“Is not all this a dream, Salome? Have we really lived as many centuries as it seems to us? Have we not, by some strange mathematics, calculated days as years?”

Salome sighed a little.

“I have not visited the Garden of Eden today. Will you accompany me?” she asked.

“Cartaphilus does not exist for himself. He is but the shadow of his Love…”

“And Salome is becoming so enamored of her shadow that she may feel as lonesome without him.”

“How long will she drag her shadow after her as a futile train, O Queen?”

“Look, look! It is climbing the tree like a squirrel.”

“Both shadows, Salome, interlaced like branches. Is it symbolic, ma très chère?”

She nodded.

“If I seem to walk Salome, it is an illusion. I am flying. My feet have turned into wings.”

She pressed my arm. “Come, Cartaphilus.”

The Garden of Eden had a different complexion. Colors, sounds, perfumes had changed.

“When at last my experiment proves successful,” Salome exclaimed, “the earth shall not be the monotonous singsong of an old woman which it is today. It shall be the mad dance of a young girl who– —”

She was interrupted by a shrill cry.

“Let us see what has happened, Cartaphilus,” she said anxiously.

In a corner of the garden, a small monkey was rolling in agony upon the ground. A gigantic carnivorous rose released its grip over the animal and resumed its normal posture. Blood dripping out of its chalice, reddened the long powerful stalk.

“A simian Abelard, paying his sanguine tribute to a floral Héloise.” I suggested.

Salome wavered between indignation and amusement.

“There is no reason, ma bien aimèe, why a monkey may not turn monk, and why a rose—possessor of a relique prècieuse–may not compose immortal letters in the shape of magnificent perfume.”

“It would be a delight to see Cartaphilus a monk,” Salome said, her voice slightly irritable. “You are incorrigible! Pick up the little victim.”

“He is immoral, Salome. I am surprised you pity him. The rose in her virginal purity– —”

“Stop chattering, Cartaphilus. Let us carry him out and see if we can save his life.”

“Come, my poor little monk! What business did you have in the Garden of Eden anyway? Only snakes luxuriate in such places. Had you read the Bible faithfully, you– —”

“I do not understand how he got in here,” Salome remarked.

“He must have strayed between your lovely feet, Salome. He is thoroughly wicked, I assure you—or at least, he was. For the sake of his immortal soul, nothing better could have happened to him, for nothing is half so productive of moral habits as the inability to be immoral.”

We walked quickly out of the garden, the monkey groaned in my arms.

“Kotikokura!” I called. “Kotikokura!”

Kotikokura appeared in three leaps.

“Kotikokura, my ancient friend, I bring you a sinner permanently repentant.” He took the monkey in his arms. The animal stopped moaning, and licked Kotikokura’s face. Kotikokura’s eyes filled with tears.

“Kotikokura, watch closely this move. It is a most excellent one.”

Kotikokura bent his head until he nearly touched the board. I raised slowly one of the pawns, carved out of amber, and painted red, and placed it a square forward.

“A simple move, Kotikokura, and apparently without consequences. Moreover, because of it, the red castle is lost to the Black Queen. Ah, but watch!”

Kotikokura knit his brow, his eyes darting to and fro.

“The Red Knight dashes to this side, captures this Black Knight. In three, moves, well-calculated and infallible, he will appear galloping before the Black King; at the same time, from the top of this castle, we shall bombard the thick of the army; while from this angle, the Red Queen will emerge, in a blaze of light. The Black King will hear the deafening shout of victory—’Checkmate! Checkmate!’ He will be swept off the board, and—”

Salome, dressed in a Japanese kimono dazzling with many jewels, and carrying a parasol upon which was embroidered a magnificent eagle, wings outspread, approached, making tiny steps.

“The Queen! The Queen!” I exclaimed. “Kneel, Kotikokura!”

We knelt.

“For some reason or another I have never been able to master chess thoroughly, Cartaphilus.”

“A patience, too great for a woman, is required for this game.”

Salome smiled. “Of course, woman must create and accomplish. Man is a drone.”

“Great destinies are shaped by his idleness.”

“A consolation for a masculine weakness. Man is so busy finding excuses for his shortcomings, that he has no time to eradicate them.” Kotikokura offered her his seat. He remained standing behind her, holding the parasol over her head.

“Do not let me disturb you, Cartaphilus. Continue your game.”

“This is more than a mere game of chess, carissima. I am planning in an objective manner, my last, my most daring, most comprehensive campaign.”

“And what is this most daring, most comprehensive campaign, if I may ask?”

“The civilized world is divided sharply into two camps,—capital and labor. Labor, which you remember as a cringing slave, has risen to the grandeur of a monarch. The struggle between the two forces will be a grandiose spectacle, out of which Labor, the Red King, will emerge triumphant!”

“Why so enthusiastic, Cartaphilus? Are you a workman, anxious to increase your wages?” Salome asked ironically.

“I am weary of the old world, Salome. Besides, I wish to be the leader of the force which must conquer. I have become accustomed to lead,—to own the world. I prefer not to be the deposed sovereign.”

“And should Labor, contrary to your expectation, be defeated?”

“Then I shall play with the Black King.”

“Whatever happens, I win. My rule is permanent. There are not, as Disraeli, the most brilliant Jew of the last century, intimated to me, two hundred men who rule the world. There is only one! The two hundred men are my agents. Among them, there are representatives of all nations, but the majority are children of Israel. Many partnerships, many aliases and corporations conceal my identity.”

I laughed.

“Salome, how curiously false is history! Not long ago, Europe and America were alarmed to the point of hysteria about certain documents discovered in Russia, known as the Protocol of Zion, which purported to be the secret plans of the Jews, trying to rule the world and destroy Christianity.”

“Is it true?”

“Only in a sense,—for I am the Protocol. I am the Jew ruling the world! And I am no longer a Jew and do not desire to destroy Christianity.”

“I cannot understand your interest in the old world, Cartaphilus, but I am not opposed to your campaign which will, no doubt, mean the depopulation of the Earth. It will make room for my new race,—the descendants of Homuncula.”

“Such a war as I am planning is beyond man’s imagination. You are right, Salome. Blood will rise in great billows like an ocean, whipped by a storm. I have already chosen my tools. Lenin, an aristocrat—this Red King—shall be the monarch of Labor. Mussolini, a man of the people—this Black King—the monarch of Capital. Both are Renegades. Renegades are the most passionate upholders of their new ideas. But first of all, another king,—the White King must be crushed!”

“Who is the White King?”

“The greatest potentate of Europe. Favoring neither capital nor labor, he aims to speak for both, and for his people. I must destroy him. I have no hatred against this scion of Charlemagne, but he threatens my rule.”

“Why indulge in such childish notions of glory, Cartaphilus!” Salome exclaimed.

“But, O peerless woman, love me, and with one gesture—like this—I shall fling to the earth empires, emperors, continents!”

I swept with my palm the board, and knelt.