CHAPTER II
SARAKOFF'S MANIFESTO
The recollection of my meeting with Sarakoff remains vividly in my mind.I was shown into a large bare room, heated by an immense stove like aniron pagoda. The floor was of light yellow polished wood; the walls werewhite-washed, and covered with pencil marks. A big table covered withpapers and books stood at one end. At the other, through an opendoorway, there was a glimpse of a laboratory. Sarakoff stood in thecentre of the room, his hands deep in his pockets, his pipe sending upclouds of smoke, his tall muscular frame tilted back. His eyes werefixed on an extraordinary object that crawled slowly over the polishedfloor. It was a gigantic tortoise--a specimen of _Testudoelephantopus_--a huge cumbersome brute. Its ancient, scaly head wasthrust out and its eyes gleamed with a kind of sharp intelligence. Thesurface of its vast and massive shell was covered over with scribbles inwhite chalk--notes made by Sarakoff who was in the habit of jotting downfigures and formulae on anything near at hand.
As there was only one chair in the room, Sarakoff eventually thrust meinto it, while he sat down on the great beast--whom he calledBelshazzar--and told me over and over again how glad he was to see me.And this warmth of his was pleasant to me.
"Are you experimenting on Belshazzar?" I asked at length.
He nodded, and smiled enigmatically.
"He is two hundred years old," he said. "I want to get at his secret."
That was the first positive proof I got of the line of research Sarakoffwas intent upon, although, reading between the lines of his manypublications, I had guessed something of it.
In every way, Sarakoff was a complete contrast to me. Tall, lean,black-bearded and deep-voiced, careless of public opinion and prodigalin ideas, he was just my antithesis. He was possessed of immense energy.His tousled black hair, moustaches and beard seemed to bristle with it;it shone in his pale blue eyes. He was full of sudden violence, flingingtest-tubes across the laboratory, shouting strange songs, striding aboutsnapping his fingers. There was no repose in him. At first I was alittle afraid of him, but the feeling wore off. He spoke Englishfluently, because when a boy he had been at school in London.
I will not enter upon a detailed account of our conversation that firstmorning in Russia, when the snow lay thick on the roofs of the city, andthe ferns of frost sparkled on the window-panes of the laboratory.Briefly, we found ourselves at one over many problems of human research,and I congratulated myself on the fact that in communicating the accountof the miracle at St. Dane's Hospital to Sarakoff alone, I had donewisely. He was wonderfully enthusiastic.
"That discovery of yours has furnished the key to the great riddle I hadset myself," he exclaimed, striding to and fro. "We will astonish theworld, my friend. It is only a question of time."
"But what is the riddle you speak of?" I asked.
"I will tell you soon. Have patience!" he cried. He came towards meimpulsively and shook my hand. "We shall find it beyond a doubt, and wewill call it the Sarakoff-Harden Bacillus! What do you think of that?"
I was somewhat mystified. He sat down again on the back of the tortoise,smoking in his ferocious manner and smiling and nodding to himself. Ithough it best to let him disclose his plans in his own way, and keptback the many eager questions that rose to my lips.
"It seems to me," said Sarakoff suddenly, "that England would be thebest place to try the experiment. There's a telegraph everywhere,reporters in every village, and enough newspapers to carpet every squareinch of the land. In a word, it's a first-class place to watch theresults of an experiment."
"On a large scale?"
"On a gigantic scale--an experiment, ultimately, on the world."
I was puzzled and was anxious to draw him into fuller details.
"It would begin in England?" I asked carelessly.
He nodded.
"But it would spread. You remember how the last big outbreak ofinfluenza, which started in this country, spread like wildfire until thewaves, passing east and west, met on the other side of the globe? Thatwas a big experiment."
"Of nature," I added.
He did not reply.
"An experiment of nature, you mean?" I urged. At the time of the lastbig outburst of influenza which began in Russia, Sarakoff must have beena student. Did he know anything about the origin of the mysterious andfatal visitation?
"Yes, of nature," he replied at last, but not in a tone that satisfiedme. His manner intrigued me so much that I felt inclined to pursue thesubject, but at that moment we were interrupted in a singular way.
The door burst open, and into the room rushed a motley crowd of men.Most of them were young students, but here and there I saw older men,and at the head of the mob was a white-bearded individual, wearing anastrachan cap, who brandished a copy of some Russian periodical in hishand.
Belshazzar drew in his head with a hiss that I could hear even abovethe clamour of this intrusion.
A furious colloquy began, which I could not understand, since it was inRussian. Sarakoff stood facing the angry crowd coolly enough, but thathe was inwardly roused to a dangerous degree, I could tell from hisgestures. The copy of the periodical was much in evidence. Fists wereshaken freely. The aged, white-bearded leader worked himself up into afrenzy and finally jumped on the periodical, stamping it under his feetuntil he was out of breath.
Then this excited band trooped out of the room and left us in peace.
"What is it?" I asked when their steps had died away.
Sarakoff shrugged his shoulders and then laughed. He picked up thebattered periodical and pointed to an article in it.
"I published a manifesto this morning--that is all," he remarked airily.
"What sort of manifesto?"
"On the origin of death." He sat down on Belshazzar's broad back andtwisted his moustaches. "You see, Harden, I believe that in a few moreyears death will only exist as an uncertain element, appearing rarely,as an unnatural and exceptional incident. Life will be limitless; andthe length of years attained by Belshazzar will seem as nothing."
It is curious how the spirit of a new discovery broods over the worldlike a capricious being, animating one investigator here, another there;partially revealing itself in this continent, disclosing another of itssecrets in that, until all the fragments when fitted together make upthe whole wonder. It seems that my discovery, coupled with the resultsof his own unpublished researches, had led Sarakoff to make that oddmanifesto. Our combined work, although carried out independently, hadgiven the firm groundwork of an amazing theory which Sarakoff had beenmaturing in his excited brain for many long years.
Sarakoff translated the manifesto to me. It was a trifle bombastic, andits composition appeared to me vague. No wonder it had roused hostilityamong his colleagues, I thought, as Sarakoff walked about, declaimingwith outstretched arm. Put as briefly as possible, Sarakoff held alldisease as due to germs of one sort or another; and decay of bodilytissue he regarded in the same light. In such a theory I stood besidehim.
He continued to translate from the soiled and torn periodical, wavinghis arm majestically.
"We have only to eliminate all germs from the world to banish diseaseand decay--and _death_. Such an end can be attained in one way alone; away which is known only to me, thanks to a magnificent series ofprofound investigations. I announce, therefore, that the disappearanceof death from this planet can be anticipated with the utmost confidence.Let us make preparations. Let us consider our laws. Let us examine ourresources. Let us, in short, begin the reconstruction of society."
"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, and sat staring at him.
He twirled his moustaches and observed me with shining eyes.
"What do you think of it?"
I shrugged my shoulders helplessly.
"Surely it is far fetched?"
"Not a bit of it. Now listen to me carefully. I'll give you, step bystep, the whole matter." He walked up and down for some minutes and thensuddenly stopped beside me and thumped me on the back. "There's not aflaw in it!"
he cried. "It's magnificent. My dear fellow, death is onlya failure in human perfection. There's nothing mysterious in it.Religion has made a ridiculous fuss about it. There's nothing moremysterious in it than there is in a badly-oiled engine wearing out. Nowlisten. I'm going to begin...."
I listened, fascinated.
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