The more he drank the less he felt the smart of a certain burning wound, and the more wonderful the world appeared, full of miracles and riddles, surrounding and penetrating him with the intoxication of an adventurer’s life.  He was a brilliant entertainer, with an easy, happy way in conversation of popularising his rich store of knowledge, and with a light humour, which stood at his command even when, as now, grim humour crawled in the depths of his being, like evil reptiles.  Thus it was that the captain’s corner that evening fell under his spell, both of his jocular self and serious self.

Though he had lost his belief that science and modern progress alone possess the power to convey happiness, he extolled their virtues.  As a matter of fact, in the festive gleam of the countless electric lights, excited by the wine, the music, and the rhythmic pulse beat of the moving vessel, it seemed to him at times as if humanity in a festal procession with music playing were sailing to the Isles of the Blessed.  Perhaps, he said, science may some day teach man the secret of immortality.  Ways and means would be found to keep the cells of the body young.  Dead animals had been brought back to life by pumping a salt solution into them.  He spoke of the wonders of surgery, always the theme of conversation when a man of the present, over his champagne and pate de foie gras, triumphs in the superiority of his age over all other ages.  In a short while, he declared, chemistry would solve the social question, and man would forget what it is to worry about food.  Why, chemistry was on the verge of discovering how to make bread of stones, a thing that hitherto only plants could do.  Frederick continued in a similar strain, speaking by rote, and scarcely looking up, yet fascinating his listeners.

But in the midst of the whirl of self-intoxication, he thought with a shudder of bedtime, knowing he should not close his eyes the whole night.  And what recompense was the brightest height of the clearest day for the hell of a single sleepless night, such as he had often spent within the last years.

After dinner, he went with Doctor Wilhelm to the ladies’ parlour, from there to the smoking-room.  Soon after, he went on deck, where it was dark and gloomy and the wind was again whining dismally through the rigging of the four masts.  It was bitter cold, and snowflakes, it seemed to him, swept his cheeks.  Finally, there was nothing for him to do but go to bed.

For two hours, between eleven and one, he lay writhing in his berth, sometimes for a short while falling into a troubled state between waking and sleeping.  In both states he saw visions, now a wild dance of faces, now a single stark face, which tormented him and would not budge.  Yet an irresistible impulse gathered in him to keep his mental eye open for the devilish play of supernatural powers.