Meanwhile Arcade led a life of obscure toil. He worked at a printer’s in the Rue St. Benoît, and lived in an attic in the Rue Mouffetard. His comrades having gone on strike, he left the workroom and devoted his day to his propaganda. So successful was he that he won over to the side of revolt fifty thousand of those guardian angels who, as Zita had surmised, were discontented with their condition and imbued with the spirit of the times. But lacking money, he lacked liberty, and could not employ his time as he wished in instructing the sons of Heaven. So, too, Prince Istar, hampered by want of funds, manufactured fewer bombs than were needed, and these less fine. Of course he prepared a good many small pocket machines. He had filled Théophile’s rooms with them, and not a day passed but he forgot some and left them lying about on the seats in various cafés. But a nice bomb, easily handled and capable of destroying many big mansions, cost him from twenty to twenty-five thousand francs; and Prince Istar only possessed two of this kind. Equally bent on procuring funds, Arcade and Istar both went to make a request for money from a celebrated financier named Max Everdingen, who, as everyone knows, is the managing director of the biggest banking concern in France and indeed in the whole world. What is not so well known is that Max Everdingen was not born of woman, but is a fallen angel. Nevertheless, such is the truth. In Heaven he was named Sophar, and guarded the treasures of Ialdabaoth, a great collector of gold and precious stones. In the exercise of this function Sophar contracted a love of riches which could not be satisfied in a state of society in which banks and stock exchanges are alike unknown. His heart flamed with an ardent love for the god of the Hebrews to whom he remained faithful during a long course of centuries. But at the commencement of the twentieth century of the Christian era, casting his eyes down from the height of the firmament upon France, he saw that this country, under the name of a Republic, was constituted as a plutocracy and that, under the appearance of a democratic government, high finance exercised sovereign sway, untrammelled and unchecked.
Henceforth life in the Empyrean became intolerable to him. He longed for France as for the promised land, and one day, bearing with him all the precious stones he could carry, he descended to earth and established himself in Paris. This angel of cupidity did good business there. Since his materialisation his face had lost its celestial aspect; it reproduced the Semitic type in all its purity, and one could admire the lines and the puckers which wrinkle the faces of bankers and which are to be seen in the money-changers of Quintin Matsys.
His beginnings were humble and his success amazing. He married an ugly woman and they saw themselves reflected in their children as in a mirror. Baron Max Everdingen’s large mansion, which rears itself on the heights of the Trocadéro, is crammed with the spoils of Christian Europe.
The Baron received Arcade and Prince Istar in his study—one of the most modest rooms in his mansion. The ceiling is decorated with a fresco of Tiepolo, taken from a Venetian palace. The bureau of the Regent, Philip of Orleans, is in this room, which is full of cabinets, showcases, pictures, and statues.
Arcade allowed his gaze to wander over the walls.
“How comes it, my brother Sophar,” said he, “that you, in spite of your Jewish heart, obey so ill the commandment of the Lord your God who said: ‘Thou shalt have no graven images’? for here I see an Apollo of Houdon’s and a Hebe of Lemoine’s, and several busts by Caffieri. And, like Solomon in his old age, O son of God, you set up in your dwelling-place the idols of strange nations: for such are this Venus of Boucher, this Jupiter of Rubens, and those nymphs that are indebted to Fragonard’s brush for the gooseberry jam which smears their gleaming limbs. And here in this single showcase, Sophar, you keep the sceptre of St. Louis, six hundred pearls of Marie Antoinette’s broken necklace, the imperial mantle of Charles V, the tiara wrought by Ghiberti for Pope Martin V, the Colonna, Bonaparte’s sword—and I know not what besides.”
“Mere trifles,” said Max Everdingen.
“My dear Baron,” said Prince Istar, “you even possess the ring which Charlemagne placed on a fairy’s finger and which was thought to be lost. But let us discuss the business on which we have come. My friend and I have come to ask you for money.”
“I can well believe it,” replied Max Everdingen. “Everyone wants money, but for different reasons. What do you want money for?”
Prince Istar replied simply:
“To stir up a revolution in France.”
“In France!” repeated the Baron, “in France? Well, I shall give you no money for that, you may be quite sure.”
Arcade did not disguise the fact that he had expected greater liberality and more generous help from a celestial brother.
“Our project,” he said, “is a vast one. It embraces both Heaven and Earth. It is settled in every detail. We shall first bring about a social revolution in France, in Europe, on the whole planet; then we shall carry war into the heavens, where we shall establish a peaceful democracy. And to reduce the citadels of Heaven, to overturn the mountain of God, to storm celestial Jerusalem, a vast army is needful, enormous resources, formidable machines, and electrophores of a strength yet unknown. It is our intention to commence with France.”
“You are madmen!” exclaimed Baron Everdingen;
