that ... that I loved you, really loved you insanely, then I should
attempt to ... destroy myself.” She clicked her tongue as she had before
on that occasion with Premier. “I should never leave you, if once I fell
in love with you.”

“You lie,” cried Prokop, furious, “you lie! I couldn’t bear the thought
that this was only ... a flirtation. You’re not so corrupt as that! It’s
not true!”

“If you know that,” said the Princess with quiet dignity, “why do you ask
me?”

“I want to hear you say so,” said Prokop through his teeth, “I want you
to say ... directly ... what I am to you. That’s what I want to hear!”

The Princess shook her head.

“I must know,” said Prokop fiercely, “otherwise—otherwise——”

The Princess smiled wearily and put her hand on his. “No, I beg you,
don’t, don’t ask me to tell you.”

“Why?”

“You would have too much power over me,” she said quietly, and Prokop
trembled with delight.

From outside there came the discreet cough of Mr. Holz, and behind the
bushes in the distance could be seen the silhouette of Uncle Rohn. “Look,
he’s searching for us,” whispered the Princess. “You mustn’t appear this
evening.” Their hands grew quiet; the rain hissed on the roof of the
summer-house; they were spattered with cool drops. “Darling, darling,”
whispered the Princess and put her face near Prokop’s. “What a thing you
are! A big nose, bad-tempered, covered with scars. They say that you’re a
great scientist. Why aren’t you a prince?”

Prokop made a movement of impatience.

She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “You’re angry again. And
you’ve called me a beast and worse things. You won’t have any mercy for
what I do ... for what I’m going to do.... Darling,” she concluded, and
stretched out her hand towards his face.

He bent over her; they kissed in reconciliation.

Above the noise of the rain came that of the approaching steps of Mr.
Holz.

       *       *       *       *       *

It’s impossible, impossible! The whole day Prokop wandered about trying
to catch sight of her. “You mustn’t appear this evening.” Of course, you
don’t belong to their society; she feels more free among those swells. It
was extraordinary; in the depths of his soul Prokop was aware that he did
not really love her, yet he was tortured, full of anger and humiliation.
That evening he wandered about the park in the rain thinking of the
Princess sitting in the salon in an atmosphere of gaiety and freedom; he
felt like a mangy dog which had been kicked out into the rain. There is
nothing more painful in life than to be ashamed.

Now we’ll put an end to all this, he decided. He ran home, hurried into
evening dress and burst into the smoking-room as he had the evening
before. The Princess looked very unhappy, but directly she caught sight
of Prokop her lips relaxed into a smile of delight. The other young
people welcomed him with friendliness; only _Oncle Charles_ was a shade
more formal. The Princess warned him with her eyes: be careful! She
hardly spoke at all, as if somehow she was disconcerted; but nevertheless
she found an opportunity to slip into Prokop’s hand a crumpled note.
“Darling, darling,” she had scrawled in pencil in large letters, “what
have you done? Leave us.” He screwed the piece of paper into a ball. No,
Princess, no, I shall remain here. I enjoy seeing your relations with
these perfumed idiots. For this passionate obstinacy he was rewarded by
a burning glance from the Princess. She began to joke with Sulwalski; Von
Graun, with all the men, was malicious, cruel, impertinent, laughing at
them all pitilessly. Now and then she gave Prokop a quick glance as if to
ask him whether he was satisfied with the bodies of her admirers which
she was laying at his feet. But he was not satisfied. He frowned and with
his eyes asked for five minutes confidential conversation. Then she stood
up and led him to some picture or other. “Be sensible, only be sensible,”
she whispered feverishly, stood on tiptoe and gave him a warm kiss on the
mouth. Prokop was aghast at this insane action; but nobody saw them, not
even _Oncle Rohn_, who otherwise noticed everything with his melancholy,
intelligent eyes.

Nothing more happened that day. Nevertheless Prokop tossed on his bed,
biting the pillows. And in the other wing of the castle the Princess did
not sleep the whole night.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next morning Paul brought Prokop a perfumed note, without saying
from whom it came. “My dear friend,” it ran, “we shall not meet to-day.
I don’t know what I shall do. I am terribly impetuous; please be more
sensible than I am. (A few lines were scratched out.) Don’t walk past the
castle, or I shall run out to you. Please do something to rid yourself
of that horrible guard. I’ve had a bad night. I look terrible and don’t
want you to see me to-day. Don’t come to us. _Mon Oncle Charles_ is
already throwing out hints. I shouted at him and am not on speaking
terms with him. Dear, advise me: I’ve just got rid of my maid as they’ve
told me that she has an affair with a groom and visits him. I can’t stand
that. I could have hit her in the face when she confessed it. She was
beautiful and cried, and I enjoyed watching her tears. Imagine, I’d never
noticed before the way in which tears come. They well up, run down the
cheek quickly, stop and then catch up the others. I cannot cry. When I
was small I screamed until I was blue in the face, but I never cried. I
drove the girl away an hour ago. I hated her and could not bear her to
stand near me. You’re right, I’m wicked and full of anger, but how could
she dare to do that? Darling, I beg you to speak with her. I’ll have her
back and behave to her as you’d like me to. I only want to see that you
are able to forgive a woman for such things. You know that I’m wicked and
filled with envy. I’m so angry that I don’t know what to do. I should
like to see you but I cannot now. Don’t write to me. My love to you.”

Prokop read this to the accompaniment of a wild tune on the piano in
the wing of the castle. He wrote: “I see that you do not love me. You
are inventing all sorts of obstacles and you do not wish to compromise
yourself. You are tired of torturing a man who did not force himself
upon you. I thought the position was different and now I am ashamed and
realize that you wish to end things. If you don’t appear in the Japanese
summer-house this afternoon, I shall assume that this is the case and do
all I can not to bother you any more.”

Prokop sighed with relief. He was not used to writing love letters. This
one seemed to him to be written sincerely and directly. Mr. Paul ran
round with it; the noise of the piano in the other wing was suddenly cut
short and all was quiet.

Meanwhile Prokop had run off to Carson. He met him near the workshops
and went straight to the point: Could he be allowed to go about without
Holz? He was prepared to take an oath that until further notice he would
not attempt to escape. Mr. Carson grinned significantly. But certainly,
why not? He could be as free as a bird, aha! go where he liked and when
he liked, if he would oblige him in one detail: give up Krakatit. Prokop
grew furious: “I’ve given you Vicit: what more do you want? Man, I’ve
told you that you won’t get Krakatit even if you cut my head off!”

Mr. Carson shrugged his shoulders and expressed his regret that in that
case there was nothing to be done, since anyone who carried Krakatit
under his hat was a public danger, a classical case of preventative
supervision. “Get rid of Krakatit, and there you are,” he said. “It’ll
be worth your while. Otherwise ... otherwise we shall have to consider
sending you somewhere else.”

Prokop, who was just about to fall upon him, suddenly stopped, mumbled
that he understood, and ran home. Perhaps there’s an answer, he said to
himself; but there was none.

In the afternoon Prokop began his wait in the Japanese summer-house.
Until four o’clock he was filled with anxious, disturbing hope: now—now
she may come every moment. After four o’clock he could not bear to sit
down any longer; he paced about the summer-house like a jaguar in a
cage, picturing himself embracing her knees, trembling with ecstasy and
fear. Mr. Holz discreetly retired into the shrubbery. By five o’clock
Prokop was overpowered by a horrible feeling of disillusionment. Then he
suddenly thought: perhaps she will come at dusk, of course she will! He
smiled to himself. Behind the castle the sun set in its autumnal gold.
The branches of the trees stood out sharply and rigidly, one could hear
the beetles rustling in the fallen leaves, and, before one realized it,
the bright light of day had turned into a golden twilight. The first
evening star appeared on the green horizon, the earth grew dark beneath
the pale heavens, the bat began its erratic flight and from somewhere
the other side of the park could be heard the muffled sound of bells
as the cows returned to the farm, filled with warm milk. In the castle
one window lighted up after the other. Was it already evening? Stars of
heaven, how often had not the small boy gazed at you in wonder from the
edge of the wild thyme, how often had not the man turned to you, waiting,
suffering, sometimes sobbing under his cross.

Mr. Holz appeared out of the darkness. “Are you going?”

“No.”

To drink the cup of your humiliation until the morning; for it was
clear that she would not come. Now it is necessary to drink this cup
of bitterness, at the bottom of which is truth, to intoxicate yourself
with pain, to pile up suffering and shame until you writhe like a worm
and are stupefied by agony. You tremble in anticipation of happiness;
now give yourself up to pain, which is the narcotic of the person who is
suffering. It is night, already night, and she does not come.

Prokop’s heart was lit up by a sudden ray of joy: she knows that I am
waiting (she must know). She will steal out in the night when everyone
is asleep and fly to me with her arms opened and her mouth full of the
sweetness of kisses. We shall embrace in silence, drinking inexpressible
realizations from one another’s lips. She will come, pale even in the
darkness, trembling with the cold fear which can accompany joy, and give
me her bitter lips. She will step out of the black night....

In the castle the lights began to go out....

In front of the summer-house could be discerned the figure of Mr. Holz,
his hands in his pockets. His exhausted attitude indicated that “there’s
been enough of this.” Meanwhile in the summer-house Prokop, with a
savage, contemptuous smile on his face, was stamping out the last sparks
of hope, hanging on for a desperate minute, for the last minute of
waiting would signify the end of everything. Midnight sounded from the
distant town. It was the end.

Prokop rushed home through the dark park, hurrying for no reason at all.
He ran bent with dejection. Five paces behind him there trotted, yawning,
Mr. Holz.




CHAPTER XXXII


The end of everything. It was almost a relief, at least something
certain and restful, and Prokop entered into the fact with his usual
thoroughness. Good, it’s over. There’s nothing to fear now. She remained
away on purpose. That’s enough, that slap in the face is enough; that’s
the end. He sat in an arm-chair, incapable of getting up, continuing to
intoxicate himself with his humiliation. A servant who had been given the
sack. She was shameless, proud, heartless. She had given him up for one
of her admirers. Well, it was over; all the better.

Every time he heard a step in the passage Prokop raised his head in
excited anticipation, the existence of which he would not admit to
himself. Perhaps it was a letter. No, nothing. She didn’t think him worth
even an apology. It was the end.

Mr. Paul shuffled up a dozen times with the old question in his pale
eyes: Did the gentleman want anything? No, Paul, nothing. “Wait, have you
a letter for me?” Mr. Paul shook his head. “Good, you can go.”

Prokop felt as if there was a lump of ice in his chest. This desolation
was the end. Even if the door opened, and she herself were standing
there, he would still say: The end! “Darling, darling,” Prokop heard her
whisper, and then he burst out in desperation: “Why have you humiliated
me so? If you were a chambermaid, I should forgive you your haughtiness,
but as a princess you cannot be excused. Do you hear? It’s the end, the
end!”

Mr. Paul opened the door: “Does the gentleman require anything?”

Prokop stopped short; he had said the last words aloud. “No, Paul. Have
you any letter for me?”

Mr. Paul shook his head.

The day grew more and more oppressive; it was as if he was entangled in a
horrible spider’s web. It was already evening. Then he heard some voices
whispering in the passage, and Mr. Paul entered in delighted haste. “Here
is a letter for you,” he whispered triumphantly, “shall I turn on the
lights?”

“No.” Prokop crushed the thin envelope in his fingers and became aware of
the familiar, penetrating scent; it was as if he was trying by smelling
to see what was inside. The point of ice dug deeper in his heart. Why did
she wait until the evening to write? Because she has nothing to say but:
You mustn’t come to us this evening. All right, Princess, if it’s the
end, then it’s the end. Prokop jumped up, found in the darkness a clean
envelope and placed the letter inside it, unopened. “Paul, take this at
once to Her Excellence.”

Scarcely had Paul left the room than Prokop wished to call him back. But
it was too late and he realized painfully that what he had just done was
irrevocable. Then he threw himself on the bed and stifled in the cushions
something which was tearing itself out of his mouth against his will.

Mr. Krafft came in, probably as the result of an alarm from Paul, and
did all he could to calm and distract his lacerated friend. Prokop
ordered some whisky, drank it, and by an effort recovered himself. Mr.
Kraft sipped some soda-water, and assented to everything which Prokop
said, although he was agreeing to things which were in direct opposition
to his glowing idealism. Prokop cursed, reproached himself, used the most
coarse and crude expressions as if it relieved his feelings to besmirch
everything, spit on it, trample on it and destroy it. And he overflowed
with obscenities, turned women inside out and abused them in the most
violent possible terms. Mr. Kraft, sweating with horror, agreed with
everything which the enraged genius threw out. Then Prokop’s vehemence
exhausted itself, he became silent, frowned and drank more than was good
for him. Then he lay on the bed, fully dressed, rocking himself from side
to side and gazing with large eyes into the swirling darkness.

The next morning he got up, calm and disgusted, and immigrated to his
laboratory for good. But he did nothing but lounge about the room,
kicking a sponge in front of him. Then he had an idea. He compounded a
terrible and instable explosive and sent it to the office, hoping that a
really dramatic catastrophe would follow. Nothing happened. Prokop threw
himself on the couch and slept uninterruptedly for sixteen hours.

He awoke like another man, sober, steady and cold. He felt utterly
indifferent to what had happened before he fell asleep. He again began
to work assiduously and methodically on the explosive disintegration of
atoms, and theoretically arrived at such terrible conclusions that his
hair stood on end in horror at the nature of the forces among which we
live.

Once in the middle of his calculations he was seized by a sudden feeling
of restlessness. “Probably I’m tired,” he said to himself, and went out
into the open air for a bit, bareheaded. Without realizing what he was
doing he made his way to the castle, mechanically ran up the stairs and
went along the passage to the guests’ quarters. Paul was not in his usual
seat. Prokop went inside. Everything was as he had left it, but in the
air was the familiar scent of the Princess. “Absurd, absurd,” thought
Prokop. “Suggestion or something of the sort; I’ve been smelling the
strong smells of the laboratory too long.” Nevertheless he was painfully
excited.

He sat down for a moment and was surprised how far away everything was.
All was quiet in the castle, the quietness of the afternoon. And yet had
not something changed? He heard muffled steps in the corridor, probably
those of Paul, and went outside. It was the Princess.

Surprise and what was almost horror threw her back against the wall, and
she stood deathly pale, her eyes wide open, and her lips twisted as if
in pain. What did she want in the guests’ wing? Perhaps she is going to
Suwalski, thought Prokop suddenly, and something in him froze. He made a
step forward as if he was going to throw himself upon her, but instead
made a noise in his throat and ran out. Did he feel hands pulling him
back? You must not look back! Away, away from here!

Only when he was a long way from the castle, in the middle of the sandy
artillery ground, did he throw himself down on his face. For there is
only one pain greater than that of humiliation—that of hatred. Ten yards
to the side sat the serious and concentrated Mr. Holz.

       *       *       *       *       *

The night which followed was heavy and oppressive, unusually black. There
was going to be a storm. At such moments people are extraordinarily
irritable and unable to control their actions.

About eleven o’clock Prokop burst out of the door of his laboratory and
stunned Mr. Holz so thoroughly with a chair that he was able to escape
from him into the darkness of the night. A few moments later two shots
were heard from the neighbourhood of the factory station. Low down on
the horizon there were flashes of lightning, followed by a more intense
darkness. But from the top of the wall near the entrance there came a
bright ray of violet light which lit up the whole of the station, the
trucks, the ramps, and the piles of coal. It also lit up a dark figure
which ran in a zig-zag path, fell to the ground and then disappeared
again in the darkness. The figure then made its way amongst the barracks
towards the park; several other figures threw themselves on it. The
search-light then turned on the castle; two more shots, and the running
figure plunged into the bushes.

Shortly afterwards the window of the Princess’s room rattled. She jumped
up and at that moment there flew into the room a stone wrapped up in
a crumbled piece of paper. On one side of the sheet was something
illegible, scribbled with a broken pencil, and on the other a series
of reproaches written in a small handwriting. The Princess threw on
her clothes, but at that moment another report was heard behind the
lake—according to the sound, that of a rifle which was loaded with
something more than a blank cartridge. But before the Princess had time
to leave the room she saw through the window two soldiers dragging along
something dark which struggled and tried to throw them off. He was not
wounded, then.

The horizon continued to be lit up with long, yellow flames. But the
storm which would have cleared the air did not break.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sobered Prokop again threw himself headlong into work in the
laboratory, or at least forced himself to work. Mr. Carson had just
left him. He was in a cold rage and had announced unequivocally that
everything pointed to Prokop’s being transferred as early as possible to
some safer place. If he refused to respond to lenient treatment, they
would have to resort to harsher measures. Well, it was all the same,
nothing mattered. The test-tube broke in Prokop’s fingers.

In the hall Mr. Holz was waiting with his head wrapped in bandages.
Prokop offered him some money as a compensation for the injury, but
he would not accept it. Well, let him do as he liked. So he was to be
transferred somewhere else—very well. Curse these test-tubes! They break
one after another.

In the hall there was the sound of some one being awakened suddenly
from dreaming. Probably another visit. Prokop did not trouble to turn
round from the lamp he was using. The door creaked. “Darling!” whispered
somebody. Prokop staggered, gripped the table and turned round as if in
a dream. The Princess was standing with her hand against the door-post,
pale, with a dark, fixed look in her eyes, pressing her hands to her
breast as if to muffle the beating of her heart.

Trembling all over, he went across to her and with his fingers touched
her cheeks and shoulders as if he could not believe that it was she. She
placed her cold fingers on his mouth. Then she looked back into the hall.
Mr. Holz had disappeared....




CHAPTER XXXIII


She sat motionless on the couch, her knees drawn up to her chin, her hair
falling across her face and her hands clasped convulsively around her
neck. He was afraid of what he had done, and kissed her knees, hands,
hair, grovelled on the floor and poured out entreaties and endearments;
she did not see or hear. It seemed to him that she trembled with
revulsion at his every touch.

Then she quietly got up and went over to the glass. He approached her
on tiptoe, hoping to surprise her, but then he caught sight of her
reflection. She was looking at herself with an expression so wild,
terrible, and desperate, that he was horrified. She turned round and fell
on his shoulder. “Am I ugly? Do I revolt you? What have I done, what have
I done?” She pressed her face against his chest. “I’m stupid, you see? I
know.... I know that you’re disappointed. But you mustn’t be contemptuous
of me, you understand?” She nestled against him like a repentant young
girl. “You won’t escape, will you? I’ll do anything you like, you see? As
if I were your wife. Darling, darling, don’t leave me to think; I shall
become horrible to myself again if once I think; you’ve no idea what my
thoughts are. Don’t leave me now——” Her trembling fingers caressed his
neck; he raised her head and kissed her, murmuring all sorts of things
in his ecstasy. Color came back into her face and she became beautiful
again. “Am I ugly?” she whispered, happy and dazed, between his kisses,
“I should like to be beautiful for your sake. Do you know why I came? I
expected that you would kill me.”

“And if you had known what was going to happen,” whispered Prokop,
rocking her in his arms, “would you have come?”

The Princess nodded. “I am horrible. What must you think of me! But I
won’t let you think.” He embraced her quickly and raised her from the
couch. “No, no,” she implored, resisting him. But she lay still with
moist eyes, her fingers playing with the hair on his heavy forehead.
“Dear, dear,” she sighed, “how you have tortured me these last few days!
Do you——?” She did not say the word “love.” He assented passionately:
“And you?”

“Yes. You should have seen it already. Do you know what you are? You are
the most beautiful horrible man that ever had a big nose. Your eyes are
as bloodshot as a St. Bernard’s. Is it through your work? Perhaps you
wouldn’t be so nice if you were a prince. Ah! Stop!”

She slipped out of his embrace and went to the mirror to comb her hair.
She examined herself attentively and then made a deep bow in front of
the glass. “There’s the Princess,” she said, pointing to her image, “and
here,” she added, indicating herself, “is your girl, you see? Did you
realize that you possess a princess?”

Prokop made an abrupt movement. “What does that matter?” he cried,
bringing down his fist heavily on the table.

“You must choose, the princess or the girl. You can’t have the princess;
you may worship her from the distance but you may not kiss her hand, and
you must not ask her whether she loves you. A princess may not do such
things; she has behind her a thousand years of noble blood. Did you know
that we used to be kings? Ah, you know nothing, but you ought to know at
least that a princess lives in a glass case and you may not touch her.
But you can have the ordinary woman, this dark girl. Stretch out your
hand and she is yours, like anything else. Now you must choose between
the two.”

Prokop was again chilled. “Princess,” he said heavily.

She came over to him and seriously kissed his cheek. “You’re mine, you
understand? You darling! You see that you have a princess. And are you
proud that you have a princess? What a terrible thing the princess must
have done to cause anyone to grow haughty for a couple of days! I knew, I
knew from the first moment I saw you that you wanted the princess; from
anger, from a masculine sense of power or something like that. For this
reason you hated me so much that you desired me and I ran after you. Do
you think that I am annoyed with myself? On the contrary, I am proud that
I have done it. That’s something, isn’t it? To lower oneself so quickly,
to be a princess, a great lady and then to come ... to come alone....”

Her words threw Prokop into consternation. “Stop,” he begged her and
took her into his trembling arms. “I’m not your equal ... in birth....”

“What did you say? Equal? Do you think that if you had been a prince I
should have come to you? If you wanted me to treat you like an equal I
shouldn’t have been with you ... like this,” she cried. “There’s a big
difference, you understand?” Prokop’s hands fell. “You shouldn’t have
said such a thing,” he said through his teeth, recoiling.

She threw her arms round his neck. “Darling, darling, let me speak! Am
I reproaching you? I came ... alone ... because you wanted to escape or
to get yourself killed, I don’t know what; any girl would have done the
same.... Do you think that I was wrong to do it? Tell me! Did I do wrong?
You don’t understand,” she said, wincing, “you don’t understand!”

“Wait,” cried Prokop. He extricated himself from her embrace, and paced
up and down the room. Suddenly he was blinded by a sudden hope. “Do you
believe in me? Do you believe that I shall do something? I can work
terribly hard. I’ve never thought about fame, but if you wished it ...
I’d exert all my strength! You know that Darwin was carried to his coffin
by dukes? If you wished, I could do ... tremendous things. I can work—I
could change the face of the world. Give me ten years and you’ll see——”

It seemed as if she was not listening to him. “If you were a prince it
would be enough to look at you, give you one’s hand and you would know,
you would know, you mustn’t doubt—it wouldn’t have to be demonstrated
to you ... ten years! Would you be true to me for ten days! In ten
minutes you will become gloomy, dear, and grow angry at the fact that
the Princess does not want you ... because she is a princess and you are
not a prince, see? And then, try as I may to convince you, it will be in
vain; no demonstration will be great enough, no humiliation sufficiently
deep. He would have me run after him, offer myself to him, do more than
any other girl, I don’t know what! What am I to do with you?” She came up
to him and offered him her lips. “Will you be true to me for ten years,
then?”

He seized hold of her, sobbing. “There,” she whispered and stroked his
hair. “So you’re pulling at the chain? And yet I should have remained
just as I was. Darling, darling, I know that you will leave me.” She sank
into his arms. He lifted her up and forced open her closed lips with his
kisses.

She lay still with her eyes closed, hardly breathing, and Prokop, bending
over her, his heart oppressed, contemplated the inscrutable serenity of
her hot, strained face. She extricated herself from his embrace as if in
a dream. “What have you got in all those bottles? Are they poison?” She
examined his shelves and instruments. “Give me some poison or other.”

“Why?”

“In case they want to take me away from here.”

Her serious face made him anxious, but to appease her he poured a
solution of chalk into a small box, but at that moment she pounced on
some crystals of arsenic. “Don’t take that!” he cried, but she had
already placed it in her bag.

“I see you will be a great man,” she said softly. “I never imagined such
things. Did you say that Darwin was carried to his grave by dukes? Who
were they?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

She kissed him. “You are nice! Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Well ... the Duke of Argyll and ... the Duke of Devonshire,” he muttered.

“Really!” she considered this, frowning. “I should never have imagined
... that scientists were so.... And you only mentioned it incidentally!”
She put her arms round his shoulders, as if for the first time. “And you,
you could——? Really?”

“Well, wait until I am buried.”

“Ah, if that were only very soon,” she said reflectively with naïve
cruelty. “You’d be wonderful if you were famous. Do you know what I like
the most?”

“No.”

“I don’t, either,” she said musingly, and turned and kissed him. “I don’t
know. Whoever and whatever you were——” She moved her shoulders with a
gesture of impatience. “It’s for always, you understand?”

Prokop recoiled from this relentless monogamy. She stood before him,
muffled up to her eyes in her blue fox fur and looked at him in the
twilight with glistening eyes. “Oh!” she cried suddenly and sank back
into a chair, “my legs are trembling.” She smoothed and rubbed them
with naïve shamelessness. “How shall I be able to ride? Come, darling,
come and see me to-day. _Mon Oncle Charles_ is away to-day, and even if
he weren’t it’s all the same to me.” She got up and kissed him. “_Au
revoir._”

In the doorway she stopped, hesitated, and came back to him. “Kill me,
please,” she said, her hands hanging limp by her side, “kill me.” He put
his hands on her: “Why?”

“So that I shan’t have to go away ... and so that I shall never have to
be here.” He whispered into her ear: “... To-morrow.”

She looked at him, and submissively bent down her head; it was ... a sign
of assent.

When she had been gone some time he also went out into the half-light.
Some one a hundred yards away got up from the ground and rubbed the dirt
off his clothes with his sleeve. The silent Mr. Holz.




CHAPTER XXXIV


When he joined the company that evening, still not able to believe what
had happened, and in an acute state of tension, he found her looking
so beautiful that he scarcely knew her. She was conscious of the
burning glance with which he enveloped her, glowed with pleasure, and,
indifferent to the presence of the others, gave him ardent looks in
return. There was a new guest at the castle, named d’Hémon, a diplomat,
or something of the sort, Mongolian in appearance, with purple lips
and a short black beard. He was evidently thoroughly familiar with
physical chemistry; Becquerel, Planck, Niels Bohr, Milliken and similar
names simply poured out of his mouth. He had read about Prokop and was
extremely interested in his work. Prokop allowed himself to be diverted,
talked at some length and forgot for a moment to look at the Princess. As
a result he received such a kick on the shin that he positively jumped
and all but returned it. The kick was accompanied by a passionately
jealous glance. At that moment he was obliged to answer a stupid question
put by Prince Suwalski regarding the nature of this energy that they are
always talking about. He grasped the sugar-bowl and gave the Princess
such a bitter look that she imagined that he was going to throw it at
her. He then went on to explain to the Prince that if all the energy
which it contained could be liberated at the same moment it would be
sufficient to hurl Mont Blanc and Chamonix into the air; but that, as it
happened, such a thing could never take place.

“But you’ll do it,” said d’Hémon seriously and definitely.

The Princess leaned over towards them: “What were you saying?”

“I was saying that he will do it,” repeated Monsieur d’Hémon with perfect
simplicity.

“There you are,” said the Princess loudly, and sat down victoriously.
Prokop grew red and did not dare to look at her.

“And if he does do it,” she asked breathlessly, “will he be terribly
famous? Like Darwin?”

“If he does it,” said Monsieur d’Hémon without hesitation, “kings will
consider it an honour to carry his coffin. That is, if there are still
any kings.”

“Rubbish,” muttered Prokop, but the Princess glowed with inexpressible
delight. He would not have looked at her for anything in the world;
embarrassed, he mumbled something or other, crumbling a piece of sugar
in his fingers. Finally he ventured to lift his eyes. She looked at him
directly, with passionate love. “Do you?” she said to him under her
breath. He understood only too well what she meant: Do you love me?—but
he pretended that he had not heard and quickly looked at the tablecloth
instead. God! that girl’s mad, or else she deliberately wants.... “Do
you?” came to him across the table, still more loudly and urgently. He
nodded quickly and looked at her with eyes filled with happiness. Luckily
in the midst of the general conversation nobody noticed them; only
Monsieur d’Hémon preserved his discreet and remote expression.

The conversation roved all over the place until suddenly Monsieur
d’Hémon, evidently an exceptionally well-informed man, began to talk to
Von Graun about his genealogy up to the thirteenth century. The Princess
listened with extraordinary interest, whereupon the new guest talked
instead about her ancestry, without the slightest difficulty. “Enough,”
cried the Princess when he had reached the year 1007, when the first
Hagen founded a barony in Esthonia, having murdered somebody or other;
for the genealogical experts had been unable to go back any further.
But Monsieur d’Hémon continued: This Hagen or Agen the One-armed was
clearly a Tartar Prince, captured in the course of an expedition into
the district of Kamsk. Persian history mentions a certain Khan Agan, who
was the son of Giw Khan, King of the Turkomans, the Uzbeks, Sards and
Kirghiz, while he again was the son of Weiwus, the son of the conqueror
Li-taj Khan. This “Emperor” Li-taj is referred to in the Chinese
chronicles as the ruler of Turkoman, Altai and Western Thibet, who had
slain as many as fifty thousand people, amongst whom was a Chinese
Governor, round whose head he had had twisted a wet rope, until the bones
broke. Nothing was known of Li-taj’s ancestors. More might be discovered
if access was ever gained to the archives in Lhassa. His son, Weiwus, who
was regarded even by the Mongolians as being rather wild, was beaten to
death with tent-poles in Kara Butak. His son Giw Khan depopulated Chiv
and extended his activities as far as Itil or Astrachan, where he became
famous for having plucked out the eyes of two thousand people and driven
them into the Kuban Steppe. Agan Khan continued in his footsteps, having
sent out expeditions as far as Bolgar or the Simbirsk of to-day, where
he was taken prisoner, his right hand amputated and kept as a hostage
until the time when he was able to flee to Balt among the Livs who then
inhabited the district. There he was baptized by the German bishop,
Gotilly or Gutilly and—probably through religious zeal—murdered in the
cemetery in Verro the sixteen-year-old heir to the Pechorski barony,
taking his sister to wife. Through this bigamy he was able to extend his
territory as far as Lake Pejpus. See the chronicles of Nikifor, where he
is referred to as “Prince Agen,” while the Osel Chronicle alludes to him
as “Rex Aagen.” His descendants, concluded Monsieur d’Hémon quietly, were
driven out, but never dethroned.

Monsieur d’Hémon then got up, bowed, and remained standing. His remarks
produced an enormous sensation. The Princess simply drank in every one
of his words, as if this line of Tartar cutthroats was the finest in
the world. Prokop watched her with dismay; she did not even wince at
the story of four thousand eyes having been plucked out. Involuntarily
he looked for Tartar features in her face. She was extraordinarily
beautiful, drew herself up and enveloped herself in her own dignity;
suddenly there was such a distance between her and all the others that
they all became as formal as if it were a state banquet, not daring
to look at her directly. Prokop wanted repeatedly to strike the table,
say something rough, disturb this frozen scene. She sat with eyes cast
down, as if she were waiting for something, and across her face there
flashed something like impatience. The company looked at one another
interrogatively, at the dignified Monsieur d’Hémon, and at last one by
one rose to their feet. Prokop also stood up, not realizing what was
happening. What on earth could it mean? They all stood quite stiffly
with their arms at their sides looking at the Princess. Then she raised
her eyes like some one who is expressing thanks for homage, and they all
sat down. Only when Prokop was in his seat again did he realize with
consternation that they had all just made obeisance to their ruler. He
suddenly became so angry that he broke into a sweat. Heavens, that he
should have taken part in such a farce! How on earth was it possible that
they did not burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the comedy which
they had just played?

He was getting ready to laugh with the others, when the Princess rose.
All the others did the same, and Prokop was convinced that now the ice
would break. He looked around him and his eyes fell on the fat cousin,
who, his arms hanging down at his sides, was approaching the Princess,
inclined slightly forwards; surely it must all be a joke. The Princess
spoke to him and nodded her head; the fat cousin bowed and retired. What
was happening? Now the Princess gave a quick glance at Prokop, but he did
not move. The rest stood on tiptoe and watched him fixedly. Again the
Princess made a sign with her eyes; still he did not move. The Princess
stepped towards an old, one-armed major from the artillery, covered with
medals. The major was just drawing himself up when she turned aside and
was suddenly quite close to Prokop.

“Darling, darling,” she said in a clear soft voice, “do you——? You’re
getting angry again. I should like to kiss you.”

“Princess,” said Prokop in a thick voice, “what does this farce mean?”

“Don’t shout like that. It’s more important than you imagine. Do you know
that they now want to give me in marriage?” She trembled with horror.
“Darling, go away now. Go down the passage to the third room on the right
and wait there for me. I must see you.”

“Listen,” Prokop wanted to say, but she only inclined her head and moved
suavely across to the old major.

Prokop could not believe his eyes.

Could such things happen? Was it not really a carefully arranged
performance? Were the different people taking their rôles seriously? The
fat cousin took him by the arm and discreetly led him aside. “Do you know
what this means?” he whispered excitedly. “The old Hagen is paralyzed.
It’s a ruling family! Did you see that heir to a throne? There was to
be a marriage, but it didn’t come off. That man is certainly sent here
purposely. God, what a pedigree!” Prokop got free of him. “Excuse me,” he
mumbled, walked down the passage as slowly as possible and went into the
appointed room. It was a sort of little boudoir for drinking tea, with
shaded lights, everything lacquered, black porcelain and other rubbish.
Prokop strode about this miniature apartment with his hands behind his
back, buzzing like a blow-fly which hits its head against the glass of a
window-frame. _Sacra_, things were altered and for the sake of a lousy
Tartar pedigree which a decent person would be ashamed of.... A nice
reason! And on account of a handful of such Huns these idiots crawled
along on their bellies and she, she herself.... The blow-fly butted
the glass in a frenzy. Now.... This Tartar princess would come in and
say: Darling, darling all is over between us; you must realize that the
granddaughter of Li-taj Khan can’t love the son of a cobbler. Tap, tap;
he heard in his head the noise of his father’s hammer and he could almost
smell the odour of the leather and of the cobbler’s wax; and his mother,
in a blue apron, was standing, flushed, over the stove....

The blow-fly buzzed desperately. “We shall see, Princess! What have you
let yourself in for, man? When she comes you must knock your forehead on
the floor and say: Pardon, Tartar princess, I shall not show myself in
your presence again....”

In the little room there was a faint smell of quince, and the light was
dull and soft. The desperate fly continued to strike its head on the
glass and complain in a voice that was almost human. What have you let
yourself in for, idiot?

The Princess suddenly glided noiselessly into the room. At the door she
reached out for the switch and turned out the light. In the darkness
Prokop felt a hand which lightly touched his face and then passed round
his neck. He took the Princess in his arms; she was so supple and almost
incorporate, that he touched her fearfully as if she were something
fragile. She covered his face with her aerial kisses and whispered
something which he could not catch; he felt his hair being delicately
stroked. Then he felt her sinuous body yielding, the arm round his neck
pressed him more closely and her moist lips moved on his own, as if
they were speaking voicelessly. Trembling all over, she grasped Prokop
more and more firmly, pulled down his head, pressed herself to him with
her breasts and knees, twined both her arms round him; a passionate,
agonizing embrace, the moaning of a creature which is being suffocated;
they staggered in a convulsive, insane embrace. Never to leave go. To
devour one another! To fuse into one being or to die! She was sobbing
helplessly, but he freed himself from the terrible grip of her hands. She
swayed as if she were intoxicated, pulled a handkerchief out of her bosom
and wiped her lips, and without saying a word passed into the adjacent
room.

With a splitting head Prokop remained in the darkness. This last embrace
seemed to him to mean farewell.




CHAPTER XXXV


The fat cousin was right. The old Hagen was becoming more and more
paralyzed, though he had not yet succumbed to the disease. He now lay
helpless, surrounded by doctors, trying to open his left eye. Uncle Rohn
and his relations were suddenly sent for; and the old Prince tried once
more to open his eye so as to look again at his daughter and make some
signal.

She ran out of the room, bareheaded, and rushed outside to Prokop who had
been waiting for her in the park for some time. Completely ignoring Holz
she kissed and clung to him passionately. She made hardly any allusion
to her father and Uncle Charles, absorbed in something, harassed and
affectionate. She pressed herself against him and then suddenly became
distant and preoccupied. He began to poke fun at the Tartar dynasty ...
a little too pointedly. She gave him an expressive look and changed the
conversation, talking about the previous evening. “Until the last moment
I thought that I wouldn’t go to you. Do you know that I am nearly thirty?
When I was fifteen I fell terribly in love with our chaplain. I went to
him to confess, simply in order to get a nearer sight of him, and because
I was ashamed to say that I had stolen or lied I told him that I had
been unchaste; I didn’t know what that meant, and the poor man had a lot
of work to find out the truth. Now I couldn’t confess,” she concluded
quietly, and made a bitter movement with her mouth.

Prokop was disturbed by her continued self-analysis, in which he saw a
morbid desire for self-torture. He tried to find something else to talk
about and discovered to his consternation that if they did not speak
about love they had nothing to say to one another. They were standing
on the bastion. It gave the Princess a certain relief to return to her
past, to confess small but important things about herself. “Soon after I
confessed we had a dancing master who fell in love with my governess, a
stout woman. I heard about it and ... saw them. It disgusted me. Oh! But
all the same I spied on them and ... I couldn’t understand. And then one
day when we were dancing I suddenly understood, when he pressed himself
against me. After that I wouldn’t let him touch me; in the end ... I
fired a shot-gun at him. We had to dismiss them both.

“At that time ... I was terribly worried by mathematics; I simply hadn’t
a head for it, you see? My teacher was a famous man, but unpleasant;
you scientists are all extraordinary. He set me an exercise and looked
at his watch; it had to be done in an hour. And when I had only five,
four, three minutes left and I had still done nothing ... my heart began
to thump and I had such a horrible feeling——” She dug her fingers into
Prokop’s arm and drew in her breath. “Then I got to like those lessons.

“When I was nineteen they selected a husband for me; you wouldn’t
believe it. And because by that time I understood everything I made my
fiancé promise that he would never touch me. Two years later he died
in Africa. I pined so much—through being romantic or something of the
sort—that they never tried to make a match for me again. I thought that
I’d got the question settled for ever.

“And I forced myself, you know, to believe that I had some obligation
to him and that I ought to be true to him even after his death, until
finally I grew to believe that I had been in love with him. Now I see
that all the time I was only acting to myself and that I had never felt
anything more than foolish disillusion.

“It’s curious, isn’t it, that I’m telling you all these things about
myself? You know, it’s a great relief to speak about oneself like this
without keeping anything back.

“When you arrived I thought to begin with that you were like that
professor of mathematics. I was even frightened of you, darling. He’ll
give me an exercise to do, I thought, and my heart began to beat again.

“A horse simply intoxicated me. When I was on a horse I felt that I
didn’t need love. And I rode insanely.

“I always imagined that love was something vulgar and ... terribly
revolting. You see, I still can’t deal with it; at the same time it
frightens me and masters me. And now I’m glad that I’m like any other
woman. When I was little I was afraid of water. They showed me the
strokes of swimming on dry land, but I would not go near the lake; I got
the idea that it was full of spiders, and one day I was suddenly seized
by some sort of courage or desperation, shut my eyes, cried out and
sprang in. Don’t ask me how proud I was afterwards; it was as if I had
passed an examination, as if I knew everything, as if I had changed into
another person. As if I had grown up at last....”

       *       *       *       *       *

That evening she came into the laboratory, uneasy and worried. When he
took her into his arms she said agitatedly: “He’s opened his eye, he’s
opened his eye, oh!” She was thinking of the old Hagen; in the afternoon
she had had a long conversation with Uncle Rohn but would not speak about
it. It seemed that she was striving to get away from something; she threw
herself into Prokop’s arms so passionately and devotedly that he had the
impression that she wanted to blot everything out at all costs. Finally
she lay still, her eyes closed, completely limp. He thought that she
had fallen asleep but then she began to whisper: “Darling, I shall do
something terrible, but you mustn’t leave me. Swear to me, swear to me,”
she insisted wildly and sprang to her feet, immediately, however, getting
control of herself again. “Ah! no. What could you swear to do? I’ve read
in the cards that you will go away. If you want to, do it now before it’s
too late.”

Prokop naturally jumped up, saying that she wanted to get rid of him,
that her Tartar pride had rushed to her head, and similar things. She
became very excited and charged him with being base and harsh, saying
that he would answer for it, that ... that ... But scarcely had she said
it than she flung her arms round his neck, repentant: “I’m a beast. I
wasn’t thinking of that. You know, a princess ought never to shout, but
I shout at you ... as if I were your wife. Strike me, I beg you. Wait,
I’ll show you that I’m capable....” She released him and suddenly, as
she was, began to tidy up the laboratory, wetting a cloth under the tap
and cleaning the whole floor on her knees. She meant it for an act of
repentance, but somehow she found the work pleasant, became radiant,
worked with a will, humming to herself a song which she had picked up
somewhere from the servants. He wanted to raise her to her feet. “No;
wait,” she defended herself, “there’s a bit over there.” And she crawled
with the cloth underneath a chair.

“Come here,” she said in a moment, surprised. Still mumbling reproaches
he sat down next to her. She was squatting, her arms clasped round her
knees. “Just see what a chair looks like from underneath. I’ve never
seen such a thing before.” She placed on his face a hand which was still
damp from the wet rag. “You’re as rough as the under side of this chair;
that’s the most lovely thing about you. I’ve only seen other people on
their smooth, polished side, but you, when one first looks at you, you’re
like a beam with cracks in it—everything that holds the human frame
together. If one runs one’s finger over you one gets a splinter in it,
but all the same you’re beautifully made. One begins to realize something
else ... something more important than what one gets from the smooth
side. That’s you.”

She nestled against him. “I feel as if I were in a tent, or a log
hut,” she whispered, entranced. “I never used to play with dolls, but
sometimes ... secretly ... I used to go out with the gardener’s boys
and climb trees with them.... Then they wondered at home why my clothes
were torn. And when I used to climb with them my heart beat with fear so
wonderfully. When I’m with you I have the same wonderful fear that I had
then.

“Now I’m thoroughly hidden,” she said happily, leaning her head against
his knees. “Nobody can find me, and I’m rough, like the bottom of that
chair; an ordinary woman, not thinking about anything, only being
soothed.... Why is a person so happy when he’s hidden? Now I know what
happiness is: One must close one’s eyes and become tiny ... quite tiny,
waiting to be discovered....”

She rocked herself to and fro contentedly while he smoothed her
dishevelled hair; but her widely opened eyes looked past his head into
the distance.

Suddenly she turned her face to him. “What were you thinking about?”

He moved his eyes away shyly. He could not tell her that he saw before
him the Tartar princess in all her glory, a proud and commanding figure
which now ... in pain and yearning....

“Nothing, nothing,” he muttered, looking down at the happy and contented
face against his knees, and stroked her dark cheek, which flushed with
tender passion.




CHAPTER XXXVI


He would have done better if he had not come that evening, but he
compelled himself to because she had forbidden him to appear. _Oncle
Charles_ was particularly charming to him. By an unlucky accident he had
seen the two of them on an inappropriate occasion pressing one another’s
hands; finally he had put up his monocle to see better, upon which the
Princess snatched her hand away and blushed like a schoolgirl. _Oncle
Charles_ came across to her, drew her aside, and whispered something into
her ear. After that she did not return, but Rohn appeared instead and
engaged himself in conversation with Prokop, evidently trying to sound
him. Prokop behaved like a hero, and betrayed nothing, which at least
appeared to please the old gentleman. “In society one must be extremely
careful,” he concluded, rebuking and advising him at the same time.
Prokop was greatly relieved when he was left alone to reflect on the
significance of this last remark.

The worst of it was that something was evidently being prepared behind
the scenes; the older members of the family were positively bursting with
importance.

When the next morning Prokop was walking round the castle he was
approached by a chambermaid who informed him breathlessly that he was
wanted in the birch wood. He made his way there and waited for a long
time. Finally the Princess arrived, moving with the long, beautiful steps
of a Diana. “Hide yourself,” she whispered rapidly. “Uncle is following
me.” They ran off hand in hand and disappeared behind the thick foliage
of a lilac bush; Mr. Holz, after having searched for them for some time,
sat down on the grass, resigned. Then they caught sight of the light hat
of Uncle Rohn. He was walking quickly, looking out on both sides of him.
The Princess’s eyes glistened with delight, like those of a young faun.
In the bushes there was a damp and musty smell; the twigs and leaves
were covered with spiders’ webs. Without even waiting for the danger to
pass, the Princess drew Prokop’s head towards her. Between his teeth he
felt her kisses, like wild berries, bitter and yet pleasant. The game was
so delightful, new and surprising that it was if they were seeing one
another for the first time.

And that day she did not come to him; beside himself with every sort
of suspicion, he made his way to the castle. She was waiting for him,
walking with her arms round Egon’s neck. Directly she caught sight of him
she let go of the boy and came up to him, pale, distraught, mastering a
certain desperation. “Uncle knows that I’ve visited you,” she said. “God,
what will happen! I think that they will send you away. Don’t move now;
they’re watching us from the window. I spoke this afternoon with ... with
...” she shivered ... “with the manager, you know. We quarrelled....
_Oncle Charles_ wanted me simply to leave you, to let you escape or
something of the sort. The manager was furious and wouldn’t hear of such
a thing. It looks as if they are sending you somewhere else.... Darling,
come here to-night; I’ll come out to you, I’ll evade ... them....”

And she actually came, breathless, sobbing with dry and anxious eyes.
“To-morrow, to-morrow,” she wanted to say, but at that moment a firm and
friendly hand descended on her shoulder. It was Uncle Rohn. “Go back,
Minna,” he ordered sternly. “And you wait here,” he added, turning to
Prokop. Putting his arm round her shoulder he led her back into the
castle. A moment later he came back again and took Prokop by the arm. “My
friend,” he said sympathetically, “I understand you young people only too
well and ... I feel with you.” He made a gesture of hopelessness with
his hand. “Something has taken place which should not have happened. I
don’t wish to ... and of course I can’t reproach you. On the contrary,
I realize that ... obviously....” Clearly this was a bad beginning and
_le bon prince_ tried another road. “My dear friend, I respect you and
I really like you very much. You are an honest man and ... a genius; an
unusual combination. I have rarely felt such sympathy for anybody. I know
that you will go a long way,” he said with relief. “You believe that my
intentions are friendly?”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Prokop calmly.

_Le bon oncle_ became confused. “I am sorry, extraordinarily,” he jerked
out, “because I cannot tell you what I want to say unless we have the
fullest possible confidence in one another....”

“_Mon prince_,” Prokop interrupted him politely, “as you know, I am not
here in the enviable position of a free man. I think that under the
circumstances I’ve no cause to have faith....”

“Y-yes,” sighed _Oncle Rohn_, pleased with the turn that the conversation
had taken. “You’re perfectly right. You are up against the painful fact
that you’re a prisoner, eh? You know, that’s just what I was going to
speak about. My dear friend, as far as I’m concerned.... From the very
beginning ... I passionately condemned this idea of keeping you ... in
captivity. It’s illegal, brutal and ... in view of your importance,
simply inexcusable. I took various steps ... some time ago, you
understand,” he added quickly. “I intervened in the highest places but
... in view of a certain international tension the higher officials are
in a panic. You are confined here under the accusation of espionage.
Nothing can be done,” and the Prince bent down to Prokop’s ear, “unless
you can succeed in escaping. Trust me, and I’ll provide the means. I give
you my word.”

“What means?” Prokop threw out carelessly.

“I shall simply ... arrange it myself. I’ll take you in my car—and they
can’t stop me, you understand. The rest later. Where do you want to go?”

“Leave it; I don’t want to go away,” answered Prokop definitely.

“Why?” said _Oncle Charles_, surprised.

“To begin with ... I don’t want you, Prince, to take any risks. A person
like yourself——”

“And in the second place?”

“In the second place I’m beginning to like it here.”

“And further, further?”

“Nothing further,” smiled Prokop, enduring the serious, scrutinizing
glance of the Prince.

“Listen,” said _Oncle Rohn_ after a moment, “I did not mean to tell you.
But the point is that in a day or so you are to be transferred elsewhere,
to a fortress. Still under the accusation of espionage. You mustn’t
imagine.... My dear friend, get away while there is still time!”

“Is that true?”

“Honestly it is.”

“Then ... then I am obliged to you for warning me.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Well, I shall make my arrangements,” said Prokop bloodthirstily. “_Mon
prince_, you may inform HER that it isn’t done ... as easily as that.”

“What? What do you mean?” stammered _Oncle Charles_.

Prokop made a gesture in the air with his hand as if he were throwing
something imaginary in front of him. “Bang,” he said.

_Oncle Charles_ drew back. “You intend to defend yourself?”

Prokop said nothing, but stood with his hands in his pockets, frowning
darkly and reflecting.

_Oncle Charles_, pale and fragile in the nocturnal darkness, stepped up
to him. “Do you ... love her as much as that?” he said quickly, gulping
with emotion.

Prokop did not answer. “You love her,” repeated Rohn, and embraced him.
“Be strong. Leave her and go away! You can’t stay here, you must realize
that. What would it lead to? For God’s sake have pity on her. Save her
from a scandal. Can you really imagine that she could ever be your wife?
It may be that she is in love with you but—she is too proud; she wouldn’t
forego the title of Princess.... Oh, it’s impossible, it’s impossible! I
don’t wish to know what there was between you, but if you love her, go
away! Go at once, this very night! In the name of love, go away, friend,
I beg you in her name. You’ve made her the most unhappy woman—isn’t that
enough? Protect her if she’s not able to protect herself! Do you love
her? Then sacrifice yourself!”

Prokop stood motionless, his head bent, and _le bon prince_ felt that
this black rough trunk was splitting inside with pain. His heart was
torn in sympathy, but he had still one more card to play; if it was not
successful he would have to give in.

“She’s proud, fantastic, wildly ambitious; she’s been like that from
childhood. And now we have received the valuable information that she’s
a princess whose pedigree is equal to that of anyone else’s. You don’t
realize what that means to her. To her and to us. It may be prejudice
but ... such things are our life. Prokop, the Princess is going to be
married. She is marrying a Grand Duke without a throne—a decent and
amenable person—but she, she will fight for the crown, for fighting is
her nature, her mission, her pride. At last her life-long dream is being
realized. And now you’re standing between her and her future. But she’s
already decided; she’s only torturing herself with reproaches——”

“Aha!” cried Prokop. “So it’s that way, is it? And—you think that I shall
give way now? Wait and see!”

And before _Oncle Rohn_ could realize what was happening he had hurried
off in the darkness to the laboratory. Mr. Holz silently behind him.




CHAPTER XXXVII


When they reached the laboratory he wanted to slam the door in Holz’s
face, so as to fortify himself inside, but Mr. Holz just had time to
whisper the words: “The Princess.”

“What’s that?” said Prokop, turning round sharply.

“She has instructed me to remain with you.”

Prokop was unable to disguise his delighted surprise. “Has she paid you?”

Mr. Holz shook his head and for the first time a smile passed across his
parchment-like face. “She gave me her hand,” he said respectfully. “I
promised her that nothing should happen to you.”

“Good. Have you got the gun? Now you shall watch the door. Nobody must
come in, you understand?”

Mr. Holz nodded and Prokop made a thorough strategical examination of the
laboratory, considered as a fortress.

Fairly satisfied, he collected on the table all the metal vessels and
boxes which he could get together, and further, to his great delight,
discovered a heap of nails. Then he set to work.

The next morning Mr. Carson, with a fine assumption of casualness,
wandered down to Prokop’s laboratory. When some distance away he made him
out standing in front of the building, evidently practising throwing
stones. “A very healthy sport,” he shouted cheerfully.

Prokop hastily put on his coat again. “Healthy and useful,” he answered
readily. “What do you want me for?”

The pockets of his coat bulged out and something rattled inside them.
“What have you got in your pockets?” asked Mr. Carson carelessly.

“Nitric acid,” said Prokop. “And explosives.”

“H’m. Why do you carry it in your pockets?”

“Oh, just for a joke. Is there anything you want to say to me?”

“Nothing at the moment. Particularly not at this moment,” said Mr.
Carson uneasily, keeping at a fair distance. “And what have you got in
those—those boxes?”

“Nails. And here,” he said, bringing a little box out of his pockets, “is
some Benzoltetraoxozonid, a novelty, the _dernier cri_. Eh?”

“Don’t wave it about,” said Mr. Carson, retreating to a safer distance.
“Is there any request you have to make?”

“Request?” said Prokop pleasantly. “I should be obliged if you would tell
THEM something. To begin with, that I’m not going.”

“Good. That’s to be understood. And further?”

“And further, if anybody should inadvertently attack me ... or try to
make an assault on me.... I hope that it isn’t your intention to murder
me.”

“Certainly not. Honestly.”

“You can come nearer.”

“You won’t go up in the air?”

“I shall be careful. I only wanted to ask you to stop anybody entering
my fortress while I’m away from it. There’s an explosive fuse on the
door. Be careful; there’s a trap behind you.”

“Explosive?”

“Only Diazobenzolperchlorate. You must warn people. Nobody’s to come
near here, see? Further, I’ve certain reasons ... to believe that I’m
in danger. I should be grateful to you if you would arrange for Holz to
protect me personally ... against every sort of attack. And he should be
armed.”

“No,” said Carson loudly. “Holz will be transferred.”

“What?” protested Prokop. “I’m afraid to be alone, you understand? Kindly
instruct him.” So saying he approached Carson threateningly, rattling as
if he was made of nothing but tin and nails.

“All right then,” said Carson hastily. “Holz, you are to look after Mr.
Prokop. If anybody wishes to approach him—— Devil take it, do what you
like. Is there anything else you want?”

“Nothing for the moment. If I want anything I’ll come to you.”

“Thank you very much,” said Carson, and quickly removed himself from the
dangerous area. The first thing he did was to dash to his office and
telephone the necessary instructions in all directions. But there was a
rattling in the corridor and Prokop burst into the room, fully charged
with bombs.

“Listen,” said Prokop, white with anger. “Who gave orders that I should
not be allowed into the park? If that order isn’t withdrawn immediately——”

“Just keep a little farther off, yes?” cried Carson, holding on to his
desk. “What do I care about the park? Go——”

“Wait,” Prokop interrupted him and compelled himself to explain
patiently: “Let us take it that there are occasions when ... when a
person is not absolutely indifferent as to what happens,” he said
quickly. “You understand me?” Rattling and clattering he crossed over to
the calendar on the wall. “Tuesday, to-day is Tuesday! And here, here
I have——” he searched feverishly in his pockets and finally brought to
light a porcelain soap box carefully tied up with a piece of string. “So
far four ounces. You know what it is?”

“Krakatit? You’re bringing it to us?” said Mr. Carson, his face lit up
with a sudden hope. “But then, of course——”

“Nothing of the sort,” grinned Prokop and put the box back in his pocket.
“But if you irritate me, then ... then I shall strew it about where I
want to, see?”

“See?” repeated Carson mechanically, completely crestfallen.

“Well, just see that that lad is removed from the entrance. I want to go
into the park.”

Mr. Carson cast a rapid glance over Prokop and then spat on the floor.
“Bah!” he said with feeling, “I’ve arranged this badly!”

“You have,” agreed Prokop. “But it didn’t occur to me before that I had
this card in my suit. Well?”

Carson shrugged his shoulders. “For the present, God! this is no small
matter! I am extremely glad that I’m able to assist you. Honestly,
extremely glad. And you? Will you give us six ounces?”

“I won’t. I shall destroy it myself but ... to begin with I want to see
whether our old treaty still holds. Free movement, and all the rest, eh?
You remember?”

“The old agreement,” roared Mr. Carson. “The devil take the old
agreement. At that time you weren’t—you hadn’t yet relations with——”

Prokop sprang towards him, rattling loudly. “What did you say? What
hadn’t I?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Mr. Carson hastened to say, blinking his eyes
quickly. “I don’t know. Your private affairs are nothing to do with me.
If you want to walk about the park that’s your affair, eh? Only for God’s
sake go and——”

“Listen,” said Prokop suspiciously, “No cutting off the current to my
laboratory. Because——”

“Good, good,” Mr. Carson assured him. “The _status quo_, eh? Good
luck.—Ugh! a cursed fellow,” he added irritatedly when at last Prokop had
left the room.

Still rattling, Prokop made his way to the park, as heavy and solid as a
howitzer. In front of the castle was standing a collection of gentlemen,
but no sooner had they caught sight of him in the distance than they
retired in some confusion, evidently having been informed of this highly
charged and furious individual; their backs expressed the highest degree
of indignation that such a thing should be allowed. Then Prokop came upon
Mr. Krafft walking with Egon and giving him peripatetic instruction.
As soon as he saw Prokop, he left Egon and ran across to him. “Will
you shake hands with me?” he asked, and grew red at his own heroism. “I
shall certainly be dismissed for this,” he said proudly. Prokop learnt
from Krafft that the report had spread through the castle like lightning
that he, Prokop, was an anarchist, and that the heir to the throne was
expected that very evening.... That they proposed to telegraph to His
Excellence to postpone his arrival, and were holding a big family council
about it.

Prokop approached the castle. Two flunkeys in the passage flew out of
his path and pressed themselves against the wall, allowing this charged,
clanging assailant to pass without a word. The family council was being
held in the large hall. _Oncle Rohn_ was anxiously walking up and down,
the elder members were tremendously excited about the perversity of
anarchists, the fat cousin was silent, and some other gentlemen were
warmly advocating that soldiers should be sent against this wild person:
he would either have to give himself up or be shot. At that moment the
doors opened and Prokop crashed into the room. His eyes sought the
Princess. She was not there, but all the rest of the company stood up
rigid with terror, awaiting the worst. Prokop addressed Rohn in a hoarse
voice: “I’ve only come to tell you that nothing will happen to the royal
heir. Now you know.” He nodded sharply and walked out of the room as
solid as a statue.




CHAPTER XXXVIII


The passage was empty. He crept along as quietly as he was able to the
Princess’s apartments and waited in front of the door, motionless as the
knight in armour downstairs in the vestibule. A chambermaid came out,
screamed at the sight of the scarecrow and hastily retired. A moment
afterwards she opened the door again and, scared out of her life, and
careful to keep out of his way, silently motioned him in, after which
she again disappeared. The Princess came forward to meet him. She was
wearing a long cloak and had evidently only just got out of bed. The hair
over her forehead was tangled and damp as if she had just removed a cold
compress. She was extremely pale and not looking attractive. She put her
arms round his neck and put forward a pair of lips which were feverishly
dry. “You are good,” she whispered, half swooning. “I’ve got the most
frightful headache! I hear that your pockets are full of bombs! I’m not
frightened of you. Go away now, I’m looking ugly. I’ll come to you at
mid-day; I shan’t go down to dinner. I’ll tell them I’m not well. Go.”
She touched his mouth with her sore, peeling lips and hid her face so
that he should not see her.

Accompanied by Mr. Holz, Prokop returned to the laboratory; everybody
whom he encountered stopped and then took to flight, some at times even
taking shelter in a ditch. He again threw himself into his work as if
possessed, mixed materials together which nobody would have dreamed of
associating, armed with a blind certainty that he could convert them
into explosives. He filled flasks, match-boxes, tins for preserved food,
everything that came into his hands. The table, window-ledges and the
floor were covered with them and he went on until he simply had nowhere
to put the stuff. In the afternoon the Princess appeared, veiled and
wrapped up to the eyes in her cloak. He ran towards her and would have
taken her in his arms, but she repulsed him. “No, no, to-day I’m ugly.
Please go on working; I’ll watch you.”

She sat down on the edge of a chair directly opposite to the frightful
arsenal of explosives. Prokop with set lips was rapidly weighing and
mixing something which hissed and smelt bitter. Then he filtered it
with the greatest care. She watched him, her hands motionless, her eyes
burning. Both were thinking that the royal heir was to arrive that day.

Prokop was looking for something on a shelf on which were ranged
various acids. She stood up, raised her veil, put her arms round his
neck and placed her dry, closed lips against his mouth. They swayed
about between the rows of bottles containing unstable oxozobenzol and
terribly powerful fulminates, dumb and convulsed, but again she pushed
him away and sat down, covering her face with her hands. Prokop set to
work again still more quickly, like a baker making bread, and this time
it was to be the most diabolical substance which man ever prepared, a
violent and frightfully sensitive oil, the incarnation of swiftness and
inflammability. And now here it was, transparent as water and fluid as
ether; a terrible and incalculable destructive agent. He looked round to
see where he had placed the flask containing this nameless substance. She
laughed, took it out of his hand and held it clasped in her hands on her
lap.

Outside Mr. Holz suddenly cried “Stop” to somebody. Prokop ran out.
_Oncle Rohn_ was standing extremely near the explosive trap.

Prokop went up to him. “What do you want?”

“Minna,” said _Oncle Charles_ sweetly, “she’s not well and so——”

Prokop made a face. “Come and fetch her,” he said and led him in.

“Ah, _Oncle Charles_!” The Princess greeted him kindly. “Come and look,
this is frightfully interesting.”

_Oncle Rohn_ looked carefully at her and about the room and was evidently
relieved. “You shouldn’t have come, Minna,” he said reproachfully.

“Why not?” she objected innocently.

He looked helplessly at Prokop. “Because ... because you are feverish.”

“I’m better now,” she said quietly.

“But still you shouldn’t ...” said _le bon prince_, frowning seriously.

“_Mon Oncle_, you know that I always do what I want to,” she said, making
an end to this family scene. At that moment Prokop was removing from a
chair a little box containing some explosives. “Do sit down,” he said
politely to Rohn.

_Oncle Charles_ did not seem to be pleased at the situation. “I’m not ...
stopping you in your work?” he asked of Prokop aimlessly.

“Not in the least,” said Prokop, rolling some substance in his fingers.

“What are you doing?”

“Making explosives. Please, that bottle,” he said, turning to the
Princess.

She gave it him and added openly and provocatively, “Do you——?” _Oncle
Rohn_ recoiled as if he had been struck but soon gave himself up to
contemplating the rapid, though extremely cautious, way in which Prokop
was pouring some drops of a yellow liquid on to a piece of clay.

He coughed and asked: “How do you ignite that?”

“By shaking it,” answered Prokop shortly, continuing to pour out the
liquid.

_Oncle Charles_ turned to the Princess. “If you are frightened, Uncle,”
she said dryly, “you needn’t wait for me.” He sat down resignedly and
tapped with his stick on a tin box which had once contained Californian
peaches. “What does that contain?”

“That’s a hand-grenade,” explained Prokop. “Hexani trofenyl
methylnitramin. Feel the weight of it.”

_Oncle Rohn_ become flurried. “Wouldn’t it perhaps be better to be a
little more careful?” he asked, twisting in his fingers a match-box which
he had picked up from the desk.

“Certainly,” agreed Prokop and took it out of his hand. “That’s
chlorargonat. Not to be played with.”

_Oncle Charles_ frowned. “All this gives me a rather disturbed feeling,”
he said sharply.

Prokop threw the box down on the table. “What? And I also had a disturbed
feeling when you threatened to send me to a fortress.”

“... I can say,” said Rohn, accepting the reproach, “that all that ...
made no impression on me.”

“But it made an enormous impression on me,” said the Princess.

“Are you afraid that he will do something?” said _le bon prince_, turning
to her.

“I _hope_ that he will do something,” she said optimistically. “Do you
think that he’s not capable of it?”

“I have no doubt about it,” said Rohn. “Shall we go now?”

“No. I should like to help him.”

Just then Prokop was breaking a metal spoon in his fingers. “What’s that
for?” she asked him curiously.

“I’ve run out of nails,” he said gruffly. “I’ve nothing to fill the bombs
with.” He looked round in search of something made of metal. Then the
Princess stood up, blushed, hastily peeled off one of her gloves and
removed a gold ring from her finger. “Take this,” she said softly, her
eyes cast down. He took it, wincing; it was almost a ceremony ... as if
they were being betrothed. He hesitated, weighing the ring in his hand;
she raised her eyes to him in urgent and burning inquiry. Then he nodded
seriously and placed the ring at the bottom of a tin box.

_Oncle Rohn_ blinked his bird-like eyes with melancholy concern.

“Now we can go,” whispered the Princess.

       *       *       *       *       *

That evening the heir to the throne arrived at the castle. At the
entrance was drawn up a ceremonial escort; there were official greetings
and other functions; the park and the castle were specially illuminated.
Prokop sat on a small mound in front of his laboratory, and watched the
castle with sombre eyes. Nobody entered it; save for the lights coming
from the windows all was quiet and dark.

Prokop heaved a deep sigh and stood up. “To the castle?” asked Mr. Holz,
and transferred his revolver from the pocket of his trousers to that of
his everlasting mackintosh. When they passed through the park the lights
in it had already been extinguished. On two or three occasions some being
or other retired into the bushes on their approach and about fifty paces
behind them they could hear all the time the sound of some one following
them over the fallen leaves. Otherwise all was deserted, terribly
deserted. But in one wing of the castle the large windows stood out a
bright yellow.

It was autumn, already autumn. Was the water still dripping into the well
at Tynice with a silver note? There was not even a wind, yet there was a
sort of chill which seemed to run either along the ground or through the
trees. Up in the sky a falling star traced a red band of light.

A number of gentlemen in evening dress, magnificent looking and satisfied
with themselves, came out on to the terrace at the top of the castle
steps, yawned, smoked and laughed a little and then retired. Prokop
sat motionless on a seat, twisting a little metal box in his disfigured
fingers. Now and then, like a child, he rattled it about. Inside was the
broken spoon, the ring and the nameless substance.

Mr. Holz approached cautiously. “She can’t come to-day,” he said
respectfully.

“I know.”

Lights appeared in the windows of the guest’s suite. They were those of
the “Prince’s apartments.” And now the whole castle was illuminated,
aerial and unsubstantial as in a dream. Everything was to be found
within: unheard of wealth, beauty, ambition, fame and dignity, breasts
covered with orders, amusements, the art of living, delicacy, wit and
self-regard—as if they were different people, different from the like of
us....

Again Prokop rattled his little box like a child. Gradually the lights
went out in the windows; that light which was still on belonged to Rohn
and that red one to the bedroom of the Princess. Uncle Rohn opened the
window to enjoy the cool of the evening and then began to pace from the
door to the window, from the window to the door, uninterruptedly. No
movement was to be seen in the room of the Princess.

Then even Uncle Rohn put out his light and there was only one left. Would
human thought find a means of forcing its way through this hundred or two
metres of dumb space and reach the waiting mind of another being? What
message have I for you, Tartar Princess? Sleep, it is already autumn;
and if some sort of God exists, may he smooth your feverish brow.

The red light went out.




CHAPTER XXXIX


The next morning he decided not to go into the park; he felt rightly that
there would be difficulties there. He took up a position in a rather
low-lying and deserted part of the grounds in which the direct path
from the castle to the laboratory was intercepted by an old, overgrown
rampart. He climbed on to the top of it whence, more or less hidden,
he could see the corner of the castle and a small part of the park. He
liked the place and buried there some of his hand-grenades. He divided
his attention between watching the path, a beetle running at his feet,
and the sparrows perched on the swinging branches. Once a robin settled
there for a moment, and Prokop, holding his breath, gazed at its dark
neck; it piped a note or two, twitched its tail and _f-r-r_—it was gone.
Below in the park the Princess was walking along by the side of a tall
young man while they were followed at a respectful distance by a group of
gentlemen. The Princess was looking to the side and moving her hand as if
she had in it a switch and was flicking the ground with it. Nothing more
was to be seen.

An hour later Uncle Rohn appeared with the fat cousin. Then again
nothing. Was it worth while waiting there?

It was almost mid-day. Suddenly round the corner of the castle there
appeared the Princess, heading straight in his direction. “Are you
there?” she called in a subdued tone. “Come down and then to the left.”

He slid down from the rampart and pushed his way through the bushes in
the direction indicated. There against the wall was a heap of all sorts
of objects: rusty hoops, tin pots full of holes, old top hats, filthy
rags; God knows how such things had accumulated in the castle. And
in front of this miserable pile was standing the Princess, fresh and
beautiful, and childishly biting her fingers. “I used to come here to be
angry, when I was little,” she said. “Nobody knows of the place. Do you
like it here?”

He saw that she would be annoyed if he was not pleased with it. “I like
it,” he said quickly.

Her face glowed with pleasure and she put an arm round his neck. “You
dear! I used to put an old pot on my head, you know, as a crown and
pretended to myself that I was the reigning princess. ‘What may Her
Excellency deign to want?’ ‘Harness the four-in-hand; I’m going to
Zahur.’ You know, Zahur, that was the place I’d invented. Zahur, Zahur!
Darling, is there really such a place in the world? Come, we’ll go to
Zahur! Discover it for me, you who know so much——”

She had never been so fresh and joyful as to-day. So much so that
it filled him with jealousy, with a passionate suspicion. He took
her in his arms and pressed her to him. “No,” she defended herself,
“don’t. Be reasonable. You are Prospero, the Prince of Zahur, and
you’ve only disguised yourself as a magician in order to abduct me. I
don’t know. But Prince Rhizopod has come for me from the Kingdom of
Alicuri-Filicuri-Tintili-Rhododendron, a horrible, horrible man with a
church candle instead of a nose and cold hands. Hu! And I’m just going
to become his wife when you suddenly appear and say: ‘I’m the Magician
Prospero, the hereditary Prince of Zahur.’ And my Uncle Metastasio will
fall on your neck and they will begin to ring bells, blow trumpets and
fire——”

Prokop realized well enough that her playful chatter conveyed something
very, very important, so refrained from interrupting her. She kept her
arm round his neck and rubbed her fragrant face against his rough one.
“Or wait; I’m Princess of Zahur and you are the Great Prokopo-Kopak,
King of Spirits. But I’m under a curse, they’ve said over me the words:
‘ore ore baléne, magot malista manigoléne’ and so I’m to be given to
a fish, a fish with fishy eyes and fishy hands and fishy in its whole
body, and he’s going to take me away to the fishes’ castle. And then the
Great Prokopo-Kopak arrives on his magic carpet and carries me off—_Au
revoir!_” she concluded suddenly and kissed him on the lips. She was
still smiling, clear and rosy as she had never been before, and left him
to brood gloomily over the ruins of Zahur. And in God’s name, what did it
all mean? She clearly wanted him to help her; pressure was being put on
her and she relied on him ... expected him somehow to save her! Heavens!
what was he to do?

Deep in thought, Prokop wandered back to the laboratory. Clearly ...
nothing was left but the Big Attack, but where was he to begin it? He
had already reached the door and was feeling in his pocket for the key.
Then he suddenly recoiled and broke into curses. The outer door of the
building was barricaded with iron cross-pieces. He pulled at them in a
frenzy but could not move them.

To the door was affixed a piece of paper on which were the words: “In
accordance with the instructions of the Civil Authorities this building
is closed on account of having been used irregularly for storing
explosives without the required precautions having been taken. Par. 216
& 217 d.lit.F tr.z. and No. 63,507. M.1889.” Underneath was an illegible
signature and below that, written with a pen, the words: “Mr. Eng. Prokop
is to report at the quarters of Sgt. Gerstensen, Barrack No. III.”

Mr. Holz carefully examined the barricade with the eye of an expert but
finally only whistled and thrust his hands into his pockets; there was
absolutely nothing to be done. Prokop, white with rage, walked all round
the building. The explosive trap had been dug up and, as before, there
was a grille in front of each window. He hastily took stock of all his
munitions; five small bombs in his pockets, four larger ones buried in
the Zahur rampart; one could not do much with them. Beside himself with
anger he hurried to the office of that cursed Carson: “Wait, you louse,
and see what I’ll do with you!” But on arriving there he was told by a
servant that the manager was away and was not returning. Prokop pushed
him out of the way and penetrated into the office. Carson was not there.
He quickly went through all the offices, causing consternation among all
the officials, down to the girl at the telephone. Carson was nowhere to
be seen.

Prokop ran back to the Zahur rampart, so that he could at least save
his bombs. And then he found that the whole rampart, including the
tangle of brushwood and the rubbish heap, was surrounded by a fence of
barbed wire; a real entanglement of the type used in the War. He tried
to loosen the wire but only succeeded in tearing his hands. Sobbing
with anger he somehow succeeded in getting through it, to find that his
four large bombs had been removed. He nearly cried with helplessness.
To make matters worse an unpleasant drizzle began to fall. He crawled
back, his clothes torn to rags and his hands and face bleeding, and
hurried to the castle in the hope of finding there the Princess, Rohn,
or the heir to the throne. In the vestibule he was stopped by the blonde
giant he had encountered once before, who was determined this time to be
torn to pieces rather than let him pass. Prokop took one of his little
boxes of explosives out of his pocket and shook it threateningly. The
giant blinked his eyes but did not yield. Suddenly he dashed forward and
seized Prokop round the shoulders. Holz struck him in the chest with his
revolver with all his strength. The giant roared and let go, and three
men, who had appeared suddenly, as if out of the earth, and were about
to hurl themselves on Prokop, hesitated for a moment and then stepped
back against the wall. Prokop stood with the box in his raised hand,
ready to throw it under the feet of the first one who moved, and Holz,
who was definitely on the side of revolution, waited with his revolver
ready. In front of them were four pale men, inclined a little forward,
three of them with revolvers in their hands. There was evidently going
to be a fight. Prokop moved strategically to the stairs and the four men
also moved in the same direction. Behind, some one ran away. There was
a deathly silence. “Don’t shoot,” whispered one of them sharply. Prokop
could hear the ticking of his watch. From the floor above came the sound
of cheerful voices; no one there knew what was happening. As the exit was
still open, Prokop retired towards the door, covered by Holz. The four
men near the steps remained as motionless as if they were carved out of
wood and Prokop made his way back into the open.

There was still a cold and unpleasant drizzle. What was he to do now?
He rapidly considered the situation and decided to fortify himself in
the swimming bath on the lake. But from there he could not watch the
castle. As the result of another sudden decision, Prokop ran off to the
quarters of the guard, with Holz behind him. He broke into them just at
the time when the old doorkeeper was having his dinner. The old man was
completely unable to realize why he was being driven away “by force and
under a threat of death”; he shook his head and went to the castle to
complain about it. Prokop was extremely satisfied at having captured this
position. He closed the iron gates leading to the park and finished the
old man’s dinner with the greatest relish. Then he collected everything
which he could find in the house that resembled chemicals: coal, salt,
sugar, glue, dried paint and other materials and considered what he
could make of them. Meanwhile Holz spent his time in looking out, and
converting the windows into portholes—a rather unnecessary step in view
of his having only four cartridges. Prokop set up his laboratory in the
kitchen; there was a frightful smell but in the end he had succeeded in
making a small quantity of high explosive.

The enemy did not launch any attack; they evidently did not want to cause
a scandal while they still had such a distinguished guest in their midst.
Prokop racked his brains to think of a way of wiping out the castle. He
cut off the telephone, but there still remained three gates, without
counting the road to the factory by the Zahur rampart. He was forced to
abandon the plan of surrounding the castle on all sides.

It rained unceasingly. The window of the Princess’s room opened and a
white figure wrote large characters in the air with its hand. Prokop was
unable to decipher them but nevertheless stood in front of his own little
house and wrote provocative messages in the air, waving his arms like
a windmill. In the evening Dr. Krafft ran across to the rebels. In his
lofty excitement he had forgotten to arm himself in any way; his mission
was a purely moral one. Later on Mr. Paul shuffled over, bringing with
him in a basket a magnificent cold supper and quantities of champagne
and red wine; he asserted that he had not come on anyone else’s behalf.
Nevertheless Prokop carefully impressed upon him that he was to say—he
did not say to whom—that “he thanked them and would not give himself
up.” At their splendid supper Dr. Krafft ventured to drink wine for the
first time, probably to show his manliness; the result was that he became
idiotically dumb, while Prokop and Mr. Holz began to sing military songs.
It was true that they sang different songs in different languages, but
from a distance, especially in the rain and darkness, they achieved a
sort of melancholy harmony.

Finally some one in the castle opened his window to hear better and then
attempted to accompany them on the piano. But soon he began to play the
Eroica instead and then to strike chords aimlessly. When the lights in
the castle had gone out Prokop erected an enormous barricade in front
of the door, and the three heroes quietly went off to sleep. They were
awakened the next morning by the knocking of Mr. Paul, who arrived with
three cups of coffee on a tray.




CHAPTER XL


It continued to rain. Armed with a white flag, the fat cousin arrived to
propose to Prokop that he should give in; in return he should get back
his laboratory. Prokop announced that he would not do so, that before
that he would allow himself to be blown into the air. Further, that he
was going to do something; let them wait and see! On receiving this
dark threat the cousin withdrew. In the castle they were evidently very
displeased at the fact that the proper entrance was blockaded, but did
not make a fuss about it.

Dr. Krafft, the pacifist, was overflowing with wild and belligerent
proposals. He wanted to cut off the current from the castle and cut off
their water supply; to manufacture some sort of poison gas, and release
it in the castle. Holz had discovered a lot of old newspapers; he
produced a pair of pince-nez from some mysterious pocket and spent the
whole day in reading, looking extraordinarily like a university lecturer.
Prokop was painfully bored; he was burning to take some military step
but did not know how to set about it. Finally he left Holz to guard the
little house and went out with Krafft into the park.

There was nobody to be seen in it; the enemy’s forces were concentrated
in the castle. He walked round it to the side on which it was adjoined
by the sheds and stables. “Where’s Whirlwind?” he suddenly asked. Krafft
indicated a small window about nine feet from the ground. “Lean against
the wall,” whispered Prokop, climbed on to his back and then stood on
his shoulders so as to look inside. Krafft nearly fell under his weight,
and to make matters worse Prokop was dancing on his shoulders—what was
he doing? A heavy window-frame fell on the ground and a quantity of
rubble crumbled down from the wall. Suddenly a beam also dropped and the
terrified Krafft raised his head to see two legs disappearing through the
window.

The Princess was just giving Whirlwind a piece of bread and looking
reflectively at his beautiful eyes when she heard the noise in the window
and saw in the twilight of the stable the familiar mutilated hand which
was removing the wire screen from the window. She placed her hands on her
mouth to prevent herself crying out.

Head first, Prokop fell on to Whirlwind’s back, jumped down, and there he
was, certainly torn, but intact, out of breath and attempting a smile.
“Quiet,” said the Princess fearfully, for there was a groom just behind
the door. Then she threw her arms round his neck: “Prokopokopak!” He
pointed to the window outside. “Where?” whispered the Princess, kissing
him.

“To the doorkeeper.”

“You stupid! How many are there of you?”

“Three.”

“You can see it’s no good!” She stroked his face. “Don’t attempt it.”

Prokop considered whether there was any other way of abducting her,
but it was dark inside the stable, and the smell of a horse is somehow
exciting. Their eyes gleamed and they kissed passionately. Suddenly she
broke away and recoiled, whispering: “Go away! Go!” They stood opposite
one another trembling and with a feeling that the passion which possessed
them was an unclean one. He looked away and idly turned a rung in the
ladder; only then did he regain control of himself. He swung round
towards her and saw that she was biting her handkerchief. She pressed
it to her lips and handed it him without a word, as a reward or as a
souvenir. And he kissed his arm on the place where her distracted hand
had rested. Never had they loved one another so wildly as at that moment,
when they were unable to speak and feared to touch one another.

Then there was the sound of steps grating in the gravel outside. The
Princess made a sign to him. Prokop swung himself up the ladder, seized
some hook or other in the ceiling and, feet first, slipped out of the
window. When he had reached the ground again Dr. Krafft threw his arms
round him in delight. “You’ve cut the horses’ tendons, eh?” he whispered
bloodthirstily; he evidently considered this as a necessary military
precaution.

Prokop silently made his way back to the guard’s house, impelled by
anxiety regarding Holz. When still some distance away he saw the terrible
thing that had happened: two men were standing in the gate, a gardener
was erasing from the sand the traces of a struggle, the gate was half
open,—and Holz was gone. But one of the men had a handkerchief tied
round his hand; Mr. Holz had bitten him seriously.

Prokop returned to the park, gloomy and speechless. Dr. Krafft imagined
that his superior was concocting another offensive plan and therefore
did not disturb him; but Prokop, sighing deeply, sat down on a stump and
became absorbed in the contemplation of some torn rag or other. On the
path there appeared a workman, pushing in front of him a wheelbarrow full
of dead leaves. Krafft, seized with suspicion, set on him and gave him
a most terrible beating, in the course of which he lost his spectacles.
Then he took the wheelbarrow, representing the spoils of the victory, and
hurried back with it to Prokop. “He’s run off,” he announced, and his
short-sighted eyes shone with triumph. Prokop only grunted and continued
to examine the snow-white object which fluttered in his hands. Krafft
occupied himself with the wheelbarrow, trying to think what the trophy
would be good for. Finally it occurred to him to turn it upside down: “We
can sit on it!”

Prokop picked himself up and went towards the lake, Dr. Krafft following
him with the wheelbarrow, probably for the transport of the future
wounded. They established themselves in a swimming bath built out on
posts over the water. Prokop went round the cubicles. The largest was
that belonging to the Princess and still contained a mirror, a handful
of hair, a couple of hair-pins, a shaggy bathing-robe and some sandals,
intimate and abandoned objects. He forbade Krafft to enter it and
settled down with him in the men’s cubicle on the other side. Krafft was
radiant; he now possessed a fleet consisting of two Rob Roys, a canoe and
a tub-shaped boat which was relatively a super-dreadnought. Prokop spent
a long time in silently walking up and down the platform over the grey
lake and then disappeared into the Princess’s cubicle, sat down on her
couch, took the shaggy bathing-gown into his hands and buried his face
in it. Dr. Krafft, who, in spite of his incredible lack of observation,
had some inkling of his secret, respected his feelings, and went about
the place on tiptoe, baling out the water from the warship with a tin and
getting together some suitable oars. He displayed considerable military
talents, ventured on to the bank and carried stones of all sizes to the
bathing-place, including huge ones torn out of a neighbouring wall.
Then, plank by plank, he tore up the bridge connecting the bathing-place
with the bank. From the material which he thus obtained he was able to
barricade the entrance, and he further discovered some priceless rusty
nails which he bent into the blades of the oars, points upwards. In this
way he obtained a powerful and really dangerous arm.

Having put everything in order and seen that it was all right he wished
to report to his superior what he had done, but Prokop was still shut up
in the Princess’s cubicle and was so quiet that it seemed as if he were
not breathing. So Dr. Krafft remained alone on the floating platform,
which splashed coldly on the surface of the water. Now and then there
was a plop! as some fish leapt out of the water and fell back again, and
sometimes a rustling in the rushes. Dr. Krafft began to feel uneasy in
the midst of this solitude.

He coughed in front of his leader’s cubicle and now and then said
something under his breath to attract his attention. Finally Prokop came
out with his lips set and a wild look in his eyes. Krafft showed him over
the new fortress, and pointed out everything, finally demonstrating to
him when the enemy would come within range of a stone; in indicating this
he very nearly fell into the water. Prokop said nothing but put his arm
round his neck and kissed him, and Dr. Krafft, quite rosy with delight,
would have done ten times as much for him as he had already.

They sat down on a seat near the water, at the spot where the Princess
used to bask in the sun. Clouds began to get up in the west and a sickly
strip of yellow sky appeared an infinite distance away. The whole of the
lake began to glow, broke into ripples, and became suffused with a pale
and gentle light. Dr. Krafft developed impromptu a completely new theory
of eternal warfare, the control of power, and the salvation of the world
through heroism. Everything that he said was in painful contrast with the
torturing melancholy of this autumnal twilight, but luckily Dr. Krafft
was short-sighted, and in addition, an idealist, and, as a consequence,
completely independent of the influence of his chance surroundings. Apart
from the cosmic beauty of the moment, they were both conscious of being
cold and hungry. And then on the land they heard the short, quick steps
of Mr. Paul, who approached with a basket on his arm, looking to the
right and left and periodically calling out in his little old voice:
“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” Prokop went across to him on the warship and tried to
force him to say who had sent him. “Nobody, please,” asserted the old
man; “but my daughter Elizabeth is the housekeeper.” He would have talked
further about his daughter Elizabeth, but Prokop stroked his white hair
and told him to tell this nameless person that he was well and strong.

That day Dr. Krafft drank alone, gossiped, philosophized, and again
expressed his contempt for all philosophy; action, he maintained, was
everything. Prokop sat trembling on the Princess’ seat and all the time
kept his eye on one star. God knows why he selected that particular one,
which was a yellow one in the constellation of Orion. It was not true
that he was well; he had pains in the places in which he had suffered
from them in Tynice, his head was spinning and he was trembling with
fever. When he wanted to say anything his tongue somehow failed him, and
his teeth chattered so much that Dr. Krafft became sobered and almost
uneasy. He hastily stretched Prokop out on the couch in the cubicle
and covered him with all sorts of things, including the Princess’s
bathing-gown. He also placed a cold compress on his forehead. Prokop
asserted that he had a cold; about midnight he went off to sleep,
semi-delirious and a prey to the most terrible dreams.




CHAPTER XLI


The next morning the first to be woke up by Paul’s calling was Dr.
Krafft. He wanted to jump up but found that he was stiff all over, as he
had been frozen the whole night and had slept curled up like a dog. When
he finally somehow pulled himself together he found that Prokop had gone;
one of the boats of his fleet was rocking against the bank. He became
very anxious about his superior and would have set out to look for him if
he had not been afraid of deserting the fortress which he had barricaded
so carefully. He improved it as best he could and looked round for Prokop
with his short-sighted eyes.

Meanwhile Prokop, who had woke up absolutely prostrated, with a taste
of mud in his mouth, chilly, and a little dazed, had been for some time
high in the foliage of an old oak in the park, from which he could see
the whole of the front of the castle. He felt very giddy, held on to the
branches firmly and was afraid to look straight below him for fear of
falling.

This part of the park was evidently regarded as being safe; even the
older members of the family ventured at least as far as the castle steps,
the gentlemen went about in groups of two or three and a cavalcade
of them was making its way along the main road. The old doorkeeper
was again at his post. Soon after ten o’clock the Princess herself
came out, accompanied by the heir to the throne, and set out for the
Japanese pavilion. Prokop suddenly felt giddy; it seemed to him that he
was falling head downwards; he convulsively clutched at the branches,
trembling all over. Nobody followed them; on the contrary, all the rest
quickly left the park and collected together in front of the castle.
Probably a definitive conversation or something of the sort. Prokop bit
his lips so as not to cry out. It took an immense time, perhaps an hour
or even five hours. And then the heir ran back alone, his face red and
his fists clenched. The party of gentlemen in front of the castle broke
up and they drew back to make way for him. The heir ran up the steps
without looking either to the right or to the left. At the top he was met
by the bareheaded Uncle Rohn. They spoke together for a moment, _le bon
prince_ passed his hand across his forehead and both went inside. The
gentlemen in front of the castle again gathered into groups, thrust their
heads together and finally stole away one by one. Five automobiles drew
up before the castle.

Prokop, clutching at the branches, slipped down the tree until he hit
the ground heavily. He wanted to run to the Japanese pavilion, but he
was almost comically incapable of controlling his legs; his head was
swimming, he felt as if he were wading through dough and somehow he
couldn’t find the pavilion, as everything in front of his eyes was dull
and shifting about. At last he reached it. The Princess was sitting
inside, whispering something to herself with severe lips and swishing
her switch through the air. He collected all his strength so as to
come in as cavalierly as possible. She rose and came to meet him: “I
was expecting you.” He sat down next to her, very nearly on top of her,
since he saw her as being a great distance away. He laid his hand on her
shoulder, forcibly holding himself straight, swaying a little and biting
his lips; he thought that he was talking. She also said something, but he
could not understand her; everything was taking place as if under water.
Then came the sound of the horns of the departing cars.

The Princess made a sudden movement, as if her legs had failed her.
Prokop saw before him a white, vague face, in which were two dark
cavities. “This is the end,” he heard close and clear, “the end. Darling,
I’ve sent him away!” Had he been in full possession of his senses he
would have seen her as if carved out of ivory, frozen, beautiful in her
pain at the highest moment of her sacrifice; but he only blinked, trying
to master the trembling of his eyelids, and it seemed to him that the
floor was rising beneath his feet and tilting over. The Princess pressed
her hands to her forehead and staggered; he wanted to take her into his
arms, to carry her, to support her in her exhaustion after her great
deed, but instead he fell without a sound at her feet, collapsing as if
he was nothing but a heap of rags.

He did not lose consciousness; his eyes wandered about; he tried to
understand where he was and what was happening to him. He had the idea
that some one, trembling with fear, was raising him up; he wanted to help
himself, but could do nothing. “It’s only ... entropy,” he said, and it
seemed to him that this characterized the situation and he repeated the
word several times. Then something began to run about inside his head
making a noise like a weir; his head slipped heavily out of the trembling
fingers of the Princess and crashed on to the ground. The Princess jumped
up wildly and ran for help.

He had no clear idea of what happened next. He felt that three people
were lifting him and slowly dragging him along as if he were made of
lead. He heard their heavy, dragging steps and quick breath and was
surprised that they could not carry him with their fingers alone, like
a rag. Some one held his hand the whole time; he turned round and
recognized the Princess. “You are good, Paul,” he said to her gratefully.
Then began a confused, breathless movement; they were carrying him up
the steps, but Prokop thought that they were all falling together to the
bottom of an abyss. “Don’t push so,” he roared and his head spun so much
that he ceased to take anything in.

When he opened his eyes he found that he was again in the guest’s
quarters and that Paul was undressing him with trembling fingers. At
the head of the bed was standing the Princess, with widely opened
eyes. Prokop’s mind was hopelessly confused. “I fell from a horse,
eh?” he muttered. “You ... were ... there, eh? Bang, ex-explosion.
Litrogly—nitrogry—mikro—Ch₂, On₂, O₂. Com—pli—cated fracture.” He felt
the touch of a small, cool hand on his forehead and became quiet. Then
he caught sight of the butcher-doctor and dug his nails into somebody’s
cold fingers. “I don’t want you,” he roared, for he was afraid that
there would be pain again, but the butcher only placed his head on
his chest and breathed heavily. In front of him he saw a pair of dark
and angry eyes which fascinated him. The butcher got up and said to
somebody behind: “Influenza and pneumonia. Take Her Excellence away. It’s
infectious.” Some one spoke as if under water and the doctor answered:
“If it develops into inflammation of the lungs—then——” Prokop realized
that he was lost and that he would die, but the knowledge left him
completely indifferent; he had never imagined that it would be so simple.
“A hundred and five,” said the doctor. Prokop had one wish: that they
would let him sleep until the time came for him to die, but instead they
wrapped him up in something cold,—ough! At last they began to whisper.
Prokop closed his eyes and knew no more about anything.

When he woke up, two dark, elderly gentlemen were standing over him. He
felt very much better. “Good-morning,” he said and tried to raise himself
up. “You mustn’t move,” said one of the gentlemen and gently pushed him
back into the pillows. Prokop obediently lay still. “But I’m better,
am I not?” he asked contentedly. “Naturally,” said the other gentleman
evasively, “but you mustn’t move about. Quietness, you understand?”

“Where’s Holz?” asked Prokop suddenly.

“Here,” came a voice from the corner, and Mr. Holz appeared at the end
of the bed with a terrible scratch and a blue mark on his face, but
otherwise as dry and skinny as ever. And behind him was Krafft, Krafft,
who had been forgotten in the bathing-place, with red and swollen eyes
as if he had been howling for three days. What had happened to him?
Prokop smiled at him to comfort him. Then Mr. Paul came up on tiptoe,
holding a napkin to his lips. Prokop was delighted that they were all
there; his eyes wandered about the room and behind the two dark gentlemen
he caught sight of the Princess. She was deathly pale and was looking at
Prokop with melancholy eyes which somehow frightened him. “I’m all right
now,” he whispered, as if excusing himself. She questioned one of the
gentlemen with her eyes and he gave a resigned nod. Then she came up to
the bed. “Do you feel better?” she asked softly. “Darling, are you really
better?”

“Yes,” he said uncertainly, somewhat oppressed by the serious behaviour
of everybody. “Almost completely recovered, only—only——” Her steadfast
gaze filled him with confusion and almost with anxiety; he felt
uncomfortable and constrained.

“Do you want anything?” she asked, bending over him.

Her glance filled him with a terrible fear. “To sleep,” he whispered, so
as to be free of it.

She looked inquiringly at the two gentlemen. One of them gave a brief nod
and looked at her—with curious seriousness. She understood and turned
still more pale. “Sleep now,” she said in a strangled voice and turned to
the wall. Prokop looked round him in surprise. Mr. Paul had his napkin
pressed to his lips, Holz was standing like a soldier, blinking his eyes,
and Krafft was simply blubbering, leaning against a cupboard and blowing
his nose noisily.

“But what——” cried Prokop, and tried to raise himself up, but one of the
gentlemen placed on his forehead a hand which was so soft and kind, so
reassuring and pleasant to the touch, that he at once calmed down and
sighed with relief. A moment later he was asleep.

He awoke in a curious state of semi-consciousness. There was no light
but that of the lamp on the table, and beside the bed the Princess
was sitting, dressed in dark clothes, looking at him with gleaming,
bewitching eyes. He quickly closed his own so as not to see her, so much
was he embarrassed.

“Darling, how are you?”

“What’s the time?” he asked confusedly.

“Two.”

“In the day?”

“In the night.”

“Really,” he said in surprise, and began to weave again the dark thread
of sleep. At moments he just opened his eyes, glanced at the Princess and
went off again. Why was she looking at him so hard? Some one moistened
his lips with a spoonful of wine; he swallowed it and mumbled something
or other. Finally he fell into a deep, heavy sleep.

He awoke to find that one of the gentlemen in black was carefully
listening to his heart. Five others stood round.

“Incredible,” said the dark gentleman. “He has a heart of iron.”

“Shall I die?” asked Prokop suddenly. The dark gentleman almost jumped
with surprise.

“We shall see,” he said. “If you’ve been able to get through such a
night. How long have you been going about with it?”

“With what?” said Prokop, astonished.

The dark gentleman waved his hand. “Quiet,” he said, “only quiet.”
Prokop, although he felt miserably ill, could not help smiling; when
doctors have no idea what to do they always prescribe quiet.

Then the one with the pleasant hands said to him: “You must believe that
you will get better. Faith works miracles.”




CHAPTER XLII


He started out of his sleep covered with a terrible sweat. Where—where
was he? The ceiling undulated and swung to and fro above him; no, no,
no, it was falling, descending with a screw-like motion, slowly coming
down like a gigantic hydraulic press. Prokop wanted to shout, but was
unable to do so, and now the ceiling was so low that he could distinguish
a transparent fly which was resting on it, the grain of the material
with which it was covered, every inequality on its surface. And still it
continued to descend and Prokop watched it with breathless horror, unable
to make any sound louder than a hiss. The light went out, and black
darkness took its place; now it would crush him. Prokop already felt the
touch of the ceiling on his hair and uttered a voiceless cry. Aha! now
he had found the door, pulled it open and dashed outside. Even there
there was the same darkness, or rather not darkness, but fog, fog so
thick that he was unable to breathe and began to suffocate, hiccoughing
with horror. Now I’m being strangled, he thought, and took to flight
in terror, treading upon—upon—some sort of living bodies, which were
still writhing. He bent down and felt beneath his hands a young breast.
That—that was Annie, he thought, and passed his hand over her head; but
instead of a head she had a box, a por-ce-lain box containing something
slimy and spongy like a lung. He felt utterly revolted and tried to draw
his hand away, but the thing adhered to it, attached itself and began to
creep up his arm. It was Krakatit, a damp and resinous sepia with the
gleaming eyes of the Princess, which were fixed on him agitatedly and
passionately; the thing moved about his naked body looking for a place on
which to sit down upon him. Prokop was unable to breathe, struggled with
it, dug his fingers into this yielding, sticky matter—and woke up.

Mr. Paul was bending over him and placing a cold compress on his chest.

“Where’s—where’s Annie?” mumbled Prokop with relief and closed his eyes.
Breathless and perspiring he found himself running across a ploughed
field. He did not know where he was going in such a hurry but he hastened
along until his heart was nearly splitting with the strain and he groaned
with anxiety lest he should arrive too late. And here at last was the
house; it had neither doors nor windows, only above it a clock, the hands
of which marked five minutes to four. And Prokop knew in a flash that
when the big hand reached twelve the whole of Prague would be hurled into
the air. “Who’s stolen my Krakatit?” he roared, and tried to climb up the
wall so as to stop the hand at the last minute. He sprang up and dug his
nails into the plaster, but only slid down, leaving a long scratch on the
wall. Screaming with horror, he flew off somewhere to get assistance. He
burst into the stables, to find the Princess standing there with Carson.
They were making love to one another with abrupt, mechanical gestures,
like those of marionettes. When they saw him they joined hands and began
to jump quicker, quicker and ever quicker.

Prokop looked up and saw the Princess bending over him with closed lips
and burning eyes. “Beast!” he grunted with dull contempt and quickly
closed his eyes again. His heart beat wildly and rapidly. His eyes were
stung with sweat and he felt a salty taste in his mouth. His tongue was
stuck to his palate and in his throat was a blind, dry thirst. “Do you
want anything?” asked the Princess, very close to him. He shook his
head. She thought that he was again sleeping, but after a while he said
hoarsely: “Where’s that parcel?”

She thought that he was delirious and did not answer. “Where’s that
parcel?” he repeated, knitting his brows authoritatively. “Here, here,”
she said quickly, and thrust between his fingers a piece of paper which
she happened to have in her hand. He quickly crumpled it into a ball, and
threw it away.

“That’s not it. I—I want my parcel. I—I want my parcel.”

As he continued to repeat these words and began to rage, she sent for
Paul. Paul remembered having seen somewhere a dirty parcel tied up with
string, but where was it? They found it in a cupboard; there you are!
Prokop clasped it in both hands and held it to his breast. Appeased,
he fell into a deep sleep. Three hours later he again began to sweat
profusely; he was so weak that he scarcely breathed. The Princess at
once sent for the doctors. His temperature fell lower and lower and
his pulse almost stopped. They wanted to give him a camphor injection
at once, but the local doctor, who felt very shy and provincial amongst
such mandarins, was of the opinion that if they did the patient would
never wake up. “At any rate he would pass out in his sleep, eh?” said the
famous specialist. “You are right.”

The Princess, completely exhausted, went to lie down for an hour on
being told that nothing more could be done. Dr. Krafft remained with the
patient, having promised her that he would let her know the position in
an hour’s time. He sent no message and the agitated Princess came to
see for herself. She found Krafft standing in the middle of the room
waving his arms and talking at the top of his voice about telepathy,
quoting Richet, James and somebody else, while Prokop was listening
to him with clear eyes, now and then interposing the objections of a
scientific and limited sceptic. “I’ve resurrected him, Princess,” shouted
Krafft, forgetting everything, “I concentrated my mind on the fact of
his recovery; I—I made passes over him with my hands, see? Radiation of
ods. But that sort of thing exhausts one! I feel as weak as a fly,” he
announced, and thereupon emptied a full glass of the benzine which was
kept for washing bandages, evidently taking it for wine, so excited was
he by his success. “Tell me,” he shouted, “have I made you well or not?”

“You have,” said Prokop with friendly irony.

Dr. Krafft collapsed into an arm-chair. “I myself did not realize that I
have such a powerful aura,” he said contentedly. “Shall I pass my hands
over you again?”

The Princess looked from one to another of them in consternation. Then
she smiled and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. She stroked Krafft’s
ruddy hair and ran out of the room.

“Women can’t stand anything,” said Krafft proudly; “you see, I’m
absolutely calm. I felt a fluid oozing out of my finger-tips. It could
certainly have been photographed. A sort of ultra-radiation.”

The specialists returned, sent Krafft out of the room in spite of his
protests and again took Prokop’s temperature, felt his pulse and all the
rest of it. His temperature was higher, his pulse ninety-six, and he had
developed some sort of an appetite. After this the mandarins retired to
the other wing of the castle where their services were needed, for the
Princess was in a fever, and had completely collapsed after sixty hours
of watching by Prokop’s bedside. In addition she was extremely anæmic and
ill in several other ways.

The next day Prokop was already sitting up in bed and receiving visits.
Almost all the company had already left; only the fat cousin remained
alone in boredom. Carson arrived rather agitated, but the meeting turned
out all right. Prokop made no allusion to what had passed, and finally
Carson announced that the terrible explosives that Prokop had invented
during the last few days had shown themselves to be as dangerous as
sawdust. In short Prokop must have already been feverish when he prepared
them. The patient accepted this information quite calmly and smiled,
in fact, for the first time. “Well,” he said affably, “all the same I
frightened you all pretty thoroughly.”

“You did,” admitted Carson willingly. “I’ve never been so frightened
about myself and the factory before.”

Krafft dragged himself into the room pale and exhausted. He had spent
the night celebrating his possession of a miraculous gift by drinking
large quantities of wine and now he felt utterly miserable. He lamented
the fact that his power had left him for ever and announced that he had
decided for the future to devote himself to yoga.

Uncle Charles also arrived, very friendly and subtly reserved. Prokop
appreciated the fact that he had fallen back into the style of a month
before, again addressing him in the plural. Only when the conversation
turned on the Princess did the atmosphere become a little strained.

Meanwhile, in the other wing of the castle, the Princess was coughing
painfully and receiving a report from Paul every half-hour as to what
Prokop was eating, saying and doing.

He again became feverish and his terrible dreams returned. He saw in
front of him a dark shed containing an endless row of casks of Krakatit.
In front of the shed an armed soldier was marching to and fro, to and
fro; nothing more, but it was terrible. It seemed to him that he was
again in the war; before his eyes there stretched a vast field, covered
with dead. They were all dead and he was dead too, and frozen to the
ground. Only Mr. Carson trotted over the corpses, cursing between his
teeth and looking impatiently at his watch. From the other side with
awkward, convulsive movements there approached the crippled Hagen; he
was moving with amazing rapidity, jumping like a pony. Carson greeted
him carelessly and said something to him. Prokop strained his ears to
catch what they were saying but could not hear a single word; perhaps
the wind was carrying them away. Hagen pointed to the horizon with a
preternaturally long and shrivelled hand; what were they saying? Hagen
turned round, put his hand to his mouth and took out a golden set of
teeth and his jaws as well; now instead of a mouth he had a great black
hole which giggled voicelessly. With the other hand he extracted one
enormous eye from its socket, and, holding it in his fingers, held it
close down to the faces of the dead. Meanwhile the gold set of teeth
in his other hand was screeching: “Seventeen thousand one hundred and
twenty-one, one hundred and twenty-two, one hundred and twenty-three.”
Prokop was unable to move, as he were dead. The horrible bloodshot
eye touched his face and the horse’s set of teeth counted: “Seventeen
thousand one hundred and twenty-nine.” Now Hagen disappeared in the
distance, still counting, and across the corpses there jumped the
Princess, with her skirts drawn up shamelessly high. She approached
Prokop waving in her hands a Tartar bunchuk, as if it were a whip. She
stood over Prokop, tickling him under the nose with it, and sticking the
point of her shoe into his head, as if trying to find out whether he was
dead. The blood trickled down his face, although he was really dead, so
dead that he felt within him his heart frozen as hard as a bone; all
the same he could not bear the sight of her well-shaped legs. “Darling,
darling,” she whispered, pulled down her skirt, knelt down by his head
and passed her hands lightly across his chest. Suddenly she pulled out of
his pocket that carefully tied-up parcel, jumped up, and angrily tore it
into pieces which she threw into the air. Then with her arms stretched
out she began to whirl round and round, passing over the dead until she
disappeared into the darkness of the night.




CHAPTER XLIII


From the time when the Princess fell ill he did not see her any more, but
several times a day she wrote him short and passionate notes which hid
more than they revealed. He heard from Paul that she was again able to
move about her rooms and could not understand why she did not come and
visit him. He himself was already out of bed and waited every minute for
her to send for him. He did not know that meanwhile she had developed
tuberculosis seriously and was actually spitting blood. She did not write
to him about it, evidently fearing that it would make him turn from her
at the thought that on his lips there were still burning the traces of
the kisses which she had once given him. And principally, principally
she was afraid of not controlling herself and again kissing him with
passionate lips. He had no idea that the doctors had discovered traces
of infection in his own lungs, a fact which had driven the Princess to
desperation and self-condemnation. He knew nothing, grew angry at the
fact that she was so evasive now that he was completely well, and became
frightened when another day passed without the Princess expressing the
wish to see him. I’ve made her tired of me, he thought; I’ve never been
anything more for her than a momentary distraction. He suspected her of
all sorts of things, did not want to descend to insisting on a meeting,
hardly wrote to her and did nothing but wait in an arm-chair for her to
come, or at least to let him know what had happened.

There were a few sunshiny days and he ventured into the park, wrapped up
in a rug. He wanted to wander about by himself with his dark thoughts
near the lake, but there were always with him Krafft, Paul, Holz, Rohn,
or the charming and dreamy poet Charles, who always had something on the
tip of his tongue but never said it. Instead he discoursed on science,
personal courage, success and heroism and God knows what else. Prokop
listened with one ear; he had the impression that the Prince was making a
special effort for some reason or other to interest him in ambition. Then
one day he received a roughly scrawled note from the Princess, telling
him to wait and not to be shy. Directly afterwards Rohn introduced him to
a laconic old gentleman in whose bearing everything revealed the officer
disguised as a civilian. The laconic gentleman inquired of Prokop what
he proposed to do in the future. Prokop, somewhat nettled by his tone,
answered sharply and magnificently that he was going to exploit his
inventions.

“Military inventions?”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“Your age?”

“Thirty-eight.”

“Occupation?”

“None. And yours?”

The laconic person became rather confused. “Do you intend to sell your
inventions?”

“No.” He felt that he was being examined and sounded officially. This
irritated him and he answered very shortly and only here and there would
he give them a fragment of his erudition and this only because he saw
that it pleased Rohn particularly. Actually the Prince was radiant and
was all the time looking at the laconic gentleman, as if to ask him:
“Well, what do you say to that miracle?” But the laconic gentleman said
nothing and finally took leave of them politely.

The next day Carson appeared very early in the morning, rubbing his hands
and evidently full of something extremely important. He babbled all sorts
of nonsense, all the time trying to sound Prokop. He threw out all sorts
of vague words, like “future,” “career” and “splendid success,” but would
say nothing more, while Prokop did not like to ask any questions. And
then there arrived a strange and important letter from the Princess:
“Prokop, to-day you will have to make a decision. I have done so and do
not regret the fact. Prokop, at this last moment I assure you that I love
you and will wait for you as long as may be necessary. And even if we
must separate for a time—and this must be so, since your wife may not be
your lover—even if we separate for years, I shall always be your dutiful
betrothed. I am already so happy about it, that I simply cannot speak
of it; I walk about my room overpowered and repeat your name. Darling,
darling, you cannot imagine how unhappy I’ve been since this happened to
us. And now do what is necessary for me to be able really to call myself
your W.”

Prokop couldn’t understand what it all meant; he read it several
times and simply was unable to believe that the Princess meant quite
simply ... he wanted to run round to see her but was too agitated and
bewildered. Was this again some feminine extravagance which was not to
be taken literally and which he really didn’t understand? While he was
reflecting like this Uncle Charles entered, accompanied by Carson. Both
looked so ... official and serious that it flashed through Prokop’s head:
“They’ve come to say that they’re sending me away to that fortress;
the Princess has been plotting, and now here we are!” He looked round
for some weapon, in case it should come to force, selected a marble
paper-weight and sat down, mastering the beating of his heart.

Uncle Rohn looked at Carson, and Carson looked at Rohn with the mute
question of who was to begin. Then Uncle Rohn said: “What we’ve come
to tell you is ... to a certain extent....” He was beginning as usual
hesitatingly, but suddenly he pulled himself together and continued more
confidently: “My dear friend, what we have come to tell you is something
very important ... and discreet. It is not only in your interests that
you should do this ... but on the contrary.... To put it shortly, it
was first of all _her_ idea and ... as far as I am concerned, after
careful consideration ... in any case we must leave her out of it; she is
self-willed and passionate. Apart from that, it appears that she’s taken
it into her head ... in fact from every point of view it would be better
to find a suitable way out of the difficulty,” he concluded with relief.
“The General Manager will explain the position.”

Carson, as the General Manager, put on his spectacles very seriously.
He looked quite disturbingly important and very different from what he
had ever been like before. “I consider it an honour,” he began, “to
interpret to you the wishes of our highest military circles, who wish you
to connect yourself with our army ... naturally only with the highest
technical service, with duties which are related to your work, and that
straight away in the capacity of—so to speak ... I mean to say, that it
is not a military custom to employ civilian specialists apart from war,
but in your case, in consideration of the fact that the present situation
approximates very closely to that of war, and with special regard to your
exceptional significance, which is enhanced by the present conditions,
and ... and taking also into consideration your peculiar position or
rather, to put it more precisely, your extremely private obligations——”

“What obligations?” Prokop interrupted him hoarsely.

“Well,” stammered Carson, somewhat embarrassed, “I mean ... your
interests, your relation....”

“I never spoke to you about any interest,” said Prokop sharply.

“Aha!” said Mr. Carson, as if refreshed by this rudeness, “of course you
didn’t; there was no need to. We didn’t flaunt that up at the castle. Of
course not. Purely personal considerations, that’s what I mean. Powerful
intervention, you understand? Of course you’re a foreigner—but that’s
been arranged,” he added quickly. “It’ll be enough if you put in a
demand to become a citizen of our State.”

“Aha!”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, only aha!”

“Aha! that’s all, eh? All you have to do is to make a formal demand and
... apart from that.... Well, you will understand of course that ... that
we should demand some guarantee, eh? You will have to earn the right to
the honour which is being bestowed on you ... for exceptional services,
eh? Let’s assume that ... that you hand over to the Army Council ... you
understand, that you hand over.”

There was a dead silence. The Prince looked out of the window and
Carson’s eyes disappeared behind the glitter of his glasses. Prokop was
deeply uneasy.

“... that you hand over ... simply hand over ...” gulped Carson, also
breathing with difficulty.

“What?”

Carson wrote a large K in the air with his finger. “Nothing further,”
he said, relieved. “The next day you’ll get a document nominating you
as an _extra statum_ captain in the engineers ... stationed in Balttin.
Straight away. So.”

“That is to say only a captain to begin with,” said Uncle Charles. “We
haven’t ventured any farther. But we have been given a guarantee that if
it should suddenly come to a war——”

“Within a year,” cried Carson, “within a year at the latest.”

“—as soon as war breaks out—whenever and with whomever it may be—you will
be appointed a general in the engineers. And should—as the result of the
war—the form of government be changed you would also be given the title
of Excellence and ... in short at least a baronetcy to begin with. Even
with regard to this ... we have been given an assurance ... from the
highest quarters,” concluded Rohn almost inaudibly.

“And who told you that I should like that?” said Prokop icily.

“But my God!” cried Carson, “who wouldn’t? They’ve promised me the rank
of knight; it doesn’t mean anything to me, but it’s not given me on my
own account. But for you it would have quite special significance.”

“So you expect,” said Prokop slowly, “that I shall hand you over
Krakatit.”

Mr. Carson would have sprung into the air, but Uncle Charles restrained
him.

“We take it,” he began seriously, “that you will do everything, or ...
it may be ... make every sacrifice, to save Princess Hagen from any sort
of illegal and ... impossible position. Under certain conditions ... the
Princess is allowed to marry a soldier. As soon as you are a captain your
position will be regularized ... by a strictly secret engagement. The
Princess will of course go away and return as soon as she can secure a
member of the ruling house as bridegroom for the wedding. Until then ...
until then we expect you to earn the right to a marriage which we feel
to be good both for you and for her. Give me your hand. You need not
decide just yet. Consider the matter carefully, consider what your duties
are and the sacrifices which you have to make. I could appeal to your
ambition, but I am speaking only to your heart. Prokop, she is suffering
beyond her strength and bringing to love a greater sacrifice than any
other woman. And you too have suffered. Prokop, you are suffering with
your conscience, but I will not try to exert any pressure on you because
I have confidence in you. Consider the matter carefully, and tell me
later....”

Mr. Carson nodded his head, this time really deeply touched.

“That’s so,” he said. “I don’t come of any sort of family myself, but I
must say that ... that ... I tell you, that woman has race. God! one can
see straight away....” He struck the region of his heart with his fist
and blinked his eyes. “Man, I’d throttle you if you weren’t worthy....”

Prokop was not listening. He sprang up and marched up and down the
room with his face distorted with rage. “I—I must, eh?” He ground out
hoarsely. “So I must? Good. If I must ... you’ve diddled me! But I didn’t
want——”

Uncle Rohn stood up and quietly put his hand on his shoulder. “Prokop,”
he said, “you must decide yourself. We don’t want to hurry you; consult
with the best that there is in you. Ask God, love or conscience or
feeling or I don’t know what. But remember that this does not only
concern you but her who loves you so much that she’s ready to....” He
waved his hand hopelessly. “_Au revoir!_”




CHAPTER XLIV


It was an overcast day and rain was falling in a fine drizzle. The
Princess continued to cough and was alternately hot and cold, but she
could not stay in bed. Impatiently she awaited Prokop’s answer. She
looked out of the window to see if he might be coming, and again sent
for Paul. The answer was always the same: Mr. Prokop was walking up and
down his room. And did he say anything? No, nothing. She dragged herself
from one wall to the other and then sat down again, rocking her body to
and fro to calm her feverish anxiety. Oh, it was too much to be borne!
Suddenly she began to write to him a long letter, entreating him to marry
her, and saying that he must not give up a single one of his secrets,
that she would enter his life and be faithful to him, whatever might
happen. “I love you so much,” she wrote, “that there is no sacrifice
which is too great for me to make for you. Test me, remain poor and
unknown; I will follow you as your wife and never be able to return to
the world which I left. I know that you only love me a little and that
with a small part of your heart; but you will get used to me. I have
been proud, wicked and passionate; now all is changed, all my familiar
surroundings are strange to me, I have ceased to be——” She read the
letter through and then tore it into pieces, moaning softly. It was
evening. There were still no news of Prokop.

Perhaps he will come without announcing himself, she thought, and in
impatient haste she put on her evening clothes, terribly agitated. She
stood in front of her mirror and examined herself with burning eyes,
horribly dissatisfied with her clothes, the way her hair was dressed, and
everything possible. She covered her heated face with a thick layer of
powder, and bedecked herself with jewels. But she seemed to herself to be
ugly, impossible and awkward. “Hasn’t Paul come?” she asked every moment.
At last he arrived: Nothing new; Mr. Prokop was sitting in darkness and
had not ordered the lights to be lit.

It was already late and the Princess, utterly exhausted, was sitting in
front of her glass. The powder was peeling off her burning cheeks, she
looked positively grey and her hands were numb. “Undress me,” she ordered
her maid weakly. The fresh, sturdy girl took off one ornament after
another, loosened her clothes and wrapped her in a diaphanous _peignoir_.
Just as she was about to begin combing the loose hair of the Princess,
Prokop burst into the room, unannounced.

The Princess recoiled and became even more pale. “Go, Marie,” she
breathed and drew the _peignoir_ over her thin chest. “Why ... have you
come?”

Prokop leaned against a cupboard, his face pale and his eyes bloodshot.
“So,” he said through his teeth, “that was your plan, eh? You arrange
things for me nicely!”

She stood up as if she had been given a blow: “What—what are you
saying?” Prokop ground his teeth. “I know what I’m saying. The idea was
that ... that I should give you Krakatit, eh? They’re getting ready for a
war, and you, you,” he cried, “you are their tool! You and your love! You
and your marriage, you spy! And I—I was to be lured into it so that you
could kill, so that you could avenge yourselves——”

She sank into a chair with her eyes wide open with horror; her whole body
was shaken by a terrible dry sob. He wanted to throw himself upon her,
but she prevented him with a movement of her frozen hand.

“Who are you?” Prokop ground out. “You are a princess? Who persuaded you
to this? Do you realize, you worthless creature, that you would have
killed thousands and thousands of men, that you would have helped them
to destroy cities, and that our world, our world and not yours, would
have been obliterated! Obliterated, smashed to fragments, wiped out! Why
did you do it?” he cried, and fell on his knees and crawled towards her.
“What did you want to do?”

She raised to him a face full of horror and aversion and edged away from
him. He bent his face over the spot where she had been sitting and began
to cry with the heavy, crude sobs of a raw youth. She would have knelt
next to him, but controlled the impulse to do so and retreated still
further, pressing her convulsively twisted fingers to her breast. “So,”
she whispered, “this is what you think?”

Prokop was being suffocated by the weight of his pain. “Do you know,”
he cried, “what war is? Do you know what Krakatit is? Have you never
realized that I’m a man? And that—I have a contempt for you! That is why
I was good to you! And if I had given up Krakatit it would all have been
over; the Princess would have gone away, and I——” He sprang up, beating
his head with his fists. “And to think that I wanted to do it! A million
lives for the sake of—no, two million dead! Ten million dead! That—that
for the sake of a marriage with a princess, eh? To lower oneself so far
for that! I was mad! Aa-ah!” he roared, “I loathe you!”

He was terrible, like some monster, with froth on his lips, swollen face
and the eyes of a madman. She pressed herself to the wall, deathly pale,
with staring eyes and lips twisted with horror.

“Go,” she wailed, “go away!”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said hoarsely, “I shan’t kill you. I always loathed
you; even when—even when you were mine, I was horrified and didn’t
believe you even for an instant. And yet, yet I—I shan’t kill you. I—know
quite well what I’m doing. I—I——” He looked round, picked up a bottle of
_eau de Cologne_, poured a generous quantity of it over his hands and
rubbed it on his forehead. “Aha!” he cried, “aha-ha! Don’t—be afraid!
No—no——”

He calmed down a little, sat down on a chair and put his face in his
hands. “Now,” he began hoarsely. “Now, now we must talk, eh? You see
that I’m quiet. Not even ... not even my fingers are trembling....”
He stretched out his hand to show her, but it trembled so that it was
frightful to look at it. “We can ... undisturbed, eh? I’m quite calm
again. You can dress. Now ... your uncle told me that ... that I’m
obliged ... that it’s a question of honour for me to make it possible for
you ... to repair your slip and that I must ... simply must ... earn the
right to a title ... sell myself, and pay for the sacrifice which you——”

She got up deathly pale and wanted to say something. “Wait,” he
interrupted her. “I haven’t yet— You all thought ... and have your own
ideas about honour. But you made a terrible mistake. I’m not a nobleman.
I’m ... the son of a cobbler. That doesn’t matter much, but ... I’m a
pariah, you understand? An absolutely commonplace person. I haven’t any
honour. You can drive me away like a thief or send me off to a fortress.
I won’t give it up. I won’t give Krakatit up. You may think ... that I’m
base. You can tell them ... what I think about war. I was in the war ...
and I saw poison gases ... and know what people are capable of. I won’t
give up Krakatit. Why should I trouble to explain it all to you? You
won’t understand me; you’re simply a Tartar princess and too lofty.... I
only want to tell you I won’t give it up and I humbly thank you for the
honour—incidentally, I’m engaged already; I certainly don’t know her, but
I’ve betrothed myself to her—that’s my baseness again. I’m sorry that ...
I’m not worthy of your sacrifice.”

She stood as if petrified, digging her nails into the wall. It was
painfully quiet. He got up slowly and heavily: “Have you anything to say?”

“No,” she said quietly and her large eyes continued to gaze into the
distance. She looked exquisitely young and tender in her _peignoir_; he
would have knelt down and kissed her trembling knees.

He approached her, wringing his hands. “Princess,” he said in a
controlled voice, “now they’ll take me away as a spy or something of the
sort. I shan’t try to defend myself. I am prepared for whatever happens.
I know that I shall never see you again. Have you anything to say to me
before I leave?”

Her lips trembled, but she said nothing. Oh God! why was she staring like
that into the distance?

He drew near her. “I loved you,” he said, “I loved you more than I am
able to say. I am a base and rough man, but I can tell you that ... that
I loved you differently.... I took you ... and held on to you through
fear that you might not be mine, that you would escape me; I wanted to
make sure; I could never believe it; and so I——” Not realizing what he
was doing, he placed his hand on her shoulder; she trembled under the
thin _peignoir_. “I loved you ... desperately....”

She turned her eyes on him. “Darling,” she whispered and her pale face
was flushed for a moment. He bent down and kissed her trembling lips; she
made no resistance.

“What,” he ground his teeth, “I love you now?” With rough hands he tore
her from the wall and enveloped her in his embrace. She struggled as if
she were mad, so powerfully that if he had released his grip she would
have fallen on the floor. He held her more closely, staggering himself
through her desperate resistance. She writhed with clenched teeth and
hands pressed convulsively against his chest; her hair fell over her
face and she bit it to prevent herself shrieking and tried to push him
away as if she was having an attack of epilepsy. It was incredible and
horrible; he was conscious of only one thing: that he must not let her
fall on the ground and that he must avoid knocking any chairs over. What
... what would he do if she evaded him? He would sink through the earth
for shame. He drew her to him and buried his lips in her tangled hair; he
encountered a burning forehead. She turned away her head with revulsion
and tried still more desperately to free herself of the iron grip of his
arms.

“I’ll give up Krakatit,” he heard his own voice say, to his horror. “I’ll
give it up, you hear? I’ll give up everything! A war, a new war, millions
of dead. It’s all the same to me. Do you want me to? Say one word—I’m
telling you, that I’ll give up Krakatit! I swear that I’ll ... I love
you, do you hear? What ... whatever happens! Even ... even if I had to
destroy the whole world—I love you!”

“Let me go,” she wailed, struggling.

“I can’t,” he groaned, his face buried in her hair. “I’m the most
miserable man on earth. I’m a traitor to the whole world. To the whole
human race. Spit in my face, but don’t dr—drive me away! Why can’t I let
you go? I’ll give you Krakatit, you hear? I’ve sworn to; but then forget
me! Where—where’s your mouth? I’m a monster, but kiss me! I’m lost——”

He swayed as if he were about to fall and now she could slip out of his
grasp. He stretched out his arms vaguely and she threw the hair back from
her face and offered him her lips. He took her in his arms, quiet and
passive, and kissed her closed lips, her burning cheeks, her neck, her
eyes; he was sobbing hoarsely and she made no effort to defend herself.
Then he grew frightened by her motionless passivity, let her go and drew
back. She staggered, passed her hand over her forehead, smiled weakly—and
put her arms round his neck.




CHAPTER XLV


They sat together, their eyes staring into the semi-darkness. He could
feel the feverish beating of her heart; for these hours they had not
spoken; she had kissed him insatiably and then wrenched herself away.
Now she had turned her face away and was gazing feverishly into the
darkness....

He sat with his hands clasped round his knees. Yes, lost; caught in a
trap, fettered, he had fallen into the hands of the Philistines. And
now that would take place which must take place. They were putting the
weapon into the hands of those who would use it. Thousands upon thousands
would perish. Look! was there not in prospect an endless waste covered
with ruins? This was a church and that a house; there were the remains
of a man. Force was a terrible thing and all evil came from it. A curse
on force, the unregenerated spirit of wickedness. Like Krakatit, like
himself.

Creative and industrious human weakness, all that is good and noble comes
from you. Your work is to bind and link together, to assemble parts and
preserve what has been built up. Cursed be the hand which liberates
force! Cursed be he who loosens the fetters which bind the elements!
Humanity is only a little boat on an ocean of forces; and you, you have
let loose a storm, the like of which has never been seen.

Yes, he was letting loose a storm of a kind which has never been known
before; he was handing over Krakatit, liberating an element which would
blow the boat of humanity into pieces. Thousands upon thousands would
perish. Towns and peoples would be wiped off the face of the earth. There
would be no limit to the power of anyone who had this weapon in his hands
and a corrupted heart. He, Prokop, had done it. Passion is terrible, the
Krakatit of human hearts; and all evil comes from it.

He looked at the Princess—without contempt, torn by disturbing passion
and sympathy. What was she thinking about now, motionless and as if in a
trance? He bent down and kissed her shoulder. It was for this that he was
giving up Krakatit. He would give it up and go away so as not to see the
terror and shame following his defeat. He would pay the terrible price
for his love and go away.

He made a gesture of helplessness. Why did they let him go? What was the
use of Krakatit to them while he was still able to give it to others? Ah,
that was why they wanted to keep him a prisoner for ever! Ah, that was
why he must sell himself to them soul and body! He would remain here,
here, fettered by passion, and for ever he would hate this woman; he
would struggle in the throes of cursed love, and all the time he would be
inventing hellish devices ... and he would be serving them....

She turned to him with a breathless look. He sat motionless, the tears
running down his coarse, rough face. She looked at him with a fixed
stare, her eyes full of painful scrutiny; he did not realize that she was
doing so, half closed his eyes and remained stupefied by his defeat. Then
she quietly got up, turned on the light over the dressing-table and began
to dress.

He was recalled to her existence by her throwing a comb down upon the
table. He watched her with surprise as with both her arms raised she
braided her dishevelled hair. “To-morrow ... to-morrow I will give them
it,” he whispered. She did not answer; she was holding some hair-pins in
her mouth and rapidly coiling her hair round her head. He followed all
her movements. She hastened feverishly, again blushed and looked down
at the ground, then tossed her head and set to work again all the more
quickly. Then she stood up, carefully examined her reflection in the
glass, and powdered her face as if there was nobody else in the room. She
went into the next room, returning with a scarf over her head. Sitting
down again, she rocked her body to and fro in meditation; then she nodded
her head and again went into the next room.

He got up and softly went over to her dressing-table. God! what a
collection of curious and charming objects! Scent-bottles, lip-sticks,
little boxes, creams, every possible sort of toy. Here was woman’s trade:
eyes, smiles, strong and disturbing scents— His mutilated fingers passed
trembling over all these fragile and mysterious objects; he experienced
a sort of irritation and excitement, as if they were touching something
which was forbidden.

She came back into the room wearing a leather coat and cap. She was
pulling on a heavy pair of gloves. “Get ready,” she said in a colourless
voice, “we’re going.”

“Where?”

“Where you like. Get together what you need, but quickly, quickly!”

“What does this mean?”

“Don’t waste time asking questions. You mustn’t remain here, you see?
They won’t let you go. Are you coming?”

“For ... how long?”

“For ever.”

His heart began to thump. “No ... no, I won’t go!”

She came up to him and kissed his face. “You must,” she said quietly.
“I’ll tell you when we’re once outside. Come to the front of the castle,
only quickly, while it’s still dark. Now go, go!”

He went back to his room as if in a dream, collected all his papers, his
priceless and endless notes, and quickly looked round. Was that all? “No,
I won’t go,” flashed through his head, and leaving the papers where they
were he ran outside. In front of the castle was standing a throbbing
car with the lights turned off; the Princess was already at the wheel.
“Quickly, quickly,” she whispered. “Are the doors open?”

“They are,” answered the sleepy chauffeur in a hoarse voice, pulling down
the hood of the car.

A shadow appeared from the back of the car and stopped in front of them.

Prokop stepped up to the open door of the car. “Princess,” he said in a
hoarse voice, “I’ve ... decided that I’ll ... give up everything and
stay.”

She was not listening. Inclined forwards, she was staring attentively at
the spot where that shadow fused with the darkness. “Quickly,” she said
suddenly, seized Prokop by the arm and pulled him into the car beside
her. A single movement and the car had begun to slide forward. At that
moment a light appeared in one window of the castle and the shadow sprang
out of the darkness. “Halt!” it cried and threw itself in front of the
car; it was Holz.

“Out of the way,” cried the Princess, closed her eyes and opened the
throttle full. Prokop raised his hand in horror; there was an inhuman
roar and the wheels lurched over something soft. Prokop was about to
spring out of the car, but at that moment it swung round the corner of
the drive, so that the door slammed to by itself and the machine hurled
itself into the darkness. With horror he turned round to the Princess. He
could scarcely recognize her with her leather cap, bent forward over the
wheel. “What have you done?” he cried.

“Quiet,” she said sharply through her teeth, still inclined forward. He
caught sight of three figures in the distance on the white road; she
slowed down and drew up close to them. It was the military guard. “Why
are your lights off?” asked one of the soldiers. “Who are you?”

“The Princess.”

The soldiers raised their hands to their caps and drew back. “The
password?”

“Krakatit.”

“Please put on your lights. Who have you with you, please? Your pass,
please.”

“One moment,” said the Princess calmly and went into first speed. The
car simply jumped forward; the soldiers were only just able to get out
of the way. “Don’t shoot,” cried one of them, and the car flew into the
darkness. They went round a sharp corner and continued almost in the
opposite direction. Two soldiers approached the car.

“Who’s on duty?” she asked coldly.

“Lieutenant Rohlauf,” answered the soldier.

“Send for him!”

Lieutenant Rohlauf came running out of the guardhouse, buttoning up his
uniform.

“Good-evening, Rohlauf,” she said amicably. “How are you? Please let me
out.”

He stood still respectfully, but looked doubtfully at Prokop: “Delighted,
but ... has the gentleman a pass?”

The Princess smiled. “It’s only a bet, Rohlauf. To Brogel and back in
thirty-five minutes. You don’t believe me? Don’t make me lose my bet.”
Stripping off her glove, she gave him her hand from the car. “_Au
revoir_, yes? Look in some time.” He clicked his heels and kissed her
hand, bowing deeply. The soldiers opened the barrier and the car moved
off. “_Au revoir!_” she called back.

They whirled along an endless avenue. Now and then there flashed past the
light of some human habitation; in a village a child was crying, behind a
fence a dog became excited at the dark, flying car. “What have you done?”
cried Prokop. “Do you know that Holz has five children and a crippled
sister? His life is worth five times as much as yours and mine! What
have you done?”

She did not answer. With knitted brows and clenched teeth she was
watching the road, raising her head higher every now and then to see
better. “Where do you want to go?” she asked suddenly at a cross-roads
high above the sleeping countryside.

“To hell,” he said through his teeth.

She stopped the car and turned round to him seriously. “Don’t say that!
Do you think that I haven’t wanted a hundred times to crash us both into
some wall or other? Let me tell you that we should both go to hell. I
know that there’s a hell. Where do you want to go?”

“I want ... to be with you.”

She shook her head. “That’s no good. Do you remember what you said?
You’re engaged and ... you want to save the world from something
terrible. Well, do it. You must keep yourself pure; otherwise ...
otherwise it’ll be bad. And I can’t....” She passed her hand along the
steering wheel. “Where do you want to go? Where do you live?”

He clasped her in his arms with all his strength. “You’ve ... killed
Holz! Don’t you....”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Do you imagine that I can’t feel? It seemed
as if my own bones were being crushed and I see him in front of me all
the time, all the time the car is rushing at him, and again and again he
runs forward——” she shivered. “Well, where? To the right or the left?”

“Is this the end?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “It is the end.”

He opened the door, sprang out of the car and stood before it. “Go on,”
he said in a hoarse voice. “Drive over me.”

She reversed and drove back a few yards. “Come, we must go farther. I’ll
take you at least to the frontier. Where do you want to go?”

“Back,” he said through his teeth, “back with you.”

“With me you can’t either go back or go forward. Don’t you understand? I
must do this to see, to be certain that I love you. Do you think that I
could hear what you told me again? You can’t go back; you would either
have to give up ... what you don’t want to give up and mustn’t, or they’d
take you away, and I——” She let her hands fall into her lap. “You see,
I’ve thought of what it would mean if I were to go on with you. I should
be able to, I should certainly be able to, but ... you’ve got a _fiancée_
somewhere—go to her. Do you know it never occurred to me to ask you about
her. When one’s a princess one thinks that one’s alone in the world. Do
you love her?”

He looked at her with eyes which were full of torture; yet he couldn’t
deny——

“There you are,” she breathed. “You darling, you simply cannot lie! But
listen. When I considered—What was I to you? What was it that I did? Did
you think of her when you were in love with me? How you must have hated
me! No, say nothing! Don’t take away from me the strength to say these
last words.”

She wrung her hands. “I loved you! I loved you, man, as much as I could
ever love anybody—more. And you, you were so loath to believe it that
finally you shattered even my faith. Do I love you? I don’t know. When I
see you there I could thrust a knife into my breast; I should like to die
and I don’t know what else, but do I love you? I—I don’t know. And when
you took me into your arms ... for the last time I felt something ...
impure in me ... and in you. Forgive my kisses; they were ... unclean,”
she breathed. “We must part.”

She was not looking at him and did not listen to what he said in reply.
Suddenly her eyelashes began to tremble, and then her eyes filled with
tears. She wept silently, her hands on the wheel. When he tried to
approach her she moved the car away.

“Now you’re no longer Prokopokopak,” she whispered, “you are an unhappy,
unhappy man. You see, you pull at your chain ... as I do. It was ... a
wrong sort of link that joined us, and yet when one tears oneself away
it is as if one left everything behind, one’s heart, one’s soul.... Can
there be good in a man when he is so empty?” Her tears fell more quickly.
“I loved you, and now I shall never see you again. Out of the way, I’m
turning round.”

He did not move.

She drew the car close up to him. “Good-bye, Prokop,” she said softly,
and began to go backwards along the road. He ran after her, but the car
began to retire more and more rapidly.

Then it vanished altogether.




CHAPTER XLVI


He stood still and strained his ears in terror, fearing to hear the sound
of the car crashing off the road somewhere at a corner. Was not that the
sound of a motor in the distance? Was that terrible and deathly silence
the end? Beside himself, Prokop dashed down the road after her. Running
down the serpentine road, he finally reached the end of the slope. But
not a trace of the car was to be seen. He rushed back again, examining
the road on each side, clambered down, tearing his hands whenever he
caught sight of anything conspicuous, but it always proved to be only
a stone or a bush, and he again scrambled up and pounded along the
road, staring into the darkness, in case he should come upon a pile of
wreckage, and under it....

He was again back at the cross-roads; it was here that she had begun to
disappear into the darkness. He sat down on a milestone. It was quiet,
utterly quiet. Above him were the cold stars. Was the dark meteor of
the car flying along somewhere? Would there never be a sound, the cry
of a bird, the barking of a dog in a village, some sign of life? But
everything was bathed in the majestic silence of death. And this was the
end, the silent, dark and icy end of everything—a desert surrounded by
darkness and silence—an icy desert in which time stood still. If only
it were the end of the world! The earth would open and above the noise
of the tempest would be heard the words of the Lord: I take you back to
myself, weak and miserable creature; there was no purity in you and you
set free evil forces. Loved one, I will make you a bed out of nothingness.

Prokop began to tremble beneath the crown of thorns of the universe.
And now human suffering was nothing and had no value; he was a tiny,
shrivelled up, trembling bubble at the bottom of an abyss. Good, good;
you say that the world is infinite, but if I could only die!

In the east the sky began to go pale. The road and the white stones could
already be seen clearly. Look, here were the marks of wheels in the dead
dust. Prokop picked himself up, numb and cold, and started to walk.
Downhill, towards Balttin.

He went on without stopping. Here was a village, an avenue lined with
blackberries, a little bridge over a dark and silent river. The mist
disappeared and the sun began to shine through; again a grey and cold
day, red roofs, a herd of cows. How far might it be to Balttin? Sixteen,
sixteen kilometres. Dry leaves, nothing but dry leaves.

A little after mid-day he sat down on a pile of pebbles; he could go no
farther. A peasant’s cart approached; the driver drew up and looked at
the exhausted man. “Can I give you a lift?” Prokop nodded gratefully and
sat down next to him without a word. Later the cart drew up in a little
town. “Here we are,” said the peasant. “Where exactly are you going?”
Prokop got down and went on by himself. How far might it be to Balttin?

It began to rain, but Prokop could go no farther and remained leaning
against the wall of a bridge. Underneath was a cold, foaming current.
Suddenly a car approached the bridge, slowed down and then stopped. Out
of it sprang a man in a leather coat who came up to Prokop. “Where are
you going?” It was Mr. d’Hémon, with goggles over his Tartar eyes and
looking like an enormous shaggy beetle. “I’m going to Balttin; they’re
looking for you.”

“How far is it to Balttin?” whispered Prokop.

“Forty kilometres. What do you want there? They’ve issued a warrant for
your arrest. Come along, I’ll take you away.”

Prokop shook his head.

“The Princess has left,” continued Mr. d’Hémon quietly. “Early this
morning, with Uncle Rohn. Chiefly so that she should forget ... a certain
unpleasant experience in connection with running over somebody.”

“Is he dead?” breathed Prokop.

“Not yet. In the second place, the Princess, as you possibly know, has
consumption seriously. They’re taking her to somewhere in Italy.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Nobody knows.”

Prokop stood up, swaying. “In that case——”

“Will you come with me?”

“I don’t ... know. Where?”

“Where you like.”

“I should like to go ... to Italy.”

“Come along.” Mr. d’Hémon helped Prokop into the car, threw a fur rug
over him and slammed the door to. The car started off.

And again the countryside began to unroll itself, but curiously, as if
in a dream and backwards; a little town, an avenue of poplars, pebbles,
a bridge, a village. The snorting car climbed zig-zag fashion up a long
hill; and here was the cross-roads where they had parted. Prokop raised
himself up and would have jumped out of the car, but Mr. d’Hémon drew
him back, and put the car into top speed. Prokop closed his eyes and now
they were no longer going along the road but had mounted into the air and
were flying. He felt the pressure of the air on his face and the impact
of scraps of cloud like rags. The noise of the motor became a deep,
prolonged roar. Below there was still probably the earth, but Prokop
was afraid to open his eyes and see again the flying avenue. Quicker!
To be smothered! Quicker still! His chest was constricted by terror
and dizziness, he could hardly breathe, and gasped with delight at the
wild way in which they tore through space. The car slipped up and down
hills and valleys while from somewhere beneath their feet there came the
cries of people and the whining of a dog. Sometimes they turned almost
lying over on their sides, as if they had been caught up by a tornado.
Now again they were flying straight ahead, pure speed, whizzing across
country like an arrow.

He opened his eyes. Misty darkness, a row of lights shining through
it, lights of a factory. Mr. d’Hémon drove the car in and out of the
traffic in the streets, slipped through a suburb which seemed to be in
ruins and they were again in the open. In front of the car stretched
two long antennæ of light which fell on rubbish, mud, stones. The car
whirled round corners, the exhaust drumming like a machine gun, and
then threw itself at a long stretch of road as if it were winding it in.
To the right and the left was a criss-cross pattern of narrow valleys
between hills. The car turned off into it and plunged into woods, noisily
twisting its way upwards and dropping head first into further valleys.
The villages breathed rings of light into the thick fog and the car flew
on, roaring and leaving behind it clouds of sparks, rushing down hills,
and climbing in spirals higher, higher, higher. At last it jumped over
something and lurched. Stop! They pulled up in black darkness; no, it
was a house. Mr. d’Hémon stepped out of the car, breathing heavily,
knocked at the door and engaged some people in conversation. A moment
later he returned with a can of water and poured its contents into the
hissing radiator; in the bright light of the car’s lamps he looked in
his fur coat like a devil from some story for children. Then he went
round the car, felt the tyres, raised the hood and said something,
but Prokop, utterly exhausted, was already half asleep. Then he again
became conscious of the everlasting rhythmic vibration and fell asleep
in the corner of the car, having no idea what was happening beyond the
continuous shaking. He only recovered consciousness when the car had
stopped in front of a brightly lighted hotel amongst stretches of snow.
The air was sharp and cold.

He woke up numb and worn out. “This ... this isn’t Italy,” he stammered,
surprised.

“Not yet,” said Mr. d’Hémon, “but come and have something to eat.” He led
Prokop, who was dazzled by so many lights, to an isolated table. A white
tablecloth, silver, warmth, a waiter like an ambassador. Mr. d’Hémon did
not even sit down, but walked up and down the room looking at the tips
of his fingers. Prokop, heavy and sleepy, dropped into a chair; it was
a matter of complete indifference to him whether he ate or not. All the
same he drank some hot soup, poked at one or two dishes, scarcely able
to hold the fork, twisted a glass of wine in his fingers and burnt his
throat with some scalding coffee. Mr. d’Hémon still did not sit down
but went on walking up and down the room, every now and then taking a
mouthful as he went along. When Prokop had finished eating he gave him a
cigar and lit up himself. “So,” he said, “and now to business.

“From now,” he began, still walking up and down, “I shall be for you
simply ... Comrade Daimon. I will introduce you to our people; they’re
not far away. You mustn’t take them too seriously; amongst them there
are desperadoes, people evading justice from all the corners of the
world, fanatics, babblers, doctrinaires and dilettante salvationists.
Don’t ask them for their programme; they are only material which we use
for our purposes. The chief thing is that we can put at your disposal
an extensive secret international organization which has its branches
everywhere. The only programme is direct action. Through this we’ll get
hold of everybody without exception. They’re already crying for it, like
children for a new toy. Anyway they’ll find the fascination of a ‘new
programme of action,’ ‘destruction inside the head’ irresistible. After
the first successes they’ll follow you like sheep—especially if you weed
out from their leaders the people I shall indicate to you.”

He spoke smoothly like an experienced orator, that is to say thinking
all the time about something else, and with such self-evident truth that
he made doubt or resistance impossible. It seemed to Prokop that he had
heard him on some occasion or other before.

“Your situation is unique,” Daimon continued, still walking up and
down the room. “You have already rejected the proposal of a certain
Government, and you behaved like a sensible man. What can I offer you
compared to what you can obtain by yourself? You’d be mad to hand over
your secret to anybody. You have in your possession a means by which we
can overcome all the powers of the earth. I have unlimited confidence in
you. Do you want fifty or a hundred million pounds? You can have them
within a week. It is enough for me that at present you are the sole
owner of Krakatit. Our people have fourteen and a half ounces in their
possession, brought by a Saxon comrade from Balttin, but these fools
haven’t the slightest understanding of what your chemistry means. They
keep it like a sacred relic in a porcelain box and three times a week
nearly come to blows over the question of what government building they
are going to blow up into the air. Anyway, you’ll hear them. There’s
no danger to you from that quarter. There’s not a scrap of Krakatit in
Balttin. Mr. Thomas is evidently near to abandoning his experiments——”

“Where is George—George Thomas?” asked Prokop.

“At the Powder Works in Grottup. But they are already sick of him there
with his everlasting promises. And even if by chance he does succeed in
preparing it he won’t derive much benefit from the fact. I can answer
for that. In short, you alone have Krakatit in your power and you won’t
give it to anybody. You will have at your disposition human material and
all the ramifications of our organization. I will give you a printing
press which I maintain myself. And finally you will also have the use
of what the newspapers refer to as the ‘Secret Wireless Station,’ that
is, our illegal wireless station which, by means of so-called anti-waves
or extinguishing sparks, causes your Krakatit to explode at a distance
of from one to two thousand miles. Those are your cards. Do you want to
play?”

“What ... what do you mean?” said Prokop. “What am I to do with it all?”

Comrade Daimon stopped and looked at Prokop fixedly. “Do what you like.
You will do great things. Who can suggest anything further to you?”




CHAPTER XLVII


Daimon drew up a chair and sat down. “Yes,” he began reflectively, “it’s
almost impossible to believe it. There’s simply no analogy in history
to the power which you have in your hands. You will be able to conquer
the world with a handful of people, as Cortez conquered Mexico. No,
that’s not the right image. With Krakatit and the wireless station you
can checkmate the world. It’s amazing but it’s true. All you need is a
handful of white powder and you can blow up what you like any instant you
please. Who can stop you? Actually you are the uncontrolled master of the
world. You will be able to give orders, without anyone even seeing you.
It’s amusing. You can attack Portugal or Sweden; in three, four days they
will ask for peace and you will dictate contributions, laws, frontiers,
anything that occurs to you. At that moment there’s only one controlling
force, and that’s you yourself.

“You think that I’m exaggerating? I’ve a lot of very efficient fellows
here, capable of everything. You decide for a lark to make war on France.
One day at midnight there go up in the air the ministries, the Banque
de France, the post-offices, power stations, railway stations and a few
barracks. The next night you explode aerodromes, arsenals, iron bridges,
munition factories, ports, lighthouses and main roads. At present we
have only seven aeroplanes; you sprinkle Krakatit where you like; then
you turn on a switch in the station and there you are. Well, would you
like to try?”

Prokop felt that it was all a dream. “No! Why should I do such a thing?”

Daimon shrugged his shoulders: “Because you must. Force ... will out. Why
should some State do it on your account, when you can do it yourself?
I don’t know what you couldn’t do; you must begin to experiment. I can
assure you that you’ll acquire a taste for it. Do you want to be the
ruler of the world? Good. Do you want to blow up the world? You can. Do
you want to make it happy by forcing upon it continual peace, God, a
new order, a revolution or something of the sort? Why not? You’ve only
to begin. It doesn’t matter about the programme. Finally you will only
do what you are compelled to do through the conditions which you have
yourself created. You can destroy banks, kings, industrialism, armies,
eternal injustices or what you like; as you go along you will see what
you want to do. Begin where you like and the rest will follow by itself.
Only don’t look for analogies in history. Don’t ask yourself what you
may do; your situation is unprecedented. There is no Dzhinghiz Khan or
Napoleon to tell you what you have to do or to say what your limits are.
Nobody will be able to give you advice; nobody will be able to abuse your
power. You must be alone if you want to take things to their limits.
Don’t let anybody come near you who would set you any boundaries or
suggest any particular line of action.”

“Not even you, Daimon?” asked Prokop sharply.

“No, not even me. I am on the side of power. I am old, experienced and
rich; all I want is that something should be done along lines laid down
by a man. My old heart will be contented with what you will do. Think out
the most daring, beautiful, heavenly schemes you can and impose them by
the right of your power; this will reward me for serving you.”

“Give me your hand, Daimon,” said Prokop, full of suspicion.

“No, it would burn you,” smiled Daimon. “I’ve an old, age-long fever.
What was I saying? Yes, one of the possibilities of strength is force.
Force has the capacity for setting things in motion; you would not be
able to help the fact that everything finally revolves round yourself.
Get used to this beforehand; regard people merely as your instruments or
as instruments of the ideas which you evolve. You want to do an enormous
amount of good; as a result you will be extremely severe. Stop at nothing
in your efforts to achieve your magnificent ideals. Incidentally that
will come by itself. At present it seems to you that it would be beyond
your strength to rule the earth—I don’t know in what way. You will, and
this will not be beyond the strength of your instruments; your power will
go further than any sober reflection.

“Arrange your affairs in such a way that you are dependent on nobody.
This very day I shall have you elected as the President of the
Intelligence Commission. This will mean that you will have the secret
station in your own hands; in any case it is situated in a plant
which is my own private property. In a moment you will see our various
comrades; don’t frighten them by announcing any great plans. They are
expecting you and will receive you with enthusiasm. Give them a few
phrases about the good of humanity or anything you like; otherwise you
will become involved in the chaos of opinions which are usually described
as political convictions.

“You must decide for yourself whether your first attacks will be on
political or economic lines, that is to say whether you will begin by
bombarding military objects or factories and railway lines. The first is
more effective and the second more fundamental. You can begin a general
attack all round or you can choose one sector. You can cause a revolution
either privately or publicly, or you can declare war. I don’t know what
your proclivities are; anyway, it doesn’t matter about the form as long
as you reveal your power. You are the highest court of appeal in the
world; you can pass judgment on anybody you like and our people will
execute it. Do not consider human lives. Work on a large scale; there are
milliards of lives in the world.

“Listen, I’m an industrialist, a journalist, a banker, a politician,
anything you like. In short, I’m accustomed to calculate, consider the
circumstances and work on limited possibilities. Just for this reason I
must tell you—and this is the only advice which I propose to give you
before you assume power—don’t make calculations or look round you. The
moment you look back you will turn into a pillar like Lot’s wife. I am
reason; but if I cast my eyes upwards I at once want to become insane
and irresponsible. Everything which exists inevitably collapses out of
the chaos of limitlessness into nothing, and this by way of number;
every powerful force is opposed to this progressive decline; everything
which is noble wants to become limitless. The force which does not flow
beyond its original frontiers is doomed. You have in your hands the
possibility of achieving enormous things; are you worthy of utilizing or
are you simply going to play about with it? I’m an old, practical man
and I tell you: You will think of wild and frenzied deeds, of action on
an unprecedented scale, of incredible demonstrations of human power. In
actuality you will only achieve half or a third of what you propose to
do, but that which you succeed in doing will be tremendous. Attempt the
impossible so that at least you will achieve something which has never
been thought possible before. You know what a tremendous thing experiment
is: good, the thing which all the rulers of the world fear most is that
they should have to do something new, something unheard of, something
perverse. There’s nothing more conservative than ruling over human
beings. You are the first man in the world who can regard the whole world
as his laboratory. This is the High Place of temptation; everything is
given you not simply for you to exercise your power on it, but that you
may transform it and create something better than their miserable, cruel
world. There is need again and again of a creator of the world, but a
creator who is only a ruler is a fool. Your thoughts will be orders; your
dreams will be historic revolutions, and, if you do no more than make
yourself remembered, that will be enough. Take what is yours.

“And now we must go. They are waiting for us.”




CHAPTER XLVIII


Daimon started the engine and jumped into the car. “We shall be there in
a moment.” The car dropped down from the Hill of Temptation into a broad
valley, flew through a silent night, flashed past a number of country
houses and drew up in front of a long wooden house surrounded by alders;
it looked like an old mill. Daimon sprang out of the car and led Prokop
to the foot of some wooden steps, but here their path was barred by a man
with his collar turned up. “The password?” he asked. “One Piece,” said
Daimon and removed his goggles. The man stepped back and Daimon hurried
on. They came into a large, low room, which looked like a schoolroom; two
rows of seats, a platform, a desk and a blackboard. The only difference
was that the place was full of smoke and noise. The benches were crammed
with people who were wearing their hats. They were all quarrelling
with one another; some red-haired lout was shouting something from
the platform, while at the desk there stood a dry, pedantic old man,
desperately ringing a bell.

Daimon went straight up to the platform and mounted it. “Comrades,” he
cried, and his voice was as inhuman as that of a seagull. “I have brought
some one to you. Comrade Krakatit.” There was a dead silence and Prokop
felt himself seized and mercilessly examined by fifty pairs of eyes.
As if in a dream, he stepped on to the platform and looked round the
smoky room not knowing what to do. “Krakatit, Krakatit,” there resounded
below and the noise grew into a shout: “Krakatit! Krakatit! Krakatit!”
In front of Prokop there was standing a beautiful tousled girl who gave
him her hand: “Good luck, comrade!” a brief, hot pressure, eyes with a
burning glance which promised everything, and immediately afterwards a
dozen other hands: rough, firm and dried up by the heat, moist and cold,
spiritualized. Prokop found himself surrounded by a chain of hands which
seized his own. “Krakatit! Krakatit!”

The pedantic old man rang his bell like a madman. When this failed to
achieve anything he rushed up to Prokop and shook his hand; it was dry
and leathery, as if made of parchment, and behind his cobbler’s glasses
there shone an enormous joy. The crowd roared with enthusiasm and then
grew quiet. “Comrades,” said the old man, “you have greeted Comrade
Krakatit with spontaneous delight ... with spontaneous and living
delight, delight which I should also like to express in my capacity of
president. We also have to greet President Daimon ... and to thank him.
I invite Comrade Krakatit to take his seat ... as a guest ... in the
president’s chair. I invite the delegates to declare whether the meeting
is to be presided over by me ... or by President Daimon.”

“Daimon!”

“Mazaud!”

“Daimon!”

“Mazaud! Mazaud!”

“To the devil with your formalities, Mazaud,” cried Daimon. “You are
presiding and that’s enough.”

“The meeting continues,” cried the old man. “Delegate Peters has the
floor.”

The red-headed man again began to address the meeting. It appeared that
he was making an attack on the English Labour Party, but nobody took
any notice of him. All eyes were resting on Prokop. There in the corner
were the large, dreamy eyes of a consumptive; the bulging, blue ones
of some old, bearded gentleman; the round and glittering glasses of a
professor; sharp little eyes peering out of great clots of grey hair;
careful, hostile, sunken, childish, saintly and base eyes. Prokop’s
glance wandered about the tightly packed benches. Suddenly he looked away
sharply as if he had burnt himself; he had encountered the glance of
the tousled girl, a glance which could have only one meaning. He looked
instead at an extraordinarily bald head beneath which hung a narrow coat;
it was impossible to tell whether the creature was twenty or fifty years
old, but before he had decided the point the whole head was furrowed by
a broad, enthusiastic and respectful smile. One look tormented him the
whole time; he looked for it among the others but could not find it.

Delegate Peters stutteringly finished his speech and sank down on to a
bench, very red in the face. All eyes were fixed on Prokop in tense and
compelling expectation. Mazaud muttered a few formal words and bent down
to Daimon. There was a breathless silence, and then Prokop rose to his
feet, not knowing what he was going to do. “Comrade Krakatit has the
floor,” announced Mazaud, rubbing his dry hands.

Prokop looked round him with dazzled eyes: What ought he to do? Speak?
Why? Who were these people? He caught sight of the gentle eyes of the
consumptive, the severe and scrutinizing gleam of spectacles, blinking
eyes, curious and strange eyes, the bright, melting glance of the
beautiful girl who in her absorption had opened her hot, sinful lips. In
the front bench the bald and furrowed little man hung upon his words with
attentive eyes. Prokop gave him a smile.

“Friends,” he began quietly and as if in a dream, “last night ... I paid
a tremendous price. I lived through ... and lost....” He made an effort
to pull himself together. “Sometimes one experiences ... such pain that
... that it ceases to be one’s own. You open your eyes and see. The
universe is overcast and the earth holds her breath in agony. The world
must be redeemed. You would be unable to bear your pain if you only
suffered alone. You have all gone through hell, you all——”

He looked round the room; everything had become fused into a sort of
dully glowing subterranean vegetation. “Where have you got Krakatit?” he
asked, suddenly irritated. “What have you done with it?”

The old Mazaud carefully took up the porcelain relic and put it into
his hand. It was the very box which he had once left in his laboratory
hut near Hybsmonka. He opened the lid and dug with his fingers into the
granulated powder, rubbed it, triturated it, smelt it, put a speck of it
on his tongue. He recognized its strong, astringent bitterness and tasted
it with delight. “That’s good,” he said with relief and pressed the
precious object between his palms, as if he were warming on it his numbed
hands.

“It is you,” he said under his breath, “I know you; you are an explosive
element. Your moment will come and you will liberate everything. That’s
good.” He looked about uneasily from under his eyebrows. “What do you
want to know? I only understand two things: The stars and chemistry.
It’s beautiful ... the endless stretches of time, the eternal order and
steadfastness, the divine architecture of the universe. I tell you ...
there’s nothing more beautiful. But what do I care about the laws of
eternity? Your moment will come and you will explode. You will liberate
love, pain, thought, I don’t know what. Your greatest triumph will last
only for a second. You are not part of the endless order or of the
millions of light years. Explode with the most lofty flame. Do you feel
yourself shut in? Then burst to pieces the mortar. Make a place for your
sole moment. That’s good.”

He himself did not clearly understand what he was saying, but he was
carried on by an obscure impulse to express something which immediately
evaded him again. “I ... I’m only a chemist. I know matter and ...
understand it; that’s all. Matter is broken up by air and water, splits,
ferments, rots, burns, absorbs acid or disintegrates; but never,
you hear, never with all that gives up what it contains. Even if it
goes through the whole cycle, even if some fragment of earth becomes
incorporated in a plant and then in living flesh and then becomes a
cell in the brain of a Newton, dies with him and again disintegrates, it
still does not give up its power. But if you compel it ... by force ...
to split up and liberate its strength, then it explodes in a thousandth
of a second, then at last it exercises the force which it contains.
And perhaps it was not even asleep; it was only bound, suffocated,
struggling in the darkness and waiting for its moment to come. To release
everything! That is its right. I, I must release everything. Have I not
only to expose myself to corrosion and wait ... ferment in an unclean
way ... disintegrate and then ... all at once ... release the whole
man? Best of all ... best of all in one supreme moment ... and through
everything.... For I believe that it is good to release everything.
Whether it’s good or bad. Everything in me is interfused; good and
bad and the highest. That is the redemption of man. It doesn’t lie in
anything which I have done, it’s become a part of me ... like a stone in
a building. And I must fly to pieces ... by force ... like an explosive
charge. And I won’t ask what it is that I may be bursting. There’s a need
in me ... to liberate the highest.”

He struggled with words, endeavouring to express the inexpressible,
lost it with every word, furrowed his brow and examined the faces of
his listeners to see if anyone had any idea of what he was trying and
failing, to express. He found a glowing sympathy in the clear eyes of
the consumptive, and concentrated effort in the entranced blue ones of
the shaggy giant at the back. The shrivelled little man drank in his
words with the complete devotion of a believer, and the beautiful girl,
half lying down, received them with tender shudderings of her body. But
the other faces gaped at him unsympathetically, inquiringly, or with
increasing indifference. Why exactly was he talking to them?

“I have lived through,” he continued hesitatingly and already somewhat
irritated, “I have lived through ... as much as a man can live through.
Why am I telling you this? Because that alone is not enough for me,
because ... so far I am not redeemed; the highest was not in it. That’s
... buried in a man like energy in matter. You must disturb matter to
make it release its force. You must free man, disturb him, split him up
for him to flame up to his highest. Ah, that would ... that would be too
much ... for him not to find that ... he had reached ... that....”

He began to stammer, became morose, threw down the box containing the
Krakatit and sat down.




CHAPTER XLIX


There was a moment of tense silence.

“And is that all?” said a mocking voice from the middle of the hall.

“That’s all,” said Prokop, disgusted.

“It is not all,” Daimon stood up. “Comrade Krakatit assumed that the
delegates would be good enough to understand——”

“Oho!” there resounded from the middle of the hall.

“Yes. Delegate Mezierski must have patience and let me finish. Comrade
Krakatit has graphically explained to us that it is necessary,” and
Daimon’s voice again was like the screeching of a bird, “that it is
necessary to inaugurate a revolution without paying attention to the
theory of stages; a levelling and disruptive evolution in the course of
which humanity will release the highest which is hidden within. Man must
explode to release everything. Society must explode to find the highest
good within itself. You here have spent years in disputing the question
of the highest good of humanity. Comrade Krakatit has shown us that it
is sufficient to cause humanity to explode in order for it to flame up
higher than you have wished it to in your debates. And we must not bother
about what is destroyed by the explosion. I say that Comrade Krakatit is
right.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” There was a sudden burst of shouting and clapping.
“Krakatit! Krakatit!”

“Silence!” shouted Daimon. “And his words,” he continued, “have all the
more weight because they are supported by the actual power of bringing
about this explosion. Comrade Krakatit is not a man of words, but of
deeds. He has come here to convert us to direct action. And I tell you
that it will be more terrible than anyone has dared to dream. And the
explosion will take place to-day, to-morrow, within a week——”

His words were drowned in an indescribable confusion. A wave of people
poured from the seats and surrounded Prokop. They embraced him, seized
his hands and cried: “Krakatit! Krakatit!” The beautiful girl struggled
wildly, her hair loose, trying to make a way for herself through the
crowd of people. Thrown forward by the pressure from behind, she
pressed herself against his breast. He tried to push her away, but
she put her arms round him and passionately whispered something in a
foreign language. Meanwhile, on the edge of the platform, a man wearing
spectacles was slowly and quietly demonstrating to the empty benches that
theoretically it was not permissible to deduce sociological conclusions
from inorganic matter. “Krakatit, Krakatit,” roared the crowd. No one
would sit down although Mazaud was ringing his bell all the time like a
dustman. Suddenly a dark young man sprang on to the platform and waved
the box of Krakatit above their heads.

“Silence,” he roared, “and down with you! Or I will throw it under your
feet!”

There was a sudden silence; the crowd evacuated the platform and drew
back. Above there was left only Mazaud, his bell in his hand, confused
and at a loss what to do, Daimon, leaning on the table, and Prokop, on
whose neck there was still hanging the dark-haired Mænad.

“Rosso,” cried a number of voices. “Down with him! Down with Rosso!” The
young man on the platform looked wildly round the room with his burning
eyes. “Let nobody move! Mezierski wants to shoot at me. I shall throw
it,” he shouted and flourished the box.

The crowd recoiled, growling like an enraged animal. Two or three people
put up their hands, and others followed them. There was a moment of
oppressive silence.

“Get down,” shouted old Mazaud. “Who gave you permission to speak?”

“I shall throw it,” threatened Rosso, taut like a bow.

“This is against the regulations,” said Mazaud excitedly. “I protest and
... leave the chair.” He threw the bell on the ground and stepped down
from the platform.

“Bravo, Mazaud,” said an ironical voice. “You’ve helped him.”

“Silence,” cried Rosso, and threw back the hair from his forehead. “I’m
speaking. Comrade Krakatit has told us: Your moment will come and you
will explode; make room for this unique moment. Good, I’ve taken his
words to heart.”

“It wasn’t meant like that!”

“Long live Krakatit!”

Some one began to whistle.

Daimon caught Prokop by the arm and dragged him to a door somewhere
behind the blackboard.

“Hiss away,” continued Rosso mockingly. “None of you hissed when this
foreign gentleman stood in front of you and ... made room for his moment.
Why shouldn’t anyone else try?”

“That’s right,” said a satisfied voice.

The beautiful girl stood in front of Prokop to protect him with her body.
He tried to push her away.

“That’s not true,” she shouted with burning eyes. “He ... he is....”

“Be quiet,” said Daimon.

“Anyone can preach,” said Rosso feverishly. “As long as I have _this_ in
my hand I can preach too. It’s all the same to me whether I go out or
not. Nobody may leave this room! Galeasso, watch the door! So, now we can
discuss matters.”

“Yes, now we can discuss matters,” echoed Daimon sharply.

Rosso turned round to him like lightning, but at that moment the
blue-eyed giant dashed forward with his head lowered like a ram’s; and,
before Rosso could turn round, seized his legs and pulled them from under
him. Rosso fell from the platform head first. In the middle of a tense
silence he rolled over and struck his head against the floor while the
lid of the porcelain box rolled under the benches.

Prokop rushed across to the unconscious body; Rosso’s chest, and face,
the floor, the pools of blood beneath him, were all covered with the
white dust of Krakatit. Daimon held him back and at that moment there was
a loud cry and several people rushed on to the platform. “Don’t tread on
Krakatit, it will explode,” ordered some cracked voice, but the people
had already thrown themselves on the ground and were collecting the white
powder into match-boxes, struggling, writhing in a heap on the ground.

“Shut the door,” roared somebody. The lights went out. At that moment
Daimon kicked open the little door behind the blackboard and dragged
Prokop out into the darkness.

He turned on a pocket electric lamp. They were in a windowless hovel,
with tables piled on top of one another, trays for beer, a lot of musty
clothing. He quickly dragged Prokop on further: the unsavoury black hole
of a staircase, black and narrow steps leading downwards. Half-way down
them they were overtaken by the tousled girl. “I am going with you,”
she whispered, and dug her fingers into Prokop’s arm. Daimon led them
out into a yard, turning the light of the pocket lamp about him; around
there was black darkness. He opened a gate and they found themselves on
the road. Before Prokop could reach the car, struggling to throw off
the girl, the motor had begun to throb and Daimon was at the wheel.
“Quickly!” Prokop threw himself into the car, the girl behind him. There
was a jerk and the car flew into the darkness. It was icily cold and the
girl shivered in her thin clothes. Prokop wrapped her up in a fur rug and
himself settled in the other corner. The car was racing along a bad,
soft road, tossing from one side to another, pulling up and then noisily
accelerating again. Prokop was angry and moved away whenever the motion
of the vehicle threw him against the girl. But she nestled against him.
“You’re cold, aren’t you?” she whispered, opened the rug and wrapped him
in it, pressing herself against him. “Get warm,” she breathed with a
lewd smile and pressed herself against him with her whole body. She was
hot and yielding, as if she were naked. Her loose hair exuded a wild and
bitter scent, tickled his face and fell across his eyes. She spoke to him
in some foreign language, repeating something again and again more and
more softly. Then she took the lobe of his ear between her delicately
chattering teeth, and suddenly she was lying on his chest and placing her
lips on his in a moist, unclean, sophisticated kiss. He pushed her away
roughly. She drew back deeply offended, sat farther away from him, and
with a movement of her shoulder jerked off the fur rug. There was an icy
wind blowing; he took up the rug and again passed it round her. She threw
herself about wildly, tore off the rug and let it fall on the floor of
the car. “As you like,” growled Prokop, and turned away.

The car turned into a firm stretch of road and immediately accelerated.
Of Daimon nothing was to be seen but the back of his shaggy coat. Prokop
sobbed with the coldness of the wind and looked round at the girl. She
had twined her hair round her neck and was shivering with cold in her
thin clothes. He was sorry for her, and again took the rug and threw it
over her. She pushed it away in fury and then he wrapped her up in it
from her head to her heels, as if she were a package, and clasped her in
his arms: “Don’t move!”

“What are you up to?” threw out Daimon casually from the wheel. “Well....”

Prokop pretended that he had not heard this piece of cynicism, but the
package in his arms began to giggle quietly.

“She’s a good girl,” continued Daimon calmly. “Her father was an author.”
The package nodded and Daimon told Prokop a name so famous, so sacred
and pure that he was positively aghast and involuntarily relaxed his
grasp. The package twisted round and bounced on his lap; from beneath the
rug there projected a pair of beautiful, wicked legs, which childishly
kicked about in the air. He drew the rug over her so that she should not
be cold, but she seemed to regard this as a game, was convulsed with
laughter, and went on kicking her legs about. He held her as firmly as
he could, but her hands slid out from the rug and played over his face,
pulled his hair, tickled his neck and found their way in between his
lips. At length he let her go on; she felt about his forehead, found it
severely furrowed, and drew back as if she had been burned. Now it was a
venturesome child’s hand which did not know what it was allowed to do. It
gently and surreptitiously approached his face, touched it, drew away,
touched it again, smoothed it and at last timidly rested on his rough
cheek. From the rug there came the sound of deep breathing.

The car slid through a sleeping town and shot into the open country.
“Well,” said Daimon, turning round, “what do you think of our comrades?”

“Quietly,” whispered the motionless Prokop, “she’s asleep.”




CHAPTER L


The car drew up in a dark, wooded valley. Prokop made out in the half
light some large towers and slag heaps. “Well, here we are,” muttered
Daimon. “This is my mine and forge; that’s nothing. Out you get!”

“Am I to leave her here?” asked Prokop softly.

“Who? Ha, ha! your beauty. Wake her up, we’re stopping here.”

Prokop carefully stepped out of the car, carrying her in his arms. “Where
am I to put her?”

Daimon unlocked the door of a desolate-looking house. “What? Wait, I’ve
got a few rooms here. You can put her.... I’ll show you.”

He turned on the light and led him along a number of cold passages
through some offices. Finally he turned into a room and switched on the
light. Prokop found himself in a repulsive, unventilated room containing
an unmade bed. The blinds were drawn down. “Aha!” said Daimon, “evidently
some friend of mine has spent the night here. It’s not very beautiful,
eh? Well, put her down on the bed.”

Prokop carefully deposited the heavily breathing package. Daimon was
walking up and down the room, rubbing his hands. “Now we’ll go to our
station. It’s on the top of the hill, about ten minutes away. Or would
you rather stay here?” He stepped over to the sleeping girl and lifted
the rug so that she was uncovered as far as the knees. “She’s beautiful,
eh? It’s a pity I’m so old.”

Prokop frowned and covered her up again. “Show me your station,” he said
shortly. A smile trembled on Daimon’s lips. “We’ll go.”

He led him through the yard. There were lights in the factory, and
there was to be heard the throbbing of machinery. About the yard there
sauntered the fireman, his sleeves rolled up and a pipe in his mouth. To
the side was a belt with a row of trucks for the mine, the girders of
its supports standing out like the ribs of a lizard. “We’ve had to close
three pits,” explained Daimon. “They didn’t pay. I should have sold them
a long time ago if it hadn’t been for the station. This way.” He began
to ascend a steep footpath leading up through the wood to the top of the
hill. Prokop could only follow him by sound; it was a black night, and
from time to time heavy drops fell from the branches of the pines. Daimon
stopped, breathing with difficulty. “I’m old,” he said, “I can’t get
my breath as I used to. I’ve got to depend on people more and more....
There’s no one at the station to-day; the telegraphist has remained below
with the others ... but that doesn’t matter. Come on!”

The top of the hill was cut about as if it had been the scene of a
battle; abandoned towers, a wire cable, enormous deserted slag heaps and
on the top of the largest of them a wooden shed with an aerial above it.
“That’s ... the station,” panted Daimon. “It stands on forty thousand
tons of magnesia. A natural condenser, you see? The whole hill ... is
an enormous network of wires. Some time or other I’ll explain it to you
in detail. Help me up.” He scrambled over the loose surface of the slag
heap, the heavy gravel tumbling noisily under his feet, but here at last,
anyway, was the station.

Prokop drew back, unable to believe his eyes; it was his own laboratory
shed at home in the fields near Hybsmonka! The same unpainted door, a
pair of planks, lighter in colour, where repairs had been made, knots in
the wood which looked like eyes. As if in a dream he felt the wall: yes,
the same bent, rusty nail which he himself had once driven in! “Where did
you get this from?” he cried excitedly.

“What?”

“This shed.”

“It’s been here for years,” said Daimon indifferently. “Why are you so
interested in it?”

“Nothing.” Prokop ran round the shed feeling the walls and windows.
Yes, there was the crack, the fault in the wood, the broken pane in the
window, the place where the knot had fallen out and the piece of paper
stuck over the inside of the hole. With trembling hands he examined all
these wretched details; everything was as it had been, everything....

“Well,” said Daimon, “have you finished your inspection? Open the door,
you’ve got the key.”

Prokop felt for the key in his pocket. Of course, he had with him the key
of his old laboratory ... there at home. He thrust it into the padlock,
opened it, and went inside. There, as if at home, he mechanically reached
out to the left and turned on the light; instead of a button there was a
nail—again as at home. Daimon followed him in. God, there was his sofa,
his wash-stand, the jug with the broken rim, the sponge, the towel,
everything. He turned round and looked into the corner; there he saw the
old green stove with its pipe mended with wire, the box with coal dust at
the bottom, and the broken arm-chair with failing legs, with the wire and
tow still sticking out of it. There was the same tack projecting from the
floor, the burnt plank and the clothes cupboard. He opened it, and there
fell out an old pair of trousers.

“It’s not very magnificent,” said Daimon. “Our telegraphist is a—well,
queer sort of fellow. What do you think of the apparatus?”

Prokop turned to the table as if in a dream. No, that wasn’t there, no,
no, no, that didn’t belong there. Instead of the chemical apparatus
there stood at one end of the bench a powerful wireless apparatus, with
condensers, a variometer, and a regulator. A pair of ear phones lay on
the table. Under the table was the usual transforming apparatus and at
the other end....

“That’s the normal station,” explained Daimon, “for ordinary
conversation. The other is our extinguishing station. With it we send out
those anti-waves, contra-currents, magnetic storms, or whatever you like
to call them. That’s our secret. Can you understand it?”

“No.” Prokop quickly looked over a piece of apparatus which was
completely different from anything he had ever seen. There was a quantity
of resistances, a sort of wire screen, something resembling cathode
pipe, several isolated drums or something of the sort, an extraordinary
coherer and a taster with contacts; he could not make out what it all
meant. He left the apparatus and looked up at the ceiling to see if there
was on it that extraordinary marking on the wood which always at home
recalled to him the head of an old man. Yes, it was there. And there also
was the little mirror with the corner broken off....

“What do you think of the apparatus?” asked Daimon.

“It’s ... your first model, eh? It’s still too complicated.” His eyes
fell on a photograph which was supported on an induction spool. He took
it up and examined it; it represented the head of an extraordinarily
beautiful girl. “Who’s this?” he asked hoarsely.

Daimon looked at it over his shoulder. “Surely you recognize her? That’s
your beauty whom you carried here in your arms. A lovely girl, eh?”

“How did she get here?”

Daimon grinned. “Well, probably our telegraphist worships her. Wouldn’t
you like to turn on that large switch? That one with a lever. He’s that
shrunken little man. Didn’t you notice him? He was sitting in the front
row.”

Prokop threw the photograph down on the table and turned on the switch.
A blue spark ran across the metal screen. Daimon’s fingers played on the
taster and short blue sparks began to flash all over the apparatus. “So,”
said Daimon in a satisfied tone, watching the display motionlessly.

Prokop grasped the photograph with burning hands. Yes, of course, it was
the girl down there below, there could be no doubt about that, but if
... if, for instance, she had a veil, and was wearing a fur covered with
drops of moisture ... and little gloves—Prokop ground his teeth. It was
impossible that she should resemble her so! He half closed his eyes in
the effort to catch a retreating vision. Again he saw the girl with the
veil, pressing to her breast the sealed package and now, now she turned
on him a pure and desperate glance.

       *       *       *       *       *

Beside himself with excitement, he compared the photograph with the
form in his mind’s eye. Good heavens, what exactly did she look like?
He didn’t know, he thought, with sudden fear. He only knew that she was
veiled and beautiful. She was beautiful and veiled, and he had noticed
nothing more, nothing more. And this picture here with the large eyes
and delicate and serious mouth, was that the one ... the one asleep down
there? But she had her lips half open, sinful and half-opened lips and
loosened hair and didn’t look like that, didn’t look like that. Before
his eyes was the veil covered with rain drops. No, that was nonsense; it
could not be the girl down there, it was nothing like her. This was the
face of the girl with the veil who came in anguish and consternation; her
brow was calm and her eyes darkened with pain. Against her lips there was
pressing her veil, a thick veil with drops of moisture on it. Why didn’t
he raise it, so as to see what she was like?

“Come along, I have something I want to show you,” said Daimon, and
dragged Prokop outside. They stood on the top of the slag heap. Beneath
their feet the sleeping earth stretched out of sight. “Look over there,”
said Daimon, pointing to the horizon, “do you see anything?”

“Nothing. No, there’s a tiny light. It’s shining faintly.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Then there was a faint sound, like the moaning of the wind on a still
night.

“That’s that,” said Daimon triumphantly, and took off his hat.
“Good-night, comrades.”

Prokop turned to him inquiringly.

“Don’t you understand?” said Daimon. “The noise of the explosion has only
just reached us. Fifty kilometres as the crow flies. Exactly two and a
half minutes.”

“What explosion?”

“Krakatit. Those idiots collected it in match-boxes. I don’t think we
shall be bothered with them any more. We’ll call a new conference ...
elect a new committee——”

“Did—you——?”

Daimon nodded. “It was impossible to work with them. Up to the very last
moment they quarrelled about tactics. There’s certainly a fire there.”

A faint red light was to be seen on the horizon.

“The inventor of our apparatus was there as well. They were all there.
Now you can take it into your own hands. Listen how quiet it is. And yet
from these wires a silent and exact cannonade is going out into space.
Now we have interrupted all wireless communications and the telegraphists
are hearing in their ears, crack, crack! Let them rage. Meanwhile Mr.
Thomas, somewhere in Grottup, is trying to complete the preparation of
Krakatit. He’ll never do it. And if he did! At the moment at which he had
completed his synthesis it would be the end. Work away, station, send
out your sparks secretly and bombard the whole of the universe. Nobody,
nobody beside yourself will be the ruler of Krakatit. Now there is only
you, you alone.” He put his hand on Prokop’s shoulder and silently
indicated in a circle the whole world. Round them was a deserted and
starless darkness; only on the horizon was there to be seen the dull glow
of a conflagration.

“Ah, I’m tired,” yawned Daimon. “It was a good day. We’ll go down.”




CHAPTER LI


Daimon hurried along. “Where exactly is Grottup?” asked Prokop on a
sudden impulse, when they had descended.

“Come,” said Daimon, “I’ll show you.” He led him into the factory office
to a map hanging on the wall. “Here,” and he indicated on the map with
his enormous nail a little circle. “Wouldn’t you like to drink something?
This sort of thing warms you up.” He poured out a glassful of some
jet-black liquid for Prokop and himself. “Your health.” Prokop tossed
down his portion and gulped; it was red-hot and as bitter as quinine; his
head began to spin dizzily. “Any more?” said Daimon through his yellow
teeth. “No? A pity. You don’t want to keep your little beauty waiting,
eh?” He drank glass after glass. His eyes flashed with a green light,
he wanted to babble but could not master his tongue. “Listen, you’re a
good chap,” he said. “Get to work to-morrow. Old Daimon will give you
everything you ask for.” He rose unsteadily and made him a low bow. “Now
everything’s in order. And now—wa-wait——” He began to talk all possible
languages at once. As far as Prokop was able to understand, it was
unutterable filth. Finally he hummed some senseless song, threw himself
about as if in a fit and lost consciousness. Yellow foam appeared on his
lips.

“Hey, what’s the matter with you?” cried Prokop, shaking him.

Daimon opened his glassy eyes with difficulty. “What ... what’s up?” he
muttered, raised himself up a little and shook himself. “Aha! I’m ...
I’m.... That’s nothing.” He rubbed his forehead and yawned convulsively.
“Yes, I’ll show you to your room, eh?” He was horribly pale and his
Tartar face had suddenly grown flabby. He walked uncertainly as if his
limbs were numbed. “Come then.”

He went straight to the room in which they had left the girl sleeping.
“Ah,” he cried from the doorway, “the beauty has woke up. Come in,
please.”

She was kneeling by the hearth. Evidently she had just lit the fire and
was looking into a crackling flame. “Look how she’s arranged it,” said
Daimon appreciatively. Certainly the stuffy and depressing aspect of the
room had disappeared in the most extraordinary way; it was now pleasant
and unpretentious like a room in one’s own home.

“How clever you are,” said Daimon admiringly. “Girl, you ought to settle
down.” She stood up and became red and confused. “Don’t be frightened
now,” said Daimon. “Here’s the comrade you like.”

“Yes, I like him,” she said simply, and went over and closed the window
and pulled down the blinds.

The stove threw a pleasant heat into the bright room. “Child, you’ve made
everything very nice,” said Daimon, gratified, warming his hands. “I
should like to stay here.”

“Please go away,” she cried quickly.

“At once, my dear,” said Daimon, grinning. “I ... I feel lonely without
people. Look, your friend seems to be struck dumb. Wait, I’ll talk to
him.”

She suddenly became angry. “Don’t say anything to him! Let him behave as
he wants to!” He raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “What? what? You
don’t mean to say that you lo——”

“What’s that to do with you?” she interrupted him, her eyes flashing.
“Who wants you here?”

He laughed quietly, leaning against the stove. “If you knew how that
suits you! Girl, girl, has it really at last happened seriously to you?
Show me!” He tried to take hold of her chin. She drew back, pale with
rage, showing her teeth.

“What? You even want to bite? Who were you with yesterday, that you are
so—— Aha! I know. Rosso, eh?”

“That’s not true,” she cried with tears in her voice.

“Leave her alone,” said Prokop sternly.

“Well, well, it doesn’t matter,” muttered Daimon. “Anyway, I mustn’t
interfere with you, eh? Good-night, children.” He stepped back, pressed
himself to the wall and before Prokop realized the fact, had disappeared.

Prokop drew a chair up to the crackling stove and stared into the flames
without even looking round at the girl. He heard her walking about the
room hesitatingly on the tips of her toes, putting something straight.
He did not know what she was doing. She was now standing still silently.
There is an extraordinary power in flames and flowing water; you stare
at them, become bewildered, cease to think, know nothing, and are unable
to recollect anything, but before you there is represented everything
that has ever happened without form and outside time.

There was the sound of one slipper being thrown down after the other;
evidently she was taking her shoes off. Go to sleep, girl, when you are
asleep we shall see who it is whom you resemble. Very quietly she crossed
the room and then stopped. Again she arranged something. God alone knew
why she wanted to have everything so clean and tidy. And suddenly she
knelt down in front of him, stretching out her comely arms to his feet.
“Shall I take off your boots for you?” she said gently.

He took her head between his palms and turned it towards him. She was
beautiful, submissive and extraordinarily serious. “Did you ever know
Thomas?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

She reflected and then shook her head.

“Don’t lie! You ... you.... Have you a married sister?”

“I haven’t!” She tore herself sharply out of his grasp. “Why should I
lie? I’ll tell you everything deliberately so that you shall know—I’m a
fallen girl.” She hid her face against his knees. “They all ... so that
you shall know——”

“Even Daimon?”

She did not answer but only shivered. “You ... you may kick me.... I’m
... don’t touch me.... I’m ... if you knew....” She was unable to go on.

“Leave that,” he cried in pain and raised her head by force. Her eyes
were wide open with desperation and anxiety. He let go her head again and
moaned. The resemblance was so striking that he gulped with horror. “Be
quiet, at least be quiet,” he said in a strangled voice.

She again pressed her face against him. “Let me.... I must tell you
everything.... I began when I was thir ... thirteen....” He covered her
mouth with his hands; she bit it and continued her terrible confession
through his fingers. “Be quiet,” he cried, but the words tore themselves
out of her, her teeth chattered, she trembled and went on. Somehow he
managed to silence her. “Oh,” she moaned, “if you knew ... the things
that people do! And every one, every one is so rough with me ... as if I
was ... not even an animal, not even a stone!”

“Stop,” he said, beside himself, and, not knowing what to do, smoothed
her head with the trembling stumps of his fingers. Appeased, she sighed
and became motionless; he could feel her hot breath and the beat of the
artery in her neck.

She began to giggle quietly. “You thought that I was sleeping, there,
in the car. I wasn’t asleep, I did it on purpose ... and expected you
to behave ... like the others. Because you knew the sort of thing I was
... and ... you only became angry and held me as if I were a little girl
... as if I were something sacred....” Although she was laughing, tears
suddenly came into her eyes. “Suddenly—I don’t know why—I was more happy
than I had ever been—and proud—and frightfully ashamed, but ... it was
so beautiful——” With trembling lips she kissed his knees. “You ... you
didn’t even wake me up ... and laid me down ... as if I were something
precious ... and covered my legs, and said nothing——” She burst into
tears. “I’ll, I’ll wait on you, let me.... I’ll take your boots off....
Please, please don’t be angry that I pretended that I was asleep!
Please——”

He wanted to raise her head; she kissed his hands. “For God’s sake, don’t
cry!” he gulped out.

She drew herself up, surprised, and stopped crying. “Why are you
reproaching me?” He tried to raise her face; she defended herself with
all her strength and entwined herself round his legs. “No, no, no,” she
gasped, laughing, and at the same time frightened. “I’m plain—I’ve been
crying. You, you wouldn’t like me,” she breathed gently hiding her face.
“It was so long ... before you came! I’ll wait on you and write your
letters.... I’m learning to use a typewriter and I know five languages.
You won’t drive me away, will you? When you took such a long time to
come I thought what I would do ... and he spoilt everything and spoke as
if ... as if I were.... But that isn’t true.... I’ve already told you
everything. I’ll ... I’ll do what you tell me.... I want to be decent——”

“Stand up, I beg you!”

She squatted down on her heels, folded her hands in her lap and looked
at him as if entranced. Now ... she was no longer like the one with the
veil; he recalled the sobbing Annie. “Don’t cry any more,” he said gently
and uncertainly.

“You are beautiful,” she whispered admiringly. He grew red and muttered
something or other. “Go ... to bed,” he gulped and stroked her burning
cheek.

“Do you hate me?” she whispered, blushing.

“No, nothing of the sort.” She did not move, and gazed at him with
anxious eyes. He bent down and kissed her. She kissed him back clumsily,
in confusion, as if she were kissing a man for the first time. “Go to
bed,” he muttered, worried, “I’ve still ... something which I must think
out.”

She got up obediently and quietly began to undress. He sat down in a
corner so as not to disturb her. She took off her clothes without any
shame, but also without the least frivolity. Simply, without hurrying,
she laid aside her underclothes, slowly took the stockings off her strong
and well-shaped legs. She became reflective, looked down on the ground,
like a child began to observe her long toes, and glanced at Prokop.
She laughed and whispered: “I’m being quiet.” Prokop in his corner was
hardly breathing: it was again she, the girl with a veil; this powerful,
beautiful and developed body belonged to her; she would lay aside her
clothing piece by piece in the same lovely and serious way, her hair
would fall like that over her composed shoulders, she would reflectively
stroke her full arms in the same manner.... He closed his eyes, his heart
beating violently. Have you never seen her, closing your eyes in the
most complete solitude, seen her standing in the quiet light of the lamp
amongst her family, turning her face towards you and saying something
which you couldn’t somehow catch? Have you never, rubbing your hands
between your knees, seen beneath your eyelids the constrained movement
of her hand, a simple and noble movement in which was the whole of the
peaceful and silent joy of home? Once she appeared to you, seen from
behind, her head bent over something, and on another occasion you saw her
reading by the light of the evening lamp. Perhaps this now was only a
continuation and would disappear if you were to open your eyes, and you
would be left with nothing but solitude.

He opened his eyes. The girl was lying in bed, covered up to her chin,
her eyes turned towards him in passionate and submissive love. He came
over to her, and bent over her face, studying her features with sharp and
impatient attention. She looked at him interrogatively and made room for
him at her side. “No, no, no,” he muttered and stroked her lightly on the
forehead. “Go to sleep.” She obediently closed her eyes and hardly seemed
to breathe.

He returned to his corner on tiptoe. No, she’s not like her, he assured
himself. He had an idea that she was watching him through her half-closed
eyes. This tortured him; he could not even think. He became irritated,
and turned his head away. Finally he sprang up and crossed the room
softly to look at her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing very
quietly; she was beautiful and unresisting. “Sleep,” he whispered. She
made a tiny movement of assent with her head. He turned out the light,
and rubbing his hands returned on tiptoe to his corner near the window.

After a long, painful interval he crept to the door like a thief. Would
she wake? He hesitated with his hand on the catch, opened it with a
beating heart, and stole out into the yard.

It was not yet day. Prokop looked about amongst the slag heaps, and then
climbed over the fence. He dropped on to the ground, brushed the dirt off
his clothes and made for the main road.

It was all that he could do to see his way. He looked about him,
trembling with cold. Where, where exactly should he go? To Balttin?

He went on for a few steps and then stopped, looking down at the ground.
Now to Balttin? Assailed by a fit of rough, tearless crying he turned
back.

To Grottup!




CHAPTER LII


The paths of the world twist in a curious way. If you were to follow out
all your steps and all the journeys you have made, what an intricate
design they would make! For by his steps every one traces out his map of
the world.

By the time that Prokop found himself standing in front of the grille
before the factories at Grottup, it was already evening. The factory
consisted of a great stretch of sheds, illuminated by the dull globes of
arc lamps; the lights were still showing from one or two windows. Prokop
thrust his head through the bars of the grille and cried: “Hallo!”

The doorkeeper, or perhaps the guard, came up. “What do you want? It’s
forbidden to enter.”

“Excuse me, is Mr. Engineer Thomas still with you?”

“What do you want with him?”

“I must speak to him.”

“... Mr. Thomas is still in the laboratory. You can’t see him.”

“Tell him ... tell him that his friend Prokop is waiting for him ... that
he has something which he wishes to give him.”

“Get farther away from the grille,” muttered the man, and called some one.

A quarter of an hour later some one in a long white coat came up to the
grille.

“Is that you, Thomas?” cried Prokop in a low voice.

“No, I’m the laboratory assistant. Mr. Thomas can’t come. He has
important work. What do you want?”

“I must speak with him urgently.”

The laboratory assistant, a stout and active little man, shrugged his
shoulders.

“I’m afraid it’s no good. Mr. Thomas isn’t free to-day even for a second.”

“Are you making Krakatit?”

The assistant snorted evasively. “What’s that to do with you?”

“I must ... warn him of something. I’ve something to give him.”

“You can give it to me. I’ll take it to him.”

“No, I’ll ... only give it to him. Tell him——”

“All the same, you could leave it with me.” The man in the white coat
turned on his heel and went off.

“Wait,” cried Prokop. “Give him this. Explain to him ... explain to
him....” He drew out of his pocket the crumpled package and passed it
through the grille. The assistant took it suspiciously with the tips
of his fingers and Prokop felt as if he had torn himself away from
something. “Tell him that ... that I’m waiting here and that I should
like him to ... to come here!”

“I’ll give it him,” said the assistant and went away.

Prokop squatted down on his heels. On the other side of the partition a
silent shadow continued to watch him. It was a frosty night, the bare
branches of the trees stretched into the fog, there was a slimy and
chilly feeling in the air. A quarter of an hour later some one came up to
the grille—a pale youth, evidently suffering from lack of sleep, with a
face the colour of curds.

“Mr. Thomas says that he thanks you very much and that he can’t come and
that you mustn’t wait,” he announced mechanically.

“Wait,” said Prokop impatiently through his teeth. “Tell him that I
_must_ see him, that ... that it’s a question of his life. And that I
will give him anything that he wants if ... if he will only let me know
the name and address of the lady from whom I brought him the parcel. You
understand?”

“Mr. Thomas only told me to say that he thanks you very much,” repeated
the lad in a sleepy voice, “and that you are not to wait——”

“But—the devil,” groaned Prokop through his teeth, “I’ll explain when he
comes and shan’t move until then. And tell him that he must leave his
work or that ... he’ll go up in the air, see?”

“Please,” said the youth dully.

“Ask him to come here! And to give me that address, only that address,
and say that then I’ll give him everything, have you understood?”

“Please.”

“Well, go then, quickly, for heaven’s——”

He waited in feverish impatience. Was that the step of a human being
within? He had a sudden vision of Daimon, twisting his violet mouth and
staring at the blue sparks of his apparatus. And this idiot Thomas didn’t
come! He was preparing something over there where one could see the
lighted window and had no idea that he was being bombarded, that with his
quick hands he was digging a grave for himself. Was that a step? No one
came.

Prokop was rent by a hoarse cough. I’ll give you everything, madman,
if you will only come and tell me her name! I want nothing, nothing
except to find her. I’ll give you everything if you will only tell
me this one thing! His eyes stared into the distance and now she was
standing in front of him, veiled, with dry leaves at her feet, pale and
extraordinarily serious in this darkness. She twisted her hands on her
breast and had already given him the parcel. She looked at him with deep,
attentive eyes; her veil and fur were covered with drops of moisture.
“You were unforgettably kind to me,” she said softly in a muffled voice.
She raised her hands to him and again he was convulsed by a fierce cough.
Oh, was nobody coming? He threw himself at the grille, trying to force
his way through.

“Stay where you are, or I shoot,” cried the shadow from the other side.
“What do you want here?”

Prokop drew back. “Please,” he said desperately in a hoarse voice, “tell
Mr. Thomas ... tell him....”

“Tell him yourself,” the voice interrupted him illogically, “but keep
away.”

Prokop again squatted down on his heels. Perhaps Thomas would come
when his experiment again missed fire. Certainly, he would not be able
to discover how Krakatit was prepared; then he would come and call
Prokop.... He sat hunched up like a beggar. “Look here,” he said at
length. “I’ll give you ... ten thousand if you’ll let me through.”

“I’ll have you arrested,” answered the voice sharply and inexorably.

“I ... I ...” stammered Prokop. “I only want to know that address. See?
I only want to know that.... I’ll give you anything if you will only get
it for me! You ... you’re married, and have children, but I ... I’m alone
... and I only want to find....”

“Keep quiet,” scolded the voice. “You’re drunk.”

Prokop became silent and rocked himself on his heels. “I must wait,”
he reflected dully. “Why does nobody come? I’ll give him everything,
Krakatit and everything else if he’ll only.... ‘You were unforgettably
kind to me.’ No, God preserve me, I’m a bad man, but you, you awakened in
me the passion of tenderness. I would do anything in the world to earn a
look from you; you know why I’m here. The most beautiful thing about you
is that you have the power of making me serve you. That’s why, you see, I
can’t help loving you!”

“What’s up with you?” came the voice from the other side of the grille.
“Are you going to be quiet or not?”

Prokop stood up: “Please, please tell him——”

“I’ll set the dog on you!”

A white figure, accompanied by the glowing end of a cigarette, sauntered
up to the partition. “Is that you, Thomas?” cried Prokop.

“No. Are you still here?” It was the laboratory assistant. “Man, are you
mad?”

“Is Mr. Thomas coming, please?”

“He wouldn’t dream of such a thing,” said the assistant contemptuously.
“He doesn’t need you. In a quarter of an hour we shall have it ready, and
then, gloria victoria! Then I shall have a drink.”

“Please tell him that ... that I want that address!”

“That’s already been dealt with by the boy,” said the assistant. “Mr.
Thomas tells you to go to hell. Do you think that he’ll leave his work
just now when the great moment is being reached? We’re on the point of
making it and then—there we are.”

Prokop screamed out in horror: “Run and tell him—quickly—that he mustn’t
turn on the high frequency current! He must stop it! Or—something will
happen—run as fast as you can! He doesn’t know ... he doesn’t know that
Daimon—for God’s sake stop him!”

“Pooh!” the assistant broke into a short laugh. “Mr. Thomas knows what
he’s doing and you——” Here the butt of the cigarette flew through the
partition. “Good-night!”

Prokop sprang to the grille.

“Hands up,” came a cry from the other side, and the guard’s whistle
sounded piercingly. Prokop took to flight.

He ran along the main road, jumped over the ditch at the side, and ran
over the soft ground, stumbling over a ploughed field. He fell over,
picked himself up, and dashed on. He stopped with a beating heart. All
around him was darkness and deserted fields. Now they wouldn’t be able
to catch him. He listened; all was quiet. He could hear nothing but
the sound of his own breath. But what—what if Grottup should be blown
into the air? He clutched his head and ran on further, descending into
a deep valley, scrambling up on the other side, and then limping over
more ploughed fields. He felt the acute pain of his old wound and a
burning sensation in his chest. He could go no further, sat down on a
stone and looked at Grottup, mistily glowing with its arc lamps. It
seemed like a bright island in the midst of boundless darkness. It was
oppressively dark, and yet within a radius of thousands and thousands
of miles a terrible and unremitting attack was being launched. Daimon
on his Magnetic Hill was precisely and silently bombarding the whole
world. In all directions waves were being sent out which would ignite
the first grain of Krakatit which they encountered anywhere in the
world. And there, in the dead of night, bathed in this pale light, an
obdurate, wrong-headed man was working, bending over a secret process of
transformation. “Thomas, look out!” cried Prokop, but his voice was lost
in the darkness like a stone thrown into a pond by some childish hand.

He sprang up, trembling with fear and cold, and dashed on further, as far
as he could from Grottup. He found himself in the middle of some swampy
place and stopped. Had he heard the noise of an explosion? No, all was
quiet, and with a new access of terror he clambered up a slope, slipped
on to his knees, sprang up again and dashed on, rushing into some bushes,
tearing his hands, slipping about, and then descending again. He drew
himself up, brushed away the sweat with his bleeding hands, and ran on.

In the middle of a field he came across something white—a cross which had
been overturned. Breathing heavily, he sat down on its vacant support. He
was now a long way from the ruddy glow over Grottup, which was already
on the horizon; it now seemed to be on the surface of the ground. Prokop
breathed a deep sigh of relief; there was no sound; perhaps Thomas’s
experiment had failed and the terrible thing would not happen. He
listened cautiously; no, nothing was to be heard but the cold dripping of
water in some gutter underground and the beating of his heart.

Then an enormous black mass was thrown into the air over Grottup and
all the lights went out. The next moment, as if the darkness had been
torn asunder, a pillar of fire leapt into the air, spread terribly and
liberated a tremendous body of smoke. Directly afterwards came an impact
through the air, something cracked, the trees began to rustle, and—crash!
A terrible blow, as with a whip, an uproar, a shattering blow. The earth
trembled and torn-off leaves whirled through the air. Snatching for air,
and holding on with both hands to the support of the cross, so as not to
be swept away, Prokop stared wildly at the roaring furnace.

And the heavens shall be cleaved by a fiery power and the voice of God
shall be heard in the thunder.

Two more masses went up, one after the other, and were broken up
by a band of fire. Then came the sound of a still more terrible
explosion—evidently the ammunition stores. A roaring mass flew into the
air, exploded, and came down in the form of a ray of sparks. The roar
changed into a pounding bombardment; in the stores there were exploding
rockets which flew up like sparks from an anvil. A purple fire glowed
on the horizon, and there was a continuous succession of reports like
the noise of a machine gun. A fourth and fifth explosion followed with
the noise of a howitzer. The fire spread on both sides and soon half the
horizon was a flame.

Only then could he distinguish the sound of the crackling of the timber
in Grottup, but this was still nearly obscured by the explosion of the
arsenal. A sixth explosion resounded firm and clear—evidently kresylite.
As a sort of accompaniment, came the deeper note of the explosion of
casks filled with dynamite. A huge flaming projectile flew half-way
across the sky, leaving an enormous trail of flame behind it. Another
flame sprang up, went out, and reappeared a short distance away, but the
noise of the explosions only arrived a few seconds later. For a moment it
was so quiet that one could hear the crackling of the fire, like that of
broken brushwood. Then there was a further rending explosion and above
the Grottup factories there sprang up a flame which spread to the town of
Grottup.

Aghast with fear, Prokop picked himself up and staggered on further.




CHAPTER LIII


He ran along the main road, breathing heavily, passed over the top of
the hill, and descended into a valley. The ruddy flow disappeared behind
him. There disappeared also the objects lit up by the dull glow and the
shadows thrown by it. It was as if everything was drifting confusedly
away, motionless, as if it were being carried on the breast of an immense
river, a river untroubled by any wave and unvisited by any bird. He
grew afraid of the beat of his own feet in the midst of this silent and
immense flux of everything; he relaxed his pace, trod more softly, and
went on through the milky darkness.

In front of him on the road he saw the twinkling of a light. He wanted
to avoid it, stopped and hesitated. A lamp on a table, the remains of
fire in a stove, a lantern looking for a path, while some worn-out moth
beat its wings against the flickering light. He approached it without
hurrying, as if not sure of himself. He stopped, warmed himself from a
distance at the unsteady fire, came nearer with a fear that he would
again be driven away. A short distance away he stopped again; it was
a cart with a covering of cloth. On one of the shafts was hanging a
lighted lantern which threw trembling handfuls of light on to a white
horse, white stones, and the white stumps of birch trees at the side of
the road. On its head the horse had a rough sack and was crunching some
oats. It had a long, silver mane and a tail which had never been clipped.
At its head there stood a little old man with a white beard and silver
hair. He also in colouring was coarse and pale, like the covering over
the cart. He stamped about, reflecting, saying something to himself and
twisting the white mane of the horse in his fingers.

Then he turned round, looking blindly into the darkness, and asked in a
trembling voice: “Is that you, Prokop? Come along, I’ve been waiting for
you.”

Prokop was not surprised, but only inordinately relieved. “I’m coming,”
he said, “but I’ve been running!”

The old man stepped up to him and took hold of him by the coat. “You’re
quite wet,” he said reproachfully. “You mustn’t catch cold.”

“Old man,” said Prokop hoarsely, “do you know that Grottup has exploded?”

The old man shook his head regretfully. “And what a lot of people must
have been killed! You ran away, eh? Sit down on the coach-box, I’ll give
you a lift.” He stumped over to the horse and slowly removed the sack of
oats. “Hi, hi, that’s enough,” he mumbled. “We must get along, we’ve a
guest.”

“What have you got in the cart?” asked Prokop.

The old man turned round to him and smiled. “The world,” he said.
“Haven’t you ever seen the world?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Then I’ll show you—wait.” He put the nose-bag away and, without
hurrying, began to undo the covering on the other side. Then he threw it
back, revealing a box into which had been inserted a spy-hole covered
with a glass. “Wait a moment,” he said, looking for something on the
ground. He picked up a small branch, squatted on his heels over the
light, and lit the wick, all this slowly and seriously. “Now, burn
nicely, burn,” he said to it, sheltering it with his hands. Then he
placed it inside the box, lighting it up. “I use oil,” he explained.
“Some of them have carbide ... but that carbide hurts the eyes. And then
one day it explodes and there you are; besides, you might hurt somebody.
And oil, that’s like in a church.” He bent down to the little window, and
peered through it with his pale eyes. “You can see nicely,” he whispered,
delighted. “Have a look. But you must bend down, so as to be ... little
... like a child. That’s right.”

Prokop stooped down to the spy-hole. “The Grecian Temple in Girgent,”
began the old man, “on the island of Sicily, dedicated to God or to Juno.
Look at those pillars. They are made so carefully that a whole family can
eat on each stone. Think what work that means! Shall I go on turning?—The
view from the Mountain of Penegal in the Alps at sunset. Then the snow is
lit up with a strange and beautiful light, as it’s shown there. That’s
an Alpine light and that other mountain is called Latemar. Further?—The
sacred city of Benares; the river is sacred and cleanses the sinful.
Thousands of people have found there what they sought.”

The pictures were carefully drawn and coloured by hand. The colours had
faded a little and the paper had a tinge of yellow, but the charming,
variegated effect of the blues, greens, yellows and reds of the people’s
clothing and the pure azure of the sky remained; every blade of grass was
drawn with love and care.

“That sacred river is the Ganges,” concluded the old man reverently, and
turned the handle further. “And this is Zahur, the most beautiful castle
in the world.”

Prokop simply glued his eye to the hole. He saw a magnificent castle
with graceful cupolas, lofty palms, and a blue waterfall. A tiny figure
with a turban in which was stuck a feather, with a purple coat, yellow
pantaloons, and a Tartar sabre was greeting with a low bow a lady dressed
in white, who was leading by the bridle a prancing horse. “Where ...
where is Zahur?” whispered Prokop.

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “Somewhere over there,” he said
uncertainly, “where it is most beautiful. Some find it and some do not.
Shall I go on?”

“Not yet.”

The old man drew away a little and stroked the leg of the horse. “Wait,
nonono, wait,” he said gently. “We must show it him, see? Let him enjoy
himself.”

“Turn on, grandfather,” said Prokop. He saw in succession the harbour
at Hamburg, the Kremlin, a polar landscape with the Northern Lights,
the Volcano of Krakatau, Brooklyn Bridge, Notre-Dame, a native village
in Borneo, Darwin’s house, the wireless station in Poldhu, a street in
Shanghai, the Victoria Falls, the Castle of Gernstein, the petroleum
wells in Baku. “And this is the explosion in Grottup,” explained the
old man, and Prokop saw coils of reddish smoke being thrown high up in
the air by a yellow flame. In the midst of the smoke and flames could
be discerned fragments of human bodies. “More than five thousand people
perished. It was a great disaster,” sighed the old man. “That’s the last
picture. Well, have you seen the world?”

“No, I haven’t,” muttered Prokop, stupefied.

The old man shook his head in disappointment. “You want to see too much.
You will have to live for a long time.” He blew out the little lamp and,
muttering to himself, slowly covered the box up again. “Sit down on the
coach-box, we’ll go on.” He pulled off the sack which was covering the
horse’s back and put it over Prokop’s shoulders. “So that you shan’t be
cold,” he said, and sat down next to him. He took the reins in his hand
and whistled quietly. The horse set off at a gentle trot. “Hi! Now then,”
sang the old man.

They passed along an avenue of birches, by cottages half drowned in the
mist, a serene and sleeping countryside. “Grandfather,” Prokop found
himself saying, “why has all this happened to me?”

“What?”

“Why have I come up against so many things?”

The old man reflected. “It only seems like that,” he said finally. “What
happens to a man comes out of himself. It all winds out of you as if
from a skein.”

“That isn’t true,” Prokop protested. “Why did I meet the Princess?
Grandfather, perhaps ... you know me. You know that I’ve been looking for
... that other one, you understand? And yet it happened that—why? Tell
me!”

The old man considered this, munching with his soft lips. “It was your
pride,” he said slowly. “Sometimes it happens to a man like that, he
doesn’t know why, but it’s because he has it in him. And he begins to
throw himself about——” He illustrated what he was saying with the whip,
so that the horse became uneasy and increased its pace. “P-r-r-r, what,
what?” he cried to it in a thin voice. “You see, it’s the same as when
some little chap gives himself airs; he upsets everybody. And there’s no
need to make such a fuss. Sit still and watch the road and you’ll get
there all right.”

“Grandfather,” cried Prokop, half closing his eyes in pain, “have I done
wrong?”

“Yes and no,” said the old man cautiously. “You’ve hurt people. If you
had been sensible you wouldn’t have done it. One must be sensible. And
a man must realize the meaning of everything. For instance ... you can
burn a hundred crown note, or use it to pay your debts. If you burn it it
looks more, but ... it’s the same with women,” he concluded unexpectedly.

“Did I behave badly?”

“What?”

“Was I wicked?”

“... You weren’t clean inside. A man ... must think more than feel. And
you threw yourself at everything.”

“Grandfather, that was through Krakatit.”

“What?”

“I ... I made a discovery—and through that——”

“If it hadn’t been in you it wouldn’t have been in the discovery. A man
does everything out of himself. Wait and consider; think and try and
remember what your discovery came from and how it was made. Think about
that carefully and then say what you know. Hi, no, no, no, p-s-s!”

The cart rumbled over the rough road, the white horse moving its legs
in a tremulous and quaint trot. The light danced over the ground,
lighting up trees and stones, while the old man bumped up and down on
his seat, singing softly to himself. Prokop was rubbing his forehead.
“Grandfather,” he whispered.

“Well?”

“I’ve forgotten!”

“What?”

“I ... I’ve forgotten how to ... make ... Krakatit!”

“There you are,” said the old man calmly. “So you have found out
something.”




CHAPTER LIV


To Prokop it was as if they were passing through the quiet countryside
in which he had spent his childhood, but it was very foggy and the light
from the lantern penetrated no further than the side of the road, beyond
which there was a silent and unknown land.

“Hohohot,” cried the old man, and the horse turned off the road right
into that veiled, silent world. The wheels dug into soft grass. Prokop
made out a shallow valley, on each side of which were leafless thickets,
between which was a beautiful meadow. “P-r-r-r,” cried the old man and
slowly got down from the coach-box. “Get out,” he said, “we’ve arrived.”
He slowly undid the traces. “Nobody will come after us here.”

“Who?”

“... The police. There must be order ... but they always want all sorts
of papers ... and permits ... and where you are coming from ... and where
you are going. It’s all more than I can understand.” He unharnessed the
horse, saying to him quietly: “Keep quiet and you shall have a piece of
bread.”

Prokop stepped down from the cart, numbed by the journey. “Where are we?”

“Over there where there’s that hut,” said the old man vaguely. “You will
sleep it off and be all right.” He took the lantern from the shaft and
threw its light on to a small wooden shed, for hay or something of the
sort, but decrepit, poor and crazy. “And I’ll make a fire,” he said in
his singing voice, “and get you some tea. When you’ve sweated you’ll be
well again.” He wrapped Prokop up in the sack and put down the light in
front of him. “Wait while I fetch some wood. Stay here.” He was just on
the point of going off when something occurred to him. He thrust his hand
into his pocket and looked at Prokop interrogatively.

“What is it, grandfather?”

“I ... don’t know if you would like to ... I’m a star reader.” He brought
his hand out of his pocket again. Through his fingers there was peering a
little white mouse with red eyes. “I know,” he babbled on quickly, “that
you don’t believe in such things, but ... he’s a pretty little chap—Would
you like to?”

“I should.”

“That’s good,” said the old man, delighted. “S-s-s-s-s—ma—la, hop!” He
opened his hand and the little mouse nimbly ran along his sleeve up to
his shoulder, sniffed delicately at his hairy ear and hid in his collar.

“He’s a beauty,” breathed Prokop.

The old man’s face glowed with pleasure. “Wait and see what he can do,”
and he ran to the cart, rooted about in it, and returned with a box full
of tickets arranged in series. He gave the box a shake, gazing with his
shining eyes into the distance. “Show him, mouse, show him his love.” He
whistled between his teeth like a bat. The mouse sprang up, ran along
his arm, and jumped on to the box. Holding his breath, Prokop watched its
rosy little paws searching among the tickets. Finally it took one in its
little teeth and tried to pull it out. Somehow or other it succeeded,
shook its head and at once seized the next one, pulling that out also.
Then it sat up on its hind legs, gnawing at its tiny paws.

“This is your love,” whispered the old man, elated. “Out with it.”

Prokop took hold of the ticket and bent over the light. It was the
photograph of a girl ... the one whose hair was all loose; her lovely
breast was bare, and the eyes were the same, passionate and deep—Prokop
recognized her. “Grandfather, that’s not the one!”

“Show me,” said the old man with surprise, taking the picture out of his
hand. “Ah, that’s a pity,” he croaked regretfully. “Such a beauty! Lala,
Lilitko, that isn’t the one, nanana ks ks ma—la!” He put the photograph
back in the box and again softly whistled. The little mouse looked about
with its red eyes, again took the same ticket in its teeth and tugged
with its head. But the ticket would not come out; instead it pulled out
the next.

Prokop took up the picture; it was Annie, a photograph taken in the
village; she did not know what to do with her arms, had her Sunday
clothes on and stood there silly and beautiful—“That’s not her,”
whispered Prokop. The old man took the picture from him, smoothed it and
appeared to be saying something to it. He looked at Prokop uneasily and
sadly and again gave a faint whistle.

“Are you angry?” asked Prokop shyly.

The old man said nothing and looked musingly at the mouse. Again the
little creature tried to pull out the same ticket; but no, it was
impossible and it extracted the next one instead. This was a picture of
the Princess. Prokop moaned and let it fall on to the ground. The old man
silently bent down and picked it up.

“Let me try myself,” cried Prokop hoarsely, and thrust his hand into the
box. But the old man stopped him: “That’s not allowed!”

“But she ... she’s there,” said Prokop through his teeth. “The right
one’s there!”

“Everybody’s there,” said the old man, caressing the box. “Now you shall
have your planet.” He whistled quietly, and the mouse ran along his arm
and drew out a green slip of paper. A moment later it was back again;
evidently Prokop frightened it. “Read it to yourself,” said the old man,
carefully putting the box away. “I’ll be fetching some wood—and don’t be
worried.”

He stroked the horse’s side, stowed the box away in the bottom of the
cart and set off for the thicket. His light-coloured coat disappeared in
the darkness. The horse watched him for a moment and then jerked his head
and followed him. “Ihaha,” the old man could be heard saying, “so you
want to come with me? Ah! Hoty, hotyhot, ma-ly!”

They disappeared in the fog and Prokop remembered the green ticket. “Your
planet,” he read by the flickering light. “You are an honourable man,
with a good heart and more learned than others in your profession. You
will have to suffer a lot of opposition, but if you avoid impetuousness
and arrogance you will obtain the respect of your neighbours and an
exalted position. You will lose much but you will later be rewarded. Your
unlucky days are Tuesdays and Fridays. Saturn Conj. b. b. Martis. DEO
gratias.”

The old man loomed out of the darkness with his arms full of sticks.
Behind him appeared the white head of the horse. “Well,” he whispered
tensely and with a certain amount of the shyness of an author, “did you
read it? Is it a good planet?”

“It is, grandfather.”

“There you are,” said the old man, relieved, “everything will turn out
all right, praise be to God.” He put down the armful of brushwood and,
muttering happily, lit a fire in front of the hut. Then he again rummaged
in the cart, produced a kettle and stumped off for some water. “In a
minute, in a minute,” he murmured. “Boil, boil, we have a guest.” He ran
about like an agitated hostess. In a moment he had come back again with
some bread and bacon, at which he sniffed with delight. “And salt, salt,”
he cried, slapping himself on the forehead. He ran back to the cart. At
last he had settled down by the fire. He gave Prokop the larger portion
and himself slowly munched every mouthful. Prokop was suffering from
smoke in the eyes or something of the sort; tears ran down his face as
he ate. The old man gave every other mouthful to the horse, whose head
was bent over his shoulder. And suddenly, through a veil of tears, Prokop
recognized him: it was the old, wrinkled face which he had always seen
on the wooden ceiling of his laboratory! How often had he not looked at
it when going off to sleep! And in the morning when he woke up it was
completely different—nothing but knots, dampness and dust.

The old man smiled. “Does it taste good? Ah, at last it’s boiling!” He
bent over the kettle, raised it with an effort and limped off to the
cart. In a moment he was back with a couple of mugs. “Just hold it a
minute.” Prokop took one of the mugs; on it was painted in gold the name
“Ludmila,” surrounded with a garland of forget-me-nots. He read the name
twenty times and tears came into his eyes. “Grandfather,” he whispered,
“is ... that ... her name?”

The old man looked at him with sad, tender eyes. “So that you know,” he
said softly, “it is.”

“And ... shall I never find her?”

The old man said nothing but only blinked rapidly. “Hold it out,” he said
uncertainly, “I’ll give you some tea.”

Prokop held out the mug with a trembling hand and the old man carefully
poured into it some strong tea. “Drink it while it’s warm,” he said
gently.

“Th—thank you,” sobbed Prokop and took a sip of the sharp-tasting drink.

The old man stroked his long hair reflectively. “It’s bitter,” he said
slowly, “it’s bitter, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you like a bit of sugar?”

Prokop shook his head. He felt the bitter taste of tears, but his breast
was filled with a generous warmth.

The old man sipped at his mug noisily. “And now look,” he said, so as to
make things easier, “what I’ve got painted on mine.” He handed him his
mug; on it was depicted an anchor, a heart and a cross. “That’s faith,
love and hope. Don’t cry any more.” He stood over the fire with his hands
clasped. “Dear one, dear one,” he said softly, “you will not achieve the
highest and you will not release everything. You tried to tear yourself
to pieces by force, but you have remained whole and you will neither save
the world nor smash it to pieces. Much in you will remain closed up, like
fire in a stove; that is good, it is sacrifice. You wanted to do too
great things, and you will instead do small ones. That is good.”

Prokop knelt down in front of the fire, not daring to raise his eyes. He
knew now that it was God the Father who was speaking to him.

“It is good,” he whispered.

“It is good. You will do things which will help people. He whose thoughts
are full of the highest turns away his eyes from people. Instead you will
serve them.”

“That is good,” whispered Prokop, on his knees.

“Now you see,” said the old man, pleased, and squatted down on his heels.
“Tell me, what’s this—what do you call it? Your invention?”

Prokop raised his head. “I’ve ... forgotten.”

“That doesn’t matter,” the old man reassured him. “You’ll take up other
things. Wait a moment, what was it I was going to say? Aha! Why was
there such a great explosion? That’s more people injured. But look about
and search; perhaps you’ll find ... well, perhaps only such pf-pf-pf,”
he said, blowing out his soft cheeks, “you see? So that it should only
be puf-puf ... and do something which will work for people, do you
understand?”

“You mean,” muttered Prokop, “some sort of cheap energy, eh?”

“Cheap, cheap,” agreed the old man, delighted. “So that it could be very
useful. And shine, and warm, you understand?”

“Wait,” said Prokop reflectively, “I don’t know—that would mean
experimenting all over again ... from the other end.”

“That’s it. Start from the other end and there you are. There, you see,
you’ve something to begin with right away. But leave that other. I’ll get
your bed ready.” He got up and limped off to the cart. “Hato hot ma-ly,”
he sang, “we’re going to bed.” He returned with a rough mattress. “Come
along,” he said, took the lantern and led the way into the wooden shed.
“There’s straw enough,” he croaked as he made the bed ready, “for all
three of us. Praise be to God.”

Prokop sat down on the straw. “Grandfather,” he cried, amazed, “look!”

“What?”

“There, on the wall.” On each of the planks forming the side of the hut
there had been written large letters in chalk. Prokop read them by the
flickering light of the lantern: K ... R ... A ... K ... A ... T....

“That’s nothing, that’s nothing,” muttered the old man reassuringly and
quickly rubbed them out with his cap. “That’s all over. Just lie down and
I’ll cover you with a sack. So.”

He went to the doorway. “Dadada ma-ly,” he sang in his trembling voice
and the horse thrust its beautiful silver head through the door and
rubbed its nose against the old man’s coat.

“Come in, come in,” he said, “and lie down.”

The old horse ambled into the shed, scratched with its hoofs the opposite
wall and knelt down. “I’ll find a place between you,” said the old man,
“he’ll breathe on you and you’ll be warm. So.”

He sat down quietly near the door. Behind him could still be seen the
glow of the dying fire, and the pale blue eyes of the horse, turned on
him. The old man muttered something to him, nodding his head....

Prokop closed his eyes in bliss. “Why ... why, it’s my old father,” he
said to himself. “God! how old he’s grown! His neck’s become scraggy——”

“Prokop, are you asleep?” whispered the old man.

“No,” answered Prokop, trembling with love.

The old man began to sing gently a strained and quiet song: “Lalala hou,
dadada pan, binkili bunkili hou ta ta....”

Then Prokop fell into a sweet and healing sleep, free from all dreams.



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