 CHAPTER 11 I had delayed in speaking to Groble of our revolutionary plans, because I wished first to arrange a meeting with Zimmern and Teller, and to secure the weight of their calmer minds in initiating Groble into our plans of sending a message to the world state authorities. I was prevented from doing this immediately by difficulties in the proteome works. Meanwhile, unbeknown to me, the sailing date of Groble's vessel was advanced, and he departed to the Although my position as director of the proteome works had been more of an honour than an assignment of active duties, I made it my business to assume the maximum, rather than the minimum, of the functions of the office, as I wished to learn more of the labour situation in Berlin, of which as yet I had no comprehensive understanding. In a general way I understood that German labour differed not only in being eugenically created as a distinct breed, but that the labour group was also a very distinct caste, economically and politically. The labourer, being denied access to the level of free women, had no need for money or bank credit in any form. This seemed to me to reduce him to a condition of pure slavery, since he received no pay for his services other than the bare maintenance supplied by the state. Because of this evidence of economic inferiority, I had at first supposed that labour was in every way an inferior caste, but in this I had been gravely mistaken, nor had I been able to comprehend my error until this brewing labour trouble revealed in concrete form the political superiority of labour. In my failure to comprehend the true state of affairs I had been a little stupid, for the political basis of German society is revealed to the seeing eye in the Hohenzollern eagle emblazoned on the red flag, the emblem of the rule of labour. Historically I believe this belies the origin of the red flag, for it was first used as the emblem of democratic socialism. A nineteenth century theory of a social order in which all social and economic classes were to be blended into a true democracy, differing somewhat in its economic organization, but essentially the same politically as the true democracy which we have achieved in the world state. But with the Bolshevist regime in Russia after the First World War the red flag was appropriated as the emblem of the political supremacy and rule of the proletariat, or labour class. I make these references to bygone history because they throw light on the peculiar status of the German labour caste, which is possessed of political superiority combined with social and economic inferiority. It was the Bolshevist brand of socialism that finally overran Germany in the era of loose and ineffective rule of the world by the League of Nations, though I make no pretense of being an accurate authority on history. The League of Nations, if I remember rightly, was humanity's first timid conception of the world state. Rather weakly born it was promptly emasculated by the rise in America of a political party founded on the ideas of a great national hero who had just died. The obstructionist policy of this party was inherent in its origin, for it was inspired and held together by the ideas of a dead man, whose followers could only repeat as their test of faith a phrase that has come down to us as an idiom. What would he do? He, being dead, could do nothing, neither could he change his mind, but having left an indelible record of his ideas by this strenuous verbiage of his virile and inspiring rhetoric, there was no room for doubt. As in all political and religious faiths founded on the ideas of dead heroes, this made for solidarity and power and quite prevented any abdaptation of the form of government to the needs of the world that had arisen since his demise. I have digressed here from my theme of the political status of the German labour caste, but it is fascinating to trace things to their origin to find the links of the chain of cause and effect. So if I have read my history aright, the emasculation of the League of Nations by the American obstructionists caused or at least permitted the rise and dominance of the Bolsheviks in 20th century Germany. Had the Germans been Democrats at heart, the pendulum would have swung back as it did with other peoples and been stayed at the point of equilibrium, which we recognized as the stable mean of democracy. But in the old days, before the modern intermingling of the races, it seems that there were certain tastes that had become instinctive in racial groups. Thus, just as the German stomach craved the rich flavour of sausage, so the German mind craved the dazzling show of royal flummery. Had it not been for this, the First World War could have never been, for the socialists of that time were bitterly opposed to war, and Germany was the world's greatest stronghold of socialism, yet when their beloved imperial poser, William the Great, called for war, the German socialists, with the exception of a few whom they afterwards murdered, went forth to war almost without protest. When I first began to hear of the political rights of labour, I went to my friend Heller and asked for an explanation. It's not the chain of authority, absolute, I asked, up through the industrial organisation direct to the Emperor and so to God himself. But, said Heller, the workers do not believe in God. What? I stammered. Workers not believe in God. It is impossible. Have not, the workers, simple trusting minds? Certainly, said Heller, it is the natural mind of man. Skepticism, which is the basis of scientific reasoning, is an artificial thing, first created in the world under the competitive economic order when it became essential to self-preservation and a world of trade based on deceit. In our new order we have had difficulty in maintaining enough of it for scientific purposes, even in the intellectual classes. There is no skepticism among the labourers now, I assure you. They believe as easily as they breathe. Then how, I demanded, in amazement, does it come that they do not believe in God? Because, said Heller, they have never heard of God, though Labour-Ode does not know of God because we have restored God since the perfection of our caste system, and hence it was easy to promulgate the idea among the intellectuals and not among the workers. It was necessary to restore God for the intellectuals in order to give them greater respect for the power of the royal house. But the labourers need no God, because they believe themselves to be the source from which the royal house derives its right to rule. They believe the Emperor to be their own servant, ruling by their permission. The Emperor a servant to labour, I exclaimed. This is absurd. Certainly, said Heller, why should it be otherwise? We are an absurd people because we have always laughed at the wrong things. Still, this principle is very old, and has not always been confined to the Germans. After the revolutions in the 20th century the American plutocrats employed poverty-stricken European nobility for servants, and exalted them to high stations and obeyed them explicitly in all social matters with which their service was concerned. The labourers restored William III because they wished to have an exalted servant. He led them to war and became a hero. He reorganised the state and became their political servant, also their Emperor and their tyrant. It is not an impossible relation, for it is not unlike the relation between the mother and the child, or between a man and his mistress, and yet it is different, more formal, with functions better defined. The Emperor is the administrative head of the government, and we intellectuals are merely his hirelings. We are merely the feathers of the royal eagle. Our colour is black. We have no part in the red blood of human brotherhood. We are outcasts from the socialistic labour world, for we receive money compensation to which labourers would not stoop. But labour owns the state. This roof of Berlin over our heads, and all that is there in contained, is the property of the workers who produced it. I shook my head in mute admission of my lack of comprehension. And who? asked Heller. Did you think owned Berlin? I confessed that I had never thought of that. Few of our intellectual class have ever thought of that, replied Heller, unless they are well read in political history, but at the time of the Hohen-Zohmen restoration labour owned all property and true communal ownership. They did not release it to the royal house, but merely turned over the administration of the property to the Emperor as an agent. These belated explanations of the fundamental ideas of German society quite confused and confounded me, though Heller seemed in no wise surprised at my ignorance, since as a chemist I had originally been supposed to know only of atoms and balances and such-like matters. Seeking a way out of these contradictions I asked. How is it, then, that labour is so powerless, since you say that it owns the state, and even the Emperor rules by its permission? Napoleon, have you ever heard of him? Yes, I admitted. And then, recalling my role as a German chemist, I hasten to add, Napoleon was a directing chemist, who achieved a plan for increasing the food supply in his day by establishing the sugar-beet industry. Is that so? exclaimed Heller. I didn't know that. I thought he was only an Emperor. Anyway, Napoleon said that if you tell men they are equal you can do as you please with them, so when William III was elected to the throne by labour he insisted that they retain the power and re-elect him every five years. He was very popular because he invented the armoured city, our new Berlin. Some day I will tell you of that, and so of course he was re-elected and his son after him. Though most of the intellectuals do not know that it exists, the ceremony of election is a great occasion on the labour-levels. The Emperor speaks all day through the horns and on the picture screens. The workers think he is actually speaking, of course it is a collection of old films and records of the royal voice. When they have seen and heard the speeches, the labourers vote, and then go back to their work and are very happy. But suppose they should sometime fail to re-elect him? No danger, said Heller. There is only one name on the ballot, and the ballots are dumped into the paper mill without inspection. Most extraordinary, I exclaimed. Most ordinary, contradicted Heller. It is not even an exclusively German institution. We have merely perfected it. Voting everywhere is a very useful device in organised government. In the cruder form used in democracies there were two or more candidates. It usually made little difference which was elected, but the system was imperfect because the voters who voted for the candidate which lost were not pleased. Then there was the trouble of counting ballots. We avoid all this. It is all very interesting, I said. But who is the real authority? Ah! said Heller. This matter of authority is one of our most subtle conceptions. The weakness of ancient governments was in the fact that the line of authority was broken. It came somewhere to an end, but now authority flows up from Labour to the Emperor, and then descends again to Labour through the administrative line of which we are one link. It is an unbroken circuit. But I was still unsatisfied, for it annoyed me not to be able to understand the system of German politics, as I had always prided myself that, for a scientist, I understood politics remarkably well. I had gone to Heller for Enlightenment because I was gravely alarmed over the rumours of a strike among the Labourers in the podium works. I had read in the outside world of the murder and destruction of these former civil wars of industry. With a working population so cruelly held to the treadmill of industrial bondage, the idea of a strike conjured up in my fancy the beginning of a bloody revolution, with so vast a population so utterly dependent upon the orderly processes of industry, the possible terrors of an industrial revolution were horrible beyond imagining, and for the moment all thoughts of escape, or of my own plans for negotiating the surrender of Berlin to the world state, were swept aside by the stern responsibilities that devolved upon me as the director of works wherein a terrible strike seemed brewing. The first rumour of the strike of the Labourers in the podium works had come to me from the listening-in service. Since Berlin was too complicated and congested a spot for wireless communication to be practical, the electrical conduct of sound was by antiquated means of metal wires. The workers' free speech halls were all provided with receiving horns, by which they made their appeals to His Majesty, of which I shall speak presently. These instruments were provided with cut-offs in the halls. They had been so designed by the electrical engineers, who were of the intellectual caste, that not even the workers who installed and repaired them knew that the cut-offs were blind, and that the listening-in service heard every word that was said at their secret meetings, when all but workers were, by law and custom, excluded from the halls. And so the report came to me that the workers were threatening strike. Their grievance came about in this fashion. My new process had reduced the number of men needed in the works. This would require that some of the men be transferred to other industries. But the transfer was a slow process, as all the workers would have to be examined anatomically, and their psychic reflexes tested by their labour assignment experts, and those selected retrained for their labour. That work was proceeding slowly, for there was a shortage of experts, because some similar need of transfers existed in one of the metal industries. Moreover, my labour psychologist considered it dangerous to transfer too many men, as they were creatures of habit, and he advised that we ought merely to cease to take on new workers, but wait for old age and death to reduce the number of our men, meanwhile retaining the use of the old extraction process in part of the works. Impossible, I replied, unless you would have your rations cut and the city put on a starvation diet, do you not know that the reserve store of proteam that was once enough to last eight years is now reduced to less than as many months supply? That is none of my affair, said the labour psychologist. These chemical matters I do not comprehend, but I advise against these transfers, for our workers are already in a furor about the change of operations in the work. But, I protested, the new operations are easier than the old, besides we can cut down the speed of operations, which ought to help you take care of these surplus men. Pardon, Herr Chief, returned the elderly labour psychologist. You are a great chemist, a very great chemist, for your invention has upset the labour operation more than has anything that ever happened in my long experience, but I fear you do not realise how necessary it is to go slow in these matters. You ask men, who have always opened a faucet from left to right, to now open one, that opens in a vertical plane. Here, I will show you, move your arms up. Do you not see that it takes different muscles? Yes, of course, but what of it? The solution flows faster and the operation is easier. It is easy for you to say that, for you or me it would make no difference, since our muscles have all been developed indiscriminately. But what are your labour gymnasiums for, if not to develop all muscles? No, do not misunderstand me. I serve as an interpreter between the minds of the workers and your mind, as director of the works. As for the muscles developed in the gymnasium, those were developed for sport, not for labour, but that is not the worst of it. You have designed the new benches so low that the mixers must stoop at their work. It is very painful. Good God! I cried. What became of the stools? The mixers are to sit down. I ordered two thousand stools. That I know, Herr Chief, but the equipment expert consulted me about the matter and I countermanded the order. It would never do. I did not consult you. It is true, but that was merely a kindness. I did not wish to expose your lack of knowledge, if I may call it such. Call it which please. I snapped. For at the time I thought my labour psychologist was a fool. But get those stools immediately. But it would never do. Why not? Because these men have always stood at their work. But why can they not sit down now? Because they never have sat down. Do they not sit down to eat? Yes, but not to work. It is very different. You do not understand the psychic immobility of labour. Habits grow stronger as the mentality is simplified. I have heard that there are animals in the zoological garden that still perform useless operations that their remote ancestors required in their jungle life. Then do you infer that these men who must stand at their work inherited the idea from their ancestors? That is a matter of eugenics, I do not know. But I do know that we are preparing for trouble with these changes. Still, I hope to work it out without serious difficulty if you do not insist on these transfers, when workmen have already been forced to change their habitual method of work, and then see their fellows being removed to other and still stranger work. It breeds dangerous unrest. One thing is certain, I replied. We cannot delay the installation of the new method. As fast as the equipment is ready, the new operation must replace the old. But the effect of that policy will be that there will not be enough work. And besides the work is, as you say, lighter, and that will result in the cutting down of the full rations. But I have already arranged that. I said triumphantly, the rationing bureau have adjusted the calorie standards, so that the men will get as much food as they have been used to. What? You've done that? exclaimed the labour psychologist. Then there will be trouble, that will destroy the palence of the food supply, and the expenditure of muscular energy, and the men will get fat, then the other men will accuse them of stealing food, and we will have bloodshed. A moment ago, I smiled, you told me I did not know your business. Now I will tell you that you did not know mine. We ordered special food, bulked up in volume. The scheme is working nicely. You need not worry about that. As for the other matter, this surplus of men? It seems to me that the only thing is to cut down the working hours temporarily, until the transfers can be made. The psychologist shook his head. It is dangerous, he said, and very unusual. I advise, instead, that you have the operation engineers go over the processes, and involve the operations, both to make them more nearly resemble the old ones, and to aid to the time and energy consumption of the tasks. No, I said emphatically. I invented a more economical process for this industry, and I do not propose to see my invention prostituted in this fashion. I appreciate your advice, but if we cannot transfer the workers any faster, then the labour hours must be cut. I will issue the order tomorrow. This is my final decision. I was in authority, and that settled the matter. The psychologist was very decent about it, and helped me fix up a speech, and that next night the workers were ordered to assemble in their halls, and I made my speech into a transmitting horn. I told them that they had been especially honoured by their emperor, who, appreciating their valuable service, had granted them a part-time vacation, and that, until further notice, their six-hour shifts were to be cut to four. I further told them that their rations would not be reduced, and advised them to take enough extra exercise in the gymnasium to offset their shorter hours, so they would not get fat, and be the envy of their fellows. Part 3 For a time the workers seemed greatly pleased with their shorter hours, and then, from the listening-in service, came the rumour of the strike. The first report of the strike gave me no clue to the grievance, and I asked for fuller reports. When this came the next day I was shocked beyond belief. If I had anticipated anything in that interval of terror, it was that my workers were to strike because their communications had been shut off, or that they were to strike in sympathy with their fellows, and demand that all hours be shortened like their own. But the grievance was not that. My men were to go on strike for the simple reason that their hours had been shortened. The catastrophe once started came with a rush, for when I reached the office the next day the psychologist was awaiting me, and told me that the strike was on, I rushed out immediately, and went down to the works. The psychologist followed me. As I entered the great industrial laboratories, I saw all the men at their usual places, and going through their usual operations. I turned to my companion, who was just coming up, and said, What do you mean, I thought you told me the strike was on, that the men had already walked out. What do you mean by walked out? He returned, as puzzled as I. Walked out of the works, I explained. Away from their duties, quit work, struck. But they have struck. Perhaps you've never seen a strike before, but do you not see the strike badges? And then I looked, and saw that every workman wore a tiny red flag, and the flag bore no imperial eagle. It means, I gasped, that they have renounced the rule of the royal house. This is not a strike, this is rebellion, treason. It is the custom, said the labour psychologist, and as for rebellion and treason that you speak of, I hardly think you ought to call it that, for rebellion and treason are forbidden. Then just what does it mean? It means that this particular group of workers have temporarily withdrawn their allegiance to the royal house, and they have in their own minds restored the old socialist regime, until they can make petition to the emperor and he passes on their grievance. They will do that in their halls tonight. We, of course, will be connected up and listen in. Then they are not really on strike. Certainly they are on strike. All strikes are conducted so. Then why do they not quit work? But why should they quit work? They are striking because their hours are already too short. Pardon, Herr Chief, but I warned you. I think I know what you mean, he added, after a pause. You have probably read some fiction of old times, when the workers went on strike by quitting work. Yes, exactly. I suppose that is where I did get my ideas, and that is now forbidden, by the emperor. Not by the emperor, for you see these men wear the flags without the eagle. They at present do not acknowledge his authority. Then all this strike is a matter of red badges without eagles, and everything else will go on as usual. By no means. These men are striking against at the descending authority from the royal house. They not only refuse to wear the eagle until their grievance is adjusted, but they will refuse to accept further education, for that is a thing that descends from above. If you will go now to the picture halls where the other shift should be, you will find the halls all empty. The men refuse to go to the moving pictures. That night we listened in. A bold-throated fellow whom I learned was the talking delegate, addressed the emperor, and much to my surprise I thought I heard the emperor's own voice in reply, stating that he was ready to hear their grievance. Then the bold voice of the talking delegate gave the reason for the strike. The director of the works, speaking for your majesty, has granted us a part-time vacation and shortened our hours from six to four. We thank you for this honour, but we have decided we do not like it. We do not know what to do during those extra two hours. We had our games and amusements, but we had our regular hours for them. If we play longer we become tired of play. If we sleep longer we cannot sleep as well. Moreover we are losing our appetite, and some of us are afraid to eat all our portions for fear we will become fat. So we have decided that we do not like a four-hour day, and we have therefore taken the eagles off our flags, and will refuse to replace them or go to the educational pictures, until our hours are restored to the six-hour day that we have always had. And now the emperor's voice replied that he would take the matter under consideration and report his decision in three days, and that meanwhile he knew he could trust them to conduct themselves as good socialists who were on strike, and hence needed no king. The next day the psychologist brought a representative of the information staffed to my office, and together we wrote the reply that the emperor was to make. It would be necessary to concede them the full six hours and introduce the system of complicating the labour operations to make more work. Much chagrind I gave in, and called in the motion study engineers, and set them to the task. Meanwhile the royal voice was sent for, and coached in the emperor's reply to the striking workmen, and a picture film of the emperor, timed to fit the length of the speech, was ordered from stock. The royal voice was an actor by birth who had been trained to imitate his majesty's speech. This man, who specialised in the emperor's speeches to the workers, prided himself that he was the best royal voice in Berlin, and I complimented him by telling him that I had been deceived by him the evening before. But considering that the workers never having heard the emperor's real voice would have no standard of comparison, I have never been able to see the necessity of the accuracy of his imitation, unless it was on the ground of art for art's sake. Chapter 12 Parts 1 through 3 The divine descendants of William the Great give a benefit for the canine gardens, and pay tribute to the Piggeries. The strike that I had fared would be the beginning of a bloody revolution, had ended with an actor shouting into a horn, and the shadow of an emperor waving his arms. But meanwhile Captain Grobbel, on whom I staked my hopes of escape from Berlin, had departed to the Arctic and would not return for many months. That he would return, I firmly believed. Statistically, the chances were in his favour, as this was his fourth trip, and hope was backing the favourable odds of the law of chance. So I set myself to prepare for that event. My faith was strong that Grobbel could be won over to the cause of saving the Germans by betraying Germany. I did not even consider searching for another man, for Grobbel was that one rare man in thousands, who is rebellious and fearless by nature, a type of which the world makes heroes when their cause wins and traitors when it fails, a type that Germany had all but eliminated from the breed of men. But if I were to escape to the outer world through Grobbel's connivance, there was still the problem of getting permission to board the submarine, ostensibly to go to the Arctic mines. Even in my exalted position as head of the proteome works, I could not learn where the submarine docks, or the passage to them, was located. But I did learn enough to know that the way was impenetrable without authoritative permission, and that thoughts of escape as a stowaway were not worth considering. I also learned that Admiral von Kufner had sole authority to grant permission to make the Arctic trip. The Admiral had promptly turned down my first proposal to go to the Arctic ore fields, and had by his pompous manner rebuffed the attempts I made to cultivate his friendship through official interviews. I therefore decided to call on Marguerite and the Countess Louise to see what chance there was to get a closer approach to the man through social avenues. The Countess was very obliging in the matter, but she warned me with lifted finger that the Admiral was a gay bachelor and a worshiper of feminine charms, and that I might rue the day I suggested his being invited into the admiring circle that revolved about Marguerite. But I laughingly disclaimed any fears on that score, and von Kufner was bitten to the next ball, given by the Countess. Marguerite was particularly gracious to the Admiral, and speedily led him into the inner circle that gathered informally in the salon of the Countess Louise. I made it a point to absent myself on some of these occasions, for I did not want the Admiral to guess the purpose that lay behind this ensnaring of him into our group. And yet I saw much of Marguerite, for I spent most of my leisure in the society of the royal level where thought, if shallow, was comparatively free. I took particular pleasure in watching the growth of Marguerite's mind, as the purely intellectual conceptions she had acquired from Dr. Zimmern and his collection of books adjusted itself to the absurd realities of the celestial society of the descendants of William the Great. It may be that charity is instinctive in the heart of a good woman, or perhaps it was because she had read the Christian Bible, but whatever the origin of the impulse, Marguerite was charitably inclined and wished to make personal sacrifice for the benefit of other beings less well situated than herself. While she was still a resident of the free level, she had talked to me of this feeling and of her desire to help others, but the giving of money or valuables by one woman to another was strictly forbidden, and Marguerite had not, at the time, possessed more than she needed for her own subsistence. But now that she was relatively well off, this charitable feeling struggled to find expression. Hence, when she had learned of the royal charity society, she had straightaway begged the Countess to present her name for membership, without stopping to examine into the detail of the society's activities. The society was at that time preparing to hold a bazaar, and sent out calls for contributions of cast-off clothing and ornaments. Marguerite has yet possessed no clothes or jewellery of royal quality except the minimum which the demands of her position made necessary, and so she timidly asked the Countess if her clothing which she had worn on the free level would suffice as gifts of charity. The Countess had assured her that it would do nicely as the destination of all the clothing contributed was for the women of the free level, thinking that an opportunity had at last arisen for her to express her compassion for the ill-favoured girls of her own former level, Marguerite hastened to bundle up such presentable gowns as she had, and sent them to the bazaar by her maid. Later she had attended the meeting of the society when the net results of the collections were announced. To her dismay she found that the clothing contributed had been sold for the best price it would bring to the women of the free level, and that the purpose of the sacrifices of that which was useless to the possessors but valuable to others was the defraying of the expense of extending the romping-grounds for the dogs of the charitably maintained canine garden. Marguerite was vigorously debating the philosophy of charity with the young Count Rudolph that evening when I called. She was maintaining that human beings and not animals should be the recipients of charity, and the young Count was expounding to her the doctrine of the evil effects of charity upon the recipient. Moreover, explained Count Rudolph, there are no humans in Berlin that need charity since every class of our efficiently organized state receives exactly what it should receive, and hence is in need of nothing. Charity is permissible only when poverty exists. But there is poverty on the free level, maintained Marguerite. Many of the ill-favoured girls suffer from hunger and want better clothes than they can buy. That may be, said the Count, but to permit them gifts of charity would be destructive of their pride. Moreover, there are few women on the royal level who would give for such a purpose. But surely, said Marguerite, there must be somewhere in the city other women or children or even men to whom the proceeds of these gifts would mean more than it does to dogs. If any group needed anything the state would provide it, repeated the Count. Then why, protested Marguerite, cannot the state also provide for the dogs, or if food in space be lacking, why are these dogs allowed to breed and multiply? Because it would be cruel to suppress their instincts. Marguerite was puzzled by this answer, but with my more rational mind I saw a flaw in the logic of this statement. But that is absurd, I said, for if their number were not checked in some fashion, in a few decades the dogs would over swarm the city. It was now the Count's turn to look puzzled. You have inferred an embarrassing question, he stated, one in fact that ought not to be answered in the presence of a lady, but since the Princess Marguerite does not seem to be a lover of dogs, I will risk the explanation. The medical level requires dogs for purposes of scientific research, since the women are rarely good mathematicians, it is easily possible in this manner to keep down the population of the canine garden. But the dogs required for research, I suggested, could easily be bred in kennels maintained for that purpose. So they could, said the Count, but the present plan serves a double purpose. It provides the doctors with scalpel practice, and it also amuses the women of the Royal House, who are very much in need of amusement, since we men are also dull. Woman's love, continued Rudolph, waxing eloquent, should have full freedom for unfoldment. If it is forcibly confined to her husband and children, it might burst its bounds and express too great an interest in other humans. The dogs act as a sort of safety valve for this instinct of charity. The facetious young Count saw from Marguerite's horror-stricken face that he was making a marked impression, and he recklessly continued. The keepers at the canine gardens understand this perfectly. When funds begin to run low, they put the dogs in the outside pens on short rations, and the brutes do their own begging. Then we have another bizarre and everybody is happy. It is a good system, and I would advise you not to criticise it, since the institution is classic. Other schemes have been tried. At one time women were permitted to knit socks for soldiers. We always put that in historical pictures. But the socks had to be melted up again as felted fibre is much more durable, and then after the women were forbidden to see the soldiers they lost interest. But the dog-charity is a proven institution, and we should never try to change anything that women do not want changed, since they are the conservative bulwark of society and our best protection against the danger of the untried. Part 2 Blocked in her effort to relieve human poverty by the discovery that its existence was not recognised, Marguerite's next adventure in doing good in the world was to take up the battle against ignorance by contributing to the school for the education of servants. The servant problem in Berlin, and particularly on the royal level, had been solved so far as male servants were concerned, for these were a well-recognised strain eugenically bred as a division of the intellectual caste. I had once taken Dr. Zimmern to task on this classification of the servant as an intellectual. The servant is not intellectual creatively, the eugenist replied, yet it would never do to class him as labour, since he produces nothing. Moreover, the servant's mind reveals the most specialised development of the most highly prized of all German intellectual characteristics—obedience. It might interest you to know, continued Zimmern, that we use this servant strain in out-crossing with other strains when they show a tendency to decline in the virtue of obedience. If I had not chosen to exempt you from paternity when your rebellious instincts were reported to me, and the matter had been turned over to our remating board, they might have reassigned you to mothers of the servant class. This practice of out-crossing, though rare, is occasionally essential in all scientific breeding. Then do you mean, I asked in amazement, that the highest intellectual strains have servant blood in them? Certainly, and why not, since obedience is the counting glory of the German mind, even royal blood has a dash of the servant strain? You mean, I suppose, from illegitimate children? Not at all. That sort of illegitimacy is not recognised. I mean from the admission of servants into royal society, just as you have been admitted. Impossible. And why impossible, since obedience is our supreme racial virtue. Go consult your social register. The present emperor, I believe, has admitted none, but his father admitted several, and gave to them princely incomes. They married well, and their children are respected, though I understand they are not very much invited out, for the reason that they are poor conversationalists. They only speak when spoken to, and then answer, Ya, mine hair, I hear they are very miserable, since no one commands them they must be very bored with life, as they are unable to think of anything to do to amuse themselves. In time the trait will be modified, of course, since the royal blood will soon predominate, and the strongest inherent trait of royalty is to seek amusement. This specialised class of men servants needed little education, for as I took more interest in observing after this talk with Zimmern, they were the most perfectly fitted to their function of any class in Berlin, but there was also a much more numerous class of women servants on the royal level. These, as a matter of economy, were not specially bred to the office, but were selected from the mothers who had been rejected for further maternity after the birth of one or two children, be it said to the credit of the Germans, that no women who had once borne a child was ever permitted to take up the profession of Delilah, a statement which unfortunately cannot be made of the rest of the world. These mothers together with those who had passed the child-bearing age more than supplied the need for nurses on the maternity levels and teachers in girls' schools. As a result they swarmed the royal level in all capacities of service for which women are fitted. Originally educated for maternity they had to be re-educated for service, not satisfied with the official education provided by the masculine-ordered state, the women of the royal level maintained a continuation school in the fine art of obedience and the kindred virtues of the perfect servant. So again it was that Marguerite became involved in a movement that in no wise expressed the needs of her spirit, and from which she speedily withdrew. The next time she came to me for advice. I want to do something," she cried. I want to be of some use in the world. You saved me from that awful life, for you know what it would have been for me if Dr. Simon had died or his disloyalty had been discovered, and you have brought me here where I have riches and position, but immu-s-less. I tried to be charitable to relieve poverty, but they say there is no poverty to be relieved. I tried to relieve ignorance, but they will not allow that either. What else is there that needs to be relieved? Is there no good I can do? Your problem is not a new one," I replied, thinking of the world-old experience of the good women yoked to idleness by wealth and position. You have tried to relieve poverty and ignorance, and find your efforts futile. There is one thing more, I believe, that is considered a classic remedy for your trouble. You can devote yourself to the elimination of ugliness, to the increase of beauty. Is there no organization devoted to that work? There is," returned Marguerite, and I was about to join it, but I thought this time I had better ask advice. There is the league to beautify Berlin. Then, by all means, join," I advised. It is the safest of all such efforts, for though poverty may not exist and ignorance may not be relieved, yet surely Berlin can be more beautiful, but of course your efforts must be confined to the royal level, as you do not see the rest of the city. So Marguerite joined the league to beautify Berlin, and I became an auxiliary member much appreciated because of my liberal contributions. It proved an excellent source of amusement. The league met weekly and discussed the impersonal aspects of the beauty of the level in open meetings, while a secret complaint box was maintained, into which all were invited to deposit criticisms of more personal matters. It was forbidden, even in this manner, to criticize irredeal ugliness, such as the matter of one's personal form or features. But dress and manners came within the permitted range, and the complaints were regularly mailed to the offenders. This surprised me a little, as I would have thought that such a practice would have made the league unpopular, but on the contrary, it was considered the main state of the organization for the recipient of the complaint if a non-member very often joined the league immediately, hoping thereby to gain sweet revenge. But aside from this safety valve for the desire to make personal criticism, the league was a very creditable institution, and it was there that we met the great critics to whose untiring efforts the rare development of German art was due. Cut off from the opportunity to appropriate by purchase or capture the works of other peoples. German art had suffered a severe decline in the first few generations of the isolation. But in time they had developed an art of their own. A great abundance of cast statues of white crystal, adorned the plazas and gardens, and being unexposed to dust or rain, they preserved their pristine freshness so that it appeared they had all been made the day before. Mural paintings also flourished abundantly, and in some sections the endless façade of the apartments was a continuous pageant. But it was in landscape gardening that German art had made its most wonderful advancement. Having small opportunity for true architecture because of the narrow engineering limitations of the city's construction, talent for architecture had been turned to landscape gardening. I used the term advisedly for the very absence of natural landscape within a roofed-in city had resulted in greater development of the artificial product. The earlier efforts, few of which remained unaltered, were more inclined toward imitation of nature as it exists in the world of sun and rocks and rain. But as the original models were forgotten, and new generations of gardeners arose, new sorts of nature were created. Artificial rocks, artificial soil, artificially bred and cultured plants were combined in new designs. Unrealistic it is true, but still a very wonderful development of what might be called synthetic or romantic nature. The water alone was real, and even in some cases that was altered as in the beautifully dyed rivulets and in the truly remarkable fountain of blood dedicated to one of the sons of William the Great, I have forgotten his name, in honour of his attack upon Verden in the First World War. In these wondrous gardens with the Princess Marguerite strolling by my side, I spent the happiest hours of my sojourn in Berlin, but my joy was tangled with the thread of sadness, for the more I gazed upon this synthetic nature of German creation, the more I hungered to tell her of, and to take her to see, the real nature of the outside world, upon which, in my opinion, with all due respect to their achievements, the Germans had not been able to improve. Part 3 While the women of the Royal House were not permitted of their own volition to stray from the royal level, excursions were occasionally arranged, with proper permits and guards. These were social events of consequence, and the invitations were highly prized. Noteworthy among them was an excursion to the highest levels of the city and to the roof itself. The affair was planned by Admiral von Kufner in Marguerite's honour, for having spent her childhood elsewhere, she had never experienced the wonder of this roof excursion so highly prized by royalty, and forever forbidden to all other women, and to all but a few men of the teeming millions who swarmed like larvae in this vast concrete cheese. The formal invitations set no hour for the excursion, as it was understood that the exact time depended upon weather conditions, of which we would later be notified. When this notice came the hour set was in the conventional evening of the royal level, but corresponding to about three a.m. by solar time. The party gathered at the suite of the Countess Louise, and numbered some forty people, for whom a half dozen guides were provided in the form of officers of the roof guard. The journey to our romantic destination took us up some hundred metres in an elevator, a trip which required but two minutes, but would lead to a world as different as Mount Olympus from Erebus. But we did not go directly to the roof, for the hour preferred for that visit had not yet arrived, and our first stop was at the swine levels, which had so aroused my curiosity and strained belief when I had first discovered their existence from the chart of my atlas, as the door of the elevator shaft slid open, a vast squealing and grunting assaulted our ears. The hours of the swine, like those of their masters, were not reckoned by either solar or sidereal time, but had been altered, as experiment had demonstrated, to a more efficient cycle. The time of our trip was chosen so that we might have this earthly music of the feeding time as a fitting prelude to the visioning of the silent heavens. On the visitor's gangway we walked just above the reach of the jostling bristly backs, and our heads all but grazed the low ceiling of the level. To economize power the lights were dim. Despite the masterful achievement of German cleanliness and sanitation there was a permeating odour, a mingling of natural and synthetic smells, which added to the gloom of semi-darkness, and the pandemonium of swineish sound produced a totality of infernal effect that thwarts description. But relief was on the way for the automatic feed conveyors were rapidly moving across our section. First we heard a diminution of sound from one direction, then a hasty scuffling and a happy grunting beneath us, and as the conveyors moved swiftly on the squealing receded into the distance like the dying roar of a retreating storm. The chief swineherd immaculately dressed, and wearing his full quota of decorations and medals, honoured us with his personal presence. With the excusable pride that everywhere the man takes in his work he expounded the scientific achievements and economic efficiency of the swineish world over which he reigned. The men of the party listened with respect to his explanations of the accomplishments of sanitation and of the economy of the cycle of chemical transformation by which the swine were maintained without decreasing the capacity of the city for human support. Lastly the swineherd spoke of the protection that the swine levels provided against the effects of an occasional penetrating bomb, the chance to fall in the crater of its predecessor before the damage could be repaired. Pursuant to this fact the uppermost swine level housed those unfortunate animals that were nearest the sausage stage. On the next lower level to which we now descended by a spiral stair through a ventilating opening were brutes of less advanced ages. On the lowest of the three levels where special lights were available for our benefit even the women ceased to shudder and gave expression to ecstatic cries of rapture as all the world is ever done when seeing baby beasts pawing contentedly at maternal founts. Is it not all wonderful? effused Admiral von Kufner with a sweeping gesture. So efficient, so sanitary, so automatic. Such a fine example of obedience to system and order. This is what I call real science and beauty. One might almost say dramatic beauty. But I do not like it, replied Marguerite with her usual candor. I wish they would abolish these horrid levels. But surely, said the counters, you would not wish to condemn us to a diet of total mineralism. But the hair chemistry could surely invent for us a synthetic sausage, remarked Count Rudolph. I have eaten vegetarian kraut made of real cabbage from the botanical garden, but it was inferior to the synthetic article. Do not make light, young people, spoke up the most venerable member of our party. The eminent Herr Dr von Bräus Morganvetter, the historian laureate of the House of Hohenzollern. It is not as a producer of sausages alone that we Germans are indebted to this worthy animal. I am now engaged in writing a book upon the influence of the swine upon German culture. In the first part I shall treat of the Semitic question. The Jews were very troublesome among us in the days before the isolation. They were a conceited race. As capitalists they amassed fortunes. As socialists they stirred up rebellion. They objected to war. They would never have submitted to eugenics. They even insisted that we Germans had stolen their god. We tried many schemes to be rid of these troublesome people, and all failed. Therefore I say that Germany owes great debt to the noble animal who rid us of the disturbing presence of the Jews. For when pork was made compulsory in the diet they fled the country of their own accord. In the second part of my book I shall tell the story of the founding of the New Berlin, for our noble city was modelled on the fortified pigories of the private estates of William III. In those days of the open war the enemy bombed the stock farms. Synthetic foods were as yet imperfectly developed. Protein was at a premium. The emperor did not like fish. So he built a vast concrete structure with a roof heavily armoured with sand, that he might preserve his swine from the murderous attacks of the enemy planes. It was during the retreat from Peking the German armies were being crowded back on every side. The ray had been invented, but William III knew that it could not be used to protect so vast a domain, and that Germany would be penned into narrow borders and be in danger of extermination by aerial bombardment. In those days he went for rest in consolation to his estates, for he took great pleasure in his thoroughbred swine. Some traitorous spy reported his move to the enemy and a bombing squadron attacked the estates. The emperor took refuge in his fortified pigory, and so the great vision came to him. I have read the exact words of his thoughts as recorded in his diary which is preserved in the archives at the Royal Palace. As are these happy brutes, so shall my people be in safety from the terrors of the sky, protected from the vicissitudes of nature and the enmity of men, so shall I preserve them. That was the conception of the armored city of Berlin, but that was not all, for the bombardment kept up for days, and the emperor could not escape. On the fourth day came the second idea, two new ideas in less than a week. William III was a great thinker. Thus he recorded the second inspiration, and even as I have bred these swine, some for bacon and some for lard, so shall the German blonde brutes be bred the supermen, some specialized for labour and some for brains. These two ideas are the foundation of the culture of our imperial socialism, the one idea to preserve us, and the other to recreate us as the superrace, and both of these ideas we owe to this noble animal. The swine should be emblazoned with the eagle upon our flag. As the historian finished his eulogy, I glanced surreptitiously at the faces of his listeners and caught a twinkle in Marguerite's eyes, but the faces of the others were as serious as graven images. Finally the countess spoke, Do I understand, then, that you consider the swine the model of the German race? Only of the lower classes, said the aged historian, but not the house of Hohenzollern, we are exalted above the necessities of breeding, for we are divine. Eyes were now turned upon me, for I was the only one of the company not of Hohenzollern blood. Unrelieved by laughter, the situation was painful. But, said Count Rudolph, coming to my rescue, we also seek safety in the fortified Piggeries. Exactly, said the historian. So did our noble ancestor. CHAPTER XII From the Piggeries we went to the green level, where growing beneath eye-painting lights was a matted mass of solid vegetation, from which came those rare sprigs of green which garnished our synthetic dishes. But this was too monotonous to be interesting, and we soon went above to the defense level, where were housed vast military and rebuilding mechanisms and stores. After our guides had shown us briefly about among these paraphernalia, we were conducted to one of the sloping ramps, which led through a heavily arched tunnel to the roof above. Marguerite clung close to my arm, quivering with expectancy and excitement as we climbed up the sloping passageway, and felt on our faces the breath of the crisp air of the May night. The sky came into vision with startling suddenness as we walked out upon the soft sand blanket of the roof. The night was absolutely clear, and my first impression was that every star of the heavens had miraculously waxed in brilliancy. The moon, in the last quarter, hung midway between the zenith and the western horizon. The Milky Way seemed a floating band of whitish flame. About us, in the form of a wide crescent, for we were near the eastern edge of the city, swung the encircling band of searchlights. But the air was so clear that this stockade of artificial light beams was too pale to dim the points of light in the blue-black vault. In anticipating this visit to the roof, I had supposed it would seem commonplace to me, and had discussed it very little with Marguerite, lest I might reveal an undue lack of wonder. But now, as I thrilled once more beneath their holy light, the miracle of unnumbered far-flung flaming suns, stifled again the vanity of human conceit, and I stood with soul unbared and worshipful beneath the vista of incommensurate space wherein the birth and death of worlds marks the unending role of time. And at my side a silent gazing woman stood, contrite and humble and the thrill and quiver of her body filled me with a joy of wordless delight. A blundering guide began lecturing on astronomy and pointing out with pompous gestures, the constellations and planets. But Marguerite led me beyond the sound of his voice. It is not the time for listening to talk, she said. I only want to see. When the astronomer had finished his speech-making, our party moved slowly toward the east, where we could just discern the first faint light of the coming dawn. When we reached the parapet of the eastern edge of the city's roof, the stars had faded, and pale pink streaked the eastern sky. The guides brought folding chairs from a nearby tunnel-way, and most of the party sat down on a hillock of sand, very much as men might seat themselves in the grandstand of a race-course. But I was so interested in what the dawn would reveal beneath the changing colors of the sky that I led Marguerite to the rail of the parapet, where we could look down into the yawning depths upon the surface of German soil. My first vision over the parapet revealed but a mottled gray, but as the light brightened the gray land took form, and I discerned a few scraggly patches of green between the torn masses of distorted soil. The stars had faded now, and only the pale moon remained in the blueing sky, while below the land disclosed a sad monotony of ruin and waste, utterly devoid of any constructive work of man. Marguerite, her gaze fixed on the dawn, was beginning to complain of the light painting her eyes, when one of the guides hurried by with an open satchel swung from his shoulders. Here are your glasses, he said. Put them on at once. You must be very careful now, or you will injure your eyes. We accepted the darkened, protecting lenses, but I found I did not need mine until the sun itself had appeared above the horizon. Did you see it so in your vision? questioned Marguerite, as the first beams glistened on the surface of the sanded roof. This, I replied, is a very ordinary sunrise, with a perfectly cloudless sky. Someday, perhaps, when the gates of this prison of Berlin are opened, we will be able to see all the sunrises of my visions, and even more wonderful ones. Carl, she whispered, how do you know of all these things? Sometimes I believe you are something more than human, that you of a truth possess the blood of divinity which the House of Hohen's Olern claims. No, I answered, not divinity, just a little larger humanity, and someday, very soon, I am going to tell you more of the source of my visions. She looked at me through her darkened glasses. I only know, she said, that you are wonderful and very different from other men. Had we been alone on the roof of Berlin, I could not have resisted the temptation to tell her then, that stars and sun were familiar friends to me, and that the devastated soil that stretched beneath us was but the wasted skeleton of a fairer earth I knew and loved. But we were surrounded by a host of babbling sightseers, and so the moment passed, and I remained to Marguerite, a man of mystery and a seer of visions. The sun fully risen now, we were led to a protruding observation platform that permitted us to view the wall of the city below. It was merely one vast gray wall without interruption or opening in the monotonous surface. Amid the more troubled chaos of the ground immediately below, we could see fragments of concrete blown from the parapet of the roof. The wall beneath us, we were told, was only of sufficient thickness to withstand fire of the aircraft guns. The havoc that might be wrought, should the defence minds ever be forced back and permit the walls of Berlin to come within range of larger field pieces, was easily imagined. But so long as the ray defence held, the massive fort of Berlin was quite impervious to attacks of the world forces of land and air, and the stalemate of war might continue for other centuries. With the coming of daylight we had heard the rumbling of trucks as the roof-repairing force emerged to their task. Now that our party had become tired of gazing through their goggles at the sun, our guides led us in the direction where this work was in progress. On the way we passed a single unfilled crater, a deep pit in the flinty quartz sand, that spread a protecting blanket over the solid structure of the roof. These craters in the sand proved quite harmless, except for the labour involved in their refilling. Further on we came to another, now half filled from a spouting pipe with ground quartz blown from some remote subterranean mine, so to keep up the wastage from wind and bombing. Again we approached the edge of the city and this time found more of interest, for here an addition to the city was under construction. It was but a single prism, not a hundred metres across, which, when completed, would add but another block to the city's area. Already the outer pillars reached the full height and supported the temporary roof that offered at least a partial protection to the work in progress beneath. Though I watched but a few minutes I was awed with the evident rapidity of the building. Dimly I could see the forms below being swung into place with a clock-like regularity and from numerous spouts, great streams of concrete poured like flowing lava. It is at these building sections that the bombs were aimed, and here alone that any effectual damage could be done, but the target was a small one for a plane flying above the reach of the German guns. The officer who guarded our group explained this to us. These bombing raids were conducted only at times of particular cloud formations, when the veil of mist hung thick and low in an even stratum above which the air was clear. When such formation threatened the roof of Berlin was cleared and the unexpected bombs fell and spent their fury blowing up the sand. It had been a feudal warfare for the means of defence were equal to the means of offense. Our visit to the roof of Berlin was cut short as the sun rose higher, because the women, though they had dawned gloves and veils, were fearful of sunburn. So we were led back to the covered ramp into the endless night of the city. Have we seen it all? sighed Marguerite, as she removed her veil and glasses engaged back blinkingly into the last light of day. Hardly, I said, we have not seen cloud nor a drop of rain nor a flake of snow nor a flash of lightning nor heard appeal of thunder. Again she looked at me with worshipful adoration. I forget, she whispered, and can you vision those things also? But I only smiled and did not answer, for I saw Admiral von Kufner glaring at me. I had monopolised Marguerite's company for the entire occasion, and I was well aware that his only reason for arranging this, to him a meaningless excursion, had been in the hopes of being with her. Part 5 But Admiral von Kufner, contending fairly for that share of Marguerite's time which she deigned to grant him, seemed to bear me no malice, and as the months slipped by I was gratified to find him becoming more cordial toward me. We frequently met at the informal gatherings in the salon of the Countess Louise. More rarely Dr. Zimmer came there also, for by virtue of his office he was permitted the social rights of the royal level. I surmised, however, that this privilege, in his case, had not included the right to marry on the level, for though the head of the eugenic staff he had, so far as I could learn, neither wife nor children. But Dr. Zimmer did not seem to relish royal society, for when he chanced to be caught with me among the members of the royal house, the flow of his brilliant conversations was checked like a spring in a drought, and he usually took his departure as soon as it was seemingly. On one of these occasions Admiral von Kufner came in, as Zimmern sat chatting over cups and incense with Marguerite and me, and of the Countess and her son. The doctor dropped quietly out of the conversation, and for a time the youthful Count Ulrich entertained us with the technical elaboration of the importance of the love-passion as the dominant appeal of the picture. Then the Countess broke in with the spirited exposition of the relation of soul harmony to ardent passion. Admiral von Kufner listened with ill disguised impatience. But all this erotic passion, he interrupted, will soon again be swept away by the revival of the greater race-passion for world rule. My dear Admiral, said the Countess Louise, your ideas of race passion are quite proper for the classes who must be denied the free play of the love element in their psychic life, but your notion of introducing these ideas into the life of the royal level is wholly antiquated. It is you who are antiquated, returned the Admiral, for now the day is at hand when we shall again taste of danger, his Majesty has. Of course his Majesty is told to set the days at hand, interrupted the Countess. Has not his Majesty always preserved this allegorical fable? It is part of the formal culture. But his Majesty now speaks the truth, replied the Admiral gravely. And I say to you who are so absorbed with the light-passions of art and love, that we shall not only taste of danger, but will fight again in the sea and air and on the ground in the outer world, we shall conquer and rule the world. And do you think Admiral, inquired Marguerite, that the German people will then be free in the outer world? They will be free to rule the outer world, replied the Admiral. But I mean, said Marguerite calmly, to ask if they will be free again, to love and marry and rear their own children. At this naive question the others exchanged significant glances. My dear child, said the Countess, blushing with embarrassment, your defective training makes it extremely difficult for you to understand these things. Of course it is all forbidden, spoke up the young Count, but now, if it were not, the Princess Marguerite's unique idea would certainly make capital picture material. How clever! cried the Countess, beaming on her intellectual son. Nothing is forbidden for plot material for the royal level. You shall make a picture showing those great beasts of labour again liberated for unrestricted love. There is one difficulty, Count Rudolph considered. How could we get actors for the parts? Our thoroughbred actors are all too light of bone, too delicate of motion, and our actresses bred for tainty beauty would hardly cast well for those great hoaking round-faced labour mothers. Then remarked the Admiral, if you must make picture plays, why not one of the mating of German soldiers, with the women of the inferior races? Wonderful! exclaimed the plot-maker. And practical also, our actresses are the exact counterpart of those passionate French beauties I often study their portraits in the old galleries. They've had no eugenics, hence they would be unchanged. Is it not so, doctor? Without eugenics a race changes with exceeding slowness. Answered Zimmern in a voice devoid of expression. I should say that the French women of today would much resemble their ancestral types. But picturing such matings of military necessity would be very disgusting. Reprimanded the Countess. It will be a very necessary part of the coming day of German Dominion. Stated the Admiral. How else can we expect to rule the world? It is indeed part of the ordained plan. But how? I questioned. Is such a plan to be executed? Would the men of the world state tolerate it? We will oblige them to tolerate it. The children of the next generation of the inferior races must be born of German sires. But the Germans are outnumbered ten to one, I replied. Polygamy will take care of that. Among the white races, the coloured races must be eliminated. All breeding of the coloured races must cease. That also is part of the ordained plan. The conversation was getting on rather dangerous ground for me, as I realised that I dare not show too great surprise at this talk, which of all things I had heard in Germany was the most preposterous. But Marguerite made no effort to disguise her astonishment. I thought, she said, that the German rule of the world was only a plan for military victory and the conquering of the world government. I suppose the people would be left free to live their personal lives as they desired. That was the old idea, replied the Admiral, in the days of open war, before the possibilities of eugenic science were fully realised. But the ordained plan revealed to his majesty requires not only the military and political rule by the Germans, but the biologic conquest of the inferior races by German blood. I think our German system of scientific breeding is very brutal, spoke up Marguerite, with an intensity of feeling quite out of keeping with the cowest manner in which the older members of the royal house discussed the subject. The Admiral turned to her with a gracious air. My lovely maiden, he said, your youth quite excuses your idealistic sentiments. You need only to remember that you are a daughter of the House of Hohenzollern. The women of this house are privileged always to cultivate and cherish the beautiful sentiments of romantic love and individual maternity. The protected seclusion of the royal level exists, that such love may bloom untarnished by the grosser affairs of world necessity. It was so ordained. It was so ordained by men, replied Marguerite defiantly. And what are these privileges, while the German women are prostituted on the free level, or forced to bear children only to lose them, and while you plan to enforce other women of the world into polygamous union with a conquering race? My dear child, said the Countess, you must not speak in this wild fashion. We women of the royal house must fully realise our privileges, and as for the Admiral's wonderful tale of world conquest, that is only his latest hobby, it is talked of course of military circles, but the defence of war is so dull, you know, especially for the royal officers, that they must have something to occupy their minds. When the day arrives, snapped the Admiral, you will find the royal officers leading the Germans to victory like Attila and William the Great himself. Then why, twitted the Countess, do you not board one of your submarines and go forth to battle in the sea? I am not courting unnecessary danger, retorted the Admiral, but I am not dead to the realities of war. My apartments are directly connected with the roof. So you can hear the bomb explosions? Suggested the Countess. And why not? snapped the Admiral. We must prepare for danger. But you have not been bred for danger, scoffed the Countess. Perhaps you would do well to have your reactions to fear tested out in the psychic laboratories. If you should pass the test, you might be elected as a father of soldiers, it would sure they set a good example to our imping cune as Hohenzollern bachelors, for whom there are no wives. The young Count evidently did not comprehend his mother's spirit of railery. Has that not been tried? he asked, turning toward Dr. Zimmern. It has, stated the eugenist, more than a hundred years ago, there was once an entire regiment of such Hohenzollern soldiers in the Bavarian minds. And how did they turn out? I asked. My curiosity tempting me into indiscretion. They mutiny didn't murder their officers and then held an election. Zimmern paused, and I caught his eye which seemed to say, we have gone too far with this. Yes, and what happened? queried the Countess. They all voted for themselves as Colonel. Replied the Doctor dryly. At this I looked for an outburst of indignation from the Orthodox admiral, but instead he seemed greatly elated. Of course, he enthused. The blood breathes true. It verily has the quality of true divinity. No wonder we supermen repudiated that spineless conception of the soft Christian God and the servile Jewish Jesus. But Jesus was not a coward, spoke up Marguerite. I've read the story of his life. It's very wonderful. He was a brave man who met his death unflinchingly. But where did you read it? asked the Countess. It must be very new. I tried to keep up on the late novels, but I never heard of this story of Jesus. What she says true, said the admiral, turning to Marguerite. But since you like to read so well, you should get Professor Ullins Lager's book and learn the explanation of the fact that you have just stated. We have long known that all those great men, whom the inferior races claim as their geniuses, are of truth, of German blood. And that the fighting quality of the outer races is due to the German blood that was scattered by our early emigrations. But the distinctive contribution that Professor Ullins Lager makes to these long-established facts is in regard to the parentage of this man Jesus. In the Jewish accounts, which the Christians accepted, the truth was crudely covered up with the most unscientific fable, which credited the paternity of Jesus to miraculous interference with the laws of nature. But now the truth comes out by Professor Ullins Lager's erudite reasoning. This unknown father of Jesus was an adventurer from Central Asia, a man of Teutonic blood. Of no other conception can the mixed elements in the character of Jesus be explained. His was the case of a dual personality of conflicting inheritance. One day he would say, Lay up for yourselves treasures. That was the Jewish blood speaking. The next day he would say, I come to bring a sword. That was the noble German blood of a Teutonic ancestor. It is logical it must be true, for it was reasoned out by one of our most rational professors. The Countess yawned. Marguerite sat silent with troubled brows. Dr. Ludwig Zimmern gazed abstractedly toward the cold electric imitation of a fire, above which on a mantle stood two casts, diminutive reproductions of the figures beside the door of the Emperor's palace. The one, the likeness of William the Great, the other the statue of the German God. But I was thinking of the news I had heard that afternoon from my oar chief, that Captain Grobbel's vessel had returned to Berlin. One anxious to renew my acquaintance with Captain Grobbel at the earliest opportunity, I sent my social secretary to invite him to meet me for a dinner engagement in one of the popular halls of the Free Level. When I reached the dining hall, I found Captain Grobbel awaiting me, but he was not alone. Seated with him were two girls, and so strange a picture of contrast I had never seen. The girl on his right was an extreme example of the prevailing blonde type. Her pinkish-white skin seemed transparent, her eyes were the palest blue, and her hair was bright yet pale gold. About her neck was a chain of blue stones, linked with platinum. She was dressed in a modelled gown of light blue and gold, and so subtly blended were the colors, that she and her gown seemed to be part of the same created thing. But on Grobbel's left sat a woman whose gown was flashing crimson slashed with jetty black. Her skin was white, with a positive whiteness of rare marble, and her cheeks and lips flamed with blood's own red. The sheen of her hair was that of a raven's wing, and her eyes scintillated with the blackness of polished jade. The pale girl, whom Grobbel introduced as Elsa, languidly reached up her pink fingers for me to kiss, and then sank back, eyeing me with mild curiosity. But as I now turned to be presented to the other, I saw the black-eyed beauty shrink and cower in an uncanny terror. Grobbel again repeated my name, and then the name of the girl, and I too started in fear, for the name he pronounced was Katrina, and there flashed before my vision the page from the diary that I had first read in the dank chamber of the potash mine. In my memory's vision the words flamed and shouted, in no other woman have I seen such a blackness of hair and eyes, combined with such a whiteness of skin. The girl before me gave no sign of recognition, but only gripped the table and pierced me with the stare of her beady eyes. Nervously I sank into a seat. Grobbel, standing over the girl, looked down at her in angry amazement. What hails you? he said roughly, shaking her by the shoulder. But the girl did not answer him, and annoyed and bewildered he sat down. For some moments no one spoke, and even the pale Elsa leaned forward and seemed to quiver with excitement. Then the girl, Katrina, slowly rose from her chair. Who are you? she demanded, in a hoarse, guttural voice, still gazing at me with terrified eyes. I did not answer, and Grobbel again reached over and gripped the girl's arm. I told you who he was, he said. He is hair-carve on arm-stot of the chemical staff. But the girl did not sit down and continued to stare at me. Then she raised a trembling hand and, pointing an accusing finger at me, she cried in a piercing voice. You are not, Carl, arm-stot! But an imposter posing as Carl, arm-stot! We were located in a well-filled dancing cafe, and the tragic voice of the accuser brought a crowd of curious people about our table. Captain Grobbel waved them back, as they pushed forward again, a street guard elbowed in, brandishing his aluminum club, and asking the cause of the commotion. The bystanders indicated Katrina and the guard, edging up, gripped her arm, and demanded an explanation. Katrina repeated her accusation. Evidently, suggested Grobbel, she has known another man of the same name, and meeting her on arm-stot has recalled some tragic memory. Perhaps, said the guard politely, if the gentleman would show the young lady his identification folder she would be convinced of her error. For a moment I hesitated, realizing full well what an inquiry might reveal. No, I said, I did not feel that it is necessary. He is afraid to show it! screamed the girl. I tell you, he is trying to pass for arm-stot, but he is someone else. He looks like Carl Armstot, and at first I thought he was Carl Armstot, but I know he's not. I looked swiftly at the surrounding faces and saw upon them suspicion and accusation. There may be something wrong, said a man in a military uniform, otherwise why should the gentleman of the staff hesitate to show his folder? Very well, I said, pulling out my folder. The guard glanced at it. It seems to be all right, he said, addressing the group about the table. Now will you kindly resume your seats and not embarrass these gentlemen with your idle curiosity? Let me see the folder! cried Katrina. Pardon, said the guard to me, but I see no harm, and he handed her the folder. She glanced over it with feverish haste. Are you satisfied now? questioned the guard. Yes, hissed the black-eyed girl. I am satisfied that this is Carl Armstot's folder. I know every word of it, but I tell you that the man who carries it now is not the real Carl Armstot. And then she wheeled upon me and screamed, You are not Carl Armstot! Carl Armstot is dead, and you have murdered him! In an instant the cafe was in an uproar. Men in a hundred types of uniforms crowded forward, small women rainbow-garbed stood on the chairs and peered over taller heads of ponderous sisters of the labour-cast. Grobble again waved back the crowd, and the guard brandished his club threateningly toward some of the more inquisitive daughters of labour. When the crowd had fallen back to a more respectful distance, the guard recovered my identification folder from Katrina and returned it to me. Perhaps, he said, you have known the young lady, and do not again care to renew the acquaintance. If so, with your permission I shall take her where she will not trouble you again this evening. That may be best, I replied, wondering how I could explain the affair to Captain Grobble. The incident is most unfortunate, said the Captain, evidently a little meddled. But I think this rude force unnecessary. I know Katrina well, but I did not know she had previously known her of Hon Armstot. This being the case and he seeming not to wish to renew the acquaintance, I suggest that she leave of her own accord. But Katrina was not to be so easily dismissed. No, she retorted, I will not leave until this man tells me how he came by that identification folder and what became of the man I loved whom he now represents himself to be. At these words the guard, who had been about to leave, turned back. I glanced apprehensively at Grobble, who, seeing that I was grievously wrought up over the affair, said quietly to the officer, you had best take her away. Katrina, with a black look of hatred at Grobble, went without further words, and the curious crowd quickly melted away. The three of us who remained at the table resumed our seats, and I ordered dinner. My, how Katrina frightened me! exclaimed the fragile Elsa. She does have temper, admitted Grobble. Odd, though, that she would conceive the idea that she were someone else. I have heard of all sorts of plans of revenge for disappointments in love. But that is a new one. You really know her? questioned Elsa, turning her pale eyes upon me. Oh, yes, I once knew her. I replied, trying to seem unconcerned. But I did not recognize her at first. You mean you didn't care to? smiled Grobble. Once a man has known that woman, he would hardly forget her. But you must have had a very emotional affair with her, said Elsa. To make her take on like that, do tell us about it. I would rather not. There are some things one wishes to forget. Grobble chided his dainty companion for her prying curiosity, and tried to turn the conversation into less personal channels. But Elsa's appetite for romance had been wetted, and she kept reverting to the subject while I worried along, trying to dismiss the matter. But the ending of the affair was not to be left in my hands, as we were sitting about our empty cups we saw Katrina re-enter the cafe in company with a high official of the level and the guard who had taken her away. I am sorry to disturb you, said the official, addressing me courteously. But this girl is very insistent in her accusation, and perhaps if you will aid us in the matter, it may prevent her making further charges that might annoy you. And what do you wish me to do? I suggest only that you should come to my office. I have telephoned to have the records looked up, and that should satisfy all and so end the matter. You might come also, added the official, turning to grovel, but he waved back the curious Elsa who was eager to follow. When we reached his office in the place of records, the official who had brought us thither turned to a man at a desk. You have received the data on missing men, he inquired. The other handed him a sheet of paper. The official turned to Katrina. Will you state again, please, the time that you say the Carl Armstrong you knew disappeared. Katrina quite accurately named the date at which the man whose identity I had assumed had been called to the potash mines. Very well, said the official, taking up the sheet of paper. Here we have the list of missing men for four years, compiled from the Weyer's records. There is not recorded here the disappearance of a single chemist during the whole period. If another man than a chemist should try to step into a chemist's shoes, he would have a rather difficult time of it. The official laughed as if he thought himself very clever. But that man is not Carl Armstrong, cried Katrina in a wavering voice. Do you think I would not know him whenever a night for— Shut up, said the official, and get out of here. And if I hear anything more of this matter I shall subtract your credit. Katrina now whimpering was led from the room. The official beamed upon Captain Grobbel and myself. Do you see, he said, how perfectly our records take care of these crazy accusations. The black-haired one is evidently touched in the head with jealousy, and now that she has chanced upon you she makes up this preposterous story, which might cause you no end of annoyance. But here we have the absolute refutation of the charge. Before a man can step into another man's shoes, he must step out of his own. Murdered bodies can be destroyed, although that is difficult, but one man cannot be two men. We left the official chuckling over his cleverness. The keeper of records was wise after his kind, mused Grobbel, but it never occurred to him that there might be chemists in the world who are not registered in the card-files of Berlin. Grobbel's voice sounded a note of aloofness and suspicion, had he penetrated my secret? Did I dare make full confession? Had Grobbel given me the least encouragement I should have done so, but he seemed to wish to avoid further discussion, and I feared to risk it. My hope of a fuller understanding with Grobbel seemed destroyed, and we soon separated without further confidences. When I returned home from my office as one evening some days later, my secretary announced that a visitor was awaiting me. I entered the reception room and found Hopeneck, who had been my chemical assistant in the early days of my work in Berlin. Hopeneck had seemed to me a servile, fawning fellow, and when I received my first promotion I had deserted him quite brutally, for the very excellent reason that he had known the other arm-stocked, and I feared that his dulled intelligence might, at any time, be aroused to penetrate my disguise. That he should look me up in my advancement and prosperity, doubtless to beg some favour, seemed plausible enough, and therefore with an air of corn descending patronage I asked what I could do for him. It is about Katrina, he said haltingly, as he eyed me curiously. Well, what about her? She wants me to bring you to her. But suppose I do not choose to go. Then there may be trouble. She has already tried to make trouble, I said, but nothing came of it. But that, said Hopeneck, was before she saw me, and what have you told her? I told her about arm-stots going to the mines and you coming back to the hospital wearing his clothes and possessing his folder and of your being out of your memory. You mean—I replied—determined not to acknowledge his assumption of my other identity. That you explained to her how the illness had changed me, and did not that make clear to her why she did not recognise me at first. There is no use, insisted Hopeneck. Of your talking like that, I never could quite make up my mind about you, though I always knew there was something wrong. At first I believed the doctor's story, and that you were really arm-stot, though it did seem like a sort of magic, the way you were changed. But when you came to the laboratory and I saw you work, I decided that you were somebody else, and that the chemical staff was working on some great secret, and had a reason for putting someone else in arm-stots place. And now, of course, I know very well that that was so, for the other coral arm-stot would never have become a vaun of the royal level. He didn't have that much brains. As Hopeneck was speaking, I had been thinking rapidly. The thing I feared was that the affair of the mine and hospital should be investigated by someone with intelligence and authority, since Katrina had learned of that, and this Hopeneck was also aware that I was a man of unknown identity. It was very evident that they might set some serious investigation going, but the man's own remarks suggested a way out. You are quite right, Hopeneck, I said. I am not coral arm-stot, and, just as you have surmised, there were grave reasons why I should have been put into his place under those peculiar circumstances. But this matter is a state secret of the chemical staff, and you will do well to say nothing about it. Now, is there anything I can do for you? A promotion, perhaps, to a good position in the podium works. No, said Hopeneck, I would rather stay where I am. But I could use a little extra money. Of course, a check, perhaps, a little gift from an old friend who has risen to power. There would be no difficulty in that, would there? I think it would go through all right. I will make it now, say, five thousand marks, and if nothing more is said of this matter, by you or Katrina there will be another one like it a year later. The young man's eyes gloated as I wrote the check, which he pocketed with greedy satisfaction. Now, I said, will this end the affair for the present? This makes it all right with me, replied Hopeneck. But what about Katrina? But you are to take care of her. She can only accept two hundred marks a month, and I have given you enough for that four times over. But she doesn't want money. She already has a full list. Then what does she want? Jewels, of course. They all want them. Jewels from the royal level, and she knows you can get them for her. Oh, I see. Well, what would please her? A necklace of rubies the best they have, one that will cost at least twenty thousand marks. That's rather expensive, is it not? But her favourite lover disappeared, fenced Hopeneck, and his death was never entered on the records. It may be the chemical staff knows what became of him, and maybe they do not. Whatever happened, you seem to want to keep still. So you'd best get the necklace. After a little further arguing that revealed nothing, I went to the royal level, and searching out a jewelry shop, I purchased a necklace of very beautiful synthetic rubies, for which I gave my check for twenty thousand marks. Returning to my apartment, I found Hopeneck still waiting. He insisted on taking the necklace to Katrina, but I feared to trust a man who accepted bribes so shamelessly, and decided to go with him and deliver it in person. Solonely, Hopeneck led the way to her apartment. Katrina, sensuously gowned and flaming red, was awaiting the outcome of her blackmailing venture. She motioned me to a chair near her, while Hopeneck, utterly ignored, sank up scarily into a corner. So you came, said the lady of black and scarlet, leaning back among her pillows, and gazing at me through half-closed eyes. Yes, I said. Since you have looked up Hopeneck, and he has explained to you the reason for the disappearance of the man you knew, I thought best to see you and have an understanding. But that dumb fellow explained nothing, declared Katrina, except that he told me that Armstott went to the mines and you came back and took his place. He wasn't even sure you were not the other Carl Armstott until I convinced him, and then he claimed that he had known it all the time. And yet he had never told it. Some men are as dull as books. On the contrary, Hopeneck is very sensible, I replied. It is a grave affair of state, and one that it is best not to probe into. And just what did become of the other Armstott? asked Katrina, and in her voice was only a curiosity, with no real concern. To tell you the truth your lover was killed in the mine explosion, I replied, for I thought it unwise to state that he was still alive, lest she pursue her inquiries for him, and so make further trouble. That is too bad, said Katrina. You see, when I knew him, he was only a chemical captain, and when he deserted me I didn't really care much. But when the royal captain grobble asked me to meet Carl von Armstott of the chemical staff, at first I could not believe that it was the same man I had known, but I made inquiries and learned of your rapid rise, and traced it back, and I thought you really were my old Carl. And when I saw you, you seemed to be he, but when I looked again I knew that you were another. I was so disappointed and angry that I lost control of my temper. I am sorry I made a scene, and that official was so stupid, as if I would not know one man from another. How I should like to tell him that I knew more than his stupid records. But that is not best, I said. Your former lover is dead, and there are grave reasons why that death should not be investigated further. The argument was becoming a little difficult for me, and I hasten to add, since you were so discourteously treated by the official, I feel that I owe you some little token of reparation. I now drew out the necklace and held it out to the girl. Her black eyes gleamed with triumph at the sight of the bobble. Greedily she grasped it, and held it up between her and the light, turning it about and watching the red rays gleaming through the stones. And now, she gloated, that faded Elsa will cease to lord it over me, and to think that another Carl Armstott has brought me this. Why, that's didn't she fellow would never have bought me a blue-stone ring, if he had been made the Emperor's Minister. Katrina now rose and preened before her mare, want to place it around my neck. She asked, holding out the necklace. Not daring to give a fence, I took the chain of rubies and attempted to fasten it round her neck. The mechanism of the fastening was strange to me, and I was some time in getting the thing adjusted. Just as I had succeeded in hooking the clasp, I heard a curdled oath. And the neglected hoak-necked hurled himself upon us, striking me on the temple with one vest and clutching at the throat of the girl with the other hand. The blows sent me reeling to the floor, but in another instant I was up, and had collared him and dragged him away. Damn you both! he whimpered. Where do I come in? Put him out! said Katrina, with a glance of disdain at the cowering man. I will go! snarled hoak-necked, and he wrenched from my grasp and darted toward the door. I followed, but he was fairly running down the passage, and pursuit was too undignified a thing to consider. You should have paid him, said Katrina, for delivering my message. I have paid him, I replied, I paid him very well. I wonder if he thought, she laughed, that I would pay any attention to a man of his petty rank, why I snubbed him unmercifully years ago when the other armstot had the audacity to introduce me. Of course, I replied, he does not understand. And now, as I resumed my seat, I began puzzling my brain as to how I could get away without giving offence to the second member of my pair of blackmailers. But a little later I managed it, as it has been managed for centuries, by looking suddenly at my watch and recalling a forgotten appointment. You will come again, purred Katrina. Of course, I said, I must come again for you are very charming, but I am afraid it will not be for some time, as I have very important duties, and just at present my leisure is exceedingly limited. And so I made my escape, and hastened home. After debating the question pro and con, I typed a note to Hognect in which I assured him that I had not the least interest in Katrina. Perhaps, I wrote, when she has tired a bit of the necklace, she would appreciate something else. But it would not be wise to hurry this. But if you will call around in a month or so, I think I can arrange for you to get her something and present it yourself, as I do not care to see her again.