 Chapter 6 Parts 1 through 4 In which I learned that competition is still the life of the oldest trade in the world. Part 1 When I told Dr. Zimmern that I should solve the problem of the increase of the supply of proteam, I may have been guilty of speaking of hopes as if there were certainties. My optimism was based on the discovery that the exact chemical state of the proteam in the ore was unknown, and that it did not exist equally in all samples of the ore. After some further months of labour I succeeded in determining the exact chemical ingredients of the ore, and from this I worked rapidly toward a new process of extraction that would greatly increase the total yield of the precious element. But this fact I kept from my assistants, whose work I directed to futile researchers, while I worked alone after hours in following up the lead I had discovered. During the progress of this work I was not always in the laboratory. I had become a not infrequent visitor to the level of the free women. The continuous carnival of amusement had an attraction for me, as it must have had for any tired and lonely man, but it was not merely the lure of sensuous pleasures that appealed to me, for I was also fascinated with the deeper and more tragic aspect of life beneath the gaudy surface of hectic joy. From generalities I had picked up from observation and chance conversations. As a primary essential to life on the level I had quickly learned that money was needed, and my checkbook was in frequent demand. The bank provided an aluminum currency for the pettier needs of the recreational life, but neither the checks nor the currency had had value on other levels, since there all necessities were supplied without cost, and luxuries were unobtainable. This strange retention of money circulation and general freedom of personal conduct, exclusively on the free level puzzled me. Thus I found that food and drink were available here for a price, a seeming contradiction to the strict limitations of the diet served me at my own quarters. At first it seemed I had discovered a way to defeat that limitation, but there was the wayer to be considered. It was a queer ensemble, this life in the Black Utopia of Berlin, a combination of a world of rigid mechanistic automatism in the regular routine of living, with rioting individual license in recreational pleasure. The free level seemed some ancient Baghdad, some bourbon court, some Monte Carlo set here, an oasis of flourishing vise in a desert of sterile law-made machine-executed efficiency and puritanically ordered life, aided by a hundred ingenious wheels and games of chance. Men and women gambled with the coin and credit of the level. These games were presided over by crafty women whose years were too advanced to permit of a more personal means of extracting a living from the grosser passions of man. Some of these aged dames were, I found, quite highly regarded, and their establishments had become the rendezvous for many younger women, who, by some arrangement that I could not fathom, plied their traffic in commercialized love under the guidance of these subtler women, who had graduated from the school of long experience in preying upon man. But only the more brilliant women could so establish themselves for the years of their decline. There were others, many others, whose beauty had faded without an increase in wit, and these seemed to be serving their more fortunate sisters, both old and young, in various menial capacities. It was a strange anachronism in this world where men's more weighty affairs had been so perfectly socialized, to find woman retaining evidently by men's permission the individualistic right to exploit her weaker sister. The think-on founded me, and yet I recalled the well-known views of our sociological historians, who held that it was woman's greater individualism that had checked the socialistic tendencies of the world. Had the Germans then achieved and maintained their rigid socialistic order by retaining this incongruous vestige of feminine commercialism as a safety valve for the individualistic instincts of the race, they called it the free level, and I marveled at the nature of this freedom, freedom for licentiousness, for the getting and losing of money at the wheels of fortune, freedom for temporary gluttony, and the mild intoxication of their flat, ill-flavoured synthetic beer, a tragic symbol, it seemed to me, of the ignobility of man's nature, that he will be a slave in all the loftier aspects of living, if he can but retain his freedom for his vices and corruptions. Had the Germans then, like the villain of the moral play, a necessary part in the tragedy of man, did they exist to show the other races of the earth, the way they should not go, but the philosophy of this conception collapsed, when I recalled that for more than a century the world had lost all sight of the villain, and yet had not in the least deteriorated from a lack of the horrible example, from these vaguer speculations concerning the free level of Berlin, that existed like a malformed vestigial organ in the body of that socialised state, my mind came back to the more human, more personal side of the problem thus presented to me, I wanted to know more of the lives of these women, who maintained Germany's remnant of individualism, to what extent I asked myself, have the true instincts of womanhood and the normal love of man and child, been smothered out of the lives of these girls, what secret rebellions are they nursing in their hearts, I wondered too, from what source they came, and why they were selected for this life, for Zimmern had not adequately enlightened me on this point, pondering thus on the secret workings in the hearts of these girls, I sat one evening amid the sensuous beauty of the hall of flowers, I marveled at how little the Germans seemed to appreciate it, for it was far less crowded than were the more tawd replaces of revelry, here, within glass encircling walls, preserved it through centuries of artificial existence, feeding from pots of synthetic soil, and stimulated by perpetual light, marvellous botanical creations, flourished and flowered in prodigal profusion, ponderous warm-hewed lilies floated on the sprinkled surface of the fountain pool, orchids dangling from the metal lattice hung their sensuous blossoms in vapour-laden air, luxurious vines climatised to this unreal world clambered over cosy arbours, or clung with gripping fingers to the mossy concrete pillars. PART II I was sitting thus in moody silence watching the play of the fountain, when through the mist I saw the lonely figure of a girl standing in the shadows of a viney bower, she was toying idly with the swaying tendrils, her hair was the unfaded gold of youth, her pale dress of silvery grey, unmarred by any clash of colour, hung closely about a form of wraith-like slenderness. I arose and walked slowly toward her. As I approached she turned toward me a face of flawless girlish beauty, and then as quickly turned away as if seeking a means of escape. I did not mean to intrude, I said. She did not answer, but when I turned to go to my surprise, she stepped forward and walked at my side. Why do you come here alone? she asked, shyly, lifting a pensive questioning face. Because I am tired of all this tawdry noise. But you, I said, surely you are not tired of it, you cannot have been here long. No, she replied, I have not, only thirty days, and her blue eyes gleamed with childish pride, and that is why you seem so different from them all. Timidly she placed her hand upon my arm. So you, she said gratefully, you understand that I am not like them, that is, not yet. You do not act like them, I replied, and what is more you act as if you did not want to be like them. It surely cannot be merely that you are new here. The other girls, when they come, seem so eager for this life, to which they have long been trained. Were you not trained for it also? Yes, she admitted. They tried to train me for it, but they could not kill my artist soul, for I was not like these others, born of a strain wherein women can only be mothers, or if rejected for that, come here. I was born to be a musician, a group where women may be something more than mere females. Then why are you here? I asked. Because, she faltered, my voice was imperfect. I have, you see, the soul of an artist, but lack the physical means to give that soul expression, and so they transferred me to the school for free women, where I have been courted by the young men of the royal house. But of course you understand all that. Yes, I said. I know something of it, but my work has always so absorbed me, that I have not had time to think of these matters. In fact, I come to the free level much less than most men. For a moment it seemed her eyes hardened in cunning suspicion, but as I returned her intent gaze I could fathom only the doubts and fears of childish innocence. Play, is that a sit-down? I said. It is so beautiful here, and then tell me all about yourself, how you have lived your childhood, and what your problems are. It may be that I can help you. There is not much to tell. She sighed, as she seated herself beside me. I was only eight years old when the musical examiners condemned my voice, and so I do not remember much about the music school. In the other school where they trained girls for the life on the free level, they taught us dancing, and how to be beautiful. And always they told us that we must learn these things, so that the men would love us. But the only men we ever saw were the doctors. They were always old and serious, and I could not understand how I could ever love men. But our teachers would tell us that the other men would be different. They would be handsome, and young, and would dance with us, and bring us fine presents. If we were pleasing in their sight, they would take us away, and we should each have an apartment of our own, and many dresses with beautiful colours, and there would be a whole level full of wonderful things, and we could go about as be pleased, and dance, and feast, and all life would be love, and joy, and laughter. Then on the great day, when we had our first individual dresses, four before we had always worn uniforms, the men came. There were young military officers and members of the royal house, who are permitted to select girls for their own exclusive love. We were all very shy at first, but many of the girls made friends with the men, and some of them went away that first day, and after that the men came as often as they liked, and I learned to dance with them, and they made love to me, and told me I was very beautiful. Yet somehow I did not want to go with them. We had been told that we would love the men who loved us. I don't know why, but I didn't love any of them, and so the two years passed and they told me I must come here alone. And so here I am, and now that you are here, I said, have you not among all these men found one that you could love? No, she said with a tremour in her voice, but they say I must. And how, I asked, do they enforce that rule? Does anyone require you to accept the men? Yes, she replied, I must do that, or starve. And how do you live now? I asked. They gave me money when I came here, a hundred marks, and they make me pay to eat, and when my money is gone I cannot eat unless I get more, and the men have all the money, and they pay. They have offered to pay me, but I refuse to take their checks, and they think me stupid. The childlike explanation of her lot touched the strings of my heart. And how long, I asked, is this money that has given you when you come here supposed to last? Not more than twenty days, she answered. But you, I said, have been here thirty days. She looked at me and smiled proudly. But I, she said, only eat one meal a day. Do you not see how thin I am? The realisation that anyone in this scientifically fed city could be hungry was to me appalling, yet here was a girl living amidst luxurious beauty upon whom society was using the old argument of hunger to force her acceptance of the love of man. I rose and held up my hand. You shall eat again today, I said. I would rather not, she demurred. I have not yet accepted favours from any man. But you must, you are hungry. I protested. The problem of your existence here cannot be put off much longer. We will go eat, and then we will try and find some solution. Without further objection she walked with me. We found a secluded booth in a dining-hall. I ordered the best dinner that Berlin had to offer. During the intervals of silence in our rather halting dinner conversation I wrestled with the situation. I had desired to gain insight into the lives of these girls, yet now that the opportunity was presented I did not altogether relish the role in which it placed me. The apparent innocence of the confiding girl seemed to open an easy way for a personal conquest. And yet, perhaps because it was so obvious and easy, I rebelled at the unfairness of it. To rescue her, to aid her to escape. In a free world one might have considered these more obvious moves, but here there was no place for her to escape to, no higher social justice to which appeal could be made. Either I must accept her as a personal responsibility, with what that might involve, or desert her to her fate. Both seem cowardly, yet such were the horns of the dilemma, and a choice must be made. Here at least was an opportunity to make use of the funds that lay in the bank to the credit of the name I bore, and for which I had found so little use. So I decided to offer her money, and to insist that it was not offered as the purchase price of love. You must let me help you, I said. You must let me give you money. But I do not want your money, she replied. It would only postpone my troubles. Even if I do accept your money I would have to accept money from other men also, for you cannot pay for the whole of a woman's living. Why not?" I asked. Does any rule forbid it? No rule, but can so young a man as you afford it? How much does it take for you to live here? About five marks a day. I glanced rather proudly at my insignia as a research chemist of the first rank. Do you know, I asked, how much income that insignia carries? Well, no, she admitted. I know the income of military officers, but there are so many of the professional ranks in classes that I get all mixed up. That means, I said, ten thousand marks a year. So much as that, she exclaimed in astonishment. And I can live here on two hundred a month. But no, I did not mean that. You wouldn't, I couldn't let you give me so much. Much, I exclaimed. You may have five hundred if you need it. You make love very nicely," she replied with aloofness. But I am not making love, I protested. Then why do you say these things? Do you prefer someone else? If so, why waste your funds on me? No, no, I cried. It is not that, but you see, I want to tell you things, many things that you do not know. I want to see you often and talk to you. I want to bring you books to read, and ask for money. That is so you will not starve while you read my books and listen to me talk, but you are to remain mistress of your own heart and your own person. You see, I believe there are ways to win a woman's love far better than buying her cheap when she is starved into selling in this brutal fashion. She looked at me dubiously. You are either very queer, she said, or else very great liar. But I am neither, I protested, peaked that the girl in her innocence should yet brand me either mentally deficient or deceitful. It is impossible to make you understand me. I went on. And yet you must trust me. These other men, they approve the system under which you live. But I do not. I offer you money. I insist on your taking it, because there is no other way. But it is not to force you to accept me, but only to make it unnecessary for you to accept someone else. You have been very brave to stand out so long. You must accept my money now. But you need never accept me at all. And then she really want me. If I am to make love to you, I want to make love to a woman who is really free, a woman free to accept or reject love, not starved into accepting it in this so cold freedom. It's all very wonderful, she repeated, a minute ago I thought you deceitful, and now I want to believe you. I cannot stand out much longer, and what would be the use for just a few more days? There will be no need, I said gently, your courage has done its work well. It has saved you for yourself, and now, I continued, we will bind this bargain before you again decide me crazy. Taking out my cheque-book, I filled in a cheque for two hundred marks, payable to— To whom shall I make it payable? I asked. To Bertha, thirty-four R. six, she said, and thus I wrote it, cursing the prostituted science on the devils of autocracy that should give an innocent girl a number, like a convict in a jail, or a mare in a breeder's herd-book. And so I bought a German girl with a German cheque. Bought her because I saw no other way to save her from being lashed by starvation to the slave-block, and sold peace-meal to men in whom honour had not even died, but had been strangled before it was born. With my cheque neatly tucked in her bosom Bertha walked out of the café, clinging to my arm, and so passing unheeding through the throng of indifferent revelers, we came to her apartment. At the door I said, to-morrow night I come again, shall it be at the café, or here? Here, she whispered, away from them all. I stooped and kissed her hand, and then fled into the multitude. Part three I had promised Bertha that I would bring her books, but the narrow range of technical books permitted me were obviously unsuitable, nor did I feel that the unspeakably morbid novels available on the level of free women would serve my purpose of awakening the girl to more wholesome aspirations. In this emergency I decided to appeal to my friend Zimmern. Leaving the laboratory early I made my way toward his apartment, puzzling my brain as to what kind of a book I could ask for, that would be at once suitable to Bertha's childlike mind, and also be a volume which I could logically appear to wish to read myself. As I walked along the answer flashed into my mind. I would ask for a geography of the outer world. Happily I found Zimmern in. I've come to ask, I said, if you could loan me a book of description of the outer world, one with maps, one that tells all that is known of the land and seas and people. Oh yes! smiled Zimmern. You mean a geography. Your request, he continued, does me great honour, books telling the truth about the world without her very carefully guarded. I shall be pleased to get the geography for you at once. In fact I had already decided that when you came again I would take you with me to our little secret library. Germany is facing a great crisis, and I know no better way I can serve her than doing my part to help prepare as many as possible of our scientists, to cope with the impending problems. Unless you chemists subvert it, we shall all live to see this outer world, or die, that others may. Dr. Zimmern led the way to the elevator. We alighted on the level of free women. Instead of turning towards the halls of revelry, we took our course in the opposite direction, along the quiet streets among the apartments of the women. We turned into a narrow passageway, and Dr. Zimmern rang the bell at an apartment door. But after waiting a moment for an answer, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. I am sorry, Marguerite is out, he said, as he conducted me into a reception room. The walls were hung with seal-brown draperies. There were richly upholstered chairs and a divan piled high with fluffy pillows. In one corner stood a book case of burnished metal filigree. Zimmern waved his hand at the case with an expression of disdain. Only the conventional literature of the level to keep up appearances. He said, Our serious books are in here. And he thrust open the door of a room which was evidently a young lady's boudoir. Conscious of a profane intrusion, I followed Dr. Zimmern into the dainty dressing chamber. Stepping across the room, he pushed open a spacious wardrobe, and, thrusting aside a cleverly arranged shield of feminine apparel, he revealed upon some improvised shelves a library of perhaps a hundred volumes. He ran his hand fondly along the bindings. No other man of your age in Berlin, he said, has ever had access to such a complete fund of knowledge as is in this library. I hope the old doctor took for appreciation the smile that played upon my face as I contrasted his pitiful offering with the endless miles of book stacks in the libraries of the outer world, where I had spent so many of my earlier days. Our books are safer here, said Zimmern, for no one would suspect a girl on this level of being interested in serious reading. If perchance some inspector did think to perform his neglected duties we trust to him being content to glance over the few novels in the case outside, and not to pry into her wardrobe closet. There is still some risk, but that we must take, since there is no absolute privacy anywhere. We must trust to chance to hide them in the place least likely to be searched. And how, I asked, are these books accumulated? It's the result of years of effort, explained Zimmern. There are only a few of us who are in this secret group, but all have contributed to the collection, and we come here to secure the books that the others bring. We prefer to read them here, and so avoid the chance of being detected carrying forbidden books. There is no restriction on the collars a girl may have at her apartment, the authorities of the level are content to keep records owning of her monetary transactions, and that fact we take advantage of. Should a man's apartment on another level be so frequently visited by a group of men, an inquiry would be made. All this was interesting, but I inferred that I would again have opportunity to visit the library, and now I was impatient to keep my appointment with Bertha. Making an excuse for haste, I asked Zimmern to get the geography for me. The stiff back of the book had been removed, and Zimmern helped me adjust the limp volume beneath my waistcoat. I'm sorry you cannot remain and meet Marguerite tonight," he said as I stepped toward the door, but tomorrow morning I will arrange for you to meet Colonel Heller of the information staff, and Marguerite can be with us then. You may go directly to my booth in the cafe where you last dined with me. PART IV After a brief walk I came to Bertha's apartment, and nervously pressed the bell. She opened the door stealthily and peered out, then recognizing me, she flung it wide. I've brought you a book," I said as I entered, and not knowing what else to do, I went through the ridiculous operation of removing the geography from beneath my waistcoat. What a big book! exclaimed Bertha in amazement. However she did not open the geography but laid it on the table, and stood staring at me with her childlike blue eyes. Do you know, she said, that you are the first visitor I ever had in my apartment. May I show you about? As I followed her through the cosy ruins, I chafed to see the dainty luxury in which she was permitted to live, while being left to starve. The place was as well adapted to love-making as any other product of German science as adapted to its end. The walls were adorned with sensual prints, but happily I recalled that Bertha, having no education in the matter, was immune to the insult. Anticipating my coming she had ordered dinner, and this was presently delivered by a deaf and dumb mechanical servant, and we set it forth on the dainty dining table. Since the world was young I mused, woman and man had eaten a first meal together, with all the world shut out, and so we dined amid shy love and laughter in a tiny apartment in the heart of a city where millions of men never saw the face of a woman, and where millions of babies were born out of love by the cold degree of science, and this same science, bartering with licentious iniquity, had provided this refuge and permitted us to bar the door, and so we accepted our refuge and sanctified it with the purity that was within our own hearts. Such, at least, was my feeling at the time. And so we dined and cleared away and talked joyfully of nothing, as the evening wore on Bertha beside me upon the divan, snuggled contentedly against my shoulder, the nearness and warmth of her, and the innocence of her eyes, thrilled, yet maddened me. With fast-beating heart I realized that I, as well as Bertha, was in the group of circumstances against which rebellion was as futile as were thoughts of escape. There was no one to aid and no one to forbid or criticise. Whatever I might do to save her from the fate ordained for her would of necessity be worked out between us, unaided and unhampered by the ethics of civilisation as I had known it, in a freer, saner world. In offering Bertha money and coming to her apartment I had thrust myself between her and the crass venality of the men of her race, but I had now to wrestle with the problem that such action had involved. If I reasoned I could only reveal to her my true identity, the situation would be easier, for I could then tell her of the rules of the game of love in the world I had known. Until she knew of that world and its ideals, how could I expect her to understand my motives? How else could I strengthen her in the battle against our own impulses? And yet did I dare to confess to her that I was not a German? Would not deep-seated ideals of patriotism drilled into the mind of a child place me in danger of betrayal at her hands? Such a move might place my own life in jeopardy, and also destroy my opportunity of being of service to the world. Could I contrive the means of escape from Berlin with the knowledge I had gained? Small though the possibilities of such escape might be, it was too great a hope for me to risk for sentimental reasons, and could she be expected to believe so strange a tale? And so the temptation to confess that I was not Karlarmstadt passed, and with its passing I recalled the geography that I had gone to so much trouble to secure, and which still lay unopened upon the table. Here at least was something to get us away from the tumultuous consciousness of ourselves, and I reached for the volume and spread it open upon my knees. What a funny book! exclaimed Bertha, as she gazed at the round maps of the two hemispheres. Of what is that a picture? The world, I answered. She stared at me blankly. The royal world, she asked. No, no, I replied. The world outside the walls of Berlin. The world in the sun, exclaimed Bertha, on the roof where they fight the airplanes. A roof-guard officer, she paused and bit her lip. The world of the inferior races, I suggested, trying to find some common footing with her pettifly scant knowledge. The world underground, she said. Were the soldiers fighting the mines? Baffled in my efforts to define this world to her, I began turning the pages of the geography, while Bertha looked at the pictures in childlike wonder, and I tried as best I could to find simple explanations. Between the lines of my teaching I scanned, as it were, the true state of German ignorance. Despite the evident intended authoritativeness of the book, for it was marked, permitted to military staff officers, I found it amusingly full of erroneous conceptions of the true state of affairs in the outer world. This teaching of a childlike mind at the rudiments of knowledge was an amusing recreation, and so an hour passed pleasantly, yet I realized that this was an occupation of which I would soon tire, for it was not the amusement of teaching a child that I craved, but the companionship of a woman of intelligence. As we turned the last page I arose to take my departure. If I leave the book with you, I said, will you read it all very carefully, and then when I come again I will explain those things you cannot understand. But it is so big, I couldn't read it in a day, replied Bertha, as she looked at me appealingly. I steeled myself against that appeal, I wanted very much to get my mind back on my chemistry, and I wanted also to give her time to read, and ponder over the wonders of the great unknown world. Moreover I no longer felt so grievously concerned, for the calamity which had overshadowed her had been for the while removed, and I had too my own struggle to cherish her innocence, and that without the usual help extended by conventional society. So I made brave resolutions, and explained the urgency of my work, and insisted that I could not see her for five days. Hungrily she pleaded for a quicker return, and I stubbornly resisted the temptation. No, I insisted, not to-morrow, nor the next day, but I will come back in three days, at the same hour that I came to-night. Then taking her in my arms I kissed her in feverish haste, and tore myself from the enthralling lure of her presence. CHAPTER VI PART V When I reached the cafe the following evening to keep my appointment with Zimmerne, the waiter directed me to one of the small, enclosed booths. As I entered closing the door after me, I found myself confronting a young woman. "'Are you Colonel Armstott?' she asked, with a clear, vibrant voice. She smiled cordially as she gave me her hand. I am Marguerite. Dr. Zimmerne has gone to bring Colonel Heller, and he asked me to entertain you until his return. The friendly candour of this greeting swept away the grey walls of Berlin, and I seemed again face to face with a woman of my own people. She was a young woman of distinctive personality. Her features, though delicately moulded, bespoke intelligence and strength of character, that I had not hitherto seen in the women of Berlin. Framing her face was a luxuriant mass of wavy, brown hair, which fell loosely about her shoulders. Her slender figure was draped in a cape of deep blue, cellulose velvet. "'Dr. Zimmerne tells me,' I said, as I seated myself across the table from her, that you are a dear friend of his.' A swift light gleamed in her deep brown eyes. "'A very dear friend,' she said, feelingly, and then a shadow flitted across her face as she added, without him life for me would be unbearable here. "'And how long, if I may ask, have you been here?' "'About four years, four years and six days to be exact. I can keep count, you know, and she smiled whimsically, for I came on the day of my birth, the day I was sixteen. That is the same for all, is it not?' "'No one can come here before she is sixteen,' replied Marguerite, and all must come before they are eighteen.' "'But why did you come at the first opportunity?' I asked, as I mentally compared her confession, with that of Bertha, who had so courageously postponed, as long as she could, the day of surrender to this life of shamefully commercialised love. "'And why should I not come?' returned Marguerite. "'I had a chance to come, and I accepted it. Do you think life in the school for girls of forbidden birth is an enjoyable one? I wanted to press home the point of my argument, to proclaim my pride in Bertha's more heroic struggle with the system, for this girl with whom I now conversed was obviously a woman of superior intelligence, and it anchored me to know that she had so easily surrendered to the life, for which German society had ordained her. But I restrained my speech, for I realised that in criticising her way of life I would be criticising her obvious relation to Zimmern, and like all men I found myself inclined to be indulgent with the personal life of a man who was my friend. Moreover I perceived the presumptuousness of assuming a superior heir towards an established and accepted institution. Yet, strife as I might to be tolerant, I felt a growing antagonism toward this attractive and cultured girl who had surrendered without a struggle to a life that to me was a career of shame and who seemed quite content with her surrender. "'Do you like it here?' I asked, knowing that my question was stupid but anxious to avoid a painful gap in what was becoming for me a difficult conversation. Marguerite looked at me with a queer penetrating gaze. "'Do I like it here?' she repeated. "'Why should you ask, and how can I answer? Can I like it or not like it, when there was no choice for me? Can I push out the walls of Berlin?' and she thrust mockingly into the air with a delicately chiseled hand. It is a prison. All life is a prison.' "'Is a prison?' "'Yes,' I said. "'It is a prison, but life on this level is more joyful than on many others.' "'Holip curled and delicate scorn. For human men, of course. And I suppose it is for these women, too. Perhaps that is why I hate it so, because they do enjoy it. They do accept it. They sell their love for food and raiment and not one in all these millions seems to mind it.' "'In that,' I remarked, "'perhaps you are mistaken. I have not come here often as most men do, but I have found one other who, like you, rebels at the system, who in fact was starving because she would not sell her love. Marguerite flashed on me a look of pitying suspicion, as she asked, "'Have you gone to the place of records to look up this rebel against the sale of love?' A fire of resentment blazed up in me at this question. I did not know just what she meant by the place of records, but I felt that this woman, who spoke cynically of rebellion against the sale of love, and yet who had obviously sold her love to an old man, was in a position to discredit a weaker woman's nobler fight. "'What right?' I asked coldly. "'Have you to criticise another whom you do not know?' "'I'm sorry,' replied Marguerite. "'If I seemed quarrel with you when I was left here to entertain you, but it could not help it, it angers me to have you men be so fond of being deceived. Such easy prey to this threadbare story of the girl who claims she never came here, until forced to do so. But men love to believe it. The girls learn to use this story because it pays.' A surge of conflicting emotion swept through me, as I recalled the childlike innocence of Bertha, and compared it with the critical skepticism of this superior woman. It only goes to show, I thought, what such a system can do to destroy a woman's faith in the very existence of innocence and virtue. Marguerite did not speak. Her silence seemed to say, You do not understand, nor can I explain. I am simply here and so are you, and we have our secrets, which cannot be committed to words. With idle fingers she drummed lightly on the table. I watched those slender fingers, and the rhythmic play of the delicate muscles of the bare white arm that protruded from the rich folds of the blue velvet cape. When my gaze lifted to her face, her downcast eyes were shielded by long, curving lashes. High-arched, silken brows showed dark against a skin as fresh and free from chemist pigment, as the petal of a rose. An exultant rapture my heart within me cried that here was something fine of fibre, of fineness, which ran true to the depths of her soul. In my discovery of Bertha's innocence, and in my faith in her purity and courage, I had hoped to find relief from the spiritual loneliness that had grown upon me during my sojourn in this materialistic city. But that faith was shaken, as the impression Bertha had made upon my oversensitised emotions, now dimmed by a brighter light, flickered pale on the screen of memory. The mere curiosity and pity I had felt for a chance victim, singled out among thousands by the legend of innocence, on a pretty face, could not stand against the force that now drew me to this woman, who seemed to be not of a slavish race. Even as Dr. Zimmern seemed a man apart from the soulless product of the science he directed. But as I acknowledged this new magnet tugging at the needle of my floundering heart, I also realised that my friendship for the lovable and courageous Zimmern reared an unassailable barrier to shut me into outer darkness. The thought provoked the harbinger of the reality, for Dr. Zimmern himself now entered. He was accompanied by Colonel Heller of the Information Staff, a man of about Zimmern's age. Colonel Heller bore himself with a gracious dignity. His face was sad, yet there gleamed from his eye a kindly humour. Marguerite, after exchanging a few pleasantries with Colonel Heller and myself, tenderly kissed the old doctor on the forehead, and slipped out. You shall see much of her, said Zimmern. She is the heart and fire of our little group, the force that holds us together. But to-night I asked her not to remain. The old doctor's eyes twinkled with merriment, for a young man cannot get acquainted with a beautiful woman and with ideas at the same time. And now, said Zimmern, after we had finished our dinner, I want Colonel Heller to tell you more of the workings of the Information Service. It's a very complex system. began Heller. It's old. Its history goes back to the First World War, when the military censorship began by suppressing information thought to be dangerous and circulating fictitious reports for patriotic purposes. Now, all is much more elaborately organised, we provide that every child be taught only the things that it is decided he needs to know, and nothing more. Have you seen the bulletins and picture screens in the quarters for the workers? Yes, I replied, but the lines were all in old German type. And that, said Heller, is all that the workers and soldiers can read. The modern type could be taught them in a few days, but we see to it that they have no opportunity to learn it. As it is now, should they find or steal a forbidden book, they cannot read it. But is it not true? I asked, that at one time the German workers were most thoroughly educated. It is true, said Heller, and because of that universal education Germany was defeated in the First World War. The English contaminated the soldiers by flooding the trenches with democratic literature dropped from airplanes. Then came the Bolshevist regime in Russia with its passion for revolutionary propaganda. The working men and soldiers read this disloyal literature and they forced the abdication of William the Great. It was because of this that his great-grandson, when the house of Hohenzollern was restored to the throne, decided to curtail universal education. But while William the Third curtailed general education, he increased the specialized education and established the information stuff to supervise the dissemination of all knowledge. It is an atrocious system, broken, Simon, but if we had not abolished the family, curtailed knowledge in bred soldiers and workers from special non-intellectual strains, this sunless world of ours could not have endured. Quite so, said Heller, whether we approve of it or not, certainly there was no other way to accomplish the end sought. By no other plan could German isolation have been maintained. But why was isolation deemed desirable, I inquired. Because, said Simon, it was that or extermination, even now we who wish to put an end to this isolation, we few who want to see the world as our ancestors sought know that the price may be annihilation. So, repeated Heller, so annihilation for Germany, but better so, and yet I go on as director of information. Dr. Zimmern goes on as chief eugenist, and you go on seeking to increase the food supply, and so we all go on as part of the diabolic system, because as individuals we cannot destroy it, but must go on, or be destroyed by it. We have riches here and privileges, we keep the labourers subdued below us, royalty enthroned above us, and the world state at bay about us all by this science, and system which only we few intellectuals understand, and which we keep going because we cannot stop it without being destroyed by the effort. But we shall stop it, declared Zimmern, we must stop it, with Armstot's help we can stop it. You and I, Heller, are mere cogs, if we break others can take our places, but Armstot has power. What he knows no one else knows, he has power. We have only weakness because others can take our place, and because he has power, let us help him find a way. It seems to me, I said, that the way must be by education, more men must think as we do. But they cannot think, replied Heller, they have nothing to think with. But the books, I said, there is power in knowledge. But, said Heller, the labourer cannot read the forbidden book, and the intellectual will not, for if he did he would be afraid to talk about it, and what a man cannot talk about he rarely cares to read. The love or hatred of knowledge is a matter of training. It was only last week that I was visiting a boy's school in order to study the effect of a new reader, of which complaint had been made that it failed sufficiently to exalt the virtue of obedience. I was talking with the teacher while the boys assembled in the morning. We heard a great commotion, and a mob of boys came in dragging one of their companions, who had a bruised face and torn clothing. Master, he had a forbidden book, they shouted, and the foremost held out the tattered volume as if it were loathsome poison. It proved to be a text on cellulose spinning, where the culprit had found it we could not discover, but he was sent to the school prison, and the other boys were given favours for apprehending him. But how is it, I asked, that books are not written by free-minded authors and secretly printed and circulated? At this my companion smiled. You, chemists, forget, said hello, that it takes printing presses to make books. There is no press in all Berlin except in the shops of the information staff. Every paper, every book, and every picture originates and is printed there. Every news and book distributor must get his stock from us, and knows that he must have only in his possession that which bears the imprint for his level. That is why we have no public libraries and no trade in second-hand books. In early life I favoured this system, but in time the foolishness of the thing came to perplex then to annoy and finally to disgust me. But I wanted the money and honour that promotion brought, and so I have won to my position and power. With my right hand I uphold the system, and with my left hand I seek to pull out the props on which it rests. For twenty years now I have nursed the secret traffic in books and wrists my life, many times thereby, yet my successives have been few and scattered. Every time the auditors check my stock and accounts I tremble in fear, for embezzling books is more dangerous than embezzling credit at the bank. But who, I asked, write the books. For the technical books it is not hard to find authors, explained Heller, for any man well-schooled in his work can write of it, but the task of getting the more general books written is not so easy, for then it is not so much a question of the author knowing the things of which he writes, but of knowing what the various groups are to be permitted to know. That writing is done exclusively by especially trained workers of the information service. I myself began as such a writer, and studied long under the older masters. The school of scientific lying I called it, but strange to say I used to enjoy such work and did it remarkably well. As recognition of my ability I was commissioned to write the book, God's anointed, through His Majesty's approval of my work I now owe my position on the staff. His Majesty, continued Heller, was only twenty-six years of age when he came to the throne, but he decided at once that a new religious book should be written in which he would be proclaimed as God's anointed ruler of the world. I had never before spoken with the high members of the royal house, and I was trembling with eagerness and fear as I was ushered into His Majesty's presence. The Emperor sat at his great-back table before him was an old book. He turned to me and said, Have you ever heard of the Christian Bible? My chief had informed me that the new book was to be based on the old Bible that the Christians had received from the Hebrews, so I said, Yes, Your Majesty, I am familiar with many of its words. He looked at me with a gloating suspicion. Aha! he said. Then there is something amiss in the information service. You are in the third rank of your service, and the Bible is permitted only to the first rank. I saw that my statement, unless modified, would result in an embarrassing investigation. I have never read the Christian Bible, I said. But my mother must have read it, for when as a child I visited her, she quoted to me long passages from the Bible. His Majesty smiled in a pleased fashion. That is it, he said. Women are essentially religious by nature, because they are trusting and obedient. It was a mistake to attempt to stamp out religion, it is the doctrine of obedience. Therefore I shall revive religion, but it shall be a religion of obedience to the house of Hohen Zollern. The God of the Hebrews declared them to be his chosen people, but they proved a servile and mercenary race. They traded their swords for shekels, and became a byword and a hissing among the nations, and they were scattered to the four corners of the earth. I shall revive that God, and this time he shall choose more wisely, for the German shall be his people. The idea is not mine. William the Great had that idea, but the revolution swept it away. It shall be revived. We shall have a new Bible based upon the old one, a third dispensation to replace the work of Moses and Jesus, and I too shall be a law-giver. I shall speak the word of God. Heller paused a smile crept over his face, then he laughed softly to himself, but Dr. Zimmern only shook his head sadly. Yes, I wrote the book, continued Heller. It required four years for his Majesty was very critical, and did much revising. I had a long argument with him over the question of retaining hell. I was bitterly opposed to it, and represented to his Majesty that no religion had ever thrived on fear of punishment, without corresponding hope of reward. If you are to have no heaven, I insisted, then you must have no hell. But we do not need heaven, argued his Majesty. Heaven is superfluous, it is an insult to my reign. Is it not enough that a man is a German, and may serve the house of Hohen Zollern? Then why, I asked, do you need a hell? I should have been shot for that, but his Majesty did not see the implication. He replied, coolly, we must have a hell, because there is one way that my subjects can escape me. It is a sin of our race that the eugenics office should have bred out, but they have failed. It is an inborn sin, for it is chiefly committed by our children, before they come to comprehend the glory of being German. How else, if you do not have a hell in your religion, can you check suicide? Of course there was logic in his contention, and so I gave in and made the children's hell. It is a gruesome doctrine, that a child who kills himself does not really die. It is one thing in the whole book that makes me feel most intellectually unclean for writing it. But I wrote it, and when the book was finished and his Majesty had signed the manuscript, for the first time in over a century, we printed a Bible on a German press. The press where the first run was made, we named Old Gutenberg. Gutenberg invented the printing press, explained Zimmern, fearing I might not comprehend. Yes, said Heller, with a curling lip, and Gutenberg was a German, and so am I. He printed a Bible which he believed, and I wrote one which I do not believe. But I am glad, continued Heller, as he rose, that I do not believe Gutenberg's Bible either, for I should very much dislike to think of meeting him in paradise. Part 7 After taking leave of my companions I walked on alone, oblivious to the gay throng, for I had many things on which to ponder. In these two men I felt that I had found heroic figures, their fund of knowledge, which they prized so highly, seemed to me pitifully circumscribed and limited, their revolutionary plans hopelessly vague and futile, but the intellectual stature of a man is measured in terms of the average of his race, and thus viewed, Zimmern and Heller were intellectual giants of heroic proportions. As I walked through a street of shops I paused before the display window of a bookstore of the level. Most of these books I had previously discovered were lurid, titled Tales of Licentious Love, but among them I now saw a volume bearing the title, God's Anointed, and recalled that I had seen it before and assumed it to be another like its fellows. Entering the store I secured a copy, and impatient to inspect my purchase, I bent my steps to my favourite retreat in the nearby hall of Flowers. In a secluded niche near the misty Fampton I began a hasty perusal of this imperially inspired word of God who had anointed the Hohenzollern's Masters of the Earth. Heller's description had prepared me for preposterous and absurd work, but I had not anticipated anything quite so audacious could be presented to a race of civilised men, much less that they could have accepted it in good faith, as the Germans evidently did. God's Anointed, as Heller had scoffingly inferred, not only proclaimed the Germans as the chosen race, but also proclaimed an actual divinity of the blood of the House of Hohenzollern, that William II did have some such notions in his egomania, I believe is recorded in authentic history. But the way I told the first had adapted that faith to the rather depressing facts of the failure of world conquest would have been extremely comical to me had I not seen ample evidence of the colossal effect of such a faith working in the credulous child-mind of a people so utterly devoid of any saving sense of humour. Not unfamiliar with the history of the temporal reign of the Popes of the Middle Ages, I could readily comprehend the practical efficiency of such a mixture of religious faith with the affairs of earth, for the God of the German theology exacted no spiritual worship of his people, but only a very temporal service to the deities' earthly incarnation in the form of the House of Hohenzollern. The greatest virtue, according to this mundane theology, was obedience, and this doctrine was closely interwoven with the caste system of German society. The virtue of obedience required the German to renounce discontent with his station, and to accept not only the material status into which he was born, with science afterthought, but the intellectual limits and horizons of that status. The old Christian doctrine of heresy was broadened to encompass the entire mental life, to think forbidden thoughts, to search after forbidden knowledge, that was at once treason against the royal house, and rebellion against the divine plan. German theology confounding divine and human laws permitted no dual overlapping spheres of mundane and celestial rule as had all previous religious and social orders, since Christ had commanded his disciples to render unto Caesar. There could be no conscientious objection to German law on religious grounds, no problem of church and state, for the church was the state. In this book that masqueraded as the word of God, I looked in vain for some revelation of future life, but it was essentially a one world theology, the most immortal thing was the royal house for which the worker was asked to slave, the soldier to die that Germany might be ruled by the Hohenzollers, and that the Hohenzollerns might some time rule the world. As the freedom of conscience and the institution of marriage had been discarded, so this German faith had scrapped the immortality of the Hohenzoll, save for the single incongruous doctrine, that a child, taking his own life, does not die, but lives on in ceaseless torment in ghoulish children's hell. As I closed the cursed volume my mind called up a picture of teutonic hordes, pouring from the forests of the north, and blotting out what Greece and Rome had built, from thence my roving fancy tripped over the centuries and lived again with men who cannot die. I stood with Luther at the Dieter Worms, with Kant I sounded the deeps of philosophy, I sailed with Humboldt a thwart on chartered seas, I fought with Goethe for the redemption of a soul sold to the devil, and with Schubert and Heine I sang. Du bist viane blume, so hold und schuun in reine, betende a scott di gerhote, so rein und schuun in hold. But what a cankerous end was here, this people, which the world had once loved and honoured, was now bred a beast of burden, a domesticated race, saddled and trained to bear upon its back the house of Hohenzollern as the ass-bore bollum. But the German ass wore the blinders that science had made, and saw no angel. Part 8 As I sat musing thus, and gazing into the spray of the fountain, I glimpsed a grey-clad figure, standing in the shadows of a viney bower. Although I could not distinguish her face through the leafy tracery, I knew that it was Bertha, and my heart thrilled to think that she had returned to the sight of our meeting. Thoroughly ashamed of the faithless doubts that I had so recently entertained of her innocence and sincerity, I rose and hastened toward her. But in making the detour about the pool I lost sight of the grey figure, for she was standing well back in the arbor. As I approached the place where I had seen her, I came upon two lovers, standing with arms entwined in the path at the pool's edge. Not wishing to disturb them, I turned back through one of the arbours, and approached by another path. As I slipped noiselessly along in my felt-sold shoes, I heard Bertha's voice, and quite near, through the leafy tracery, I glimpsed the grey of her gown. Why, with your beauty, came the answering voice of a man. Did you not find a lover from the royal level? Because, Bertha's voice replied, I would not accept them, I could not love them, I could not give myself without love. But surely, insisted the man, you have found a lover here, but I have not protected the innocent voice, because I have sought none. How long have you been here? bluntly asked the man. Thirty days, replied the girl, then you must have found a lover, your debut fund would all be gone. But cried Bertha, in a tearful voice, I only eat one meal a day, do you not see how thin I am? No, that's clever, rejoined the man. Come, I'll accept it for what it is worth, and look you up afterwards, and he laughingly led her away, leaving me undiscovered in the neighbouring arbor to pass judgement on my own simplicity. As I walked toward the elevator I was painfully conscious of two ideas. One was that Marguerite had been quite correct, with her information about the free women, who found it profitable to play the role of maidenly innocence. The other was that Dr. Zimmern's precious geography was in the hands of the artful child-eyed hypocrite, who had so cleverly beguiled me with her role of heroic virtue. Clearly I was trapped, and to judge better with what I had to deal, I decided to go at once to the place of records, of which I had twice heard. The place of records proved to be a public directory of the financial status of the free women, since the physical plagues that are propagated by promiscuous love had been completely exterminated, and since there were no moral standards to preserve, there was no need of other restrictions on the lives of the women than an economic one. The rules of the level were prominently posted, as all consequential money exchanges were made through bank checks, the keeping of the records was an easy matter. These rules I found forbade any woman to cash checks in excess of one thousand marks a month, or in excess of two hundred marks from any one man, that was simply enough, and I smiled as I recalled that I had gone the legal limit in my first adventure. Following the example of other men, I stepped to the window and gave the name, Bertha, 34, R. 6. A clerk brought me a book opened to the page of her record. At the top of the page was entered this statement, bred for an actress but rejected for both professional work and maternity because found devoid of sympathetic emotions. I laughed as I read this, but when on the next line I saw from the date of her entrance to the level that Bertha's thirty days was in reality nearly three years, my mirth turned to anger. I looked down the list of entries and found that for some time she had been cashing each month the maximum figure of a thousand marks, evidently her little scheme of pensive posing in the hall of flowers was working nicely. In the current month hardly have gone, she already had to recredit seven hundred marks, and the last on the list was my own contribution freshly entered. She has three hundred marks yet, commented the clerk. Yes, I see, and I turned to go, but I paused and stepped again to the window. There is another girl I would like to look up, I said, but I have only her name and no number. Do you know the date of her arrival? asked the clerk. Yes, she has been here four years and six days. The name is Marguerite. The clerk walked over to a card file and after some searching brought back a slip with half a dozen numbers. Try these, he said, and he brought me the volumes. The second record I inspected read Marguerite, seventy-eight K-four, Love Child. On the page below was a single entry for each month of two hundred marks, and every entry from the first was in the name of Ludwig Zimmern. I kept my appointment with Bertha, but found it difficult to hide my anger as she greeted me, wishing to get the interview over I asked abruptly, have you read the book I left? Not all of it, she replied. I found it rather dull. Then perhaps I had better take it with me. But I think I shall keep it awhile, she demurred. No, I insisted, as I looked about and failed to see the geography. I wish you would get it for me. I want to take it back. In fact, it was a borrowed book. Most likely, she smiled archly, but since you are not a staff officer and no right to have that book, you might as well know that you will get it when I please to give it to you. Seeing that she was thoroughly aware of my predicament, I grew frightened and my anger slipped from its moorings. See here! I cried. Your little story of innocence and virtue is very clever, but I've looked you up and— And what? she asked, while through her childlike mask the subtle trickery of her nature mocked me with a look of triumph. And what do you propose to do about it? I realized the futility of my rage. I shall do nothing. I asked only that you return the book. But books are so valuable, taunted Bertha. Dejectedly I sank to the couch. She came over and sat on a cushion at my feet. Really, Carl? she purred. You should not be angry. If I insist on keeping your book, it is merely to be sure that you will not forget me. I rather like you. You are so queer and talk such odd things. Did you learn your strange ways of making love from the book about the inferior races in the world outside the walls? I really tried to read some of it, but I could not understand half the words. I rose and strode about the room. Will you get me the book? I demanded. And there's you. Well, what of it? You can get plenty more fools like me. Yes, but I would have to stand and stare into that fountain for hours at a time. It is very tiresome. Just what do you want? I asked, trying to speak calmly. Why, you, she said, placing her slender white hands upon my arm and holding up an inviting face. But anger at my own gullibility had killed her power to draw me, and I shook her off. I want that book, I said coldly. What are your terms? And I drew my checkbook from my pocket. How many planks have you there? She asked with a greedy light in her eyes, but never mind count them. Make them all out to me two hundred marks, and date each one at the head. Realizing that any further exhibition of fear or anger would put me more within her power, I sat down and began to write the checks. The fund I was making over to her was quite useless to me, but when I had made out twenty checks I stopped. Now, I said, this is enough. You take these or nothing. Tearing out the written checks, I held them toward her. As she reached out her hand, I drew them back. So get the book, I demanded. But you are unfair, said Bertha. You are the stronger. You can take the book from me. I could not take the checks from you. That is so, I admitted, and handed the checks to her. She looked at them carefully, and slipped them into a bosom, and then reaching under the pile of silken pillows, she pulled forth the geography. I seized it and turned toward the door, but she caught my arm. Don't, she pleaded. Don't go. Don't be angry with me. Why should you dislike me? I've only played my part as you men make it for us, but I do not want your money for nothing. You liked me when you thought me innocent. Why hate me when you find that I am clever? Again those slender arms stole around my neck, and the entrancing face was raised to mine, but the vision of a finer nobler face rose before me, and I pushed away the clinging arms. I'm sorry, I said. I'm going now, going back to my work and forget you. It is not your fault. You're only what Germany has made you. But, I added with a smile, if you must go to the hall of flowers, please do not wear that grey gown. She stood very still as I edged toward the door, and the look of baffled, childlike innocence crept back into her eyes, a real innocence this time of things she did not know and could not understand. CHAPTER 7 The sun shines upon a king, and a girl reeds of the fall of Babylon. PART ONE Embittered by this unhappy ending of my romance, I turned to my work with savage zeal, determined not again to be diverted by a personal effort to save the Germans from their sins. But this application to my test tubes was presently interrupted by a German holiday which was known as the Day of the Sun. From the conversation of my assistance I gathered that this was an annual occasion of particular importance. It was, in fact, His Majesty's birthday, and was celebrated by permitting the favourite classes to see the ruler himself at the place in the sun. For this royal exhibition I received a blue ticket, of which my assistants were curiously envious. They inspected the number on it, and the hour of my admittance to the royal level. It's the first appearance of the day, they said. His Majesty will be fresh to speak, you will be near, you will be able to see his face without the aid of a glass, you will be able to hear his voice, and not merely the reproducing horns. In the morning our news bulletin was wholly devoted to announcements and patriotic exuberances. Across the sheet was flamed a headline stating that the meteorologist of the Roof Observatory reported that the sun would shine in full brilliancy upon the throne. This seemed very puzzling to me, for the place in the sun was clearly located on the royal level, and some hundred metres beneath the roof of the city. I went at the hour announced on my ticket to the indicated elevator, and, with an eager crowd of fellow scientists, stepped forth into a vast open space, where the vaulted ceiling was supported by massive fluted columns that rose to twice the height of the ordinary spacing of the levels of the city. An enormous crowd of men of the higher ranks was gathering, closely packed and standing, the multitude extended to the sides and the rear of my position for many hundred metres, until it seemed quite lost under the glowing lights in the distance. Before us a huge curtain hung, emblazoned on its dull crimson background of subdued socialism, was a gigantic black eagle, the leering emblem of autocracy, above and extending back over us, appeared in the ceiling a deep and unlighted crevice. As the crowd seemed complete, the men about me consulted their watches, and then suddenly grew quiet in expectancy. The lights blinked twice and went out, and we were bathed in a hush of darkness. The heavy curtain rustled like the mantle of Jove, while somewhere above I heard the shutters of the windows of heaven move heavily on their rollers. A flashing brilliant beam of light shot through the blackness and fell in wondrous splendour upon a dazzling metallic days, whereon rested the gilded throne of the house of Hohen Zollern. Seated upon the throne was a man, a very little man he seemed amidst such vast and vivid surroundings. He was robed in a cape of dazzling white, and on his head he wore a helmet of burnished platinum. Over the throne and slightly to one side stood the round form of a paper globe. His Majesty Rose stepped a few paces forward, and as he with solemn deliberation raised his hand into the shaft of burning light, from the throng there came a frenzied shouting, which soon changed into a sort of chanting, and then into a throaty song. His Majesty lowered his hand, the song ceased, a great stillness hung over the multitude. I till the first Emperor of the Germans now raised his face and stared for a moment unblinkingly into the beam of sunlight, then he lowered his gaze toward the sea of upturned faces. My people, he said, in a voice which for all his pompous effort fell rather flat in the immensity, you are assembled here in the place of the sun to do honour to God's anointed ruler of the world. From ten thousand throats came forth another raucous shout. Two and a half centuries ago now spoke his Majesty. God appointed the German race, under William the Great, of the house of Hohen Zollern, to be the rulers of the world. For nineteen hundred years God, in his infinite patience, had awaited the outcome of the test of the Nazarene's doctrine of servile humility and effeminate peace. But the Christian nations of the earth were weighed in the balance of divine wrath and found wanting, wallowing in hypocrisy and ignorance, wanting in courage and valor, behind a pretense of altruism they cloaked their selfish greed for gold. Of all the people of the earth our race alone possessed the two keys to power, the mastery of science and the mastery of the sword. So the Germans were called of God to instill fear and reverence into the hearts of the inferior races. That was the purpose of the First World War under my noble ancestor William II. But the envious nations desperate in their greed banded together to defy our old German God and destroy his chosen people. But this was only a divine trial of our worth, for the plans of God are for eternity. His days to us are centuries, and we did well to patiently abide the complete unfoldment of the divine plan. Before two generations had passed our German ancestors cast off the yoke of enslavement and routed the oppressors in the Second World War, lest his chosen race be contaminated by the swineish herds of the mongrel nations, God called upon his people to relinquish for a time the fruits of conquest, that they might be further purged by science and become a pure bread race of supermen. That purification has been accomplished for every German is bred and trained by science as ordained by God. There are no longer any mongrels among the men of Germany, for every one of you is created for his special purpose, and every German is fitted for his particular place as a member of the super race. The time now draws near when the final purpose of our good old German God is to be fulfilled. The day of this fulfilment is known unto me. The sun which shines upon this throne is but a symbol of that which has been denied you, while all these things were being made ready. But now the day draws near when you shall, under my leadership, rule over the world and the mongrel peoples, and to each of you shall be given a place in the sun. The voice had ceased. A great stillness hung over the multitude. Idle the first, Emperor of the Germans, threw back his cape and drew his sword with a sweeping flourish. He slashed the paper globe in twain. From the myriad throated throng came a reverberating shout that rolled and echoed through the vaulted catacomb. The crimson curtain dropped. The shutters were thrown thwart, the reflected beam of sunlight. The lights of man again glowed pale amidst the maze of columns. Singing and marching, the men filed toward the elevators. The guards urged haste to clear the way, for the God of the Germans could not stay the march of the sun across the roof of Berlin, and a score of paper globes must yet be slashed for other shouting multitudes, before the sun's last gleam be twisted down to shine upon a king. Although the working hours of the day were scarcely one-fourth gone, it was impossible for me to return to my laboratory, for the lighting current was shut off for the day. I therefore decided to utilize the occasion by returning the geography which I had rescued from Bertha. Dr. Zimmer's invitation to make use of his library had been cordially enough, but its location in Margarite's apartment had made me a little reticent about going there, except in the doctor's company. Yet I did not wish to admit to Zimmern my sensitiveness in the matter, and the geography had been kept over long. This occasion being a holiday I found the resorts on the level of free women crowded with merry-makers, but I sought the quieter side streets and made my way towards Margarite's apartment. I thought you would be celebrating to-day, she said, as I entered. I feel that I can utilize the time better by reading, I replied. There is so much I want to learn, and thanks to Dr. Zimmern I now have the opportunity. But surely you are to see the emperor in the place of the sun," said Margarite, when she had returned the geography to the secret shelf. I've already seen him, I replied. My ticket was for the first performance. It must be a magnificent sight. She sighed. I should so love to see the sunlight. The pictures show us his majesty's likeness. But what is a picture of sunlight? But you speak only of a reflected beam. How would you like to see real sunshine? Oh, on the roof of Berlin! But that is only for royalty and the roof-guards. I've tried to imagine that. But I know that I fail, as a blind man, must fail to imagine colour. Close your eyes, I said playfully, and try very hard. Solemnly Margarite closed her eyes. For a moment I smiled, and then the smile relaxed, for I felt as one who scoffs at prayer. And did you see the sunlight? I asked, as she opened her eyes and gazed at me with dilated pupils. No, she answered hoarsely. I only saw man-light as far as the walls of Berlin, and beyond that it was all empty blackness, and it frightens me. The fear of darkness, I said, is the fear of ignorance. You try. And she reached over with a soft touch of her fingertips on my closing eyelids. Now keep them closed, and tell me what you see. Tell me it is not all black. I see light, I said, white light, on a billowy sea of clouds, as from a flying plane. And now I see the sun. It is sinking beneath the rugged line of snowy peaks, and the light is dimming. It is gone now, but it is not dark. For moonlight, pale and silvery, is shimmering on a choppy sea, and now is the darkest hour. But it is never black, only a dark, dark gray, for the roof of the world is pricked with a million points of light. The gray of the east is shot with the rose of dawn. The rose brightens to scarlet, and the curve of the sun appears. Red, like the blood of war, and now the sky is crystal blue, and the gray sands of the desert have turned to glittering gold. I had ceased my poetic visioning, and was looking into Margaret's face. The light of worship I saw in her eyes filled me with a strange trembling, and holy awe. And I only saw blackness. She faltered. Is it that I am born blind and due with vision? Perhaps what you call vision is only memory, I said. But as I realized where my words were leading, I hastened to add, memory from another life. Have you ever heard of such a thing as the reincarnation of the soul? That means, she said hesitatingly, that there is something in us that does not die. Immortality, is it not? Well, it is something like that, I answered huskily, as I wondered what she might know or dream of that which lay beyond the ken of the gross materialism of her race. Immortality is a very beautiful idea, I went on, and science has destroyed much that is beautiful, but it is a pity that Colonel Heller had to eliminate the idea of immortality from the German Bible. Surely such a book makes no pretense of being scientific. So Colonel Heller has told you that he wrote guards anointed, exclaimed Marguerite with eager interest. Yes, he told me of that, and I re-read the book with an entirely different viewpoint, since I came to understand the spirit in which it was written. Ah, I see, Marguerite rose and stepped it toward the library. We have a book here, she called, that you have not read, and one that you cannot buy. It will show you the source of Colonel Heller's inspiration. She brought out a battered volume. This book, she stated, has given the inspectors more trouble than any other book in existence, though they have searched for thirty years. They say there are more copies of it, still at large than of all other forbidden books combined. I gazed at the volume she handed me. I was holding a copy of the Christian Bible, dated as six centuries previous, by Martin Luther. It was indeed the very text from which, as a boy, I had acquired much of my reading knowledge of the language. But I decided that I had best not revealed Marguerite my familiarity with it, and so I sat down and turned to the pages with assumed perplexity. It is very odd book. I remarked presently. Have you read it? Oh, yes, exclaimed Marguerite. I often read it. I think it is more interesting than all these modern books, but perhaps that is because I cannot understand it. I love mysterious things. There is too much of it for a man as busy as I am to hope to read, I remarked, after turning a few more pages. And so I had better not begin. Will you not choose something and read it aloud to me? Marguerite declined at first, but when I insisted she took the tattered Bible and turned slowly through its pages, and when she read it was the story of a king who reveled with his lords and of a hand that wrote upon a wall. Her voice was low, and possessed a rhythm and cadence that transmuted the guttural German tongue into musical poetry. Again she read, of a man who, though shorn of his strength by the wiles of a woman, and blinded by his enemies, yet pushed us under the pillars of a city. At random she read other tales, of rulers and of slaves, of harlots and of queens, the wisdom of prophets, the songs of kings. Together we pondered the meanings of these strange things, and exalted in the beauty of that which was meaningless. And so the hours passed, the day drew near its close, and Marguerite read from the last pages of the book of a voice that cried mightily, Babylon the Great is fallen, is fallen, and has become the habitation of devils and the hold of every foul spirit.