by Robert Reed
strong servant of man, which was of old his slave and which some
day will be his slave again .
“Quite a different thing is the alphabet . It is what enables me to
know the meaning of fine markings, whereas you boys know only
rude picture-writing . In that dry cave on Telegraph Hill, where you
see me often go when the tribe is down by the sea, I have stored many
books . In them is great wisdom . Also, with them, I have placed a key
to the alphabet, so that one who knows picture-writing may also
know print . Some day men will read again; and then, if no accident
has befallen my cave, they will know that Professor James Howard
Smith once lived and saved for them the knowledge of the ancients .
“There is another little device that men inevitably will rediscover .
It is called gunpowder . It was what enabled us to kill surely and at
long distances . Certain things which are found in the ground, when
THE SCARLET PLAGUE, by Jack London | 791
combined in the right proportions, will make this gunpowder . What
these things are, I have forgotten, or else I never knew . But I wish
I did know . Then would I make powder, and then would I certainly
kill Cross-Eyes and rid the land of superstition—”
“After I am man-grown I am going to give Cross-Eyes all the
goats, and meat, and skins I can get, so that he’ll teach me to be a
doctor,” Hoo-Hoo asserted . “And when I know, I’ll make everybody
else sit up and take notice . They’ll get down in the dirt to me, you
bet .”
The old man nodded his head solemnly, and murmured:
“Strange it is to hear the vestiges and remnants of the compli-
cated Aryan speech falling from the lips of a filthy little skin-clad
savage . All the world is topsy-turvy . And it has been topsy-turvy
ever since the plague .”
“You won’t make me sit up,” Hare-Lip boasted to the would-be
medicine-man . “If I paid you for a sending of the death-stick and
it didn’t work, I’d bust in your head—understand, you Hoo-Hoo,
you?”
“I’m going to get Granser to remember this here gunpowder
stuff,” Edwin said softly, “and then I’ll have you all on the run . You,
Hare-Lip, will do my fighting for me and get my meat for me, and
you, Hoo-Hoo, will send the death-stick for me and make everybody
afraid . And if I catch Hare-Lip trying to bust your head, Hoo-Hoo,
I’ll fix him with that same gunpowder. Granser ain’t such a fool as
you think, and I’m going to listen to him and some day I’ll be boss
over the whole bunch of you .”
The old man shook his head sadly, and said:
“The gunpowder will come . Nothing can stop it—the same old
story over and over. Man will increase, and men will fight. The gun-
powder will enable men to kill millions of men, and in this way
only, by fire and blood, will a new civilization, in some remote day,
be evolved. And of what profit will it be? Just as the old civilization
passed, so will the new. It may take fifty thousand years to build,
but it will pass . All things pass . Only remain cosmic force and mat-
ter, ever in flux, ever acting and reacting and realizing the eternal
THE SCARLET PLAGUE, by Jack London | 792
types—the priest, the soldier, and the king . Out of the mouths of
babes comes the wisdom of all the ages. Some will fight, some will
rule, some will pray; and all the rest will toil and suffer sore while on
their bleeding carcasses is reared again, and yet again, without end,
the amazing beauty and surpassing wonder of the civilized state . It
were just as well that I destroyed those cave-stored books—whether
they remain or perish, all their old truths will be discovered, their
old lies lived and handed down. What is the profit—”
Hare-Lip leaped to his feet, giving a quick glance at the pasturing
goats and the afternoon sun .
“Gee!” he muttered to Edwin, “The old geezer gets more long-
winded every day . Let’s pull for camp .”
While the other two, aided by the dogs, assembled the goats and
started them for the trail through the forest, Edwin stayed by the old
man and guided him in the same direction . When they reached the
old right of way, Edwin stopped suddenly and looked back . Hare-
Lip and Hoo-Hoo and the dogs and the goats passed on . Edwin was
looking at a small herd of wild horses which had come down on
the hard sand . There were at least twenty of them, young colts and
yearlings and mares, led by a beautiful stallion which stood in the
foam at the edge of the surf, with arched neck and bright wild eyes,
sniffing the salt air from off the sea.
“What is it?” Granser queried .
“Horses,” was the answer . “First time I ever seen ’em on the
beach . It’s the mountain lions getting thicker and thicker and driv-
ing ’em down .”
The low sun shot red shafts of light, fan-shaped, up from a cloud-
tumbled horizon . And close at hand, in the white waste of shore-
lashed waters, the sea-lions, bellowing their old primeval chant,
hauled up out of the sea on the black rocks and fought and loved .
“Come on, Granser,” Edwin prompted . And old man and boy,
skin-clad and barbaric, turned and went along the right of way into
the forest in the wake of the goats .
THE SCARLET PLAGUE, by Jack London | 793
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO,
by Jens Peter Jacobsen
Translated from the Danish By Anna Grabow (1921).
Old Bergamo lay on the summit of a low mountain, hedged in by
walls and gates, and New Bergamo lay at the foot of the mountain,
exposed to all winds .
One day the plague broke out in the new town and spread at a
terrific speed; a multitude of people died and the others fled across
the plains to all four corners of the world . And the citizens in Old
Bergamo set fire to the deserted town in order to purify the air, but
it did no good. People began dying up there too, at first one a day,
then five, then ten, then twenty, and when the plague had reached its
height, a great many more .
And they could not flee as those had done, who lived in the new
town .
There were some, who tried it, but they led the life of a hunted
animal, hid in ditches and sewers, under hedges, and in the green
fields; for the peasants, into whose homes in many places the first
fugitives had brought the plague, stoned every stranger they came
across, drove him from their lands, or struck him down like a mad
dog without mercy or pity, in justifiable self-defense, as they be-
lieved .
The people of Old Bergamo had to stay where they were, and day
by day it grew hotter; and day by day the gruesome disease became
more voracious and more grasping . Terror grew to madness . What
there had been of order and good government was as if the earth had
swallowed it, and what was worst in human nature came in its stead .
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO, by Jens Peter Jacobsen | 794
At the very beginning when the plague broke out people worked
&nb
sp; together in harmony and concord . They took care that the corpses
were duly and properly buried, and every day saw to it that big
bonfires were lighted in squares and open places so that the health-
ful smoke might drift through the streets . Juniper and vinegar were
distributed among the poor, and above all else, the people sought the
churches early and late, alone and in processions . Every day they
went with their prayers before God and every day when the sun was
setting behind the mountains, all the churchbells called wailingly
towards heaven from hundreds of swinging throats . Fasts were or-
dered and every day holy relics were set out on the altars .
At last one day when they did not know what else to do, from
the balcony of the town hall, amid the sound of trumpets and horns,
they proclaimed the Holy Virgin, podesta or lordmayor of the town
now and forever .
But all this did not help; there was nothing that helped .
And when the people felt this and the belief grew stronger that
heaven either would not or could not help, they not only let their
hands lie idly in the lap, saying, “Let there come what may .” Nay,
it seemed, as if sin had grown from a secret, stealthy disease into a
wicked, open, raging plague, which hand in hand with the physical
contagion sought to slay the soul as the other strove to destroy the
body, so incredible were their deeds, so enormous their depravity!
The air was filled with blasphemy and impiety, with the groans of
the gluttons and the howling of drunkards . The wildest night hid not
greater debauchery than was here committed in broad daylight .
“To-day we shall eat, for to-morrow we die!”—It was as if they
had set these words to music, and played on manifold instruments
a never-ending hellish concert . Yea, if all sins had not already been
invented, they would have been invented here, for there was no
road they would not have followed in their wickedness . The most
unnatural vices flourished among them, and even such rare sins as
necromancy, magic, and exorcism were familiar to them, for there
were many who hoped to obtain from the powers of evil the protec-
tion which heaven had not vouchsafed them .
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO, by Jens Peter Jacobsen | 795
Whatever had to do with mutual assistance or pity had vanished
from their minds; each one had thoughts only for himself . He who
was sick was looked upon as a common foe, and if it happened that
any one was unfortunate enough to fall down on the street, exhaust-
ed by the first fever-paroxysm of the plague, there was no door that
opened to him, but with lance-pricks and the casting of stones they
forced him to drag himself out of the way of those who were still
healthy .
And day by day the plague increased, the summer’s sun blazed
down upon the town, not a drop of rain fell, not the faintest breeze
stirred . From corpses that lay rotting in the houses and from corpses
that were only half-buried in the earth, there was engendered a suf-
focating stench which mingled with the stagnant air of the streets
and attracted swarms and clouds of ravens and crows until the walls
and roofs were black with them . And round about the wall encir-
cling the town sat strange, large, outlandish birds from far away
with beaks eager for spoil and expectantly crooked claws; and they
sat there and looked down with their tranquil greedy eyes as if only
waiting for the unfortunate town to turn into one huge carrion-pit .
It was just eleven weeks since the plague had broken out, when
the watchman in the tower and other people who were standing in
high places saw a strange procession wind from the plain into the
streets of the new town between the smoke-blackened stone walls
and the black ash-heaps of the wooden houses . A multitude of peo-
ple! At least, six hundred or more, men and women, old and young,
and they carried big black crosses between them and above their
heads floated wide banners, red as fire and blood. They sing as they
are moving onward and heartrending notes of despair rise up into
the silent sultry air .
Brown, gray, and black are their clothes, but all wear a red badge
on their breast . A cross it proves to be, as they draw nearer . For
all the time they are drawing nearer . They press upward along the
steep road, flanked by walls, which leads up to the old town. It is a
throng of white faces; they carry scourges in their hands . On their
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO, by Jens Peter Jacobsen | 796
red banners a rain of fire is pictured. And the black crosses sway
from one side to the other in the crowd .
From the dense mass there rises a smell of sweat, of ashes, of the
dust of the roadway, and of stale incense .
They no longer sing, neither do they speak, nothing is audible but
the tramping, herd-like sound of their naked feet .
Face after face plunges into the darkness of the tower-gate, and
emerges into the light on the other side with a dazed, tired expres-
sion and half-closed lids .
Then the singing begins again: a miserere; they grasp their
scourges more firmly and walk with a brisker step as if to a war-
song .
They look as if they came from a famished city, their cheeks are
hollow, their bones stand out, their lips are bloodless, and they have
dark rings beneath their eyes .
The people of Bergamo have flocked together and watch them
with amazement—and uneasiness . Red dissipated faces stand con-
trasted with these pale white ones; dull glances exhausted by de-
bauchery are lowered before these piercing, flaming eyes; mocking
blasphemers stand open-mouthed before these hymns .
And there is blood on their scourges .
A feeling of strange uneasiness filled the people at the sight of
these strangers .
But it did not take long, however, before they shook off this im-
pression . Some of them recognized a half-crazy shoemaker from
Brescia among those who bore crosses, and immediately the whole
mob through him became a laughingstock . Anyhow, it was some-
thing new, a distraction amid the everyday, and when the strangers
marched toward the cathedral, everybody followed behind as they
would have followed a band of jugglers or a tame bear .
But as they pushed their way forward they became embittered;
they felt so matter-of-fact in comparison with the solemnity of these
people . They understood very well, that those shoemakers and tai-
lors had come here to convert them, to pray for them, and to utter
the words which they did not wish to hear . There were two lean,
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO, by Jens Peter Jacobsen | 797
gray-haired philosophers who had elaborated impiety into a system;
they incited the people, and out of the malice of their hearts stirred
their passions, so that with each step as they neared the church the
attitude of the crowd became more threatening and their cries of
anger wilder . It would not have taken much to have made them lay
violent hands on those unknow
n flagellants. Not a hundred steps
from the church entrance, the door of a tavern was thrown open,
and a whole flock of carousers tumbled out, one on top of the other.
They placed themselves at the head of the procession and led the
way, singing and bellowing with grotesquely solemn gestures—all
except one who turned handsprings right up the grass-grown stones
of the church-steps . This, of course, caused laughter, and so all en-
tered peacefully into the sanctuary .
It seemed strange to be here again, to pass through this great cool
space, in this atmosphere pungent with the smell of old drippings
from wax candles—across the sunken flag-stones which their feet
knew so well and over these stones whose worn-down designs and
bright inscriptions had so often caused their thoughts to grow weary .
And while their eyes half-curiously, half-unwillingly sought rest in
the gently subdued light underneath the vaults or glided over the
dim manifoldness of the gold-dust and smoke-stained colors, or lost
themselves in the strange shadows of the altar, there rose in their
hearts a longing which could not be suppressed .
In the meantime those from the tavern continued their scandalous
behavior upon the high altar . A huge, massive butcher among them,
a young man, had taken off his white apron and tied it around his
neck, so that it hung down his back like a surplice, and he celebrated
mass with the wildest and maddest words, full of obscenity and
blasphemy . An oldish little fellow with a fat belly, active and nimble
in spite of his weight, with a face like a skinned pumpkin was the
sacristan and responded with the most frivolous refrains . He kneeled
down and genuflected and turned his back to the altar and rang the
bell as though it were a jester’s and swung the censer round like a
wheel . The others lay drunk on the steps at full length, bellowing
with laughter and hiccoughing with drunkenness .
THE PLAGUE IN BERGAMO, by Jens Peter Jacobsen | 798
The whole church laughed and howled and mocked at the strang-
ers . They called out to them to pay close attention so that they might
know what the people thought of their God, here in Old Bergamo .
For it was not so much their wish to insult God that made them
rejoice in the tumult; but they felt satisfaction in knowing that each