The Revolt Of The Young

: The Blue Germ

Amid all the strife and clamour of the next few days one thing stands

out now in my mind with sinister radiance. It is that peculiar form of

lawlessness which broke out and had as its object the destruction of the

old.



There is no doubt that the idea of immortality got hold of people and

carried them away completely. The daily miracles that were occurring of

the renewal of health and vigour, the cure of d sease and the passing of

those infirmities that are associated with advancing years, impressed

the popular imagination deeply. As a result there grew up a widespread

discontent and bitterness. The young--those who were as yet free from

the germ--conceived in their hearts that an immense injustice had been

done to them.



It must be remembered that life at that time had taken on a strange and

abnormal aspect. Its horizons had been suddenly altered by the germ.

Although breadth had been given to it from the point of years, a curious

contraction had appeared at the same time. It was a contraction felt

most acutely by those in inferior positions. It was a contraction that

owed its existence to the sense of being shut in eternally by those in

higher positions, whom death no longer would remove at convenient

intervals. The student felt it as he looked at his professor. The clerk

felt it as he looked at his manager. The subaltern felt it as he looked

at his colonel. The daughter felt it when she looked at her mother, and

the son when he looked at his father. The germ had given simultaneously

a tremendous blow to freedom, and a tremendous impetus to freedom.



Thus, perhaps for the first time in history, there swiftly began an

accumulation and concentration of those forces of discontent which, in

normal times, only manifest themselves here and there in the

relationships between old and young men, and are regarded with

good-humoured patience. A kind of war broke out all over the country.



This war was terrible in its nature. All the secret weariness and

unspoken bitterness of the younger generation found a sudden outlet.

Goaded to madness by the prospect of a future of continual repression,

in which the old would exercise an undiminished authority, the younger

men and women plunged into a form of excess over which a veil must be

drawn.... There is only one thing which can be recorded in their favour.

Chloroform and drowning appear to have been the methods most often used,

and they are perhaps merciful ways of death. The great London clubs

became sepulchres. All people who had received the highest distinctions

and honours, whose names were household words, were removed with

ruthless determination. Scarcely a single well-known man or woman of the

older generation, whose name was honoured in science, literature, art,

business or politics, was spared. All aged and wealthy people perished.

A clean sweep was made, and made with a decision and unanimity that was

incredible.



It is painful now to recall the terrible nature of that civil war. It

lasted only a short time, but it opened my eyes to the inner plan upon

which mortal man is based. For I am compelled to admit that this

widespread murder, that suddenly flashed into being, was founded upon

impulses that lie deep in man's heart. They were those giant impulses

that lie behind growth, and the effect of the germ was merely to throw

them suddenly into the broad light of day, unchained, grim and

implacable.



Fortunately, the germ spread steadily and quickly, killing as it did so

all hate and desire.



Jason, still free from the germ, flung himself into the general uproar

with extraordinary vigour. It was clear that he thought the great

opportunity had come which would eventually bring him to the height of

his power. To check the growing lawlessness and murder he advocated a

new adjustment of property. Big meetings were held in the public spaces

of London, and some wild ideas were formulated.



In the meantime the medical profession, as far as the men yet free from

the germ were concerned, continued its work in a dull, mechanical way.

Each day the number of patients fell lower, as the Blue Disease slowly

spread. Hammer, himself an Immortal, came to see me once, but only to

speak of the necessity for the immediate simplification of houses. It

was odd to observe how, once a man became infected, his former interests

and anxieties fell away from him like an old garment. In Harley Street

an attitude of stubborn disbelief continued amongst those still mortal.

There is something magnificent in that adamantine spirit which refuses

to recognize the new, even though it moves with ever-increasing

distinctness before the very eyes of the deniers. I was not surprised. I

was familiar with medical men.



Meanwhile the Royal Family became infected by the germ, and passed out

of the public eye. The Prime Minister became a victim and vanished. For

once a man had the germ in his system, as far as externals were

concerned, he almost ceased to exist.



The infection of Jason occurred in my presence. He had come in to

explain to me a proposed line of campaign as regards the marriage laws.



"This germ of yours has given people the courage to think!" he

exclaimed. "It is extraordinary how timid people were in thinking. It

has launched them out, and now is the time to bring in new proposals."



"In all your calculations, you omit to recollect the effects of the

germ," I said. "Surely you have seen by now that it changes human nature

totally?"



He stared at me uncomprehendingly. He was one of those men, so common in

public life, who have no power of understanding what they themselves

have not experienced. He continued with undiminished enthusiasm.



"We must have marriage contracts for definite periods. With the

increased state of health, and the full span of life confronting every

man, we must face the problem squarely. Now what stands in our way?"



He got up and went to the window. It was a dull foggy day, and there was

frost on the ground. He stared outside for some moments.



"What, I repeat, stands in our way?"



"Well?"



"The Church, and a mass of superstitions that we have inherited from the

Old Testament. That's what stands in our way. We still attach more value

to the Old Testament than to the New. The Scotch, for example, like the

Jews.... Yes, of course.... What was I saying?"



He left the window and sat down once more before me, moving rather

listlessly.



"Yes, Harden. Of course. That's what it is, isn't it? Do you

remember--diddle--yes it was diddle, diddle----"



He paused and frowned.



"Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle," he muttered, "Yes--hey,

diddle, diddle, diddle--that's what it is, isn't it?"



"Of course," I said. "It's all really that."



"Just diddle, diddle, diddle?"



"Yes--if you like."



"That is substituting diddle for riddle," he said earnestly. He frowned

again and passed his hand across his eyes.



"Yes," I said calmly. "It's going a step up."



I suppose about half an hour passed before either of us spoke again

after this extraordinary termination to our conversation. In absolute

silence we sat facing one another and during that time I saw the blue

stain growing clearer and clearer in Jason's eyes. At last he rose.



"It's very odd," he said. "Tell me, were you like this?"



"How do you feel?"



"As if I had been drunk and suddenly had been made sober. I will leave

you. I want to think. I will go down to the country."



"And your papers?"



"We must have a new Press," he said, and left the room.





That same day the great railway accident occurred just outside London

that led to the death of sixty people, many of them Immortals. Its

effect on public imagination was profound. All dangerous enterprises

became invested with a terrible radiance. Men asked themselves if, in

face of a future of health, it was worth risking life in rashness of any

description, and gradually traffic came to a standstill. Long before the

germ had infected the whole populace all activities fraught with danger

had ceased. The coal mines were abandoned. The railways were silent. The

streets of London became empty of traffic.





Blue-stained people began to throng the streets of London in vast

masses, moving to and fro without aim or purpose, perfectly orderly,

vacant, lost--like Sarakoff's butterflies....



Thornduck came to see me one day when the reign of the germ was

practically absolute in London.



"They are wandering into the country in thousands," he remarked. "They

have lost all sense of home and possession. They are vague, trying to

form an ideal socialistic community. What a mess your germ is making of

life! They're not ready for it. The question is whether they will rouse

themselves to consider the food question."



"We need scarcely any food," I replied. "I've had nothing to eat

to-day."



"Nor I. But since we're still linked up to physical bodies we must

require some nourishment."



"I have eaten two biscuits and a little cheese in the last twenty-four

hours. Surely you don't think that food is to be a serious problem under

such circumstances?"



"It might be. You must remember that initiative is now destroyed in the

vast majority of people. They may permit themselves to die of inanition.

Can you say you have an appetite now?"



I reflected for some time, striving to recall the feeling of hunger

that belonged to the days of desire.



"No. I have no appetite."



"Think carefully. In place of appetite have you no tendencies?"



"I feel a kind of lethargy," I said at last. "I felt it yesterday and

to-day it is stronger."



"As if you wished to sleep?"



"Not exactly. But it is akin to that. I have some difficulty in keeping

my attention on things. There is a kind of pull within me away

from--away from reality."



He nodded.



"I went in to see your Russian friend. He's upstairs. He is not exactly

asleep. He is more like a man partially under the influence of a drug."



"I will go and see him," I said.



Sarakoff was lying on the bed with his eyes shut. He was breathing

quietly. His eyelids quivered, as if they might open at any moment, but

my entrance did not rouse him. His limbs were relaxed. I spoke to him

and tried to wake him, without result. Then I remembered how I had

stumbled across the body of Herbert Wain in the Park some days ago. He

had seemed to be in a strange kind of sleep. I sat down on the bed and

stared at the motionless figure of the Russian. There was something

strangely pathetic in his pose. His rough hair and black beard, his keen

aquiline face seemed weirdly out of keeping with his helpless state.

Here lay the man whose brain had once teemed with ambitious desires,

relaxed and limp like a baby, while the nails of his hands, turquoise

blue, bore silent witness to his great experiment on humanity. Had it

failed? Where was all that marvellous vision of physical happiness that

had haunted him? The streets of London were filled with people, no

longer working, no longer crying or weeping, but moving aimlessly, like

people in a dream. Were they happy? I moved to the window and drew down

the blind.



"This may be the end," I thought. "The germ will be sweeping through

France now. It may be the end of all things."



I rejoined Thornduck in the study.



"Sarakoff is in a kind of trance," I observed. "What do you make of it?"



"Isn't it natural?" he asked. "What kind of a man was he? What motives

did he work on? Just think what the killing of desire means. All those

things that depended on worldly ambition, self-gratification, physical

pleasure, conceit, lust, hatred, passion, egotism, selfishness, vanity,

avarice, sensuality and so on, are undermined and rendered paralysed by

the germ. What remains? Why, in most people, practically nothing

remains."



"Even so," I said, "I don't see why Sarakoff should go into a trance."



"He's gone into a trance simply because there's not enough left in him

to constitute an individuality. The germ has taken the inside clean out

of him. He's just an immortal shell now."



"Then do you think----?"



I stared at him wonderingly.



"I think that the germ will send most of the world to sleep."



He got up and walked to the window. The clear noonday light fell on his

thin sensitive face and accentuated the pallor of his skin.



"All those who are bound on the wheel of desire will fall asleep," he

murmured. A smile flickered on his lips and he turned and looked at me.



"Harden," he said, "it's really very funny. It's infinitely humorous,

isn't it?"



"I see nothing humorous in anything," I replied. "I've lost all sense of

humour."



He raised his eyebrows.



"Of humour?" he queried. "Surely not. Humour is surely immortal."