“It’s not a matter of what will become of France, but what we ought to do ourselves in order to take advantage of what might be a uniquely profitable opportunity.”
“Yes,” added Walesport.
“Come on, Messieurs,” said Crémiot. “This isn’t place to discuss that. I’ve just told Walesport that he should reach an agreement regarding a plan in conformity with our interests, but let’s not talk about it any more now.”
“Very well,” said Vauclin. “Let’s meet at my place then—9 Rue des Saints-Pères—next Saturday.”
Madame Vauclin’s voice made itself heard. “No, my friend, on Saturday we’re hosting a grand soirée.”
“Well, Monday then, at three o’clock. Is that agreed?”
“We’ll be there,” said the Baruyers and Walesport, in unison.
I’ll be there, too, the Invisible said to himself.
They fell silent, because the curtain had just gone up for the fifth act. Homo-Deus was able to get a little closer, in order to admire Alexane in the ballet. The dancer, supple, light, pert and cheerful, spun among the other ballerinas, and her beauty stood out in the midst of the bouquet like the most beautiful rose on a flowery bush. She turned and leapt, graceful, enchanting, as if intoxicated by voluptuousness, drunk on amour, and her artistry was, for the Invisible, a public confession, in exquisite leaps, in which she seemed to be laying out for the public all the reminiscences of her passion for her handsome young lover.
BOOK THREE: THE BLIND SEE
I. A New Assault of Love
On emerging from the Opéra, Marc Vanel, Homo-Deus, was simultaneously intrigued and delighted by the secrets he had just discovered. The disinterested love of Alexane, in particular, enticed him. What a difference of temperament and mentality from Jeanne Fortin! What good is that scientific madness of a genius, if it annuls amour? The dancer is in the right: life, and its enjoyments, before everything.
Well, he would attempt the adventure. Jeanne was only vulnerable in the direction of science; it was necessary to attack her by that route. His decision was made. He would reveal to Jeanne the technicalities of the secret of invisibility. By that means, undoubtedly, he would succeed in moving her.
As son as he woke up, after a rapid breakfast, he had himself taken to the Red Nest.
Jeanne was in the laboratory, in the process of examining the exposed brain of Georges Garnier. The marionette doctor was sitting on the ground, his head between the knees of the young scientist, who was leaning over her fiancé’s open skull. Jeanne was attentively observing the progress made by the encephalic culture. When Marc came in, she looked up, saluted him with a gesture, and beckoned to him to approach.
“Look,” she said. “I believe that before long, our friend will be able to move. The encephalum has recovered its normal volume. There’s no trace of any disorder. The reconstituted cells appear to have the same constitutive elements. So, I think we should interrupt the stimulating current in order that the patient can rest before the final experiment.”
“And what will you do with Georges Garnier?”
“I’ll keep my promise. I’ll marry him, if he still wants that. Yes, if he demands it.”
“You love him, then?”
“No, I don’t love him, and I don’t believe I’ll ever love him—neither him nor anyone else. But he surrendered himself to the fiancée; what will he do for the wife? I’ll surely have need of him for further experiments—among others, the formation of spermatozoa, of which I’m also ambitious to make cultures in order to attempt the artificial creation of a human being.”
“Leave your marionette and put him back in his place. He’s had enough for today. I have something important to tell you. What do you think about invisibility?”
“I know that you’ve realized the problem, but I don’t see the utility of it, except for the satisfaction of an indiscreet curiosity or your stolen faunish pleasures.”
“You say that you know that I’ve solved the problem. What makes you think that?”
“The revelations of my friend Simone d’Armez. She consulted me on the subject; she confessed to me. But why this confidence today?”
“Because I, too, am in love with you—and I hope, by means of this mark of confidence, to bring you closer to me.”
“You dare not act the pig with me, then, as you did with Simone?”
“No, because you, I love—your body, certainly, but also your questioning intelligence, your genius. What might the two of us not accomplish?”
“Indeed,” said Jeanne, thoughtfully. “You’re much stronger than Georges Garnier, and, by that entitlement alone, you have the right to preference. But refrain from talking drivel about your boundless love, and we’ll work together as allies, intellectual to begin with. By the way, we have Papa Garnier this evening. Are you dining with us?”
“If that would please you.”
“We still have an hour ahead of us. How did you discover Invisibility?”
Homo-Deus recounted his experiments with anatomical specimens and his cat, Mesmoth, and then continued: “I invented and constructed an accumulator of light, storing the ultra-violet rays and condensing them, and enclosed them in a bronze jar buried in the ground and covered with a thick crystal plaque. It remained to fix the invisible fluid in myself—which is to say, to prevent its evaporations when I’m impregnated with it. Thinking that silk might play the same role in that as for electricity, I attempted the experiment with that fabric. Good results, but not absolute. I coated the fabric with various rubbery gums, and finally succeeded, after multiple trials, in obtaining a weave that would not allow any fluid to pass.
“So, having put on a bodystocking made entirely from that special silk, and a mask of the same, with holes for the eyes, I place myself on the plaque of my accumulator, activate a powerful electric battery that excites the energy, and in a matter of minutes, I become invisible. Only the eyes, which, not being covered by my fabric, allow an infinitesimal quantity of the fluid to escape, and can become slightly fluorescent after a certain time, or in certain circumstances. Well, Jeanne, what do you think?”
“I’m listening with admiration.”
“I’ve calculated that it requires at least fifty hours for the invisible fluid to lose its virtue detectably, but I hope in time to be able to double the duration of the invisibility. Thus, invisible myself and clad in a black garment equally invisible, I can circulate for two days and more without needing to recharge my body. To resume my visibility, I have only to place myself on my plaque again and activate the battery in the opposite sense. The invisible fluid drains away as it entered, only causing me a sensation of intense heat when I store it and cold when I empty myself. In a few minutes, though, equilibrium is restored and I find myself in a normal state again. That’s it. As for the chemical formulae, I’ll write them down for you.”
“You’re an ace, Marc. The two of us might do great things.”
“Then I’ve truly interested you?”
“A great deal.” Laughing, she added: “So, poor Simone…?”
“Excuse me. She’s only a replacement.”
“Yes, I excuse you, Marc, for if you truly loved Simone you’d have respected her as you respect and will respect me…and then, a regular courtship would have wasted your precious time, satyr.”
II. Important Affairs
There was a meeting at Vauclin’s that evening, not in the Avenue Henri-Martin, but in his political residence in the Rue des Saints-Pères—the meeting arranged during the evening at the Opéra, where the Invisible had discovered the time and place of the rendezvous in Vauclin’s box. Present were five conspirators who wanted to bring down the Ministry of which Claude Barsac was the President of the Council, to wit: William Walesport, the two Baruyer brothers, the député Prosper Crémiot, the Minister of Public Works—which are not Herculean labors—and Arsène Vauclin.
Walesport was the first to speak.
“Messieurs, I have no need to remind you of the
motive that brings us here. This time, we’re undertaking an affair of great breadth, which a fortunate hazard has thrown our way. Summarize the scheme, Crémiot.”
“Everyone in the Chambre knows that my ideas are sometimes at odds with Barsac’s. That earned me a visit and a proposition from Grandjean, the editor-in-chief of the government’s official newspaper, the Malin.28 Grandjean is ambitious and highly intelligent, a clever arriviste. He knows that Claude Barsac has always had a weakness for pretty women, and Madame Grandjean is a veritable beauty. The Boss has been carried away by a routine flirtation. It’s a matter of a diplomatic post for Antoinette Grandjean’s father, the Comte de Morges. The perfidious woman can thus enter the Ministry of Foreign Affairs by the front and the back door, and Barsac’s study therein. She’s had the skill to filch the documents in question, the originals of which Walesport bought, yesterday, for the round sum of a million.”
“A million well spent,” said Walesport, “for it will bring a hundred others into our net.”
A gleam of avarice was shining in all eyes.
“In brief,” Walesport continued, “according to the latest agreement with the allies, Germany has to make a payment on the fifteenth of this month of a billion in gold. I have, from a reliable source, the certainty that a bribe of fifty millions has been offer to Barsac for a postponement of the payment of that billion, the anticipation of which is maintaining prices on the Bourse. If the gold isn’t forthcoming on the agreed date, shares will certainly go down, and will rise again after Barsac’s fall, because the scandal we’ll provoke will force Germany to make the payment eventually. But we need to bring Barsac down to bring about the rebound: the next day, or a few days later, the advent of the new Crémiot-Vauclin Ministry, which, having the advantage of realizing the German payment, will have all the favor of the Chambre and the credulous. What do you say? And we’ll take full advantage of the movement in prices.”
“I say,” said Vauclin, “that it’s necessary to be very sure of bringing down Barsac and his Ministry.”
“You’ll take charge of that, Vauclin, equipped with certain documents that I’ll give you.” He opened his briefcase and took them out, reverently. “Firstly, a coded telegram.”
“Hmm!” said Albert Baruyer. “A dispatch is disputable, even if it’s in cipher.”
“Indeed, and I anticipated that objection. But this is what will guarantee our Premier’s acceptance.” He displayed an official German document, with the heading of the Great Chancellery. “To His Excellency Claude Barsac, Minister of Foreign Affars and President of the Council of the French Republic. In accordance with the desire expressed by Your Excellency to possess a guarantee, we hold on your behalf, through the intermediary of the Reich’s ambassador in Paris, the following document: ‘Between us, the representatives of the government of the Reich and His Excellency Claude Barsac, it is agreed that: given the difficulties of every sort for the government of the Reich in assembling, for the due date, the sum of a billion in gold; and equally recognizing the desire of the French government represented by Monsieur Claude Barsac, to bring about cordial relations between the two peoples, which perhaps can only be achieved by forgetting the hatred of old and the humiliating reparations consequent upon it; in recognition of the services rendered and acquires, the government of the Reich believes itself to be authorized to offer Monsieur Barsac a payment of thirty million gold marks, which will be deposited in whichever bank and whichever account he pleases.’ Followed by signatures...”
“Barsac is stuffed!” said Vauclin.
The Baruyer brothers nodded their heads.
“Now,” said Walesport, “it’s a matter of knowing what we can put into the affair; there’s a profit of three or four hundred per cent to be made.”
“Good business!” said one voice.
“Certainly,” said Vauclin, without knowing which of his fellows had spoken. The others, after having looked at one another, also attributed the remark to one of their number, and attached no further importance to it.
Walesport continued: “It’s certainly enough to lead me to attempt the grand coup: the operation is excellent, I’ll put everything at my disposal into it.”
“Two million for me,” said Georges Baruyer.
“I thought you were better supported than that, Brother.”
“No—and that’s your fault; you cost me a great deal.”
“I can only put in a million,” said Vauclin.
“That’s a lot for a socialist député,” said Crémiot. “I can’t do as much, Minister though I am.”
“In return for services rendered and to be rendered,” Walesport continued, “it’s agreed that a share of ten per cent will be reserved for Messieurs Albert Baruyer, Prosper Crémiot and Arsène Vauclin.”
“Perfect” said the men in question.
“So,” Albert Baruyer went on, “since the affair is concluded, what if we pass on to a little compromise between ourselves?”
“Why?” said Walesport. “None of us could make any use of such a document.”
“Not from the legal point of view, obviously, but it seems to me that it wouldn’t be a bad idea for us all to be linked together between ourselves, by a signature.”
“All right, if you wish.”
The five accomplices drew up a kind of legal document, which they signed—and the electric light went out.
“A short-circuit,” said Vauclin. “I’ll go find the candles.”
Suddenly, however, the lights came on again. Georges Baruyer proposed that they put the paper in a sealed envelope and confide it to a notary, who would be instructed only to return it to the complete group, after the conclusion of the affair. Everyone approved—but as the député was reaching out to pick up the sheet of paper, he stopped, and went pale, his eyes fluttering and his hands trembling.
“What is it?” Vauclin and Albert Baruyer asked.
With his finger, Georges Baryuer pointed at the piece of paper. Beneath the five signatures, a word had been written in red pencil, in capital letters: SCOUNDRELS.
“Damnation!” howled Vauclin. “There’s a spy among us—a traitor!”
For a moment, there was a great tumult. The five men hurled insults at one another, attempted to interrogate one another, and to obtain explanations. The doors, having been examined, were all found to be locked; no one had come in or gone out during the meeting. So?
The five retained, individually, the conviction that one of them was suspect, but as the practical joker had signed the document, there was little to fear. Georges Baruyer erased the fateful word with a rubber, folded up the piece of paper and put it in an enveloped, which was immediately sealed.
The five men went out. Outside, they continued to walk together, chatting, among the Rue des Saints-Pères.
Jokingly, in order to dispel the final cloud, Albert Baruyer said: “The five pères are us. And in Latin, Semper: always. Between us, in life and death.”
And as they made the resolution to go immediately, all together, to the notary, in order to confide the envelope to him, they accepted Walesport’s invitation to climb into his powerful limousine, which was following the little group as they went along the sidewalk, slowly.
The American made a sign to the chauffeur, who stopped the vehicle. Then, just as the accomplices were preparing to get in, strident laughter burst out behind the gang.
They turned around abruptly—but there was no one there.
II. The Report of a Hypnotized Individual
It was the time for reports at the house of Homo-Deus. The four hypnotized men had come, as usual, on the master’s orders, to give an account of the missions with which they had been charged. It was an amusement that Marc Vanel offered to his smiling misanthropy: he took delight in causing to march, under his mental influence, individuals inspired by his dominating thought: adroit servants launched forth by him on tasks appropriate to their natural faculties or their social status, and maintained by him, Homo-Deus, in hypnotic
slavery. He had sent away the first three rapidly, retaining the Commissaire.
“Well,” he said, when they were alone, “do you have the information concerning Alexane and her lover?”
“Yes, Master. Alexane met Hans de Bliggen in Cairo at the beginning of last winter. He was working as a dancer in a grand palace where the star was appearing. Madly smitten, she brought him to Paris. Hans de Bliggen is not his real name. His real name is Hans de Rodock, and he belongs to one of the oldest families of Dalmatia, today completely ruined.”
“For what reasons?”
“That’s quite a story. The father, Baron de Rodock, was a rich Dalmatian lord, the owner of immense estates. A very handsome man, courageous and passionate, Karl had been the hero of gallant scandals that had forced him to quit the court and exile himself to his estates, at the manor of Rodock-Eskinen, when he was only forty-five years old. His wife, a dutiful creature, gentle and modest, accompanied him in his retreat with Hans, who was twelve years old. At that time, a French engineer, who had come to Eskinen to build an aqueduct designed to supplement the manor’s water features, discovered in the course of his endeavors an important deposit of platinum. For the Baron, that was the greatest misfortune of his life.”
“Why?”
“Dazzled by his unexpected fortune, the Baron glimpsed a magnificent future. He saw himself pardoned by his king, immensely rich, enjoying once again the good fortune he had thought he had lost forever. He departed for Paris, in order to confer with businessmen and bankers, who would give him the means to exploit his windfall.”
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