Max began to utter his word of wisdom.  How he uttered it you will learn later.  The name of Max was mentioned in the newspapers, shouted in the market places, blessed and cursed; whole books were written on what Max N+1 had done, what he was doing, and what he intended to do.  He appeared here and there and everywhere.  He was seen standing at the head of the crowd, commanding it; he was seen in chains and under the knife of the guillotine.  In this respect Max did not have any special peculiarities, either.  A preacher of humility and peace, a stern bearer of fire and sword, he was the same Max—­Max the believer.  But while he was doing all this, time kept passing on.  His nerves were shattered; his wavy locks became thin and his head began to look like that of Elijah the Prophet; here and there he felt a piercing pain....

The earth continued to turn light-mindedly around the sun, now coming nearer to it, now retreating coquettishly, and giving the impression that it fixed all its attention upon its household friend, the moon; the days were replaced by other days, and the dark nights by other dark nights, with such pedantic German punctuality and correctness that all the artistic natures were compelled to move over to the far north by degrees, where the devil himself would break his head endeavouring to distinguish between day and night—­when suddenly something happened to Max.

Somehow it happened that Max became misunderstood.  He had calmed the crowd by his words of wisdom many a time before and had saved them from mutual destruction but now he was not understood.  They thought that it was he who had shouted “Fire!” With all the eloquence of which he was capable he assured them that he was exerting all his efforts for their sake alone; that he himself needed absolutely nothing, for he was alone, childless; that he was ready to forget the sad misunderstanding and serve them again with faith and truth—­but all in vain.  They would not trust him.  And in this respect Max did not have any special peculiarities, either.  The sad incident ended for Max in a new intermission.

. . . . . . . .

Max was alive, as was positively established by medical experts, who had made a series of simple tests.  Thus, when they pricked a needle into his foot, he shook his foot and tried to remove the needle.  When they put food before him, he ate it, but he did not walk and did not ask for any loans, which clearly testified to the complete decline of his energy.  His soul was dead—­as much as the soul can be dead while the body is alive.  To Max all that he had loved and believed in was dead.  Impenetrable gloom wrapped his soul.  There were neither feelings in it, nor desires, nor thoughts.  And there was not a more unhappy man in the world than Max, if he was a man at all.

But he was a man.

According to the calendar, it was Friday or Saturday, when Max awakened as from a prolonged sleep.  With the pleasant sensation of an owner to whom his property has been restored which had wrongly been taken from him, Max realised that he was once more in possession of all his five senses.