Needless to say, the distinguished surgeon did not recognize the work of
the military butcher. He stretched out Prokop’s leg again, put it into
plaster, and concluded by saying that he would probably be lame for life.
There began for Prokop a succession of delightful and lazy days. Krafft
read him passages from Swedenborg and Mr. Paul and others from the
Court Calendar, while the Princess saw to it that the patient’s bed
was surrounded by a magnificent selection of volumes from the world’s
literature. Finally Prokop got tired even of the Calendar, and began
to dictate to Krafft a systematic work on destructive chemistry.
Curiously enough he became most fond of Carson, whose insolence and
lack of consideration impressed him more and more, for beneath it he
found the grandiloquent plans and crazy fantasy of an out-and-out
international militarist. Mr. Paul was in an ecstasy of delight. He was
now indispensable night after night, and could dedicate every breath and
every step of his faltering legs to Prokop’s service.
You lie encased in matter, like the stump of a tree; but can you not feel
the crepitation of terrible and unknown forces in that inert matter which
binds you? You luxuriate on magnificent pillows charged with more power
than a cask of dynamite; your body is a sleeping explosive, and even the
faded, trembling hand of Mr. Paul contains more explosive force than a
capsule of melinite. You lie motionless in an ocean of immeasurable,
unanalyzable, unutilized forces; you are surrounded not by the walls of
the room, quiet people and the rustling branches of trees, but by an
ammunition store, a cosmic magazine prepared for the most frightful deed.
You tap matter with your finger as if you were testing casks of ekrasite
to see if they are full.
Prokop’s hands had become transparent through lack of use, but on the
other hand they had acquired an extraordinary sense of touch. They
felt and detected the potential power of detonation of what-every
they encountered. A young body had an enormous explosive tension,
while Dr. Krafft, an enthusiast and an idealist, had a relatively weak
capacity for explosion. Carson’s index of detonation approached that of
tetranitraniline, and Prokop recalled with a shudder the cool touch of
the Princess’s hand, which revealed to him the terrible explosive power
of this haughty amazon. He racked his brains in trying to decide whether
the potential explosive energy of the organism depended upon the presence
of certain enzymotic or other substances or on the chemical composition
of the cells themselves, which constituted charges _par excellence_. Be
that as it may, he would have liked to know how that dark proud girl
would explode.
And now Mr. Paul wheeled Prokop about the park in a bathchair. Mr. Holz
proved superfluous, but was active, as he had revealed great talent as a
masseur, and Prokop felt a beneficial explosive force flowing from his
powerful fingers. If the Princess came across the patient in the park she
said something with complete and precisely calculated politeness, and
Prokop to his annoyance never understood how she managed to do it, for
he himself was always either too rough or too friendly. The rest of the
household regarded Prokop as a marvel; this gave them the right not to
take him seriously, and allowed him to be as rude to them as he liked.
On one occasion, the Princess drew up near him with the whole of her
escort; she left the gentlemen to wait, sat down by Prokop’s side, and
asked him about his work. Prokop, wishing to be as obliging to her as
possible, embarked on a long technical explanation, as if he were giving
a lecture before an international chemical congress. Prince Suwalski
and some cousin or other began to laugh and nudge one another, at which
Prokop grew furious, turned to them, and said that it was not them whom
he was addressing. All eyes turned on Her Excellency, for it was her task
to put this unpolished plebeian in his place; but the Princess smiled
indulgently, and sent them off to play tennis. While she was looking
after them with eyes narrowed to a slit Prokop scrutinized her out of
the corner of his eye; for the first time he really noticed what she
was like. She was rigid, thin, and with an excess of pigmentation in
her colouring, strictly speaking not beautiful. She had small breasts,
ungainly legs, magnificent hands indicative of race, a scar on her proud
forehead, deep-set eyes with a sharp glance, dark brown under her sharp
nose, full and haughty lips; well, yes, after all almost pretty. What
were her eyes really like?
Then she turned fully round and Prokop became confused. “They say that
you are able to discover the character of things by touching them,”
she said quickly. “Krafft was talking about it.” Prokop smiled at this
feminine description of his peculiar chemotaxis. “Well, yes,” he said,
“one feels how much force a thing has; that’s nothing.” The Princess gave
a quick glance at his hand, and then looked round the park; there was
nobody about.
“Show me,” muttered Prokop, and opened his scarred hand. She laid on it
the smooth tips of her fingers; a sort of flash passed through Prokop,
his heart began to beat violently, and the mad idea came into his head:
“Supposing I closed my hands!” Then he proceeded to knead and press in
his rough paw the firm, burning flesh of her hand. His head suddenly
became filled with a drunken giddiness; he saw the Princess close her
eyes and draw her breath sharply through her half-open lips, while he
also closed his eyes and, setting his teeth, whirled down into the
swirling darkness. Her hand struggled feverishly and wildly with its thin
sinuous fingers, fingers which were writhing to get free, which twisted
like serpents, which dug their nails into his skin, and then suddenly
pressed convulsively against his flesh; Prokop’s teeth chattered with
ecstasy; the trembling fingers played on his wrist, red circles appeared
before his eyes, a sudden sharp and burning pressure and the thin hand
tore free from his grasp. Exhausted, Prokop opened his eyes; there was
a noisy beating inside his head; the green and golden garden again
presented itself to his eyes, which were blinded by the light of day. The
Princess had grown deathly pale, and bit her lips with her sharp teeth;
through the slits of her eyes there flashed a boundless resistance.
“Well?” she said sharply.
“Virginal, unfeeling, libidinous, proud and capable of violent
anger—inflammable as tinder—and wicked. You are wicked; you are fiery
through your very cruelty, arrogant and heartless; you are wicked and
overcharged with excitability; inaccessible, filled with curiosity, hard,
hard on yourself, fire and ice, ice and fire——”
The Princess nodded silently. “Yes.”
“Of no use to anybody; haughty, incapable of loving, poisoned and
burning—ardent, and everything around you leaves you indifferent.”
“I must be severe with myself,” whispered the Princess. “You don’t
know——” She waved her hand and got up. “Thank you. I will send Paul to
you.”
* * * * *
Having thus relieved himself of his personal offended bitterness, Prokop
began to think of the Princess more kindly. Finally he became annoyed
that she now evidently avoided him. He prepared some friendly phrases to
say to her at the first opportunity, but the opportunity did not offer
itself.
At the castle there arrived Prince Rohn, known as _Mon Oncle Charles_,
the brother of the late Princess, a refined and polished cosmopolitan,
amateur of everything possible, _très grand artiste_, as they say. He
had written a number of historical novels, and was an extraordinarily
pleasant personality. He exhibited a particular liking for Prokop, and
spent whole hours with him. Prokop profited a great deal from his contact
with this charming old gentleman, acquired from him a certain finish, and
realized that there were other things in the world besides destructive
chemistry. _Mon Oncle Charles_ possessed an enormous fund of anecdotes.
Prokop turned the conversation on to the Princess, and heard with
interest what a malicious, madcap, proud, and magnanimous girl she was,
how on one occasion she had fired at her dancing master and on another
had wanted to have a piece of her skin cut off for transplantation on to
the limb of a nurse who had received some burns; when permission to do
this was refused, in her rage she smashed a window of the most valuable
glass. _Le bon oncle_ also brought young Egon along to Prokop, whom he
set up as an example to the young man with such extravagant praise that
the unfortunate Prokop became as confused as Egon himself.
After five weeks he was going about on crutches. He visited the
laboratory more and more, working like a nigger until the pain in his
foot began again, so that on the way home he literally hung on the
attentive Holz. Mr. Carson glowed with pleasure when he saw Prokop again
so peaceable and industrious, and from time to time threw out allusions
to Krakatit; but this was a subject which Prokop positively would not
hear about.
One evening there was an important soirée at the castle. Prokop
prepared a coup for this occasion. The Princess was standing in a
group of generals and diplomatists when the doors opened and there
entered—without a stick—the obstinate prisoner, who was thus making his
first visit to the company in the castle. _Oncle Charles_ and Carson ran
forward to meet him while the Princess confined herself to giving him
a quick discriminating glance over the head of the Chinese Minister.
Prokop had imagined that she would come to greet him, but when he saw
that she remained with two old ladies, both of them with their dresses
cut incredibly low, his brow clouded, and he retired into a corner,
bowing with a bad grace to the distinguished personages to whom Carson
introduced him as “a distinguished scientist,” “our eminent guest,”
and the like. It was as if Mr. Carson had assumed the rôle of Holz,
for he never left Prokop for a moment. As the evening went on Prokop
became desperately bored; he retired still deeper into his corner and
glowered at the whole world. Now the Princess was talking with various
dignitaries, one of them an admiral and the other some famous foreign
lion. The Princess glanced quickly in the direction in which Prokop was
standing sullenly, but at that moment the claimant to some lost throne or
other came up to her and led her off in the opposite direction. “Well,
I’m off home,” muttered Prokop, and decided in the depths of his dark
soul that within three days he would make a further attempt to escape.
Just then the Princess approached him and held out her hand. “I’m so glad
that you are well again.”
Prokop forgot all the education he had received from _Oncle Charles_.
Making a heavy movement with his shoulders which was intended for a bow,
he said in a surly tone: “I thought that you did not even see me.” Mr.
Carson disappeared as quickly as if he had sunk through the earth.
The Princess wore a low-necked dress which had the effect of confusing
Prokop. Whichever way he might look he saw her firm swarthy flesh and
smelt the fragrance of her delicate scent.
“I hear that you are working again,” said the Princess. “What exactly are
you doing?”
“Well, one thing and another,” answered Prokop, “nothing particularly
important.” Here was a chance to repair his insulting behaviour in
seizing her hand, but what on earth could he say by way of expiation? “If
you would like me to,” he mumbled, “I could ... make an experiment with
your powder.”
“What sort of experiment?”
“An explosive. You’ve enough on you to charge a cannon.”
The Princess smiled. “I didn’t know that powder was an explosive?”
“Everything is an explosive ... if you treat it properly. You yourself——”
“What?”
“Nothing. A latent explosion. You are terribly explosive.”
“When I am treated properly,” smiled the Princess, and suddenly grew
serious. “Wicked, unfeeling, violent, curious, and proud, eh?”
“A girl who wants to sacrifice her skin ... for an old woman.”
The Princess flared up. “Who told you that?”
“_Mon Oncle Charles_,” babbled Prokop.
The Princess grew stiff, and was suddenly a hundred miles away. “Ah,
Prince Rohn,” she corrected him dryly. “Prince Rohn talks a great deal.
I’m glad that you are all right.” A brief nod of the head and Willy
glided across the room at the side of some one in uniform, leaving Prokop
to rage in a corner.
Nevertheless, the next morning Mr. Paul brought Prokop something
precious, which the Princess had sent by her _femme de chambre_.
It was a box of brownish powder, with a penetrating scent.