Free Planus by Blaise Cendrars Page B

occurrence.
    For five weeks they shut themselves up in a Carmelite monastery' in Calabria, working in shifts to keep constant watch over the» retorts in which the weirdest broth was macerating. After several, setbacks, horrific partial successes by way of the generation of nonviable abortions, the authentic cabalistic words were pronounced,: ad hoc formulae recited, amidst scenes of cauldron-boiling and diabolism which terrorized the valet, and, five weeks later, the little creatures came forth into the world. There were ten of them, a King, a Queen, an Architect, a Monk, a Nun, a Seraph, a Cavalier, a White Spirit, a Red Spirit and a Savage. The moment they appeared, one after the other, they were plunged into a vessel full of consecrated water, baptized and each given a name. They were? then transported, at dead of night, and hidden in a dung-heap, which Kammerer was instructed to water with a mysterious liquid, an elixir of life.
    After a few days, when the incubation was judged to be sufficient the Count and the priest betook themselves to the bottom of the garden with great ceremony, very early in the morning, Geloni dressed in his sacerdotal robes, Kueffstein chanting psalms, and there, while Kammerer sprinkled incense over the dung-heap, th_, homunculi were unearthed and carried away to the laboratory.
    They remained there a further three days, immersed in a bath of hot sand. This lapse of time was sufficient to bring them to full maturity as adults. The men had beards and the women were of a full-blown grace an    And Pasquale took off his Calabrian felt hat and made the sign of the cross.
    We were sitting on the rickety steps of the porch. It was Sunday evening. Beppino was laughing up his sleeve as he harnessed the ass which was to carry me, as on every Sunday, from the Solfatara farm to our house. Beppino was my best, my only friend. He was laughing in anticipation because he knew that, once we were home and the donkey was tied up at the kitchen door, his father would linger to enjoy a glass of grappa and smoke a rotolata, a stalk of straw rolled up in a tobacco-leaf, and I would lead him to my room, not merely to show him my toys but to give him marbles, tops, lead soldiers, and a steam-engine I was very fond of, in exchange for which he would tell me tales about the neighbourhood and promise to persuade his father to allow me to accompany them on their rounds one day, for this had been my most burning desire for a long time, and we were making plans, promising ourselves a great deal of fun from this escapade. The ass was ready. Beppino came and sat beside me and nudged my elbow. He was impatient. Carminella was spinning her distaff. The hens were pecking around us. The earth smelled good. It had been hot all day long. Some pimentoes, threaded on a string, were drying in front of the open window of the living-room and all over the farm, the long stalks of sweet corn rustled in the evening breeze that blew off the sea. We could hear Caroline, the cow, trampling the fresh rushes in her stall. It was always the same on Sundays, Pasquale talked and talked, and I was never in a hurry to go home. I would have liked to stay there, but Beppino interrupted Pasquale: 'Father,' he said, 'it's getting late. The foreign lady will scold my