Chapter 3: The End of War

On the mountain-side above the town of Brissago and commanding two long stretches of Lake Maggiore, looking eastward to Bellinzona, and southward to Luino, there is a shelf of grass meadows which is very beautiful in springtime with a great multitude of wild flowers. More particularly is this so in early June, when the slender asphodel Saint Bruno’s lily, with its spike of white blossom, is in flower. To the westward of this delightful shelf there is a deep and densely wooded trench, a great gulf of blue some mile or so in width out of which arise great precipices very high and wild. Above the asphodel fields the mountains climb in rocky slopes to solitudes of stone and sunlight that curve round and join that wall of cliffs in one common skyline. This desolate and austere background contrasts very vividly with the glowing serenity of the great lake below, with the spacious view of fertile hills and roads and villages and islands to south and east, and with the hotly golden rice flats of the Val Maggia to the north. And because it was a remote and insignificant place, far away out of the crowding tragedies of that year of disaster, away from burning cities and starving multitudes, bracing and tranquillising and hidden, it was here that there gathered the conference of rulers that was to arrest, if possible, before it was too late, the débâcle of civilisation. Here, brought together by the indefatigable energy of that impassioned humanitarian, Leblanc, the French ambassador at Washington, the chief Powers of the world were to meet in a last desperate conference to ‘save humanity.’

On the mountainside above the town of Brissago, a shelf of grassy meadows overlooks two long stretches of Lake Maggiore. It looks east toward Bellinzona and south toward Luino. In spring, a great abundance of wildflowers makes the meadows beautiful. This is especially true in early June, when the slender asphodel Saint Bruno’s lily blooms with its spike of white flowers. To the west of this delightful shelf is a deep, densely wooded ravine. It is a great blue gulf about a mile wide, with towering, wild cliffs rising from it. Above the asphodel fields, rocky mountain slopes climb to lonely expanses of stone and sunlight. These curve around and meet the wall of cliffs along a single skyline. This desolate, austere background contrasts vividly with the glowing serenity of the great lake below. It also contrasts with the broad view of fertile hills, roads, villages, and islands to the south and east. To the north, it contrasts with the hot, golden rice flats of the Val Maggia. The place was remote and insignificant, far from the crowding tragedies of that disastrous year. It was away from burning cities and starving multitudes, refreshing, peaceful, and hidden. For these reasons, a conference of rulers gathered here to stop, if possible, the collapse of civilization before it was too late. Leblanc, the French ambassador at Washington, had brought them together through his tireless work as a passionate humanitarian. Here the world’s chief Powers were to meet in a last desperate conference to ‘save humanity.’

Leblanc was one of those ingenuous men whose lot would have been insignificant in any period of security, but who have been caught up to an immortal rôle in history by the sudden simplification of human affairs through some tragical crisis, to the measure of their simplicity. Such a man was Abraham Lincoln, and such was Garibaldi. And Leblanc, with his transparent childish innocence, his entire self-forgetfulness, came into this confusion of distrust and intricate disaster with an invincible appeal for the manifest sanities of the situation. His voice, when he spoke, was ‘full of remonstrance.’ He was a little bald, spectacled man, inspired by that intellectual idealism which has been one of the peculiar gifts of France to humanity. He was possessed of one clear persuasion, that war must end, and that the only way to end war was to have but one government for mankind. He brushed aside all other considerations. At the very outbreak of the war, so soon as the two capitals of the belligerents had been wrecked, he went to the president in the White House with this proposal. He made it as if it was a matter of course. He was fortunate to be in Washington and in touch with that gigantic childishness which was the characteristic of the American imagination. For the Americans also were among the simple peoples by whom the world was saved. He won over the American president and the American government to his general ideas; at any rate they supported him sufficiently to give him a standing with the more sceptical European governments, and with this backing he set to work—it seemed the most fantastic of enterprises—to bring together all the rulers of the world and unify them. He wrote innumerable letters, he sent messages, he went desperate journeys, he enlisted whatever support he could find; no one was too humble for an ally or too obstinate for his advances; through the terrible autumn of the last wars this persistent little visionary in spectacles must have seemed rather like a hopeful canary twittering during a thunderstorm. And no accumulation of disasters daunted his conviction that they could be ended.

Leblanc was one of those innocent men who would have lived an insignificant life in any peaceful period. But a tragic crisis can suddenly simplify human affairs and lift such men into an immortal role in history, suited to their simplicity. Abraham Lincoln was such a man, and so was Garibaldi. Leblanc, with his transparent, childlike innocence and complete lack of self-interest, entered this confusion of distrust and complex disaster. He made an irresistible appeal to the obvious, sensible truths of the situation. When he spoke, his voice was ‘full of protest.’ He was a small, bald man with spectacles, inspired by an intellectual idealism that has been one of France’s special gifts to humanity. He held one clear belief: war must end, and the only way to end it was to have one government for all humanity. He brushed aside every other consideration. As soon as the two warring nations’ capitals had been destroyed, at the very outbreak of war, he went to the president in the White House with this proposal. He made it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was fortunate to be in Washington, where he encountered that gigantic childlikeness that characterized the American imagination. For the Americans, too, were among the simple peoples who saved the world. He won the American president and government over to his general ideas. At any rate, they supported him enough to give him standing with the more skeptical European governments. With this backing, he set to work on what seemed a wildly fantastic enterprise: bringing all the world’s rulers together and uniting them. He wrote countless letters, sent messages, made desperate journeys, and recruited whatever support he could find. No one was too humble to be an ally or too stubborn for him to approach. Throughout the terrible autumn of the last wars, this persistent little visionary in spectacles must have seemed rather like a hopeful canary chirping during a thunderstorm. And no number of disasters could shake his conviction that they could be ended.

For the whole world was flaring then into a monstrous phase of destruction. Power after Power about the armed globe sought to anticipate attack by aggression. They went to war in a delirium of panic, in order to use their bombs first. China and Japan had assailed Russia and destroyed Moscow, the United States had attacked Japan, India was in anarchistic revolt with Delhi a pit of fire spouting death and flame; the redoubtable King of the Balkans was mobilising. It must have seemed plain at last to every one in those days that the world was slipping headlong to anarchy. By the spring of 1959 from nearly two hundred centres, and every week added to their number, roared the unquenchable crimson conflagrations of the atomic bombs, the flimsy fabric of the world’s credit had vanished, industry was completely disorganised and every city, every thickly populated area was starving or trembled on the verge of starvation. Most of the capital cities of the world were burning; millions of people had already perished, and over great areas government was at an end. Humanity has been compared by one contemporary writer to a sleeper who handles matches in his sleep and wakes to find himself in flames.

The whole world was bursting into a monstrous phase of destruction. Across the armed globe, one power after another attacked to get ahead of its enemies. In a frenzy of panic, they went to war so they could use their bombs first. China and Japan had attacked Russia and destroyed Moscow. The United States had attacked Japan. India was in anarchic revolt, and Delhi was a pit of fire spewing death and flame. The formidable King of the Balkans was mobilizing his forces. By then, everyone must have seen that the world was plunging headlong into anarchy. By the spring of 1959, the unquenchable crimson fires of atomic bombs roared in nearly two hundred places. Each week, more fires broke out. The fragile structure of the world's credit had vanished, and industry was in complete disorder. Every city and every densely populated area was starving or on the brink of starvation. Most of the world's capital cities were burning. Millions had already died, and in vast areas government had ceased to exist. One writer of the time compared humanity to a sleepwalker who plays with matches and wakes to find himself in flames.

For many months it was an open question whether there was to be found throughout all the race the will and intelligence to face these new conditions and make even an attempt to arrest the downfall of the social order. For a time the war spirit defeated every effort to rally the forces of preservation and construction. Leblanc seemed to be protesting against earthquakes, and as likely to find a spirit of reason in the crater of Etna. Even though the shattered official governments now clamoured for peace, bands of irreconcilables and invincible patriots, usurpers, adventurers, and political desperadoes, were everywhere in possession of the simple apparatus for the disengagement of atomic energy and the initiation of new centres of destruction. The stuff exercised an irresistible fascination upon a certain type of mind. Why should any one give in while he can still destroy his enemies? Surrender? While there is still a chance of blowing them to dust? The power of destruction which had once been the ultimate privilege of government was now the only power left in the world—and it was everywhere. There were few thoughtful men during that phase of blazing waste who did not pass through such moods of despair as Barnet describes, and declare with him: ‘This is the end....’

For many months, it was unclear whether anyone in the whole human race had the will and intelligence to face these new conditions. Could anyone even try to stop the collapse of the social order? For a time, the spirit of war defeated every effort to bring people together to preserve and rebuild society. Leblanc might as well have been protesting against earthquakes. He was as likely to find reason in the crater of Etna. The shattered official governments were now demanding peace. Yet everywhere, groups of diehards and unyielding patriots, usurpers, adventurers, and political desperadoes possessed the simple equipment needed to release atomic energy and start new centers of destruction. The stuff held an irresistible fascination for a certain type of mind. Why should anyone give in while they can still destroy their enemies? Surrender? While there is still a chance of blowing them to dust? The power to destroy had once been the ultimate privilege of government. Now it was the only power left in the world, and it was everywhere. During that time of blazing destruction, few thoughtful men escaped the despair Barnet describes. Few did not declare with him: ‘This is the end....’

And all the while Leblanc was going to and fro with glittering glasses and an inexhaustible persuasiveness, urging the manifest reasonableness of his view upon ears that ceased presently to be inattentive. Never at any time did he betray a doubt that all this chaotic conflict would end. No nurse during a nursery uproar was ever so certain of the inevitable ultimate peace. From being treated as an amiable dreamer he came by insensible degrees to be regarded as an extravagant possibility. Then he began to seem even practicable. The people who listened to him in 1958 with a smiling impatience, were eager before 1959 was four months old to know just exactly what he thought might be done. He answered with the patience of a philosopher and the lucidity of a Frenchman. He began to receive responses of a more and more hopeful type. He came across the Atlantic to Italy, and there he gathered in the promises for this congress. He chose those high meadows above Brissago for the reasons we have stated. ‘We must get away,’ he said, ‘from old associations.’ He set to work requisitioning material for his conference with an assurance that was justified by the replies. With a slight incredulity the conference which was to begin a new order in the world, gathered itself together. Leblanc summoned it without arrogance, he controlled it by virtue of an infinite humility. Men appeared upon those upland slopes with the apparatus for wireless telegraphy; others followed with tents and provisions; a little cable was flung down to a convenient point upon the Locarno road below. Leblanc arrived, sedulously directing every detail that would affect the tone of the assembly. He might have been a courier in advance rather than the originator of the gathering. And then there arrived, some by the cable, most by aeroplane, a few in other fashions, the men who had been called together to confer upon the state of the world. It was to be a conference without a name. Nine monarchs, the presidents of four republics, a number of ministers and ambassadors, powerful journalists, and such-like prominent and influential men, took part in it. There were even scientific men; and that world-famous old man, Holsten, came with the others to contribute his amateur statecraft to the desperate problem of the age. Only Leblanc would have dared so to summon figure heads and powers and intelligence, or have had the courage to hope for their agreement....

All the while, Leblanc went to and fro, his glasses glittering, with an inexhaustible gift for persuasion. He urged the obvious reasonableness of his view on listeners who soon stopped ignoring him. He never once showed any doubt that all this chaotic conflict would end. No nurse amid the uproar in a nursery was ever so sure that peace would eventually return. People had treated him as a friendly dreamer. Gradually, they came to see his ideas as an extravagant possibility. Then his ideas even began to seem practical. People had listened to him with smiling impatience in 1958. But before four months of 1959 had passed, they were eager to know exactly what he thought could be done. He answered with the patience of a philosopher and the clarity of a Frenchman. The responses he received grew more and more hopeful. He crossed the Atlantic to Italy, where he gathered promises of support for the congress. He chose the high meadows above Brissago for the reasons we have stated. ‘We must get away,’ he said, ‘from old associations.’ He began obtaining supplies for his conference, confident that he could do so. The replies he received justified his confidence. With a touch of disbelief, the conference that would begin a new world order came together. Leblanc called it without arrogance and guided it through his boundless humility. Men arrived on the high slopes with wireless telegraph equipment. Others followed with tents and provisions. A small cable was run down to a convenient point on the Locarno road below. Leblanc arrived and carefully directed every detail that might affect the tone of the gathering. He might have been a courier sent ahead, rather than the man who had brought everyone together. Then the men called together to discuss the state of the world arrived. Some came by cable, most by aeroplane, and a few by other means. The conference was to have no name. Nine monarchs and the presidents of four republics took part. So did a number of ministers and ambassadors, powerful journalists, and other prominent and influential men. There were even scientists. The world-famous old man Holsten came with the others, bringing his amateur statecraft to bear on the desperate problem of the age. Only Leblanc would have dared to summon figureheads, powers, and intelligence in this way, or have had the courage to hope for their agreement....

And one at least of those who were called to this conference of governments came to it on foot. This was King Egbert, the young king of the most venerable kingdom in Europe. He was a rebel, and had always been of deliberate choice a rebel against the magnificence of his position. He affected long pedestrian tours and a disposition to sleep in the open air. He came now over the Pass of Sta Maria Maggiore and by boat up the lake to Brissago; thence he walked up the mountain, a pleasant path set with oaks and sweet chestnut. For provision on the walk, for he did not want to hurry, he carried with him a pocketful of bread and cheese. A certain small retinue that was necessary to his comfort and dignity upon occasions of state he sent on by the cable car, and with him walked his private secretary, Firmin, a man who had thrown up the Professorship of World Politics in the London School of Sociology, Economics, and Political Science, to take up these duties. Firmin was a man of strong rather than rapid thought, he had anticipated great influence in this new position, and after some years he was still only beginning to apprehend how largely his function was to listen. Originally he had been something of a thinker upon international politics, an authority upon tariffs and strategy, and a valued contributor to various of the higher organs of public opinion, but the atomic bombs had taken him by surprise, and he had still to recover completely from his pre-atomic opinions and the silencing effect of those sustained explosives.

At least one of those invited to this conference of governments came on foot. He was King Egbert, the young king of the oldest kingdom in Europe. He was a rebel who had always chosen to rebel against the splendor of his position. He liked long walks and sleeping outdoors. He came over the Pass of Sta Maria Maggiore and took a boat up the lake to Brissago. From there, he walked up the mountain along a pleasant path lined with oaks and sweet chestnut trees. He did not want to hurry, so he carried a pocketful of bread and cheese for the walk. He sent a small group of attendants ahead by cable car. They were needed for his comfort and dignity on occasions of state. His private secretary, Firmin, walked with him. Firmin had given up the Professorship of World Politics at the London School of Sociology, Economics, and Political Science to take the job. He was a strong thinker, though not a quick one. He had expected to have great influence in his new position. Yet after some years, he was still only beginning to understand how much of his job was to listen. He had once been something of a thinker on international politics, an authority on tariffs and strategy, and a valued contributor to various leading publications. But the atomic bombs had taken him by surprise. He had not yet fully recovered from his pre-atomic opinions or the silencing effect of those sustained explosives.

The king’s freedom from the trammels of etiquette was very complete. In theory—and he abounded in theory—his manners were purely democratic. It was by sheer habit and inadvertency that he permitted Firmin, who had discovered a rucksack in a small shop in the town below, to carry both bottles of beer. The king had never, as a matter of fact, carried anything for himself in his life, and he had never noted that he did not do so.

The king was completely free from the restrictions of etiquette. In theory, his manners were entirely democratic. He had plenty of theories. It was purely out of habit and carelessness that he let Firmin carry both bottles of beer. Firmin had found a rucksack in a small shop in the town below. In fact, the king had never carried anything for himself in his life. He had never noticed that he did not.

‘We will have nobody with us,’ he said, ‘at all. We will be perfectly simple.’

‘We won’t have anyone with us,’ he said, ‘at all. We’ll keep things perfectly simple.’

So Firmin carried the beer.

So Firmin carried the beer.

As they walked up—it was the king made the pace rather than Firmin—they talked of the conference before them, and Firmin, with a certain want of assurance that would have surprised him in himself in the days of his Professorship, sought to define the policy of his companion. ‘In its broader form, sir,’ said Firmin; ‘I admit a certain plausibility in this project of Leblanc’s, but I feel that although it may be advisable to set up some sort of general control for International affairs—a sort of Hague Court with extended powers—that is no reason whatever for losing sight of the principles of national and imperial autonomy.’

As they walked up, the king set the pace rather than Firmin. They talked about the conference ahead. Firmin tried to clarify his companion’s policy, with a lack of confidence that would have surprised him during his days as a professor. ‘In its broader form, sir,’ said Firmin, ‘I admit that Leblanc’s plan has some appeal. It may be wise to establish some kind of general control over international affairs, like a Hague Court with greater powers. But that is no reason at all to lose sight of the principles of national and imperial autonomy.’

‘Firmin,’ said the king, ‘I am going to set my brother kings a good example.’

‘Firmin,’ said the king, ‘I am going to set a good example for my fellow kings.’

Firmin intimated a curiosity that veiled a dread.

Firmin showed curiosity that concealed his dread.

‘By chucking all that nonsense,’ said the king.

‘By getting rid of all that nonsense,’ said the king.

He quickened his pace as Firmin, who was already a little out of breath, betrayed a disposition to reply.

He walked faster as Firmin, already a little out of breath, showed signs of wanting to reply.

‘I am going to chuck all that nonsense,’ said the king, as Firmin prepared to speak. ‘I am going to fling my royalty and empire on the table—and declare at once I don’t mean to haggle. It’s haggling—about rights—has been the devil in human affairs, for—always. I am going to stop this nonsense.’

‘I’m going to throw out all that nonsense,’ said the king, as Firmin prepared to speak. ‘I’m going to put my royalty and empire on the table. And I’ll say at once that I don’t intend to haggle. Haggling over rights has always been the devil in human affairs. I’m going to stop this nonsense.’

Firmin halted abruptly. ‘But, sir!’ he cried.

Firmin stopped suddenly. ‘But, sir!’ he cried.

The king stopped six yards ahead of him and looked back at his adviser’s perspiring visage.

The king stopped six yards ahead of him and looked back at his adviser’s sweaty face.

‘Do you really think, Firmin, that I am here as—as an infernal politician to put my crown and my flag and my claims and so forth in the way of peace? That little Frenchman is right. You know he is right as well as I do. Those things are over. We—we kings and rulers and representatives have been at the very heart of the mischief. Of course we imply separation, and of course separation means the threat of war, and of course the threat of war means the accumulation of more and more atomic bombs. The old game’s up. But, I say, we mustn’t stand here, you know. The world waits. Don’t you think the old game’s up, Firmin?’

‘Do you really think, Firmin, that I’m here as, as some damned politician? Do you think I’m putting my crown, my flag, my claims, and all that in the way of peace? That little Frenchman is right. You know he’s right as well as I do. Those things are over. We, we kings and rulers and representatives, have been at the very heart of the trouble. Of course we stand for separation. And of course separation means the threat of war. And of course the threat of war means stockpiling more and more atomic bombs. The old game is over. But, I say, we can’t stand here, you know. The world is waiting. Don’t you think the old game is over, Firmin?’

Firmin adjusted a strap, passed a hand over his wet forehead, and followed earnestly. ‘I admit, sir,’ he said to a receding back, ‘that there has to be some sort of hegemony, some sort of Amphictyonic council——’

Firmin adjusted a strap, wiped his wet forehead, and followed intently. ‘I admit, sir,’ he said to the man walking away, ‘that there has to be some kind of hegemony, some kind of Amphictyonic council...’

‘There’s got to be one simple government for all the world,’ said the king over his shoulder.

‘There has to be one simple government for the whole world,’ the king said over his shoulder.

‘But as for a reckless, unqualified abandonment, sir——’

‘But as for a reckless, unconditional abandonment, sir...’

‘Bang!’ cried the king.

‘Bang!’ cried the king.

Firmin made no answer to this interruption. But a faint shadow of annoyance passed across his heated features.

Firmin did not answer the interruption. But a faint look of annoyance crossed his flushed face.

‘Yesterday,’ said the king, by way of explanation, ‘the Japanese very nearly got San Francisco.’

‘Yesterday,’ the king explained, ‘the Japanese almost got San Francisco.’

‘I hadn’t heard, sir.’

‘I hadn’t heard, sir.’

‘The Americans ran the Japanese aeroplane down into the sea and there the bomb got busted.’

‘The Americans drove the Japanese plane into the sea, and the bomb got busted there.’

‘Under the sea, sir?’

‘Under the sea, sir?’

‘Yes. Submarine volcano. The steam is in sight of the Californian coast. It was as near as that. And with things like this happening, you want me to go up this hill and haggle. Consider the effect of that upon my imperial cousin—and all the others!’

‘Yes. An underwater volcano. The steam can be seen from the Californian coast. It was that close. And with things like this happening, you want me to go up this hill and bargain. Think of the effect that would have on my imperial cousin and all the others!’

‘He will haggle, sir.’

‘He will haggle, sir.’

‘Not a bit of it,’ said the king.

‘Not at all,’ said the king.

‘But, sir.’

‘But, sir.’

‘Leblanc won’t let him.’

‘Leblanc won’t let him.’

Firmin halted abruptly and gave a vicious pull at the offending strap. ‘Sir, he will listen to his advisers,’ he said, in a tone that in some subtle way seemed to implicate his master with the trouble of the knapsack.

Firmin stopped suddenly and yanked hard at the troublesome strap. ‘Sir, he will listen to his advisers,’ he said. His tone subtly suggested that his master was somehow to blame for the trouble with the knapsack.

The king considered him.

The king considered him.

‘We will go just a little higher,’ he said. ‘I want to find this unoccupied village they spoke of, and then we will drink that beer. It can’t be far. We will drink the beer and throw away the bottles. And then, Firmin, I shall ask you to look at things in a more generous light.... Because, you know, you must....’

‘We’ll go just a little higher,’ he said. ‘I want to find the empty village they spoke of. Then we’ll drink that beer. It can’t be far. We’ll drink the beer and throw away the bottles. And then, Firmin, I’ll ask you to look at things more generously.... Because, you know, you must....’

He turned about and for some time the only sound they made was the noise of their boots upon the loose stones of the way and the irregular breathing of Firmin.

He turned around. For a while, the only sounds they made were their boots on the loose stones and Firmin’s uneven breathing.

At length, as it seemed to Firmin, or quite soon, as it seemed to the king, the gradient of the path diminished, the way widened out, and they found themselves in a very beautiful place indeed. It was one of those upland clusters of sheds and houses that are still to be found in the mountains of North Italy, buildings that were used only in the high summer, and which it was the custom to leave locked up and deserted through all the winter and spring, and up to the middle of June. The buildings were of a soft-toned gray stone, buried in rich green grass, shadowed by chestnut trees and lit by an extraordinary blaze of yellow broom. Never had the king seen broom so glorious; he shouted at the light of it, for it seemed to give out more sunlight even than it received; he sat down impulsively on a lichenous stone, tugged out his bread and cheese, and bade Firmin thrust the beer into the shaded weeds to cool.

At last, or so it seemed to Firmin, the path grew less steep and widened out. To the king, it seemed to happen quite soon. They found themselves in a very beautiful place. It was one of the clusters of sheds and houses still found high in the mountains of North Italy. The buildings were used only in midsummer. They were usually left locked up and deserted through winter and spring, until the middle of June. They were built of soft gray stone and nestled in rich green grass. Chestnut trees shaded them, and a brilliant blaze of yellow broom lit them up. The king had never seen broom so glorious. He shouted at the sight of it, for it seemed to give out even more sunlight than it received. On impulse, he sat down on a stone covered with lichen and pulled out his bread and cheese. He told Firmin to put the beer in the shaded weeds to cool.

‘The things people miss, Firmin,’ he said, ‘who go up into the air in ships!’

‘Firmin, think of all the things people miss when they travel through the air in ships!’ he said.

Firmin looked around him with an ungenial eye. ‘You see it at its best, sir,’ he said, ‘before the peasants come here again and make it filthy.’

Firmin looked around with a hostile eye. ‘You see it at its best, sir,’ he said, ‘before the peasants come back and make it filthy.’

‘It would be beautiful anyhow,’ said the king.

‘It would be beautiful anyway,’ said the king.

‘Superficially, sir,’ said Firmin. ‘But it stands for a social order that is fast vanishing away. Indeed, judging by the grass between the stones and in the huts, I am inclined to doubt if it is in use even now.’

‘On the surface, sir,’ said Firmin. ‘But it represents a social order that is quickly disappearing. In fact, judging by the grass between the stones and in the huts, I doubt it is even used now.’

‘I suppose,’ said the king, ‘they would come up immediately the hay on this flower meadow is cut. It would be those slow, creamy-coloured beasts, I expect, one sees on the roads below, and swarthy girls with red handkerchiefs over their black hair.... It is wonderful to think how long that beautiful old life lasted. In the Roman times and long ages before ever the rumour of the Romans had come into these parts, men drove their cattle up into these places as the summer came on.... How haunted is this place! There have been quarrels here, hopes, children have played here and lived to be old crones and old gaffers, and died, and so it has gone on for thousands of lives. Lovers, innumerable lovers, have caressed amidst this golden broom....’

‘I suppose,’ said the king, ‘they would come up as soon as the hay in this flower meadow is cut. I expect they would bring those slow, cream-colored cattle one sees on the roads below. And there would be swarthy girls with red kerchiefs over their black hair.... It is wonderful to think how long that beautiful old way of life lasted. In Roman times, men drove their cattle up here as summer came. They did so for ages before anyone here had even heard of the Romans.... How haunted this place is! There have been quarrels here, and hopes. Children have played here and lived to be old women and old men, and died. And so it has gone on for thousands of lives. Lovers, countless lovers, have caressed each other among this golden broom....’

He meditated over a busy mouthful of bread and cheese.

He thought while chewing a mouthful of bread and cheese.

‘We ought to have brought a tankard for that beer,’ he said.

‘We should have brought a mug for that beer,’ he said.

Firmin produced a folding aluminium cup, and the king was pleased to drink.

Firmin took out a folding aluminum cup, and the king was happy to drink.

‘I wish, sir,’ said Firmin suddenly, ‘I could induce you at least to delay your decision——’

‘I wish, sir,’ Firmin said suddenly, ‘I could persuade you at least to delay your decision...’

‘It’s no good talking, Firmin,’ said the king. ‘My mind’s as clear as daylight.’

‘There’s no point talking, Firmin,’ said the king. ‘My mind is perfectly clear.’

‘Sire,’ protested Firmin, with his voice full of bread and cheese and genuine emotion, ‘have you no respect for your kingship?’

‘Sire,’ Firmin protested, his voice full of bread, cheese, and genuine emotion. ‘Don't you respect your role as king?’

The king paused before he answered with unwonted gravity. ‘It’s just because I have, Firmin, that I won’t be a puppet in this game of international politics.’ He regarded his companion for a moment and then remarked: ‘Kingship!—what do you know of kingship, Firmin?

The king paused before answering with unusual seriousness. ‘It’s just because I have, Firmin, that I won’t be a puppet in this game of international politics.’ He looked at his companion for a moment, then said: ‘Kingship! What do you know about kingship, Firmin?

‘Yes,’ cried the king to his astonished counsellor. ‘For the first time in my life I am going to be a king. I am going to lead, and lead by my own authority. For a dozen generations my family has been a set of dummies in the hands of their advisers. Advisers! Now I am going to be a real king—and I am going to—to abolish, dispose of, finish, the crown to which I have been a slave. But what a world of paralysing shams this roaring stuff has ended! The rigid old world is in the melting-pot again, and I, who seemed to be no more than the stuffing inside a regal robe, I am a king among kings. I have to play my part at the head of things and put an end to blood and fire and idiot disorder.’

‘Yes,’ cried the king to his astonished adviser. ‘For the first time in my life, I am going to be a king. I am going to lead, and lead by my own authority. For twelve generations, my family has been a set of puppets in the hands of their advisers. Advisers! Now I am going to be a real king. And I am going to abolish, get rid of, finish off the crown to which I have been a slave. But what a world of crippling pretenses this roaring stuff has ended! The rigid old world is melting down again. And I, who seemed to be nothing more than the stuffing inside a royal robe, am a king among kings. I must play my part at the head of affairs and put an end to blood, fire, and idiotic disorder.’

‘But, sir,’ protested Firmin.

‘But, sir,’ Firmin protested.

‘This man Leblanc is right. The whole world has got to be a Republic, one and indivisible. You know that, and my duty is to make that easy. A king should lead his people; you want me to stick on their backs like some Old Man of the Sea. To-day must be a sacrament of kings. Our trust for mankind is done with and ended. We must part our robes among them, we must part our kingship among them, and say to them all, now the king in every one must rule the world.... Have you no sense of the magnificence of this occasion? You want me, Firmin, you want me to go up there and haggle like a damned little solicitor for some price, some compensation, some qualification....’

‘This man Leblanc is right. The whole world must be one Republic, united and indivisible. You know that, and my duty is to make it easy. A king should lead his people. You want me to cling to their backs like some Old Man of the Sea. Today must be a sacrament of kings. Our responsibility for mankind is over. We must share our robes and our kingship among them. We must tell them all that now the king in each of them must rule the world.... Can’t you see how magnificent this occasion is? You want me, Firmin, to go up there and bargain like a damned little lawyer. You want me to ask for some price, some compensation, some condition....’

Firmin shrugged his shoulders and assumed an expression of despair. Meanwhile, he conveyed, one must eat.

Firmin shrugged and put on a look of despair. Meanwhile, he seemed to say, one had to eat.

For a time neither spoke, and the king ate and turned over in his mind the phrases of the speech he intended to make to the conference. By virtue of the antiquity of his crown he was to preside, and he intended to make his presidency memorable. Reassured of his eloquence, he considered the despondent and sulky Firmin for a space.

For a while, neither spoke. The king ate and thought over the words of the speech he planned to give at the conference. Because his crown was the oldest, he would preside, and he intended to make his presidency memorable. Satisfied with his eloquence, he studied the despondent, sulky Firmin for a while.

‘Firmin,’ he said, ‘you have idealised kingship.’

‘Firmin,’ he said, ‘you have an idealized view of kingship.’

‘It has been my dream, sir,’ said Firmin sorrowfully, ‘to serve.’

‘My dream, sir,’ said Firmin sadly, ‘has been to serve.’

‘At the levers, Firmin,’ said the king.

‘At the levers, Firmin,’ said the king.

‘You are pleased to be unjust,’ said Firmin, deeply hurt.

‘You choose to be unfair,’ said Firmin, deeply hurt.

‘I am pleased to be getting out of it,’ said the king.

‘I’m glad to be getting out of it,’ said the king.

‘Oh, Firmin,’ he went on, ‘have you no thought for me? Will you never realise that I am not only flesh and blood but an imagination—with its rights. I am a king in revolt against that fetter they put upon my head. I am a king awake. My reverend grandparents never in all their august lives had a waking moment. They loved the job that you, you advisers, gave them; they never had a doubt of it. It was like giving a doll to a woman who ought to have a child. They delighted in processions and opening things and being read addresses to, and visiting triplets and nonagenarians and all that sort of thing. Incredibly. They used to keep albums of cuttings from all the illustrated papers showing them at it, and if the press-cutting parcels grew thin they were worried. It was all that ever worried them. But there is something atavistic in me; I hark back to unconstitutional monarchs. They christened me too retrogressively, I think. I wanted to get things done. I was bored. I might have fallen into vice, most intelligent and energetic princes do, but the palace precautions were unusually thorough. I was brought up in the purest court the world has ever seen.... Alertly pure.... So I read books, Firmin, and went about asking questions. The thing was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later. Perhaps, too, very likely I’m not vicious. I don’t think I am.’

‘Oh, Firmin,’ he went on, ‘don’t you ever think of me? Will you never understand that I am not just flesh and blood? I have an imagination too, and it has rights. I am a king in revolt against the chains they put on my head. I am a king who is awake. My revered grandparents never had a waking moment in all their dignified lives. They loved the job that you advisers gave them. They never doubted it. It was like giving a doll to a woman who ought to have a child. They delighted in processions, opening ceremonies, and listening to speeches. They loved visiting triplets and people in their nineties, and all that sort of thing. Incredibly. They kept albums of clippings from all the illustrated papers showing them doing it. If the packages of press clippings got thin, they worried. It was all that ever worried them. ‘But there is something in me from an earlier age. I look back to monarchs who weren’t bound by constitutions. I think they gave me a name that looked too far back. I wanted to get things done. I was bored. I might have fallen into vice. Most intelligent and energetic princes do. But the precautions at the palace were unusually thorough. I was brought up in the purest court the world has ever seen.... Vigilantly pure.... So I read books, Firmin, and went around asking questions. It was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later. Perhaps, too, I’m very likely not vicious. I don’t think I am.’

He reflected. ‘No,’ he said.

He thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said.

Firmin cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think you are, sir,’ he said. ‘You prefer——’

Firmin cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think you are, sir,’ he said. ‘You prefer...’

He stopped short. He had been going to say ‘talking.’ He substituted ‘ideas.’

He stopped abruptly. He had been about to say ‘talking.’ He said ‘ideas’ instead.

‘That world of royalty!’ the king went on. ‘In a little while no one will understand it any more. It will become a riddle....

‘That world of royalty!’ the king continued. ‘Soon no one will understand it anymore. It will become a mystery....

‘Among other things, it was a world of perpetual best clothes. Everything was in its best clothes for us, and usually wearing bunting. With a cinema watching to see we took it properly. If you are a king, Firmin, and you go and look at a regiment, it instantly stops whatever it is doing, changes into full uniform and presents arms. When my august parents went in a train the coal in the tender used to be whitened. It did, Firmin, and if coal had been white instead of black I have no doubt the authorities would have blackened it. That was the spirit of our treatment. People were always walking about with their faces to us. One never saw anything in profile. One got an impression of a world that was insanely focused on ourselves. And when I began to poke my little questions into the Lord Chancellor and the archbishop and all the rest of them, about what I should see if people turned round, the general effect I produced was that I wasn’t by any means displaying the Royal Tact they had expected of me....’

‘Among other things, it was a world where everyone wore their best clothes all the time. Everything was dressed up for us, usually with bunting. A film camera watched to see that we reacted properly. If you are a king, Firmin, and visit a regiment, it immediately stops whatever it is doing. The soldiers change into full uniform and present arms. When my grand parents traveled by train, the coal in the tender was painted white. It really was, Firmin. And if coal had been white instead of black, I have no doubt the authorities would have painted it black. That was how they treated us. People always walked around facing us. One never saw anything in profile. The world seemed insanely focused on us. And when I began asking the Lord Chancellor, the archbishop, and all the others what I would see if people turned around, they were generally left with the impression that I was not showing the Royal Tact they had expected of me....’

He meditated for a time.

He thought for a while.

‘And yet, you know, there is something in the kingship, Firmin. It stiffened up my august little grandfather. It gave my grandmother a kind of awkward dignity even when she was cross—and she was very often cross. They both had a profound sense of responsibility. My poor father’s health was wretched during his brief career; nobody outside the circle knows just how he screwed himself up to things. “My people expect it,” he used to say of this tiresome duty or that. Most of the things they made him do were silly—it was part of a bad tradition, but there was nothing silly in the way he set about them.... The spirit of kingship is a fine thing, Firmin; I feel it in my bones; I do not know what I might not be if I were not a king. I could die for my people, Firmin, and you couldn’t. No, don’t say you could die for me, because I know better. Don’t think I forget my kingship, Firmin, don’t imagine that. I am a king, a kingly king, by right divine. The fact that I am also a chattering young man makes not the slightest difference to that. But the proper text-book for kings, Firmin, is none of the court memoirs and Welt-Politik books you would have me read; it is old Fraser’s Golden Bough. Have you read that, Firmin?’

‘And yet, you know, there is something to being a king, Firmin. It gave my distinguished little grandfather strength. It gave my grandmother a kind of awkward dignity, even when she was cross, which was very often. They both felt a deep sense of responsibility. My poor father was in terrible health during his brief reign. No one outside the family circle knows how hard he had to push himself to do things. “My people expect it,” he used to say of one tiresome duty or another. Most of the things they made him do were silly. They were part of a bad tradition, but there was nothing silly about the way he did them.... ‘The spirit of kingship is a fine thing, Firmin. I feel it in my bones. I don’t know what I might be if I weren’t a king. I could die for my people, Firmin, and you couldn’t. No, don’t say you could die for me, because I know better. Don’t think I forget that I’m a king, Firmin. Don’t imagine that. I am a king, a kingly king, by divine right. The fact that I’m also a chatty young man makes no difference at all. ‘But the right textbook for kings, Firmin, isn’t any of the court memoirs or Welt-Politik books you want me to read. It’s old Fraser’s Golden Bough. Have you read it, Firmin?’

Firmin had. ‘Those were the authentic kings. In the end they were cut up and a bit given to everybody. They sprinkled the nations—with Kingship.’

Firmin had. ‘Those were the real kings. In the end, they were cut up, and a piece was given to everyone. They scattered kingship among the nations.’

Firmin turned himself round and faced his royal master.

Firmin turned around and faced his royal master.

‘What do you intend to do, sir?’ he asked. ‘If you will not listen to me, what do you propose to do this afternoon?’

‘What do you plan to do, sir?’ he asked. ‘If you won't listen to me, what will you do this afternoon?’

The king flicked crumbs from his coat.

The king flicked crumbs from his coat.

‘Manifestly war has to stop for ever, Firmin. Manifestly this can only be done by putting all the world under one government. Our crowns and flags are in the way. Manifestly they must go.’

‘Clearly, war has to stop forever, Firmin. Clearly, the only way to stop it is to put the whole world under one government. Our crowns and flags are in the way. Clearly, they must go.’

‘Yes, sir,’ interrupted Firmin, ‘but what government? I don’t see what government you get by a universal abdication!’

‘Yes, sir,’ Firmin interrupted, ‘but what government? I don’t see what kind of government you get if everyone abdicates!’

‘Well,’ said the king, with his hands about his knees, ‘We shall be the government.’

‘Well,’ said the king, holding his knees, ‘We will be the government.’

‘The conference?’ exclaimed Firmin.

‘The conference?’ Firmin exclaimed.

‘Who else?’ asked the king simply.

‘Who else?’ asked the king simply.

‘It’s perfectly simple,’ he added to Firmin’s tremendous silence.

‘It’s perfectly simple,’ he added, as Firmin remained utterly silent.

‘But,’ cried Firmin, ‘you must have sanctions! Will there be no form of election, for example?’

‘But,’ Firmin cried, ‘you must have sanctions! Won’t there be some kind of election, for example?’

‘Why should there be?’ asked the king, with intelligent curiosity.

‘Why should there be?’ the king asked with intelligent curiosity.

‘The consent of the governed.’

‘The consent of the people being governed.’

‘Firmin, we are just going to lay down our differences and take over government. Without any election at all. Without any sanction. The governed will show their consent by silence. If any effective opposition arises we shall ask it to come in and help. The true sanction of kingship is the grip upon the sceptre. We aren’t going to worry people to vote for us. I’m certain the mass of men does not want to be bothered with such things.... We’ll contrive a way for any one interested to join in. That’s quite enough in the way of democracy. Perhaps later—when things don’t matter.... We shall govern all right, Firmin. Government only becomes difficult when the lawyers get hold of it, and since these troubles began the lawyers are shy. Indeed, come to think of it, I wonder where all the lawyers are.... Where are they? A lot, of course, were bagged, some of the worst ones, when they blew up my legislature. You never knew the late Lord Chancellor....

‘Firmin, we’re going to set aside our differences and take over the government. There won’t be an election or any official approval. The people we govern will show their consent by staying silent. If any effective opposition arises, we’ll ask them to join us and help. The real basis of a king’s authority is his grip on the sceptre. We aren’t going to bother people to vote for us. I’m certain most men don’t want to be bothered with such things.... We’ll find a way for anyone interested to take part. That’s quite enough democracy. Perhaps later, when things don’t matter.... We’ll govern well enough, Firmin. Government only becomes difficult when the lawyers get hold of it. And since these troubles began, the lawyers have kept out of sight. In fact, now that I think of it, I wonder where all the lawyers are.... Where are they? Of course, a lot were killed when they blew up my legislature, including some of the worst. You never knew the late Lord Chancellor....’

‘Necessities bury rights. And create them. Lawyers live on dead rights disinterred.... We’ve done with that way of living. We won’t have more law than a code can cover and beyond that government will be free....

‘Necessities bury rights. And they create them. Lawyers make a living by digging up dead rights.... We’re done living that way. We won’t have more law than a code can cover. Beyond that code, the government will be free....

‘Before the sun sets to-day, Firmin, trust me, we shall have made our abdications, all of us, and declared the World Republic, supreme and indivisible. I wonder what my august grandmother would have made of it! All my rights! . . . And then we shall go on governing. What else is there to do? All over the world we shall declare that there is no longer mine or thine, but ours. China, the United States, two-thirds of Europe, will certainly fall in and obey. They will have to do so. What else can they do? Their official rulers are here with us. They won’t be able to get together any sort of idea of not obeying us.... Then we shall declare that every sort of property is held in trust for the Republic....’

‘Before sunset today, Firmin, trust me, we will all have given up our thrones. We will have declared the World Republic, supreme and indivisible. I wonder what my grand grandmother would have thought of it! All my rights! . . . And then we will go on governing. What else is there to do? We will declare across the world that there is no longer mine or yours, but ours. China, the United States, and two-thirds of Europe will certainly join us and obey. They will have to. What else can they do? Their official rulers are here with us. They won’t even be able to come up with any idea of disobeying us.... Then we will declare that all property is held in trust for the Republic....’

‘But, sir!’ cried Firmin, suddenly enlightened. ‘Has this been arranged already?’

‘But, sir!’ cried Firmin, suddenly understanding. ‘Has this already been arranged?’

‘My dear Firmin, do you think we have come here, all of us, to talk at large? The talking has been done for half a century. Talking and writing. We are here to set the new thing, the simple, obvious, necessary thing, going.’

‘My dear Firmin, do you think we all came here just to talk? People have been talking and writing for half a century. We are here to get the new thing started, the simple, obvious, necessary thing.’

He stood up.

He stood up.

Firmin, forgetting the habits of a score of years, remained seated.

Firmin forgot the habits of twenty years and stayed seated.

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘And I have known nothing!’

‘Well,’ he said at last. ‘And I knew nothing!’

The king smiled very cheerfully. He liked these talks with Firmin.

The king smiled very cheerfully. He enjoyed these talks with Firmin.

That conference upon the Brissago meadows was one of the most heterogeneous collections of prominent people that has ever met together. Principalities and powers, stripped and shattered until all their pride and mystery were gone, met in a marvellous new humility. Here were kings and emperors whose capitals were lakes of flaming destruction, statesmen whose countries had become chaos, scared politicians and financial potentates. Here were leaders of thought and learned investigators dragged reluctantly to the control of affairs. Altogether there were ninety-three of them, Leblanc’s conception of the head men of the world. They had all come to the realisation of the simple truths that the indefatigable Leblanc had hammered into them; and, drawing his resources from the King of Italy, he had provisioned his conference with a generous simplicity quite in accordance with the rest of his character, and so at last was able to make his astonishing and entirely rational appeal. He had appointed King Egbert the president, he believed in this young man so firmly that he completely dominated him, and he spoke himself as a secretary might speak from the president’s left hand, and evidently did not realise himself that he was telling them all exactly what they had to do. He imagined he was merely recapitulating the obvious features of the situation for their convenience. He was dressed in ill-fitting white silk clothes, and he consulted a dingy little packet of notes as he spoke. They put him out. He explained that he had never spoken from notes before, but that this occasion was exceptional.

The conference in the Brissago meadows was one of the most varied gatherings of prominent people ever assembled. Rulers and powerful figures, stripped and shattered until all their pride and mystery were gone, met with remarkable humility. There were kings and emperors whose capitals were lakes of flaming destruction, statesmen whose countries had fallen into chaos, frightened politicians, and financial magnates. There were thinkers and scholars who had been reluctantly dragged into running affairs. Altogether, there were ninety-three of them, the people Leblanc regarded as the world's leading figures. They had all come to understand the simple truths that the tireless Leblanc had hammered into them. With resources provided by the King of Italy, Leblanc had supplied the conference generously and simply, in keeping with his character. At last, he was able to make his astonishing and entirely rational appeal. He had appointed King Egbert as president. Leblanc believed in the young man so firmly that he completely dominated him. Leblanc himself spoke at the president's left hand, as a secretary might. He apparently did not realize that he was telling them all exactly what to do. He imagined he was merely reviewing the obvious facts of the situation for their convenience. He wore ill-fitting white silk clothes and consulted a shabby little packet of notes as he spoke. The notes threw him off. He explained that he had never spoken from notes before, but that this occasion was exceptional.

And then King Egbert spoke as he was expected to speak, and Leblanc’s spectacles moistened at that flow of generous sentiment, most amiably and lightly expressed. ‘We haven’t to stand on ceremony,’ said the king, ‘we have to govern the world. We have always pretended to govern the world and here is our opportunity.’

Then King Egbert spoke as he was expected to. His generous words, delivered so pleasantly and lightly, brought tears to Leblanc’s eyes. ‘We don’t have to stand on ceremony,’ said the king. ‘We have to govern the world. We have always pretended to govern the world, and now we have our chance.’

‘Of course,’ whispered Leblanc, nodding his head rapidly, ‘of course.’

‘Of course,’ whispered Leblanc, nodding rapidly, ‘of course.’

‘The world has been smashed up, and we have to put it on its wheels again,’ said King Egbert. ‘And it is the simple common sense of this crisis for all to help and none to seek advantage. Is that our tone or not?’

‘The world has been smashed up, and we have to get it back on its feet,’ said King Egbert. ‘In this crisis, common sense says everyone must help and no one should seek an advantage. Is that our approach or not?’

The gathering was too old and seasoned and miscellaneous for any great displays of enthusiasm, but that was its tone, and with an astonishment that somehow became exhilarating it began to resign, repudiate, and declare its intentions. Firmin, taking notes behind his master, heard everything that had been foretold among the yellow broom, come true. With a queer feeling that he was dreaming, he assisted at the proclamation of the World State, and saw the message taken out to the wireless operators to be throbbed all round the habitable globe. ‘And next,’ said King Egbert, with a cheerful excitement in his voice, ‘we have to get every atom of Carolinum and all the plant for making it, into our control....’

The people gathered were too old, experienced, and varied to show much enthusiasm, but that was the mood. Somehow, their astonishment became exhilarating as they began to resign, reject old allegiances, and declare their intentions. Firmin took notes behind his master and heard everything foretold among the yellow broom come true. Feeling strangely as if he were dreaming, he witnessed the proclamation of the World State. He saw the message taken to the wireless operators to be transmitted around the entire inhabited world. ‘And next,’ said King Egbert, his voice full of cheerful excitement, ‘we have to get every atom of Carolinum and all the equipment for making it under our control....’

Firmin was not alone in his incredulity. Not a man there who was not a very amiable, reasonable, benevolent creature at bottom; some had been born to power and some had happened upon it, some had struggled to get it, not clearly knowing what it was and what it implied, but none was irreconcilably set upon its retention at the price of cosmic disaster. Their minds had been prepared by circumstances and sedulously cultivated by Leblanc; and now they took the broad obvious road along which King Egbert was leading them, with a mingled conviction of strangeness and necessity. Things went very smoothly; the King of Italy explained the arrangements that had been made for the protection of the camp from any fantastic attack; a couple of thousand of aeroplanes, each carrying a sharpshooter, guarded them, and there was an excellent system of relays, and at night all the sky would be searched by scores of lights, and the admirable Leblanc gave luminous reasons for their camping just where they were and going on with their administrative duties forthwith. He knew of this place, because he had happened upon it when holiday-making with Madame Leblanc twenty years and more ago. ‘There is very simple fare at present,’ he explained, ‘on account of the disturbed state of the countries about us. But we have excellent fresh milk, good red wine, beef, bread, salad, and lemons.... In a few days I hope to place things in the hands of a more efficient caterer....’

Firmin was not alone in his disbelief. Every man there was, at heart, a very pleasant, reasonable, kind person. Some had been born to power, and some had come upon it by chance. Others had struggled to gain power without clearly knowing what it was or what it involved. But none was determined to keep it at the cost of a disaster for the whole world. Circumstances had prepared their minds, and Leblanc had carefully cultivated them. Now they took the broad, obvious road along which King Egbert was leading them. They felt both its strangeness and its necessity. Things went very smoothly. The King of Italy explained the arrangements for protecting the camp from any bizarre attack. A couple of thousand airplanes guarded them, each carrying a sharpshooter. There was also an excellent system of relays. At night, dozens of lights would search the whole sky. The admirable Leblanc gave clear reasons for camping where they were and immediately continuing their administrative duties. He knew the place because he had come upon it more than twenty years earlier while on holiday with Madame Leblanc. ‘The food is very simple at present,’ he explained, ‘because of the unsettled state of the surrounding countries. But we have excellent fresh milk, good red wine, beef, bread, salad, and lemons.... In a few days I hope to put things in the hands of a more efficient caterer....’

The members of the new world government dined at three long tables on trestles, and down the middle of these tables Leblanc, in spite of the barrenness of his menu, had contrived to have a great multitude of beautiful roses. There was similar accommodation for the secretaries and attendants at a lower level down the mountain. The assembly dined as it had debated, in the open air, and over the dark crags to the west the glowing June sunset shone upon the banquet. There was no precedency now among the ninety-three, and King Egbert found himself between a pleasant little Japanese stranger in spectacles and his cousin of Central Europe, and opposite a great Bengali leader and the President of the United States of America. Beyond the Japanese was Holsten, the old chemist, and Leblanc was a little way down the other side.

The members of the new world government dined at three long tables on trestles. Despite the sparse menu, Leblanc had managed to fill the middle of the tables with beautiful roses. Similar arrangements were made for the secretaries and attendants farther down the mountain. The assembly ate in the open air, just as it had debated. The glowing June sunset shone over the dark crags to the west and onto the banquet. There was no order of precedence now among the ninety-three. King Egbert sat between a pleasant little Japanese stranger wearing glasses and his cousin from Central Europe. Across from him sat a great Bengali leader and the President of the United States of America. Beyond the Japanese stranger sat Holsten, the old chemist. Leblanc sat a little farther down the other side of the table.

The king was still cheerfully talkative and abounded in ideas. He fell presently into an amiable controversy with the American, who seemed to feel a lack of impressiveness in the occasion.

The king was still cheerful and talkative, full of ideas. Soon he entered into a friendly debate with the American, who seemed to feel the occasion was not impressive enough.

It was ever the Transatlantic tendency, due, no doubt, to the necessity of handling public questions in a bulky and striking manner, to over-emphasise and over-accentuate, and the president was touched by his national failing. He suggested now that there should be a new era, starting from that day as the first day of the first year.

Americans had always tended to exaggerate and overemphasize. This was no doubt because public issues had to be handled on a grand, attention-grabbing scale. The president shared this national failing. He now suggested a new era should begin, with that day as the first day of its first year.

The king demurred.

The king hesitated.

‘From this day forth, sir, man enters upon his heritage,’ said the American.

‘From this day on, sir, mankind claims its inheritance,’ said the American.

‘Man,’ said the king, ‘is always entering upon his heritage. You Americans have a peculiar weakness for anniversaries—if you will forgive me saying so. Yes—I accuse you of a lust for dramatic effect. Everything is happening always, but you want to say this or this is the real instant in time and subordinate all the others to it.’

‘Humanity,’ said the king, ‘is always coming into its inheritance. You Americans have a particular weakness for anniversaries, if you will forgive me for saying so. Yes, I accuse you of a craving for dramatic effect. Everything is always happening, but you want to call one moment or another the real moment in time. You want to make all the other moments less important.’

The American said something about an epoch-making day.

The American said something about a historic day.

‘But surely,’ said the king, ‘you don’t want us to condemn all humanity to a world-wide annual Fourth of July for ever and ever more. On account of this harmless necessary day of declarations. No conceivable day could ever deserve that. Ah! you do not know, as I do, the devastations of the memorable. My poor grandparents were—rubricated. The worst of these huge celebrations is that they break up the dignified succession of one’s contemporary emotions. They interrupt. They set back. Suddenly out come the flags and fireworks, and the old enthusiasms are furbished up—and it’s sheer destruction of the proper thing that ought to be going on. Sufficient unto the day is the celebration thereof. Let the dead past bury its dead. You see, in regard to the calendar, I am for democracy and you are for aristocracy. All things I hold, are august, and have a right to be lived through on their merits. No day should be sacrificed on the grave of departed events. What do you think of it, Wilhelm?’

‘But surely,’ said the king, ‘you don’t want to condemn all humanity to a worldwide Fourth of July every year, forever. And all because of this harmless, necessary day of declarations. No day imaginable could ever deserve that. Ah! You don’t know, as I do, the havoc caused by commemorations. My poor grandparents were rubricated. The worst thing about these huge celebrations is that they disrupt the dignified flow of one’s present feelings. They interrupt. They set things back. Suddenly the flags and fireworks come out, and the old enthusiasms are polished up again. All that simply destroys whatever ought to be going on. Each day has enough celebration of its own. Let the dead past bury its dead. You see, when it comes to the calendar, I believe in democracy and you believe in aristocracy. I believe all things are worthy of respect, and each has a right to be lived through on its own merits. No day should be sacrificed at the grave of past events. What do you think of that, Wilhelm?’

‘For the noble, yes, all days should be noble.’

‘For noble people, yes, all days should be noble.’

‘Exactly my position,’ said the king, and felt pleased at what he had been saying.

‘That’s exactly how I see it,’ said the king, pleased with what he had been saying.

And then, since the American pressed his idea, the king contrived to shift the talk from the question of celebrating the epoch they were making to the question of the probabilities that lay ahead. Here every one became diffident. They could see the world unified and at peace, but what detail was to follow from that unification they seemed indisposed to discuss. This diffidence struck the king as remarkable. He plunged upon the possibilities of science. All the huge expenditure that had hitherto gone into unproductive naval and military preparations, must now, he declared, place research upon a new footing. ‘Where one man worked we will have a thousand.’ He appealed to Holsten. ‘We have only begun to peep into these possibilities,’ he said. ‘You at any rate have sounded the vaults of the treasure house.’

The American kept pressing his idea, so the king managed to change the subject. Instead of celebrating the new era they were creating, he asked what might lie ahead. At this, everyone grew hesitant. They could imagine a united world at peace, but seemed reluctant to discuss what might follow from unification. The king found this reluctance remarkable. He plunged into the possibilities of science. Until now, huge sums had been spent on unproductive naval and military preparations. All that spending, he declared, must now put research on a new footing. ‘Where one man worked, we will have a thousand.’ He turned to Holsten. ‘We have only begun to glimpse these possibilities,’ he said. ‘You, at least, have explored the depths of the treasure house.’

‘They are unfathomable,’ smiled Holsten.

‘They are impossible to understand,’ Holsten said with a smile.

‘Man,’ said the American, with a manifest resolve to justify and reinstate himself after the flickering contradictions of the king, ‘Man, I say, is only beginning to enter upon his heritage.’

‘Man,’ said the American, clearly determined to justify himself and regain his standing after the king’s shifting contradictions, ‘man, I say, is only beginning to claim his inheritance.’

‘Tell us some of the things you believe we shall presently learn, give us an idea of the things we may presently do,’ said the king to Holsten.

‘Tell us some of the things you believe we will soon learn. Give us an idea of what we may soon be able to do,’ the king said to Holsten.

Holsten opened out the vistas....

Holsten opened up the possibilities....

‘Science,’ the king cried presently, ‘is the new king of the world.’

‘Science,’ the king cried after a while, ‘is the new king of the world.’

‘Our view,’ said the president, ‘is that sovereignty resides with the people.’

‘Our view,’ said the president, ‘is that the people hold sovereign power.’

‘No!’ said the king, ‘the sovereign is a being more subtle than that. And less arithmetical. Neither my family nor your emancipated people. It is something that floats about us, and above us, and through us. It is that common impersonal will and sense of necessity of which Science is the best understood and most typical aspect. It is the mind of the race. It is that which has brought us here, which has bowed us all to its demands....’

‘No!’ said the king. ‘The sovereign is more subtle than that, and less concerned with numbers. It is neither my family nor your freed people. It is something that floats around us, above us, and through us. It is the shared, impersonal will and sense of necessity. Science is its best understood and most typical form. It is the mind of the human race. It is what brought us here and made us all bow to its demands....’

He paused and glanced down the table at Leblanc, and then re-opened at his former antagonist.

He paused and glanced down the table at Leblanc. Then he resumed his attack on his former opponent.

‘There is a disposition,’ said the king, ‘to regard this gathering as if it were actually doing what it appears to be doing, as if we ninety-odd men of our own free will and wisdom were unifying the world. There is a temptation to consider ourselves exceptionally fine fellows, and masterful men, and all the rest of it. We are not. I doubt if we should average out as anything abler than any other casually selected body of ninety-odd men. We are no creators, we are consequences, we are salvagers—or salvagees. The thing to-day is not ourselves but the wind of conviction that has blown us hither....’

‘People tend to think this gathering is actually doing what it appears to be doing,’ said the king. ‘They think that we ninety-odd men are unifying the world through our own free will and wisdom. We are tempted to think of ourselves as exceptionally fine, capable men, and all the rest. We are not. I doubt that, on average, we are any more capable than any other ninety-odd men chosen at random. We are not creators. We are consequences. We are rescuers, or perhaps the rescued. What matters today is not us but the wind of conviction that has blown us here....’

The American had to confess he could hardly agree with the king’s estimate of their average.

The American had to admit he could hardly agree with the king’s estimate of their average.

‘Holsten, perhaps, and one or two others, might lift us a little,’ the king conceded. ‘But the rest of us?’

‘Perhaps Holsten and one or two others might lift us a little,’ the king admitted. ‘But what about the rest of us?’

His eyes flitted once more towards Leblanc.

His eyes darted toward Leblanc again.

‘Look at Leblanc,’ he said. ‘He’s just a simple soul. There are hundreds and thousands like him. I admit, a certain dexterity, a certain lucidity, but there is not a country town in France where there is not a Leblanc or so to be found about two o’clock in its principal café. It’s just that he isn’t complicated or Super-Mannish, or any of those things that has made all he has done possible. But in happier times, don’t you think, Wilhelm, he would have remained just what his father was, a successful épicier, very clean, very accurate, very honest. And on holidays he would have gone out with Madame Leblanc and her knitting in a punt with a jar of something gentle and have sat under a large reasonable green-lined umbrella and fished very neatly and successfully for gudgeon....’

‘Look at Leblanc,’ he said. ‘He’s just a simple soul. There are hundreds and thousands like him. I admit he has a certain skill and clarity of mind. But in every country town in France, you could find a Leblanc or two in the main café around two o’clock. It’s precisely because he isn’t complicated or Super-Mannish, or any of those things, that he has been able to do all he has done. But in happier times, don’t you think, Wilhelm, he would have remained just what his father was? A successful épicier, very clean, very precise, very honest. On holidays, he would have gone out in a punt with Madame Leblanc, her knitting, and a jar of something mild to drink. He would have sat under a large, sensible green-lined umbrella, fishing very neatly and successfully for gudgeon....’

The president and the Japanese prince in spectacles protested together.

The president and the Japanese prince wearing glasses protested together.

‘If I do him an injustice,’ said the king, ‘it is only because I want to elucidate my argument. I want to make it clear how small are men and days, and how great is man in comparison....’

‘If I am unfair to him,’ said the king, ‘it is only because I want to clarify my argument. I want to show how small individual men and days are, and how great humanity is by comparison....’

So it was King Egbert talked at Brissago after they had proclaimed the unity of the world. Every evening after that the assembly dined together and talked at their ease and grew accustomed to each other and sharpened each other’s ideas, and every day they worked together, and really for a time believed that they were inventing a new government for the world. They discussed a constitution. But there were matters needing attention too urgently to wait for any constitution. They attended to these incidentally. The constitution it was that waited. It was presently found convenient to keep the constitution waiting indefinitely as King Egbert had foreseen, and meanwhile, with an increasing self-confidence, that council went on governing....

That was how King Egbert spoke at Brissago, after they had proclaimed the unity of the world. Every evening after that, the assembly dined together and talked at ease. They grew accustomed to one another and sharpened one another’s ideas. Every day they worked together, and for a time they truly believed they were inventing a new government for the world. They discussed a constitution. But some matters needed attention too urgently to wait for a constitution. They dealt with those matters along the way. The constitution was what had to wait. Before long, the council found it convenient to keep the constitution waiting indefinitely, just as King Egbert had foreseen. Meanwhile, the council went on governing, with growing confidence....

On this first evening of all the council’s gatherings, after King Egbert had talked for a long time and drunken and praised very abundantly the simple red wine of the country that Leblanc had procured for them, he gathered about him a group of congenial spirits and fell into a discourse upon simplicity, praising it above all things and declaring that the ultimate aim of art, religion, philosophy, and science alike was to simplify. He instanced himself as a devotee to simplicity. And Leblanc he instanced as a crowning instance of the splendour of this quality. Upon that they all agreed.

On the first evening of the council’s gatherings, King Egbert talked for a long time. He also drank plenty of the simple local red wine Leblanc had obtained for them and praised it lavishly. Then he gathered a group of like-minded people around him and began to speak about simplicity. He praised simplicity above all things. He declared that the ultimate aim of art, religion, philosophy, and science alike was to simplify. He offered himself as an example of someone devoted to simplicity. And he held up Leblanc as the finest example of its splendor. They all agreed.

When at last the company about the tables broke up, the king found himself brimming over with a peculiar affection and admiration for Leblanc, he made his way to him and drew him aside and broached what he declared was a small matter. There was, he said, a certain order in his gift that, unlike all other orders and decorations in the world, had never been corrupted. It was reserved for elderly men of supreme distinction, the acuteness of whose gifts was already touched to mellowness, and it had included the greatest names of every age so far as the advisers of his family had been able to ascertain them. At present, the king admitted, these matters of stars and badges were rather obscured by more urgent affairs, for his own part he had never set any value upon them at all, but a time might come when they would be at least interesting, and in short he wished to confer the Order of Merit upon Leblanc. His sole motive in doing so, he added, was his strong desire to signalise his personal esteem. He laid his hand upon the Frenchman’s shoulder as he said these things, with an almost brotherly affection. Leblanc received this proposal with a modest confusion that greatly enhanced the king’s opinion of his admirable simplicity. He pointed out that eager as he was to snatch at the proffered distinction, it might at the present stage appear invidious, and he therefore suggested that the conferring of it should be postponed until it could be made the crown and conclusion of his services. The king was unable to shake this resolution, and the two men parted with expressions of mutual esteem.

When the people gathered around the tables finally dispersed, the king found himself full of an unusual affection and admiration for Leblanc. He went over, drew him aside, and brought up what he called a small matter. He said there was an order he could award that, unlike all other orders and decorations in the world, had never been corrupted. It was reserved for elderly men of supreme distinction, whose sharp gifts had already begun to mellow. It had included the greatest names of every age, as far as his family’s advisers had been able to identify them. The king admitted that, for now, more urgent affairs had pushed such matters as stars and badges into the background. He himself had never valued them at all. But a time might come when they would at least be interesting. In short, he wished to award Leblanc the Order of Merit. His only motive, he added, was his strong desire to express his personal esteem. As he spoke, he laid his hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder with an almost brotherly affection. Leblanc received the proposal with modest embarrassment, which made the king think even more highly of his admirable simplicity. Leblanc said that, eager as he was to seize the offered honor, it might seem unfair to others at this stage. He therefore suggested postponing the award until it could serve as the crowning conclusion of his services. The king could not change his mind, and the two men parted with expressions of mutual esteem.

The king then summoned Firmin in order to make a short note of a number of things that he had said during the day. But after about twenty minutes’ work the sweet sleepiness of the mountain air overcame him, and he dismissed Firmin and went to bed and fell asleep at once, and slept with extreme satisfaction. He had had an active, agreeable day.

The king then called Firmin to make a short note of several things he had said during the day. But after about twenty minutes of work, the mountain air made him pleasantly sleepy. He dismissed Firmin and went to bed. He fell asleep at once and slept with great satisfaction. He had had an active, pleasant day.

The establishment of the new order that was thus so humanly begun, was, if one measures it by the standard of any preceding age, a rapid progress. The fighting spirit of the world was exhausted. Only here or there did fierceness linger. For long decades the combative side in human affairs had been monstrously exaggerated by the accidents of political separation. This now became luminously plain. An enormous proportion of the force that sustained armaments had been nothing more aggressive than the fear of war and warlike neighbours. It is doubtful if any large section of the men actually enlisted for fighting ever at any time really hungered and thirsted for bloodshed and danger. That kind of appetite was probably never very strong in the species after the savage stage was past. The army was a profession, in which killing had become a disagreeable possibility rather than an eventful certainty. If one reads the old newspapers and periodicals of that time, which did so much to keep militarism alive, one finds very little about glory and adventure and a constant harping on the disagreeableness of invasion and subjugation. In one word, militarism was funk. The belligerent resolution of the armed Europe of the twentieth century was the resolution of a fiercely frightened sheep to plunge. And now that its weapons were exploding in its hands, Europe was only too eager to drop them, and abandon this fancied refuge of violence.

The new order had begun in a very human way. By the standards of any earlier age, its establishment moved quickly. The world’s fighting spirit was exhausted. Fierceness lingered only here and there. For many decades, the accidents of political separation had monstrously exaggerated the role of conflict in human affairs. This had now become perfectly clear. Much of the force behind the arms buildup came from nothing more aggressive than fear of war and warlike neighbors. It is doubtful that any large group of men who enlisted to fight ever truly longed for bloodshed and danger. That appetite was probably never very strong in the human species after it passed the savage stage. The army was a profession in which killing had become an unpleasant possibility rather than a certainty. The old newspapers and magazines of that time did much to keep militarism alive. Yet they said very little about glory and adventure. Instead, they constantly harped on the horrors of invasion and conquest. In one word, militarism was fear. The fighting resolve of armed Europe in the twentieth century was like a terrified sheep’s determination to charge. And now that its weapons were exploding in its hands, Europe was only too eager to drop them. It was ready to abandon the imagined safety of violence.

For a time the whole world had been shocked into frankness; nearly all the clever people who had hitherto sustained the ancient belligerent separations had now been brought to realise the need for simplicity of attitude and openness of mind; and in this atmosphere of moral renascence, there was little attempt to get negotiable advantages out of resistance to the new order. Human beings are foolish enough no doubt, but few have stopped to haggle in a fire-escape. The council had its way with them. The band of ‘patriots’ who seized the laboratories and arsenal just outside Osaka and tried to rouse Japan to revolt against inclusion in the Republic of Mankind, found they had miscalculated the national pride and met the swift vengeance of their own countrymen. That fight in the arsenal was a vivid incident in this closing chapter of the history of war. To the last the ‘patriots’ were undecided whether, in the event of a defeat, they would explode their supply of atomic bombs or not. They were fighting with swords outside the iridium doors, and the moderates of their number were at bay and on the verge of destruction, only ten, indeed, remained unwounded, when the republicans burst in to the rescue....

For a time, shock had made the whole world speak frankly. Nearly all the clever people who had supported the old divisions that led to war now saw a need for simple attitudes and open minds. In this atmosphere of moral renewal, few tried to gain bargaining advantages by resisting the new order. Human beings are foolish enough, no doubt, but few stop to haggle while escaping a fire. The council got its way with them. A band of ‘patriots’ seized the laboratories and arsenal just outside Osaka. They tried to stir Japan to revolt against joining the Republic of Mankind. But they had misjudged national pride, and their own countrymen swiftly took revenge on them. The fight at the arsenal was a vivid incident in this final chapter of the history of war. Until the very end, the ‘patriots’ could not decide whether to explode their supply of atomic bombs if defeated. They were fighting with swords outside the iridium doors. The moderates among them were trapped and close to destruction. Only ten, in fact, remained unwounded when the republicans burst in to rescue them....

One single monarch held out against the general acquiescence in the new rule, and that was that strange survival of mediaevalism, the ‘Slavic Fox,’ the King of the Balkans. He debated and delayed his submissions. He showed an extraordinary combination of cunning and temerity in his evasion of the repeated summonses from Brissago. He affected ill-health and a great preoccupation with his new official mistress, for his semi-barbaric court was arranged on the best romantic models. His tactics were ably seconded by Doctor Pestovitch, his chief minister. Failing to establish his claims to complete independence, King Ferdinand Charles annoyed the conference by a proposal to be treated as a protected state. Finally he professed an unconvincing submission, and put a mass of obstacles in the way of the transfer of his national officials to the new government. In these things he was enthusiastically supported by his subjects, still for the most part an illiterate peasantry, passionately if confusedly patriotic, and so far with no practical knowledge of the effect of atomic bombs. More particularly he retained control of all the Balkan aeroplanes.

Only one monarch resisted the general acceptance of the new rule. He was the King of the Balkans, the ‘Slavic Fox,’ a strange survivor from the Middle Ages. He debated and delayed his submission. He showed extraordinary cunning and daring in avoiding repeated summonses from Brissago. He pretended to be ill and deeply occupied with his new official mistress. His semi-barbaric court was arranged according to the finest romantic models. Doctor Pestovitch, his chief minister, skillfully supported his tactics. When King Ferdinand Charles failed to establish his claim to complete independence, he annoyed the conference by proposing that his kingdom be treated as a protected state. Finally, he claimed to submit, though unconvincingly, and placed many obstacles in the way of transferring his national officials to the new government. His subjects enthusiastically supported him in all this. They were still mostly illiterate peasants, passionately if confusedly patriotic, and so far had no practical knowledge of the effects of atomic bombs. Most importantly, he kept control of all the Balkan airplanes.

For once the extreme naïveté of Leblanc seems to have been mitigated by duplicity. He went on with the general pacification of the world as if the Balkan submission was made in absolute good faith, and he announced the disbandment of the force of aeroplanes that hitherto guarded the council at Brissago upon the approaching fifteenth of July. But instead he doubled the number upon duty on that eventful day, and made various arrangements for their disposition. He consulted certain experts, and when he took King Egbert into his confidence there was something in his neat and explicit foresight that brought back to that ex-monarch’s mind his half-forgotten fantasy of Leblanc as a fisherman under a green umbrella.

For once, Leblanc’s extreme naïveté seems to have been tempered by deception. He continued working to bring peace to the world as if the Balkans had surrendered in complete good faith. He announced that the force of airplanes guarding the council at Brissago would be disbanded on the coming fifteenth of July. But instead, he doubled the number on duty that eventful day and made various plans for deploying them. He consulted certain experts and took King Egbert into his confidence. His precise, clear planning reminded the former monarch of his half-forgotten fantasy of Leblanc as a fisherman under a green umbrella.

About five o’clock in the morning of the seventeenth of July one of the outer sentinels of the Brissago fleet, which was soaring unobtrusively over the lower end of the lake of Garda, sighted and hailed a strange aeroplane that was flying westward, and, failing to get a satisfactory reply, set its wireless apparatus talking and gave chase. A swarm of consorts appeared very promptly over the westward mountains, and before the unknown aeroplane had sighted Como, it had a dozen eager attendants closing in upon it. Its driver seems to have hesitated, dropped down among the mountains, and then turned southward in flight, only to find an intercepting biplane sweeping across his bows. He then went round into the eye of the rising sun, and passed within a hundred yards of his original pursuer.

At about five in the morning on July 17, an outer sentinel of the Brissago fleet spotted a strange aeroplane flying west. The fleet was flying unobtrusively over the lower end of Lake Garda. The sentinel hailed the aeroplane but received no satisfactory reply. So it sent a wireless message and gave chase. A swarm of companion aircraft quickly appeared over the western mountains. Before the unknown aeroplane had sighted Como, a dozen eager pursuers were closing in on it. Its pilot seems to have hesitated, descended among the mountains, and then turned south to escape. But an intercepting biplane swept across his path. He then turned toward the rising sun and passed within a hundred yards of his original pursuer.

The sharpshooter therein opened fire at once, and showed an intelligent grasp of the situation by disabling the passenger first. The man at the wheel must have heard his companion cry out behind him, but he was too intent on getting away to waste even a glance behind. Twice after that he must have heard shots. He let his engine go, he crouched down, and for twenty minutes he must have steered in the continual expectation of a bullet. It never came, and when at last he glanced round, three great planes were close upon him, and his companion, thrice hit, lay dead across his bombs. His followers manifestly did not mean either to upset or shoot him, but inexorably they drove him down, down. At last he was curving and flying a hundred yards or less over the level fields of rice and maize. Ahead of him and dark against the morning sunrise was a village with a very tall and slender campanile and a line of cable bearing metal standards that he could not clear. He stopped his engine abruptly and dropped flat. He may have hoped to get at the bombs when he came down, but his pitiless pursuers drove right over him and shot him as he fell.

The sharpshooter inside opened fire at once. He showed a good grasp of the situation by disabling the passenger first. The man at the controls must have heard his companion cry out behind him. But he was too focused on escaping to waste even a glance back. After that, he must have heard two shots. He ran his engine at full speed and crouched down. For twenty minutes, he must have flown expecting a bullet at any moment. It never came. When he finally looked around, three large planes were close behind him. His companion, hit three times, lay dead across his bombs. His pursuers clearly did not intend to overturn his plane or shoot him. But they relentlessly forced him lower and lower. At last, he was circling no more than a hundred yards above level fields of rice and maize. Ahead of him, dark against the morning sunrise, stood a village with a very tall, slender bell tower. There was also a cable supported by metal standards, which he could not fly over. He abruptly stopped his engine and dropped flat. He may have hoped to reach the bombs when he landed. But his merciless pursuers flew straight over him and shot him as he fell.

Three other aeroplanes curved down and came to rest amidst grass close by the smashed machine. Their passengers descended, and ran, holding their light rifles in their hands towards the débris and the two dead men. The coffin-shaped box that had occupied the centre of the machine had broken, and three black objects, each with two handles like the ears of a pitcher, lay peacefully amidst the litter.

Three other airplanes curved down and landed in the grass near the smashed machine. Their passengers got out and ran toward the wreckage and the two dead men, carrying light rifles. The coffin-shaped box in the center of the machine had broken open. Three black objects lay peacefully among the wreckage. Each had two handles like the ears of a pitcher.

These objects were so tremendously important in the eyes of their captors that they disregarded the two dead men who lay bloody and broken amidst the wreckage as they might have disregarded dead frogs by a country pathway.

The captors considered these objects so important that they paid no attention to the two dead men lying bloody and broken in the wreckage. They ignored the men as they might have ignored dead frogs beside a country path.

‘By God,’ cried the first. ‘Here they are!’

‘By God,’ shouted the first. ‘Here they are!’

‘And unbroken!’ said the second.

‘And unbroken!’ said the second.

‘I’ve never seen the things before,’ said the first.

‘I’ve never seen the things before,’ said the first.

‘Bigger than I thought,’ said the second.

‘Bigger than I thought,’ said the second.

The third comer arrived. He stared for a moment at the bombs and then turned his eyes to the dead man with a crushed chest who lay in a muddy place among the green stems under the centre of the machine.

The third person arrived. He stared at the bombs for a moment. Then he looked at the dead man, whose chest was crushed. The man lay in the mud among the green stems beneath the center of the machine.

‘One can take no risks,’ he said, with a faint suggestion of apology.

‘You can’t take any risks,’ he said, sounding slightly apologetic.

The other two now also turned to the victims. ‘We must signal,’ said the first man. A shadow passed between them and the sun, and they looked up to see the aeroplane that had fired the last shot. ‘Shall we signal?’ came a megaphone hail.

The other two now also turned to the victims. ‘We must signal,’ said the first man. A shadow passed between them and the sun. They looked up and saw the airplane that had fired the last shot. ‘Shall we signal?’ someone called through a megaphone.

‘Three bombs,’ they answered together.

‘Three bombs,’ they answered together.

‘Where do they come from?’ asked the megaphone.

‘Where do they come from?’ asked the megaphone.

The three sharpshooters looked at each other and then moved towards the dead men. One of them had an idea. ‘Signal that first,’ he said, ‘while we look.’ They were joined by their aviators for the search, and all six men began a hunt that was necessarily brutal in its haste, for some indication of identity. They examined the men’s pockets, their bloodstained clothes, the machine, the framework. They turned the bodies over and flung them aside. There was not a tattoo mark.... Everything was elaborately free of any indication of its origin.

The three sharpshooters looked at each other, then moved toward the dead men. One of them had an idea. ‘Signal that first,’ he said, ‘while we look.’ Their aviators joined them in the search. All six men began looking for some clue to the dead men’s identities. The search was necessarily brutal in its haste. They examined the men’s pockets, their bloodstained clothes, the machine, and its framework. They turned the bodies over and flung them aside. There was not a tattoo mark.... Everything had been carefully stripped of any indication of its origin.

‘We can’t find out!’ they called at last.

‘We can’t find out!’ they called at last.

‘Not a sign?’

‘Not a sign?’

‘Not a sign.’

‘Not a sign.’

‘I’m coming down,’ said the man overhead....

‘I’m coming down,’ said the man overhead....

The Slavic fox stood upon a metal balcony in his picturesque Art Nouveau palace that gave upon the precipice that overhung his bright little capital, and beside him stood Pestovitch, grizzled and cunning, and now full of an ill-suppressed excitement. Behind them the window opened into a large room, richly decorated in aluminium and crimson enamel, across which the king, as he glanced ever and again over his shoulder with a gesture of inquiry, could see through the two open doors of a little azure walled antechamber the wireless operator in the turret working at his incessant transcription. Two pompously uniformed messengers waited listlessly in this apartment. The room was furnished with a stately dignity, and had in the middle of it a big green baize-covered table with the massive white metal inkpots and antiquated sandboxes natural to a new but romantic monarchy. It was the king’s council chamber and about it now, in attitudes of suspended intrigue, stood the half-dozen ministers who constituted his cabinet. They had been summoned for twelve o’clock, but still at half-past twelve the king loitered in the balcony and seemed to be waiting for some news that did not come.

The Slavic fox stood on a metal balcony of his picturesque Art Nouveau palace. The balcony overlooked a cliff above his bright little capital. Beside him stood Pestovitch, grizzled and cunning, barely able to contain his excitement. Behind them, a window opened into a large room, richly decorated in aluminium and crimson enamel. The king kept glancing over his shoulder with a questioning gesture. Through two open doors and a small blue-walled antechamber, he could see the wireless operator in the turret, constantly transcribing messages. Two messengers in pompous uniforms waited listlessly in the large room. It was furnished with stately dignity. In the middle stood a large table covered in green baize. On it were massive white metal inkpots and old-fashioned sandboxes, fitting for a new but romantic monarchy. This was the king’s council chamber. Around it stood the half-dozen ministers who made up his cabinet, their intrigues suspended for the moment. They had been summoned for twelve o’clock, but at half-past twelve the king still lingered on the balcony. He seemed to be waiting for news that did not come.

The king and his minister had talked at first in whispers; they had fallen silent, for they found little now to express except a vague anxiety. Away there on the mountain side were the white metal roofs of the long farm buildings beneath which the bomb factory and the bombs were hidden. (The chemist who had made all these for the king had died suddenly after the declaration of Brissago.) Nobody knew of that store of mischief now but the king and his adviser and three heavily faithful attendants; the aviators who waited now in the midday blaze with their bomb-carrying machines and their passenger bomb-throwers in the exercising grounds of the motor-cyclist barracks below were still in ignorance of the position of the ammunition they were presently to take up. It was time they started if the scheme was to work as Pestovitch had planned it. It was a magnificent plan. It aimed at no less than the Empire of the World. The government of idealists and professors away there at Brissago was to be blown to fragments, and then east, west, north, and south those aeroplanes would go swarming over a world that had disarmed itself, to proclaim Ferdinand Charles, the new Cæsar, the Master, Lord of the Earth. It was a magnificent plan. But the tension of this waiting for news of the success of the first blow was—considerable.

At first, the king and his minister had whispered. Now they had fallen silent, with little left to express except a vague anxiety. There on the mountainside were the white metal roofs of the long farm buildings. Beneath them, the bomb factory and the bombs were hidden. (The chemist who had made them all for the king had died suddenly after the declaration of Brissago.) Only the king, his adviser, and three deeply loyal attendants knew about that dangerous stockpile now. The aviators were waiting in the midday heat on the training grounds of the motorcyclist barracks below. They had their bomb-carrying planes and the bomb-throwers who would fly with them. They still did not know where the bombs they would soon pick up were hidden. It was time for them to start if the scheme was to work as Pestovitch had planned it. It was a magnificent plan. Its aim was nothing less than the Empire of the World. The government of idealists and professors over at Brissago was to be blown to pieces. Then the planes would swarm east, west, north, and south over a world that had disarmed itself. They would proclaim Ferdinand Charles the new Cæsar, the Master, Lord of the Earth. It was a magnificent plan. But the strain of waiting for news that the first strike had succeeded was considerable.

The Slavic fox was of a pallid fairness, he had a remarkably long nose, a thick, short moustache, and small blue eyes that were a little too near together to be pleasant. It was his habit to worry his moustache with short, nervous tugs whenever his restless mind troubled him, and now this motion was becoming so incessant that it irked Pestovitch beyond the limits of endurance.

The Slavic fox was pale and fair, with a remarkably long nose and a thick, short mustache. His small blue eyes were a little too close together to be pleasant. Whenever his restless mind troubled him, he would give his mustache short, nervous tugs. Now he was tugging at it so constantly that Pestovitch could no longer bear it.

‘I will go,’ said the minister, ‘and see what the trouble is with the wireless. They give us nothing, good or bad.’

‘I’ll go and see what’s wrong with the wireless,’ said the minister. ‘They’re giving us nothing, good or bad.’

Left to himself, the king could worry his moustache without stint; he leant his elbows forward on the balcony and gave both of his long white hands to the work, so that he looked like a pale dog gnawing a bone. Suppose they caught his men, what should he do? Suppose they caught his men?

Left alone, the king could tug at his moustache as much as he liked. He leaned forward on the balcony, resting on his elbows, and tugged at it with both his long white hands. He looked like a pale dog gnawing a bone. Suppose they caught his men. What should he do? Suppose they caught his men?

The clocks in the light gold-capped belfries of the town below presently intimated the half-hour after midday.

The clocks in the town’s light, gold-capped bell towers soon struck half past noon.

Of course, he and Pestovitch had thought it out. Even if they had caught those men, they were pledged to secrecy.... Probably they would be killed in the catching.... One could deny anyhow, deny and deny.

Of course, he and Pestovitch had thought it through. Even if they had caught those men, they were sworn to secrecy.... The men would probably be killed during the capture.... In any case, one could deny it, deny it again and again.

And then he became aware of half a dozen little shining specks very high in the blue.... Pestovitch came out to him presently. ‘The government messages, sire, have all dropped into cipher,’ he said. ‘I have set a man——’

Then he noticed half a dozen tiny shining specks high in the blue sky.... Soon Pestovitch came out to him. ‘The government messages are all in cipher now, sire,’ he said. ‘I have assigned a man...’

‘look!’ interrupted the king, and pointed upward with a long, lean finger.

‘Look!’ the king interrupted, pointing upward with a long, thin finger.

Pestovitch followed that indication and then glanced for one questioning moment at the white face before him.

Pestovitch followed the indication, then glanced questioningly at the pale face before him for a moment.

‘We have to face it out, sire,’ he said.

‘We have to face it, sire,’ he said.

For some moments they watched the steep spirals of the descending messengers, and then they began a hasty consultation....

For a few moments, they watched the messengers descend in steep spirals. Then they quickly began to confer....

They decided that to be holding a council upon the details of an ultimate surrender to Brissago was as innocent-looking a thing as the king could well be doing, and so, when at last the ex-king Egbert, whom the council had sent as its envoy, arrived upon the scene, he discovered the king almost theatrically posed at the head of his councillors in the midst of his court. The door upon the wireless operators was shut.

They decided that a council discussing the details of an eventual surrender to Brissago would look innocent enough. It was as innocent-looking an activity as the king could well undertake. So when the former king Egbert finally arrived, he found the king at the head of his councillors, surrounded by his court. The council had sent Egbert as its envoy. The king was posed almost theatrically. The door to the wireless operators’ room was shut.

The ex-king from Brissago came like a draught through the curtains and attendants that gave a wide margin to King Ferdinand’s state, and the familiar confidence of his manner belied a certain hardness in his eye. Firmin trotted behind him, and no one else was with him. And as Ferdinand Charles rose to greet him, there came into the heart of the Balkan king again that same chilly feeling that he had felt upon the balcony—and it passed at the careless gestures of his guest. For surely any one might outwit this foolish talker who, for a mere idea and at the command of a little French rationalist in spectacles, had thrown away the most ancient crown in all the world.

The ex-king from Brissago came like a draft through the curtains and attendants that surrounded King Ferdinand’s royal presence. His familiar, confident manner concealed a certain hardness in his eye. Firmin trotted behind him, and no one else was with him. As Ferdinand Charles rose to greet him, the Balkan king again felt the chill he had felt on the balcony. But the feeling passed when he saw his guest’s casual gestures. Surely anyone could outwit this foolish talker. For the sake of a mere idea, and at the command of a little French rationalist in glasses, he had thrown away the oldest crown in the world.

One must deny, deny....

You have to deny, deny....

And then slowly and quite tiresomely he realised that there was nothing to deny. His visitor, with an amiable ease, went on talking about everything in debate between himself and Brissago except——.

Then, slowly and rather tediously, he realized there was nothing to deny. His visitor went on talking in a friendly, easy manner. He discussed everything he and Brissago were debating, except...

Could it be that they had been delayed? Could it be that they had had to drop for repairs and were still uncaptured? Could it be that even now while this fool babbled, they were over there among the mountains heaving their deadly charge over the side of the aeroplane?

Could they have been delayed? Could they have landed for repairs and still be free? Could they even now be among the mountains, throwing their deadly cargo over the side of the plane while this fool babbled?

Strange hopes began to lift the tail of the Slavic fox again.

Strange hopes began to lift the Slavic fox's tail again.

What was the man saying? One must talk to him anyhow until one knew. At any moment the little brass door behind him might open with the news of Brissago blown to atoms. Then it would be a delightful relief to the present tension to arrest this chatterer forthwith. He might be killed perhaps. What?

What was the man saying? He had to keep talking to him until he found out. At any moment, the little brass door behind him might open with news that Brissago had been blown to atoms. Then, arresting this chatterer on the spot would be a delightful relief from the tension. Perhaps the man might be killed. What?

The king was repeating his observation. ‘They have a ridiculous fancy that your confidence is based on the possession of atomic bombs.’

The king repeated his remark. ‘They have a ridiculous idea that your confidence comes from having atomic bombs.’

King Ferdinand Charles pulled himself together. He protested.

King Ferdinand Charles collected himself. He protested.

‘Oh, quite so,’ said the ex-king, ‘quite so.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the ex-king, ‘yes.’

‘What grounds?’ The ex-king permitted himself a gesture and the ghost of a chuckle—why the devil should he chuckle? ‘Practically none,’ he said. ‘But of course with these things one has to be so careful.’

‘What grounds?’ The ex-king made a gesture and almost chuckled. Why the devil should he chuckle? ‘Practically none,’ he said. ‘But of course, one has to be so careful with these things.’

And then again for an instant something—like the faintest shadow of derision—gleamed out of the envoy’s eyes and recalled that chilly feeling to King Ferdinand’s spine.

Then, for an instant, the faintest hint of mockery flashed in the envoy’s eyes again. It sent a chill down King Ferdinand’s spine.

Some kindred depression had come to Pestovitch, who had been watching the drawn intensity of Firmin’s face. He came to the help of his master, who, he feared, might protest too much.

Pestovitch felt a similar sadness as he watched the tense, drawn look on Firmin’s face. He came to his master’s aid, fearing that Firmin might protest too much.

‘A search!’ cried the king. ‘An embargo on our aeroplanes.’

‘A search!’ cried the king. ‘A ban on our airplanes.’

‘Only a temporary expedient,’ said the ex-king Egbert, ‘while the search is going on.’

‘Only a temporary measure,’ said the former king Egbert, ‘while the search continues.’

The king appealed to his council.

The king appealed to his council.

‘The people will never permit it, sire,’ said a bustling little man in a gorgeous uniform.

‘The people will never allow it, sire,’ said a busy little man in a magnificent uniform.

‘You’ll have to make ‘em,’ said the ex-king, genially addressing all the councillors.

‘You’ll have to make them,’ said the ex-king, speaking warmly to all the councillors.

King Ferdinand glanced at the closed brass door through which no news would come.

King Ferdinand glanced at the closed brass door. No news would come through it.

‘When would you want to have this search?’

‘When would you want to conduct this search?’

The ex-king was radiant. ‘We couldn’t possibly do it until the day after to-morrow,’ he said.

The former king was beaming. ‘We couldn’t possibly do it until the day after tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Just the capital?’

‘Just the capital?’

‘Where else?’ asked the ex-king, still more cheerfully.

‘Where else?’ asked the ex-king, even more cheerfully.

‘For my own part,’ said the ex-king confidentially, ‘I think the whole business ridiculous. Who would be such a fool as to hide atomic bombs? Nobody. Certain hanging if he’s caught—certain, and almost certain blowing up if he isn’t. But nowadays I have to take orders like the rest of the world. And here I am.’

‘Personally,’ said the ex-king in confidence, ‘I think the whole business is ridiculous. Who would be foolish enough to hide atomic bombs? Nobody. Anyone caught would certainly be hanged. And anyone who wasn’t caught would almost certainly be blown up. But these days I have to take orders like everyone else. And here I am.’

The king thought he had never met such detestable geniality. He glanced at Pestovitch, who nodded almost imperceptibly. It was well, anyhow, to have a fool to deal with. They might have sent a diplomatist. ‘Of course,’ said the king, ‘I recognise the overpowering force—and a kind of logic—in these orders from Brissago.’

The king thought he had never met anyone so horribly friendly. He glanced at Pestovitch, who nodded almost imperceptibly. At least they had a fool to deal with. They might have sent a diplomat. ‘Of course,’ said the king, ‘I recognise the overwhelming force of these orders from Brissago. I also see a kind of logic in them.’

‘I knew you would,’ said the ex-king, with an air of relief, ‘and so let us arrange——’

‘I knew you would,’ said the former king, sounding relieved. ‘So let’s arrange...’

They arranged with a certain informality. No Balkan aeroplane was to adventure into the air until the search was concluded, and meanwhile the fleets of the world government would soar and circle in the sky. The towns were to be placarded with offers of reward to any one who would help in the discovery of atomic bombs....

They made the arrangements somewhat informally. No Balkan airplane was to take off until the search was over. Meanwhile, the fleets of the world government would soar and circle overhead. Posters would be put up in the towns, offering rewards to anyone who helped find atomic bombs....

‘You will sign that,’ said the ex-king.

‘You will sign that,’ said the former king.

‘Why?’

‘Why?’

‘To show that we aren’t in any way hostile to you.’

‘To show that we aren’t hostile to you in any way.’

Pestovitch nodded ‘yes’ to his master.

Pestovitch nodded ‘yes’ to his master.

‘And then, you see,’ said the ex-king in that easy way of his, ‘we’ll have a lot of men here, borrow help from your police, and run through all your things. And then everything will be over. Meanwhile, if I may be your guest....’ When presently Pestovitch was alone with the king again, he found him in a state of jangling emotions. His spirit was tossing like a wind-whipped sea. One moment he was exalted and full of contempt for ‘that ass’ and his search; the next he was down in a pit of dread. ‘They will find them, Pestovitch, and then he’ll hang us.’

‘And then, you see,’ said the ex-king in his usual easy manner, ‘we’ll have a lot of men here. We’ll borrow help from your police and search through all your things. Then everything will be over. Meanwhile, if I may be your guest....’ When Pestovitch was alone with the king again, he found him in an emotional turmoil. His spirit tossed like a wind-whipped sea. One moment he was elated and full of contempt for ‘that ass’ and his search. The next, he was deep in dread. ‘They will find them, Pestovitch, and then he’ll hang us.’

‘Hang us?’

‘Hang us?’

The king put his long nose into his councillor’s face. ‘That grinning brute wants to hang us,’ he said. ‘And hang us he will, if we give him a shadow of a chance.’

The king thrust his long nose into his adviser’s face. ‘That grinning brute wants to hang us,’ he said. ‘And he will hang us if we give him the slightest chance.’

‘But all their Modern State Civilisation!’

‘But all their Modern State Civilisation!’

‘Do you think there’s any pity in that crew of Godless, Vivisecting Prigs?’ cried this last king of romance. ‘Do you think, Pestovitch, they understand anything of a high ambition or a splendid dream? Do you think that our gallant and sublime adventure has any appeal to them? Here am I, the last and greatest and most romantic of the Cæsars, and do you think they will miss the chance of hanging me like a dog if they can, killing me like a rat in a hole? And that renegade! He who was once an anointed king! . . .

‘Do you think that crew of godless, animal-cutting snobs has any pity?’ cried this last king of romance. ‘Do you think, Pestovitch, they understand anything about great ambition or a magnificent dream? Do you think our brave and glorious adventure appeals to them at all? Here I am, the last, greatest, and most romantic of the Caesars. Do you think they will pass up the chance to hang me like a dog if they can? Or kill me like a rat in a hole? And that traitor! He was once an anointed king! . . .

‘I hate that sort of eye that laughs and keeps hard,’ said the king.

‘I hate eyes that laugh but stay hard,’ said the king.

‘I won’t sit still here and be caught like a fascinated rabbit,’ said the king in conclusion. ‘We must shift those bombs.’

‘I won’t sit here and let myself be caught like a hypnotized rabbit,’ the king concluded. ‘We must move those bombs.’

‘Risk it,’ said Pestovitch. ‘Leave them alone.’

‘Risk it,’ said Pestovitch. ‘Leave them alone.’

‘No,’ said the king. ‘Shift them near the frontier. Then while they watch us here—they will always watch us here now—we can buy an aeroplane abroad, and pick them up....’

‘No,’ said the king. ‘Move them near the border. They will always watch us here now. So while they watch us, we can buy a plane abroad and pick them up....’

The king was in a feverish, irritable mood all that evening, but he made his plans nevertheless with infinite cunning. They must get the bombs away; there must be a couple of atomic hay lorries, the bombs could be hidden under the hay.... Pestovitch went and came, instructing trusty servants, planning and replanning.... The king and the ex-king talked very pleasantly of a number of subjects. All the while at the back of King Ferdinand Charles’s mind fretted the mystery of his vanished aeroplane. There came no news of its capture, and no news of its success. At any moment all that power at the back of his visitor might crumble away and vanish....

The king was feverish and irritable all evening, but he still made his plans with endless cunning. They had to get the bombs away. They would need a couple of atomic hay lorries, and the bombs could be hidden under the hay.... Pestovitch came and went, giving instructions to trusted servants, planning and replanning.... The king and the ex-king talked pleasantly about many subjects. All the while, the mystery of his vanished aeroplane nagged at the back of King Ferdinand Charles’s mind. There was no news that the aeroplane had been captured, and no news that it had succeeded. At any moment, all the power behind his visitor might crumble and vanish....

It was past midnight, when the king, in a cloak and slouch hat that might equally have served a small farmer, or any respectable middle-class man, slipped out from an inconspicuous service gate on the eastward side of his palace into the thickly wooded gardens that sloped in a series of terraces down to the town. Pestovitch and his guard-valet Peter, both wrapped about in a similar disguise, came out among the laurels that bordered the pathway and joined him. It was a clear, warm night, but the stars seemed unusually little and remote because of the aeroplanes, each trailing a searchlight, that drove hither and thither across the blue. One great beam seemed to rest on the king for a moment as he came out of the palace; then instantly and reassuringly it had swept away. But while they were still in the palace gardens another found them and looked at them.

It was past midnight when the king slipped out through an inconspicuous service gate on the east side of his palace. He wore a cloak and a soft, broad-brimmed hat that could have belonged to a small farmer or any respectable middle-class man. Beyond the gate were thickly wooded gardens, sloping down to the town in a series of terraces. Pestovitch and his guard and valet, Peter, emerged from the laurels along the path and joined him. Both wore similar disguises. It was a clear, warm night, but the stars seemed unusually small and distant. Aeroplanes flew back and forth across the blue sky, each trailing a searchlight. As the king came out of the palace, one great beam seemed to rest on him for a moment. Then it swept away at once, reassuring him. But while they were still in the palace gardens, another beam found them and shone on them.

‘They see us,’ cried the king.

‘They see us,’ shouted the king.

‘They make nothing of us,’ said Pestovitch.

‘They don't think much of us,’ said Pestovitch.

The king glanced up and met a calm, round eye of light, that seemed to wink at him and vanish, leaving him blinded....

The king looked up and saw a calm, round eye of light. It seemed to wink at him and vanish, leaving him blinded....

The three men went on their way. Near the little gate in the garden railings that Pestovitch had caused to be unlocked, the king paused under the shadow of an ilex and looked back at the place. It was very high and narrow, a twentieth-century rendering of mediaevalism, mediaevalism in steel and bronze and sham stone and opaque glass. Against the sky it splashed a confusion of pinnacles. High up in the eastward wing were the windows of the apartments of the ex-king Egbert. One of them was brightly lit now, and against the light a little black figure stood very still and looked out upon the night.

The three men continued on their way. Near the little gate in the garden railings, which Pestovitch had arranged to unlock, the king paused. He stood in the shadow of an ilex tree and looked back at the building. It was very tall and narrow, a twentieth-century version of medieval architecture in steel, bronze, imitation stone, and opaque glass. A jumble of pinnacles stood out against the sky. High up in the east wing were the windows of ex-king Egbert's apartments. One window was brightly lit now. Against the light, a small black figure stood very still, looking out into the night.

The king snarled.

The king snarled.

‘He little knows how we slip through his fingers,’ said Pestovitch.

‘He has no idea how we slip through his fingers,’ said Pestovitch.

And as he spoke they saw the ex-king stretch out his arms slowly, like one who yawns, knuckle his eyes and turn inward—no doubt to his bed.

As he spoke, they saw the former king slowly stretch out his arms, as if yawning. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and turned back inside, no doubt to go to bed.

Down through the ancient winding back streets of his capital hurried the king, and at an appointed corner a shabby atomic-automobile waited for the three. It was a hackney carriage of the lowest grade, with dinted metal panels and deflated cushions. The driver was one of the ordinary drivers of the capital, but beside him sat the young secretary of Pestovitch, who knew the way to the farm where the bombs were hidden.

The king hurried through the old, winding back streets of his capital. At an agreed corner, a shabby atomic-automobile waited for the three of them. It was a cheap taxi with dented metal panels and flat cushions. The driver was an ordinary driver from the capital. But beside him sat Pestovitch’s young secretary, who knew the way to the farm where the bombs were hidden.

The automobile made its way through the narrow streets of the old town, which were still lit and uneasy—for the fleet of airships overhead had kept the cafés open and people abroad—over the great new bridge, and so by straggling outskirts to the country. And all through his capital the king who hoped to outdo Cæsar, sat back and was very still, and no one spoke. And as they got out into the dark country they became aware of the searchlights wandering over the country-side like the uneasy ghosts of giants. The king sat forward and looked at these flitting whitenesses, and every now and then peered up to see the flying ships overhead.

The car made its way through the narrow streets of the old town. The streets were still lit and restless. The fleet of airships overhead had kept the cafés open and people out in the streets. The car crossed the great new bridge, then passed through the sprawling outskirts and into the country. All through his capital, the king who hoped to outdo Cæsar sat back, very still, and no one spoke. As they reached the dark countryside, they noticed searchlights wandering over it like the restless ghosts of giants. The king leaned forward and watched the shifting white lights. Now and then, he looked up at the flying ships overhead.

‘I don’t like them,’ said the king.

‘I don’t like them,’ said the king.

Presently one of these patches of moonlight came to rest about them and seemed to be following their automobile. The king drew back.

Soon, one of these patches of moonlight settled around them and seemed to follow their car. The king drew back.

‘The things are confoundedly noiseless,’ said the king. ‘It’s like being stalked by lean white cats.’

‘The things are damnably quiet,’ said the king. ‘It’s like being stalked by lean white cats.’

He peered again. ‘That fellow is watching us,’ he said.

He looked closely again. ‘That guy is watching us,’ he said.

And then suddenly he gave way to panic. ‘Pestovitch,’ he said, clutching his minister’s arm, ‘they are watching us. I’m not going through with this. They are watching us. I’m going back.’

Then suddenly he panicked. ‘Pestovitch,’ he said, grabbing his minister’s arm, ‘they are watching us. I’m not going through with this. They are watching us. I’m going back.’

Pestovitch remonstrated. ‘Tell him to go back,’ said the king, and tried to open the window. For a few moments there was a grim struggle in the automobile; a gripping of wrists and a blow. ‘I can’t go through with it,’ repeated the king, ‘I can’t go through with it.’

Pestovitch protested. ‘Tell him to go back,’ said the king, and tried to open the window. For a few moments, there was a grim struggle in the car. Wrists were grabbed, and a blow was struck. ‘I can’t go through with it,’ repeated the king, ‘I can’t go through with it.’

‘But they’ll hang us,’ said Pestovitch.

‘But they’ll hang us,’ said Pestovitch.

‘Not if we were to give up now. Not if we were to surrender the bombs. It is you who brought me into this....’

‘Not if we gave up now. Not if we surrendered the bombs. You are the one who brought me into this....’

At last Pestovitch compromised. There was an inn perhaps half a mile from the farm. They could alight there and the king could get brandy, and rest his nerves for a time. And if he still thought fit to go back he could go back.

At last, Pestovitch compromised. There was an inn perhaps half a mile from the farm. They could get out there, and the king could have some brandy and calm his nerves for a while. If he still wanted to go back, he could.

‘See,’ said Pestovitch, ‘the light has gone again.’

‘Look,’ said Pestovitch, ‘the light has gone out again.’

The king peered up. ‘I believe he’s following us without a light,’ said the king.

The king looked up. ‘I think he’s following us without a light,’ said the king.

In the little old dirty inn the king hung doubtful for a time, and was for going back and throwing himself on the mercy of the council. ‘If there is a council,’ said Pestovitch. ‘By this time your bombs may have settled it.

In the small, old, dirty inn, the king hesitated for a while. He considered going back and throwing himself on the council’s mercy. ‘If there is a council,’ said Pestovitch. ‘By now, your bombs may have settled that.

‘But if so, these infernal aeroplanes would go.’

‘But if so, these damned airplanes would go.’

‘They may not know yet.’

‘They may not know yet.’

‘But, Pestovitch, why couldn’t you do all this without me?’

‘But, Pestovitch, why couldn’t you do all this without me?’

Pestovitch made no answer for a moment. ‘I was for leaving the bombs in their place,’ he said at last, and went to the window. About their conveyance shone a circle of bright light. Pestovitch had a brilliant idea. ‘I will send my secretary out to make a kind of dispute with the driver. Something that will make them watch up above there. Meanwhile you and I and Peter will go out by the back way and up by the hedges to the farm....’

Pestovitch did not answer for a moment. ‘I wanted to leave the bombs where they were,’ he said at last, and went to the window. A circle of bright light shone around their vehicle. Pestovitch had a brilliant idea. ‘I’ll send my secretary out to start an argument with the driver. Something that will make them watch from up there. Meanwhile, you and I and Peter will go out the back way and follow the hedges up to the farm....’

It was worthy of his subtle reputation and it answered passing well.

It lived up to his reputation for subtlety, and it worked quite well.

In ten minutes they were tumbling over the wall of the farm-yard, wet, muddy, and breathless, but unobserved. But as they ran towards the barns the king gave vent to something between a groan and a curse, and all about them shone the light—and passed.

Within ten minutes, they were scrambling over the farmyard wall, wet, muddy, and out of breath, but unseen. As they ran toward the barns, the king made a sound between a groan and a curse. A light shone all around them, then passed.

But had it passed at once or lingered for just a second?

But did it pass immediately, or linger for just a second?

‘They didn’t see us,’ said Peter.

‘They didn’t see us,’ said Peter.

‘I don’t think they saw us,’ said the king, and stared as the light went swooping up the mountain side, hung for a second about a hayrick, and then came pouring back.

‘I don’t think they saw us,’ said the king. He stared as the light swept up the mountainside. It paused for a second over a haystack, then swept back.

‘In the barn!’ cried the king.

‘In the barn!’ shouted the king.

He bruised his shin against something, and then all three men were inside the huge steel-girdered barn in which stood the two motor hay lorries that were to take the bombs away. Kurt and Abel, the two brothers of Peter, had brought the lorries thither in daylight. They had the upper half of the loads of hay thrown off, ready to cover the bombs, so soon as the king should show the hiding-place. ‘There’s a sort of pit here,’ said the king. ‘Don’t light another lantern. This key of mine releases a ring....’

He bruised his shin against something, and then all three men entered the huge barn, with its steel girders. Inside stood the two motorized hay lorries that would carry the bombs away. Kurt and Abel, Peter’s two brothers, had brought the lorries there in daylight. They had thrown off the top half of the hay loads. The hay was ready to cover the bombs as soon as the king showed them the hiding place. ‘There’s a sort of pit here,’ said the king. ‘Don’t light another lantern. This key of mine releases a ring....’

For a time scarcely a word was spoken in the darkness of the barn. There was the sound of a slab being lifted and then of feet descending a ladder into a pit. Then whispering and then heavy breathing as Kurt came struggling up with the first of the hidden bombs.

For a while, hardly a word was spoken in the dark barn. A slab was lifted, and footsteps followed as someone went down a ladder into a pit. Then came whispers and heavy breathing as Kurt struggled back up with the first of the hidden bombs.

‘We shall do it yet,’ said the king. And then he gasped. ‘Curse that light. Why in the name of Heaven didn’t we shut the barn door?’ For the great door stood wide open and all the empty, lifeless yard outside and the door and six feet of the floor of the barn were in the blue glare of an inquiring searchlight.

‘We’ll do it yet,’ said the king. Then he gasped. ‘Curse that light. Why in Heaven’s name didn’t we shut the barn door?’ The great door stood wide open. A searching light cast a blue glare over the entire empty, lifeless yard outside, the door, and six feet of the barn floor.

‘Shut the door, Peter,’ said Pestovitch.

‘Shut the door, Peter,’ said Pestovitch.

‘No,’ cried the king, too late, as Peter went forward into the light. ‘Don’t show yourself!’ cried the king. Kurt made a step forward and plucked his brother back. For a time all five men stood still. It seemed that light would never go and then abruptly it was turned off, leaving them blinded. ‘Now,’ said the king uneasily, ‘now shut the door.’

‘No,’ the king cried, but it was too late. Peter stepped forward into the light. ‘Don’t show yourself!’ the king cried. Kurt stepped forward and pulled his brother back. For a while, all five men stood still. It seemed the light would never go out. Then it was suddenly turned off, leaving them blinded. ‘Now,’ the king said uneasily, ‘now shut the door.’

‘Not completely,’ cried Pestovitch. ‘Leave a chink for us to go out by....’

‘Not completely,’ cried Pestovitch. ‘Leave an opening for us to get out....’

It was hot work shifting those bombs, and the king worked for a time like a common man. Kurt and Abel carried the great things up and Peter brought them to the carts, and the king and Pestovitch helped him to place them among the hay. They made as little noise as they could....

Moving the bombs was hot work, and the king worked for a while like an ordinary man. Kurt and Abel carried the huge bombs up, and Peter brought them to the carts. The king and Pestovitch helped Peter place them among the hay. They made as little noise as they could....

‘Ssh!’ cried the king. ‘What’s that?’

‘Shh!’ cried the king. ‘What’s that?’

But Kurt and Abel did not hear, and came blundering up the ladder with the last of the load.

But Kurt and Abel didn't hear, and they clumsily climbed the ladder with the last of the load.

‘Ssh!’ Peter ran forward to them with a whispered remonstrance. Now they were still.

‘Shh!’ Peter ran toward them, whispering for them to stop. Now they were quiet.

The barn door opened a little wider, and against the dim blue light outside they saw the black shape of a man.

The barn door opened a little wider. Against the dim blue light outside, they saw a man's dark silhouette.

‘Any one here?’ he asked, speaking with an Italian accent.

‘Anyone here?’ he asked, speaking with an Italian accent.

The king broke into a cold perspiration. Then Pestovitch answered: ‘Only a poor farmer loading hay,’ he said, and picked up a huge hay fork and went forward softly.

The king broke out in a cold sweat. Then Pestovitch answered, ‘Only a poor farmer loading hay.’ He picked up a huge hay fork and went forward quietly.

‘You load your hay at a very bad time and in a very bad light,’ said the man at the door, peering in. ‘Have you no electric light here?’

‘You’re loading your hay at a very bad time and in very poor light,’ said the man at the door, peering inside. ‘Don’t you have electric lights here?’

Then suddenly he turned on an electric torch, and as he did so Pestovitch sprang forward. ‘Get out of my barn!’ he cried, and drove the fork full at the intruder’s chest. He had a vague idea that so he might stab the man to silence. But the man shouted loudly as the prongs pierced him and drove him backward, and instantly there was a sound of feet running across the yard.

Then suddenly the man switched on a flashlight, and Pestovitch sprang forward. ‘Get out of my barn!’ he cried, thrusting the fork straight at the intruder’s chest. He had a vague idea that he could stab the man into silence. But the man shouted loudly as the prongs pierced him and pushed him backward. At once, there was the sound of feet running across the yard.

‘Bombs,’ cried the man upon the ground, struggling with the prongs in his hand, and as Pestovitch staggered forward into view with the force of his own thrust, he was shot through the body by one of the two new-comers.

‘Bombs,’ cried the man on the ground, struggling with the prongs in his hand. Pestovitch's own thrust sent him staggering forward into view. As he did, one of the two newcomers shot him through the body.

The man on the ground was badly hurt but plucky. ‘Bombs,’ he repeated, and struggled up into a kneeling position and held his electric torch full upon the face of the king. ‘Shoot them,’ he cried, coughing and spitting blood, so that the halo of light round the king’s head danced about.

The man on the ground was badly hurt but brave. ‘Bombs,’ he repeated. He struggled to his knees and shone his flashlight directly in the king’s face. ‘Shoot them,’ he cried, coughing and spitting blood. The light around the king’s head danced as he spoke.

For a moment in that shivering circle of light the two men saw the king kneeling up in the cart and Peter on the barn floor beside him. The old fox looked at them sideways—snared, a white-faced evil thing. And then, as with a faltering suicidal heroism, he leant forward over the bomb before him, they fired together and shot him through the head.

For a moment, the two men saw the king kneeling in the cart and Peter beside him on the barn floor. In the flickering circle of light, the old fox looked sideways at them. He was trapped, a white-faced, evil thing. Then he leaned forward over the bomb before him, as if with a wavering, suicidal courage. As he did, the two men fired together and shot him through the head.

The upper part of his face seemed to vanish.

The upper part of his face seemed to disappear.

‘Shoot them,’ cried the man who had been stabbed. ‘Shoot them all!’

‘Shoot them,’ shouted the man who had been stabbed. ‘Shoot them all!’

And then his light went out, and he rolled over with a groan at the feet of his comrades.

Then his light went out, and he rolled over with a groan at his comrades' feet.

But each carried a light of his own, and in another moment everything in the barn was visible again. They shot Peter even as he held up his hands in sign of surrender.

But each man carried his own light, and in another moment everything in the barn was visible again. They shot Peter as he held up his hands to surrender.

Kurt and Abel at the head of the ladder hesitated for a moment, and then plunged backward into the pit. ‘If we don’t kill them,’ said one of the sharpshooters, ‘they’ll blow us to rags. They’ve gone down that hatchway. Come! . . .

Kurt and Abel hesitated for a moment at the top of the ladder. Then they plunged backward into the pit. ‘If we don’t kill them,’ said one of the sharpshooters, ‘they’ll blow us to pieces. They’ve gone down that hatchway. Come on! . . .

‘Here they are. Hands up! I say. Hold your light while I shoot....’

‘Here they are. Hands up! I said, hands up! Hold your light while I shoot....’

It was still quite dark when his valet and Firmin came together and told the ex-king Egbert that the business was settled.

It was still quite dark when his valet and Firmin came together and told former King Egbert that the matter was settled.

He started up into a sitting position on the side of his bed.

He suddenly sat up on the side of his bed.

‘Did he go out?’ asked the ex-king.

‘Did he go out?’ asked the former king.

‘He is dead,’ said Firmin. ‘He was shot.’

‘He is dead,’ said Firmin. ‘He was shot.’

The ex-king reflected. ‘That’s about the best thing that could have happened,’ he said. ‘Where are the bombs? In that farm-house on the opposite hill-side! Why! the place is in sight! Let us go. I’ll dress. Is there any one in the place, Firmin, to get us a cup of coffee?’

The former king thought for a moment. ‘That’s about the best thing that could have happened,’ he said. ‘Where are the bombs? In that farmhouse on the opposite hillside! Why, we can see the place! Let’s go. I’ll get dressed. Is there anyone here, Firmin, who can get us a cup of coffee?’

Through the hungry twilight of the dawn the ex-king’s automobile carried him to the farm-house where the last rebel king was lying among his bombs. The rim of the sky flashed, the east grew bright, and the sun was just rising over the hills when King Egbert reached the farm-yard. There he found the hay lorries drawn out from the barn with the dreadful bombs still packed upon them. A couple of score of aviators held the yard, and outside a few peasants stood in a little group and stared, ignorant as yet of what had happened. Against the stone wall of the farm-yard five bodies were lying neatly side by side, and Pestovitch had an expression of surprise on his face and the king was chiefly identifiable by his long white hands and his blonde moustache. The wounded aeronaut had been carried down to the inn. And after the ex-king had given directions in what manner the bombs were to be taken to the new special laboratories above Zurich, where they could be unpacked in an atmosphere of chlorine, he turned to these five still shapes.

Through the hungry twilight of dawn, the ex-king’s car carried him to the farmhouse. There, the last rebel king lay among his bombs. The edge of the sky flashed, and the east grew bright. The sun was just rising over the hills when King Egbert reached the farmyard. The hay lorries had been pulled out of the barn, with the dreadful bombs still packed on them. About forty aviators held the yard. Outside, a few peasants stood in a small group and stared. They did not yet know what had happened. Five bodies lay neatly side by side against the farmyard’s stone wall. Pestovitch had a look of surprise on his face. The king could be identified mainly by his long white hands and blond mustache. The wounded aviator had been carried down to the inn. The ex-king gave instructions for taking the bombs to the new special laboratories above Zurich. There, they could be unpacked in an atmosphere of chlorine. Then he turned to the five still figures.

Their five pairs of feet stuck out with a curious stiff unanimity....

All five pairs of feet stuck out together, strangely stiff....

‘What else was there to do?’ he said in answer to some internal protest.

‘What else was there to do?’ he said, answering a protest within himself.

‘I wonder, Firmin, if there are any more of them?’

‘I wonder, Firmin, if there are any more of them?’

‘Bombs, sir?’ asked Firmin.

‘Bombs, sir?’ asked Firmin.

‘No, such kings....

‘No, such kings....

‘The pitiful folly of it!’ said the ex-king, following his thoughts. ‘Firmin, as an ex-professor of International Politics, I think it falls to you to bury them. There? . . . No, don’t put them near the well. People will have to drink from that well. Bury them over there, some way off in the field.’

‘How pitiful and foolish it is!’ said the ex-king, following his thoughts. ‘Firmin, as a former professor of International Politics, I think you should bury them. There? . . . No, don’t put them near the well. People will have to drink from it. Bury them over there, some distance away in the field.’