All this does not explain the secret of simian evolution. On the other hand, perhaps there is no mystery about it. Their emergence is no doubt as natural as our own. Yet I cannot entirely accept this idea, and I now know that some of their scientists also consider that the phenomenon of simian ascendency is by no means clear. Cornelius belongs to this school, and I believe he is seconded by the keenest brains. Unaware of where they come from, who they are, or where they are going, they no doubt suffer from this lack of knowledge. Might it not be this feeling that inspires them with a sort of frenzy for biological research and that gives such a special slant to their scientific pursuits? My nighttime meditation concludes with these questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Zira took me for outings in the park fairly often. Sometimes we would meet Cornelius there, and together we would prepare the speech I was to give before the congress. The date was fast approaching, which made me quite nervous. Zira assured me that all would be well. Cornelius was eager for my state to be recognized and my liberty restored so that he could study me closely—collaborate with me, he corrected himself, at the gesture of annoyance that escaped me when he spoke like this.
One day her fiancé was absent. Zira suggested going to the zoo adjoining the park. I should have liked to go to a theater or a museum, but these entertainments were still forbidden me. Only from books had I been able to acquire a few ideas about simian art. I had admired some reproductions of classical paintings, portraits of celebrated apes, country scenes with lascivious she-apes around whom fluttered a little winged monkey representing Cupid, military paintings dating from the time when there were still wars and depicting terrifying gorillas wearing flamboyant uniforms. The apes had also had their impressionists, and a few contemporaries indulged in abstract art. All this I had discovered in my cage, by the light of my flashlight. I could decently attend only open-air entertainments. Zira had taken me to see a game resembling our football, a boxing match, which had made me shudder, between two gorillas, and an athletic meet in which air-borne chimps launched themselves to prodigious heights by means of a springboard.
I welcomed a visit to the zoo. At first I felt no surprise. The animals bore many similarities to those on Earth. There were felines, pachyderms, ruminants, reptiles, and birds. If I noticed a sort of camel with three humps and a wild boar with horns like a stag, they could in no way astonish me after what I had already seen on the planet Soror.
My amazement began with the section devoted to man. Zira tried to dissuade me from going there, regretting having brought me, I believe, but my curiosity was too strong and I tugged on my lead until she yielded.
The first cage at which we stopped contained at least fifty individuals, men, women, and children, exhibited there to the great glee of the ape spectators. They displayed a feverish and immoderate activity, leaping about, jostling one another, making an exhibition of themselves, indulging in all sorts of frolics.
It was certainly a sight. They were all intent on winning favor with the little apes surrounding their cage, who now and then threw them some fruit or pieces of cake sold by an old she-ape at the entrance. It was the man, either adult or child, who did the best trick—climbing up the bars, walking on all fours or on his hands—who obtained the reward, and when this fell in the middle of a group, there was a scuffle involving scratched faces and torn-out hair, the whole punctuated by the shrill cries of animals in a temper.
There were some men who were more composed and did not take part in this fracas. They sat apart, near the bars, and when they saw an ape brat plunge his fingers into a bag they would stretch out an imploring hand. The ape, if he was very young, would often draw back in fright, but his parents or his friends would tease him until he decided, still trembling, to pass the reward from hand to hand.
The appearance of a man outside the cage provoked some surprise, no less among the captives than in the simian audience. The former interrupted their play for a moment to examine me with suspicion, but since I stood quite still refusing with dignity the offerings that the youngster tried to hand me, apes and men alike lost interest in me and I was able to observe everything in peace. The silliness of these creatures sickened me, and I felt myself hot with shame when I once again noted how closely they resembled me physically.
The other cages provided the same degrading spectacle. I was about to let myself be led off by Zira, with a heavy heart, when suddenly, and with a great effort, I stifled a cry of surprise. There in front of me, among the herd, I saw none other than my traveling companion, the leader and mastermind of our expedition, the famous Professor Antelle. Like me, he had been captured and, no doubt less fortunate, had then been sold to the zoo.
My joy at knowing he was alive and seeing him again was such that tears came into my eyes; then I shuddered at the condition to which this learned man had been reduced. My emotion gradually changed to a painful numbness when I noticed that his behavior was identical to the other men’s. I could not doubt the evidence of my own eyes, in spite of the improbability of this behavior. He was among the group of quiet ones who did not take part in the scuffles but stretched their hands through the bars with a begging grimace. I watched him while he was doing this, and there was nothing in his attitude to reveal his true nature. A little ape gave him some fruit. The scientist took it, sat down, crossed his legs, and began to devour it greedily, looking at his benefactor with an eager eye, as though he hoped for another gesture of generosity. I wept anew at this sight. In a low voice I told Zira the reason for my tears. I should have liked to go up and speak to him, but she dissuaded me vigorously. I could do nothing for him at the moment, and, in the emotion of meeting again, we risked causing a scene that would prejudice our common interests and might well ruin my own plans.
“After the congress,” she told me, “when you have been recognized and accepted as a rational being, we will see about him.”
She was right and I regretfully let myself be dragged away. On the way back to the Car I told her all about the professor and his reputation on Earth in the scientific world. She pondered over this for some time and promised to do her best to get him out of the zoo. I was therefore a little more cheerful on my return to the institute, but that evening I refused the food the gorillas brought me.
CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR
During the week preceding the congress Zaius paid me several visits, multiplying the ridiculous tests, while his secretary filled several notebooks with observations and conclusions concerning me. I hypocritically did my best not to appear more intelligent than he wished.
The long-awaited date finally arrived, but it was only on the third day of the congress that they came to fetch me, the first two having been devoted to theoretical debates. I was kept informed of the proceedings by Zira. Zaius had already read a long report about me, presenting me as a man with particularly sharp instincts but totally devoid of the capacity for thought. Cornelius asked him a few leading questions to discover how, in that case, he explained certain aspects of my behavior. This revived old disputes, and the last discussion had been a stormy one. The scientists were divided into two groups: those who refused to acknowledge that an animal had a soul of any sort, and those who saw only a difference of degree between the mentality of beasts and that of apes. No one of course suspected the real truth, except Cornelius and Zira. Yet Zaius’ report described such surprising characteristics that, even though this imbecile was not aware of t
he fact, it made a deep impression on certain impartial observers, if not on the decorated scientists, and a rumor began to spread around the town that an absolutely extraordinary man had been discovered.
Zira whispered in my ear as she took me out of the cage, “There’ll be a vast crowd and the whole of the press. They’re all on tenterhooks and know there’s something unusual afoot. It’s excellent for you. Take courage!”
I badly needed her moral support. I felt terribly nervous. I had rehearsed my speech all night. I knew it by heart and it was bound to convince the most limited minds; but I was haunted by the fear that I might not be allowed to speak.
The gorillas led me off to a caged-in truck and I found myself among several other human subjects, likewise considered worthy of being introduced to the learned assembly because of some peculiarity or other. We arrived outside an enormous building surmounted by a cupola. Our guards led us into a room furnished with cages, adjoining the assembly hall. There we waited at the scientists’ pleasure. Every now and then a majestic gorilla, clothed in a sort of black uniform, pushed open the door and shouted out a number. Then the guards would put one of the men on a lead and drag him off. My heart thundered at each appearance of the usher. Through the half-open door I could hear the hubbub in the hall, an occasional exclamation, and also bursts of applause.
Since the subjects were driven away immediately after their introduction, I eventually found myself alone in the room with the guards, feverishly going over the main passages of my speech. They had kept me till the end, like a star performer. The black gorilla appeared for the last time and called out my number. I rose to my feet quickly, took from the hands of a flabbergasted ape the lead he was about to fasten to my collar, and adjusted it myself. Then, flanked by two bodyguards, I entered the assembly hall with a firm tread. As soon as I had crossed the threshold I halted, dazzled and abashed.
I had seen many a strange sight since my arrival on Soror. I thought I was so accustomed to the apes and their actions that I could no longer be astonished by them. Yet confronted with the singularity and proportions of the scene before my eyes, I was seized with giddiness and once again asked myself if I was not dreaming.
I was in a gigantic amphitheater (which put me strangely in mind of Dante’s conical inferno) of which every row of seats both around and above me was swarming with apes. There were several thousands of them. Never before had I seen so many apes gathered together; their multitude transcended the wildest dreams of my poor terrestrial imagination; their numbers overwhelmed me.
I stumbled and tried to pull myself together by looking for some guiding light in this crowd. The guards pushed me toward the center of a circle, resembling a circus arena, where a platform had been erected. I slowly glanced all around me. The tiers of apes rose as high as the ceiling, to a height that seemed to me incredible. The seats nearest me were occupied by the members of the congress, all of them learned scientists dressed in striped trousers and dark frock coats, all of them wearing decorations, almost all of a venerable age, and almost all orangutans. I made out, however, among their group a small number of gorillas and chimpanzees. I looked for Cornelius among the latter, but could not see him.
Beyond the authorities and behind a balustrade were several rows reserved for the junior colleagues of the scientists. A gallery at this level was for the journalists and photographers. Finally, still higher up and behind another barrier, surged the crowd, a simian public which, from the loud murmurs that greeted my appearance, was evidently in a state of great excitement.
I also tried to see Zira, who was bound to be sitting among the assistants. I felt I needed the support of a glance from her. There again I was disappointed and could not discern a single familiar face among the hellish throng of apes surrounding me.
I switched my gaze to the pontiffs. Each of them was seated in an armchair draped in red, whereas the rest were entitled only to stools or benches. Their appearance reminded me forcefully of Zaius. Their heads sunk almost to the level of their shoulders, one immensely long arm half folded and placed in front of them on a blotter, they scribbled down an occasional note or perhaps a childish drawing. In contrast to the excitement prevailing on the higher benches, they looked utterly listless. I had the feeling that my entrance and the announcement about me that had been made over a loud-speaker were only just sufficient to revive their flagging attention. In fact, I distinctly remember seeing three of these orangutans give a start and suddenly shake their heads, as though roused from a deep sleep.
Yet they were now all wide awake. My introduction was no doubt the high spot of the meeting, and I felt I was the cynosure of thousands of pairs of simian eyes with a variety of expressions ranging from indifference to enthusiasm.
My guards made me mount the platform where an impressive-looking gorilla was sitting. Zira had told me that the congress was presided over not by a scientist, as had once been the case—in those days the apes of science, left to their own devices, used to lose themselves in endless discussions without ever coming to a conclusion— but by an organizer. To the left of this important figure was his secretary, a chimpanzee, who was making a verbatim report of the meeting. To her right was a seat occupied in turn by each of the scientists who was to read a paper or introduce a subject. Zaius had just taken this seat amidst some lukewarm applause. Thanks to a system of loudspeakers in conjunction with some powerful projectors, nothing happening on the platform was lost even at the uppermost levels of the hall.