Paris Savages

Hilda was woken by the rattle of the porter’s trolley, which had been freshly loaded with German and English-language newspapers, large tan-coloured pretzels and coffee. A new porter must have boarded the train with the day’s papers, for Hilda hadn’t seen him before and she had been awake for much of the long overnight journey to Berlin. Each gaslit railway station had appeared almost identical to the last, and she wondered what Bonny made of the little he could see of the dreary, flat landscape.

At Louis’s insistence, Bonny had sat across the aisle from Hilda. He watched the porter stop to sell a copy of the Berliner Börsen-Zeitung to the well-dressed man seated in front of them. The porter dipped his cap to Hilda and studied Bonny, then Dorondera and Jurano, who were both asleep, as was Hilda’s father.

‘I hope you have more luck than the group travelling in America,’ the porter said to Hilda. ‘They have been in the newspapers all month.’

The porter opened a newspaper to the third page and showed Hilda a photograph of a young Aboriginal woman wearing a pretty necklace, which appeared to be made of metal. He pointed to the headline:

The Brightest of the Australian Cannibals Likely to Die of the American Climate

Hilda took several coins from her purse and handed them to the man in return for the paper.

‘It has become big business, this touring,’ the porter observed, nodding at Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera. ‘There’s not a week that passes without another group making the headlines. Must be good money in it.’ He tapped his coin satchel and was about to continue down the carriage aisle when Bonny held out his own money and asked in German for coffee and a pretzel.

‘Sorry, Bonny. I should have asked,’ Hilda said, reaching out to again pay the porter and signalling to Bonny to put away his own money. She waited for the porter to leave before speaking again. ‘You don’t have to pay for food. My father … that’s his responsibility.’

She looked at the newspaper photograph of the young woman and continued to read:

‘Princess Tagarah’ is wasting away with a lung disease, according to reporters who have been following the troupe’s travels since their arrival in America.

The group’s organiser, Mr R.A. Cunningham, denies the illness is the result of inadequate care.

‘I look after them very well,’ Mr Cunningham said. ‘They want for nothing. With my earnings they buy everything pretty and flashy they see in the shop windows: a red undershirt, an accordion, a trombone … I carry more baggage now, the property of these fellows, than I know what to do with. Princess Tagarah’s illness is a sad result of the change in climate.’

Hilda read on and learned that the Aboriginal group were members of what Barnum called his ‘Ethnological Congress’, which had now joined his tour of the dime museums. Other attractions included the Elastic-skinned Man, the Skeleton Man, Gerald Dot and the Wild Man of Borneo. She angled the page further away from Bonny and elbowed her father awake. Drowsily, Louis read what she was showing him and, although saddened, did not seem surprised.

‘Yes, I’d heard about this.’ He opened his briefcase and flicked through his papers, finally handing Hilda a telegram.

YOUNG FEMALE (SUSSY) SICK – STOP – ADVISE AGAINST COMING HERE – STOP – BARNUM PAYS JUST THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS A WEEK – STOP – MRS TOM THUMB PAID FIVE HUNDRED – STOP – ONLY SKELETON MAN LESS AT TWO HUNDRED – STOP – NO WONDER HE IS SO THIN – STOP – HOW IS IT IN EUROPE – CUNNINGHAM

‘You’ve been in contact with that man?’ Hilda asked.

‘He wrote to me, but I want nothing to do with him, just as I’ve told you I want nothing to do with Barnum. What we are doing is a world apart.’

Hilda breathed in deeply, and thanked Bonny for the piece of pretzel he was offering her.

‘Can’t we ask Mr Sheridan for help with our passage to England?’ Hilda asked her father.

‘I don’t want to ask more of him at this stage. If the performances go well in Berlin and Dresden, we will make it to England soon enough.’

The train arrived at the vast Hamburger Bahnhof, the likes of which Hilda had never seen. Looking up at the soaring arched roof with its metal framing and glasswork was indeed like being within a sea creature’s shell, gazing skyward. Louis encouraged the group to move swiftly through the crowded station, tipping his hat but giving no explantion to the crush of Berliners who noticed the new arrivals as they passed. Hilda supposed her father was concerned that any more attention in the crowded place would be unmanageable, even injurious. She was not game to take her eyes from him and followed his new hat, a homburg like Herr Hagenbeck’s, through the throng.

‘Stay close,’ she said to Dorondera, who also appeared nervous. Hilda took Dorondera’s hand and glanced at Bonny’s concerned face as he searched for the way out. Hilda winced as a large man trod heavily on her boot without appearing to notice. Being pressed from all sides by strangers made her head race; she felt dizzy and reminded herself to breathe.

The group exited the great rectangular building through a tall archway. There were two such arches, each perhaps eight or ten times Hilda’s height, allowing for the thousands of people who she supposed must come and go through the station each day. They crossed the wide street to where there were fewer people, and Hilda looked back at the Hamburger Bahnhof. Above the two ground-level archways was a second storey of six great arches, and on the roof were two square turret-like vantage points. Louis hailed a carriage, and Bonny, who was still cautiously surveying his surroundings, was the last to take his seat inside. Although not at ease, Bonny seemed impressed by the scale of the city, Hilda observed, and she allowed herself to be pleased.

‘Past the Brandenburger Tor, bitte,’ Louis instructed the carriage driver. ‘I want our visitors to see it. Berlin is truly a magnificent city.’ He took his seat proudly, as if the town were of his making. Hilda remembered the same look on Herr Hagenbeck’s face when he had first shown them his thierpark.

The carriage crossed a bridge over the Spree, the river’s surface chopped white with watercraft. They journeyed south, the cool relief of the Berlin Thiergarten on their right, its parkland and trees sweetening the air and stilling Hilda’s mind. Soon the Brandenburg Gate loomed on their left, and Louis pointed out the back view of the rearing horse statues perched on top of it. He asked the driver to stop and explained that the gate had been built almost one hundred years before. Beyond it, across Pariser Platz, ran the avenue Unter den Linden, where Louis declared many thousands of German troops had marched victorious after battles. He pumped the air with his fist then tapped the top of the carriage, and the horses advanced. The carriage turned and rolled eastward for several city blocks, the streets lined with three- and four-storey buildings, more imposing than those of Hamburg, Hilda thought.

In the fashionable heart of Berlin, Castan’s Panoptikum dominated the corner of Friedrichstrasse and Behrenstrasse in the impressive three-storey Kaisergalerie. The ornate sandstone and terracotta building contained a passageway that stretched all the way to Unter den Linden. Berlin had every right to be proud of the galerie and the opulent, shop-lined passage, Hilda’s father said, adding that apparently the passage had to be seen to be believed.

‘And then, of course, there is the waxworks!’ he swooned.

Hilda had long known of the Panoptikum’s famous dioramas and extraordinarily lifelike wax figures and was excited to see them and to show them to her friends. She was looking forward also to watching her friends perform for the first time on a proper stage.

‘The addition of living Aboriginal curiosities will be a popular attraction,’ Herr Castan told Hilda’s father on their arrival, stepping back to look at Bonny, Dorondera and Jurano, who were still in their street clothes from the journey. The Panoptikum’s director sported a moustache that exceeded that of the Wilhelm’s captain, and Hilda felt repulsed as Castan kissed the back of her hand. It was a relief when he directed his attention away from her and announced that he would escort Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera to their accommodation, where he said they could change into their ‘own’ clothes.

The porter’s flat in the basement had a small, high window that permitted just enough light to know whether the sky outside was grey or blue. It was better than Hagenbeck’s garden hut, but Hilda felt claustrophobic knowing this was where her friends would be staying for the next week. All she could see of the passers-by, as they made their way to the crowded cafes and exclusive boutiques, were their ankles and, occasionally, the face of a child pressed to the glass to peer into the gloom. Hilda was pleased the surviving two wallabies had remained in Hagenbeck’s Thierpark. She found herself thinking of the wallaby that died on the ship and wondered if its skeleton was already on display in the Museum Godeffroy in Hamburg. What a strange and bewildering fate, she thought.

A young German man knocked on the open door with news that their esteemed visitor had arrived early.

Castan appeared flummoxed. ‘Quickly, please, we need to make our way upstairs,’ he said, his unruly mop of black hair springing in wild curls from a central part.

‘Which visitor is this?’ Hilda asked.

‘Professor Rudolf Virchow of the Berlin Society for Anthropology, Ethnology and Prehistory! Did your father not tell you?’

A chill moved through her as her father explained the request to their friends in Badtjala.

‘He wants to do some studies of you. To see why you are so strong,’ he said, gripping Bonny’s bicep and smiling.

Hilda looked at her father and questioned how he could smile. The image that kept returning to her mind was that of the Eskimo mother falling into a ‘psychic cramp’ when Professor Virchow tried to measure her. When she had told her father of that, he had promised that the same thing would not happen to Dorondera.

‘Please quickly dress in your costumes,’ Hilda’s father told Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera, pointing to the two side rooms where their suitcases had been stowed.

‘Papa …’

‘Please, we must be fast,’ Castan repeated, his shoulders raised.

The Badtjala men emerged in loincloths over cut-off trousers. Dorondera was wearing her possum-skin dress and the wallaby cape.

‘This man, Virchow …’ Hilda began.

‘You have surely heard of him,’ Castan said over his shoulder as he left the room. ‘He is quite famous. For his politics as well as his medicine … Cell theory, the perils of poverty.’

Hilda remembered Louis reading aloud to her a newspaper piece on the professor’s work to better the living conditions of the poor in an effort to improve their health.

Castan continued, ‘He is the man who challenged Bismark to a sausage dual!’ He laughed. ‘This way.’ He directed the group up two flights of stairs and along a wide corridor towards a doorway thick with pipe smoke and the sound of many male voices. Hilda looked at her father and, finally, he met her eyes.

She lowered her voice. ‘Who else is here?’

Her father shook his head and put a finger to his lips as he entered the crowded theatre behind Castan. Louis reached for Hilda’s hand, but she clasped it behind her back. There were times she felt she didn’t know him at all, and it frightened her. Her father drew his head back in recognition of the professor whose attention was on Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera, who were entering the room warily behind Hilda.

‘They are my first living Australneger,’ Virchow said, stepping forwards, his voice surprisingly weak for a man of such influence. ‘Very, very interesting.’ He looked to the German men around him. They were extending their hands to meet Hilda’s father but were similarly distracted by the presence of the dark-skinned group from K’gari.

‘Please, take a seat,’ the Panoptikum’s director said, indicating two places for Hilda and her father in the first row of the tiered seating. Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera were left standing uncertainly at the front of the stage space.

‘Stay there,’ Louis told them in Badtjala, holding out a hand to emphasise his point and receiving mumbles of approval from those around him, which Hilda took to be for his language skills or perhaps his ability to discipline the Australneger. She crossed her legs so that her body twisted away from her father, who was leaning in, close to her.

‘You knew there were to be studies, Hilda,’ he whispered. ‘You heard Herr Hagenbeck talk of the need for a certificate of authenticity. It is vitally important. There are many venues that won’t show them without it.’ He studied her, then patted her leg. ‘There is no need to be dramatic!’

Hilda drew herself further away. ‘You could have warned me.’ She looked at Bonny, Dorondera and Jurano. ‘And them.’

‘He arrived early, that is all. Please stop doubting me at every turn. And not in company.’ He leaned back into his seat, looking about him to see if anyone had overheard.

Hilda asked herself if she was being unreasonable. To settle her nerves, she focused on Herr Castan, who was twisting his long black moustache between his fingers. He was a short man and wore a dark suit with purple satin lapels. At his neck was a black ribbon tied into a bow. She had no time for a man of such vanity and, when she looked across at Bonny, could tell that he also thought the Panoptikum’s director ridiculous.

‘May I introduce Professor Rudolf Virchow, a man who needs no introduction,’ Castan began with a small laugh that caused his curls to bounce. ‘As Professor of Pathological Anatomy at the University of Berlin and a founding member of Berlin’s Society for Anthropology, Ethnology and Prehistory, Professor Virchow is indeed well placed to assess the authenticity of the three specimens brought before us today. Are they, or are they not, good examples of their type?’

Hilda wondered how many other ‘specimens’ had been paraded in this very room. Still, it was for a good cause, she tried to tell herself. Her mother’s words played in her ear: If only people could become better educated …

‘On behalf of the Berlin Society,’ Virchow began, his voice no less feeble in front of the audience, ‘I would like to thank Herr Müller for bringing these subjects from so far away. It is a privilege, I must say, to examine these individuals.’

Feet together, hands clasped behind his back, Virchow bowed his head and shoulders in a show of reverence to Hilda’s father. The audience, who had been sitting quietly, straining to listen, applauded. The professor’s round-rimmed glasses shifted on his face as he rose, and he steadied them swiftly with his hand. What images had those glasses framed, Hilda wondered. What tiny flecks of foreign flesh had the full grey beard caught as he carved up bodies in his laboratory? Had he travelled to Paris for the dissection of Abraham and his family? Had he held their brains, their memories of their homeland, in his hands? The professor brought his hands forwards in the direction of Louis, and Hilda felt sick at the thought of those hands on the skin of the Eskimo women, which he had described as unusually tender and soft to the touch. She had trusted her father not to put Dorondera in such a position and wished now that she had warned her.

Professor Virchow continued, ‘I’ve studied so many pictures of the various tribes, read so many descriptions, studied so many skulls that I am convinced they are quite excellent specimens of this race … especially Bonny and the young girl; they are truly magnificent.’ He held out his hand to Bonny and Dorondera, and Bonny, to Hilda’s immense relief, smiled. ‘But let us probe a little deeper, to establish if I am correct in this assertion. First, let me start with the shape of the nasal region.’

He opened a long box filled with measuring implements of various forms, which he laid out on the marble bench in front of him. The young man beside Hilda opened a leather-bound notebook and drew three columns as Virchow approached Bonny with a pair of large metal calipers.

‘Nein,’ Bonny said firmly, taking a step backwards. He was no longer smiling.

‘You safe,’ Louis insisted in his imperfect Badtjala. ‘He learn about you.’

‘He will cut me?’ Bonny fired back in the same language. He pointed at the metal instrument. The measurements Louis had made in Australia had been with rulers and tape.

‘No. Trust me,’ Hilda’s father said.

Virchow approached Bonny a second time, and again Bonny stepped away. Louis rose and walked calmly to the front of the room, his body language belying what Hilda knew was a deep concern that Bonny might stubbornly refuse to comply and waste the group’s time. Hilda’s father’s greatest fear, apart from losing her, was being embarrassed in front of a scientific audience.

‘Measure me first,’ he told Virchow, pointing to his head and winking at Hilda, then the wider audience.

The professor shed none of his professionalism as he applied the calipers and called out various numbers to his scribe, who recorded them obediently in a new column. The other scientists also remained straight-faced.

‘So where do you think I fit along Darwin’s evolutionary scale?’ Louis teased.

Virchow raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

A man Hilda had heard the other scientists call Ernst Haeckel sat forwards enthusiastically. ‘You’re brave, asking that. Professor Virchow thinks Darwin’s idea idiotic.’ He challenged the professor with an upward tilt of his chin, but again Virchow ignored the interruption.

‘Now, Bonny,’ Hilda’s father said. ‘Your turn. Yes?’

‘And don’t forget to look carefully at the toes,’ Haeckel called out. ‘For their tree-climbing abilities.’

Hilda already hated the man. Not just for what he said, but for the way he said it. This was not educating people the way her mother had hoped.

Bonny, still visibly nervous, stepped forwards and Virchow applied the calipers, measuring the length, width and height of his nose. The professor called out the figures to the scribe. When he was finished, he asked Bonny a direct question in English.

‘Can you tell me where you are from?’

Louis opened his mouth to translate, but Bonny answered in the same language.

‘A very beautiful place,’ he said. ‘K’gari. Much fish.’

Virchow nodded and chuckled warmly. ‘I see you do speak some English.’ He nodded at the scribe.

‘Not much. Just …’ Hilda’s father began but the professor was not listening.

‘So … fish. Can you draw them?’ Virchow indicated for his assistant to pass Bonny the notebook and a pencil. Bonny drew an illustration of a predatory fish, mouth open for a smaller fish. He pointed at the larger fish.

‘Eating a little one,’ Bonny said. ‘On K’gari we catch many fish.’

The professor nodded his appreciation at the answer, patting Bonny on the back.

‘There are also many animals. Big trees. Very beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ Virchow said, holding up the image to the audience and then extending his hand to the back wall, indicating that Bonny could resume his former place.

‘But my people … The whites kill them,’ Bonny stated.

‘I see,’ Virchow said, eyebrows raised. ‘I have read reports. It is better on the coast, nein?’

Bonny shook his head and Professor Virchow looked at Hilda’s father, who answered. ‘I’m afraid the numbers are declining throughout the colony.’

Hilda waited for him to mention the need for a reserve, but he did not.

Jurano was called forwards and the measuring procedure was repeated, although Jurano proved a more grudging subject, forcefully brushing Virchow’s hand away when he reached for a clump of hair and rubbed it between his fingers.

‘Please record that this man, Du-ro-no, is less agreeable than the first,’ Virchow said.

‘He has the name wrong, Papa,’ Hilda whispered, and again her father hushed her.

‘I’ll correct it later.’

Haeckel, overhearing, called out to Virchow, ‘Call him Alfred, so there is no confusion. We need a simple German name.’

‘Very well,’ Virchow agreed, directing his notetaker to add the European name. ‘If it prevents errors.’

Dorondera was asked to come to the front of the lecture theatre. Hagenbeck’s wife had lengthened the possum-skin dress before Dorondera left Hamburg, following a newspaper report claiming indecency. An eyewitness account of the group swimming naked in the countryside in broad daylight. Hagenbeck’s coach driver had been released from his employment the next day.

Dorondera stepped shyly towards Professor Virchow. She did not look up, not even when he said to her, ‘Mädchen?’ To Hilda’s horror, the professor ran his finger across Dorondera’s cheek and along her arm. Dorondera recoiled, and it was all Hilda could do to stay seated. The anatomist checked his notes.

‘Doron-dera?’

Finally, Dorondera lifted her face to him.

‘Again, the name is too difficult. Record her as Susanne,’ Haeckel said.

‘Very well. For the purposes of the notebook,’ Virchow told his scribe. He touched Dorondera’s hair, rolling a piece of it between his fingers as he had tried with Jurano. Dorondera looked at Hilda.

‘Papa, he is frightening her,’ Hilda whispered, rising to her feet, but Jurano was already stepping forwards. Professor Virchow held his hand up to them both.

‘It is all part of the scientific examination,’ Hilda’s father said swiftly. He waved Jurano back and urged Hilda to again take her seat while the professor finished his measurements.

Bonny nodded at Hilda and, reluctantly, she sat down.

‘The skin, I can report, is soft, as it often is in the darker races. The hair, coarse,’ the professor said. ‘In all three the mouth is big, but with strong and perfect teeth.’ He indicated to Dorondera that she could return to her place beside Jurano and Bonny.

‘To summarise my central point,’ he began, ‘the nose is above all short and low … the nostrils are wide. There is this ugly original form as a consequence, which deters us most in the Australian face.’ He paused, reading out Bonny’s nasal measurements again. ‘Indeed, my understanding is that the particularity of the Australian physiognomy culminates in the formation of the nasal region and especially, therefore, Bonny can be considered a real prototype. This formation has undoubtedly the character of a certain inferiority, if you will, ape-like in itself.’

Haeckel folded his arms across his chest and looked about himself as if vindicated.

‘I am not saying,’ Virchow clarified, ‘these people make overall an unfavourable impression, especially the young girl … Nor that mankind is descended from apes. The two men do not look stupid or even animal.’ Professor Virchow eyed Haeckel, adding, ‘Just that some groups have more prominent features in this regard. There is variation in every racial group. Even amongst German schoolchildren! Many of you know of my work there. Some would have you believe that Jews are a separate race …’

Professor Virchow glanced again at Bonny before looking again out into the audience. ‘Some forms are more advanced, biologically speaking, but we are all man, none of us closer to the apes than another.’

Hilda found herself reassessing the man. It seemed he was saying that all people were equal after all, although other statements he made seemed to contradict that.

‘Now, by point of comparison …’ the professor began.

He lifted the lid on a straw-filled wooden box situated on the bench at the front of the small theatre. From it he produced a skull, then a second and a third. In total, five skulls were laid out in front of him on the wide bench. Some had yellowed with age, and one was cracked and brown, as if it had been buried.

Instantly fearful, Dorondera moved behind her outraged uncle and shut her eyes. Hilda stood again, horrified, but her father caught her hand before she could step forwards.

‘Professor, you are scaring them,’ she said, more loudly this time, her legs shaky beneath her for she knew her father would be annoyed that she was making a stand.

‘I am not afraid,’ Bonny said firmly in German. He did not look at Hilda, and she feared she had embarrassed him.

‘This is science, Fräulein.’ The professor asked her to sit. ‘One day my own skull will be on display. No need to take offence. To be honest, you would see worse in Paris’s catacombs or that city’s morgue. Viewing the unidentified dead is a popular pastime there, from what I hear. Now, if I may continue …

‘Five skull shapes: Patagonian, African, Eskimo, Asiatic and Caucasian, Irish to be exact. You can see the differences. I am not denying the differences.’ He turned the skulls in various orientations.

Hilda’s eyes went to the Eskimo skull and she thought again of Abraham and his family and the northern Eskimos who had accompanied them to Europe. Was the skull one of theirs? She looked away.

Virchow continued. ‘But neither am I advocating evolutionary development, as such.’ He looked at Hilda’s father. ‘Most of you know I am anti-evolutionist. I have made no secret of that fact. It is because of my intervention that the Prussian education policy has this year removed evolution from our schools. In my opinion, there is not enough evidence that mutation, when it happens, leads to advancement, not degeneration.’

Professor Virchow continued, ‘Darwin may have dreamed of an intermediate form between ape and man, but it was that only, a mere dream. May I say also that extending Darwin’s ideas to social rankings, and even to racial politics, as my former student here, Haeckel, espouses, are anti-democratic and, frankly, dangerous. It seems I have taught him to be a little too free in his thinking.’ He coughed into his hand, and several of the audience laughed.

Jurano, his eyes again on the skulls, began to shift his feet.

‘They long-time dead. You safe,’ Louis told them.

‘No,’ Jurano said firmly in Badtjala. ‘There will be spirits present. We are not safe.’ He pointed at the professor. ‘Fool!’

Haeckel laughed behind his hand, although ignorant of the conversation, and Jurano hardened with offence.

‘I am sorry, Professor, but it will be difficult to maintain our guests’ trust with those still on display,’ Louis said. He pointed unnecessarily at the skulls and gave an apologetic smile.

‘The skulls are integral to my argument about the anatomical differences. Science must, above all, be objective and based on evidence. These are important discussions.’ Professor Virchow shook his head as if tiring of sentimentality. ‘Indeed, there is no more important discussion!’

‘If they could simply be moved out of sight, please. My apologies but, as you are aware, these people are quite untouched by our ideas.’ Louis held his hand out towards the group as he spoke. ‘They hold superstitions …’

Professor Virchow lowered his glasses and looked at the group as if for the first time, then turned again to his audience.

‘So, if you have all seen enough of these?’ Professor Virchow rested his hands on the top of the African and Asiatic skulls and waited for his audience to nod before returning the skulls to their bed of straw in the long wooden box. As he closed the lid, Hilda breathed out.

But it was far from over.

3 July 1882

I am writing this dry mouthed, as I was today when Professor Virchow continued his examination of our friends.

Just when I thought he had finished, the professor took a ruler from his satchel and stepped close to Bonny, saying that certain observations still needed to be made before the certificate of authenticity could be signed. What followed was a recording of body parameters at a scale I had never imagined. Details such as the diameter of the navel and very many studies of Bonny’s feet and hands. Of the feet and toes, the professor looked at the doctor Haeckel and said loudly, ‘The big toe is not developed any differently to that of the Caucasian race.’ He even took a piece of Bonny’s hair using a small knife from his pocket and offered it to the audience to feel. He held up his ruler and asked for volunteers to take measurements of Dorondera and Jurano.

‘I will do it,’ I told him. ‘I will measure Dorondera. And Papa will do Jurano.’ I walked forwards and apologised to my friend, unable to meet her eyes as I applied the ruler.

The professor looked at my father and asked, ‘Your daughter is practised in the ways of science?’

‘She is,’ Papa answered truthfully.

The professor appeared surprised but continued without pause. He held a colour chart against Bonny’s skin.

‘They are all suitably dark, but he is the darkest of the three,’ the anatomist observed, and several in the audience crowded around before agreeing with the comparison. The scribe recorded the observation.

Finally, Professor Virchow asked the audience if he had their support in signing the certificate. I glanced around the small theatre at the rows of expressionless men raising their hands.

All but one, the doctor Haeckel, gave their support.

‘So, if there are no strong objections …’ the professor said, ignoring his former student.

Haeckel leaned forwards, his elbows on the armrest and his chin theatrically resting on his clasped hands. ‘You have not described the reproductive organs,’ he said, as if it were the most normal of statements. I could not believe my ears.

He continued, ‘Could there be an inspection? For completeness. There are particular questions concerning the female organs given differences in size observed in groups such as the Bushmen.’

‘No,’ I said. I am surprised I found any words at all. I stepped closer to Dorondera and felt the gaze of the entire room. I clasped my hands in front of myself.

Papa shook his head. ‘That is not possible. I see no reason …’

‘Medical science is the reason,’ Haeckel answered. ‘And I am not sure I can put my name to the certificate otherwise.’

I glared at the man, taking in his short legs and large paunch.

‘What is he saying?’ Dorondera asked, but I didn’t answer. Instead, I spoke directly to Haeckel, unable to remain silent any longer. Why was no one else objecting?

‘Sir, would you allow strangers to inspect your wife? Your daughter?’

Haeckel adjusted his collar. ‘It is hardly the same venture. The Australneger normally go naked in their homeland, do they not? Your father has assured us they are “natural”.’

‘I think my daughter is trying to explain …’ Papa started.

Professor Virchow held up his hand and waved away the need for translation. I recall him saying something to the effect that, ‘I do not wish to distress our guests, but let me assure you, Fräulein, that our research is noble in its cause. We are trying to answer the very biggest question: How does man fit into nature? But I agree with you, this is not the right forum for the more intimate investigations my former student alludes to. Let us move on.’ He cleared his throat.

‘To conclude, can I again have a show of hands to confirm that we agree to give Herr Müller a certificate of authenticity for the three Australneger he has brought to us today? Yes, please? A show of hands?’

I again looked about the room. All but Haeckel had raised their hands and, on seeing he was still alone, he, too, resentfully endorsed the decision.

‘Good,’ the professor said. ‘A certificate will be granted. I will write up these proceedings for publication in our journal. A very good day to you all.’

From there, Bonny, Jurano and Dorondera returned to the porter’s flat, and Papa and I, I am ashamed to say, came here to our hotel room across the street, where we have our own separate rooms. Before we said goodnight to our friends, I apologised to them for the outrageous volume of measurements, and they did their best to appear unbothered. I hope I do not have to say sorry to them again, for surely my apologies are beginning to sound hollow.