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  'I know well that the horror of those days runs in your very bloodstream, like that of so many other persecutions. It is not coldness of heart or lack of better feelings which forces me thus to call to your minds the bloody witness testified by your illustrious forefathers. No, no, I speak only to rouse you, to gain your support for those measures by which we are to defend ourselves against the danger.

  "Were I a traitor I could smooth over with fair words the catastrophe which threatens us. But it is I, I myself, who am responsible for that very situation in which we now find ourselves. I am a man of character enough to confess that to you. If you should ask me how I came so to forget myself— you have a right to ask this question — then I can only answer to my shame: I forgot myself because I forgot what our great teacher Mencius had said: They act, but know not what they do; they have their customs, but do not know how they came by them; they wander their whole life long, but still they cannot find their way: even so are the people of the masses.

  'Always and without exception, the master tells us in these words, we must beware of these people of the masses. They are dangerous because they have no education, which is as much as to say no understanding. But the thing has happened; I preferred the care of your bodies, preferred your humane treatment to the advice of Meng, the great master. My short-sighted action has brought a heavy retribution. The character, not the duster, is the essential man.

  'But let us beware of falling into the opposite extreme! Up to this moment not a hand has been laid on one letter of your pages. I could never forgive myself if anyone were to charge me with the least neglect of my obligation for your physical welfare. If any of you have any complaint to make, let him speak.'

  Kien paused and stared around him half challenging, half threatening. The books were as silent as he; not one stepped forward. Kien went on with his well-prepared speech:

  'I had counted on this response to my challenge. I see that you have absolute trust in me, and since you have deserved no less, I can now initiate you into the plans of our enemy. First of all I must surprise you with an interesting and important communication. At the general muster I became aware that in that part of the library which is in enemy occupation, unauthorized changes of alignment have been made. In order to avoid the creation of yet greater confusion in your ranks, I raised no alarm. I take this occasion immediately to contradict all rumours and herewith solemnly declare that we have yet no losses to mourn. I give my word of honour that the assembly gathered here to-day is in mil force and competent therefore to take any decision. We are still in the position, as a complete and self-sufficient body, to arm ourselves in our own defence, one for all and all for one. What has not yet happened may yet happen. The morrow of this very day may find gashes in our ranks.

  'I am well aware what the enemy intends by this policy of shifting your ranks; the enemy seeks to aggravate the difficulty of surveillance. The enemy believes we shall not dare to render void conquests in territory already occupied; trusting in our ignorance of these new conditions, the enemy seeks to initiate a policy of abduction, unnoticed by us, and without an open declaration of war. Have no doubts of this, the enemy will lay hands first of all upon the noblest among your ranks, upon those whose ransom will be highest. For at least the enemy has no thought of using these hostages to fight their own comrades. The enemy knows wellhow hopeless a prospect that would be. But the enemy needs for the prosecution of war money, money, and yet more money. What is a treaty to such a foe but a scrap ot paper?

  'Who among you would be reft from your native land, scattered through all the world, treated as slaves, to be priced, examined, bought, but never spoken to — slaves who are but half listened to when they speak in the performance of their duties, but in whose souls no man cares to read, who are possessed but not loved, left to rot or sold for profit, used but never understood? Who among you would choose this fate? Let him lay down his arms and surrender to the foe! Who among you feels a brave heart beating in his breast, a high soul, a great and noble spirit? Let him on with me to the Holy War.

  'Do not overestimate the strength of the enemy, my people! Between the letters of your pages you will crush him to death; each line is a-club to batter out his brains; each letter a leaden weight to burden his feet; each binding a suit of armour to defend you from him! A thousand decoys are yours to lead him astray, a thousand nets to entangle his feet, a thousand thunderbolts to burst him asunder, O you, my people, the strength, the grandeur, the wisdom of the centuries!'

  Kien paused. Exhausted and uplifted, he collapsed on the top of the ladder. His legs trembled — or was it the ladder? The weapons of war which he had named were enacting a war-dance before his eyes. Blood was flowing; since it was the blood of books, he felt deadly sick. But he must not faint, he must not lose consciousness! Then gradually there rose a whirlwind of applause, it sounded like a storm rushing through a forest in leaf; from all sides came joyful acclamations. Here and there he recognized a single voice by the words it spoke. Their own words, their own voices, ah yes, these were his friends, his liegemen, they would follow him in the Holy War! Suddenly he straightened himself on the top of the ladder, bowed two or three times and — confused by his excitement — laid his left hand on his right breast, a place where he, like other men, had no heart. The applause showed no sign of abating. He felt as though he were drinking it in with eyes, ears, nose and tongue, with the whole of his moist, tingling skin. Never would he have thought himself capable of such words of fire. He remembered his stage fright before the speech —for what had his apologies been if not stage fright? —and he smiled.

  In order to put a term to the ovation, he climbed down the ladder. On the carpet he noticed bloodstains and felt for his face. The pleasing moistness was blood, and now he did indeed remember that he had fallen on to the floor in the interval, but, prevented from losing consciousness by the outburst of applause, had then again climbed up the ladder. He ran into the kitchen quickly, quickly he must get out of the library — who could say if the blood had not already spurted on to the books —and carefully washed away all the red marks. It was better so, that he should be wounded and not one of his soldiers. Reinvigorated, filled with a new courage for combat, he hastened back to the scene of conflict. The tumultuous applause was silenced. Only the wind whistled mournfully through the skylight. We have no time now for songs of lamentation, he thought, or we shall be singing them next by the waters of Babylon. Afire with zeal he leapt upon the ladder, drew out his face to its sternest length and shouted in stentorian command, while the window panes above him rattled in terror.

  'I am glad to see that you have come to your senses in time. But wars are not won by shouting. I assume from your approbation that you arc willing to do battle under my command.

  'I hereby declare:

  '1. That a state of war is now in existence.

  '2. That traitors will be shot out of hand.

  '3. That all authority is united in one hand. That I am commander-in-chief, sole leader and officer in command.

  '4. That any inequalities among those taking part in the war, be they of ancestry, reputation, importance or value, are for the time being abolished. The democratization of the army will be practically expressed in the following form: from to-day onwards each single volume will stand with its back to the wall. This measure will increase our sense of solidarity. It will deprive the piratical but uneducated enemy of the means to measure us one against the other.

  '5. That the word is Kung.'

  With this statement he ended his brief manifesto. He did not wait to see the effect of his words. The success of his earlier speech had swelled his sense of power. He knew himself to be borne up on the unanimous devotion of his entire army. He held thé earlier expression of their approbation to suffice, and proceeded immediately to action.

  Each single volume was taken out and placed with its back to the wall. As he held his old friends one by one in his hand — quickly and during the natural course of his work
— it distressed him thus to reduce them to the namelessness of an army ready for war. In earlier years nothing could have persuaded him to such harshness. A la guerre comme à la guerre, he justified himself, and sighed.

  The peace-loving works of Gautama Buddha, threatened with soft speeches to refuse military service. He laughed scornfully and cried: 'Try if you like !' Confidently as his words rang out, his confidence was nevertheless shaken. For the works of Buddha filled several dozen volumes. There they stood, shoulder to shoulder, in Pali, in Sanskrit, in Chinese and Japanese, Tibetan, English, German, French and Italian translations, an entire company, a force which commanded some respect. Their conduct seemed to him pure hypocrisy.

  "Why did you not notify your decision earlier?'

  "We did not join in the applause, O master.'

  'You might at least have raised your voices in disagreement.'

  'We were silent, O master.'

  'How like you !' with these words he cut short any further discourse.

  Yet the pinprick of their silence remained with him. For who, in the decades past, had elevated silence into the first principle of his existence? He had, he Kien. Whence had he learnt the value of silence, to whom did he owe this decisive turn in his own development? To Buddha, the Enlightened. Buddha was usually silent. Possibly he owed much of his fame to this fact — his frequent silence. He had few words left over for knowledge. He answered all possible questions either with silence, or by making it clear that an answer was not worth while. The suspicion that he could not give an answer was not far off. For what he did know, his famous Chain of Causation, a primitive form of logic, he would apply to every possible occasion. If he did not remain silent, he merely repeated over and over again, exactly the same things. Take away the parables from his works, and what was left? Nothing but a miserable Chain of Causation. A poor-spirited creature. A mind which had put on fat simply through inertia. Can anyone imagine a thin Buddha? There is silence and silence.

  Buddha revenged himself for the unspeakable insult: he remained silent. Kien made haste to turn his sayings all with their backs to the wall, hurrying to be free of this defeatist, demoralizing group.

  He had assumed a heavy task. Warlike resolutions are easily made. But it is essential afterwards to keep firm hold of each individual. Those who objected to war in principle were only a minority. It was the fourth point of his manifesto which met with the greatest opposition, the democratization of the army, the first really practical measure. What a multitude of vanities were here to be overcome! Rather than renounce each his individual reputation, these idiots preferred to be stolen! Schopenhauer announced his will to live. Posthumously he lusted for this worst of all worlds. In any case he positively refused to fight shoulder to shoulder with Hegel. Schelling raked up his old accusations and asserted the identity of Hegel's teachings with his own, which were the older. Fichte cried heroically, 'I am I!' Immanuel Kant stood forth, more categorically than in his lifetime, for Eternal Peace. Nietzsche declaimed all his many personalities, Dionysus, anti-Wagner, Antichrist and Saviour. Others hurried into the breach and made use of this moment, even of this critical moment, to proclaim how much they had been neglected. At long last Kien turned his back on the fantastic inferno of German philosophy.

  He imagined that he would find compensation among the less grandiose and perhaps all too precise French, but he was received with a shower of raillery. They mocked at his absurd figure. He could not manage his body, so he went to war. He had always been a lowly creature, so now he was lowering the status of his books in order to appear the greater himself. This was the manner of all men in love: they invent opposition, to appear victorious. What lay behind this Holy War? Nothing but a woman, an uneducated housekeeper, old-fashioned, past use, and without savour. Kien became furious: 'You do not deserve my leadership!' he yelled, 'I shall abandon you all and sundry to your fate!'

  'Go to the English!' they advised him. They were far too much interested in esprit to let matters come to a serious clash with him, and their advice was good.

  Among the English he found what he needed at the present time: the solid ground of facts on which they throve so well. Their objections, in so far as their rigidity permitted them to utter any, were sober, practical, yet well thought out. All the same they could not let him go without one serious reproof. Why had he taken the word for the day from the speech of a coloured race? At that Kien was beside himself and shouted abuse even at the English.

  He cursed his fate which showered upon him one disillusion after another. Better be a coolie than a commander-in-chief, he cried, and ordered the many-headed multitude to be silent. For hours he worked at turning them all round. How easily he might have flicked them on their covers, but he did not trust himself to enforce his new disciplinary order, and did no one any hurt. Weary, oppressed, tired to death, he dragged himself along the shelves. He completed his task out of firmness of character, no longer out of conviction. They had robbed him of his faith. For the upper shelves he fetched the ladder. This, too, met him without affection, even with hostility. Time and again the ladder jumped off its hooks and settled rebelliously, flat on the carpet. With thin, nerveless arms he lifted it up and each time it seemed to weigh more. He had not pride enough left to scold it as it merited. Climbing up again, he treated the rungs with deference, lest they too should play him tricks. So bad were things with him, he must even temporize with the steps, a mere auxiliary. When the books in the quondam dining-room had been turned, he stared at his handiwork. He ordered a rest of three minutes duration. He passed the time, horizontal, panting, on the carpet, watch in hand. Then he turned to the neighbouring room.

  CHAPTER VIII

  DEATH

  On the way home Thérèse aired her indignation.

  She had taken the fellow out to lunch and in return he had been impertinent. She didn't want anything of him, did she? She'd no need to run after every man she saw. A married woman like her. She wasn't a servant girl to pick up just anyone.

  At the restaurant first of all he took the menu and asked, what should he order for us. Like a fool, she said: 'Oh, but I'm going to pay.' The things he ordered ! Now, she'd have been ashamed before all the people. He swore he was a better-class gentleman. Never had he dreamed he'd have to be a poor employee. She comforted him. Then he said, yes, on the other hand he was always lucky with women, but what did he get out ofthat? He needed capital, not very much, but still capital, for every man likes to be his own master. But women have no capital, only savings, wretched little savings; you can't start a business with trifles like that, some people might try, but not him, he was after the lot, no chicken feed for him.

  Before he begins on his second cutlet he's taking her hand and saying: 'This is the hand which will make my fortune.'

  Then he tickles her. He could tickle beautifully. Nobody ever called her his little fortune before. And does she want to take shares in his business?

  But where has the money come from all of a sudden?

  Then he laughs and says: my sweetheart will give me the money.

  She feels the blood rush to her head with rage. What does he want a sweetheart for when she's there, she's human too.

  How old is your sweetheart? she asks.

  Thirty, he says.

  Is she pretty, she asks.

  Pretty as a picture, says he.

  Then she asks, couldn t she see a photo of her.

  At your service, this very moment if you please. And all at once he sticks his finger into her mouth, such a handsome thick finger as he has too, and says: 'Here she is!'

  When she doesn't answer, he chucks her under the chin, such a very forward young man — what can he be up to under the table with his foot, squeezing close up to her, who ever heard of such a thing — stares hard at her mouth and says: he's all on fire with love, if he could only sample those magnificent hips? She can rely on him. He understands business inside out. She'll miss nothing with him.

  Then she tells him stra
ight, she puts truth above everything. She must frankly confess. She is a woman without any capital at all. Her husband married her for love. She was a simple employee like him. She doesn't mind admitting it to him. As for the sampling, well, she must see how she can fix things for him. She wouldn t mind trying. Women are like that. She's not like that as a rule, but she can make an exception. He needn't think she takes him because she must. In the street all the men stare at her. She's looking forward to it already. Her husband goes to bed on the stroke of twelve. He falls asleep at once, he's methodical like that. She has a room to herself, a room where the housekeeper used to sleep. There isn't a housekeeper any more. She can't bear her husband in the same room, she must have her night's rest. He's always taking liberties. And he isn't even a man. So she sleeps by herself where the housekeeper used to sleep. At twelve-fifteen she'll come downstairs with the front door key and open to him. He needn't worry. The caretaker sleeps heavily. He's so tired after his day's work. She sleeps all by herself. As for the bedroom suite, she was only buying that to make the flat look like something. She's plenty of time. She can arrange for him to come every night. A woman must get something out of life while she can. Before you know where you are you're forty and that's the end of the lovely time.