 chapters 13 through 17 of Dr. Ox's experiment. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Alan Winteroud. Dr. Ox's experiment by Jules Verne. Chapter 13, in which it is once more proved that by taking high ground all human littlenesses may be overlooked. You say, as the Burgamaster Vantrikas of the Councilor Nicholas. I say that this war is necessary, replied Nicholas firmly, and that the time has come to avenge this insult. Well, I repeat to you, replied the Burgamaster Tartley, that if the people of Quiquendon do not profit by this occasion to vindicate their rights, they will be unworthy of their name. And as for me, I maintain that we ought, without delay, to collect our forces and lead them to the front. Really, Monsieur, really, replied Vantrikas, and do you speak thus to me? To yourself, Monsieur the Burgamaster, and you shall hear the truth unwelcome as it may be. And you shall hear it yourself, Councilor, returned Vantrikas in a passion. For it will come better from my mouth than from yours. Yes, Monsieur, yes, any delay would be dishonorable. The town of Quiquendon has waited nine hundred years for the moment to take its revenge. And whatever you may say, whether it pleases you or not, we shall march upon the enemy. Ah, you take it thus? replied Nicholas harshly. Very well, Monsieur, we will march without you if it does not please you to go. A Burgamaster's place is in the front rank, Monsieur, and that of a Councilor also, Monsieur. You insult me by thwarting all my wishes, cried the Burgamaster, whose fists seem likely to hit out before long. And you insult me equally by doubting my patriotism, cried Nicholas, who was equally ready for a tussle. I tell you, Monsieur, that the army of Quiquendon shall be put in motion within two days. And I repeat to you, Monsieur, that forty-eight hours shall not pass before we shall have marched upon the enemy. It is easy to see, from this fragment of conversation, how the two speakers supported exactly the same idea. Both wished for hostilities, but as their excitement disposed them to altercation, Nicholas would not listen to Vantrikas, nor Vantrikas to Nicholas. Had they been of contrary opinions on this grave question, had the Burgamaster favored war and the Councilor insisted on peace, the quarrel would not have been more violent. These two old friends gazed fiercely at each other. By the Quiquendon beating of their hearts, their red faces, their contracted pupils, the trembling of their muscles, their harsh voices, it might be conjectured that they were ready to come to blows. But the striking of a large clock happily checked the adversaries at the moment when they seemed on the point of assaulting each other. At last the hour has come, cried the Burgamaster. What hour? asked the Councilor. The hour to go to the Belfry Tower. It is true, and whether it pleases you or not, I shall go, Monsieur. And I too. Let us go. Let us go. It might have been supposed from these last words that a collision had occurred and that the adversaries were proceeding to a duel, but it was not so. It had been agreed that the Burgamaster and the Councilor, as the two principal dignitaries of the town, should repair to the town hall and there show themselves on the high tower which overlooked Quiquendon, that they should examine the surrounding country so as to make the best strategic plan for the advance of their troops. Though they were in accord on this subject, they did not cease to quarrel bitterly as they went. Their loud voices were heard resounding in the streets, but all the passers-by were now accustomed to this. The exasperation of the dignitaries seemed quite natural and no one took notice of it. Under the circumstances, a calm man would have been regarded as a monster. The Burgamaster and the Councilor, having reached the porch of the belfry, were in a paroxysm of fury. They were no longer red but pale. This terrible discussion, though they had the same idea, had produced internal spasms and everyone knows that paleness shows that anger has reached its last limit. At the foot of the narrow tower staircase, there was a real explosion. Who should go up first? Who should first creep up the winding steps? Truth compels us to say that there was a tussle and that the Councilor Nicholas, forgetful of all that he owed to his superior to the supreme magistrate of the town, pushed Vantricas violently back and dashed up the staircase first. Both ascended, denouncing and raging at each other at every step. It was to be feared that a terrible climax would occur on the summit of the tower, which rose 357 feet above the pavement. The two enemies soon got out of breath, however, and in a little while, at the 80th step, they began to move up heavily, breathing loud and short. Then, was it because of their being out of breath, their wrath subsided, or at least only betrayed itself by a succession of unseemly epithets? They became silent and, strange to say, it seemed as if their excitement diminished as they ascended higher above the town. A sort of lull took place in their minds. Their brains became cooler and simmered down like a coffee pot when taken away from the fire. Why? We cannot answer this why, but the truth is that, having reached a certain landing stage, 266 feet above ground, the two adversaries sat down and, really more calm, looked at each other without any anger in their faces. How high it is, said the burgomaster, passing his handkerchief over his Rubicon face. Very high, returned the counselor. Do you know that we have gone 14 feet higher than the chert of St. Michael at Hamburg? I know it, replied the burgomaster, in a tone of vanity very pardonable in the Chief Magistrate of Quikwendoen. The two notabilities soon resumed their ascent, casting curious glances through the loopholes pierced in the tower walls. The burgomaster had taken the head of the procession without any remark on the part of the counselor. It even happened that at about 304th step, Vantricas being completely tired out, Nicholas kindly pushed him from behind. The burgomaster offered no resistance to this and when he reached the platform of the tower, said graciously, Thanks Nicholas, I will do the same for you one day. A little while before, it had been two wild beasts ready to tear each other to pieces who had presented themselves at the foot of the tower. It was now two friends who reached its summit. The weather was superb. It was the month of May. The sun had absorbed all the vapors. What a pure and limpid atmosphere. The most minute objects over a broad space might be discerned. The walls of Virgaman, glistening in their whiteness, its red pointed roofs, its belfry shining in the sunlight appeared a few miles off. And this was the town that was for doomed to all the horrors of fire and pillage. The burgomaster and the counselor sat down beside each other on a small stone bench, like two worthy people whose souls were in close sympathy. As they recovered breath, they looked around. Then after a brief silence, How fine this is, cried the burgomaster. Yes, it is admirable, replied the counselor. Does it not seem to you, my good Vanthrikas, that humanity is destined to dwell rather at such heights than to crawl about on the surface of our globe? I agree with you, honest Nicholas, return the burgomaster. I agree with you. You seize sentiment better when you get clear of nature. You breathe it in every sense. It is at such heights that philosopher should be formed, and that sages should live above the miseries of this world. Shall we go around the platform, asked the counselor? Let us go around the platform, replied the burgomaster. And the two friends, arm in arm, and putting as formally long pauses between their questions and answers, examined every point of the horizon. It is at least seventeen years since I have ascended the belfry tower, said Vanthrikas. I do not think I ever came up before, replied Nicholas, and I regret it, for the view from this height is sublime. Do you see, my friend, the pretty stream of the var as it winds among the trees? And beyond, the heights of St. Hermodod, how gracefully they shut in the horizon. Observe that border of green trees, which nature has so picturesquely arranged. Ah-ha-ha, nature. Nature, Nicholas. Could the hand of man ever hope to rival her? It is enchanting, my excellent friend, replied the counselor. See the flocks and hers lying in the verdant pastures. The oxen, the cows, the sheep. And the laborers going to the fields. You would say they were Arcadian shepherds. They only want a bagpipe. And over all this fertile country, the beautiful blue sky, which no vapor dims. Ah, Nicholas, one might become a poet here. I do not understand why St. Simeon's stylites was not one of the greatest poets of the world. It was because, perhaps, his column was not high enough, replied the counselor with a gentle smile. At this moment, the chimes of Quiquendon rang out. Their clear bells played one of their most melodious airs. The two friends listened in ecstasy. Then, in his calm voice, Von Tricas said, But what, friend Nicholas, did we come to the top of this tower to do? In fact, replied the counselor, we have permitted ourselves to be carried away by our reveries. What did we come here to do, repeated the burgamaster? We came, said Nicholas, to breathe this pure air which human weaknesses have not corrupted. Well, shall we descend, friend Nicholas? Let us descend, friend Von Tricas. They gave a parting glance at the splendid panorama which was spread before their eyes. Then the burgamaster passed down first and began to descend with a slow and measured pace. The counselor followed a few steps behind. They reached the landing stage at which they had stopped on ascending. Already their cheeks began to redden. They tarried a moment, then resumed their descent. In a few moments, Von Tricas begged Nicholas to go more slowly as he felt him on his heels and it worried him. It even did more than worry him. For twenty steps lower down, he ordered the counselor to stop that he might get on some distance ahead. The counselor replied that he did not wish to remain with his leg in the air to await the good pleasure of the burgamaster and kept on. Von Tricas retorted with a rude expression. The counselor responded by an insulting allusion to the burgamaster's age, destined as he was, by his family traditions to marry a second time. The burgamaster went down twenty steps more and warned Nicholas that this should not pass thus. Nicholas replied that at all events he would pass down first, and the space being very narrow, the two dignitaries came into collision and found themselves in utter darkness. The words blockhead and booby were the mildest which they would now apply to each other. We shall see, stupid beast, cried the burgamaster, we shall see what figure you will make in this war and in what rank you will march. In the rank that precedes yours, you silly old fool, replied Nicholas. Then there were other cries, and it seemed as if bodies were rolling over each other. What was going on? Why were these dispositions so quickly changed? Why were the gentle sheep of the tower's summit metamorphosed into tigers two hundred feet below it? However this might be, the guardian of the tower, hearing the noise, opened the door, just at the moment when the two adversaries, bruised and with protruding eyes, were in the act of tearing each other's hair. Fortunately, they wore wigs. You shall give me satisfaction for this, cried the burgamaster, shaking his fist under his adversary's nose. Whenever you please, growled the counselor Nicholas, attempting to respond with a vigorous kick. The guardian, who was himself in a passion, I cannot say why, thought the scene a very natural one. I know not what excitement urged him to take part in it, but he controlled himself and went off to announce throughout the neighborhood that a hostile meeting was about to take place between the burgamaster Vantrikas and the counselor Nicholas. Chapter 14, in which matters go so far that the inhabitants of Quiquendon, the reader and even the author, demand an immediate dayneumal. The last incident proves to what a pitch of excitement the Quiquendonians had been wrought, the two oldest friends in the town and the most gentle before the advent of the epidemic to reach this degree of violence and that too only a few minutes after their old mutual sympathy. Their amiable instincts, their contemplative habit, had been restored at the summit of the tower. On learning what was going on, Dr. Ox could not contain his joy. He resisted the arguments which Eugene, who saw what a serious turn affairs were taking, addressed to him. Besides, both of them were infected by the general fury. They were not less excited than the rest of the population and they ended by quarreling as violently as the burgamaster and the counselor. Besides, one question eclipsed all others and the intended duels were postponed to the issue of the Virgaminian difficulty. No man had the right to shed his blood uselessly when it belonged to the last drop to his country in danger. The affair was in short a grave one and there was no withdrawing from it. The burgamaster Vantrikas, despite the warlike ardor with which he was filled, had not thought it best to throw himself upon the enemy without warning him. He had therefore, through the medium of the rural policemen, hottering, sent to demand reparation of the Virgaminians for the offense committed in 1195 on the Quiquindonian territory. The authorities of Virgamin could not at first imagine of what the envoy spoke and the latter, despite his official character, was conducted back to the frontier very cavalierly. Vantrikas then sent one of the aides to camp of the confectioner general, citizen Hildever Shuman, a manufacturer of barley sugar, a very firm and energetic man who carried to the authorities of Virgamin the original minute of the indictment drawn up in 1195 by order of the burgamaster Natalis Vantrikas. The authorities of Virgamin burst out laughing and served the aide to camp in the same manner as the rural policemen. The burgamaster then assembled the dignitaries of the town. A letter, remarkably and vigorously drawn up, was written as an ultimatum. The cause of the quarrel was plainly stated and the delay of 24 hours was accorded to the guilty city in which to repair the outrage done to Quiquindon. The letter was sent off and returned a few hours afterwards torn to bits, which made so many fresh insults. The Virgaminians knew of old the forbearance and equanimity of the Quiquindonians and made sport of them and their demand of their causes beley and their ultimatum. There was only one thing left to do to have recourse to arms to invoke the god of battles and after the Prussian fashion to hurl themselves upon the Virgaminians before the latter could be prepared. This decision was made by the council in solemn conclave in which cries, objurations and menacing gestures were mingled with unexampled violence. An assembly of idiots, a congress of madmen, a club of maniacs would not have been more tumultuous. As soon as the declaration of war was known, General Jean Orbedec assembled his troops and perhaps 2,393 combatants from a population of 2,393 souls. The women, the children, the old men were joined with the able-bodied males. The guns of the town had been put under requisition, five had been found, two of which were without cocks, and these had been distributed to the advance guard. The artillery was composed of the old culverin of the Chateau, taken in 1339 at the attack on Quesnoy, one of the first occasions of the use of cannon in history and which had not been fired off for five centuries. Happily for those who were appointed to take it in charge, there were no projectiles with which to load it, but such as it was, this engine might well impose on the enemy. As for sidearms, they had been taken from the museum of antiquities, flint hatchets, helmets, Frankish battle axes, javelins, hallbirds, rapiers and so on, and also in those domestic arsenals commonly known as cupboards and kitchens. But courage, the right hatred of the foreigner, the yearning for vengeance, were to take the place of more perfect engines, and to replace, at least it was hoped so, the modern metriuses and breech loaders. The troops were passed in review, not a citizen failed at the roll call. General Orbedec, whose seat on horseback was far from firm, and whose steed was a vicious beast, was thrown three times in front of the army, but he got up again without injury and this was regarded as a favorable omen. The burgamaster of the counselor, the civil commissary, the chief justice, the school teacher, the banker, the rector, in short, all the notabilities of the town marched at the head. There were no tears shed, either by mothers, sisters or daughters, they urged on their husbands, fathers, brothers to the combat, and even followed them and formed the rearguard under the orders of the courageous Madame Vantricas. The crier, Jean Mistral, blew his trumpet. The army moved off and directed itself with ferocious cries toward the Udnard gate. At the moment when the head of the column was about to pass the walls of the town, a man threw himself before it. Stop! Stop! Fools that you are, he cried. Suspend your blows. Let me shut the valve. You are not changed in nature. You are good citizens, quiet and peaceable. If you are so excited, it is my master, Dr. Ox's fault. It is an experiment. Under the pretext of lighting your streets with oxy-hydric gas, he has saturated. The assistant was beside himself, but he could not finish. At the instant that the doctor's secret was about to escape his lips, Dr. Ox himself pounced upon the unhappy Eugene in an indescribable rage and shut his mouth by blows with his fists. It was a battle. The burgamaster, the counselor of the dignitaries, who had stopped short on Eugene's sudden appearance, carried away in turn by their exasperation, rushed upon the two strangers, without waiting to hear either the one or the other. Dr. Ox and his assistant, beaten and lashed, were about to be dragged by order of entrecost to the roundhouse when... Chapter 15, in which the day-new mall takes place When a formidable explosion resounded, all the atmosphere which enveloped Quiquendon seemed on fire. A flame of an intensity and vividness quite unwanted shot up into the heavens like a meteor. Had it been night, this flame would have been visible for ten leagues around. The whole army of Quiquendon fell to the earth, like an army of monks. Happily there were no victims. A few scratches and slight hurt were the only result. The confectioner, who, as chance would have it, had not fallen from his horse this time, had his plume singed and escaped without any further injury. What had happened? Something very simple, as was soon learned. The gasworks had just blown up. During the absence of the doctor and his assistant, some careless mistake had no doubt been made. It is not known how or why a communication had been established between the reservoir which contained the oxygen and that which enclosed the hydrogen. An explosive mixture had resulted from the union of these two gases, to which fire had accidentally been applied. This changed everything, but when the army got upon its feet again, Dr. Ox and his assistant Eugene had disappeared. Chapter 16, in which the intelligent reader sees that he has guessed correctly, despite all the author's precautions. After the explosion, Quiquendon immediately became the peaceable, phlegmatic and Flemish town it formerly was. After the explosion, which indeed did not cause a very lively sensation, each one, without knowing why, mechanically took his way home. The bergamaster leaning on his counselor's arms, the advocate shoot going arm in arm with Custos to doctor. Franz and Nicholas, walking with equal familiarity with Simon Colart, each going tranquilly, noiselessly, without even being conscious of what had happened, and having already forgotten Virgaman and their revenge. The general returned to his confections and is aid to camp to the barley sugar. Thus everything had become calm again. The old existence had been resumed by men and beasts, beasts and plants, even by the tower of Udenard Gate, which the explosion, these explosions are sometimes astonishing, had set upright again. And from that time, never a word was spoken more loudly than another. Never a discussion took place in the town of Quiquendon. There were no more politics, no more clubs, no more trials, no more policemen. The post of the commissary Pasouf became once again a cynicier, and if his salary was not reduced, it was because the bergamaster and the counselor could not make up their minds to decide upon it. From time to time, indeed, Pasouf flitted without anyone suspecting it through the dreams of the inconsolable Tatenamans. As for Franz's rival, he generously abandoned the charming Susel to her lover, who hastened to wed her five or six years after these events. And as for Madame Vantricas, she died ten years later at the proper time, and the bergamaster married Mademoiselle Pellagie Vantricas, his cousin, under excellent conditions, for the happy mortal who should succeed him. Chapter 17, in which Dr. Ox's theory is explained. What then had this mysterious Dr. Ox done? Tried a fantastic experiment, nothing more. After having laid down his gas pipes, he had saturated, first the public buildings, then the private dwellings, finally the streets of Quiquendon with pure oxygen, without letting in the least atom of hydrogen. This gas, tasteless and odorless, spread in generous quantity throughout the atmosphere, causes, when it is breathed, serious agitation to the human organism. One who lives in an air saturated with oxygen grows excited, frantic, burns. You scarcely return to the ordinary atmosphere before you return to your usual state. For example, the counselor and the bergamaster at the top of the belfry wear themselves again, as the oxygen is kept by its weight in the lower strata of the air. But one who lives under such conditions, breathing this gas which transforms the body physiologically as well as the soul, dies speedily like a madman. It was fortunate then for the Quiquendonians that a providential explosion put an end to this dangerous experiment and abolished Dr. Ox's gas work. To conclude, our virtue, courage, talent, wit, imagination are all these qualities or faculties only a question of oxygen, such as Dr. Ox's theory, but we are not bound to accept it, and for ourselves we utterly reject it in spite of the curious experiment of which the worthy old town of Quiquendon was the theater.