Sarakoff's Manifesto

: The Blue Germ

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 an

iron pagoda. The floor was of light yellow polished wood; the walls were

white-washed, and covered with pencil marks. A big table covered with

papers and books stood at one end. At the other, through an open

doorway, there was a glimpse of a laboratory. Sarakoff stood in the

ce tre of the room, his hands deep in his pockets, his pipe sending up

clouds of smoke, his tall muscular frame tilted back. His eyes were

fixed on an extraordinary object that crawled slowly over the polished

floor. It was a gigantic tortoise--a specimen of Testudo

elephantopus--a huge cumbersome brute. Its ancient, scaly head was

thrust out and its eyes gleamed with a kind of sharp intelligence. The

surface of its vast and massive shell was covered over with scribbles in

white chalk--notes made by Sarakoff who was in the habit of jotting down

figures and formulae on anything near at hand.



As there was only one chair in the room, Sarakoff eventually thrust me

into it, while he sat down on the great beast--whom he called

Belshazzar--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 Sarakoff

was intent upon, although, reading between the lines of his many

publications, 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 prodigal

in 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, flinging

test-tubes across the laboratory, shouting strange songs, striding about

snapping his fingers. There was no repose in him. At first I was a

little afraid of him, but the feeling wore off. He spoke English

fluently, because when a boy he had been at school in London.



I will not enter upon a detailed account of our conversation that first

morning in Russia, when the snow lay thick on the roofs of the city, and

the 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 account

of the miracle at St. Dane's Hospital to Sarakoff alone, I had done

wisely. He was wonderfully enthusiastic.



"That discovery of yours has furnished the key to the great riddle I had

set myself," he exclaimed, striding to and fro. "We will astonish the

world, 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 me

impulsively and shook my hand. "We shall find it beyond a doubt, and we

will 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. I

though it best to let him disclose his plans in his own way, and kept

back the many eager questions that rose to my lips.



"It seems to me," said Sarakoff suddenly, "that England would be the

best place to try the experiment. There's a telegraph everywhere,

reporters in every village, and enough newspapers to carpet every square

inch of the land. In a word, it's a first-class place to watch the

results 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 of

influenza, which started in this country, spread like wildfire until the

waves, passing east and west, met on the other side of the globe? That

was a big experiment."



"Of nature," I added.



He did not reply.



"An experiment of nature, you mean?" I urged. At the time of the last

big outburst of influenza which began in Russia, Sarakoff must have been

a student. Did he know anything about the origin of the mysterious and

fatal visitation?



"Yes, of nature," he replied at last, but not in a tone that satisfied

me. His manner intrigued me so much that I felt inclined to pursue the

subject, 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 an

astrachan cap, who brandished a copy of some Russian periodical in his

hand.



Belshazzar drew in his head with a hiss that I could hear even above

the clamour of this intrusion.



A furious colloquy began, which I could not understand, since it was in

Russian. Sarakoff stood facing the angry crowd coolly enough, but that

he was inwardly roused to a dangerous degree, I could tell from his

gestures. The copy of the periodical was much in evidence. Fists were

shaken freely. The aged, white-bearded leader worked himself up into a

frenzy and finally jumped on the periodical, stamping it under his feet

until 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 the

battered 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 and

twisted his moustaches. "You see, Harden, I believe that in a few more

years death will only exist as an uncertain element, appearing rarely,

as an unnatural and exceptional incident. Life will be limitless; and

the length of years attained by Belshazzar will seem as nothing."



It is curious how the spirit of a new discovery broods over the world

like a capricious being, animating one investigator here, another there;

partially revealing itself in this continent, disclosing another of its

secrets in that, until all the fragments when fitted together make up

the whole wonder. It seems that my discovery, coupled with the results

of his own unpublished researches, had led Sarakoff to make that odd

manifesto. Our combined work, although carried out independently, had

given the firm groundwork of an amazing theory which Sarakoff had been

maturing in his excited brain for many long years.



Sarakoff translated the manifesto to me. It was a trifle bombastic, and

its composition appeared to me vague. No wonder it had roused hostility

among his colleagues, I thought, as Sarakoff walked about, declaiming

with outstretched arm. Put as briefly as possible, Sarakoff held all

disease as due to germs of one sort or another; and decay of bodily

tissue he regarded in the same light. In such a theory I stood beside

him.



He continued to translate from the soiled and torn periodical, waving

his arm majestically.



"We have only to eliminate all germs from the world to banish disease

and decay--and death. Such an end can be attained in one way alone; a

way which is known only to me, thanks to a magnificent series of

profound investigations. I announce, therefore, that the disappearance

of death from this planet can be anticipated with the utmost confidence.

Let us make preparations. Let us consider our laws. Let us examine our

resources. 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 by

step, the whole matter." He walked up and down for some minutes and then

suddenly stopped beside me and thumped me on the back. "There's not a

flaw in it!" he cried. "It's magnificent. My dear fellow, death is only

a failure in human perfection. There's nothing mysterious in it.

Religion has made a ridiculous fuss about it. There's nothing more

mysterious in it than there is in a badly-oiled engine wearing out. Now

listen. I'm going to begin...."



I listened, fascinated.