By what marvel has this delightful region remained unexplored? What mystery has concealed it from the ardent marches of African voyagers? Horrible at the outset, it is becoming increasingly easy to negotiate as the days go by, although the source of its mildness is still just as impenetrable. Its prodigious forests have successively given way to mosses and leprous lichens, its diluvian waters to the taciturnity of peat-bogs, the enchantment of its savannahs to the sinister horror of the Plain of Eternal Desolation.
The animals and plants here are enigmatic; collectively, they have an appearance of youthfulness and obsolescence, of freshness and venerable antiquity. It seems that one is in some other age of the world’s history—a strange future is mingled here with the melancholy of memory. Is it not the wilderness Reserve, the Park in which Humankind, disillusioned with so many murders, will come to demand companions of Nature once again?11
Those species whose survival is most precarious, the colossi which cost life so much labor, drink in immense herds from the deltas of the rivers. This region combines ten climatic regimes: plateau refreshed by breezes, gentle and fecund slopes, warm plains, and immense torrid valleys—into which we rarely descend.
I have tasted divine happiness here—the great dream of free creation. My escort is numerous, armed as well as necessary to face the largest wild animals effectively, and I possess every remedy against reptilian venoms and plant poisons. Several of our men have the delicate senses and long experience of natural wanderers, and an entire population of sagacious animals also accompanies us, not only familiar with the perils of life but hardened to meteorological phenomena, adept at foreseeing changes in the weather, the soil and magnetic conditions. This is what I wanted. I am one of those who believe in an effective future collaboration between men and beasts—one of those who believe that animals will lend their exquisite senses in a more subtle manner to masters more inclined to gentleness.
A dog’s sense of smell, a falcon’s sight, the magnetic sensibility of birds and insects, bring them infinite amounts of information, a vision of the depths of things that purely mineral matter is insufficient to interpret for us. Animals, even the most inferior—formless larvae, motionless mollusks, meager zoophytes—will one day be the great indicators of science, the most penetrating instruments in our laboratories, not at all the pure experimental flesh of today, but voluntary seekers.
From my own viewpoint, my results are already seductive, but I owe them especially to two incomparable assistants, two taciturn peasants who have a prodigious sense of life, an admirably nuanced artistry, who accustom animals to confide themselves entirely to mankind, to understand him. We have brought swallows, wood-pigeons, night-birds, frogs and, of course, monkeys, cats and dogs. Thanks to special care, they support the various climates, and even, when we do not descend into the immense torrid valleys, appear to delight in that extraordinary terrain, drawing new strength therefrom. Are we, the humans, not subject to some enchanting influence, our nerves alert, our hearts relaxed and strong, our faces rejuvenated?
Not, of course, that the voyage has been easy and devoid of perils, any more than the terrain has always been propitious. Sometimes there is an impenetrable forest, sometimes an arid and empty desert, sometimes marshes with approaches full of ambushes. Whether one likes it or not, it is necessary to descend into gigantic valleys, or at least go along their edges. Then, the reptiles become redoubtable; the carnivores prowl around the camp or lie in wait in the jungle; night falls full of anguish, mystery and horror. Doubtless we are marvelously well-protected, and the slightest peril is anticipated by our animals—but what heart can remain tranquil before the grandeur of such dangers, and in the vast unknown of this territory, foreign to Humankind?
One evening, in the red hour when the swollen star trembles somewhat in the crepuscular light, we stopped among rocks. We were very tired. All day we had struggled against the forest, and the plain had finally begun! It extended westwards, immensely verdant, still becoming more open. A river ran through it, often hidden by monstrous vegetation, spreading out into a marshy lake half a mile from our encampment.
To the north, there was a valley at least six leagues around, to judge by its appearance, and to the south, rather high hills, with an implication of plateau on their summits, linked by gently-sloping passes.
The solemnity of the moment was divine: the beauty of space, the magic of the great firmament through which clouds were rolling, and the prodigious life whose ever presence we felt. The endless forest spread out in the pale light, so soft that one forgot the suffering of its traversal; the valley began to resound with loud nocturnal clamors, and the profiles of the hills became indecisive within their celestial confines. I contemplated the noble spectacle for a few minutes, and loved all the more the fabulous expedition that had drawn me away from the known world.
When the camp was set up and the fires built, we ate the evening meal; then the Moon, vast and red, rose in the Orient. The clouds became lower, heaping up in the west. The night was displayed, clear and murmurous, troubling the human heart. I had no desire to go to bed, but rather to walk as far as the river and watch the water running by starlight.
“Charnay,” I said to my second-in-command, “I’m going down to the river…” At the same time, I signaled to Malveraz, the older of my two peasants, and Huriel, the gentle colossus who accompanies me everywhere. Two dogs also followed, and an eagle-owl that kept watch on the advancing dusk.
“Shouldn’t you take a few more companions?” Charnay asked. “This place makes me anxious.”
I placed considerable value on the advice of my second-in-command, endowed as he was by a delicate prescience, so I took two more men, and we went toward the water. The plain was easy to negotiate as far as the borders of the river, where we found pools of water. It was necessary to search further on for a viable promontory.
We walked for about three-quarters of an hour, and were about to turn back when we encountered a sort of natural causeway, abundantly trampled and strewn with large blocks of granite. The dogs threw themselves on to it with the ardor of their race, and Malveraz muttered: “Elephants pass this way. They don’t seem to have been here today…so they ought to come down to drink later this evening.”
The causeway appeared to come from the valley, whose edges we could see, raised up above the level of the plain.
“Very well,” I replied. “As there’s nothing in sight, we can follow the causeway, ready to get away in good time.”
When I say that nothing was in sight, I am not being strictly accurate. From time to time, some timid animal passed in front of us—a deer, an antelope or a small carnivore—and moving shadows were visible on the plain, while the clamors of conflict rose ever more frequently from the depths of the valley, the darkness and the forest. Our trained dogs did not launch themselves in pursuit, obedient to Malveraz’s expressive grunts. The old animal-handler made no reply, and contented himself with following the causeway.
We walked for some time. The causeway stopped; we were moving into difficult territory. Soon we found ourselves on the edge of the river, and I was just about to turn back when Huriel shouted: “A bridge.”
To tell the truth, what he called by that name was an erratic series of immense blocks of stone, but very close to one another—so close that one could often pass from one to the next.
“The arches of a bridge, rather,” I replied.
Without making any reply, the colossus cut down a young poplar on the river-bank with an axe. “Here’s the decking!”
I hesitated for some time before deciding on the adventure, and when I had finally decided, I had a sort of evil presentiment.
We passed over the river. Our dogs, accustomed to leaping over minor obstacles, followed us without difficulty. If necessary, the robust animals could have swum across the river.
At first, we were walking through a sort of meadow, then it became a woodland, but one in which the trees were quite distant from one another. Eventually, a forest extended to our right, while the wooded grassland came to an end, giving way to ground the color of ash. There were occasional pine-trees growing on hillocks, and islets of giant ferns, but little grass, dry, harsh and discolored. A great sadness emanated from it.
“This place is redoubtable…” Huriel began.
I saw concern on Malveraz’s face—but an ardent curiosity impelled me to advance, contrary to all prudence.
“There’s nothing to fear from the darkness,” I said. “The sky’s clear. In an hour, the Moon will be marvelously bright, and provided that we return before midnight…”
Darkness had almost fallen. A reddish light trailed over the crowns of the forest and the solitary pines. The landscape became less sinister after we had skirted a marsh where giant frogs were croaking. Grasses reappeared, thicker and greener, on the savannah. Only confused shapes were distinguishable in the faint pale starlight. We walked for another half-hour; then an enormous copper-colored Moon appeared over the treetops of the forest.
“A trick!” said Huriel.
A granite mass loomed up in front of us, in which a kind of giant doorway yawned. At first we thought we were looking into a cave, but we stopped after having taken the first few steps.
“That’s odd!” said Malveraz. “I could have sworn that…”
He had set his hand against the rock. Then, a singular vibration became audible, as if a violin-bow were being drawn over the edge of a bronze plate.
“It’s a door!” Malveraz finished.
We saw an enormous block of stone turn on its axis, without Malveraz appearing to have done any more than push a light door, and the shadow of a cave appeared.
“How bizarre!” I exclaimed—and I went into the cave. Malveraz followed me in, while Huriel, with one of my men—by the name of Chabe—marched in the direction of the forest. By the light of my little electric torch, we examined the place. It gave the strange impression of having been constructed, without our being able to tell whether or not the cavern served as a habitation for some creature.
We had been there for some time when we heard the dogs barking violently.
“Some danger!” Malveraz remarked.
We left the cave. Huriel and Chabe were coming back toward us. Almost simultaneously, there was a strange roar, which had something in it of the voice of the lion, and that of the tiger, the apparition of a monstrous bounding silhouette, and Huriel’s and Chabe’s rifle-shots. Then there was a terrible scream. The mysterious beast had just fallen on Huriel and carried him off as a lynx carries off a hare.
I ran forward. I caught a glimpse of Huriel’s arm, which rose up clutching a knife, and the animal—struck in the heart, as we later discovered—collapsed.
I was continuing to run toward Huriel when Malveraz shouted in a thunderous voice: “Everyone into the cave! Don’t lose a second!”
In spite of the excitement of the moment, we obeyed, so habituated were we to putting our trust in Malveraz’s instincts and senses. Huriel, Chabe, the two dogs and the eagle owl came in at almost exactly the same time as us.
“Rotate the stone,” said Malveraz.
The colossal stone shook with its strange vibration. We found ourselves in pitch darkness, but only for a few seconds—the time it took to light two small battery-operated torches. Then I interrogated Malveraz. “Why did you call out to us?”
He bent down and picked up a large stone. It fitted almost exactly into a gap between the rock and our cyclopean door. Before he had replied, roars burst forth.
While we looked at one another, the old servant said: “It’s a herd of wild beasts. I saw them appear at the edge of the forest. You had your backs to them, and the dogs; agitation didn’t warn you, to judge by what just happened.”
The roars redoubled, sometimes deep and hoarse, sometimes as explosive as fanfares. None of us was in any doubt as to their significance; it was anger—the anger of a race confronted with the cadaver of the tiger-lion felled by our bullets and Huriel’s knife. That demonstrated once again the strangeness of the region. Was it not a vestige of very ancient times, when the big cats—the biggest cats of all—had possessed the herd instinct, now extinct in the lions of the Atlas Mountains as well as the tigers of India.
“What are we going to do?” I asked Huriel.
“There’s nothing to fear for the moment,” the colossus replied. “We can hold council at our ease, like the defenders of a fortress. Any that get this far will surely perish.”
“Can’t we wipe them out?”
“We’d need a loophole, for opening the door by a crack would lead to an invasion—these giant beasts would enlarge the opening very rapidly…” He interrupted himself. The impact of paws clawing at the entrance was audible. “You see!” Huriel added.
“Yes,” I replied. “I can see that it’s necessary to leave our fort as it is for the time being. But hazard might perhaps give us an opportunity to do something to help ourselves. Let’s search…”
We searched, aided by the dogs and the eagle owl. Outside, the roars became less frequent, but I had a strong feeling that the danger was undiminished. Our minds were full of anxiety and curiosity. The terrible beasts were causing me more interest than annoyance. I felt no anger against them, nor, especially, any inclination to hunt them. I would greatly have preferred not to kill any of them, and to let such admirably vigorous creatures live. Wonderstruck, I remembered the magnificent bound of the tiger-lion that Chabe and Huriel had killed, its great stature and the formidable ease with which it had carried off the giant Huriel.
As I was thinking about these things, Malveraz cried: “There’s a fissure in the door itself! But we can only maneuver the rifles up and down; the cleft is too narrow for any sideways movement.”
At that moment, Huriel released an exclamation: “We’re doomed!”
“What?” I said.
“The cartridges! In the struggle with the lion-tiger, the cartridge-pouch was torn away.”
“In that case,” I said, “We have exactly ten shots left to fire—and I imagine that there are a good 60 animals out there.”
Malveraz, who had climbed on to a block of stone and stuck his eye to the fissure, replied: “There are nearly 100.”
We looked at one another silently. It seemed to us that we were in one of those terrible epochs when humans, so small and wretched, wandered over the plains and through the forests and marshes. Were we not at this moment—we, the sons of old Europe—in spite of our weapons, our machines and our intelligence, no different from some poor family of ape-men hiding in their cave on the edge of a lake or a river, while the powerful Machairodus with dagger-like claws passed by in the darkness?
Huriel, who was thinking the same thing, exclaimed: “It’s a prodigious adventure, though! And if we escape, we won’t regret it at all. What a souvenir of the energies of the world! What a communion with the Earth’s immense past!”
I hoisted myself up to the slit. Huriel’s words reached my ears at the same time as an extraordinary spectacle presented itself to my eyes. There they were, in the westward-slanting light of a huge red Moon: 100 monsters with phosphorescent eyes, and beautiful bodies built for warfare and murder. They could be seen crouching down, standing up in profile, or leaping, and I had a clear consciousness of them, entirely sure that the murderers of their kin were in the cave.
Each of their movements gave evidence of an intelligence much superior to that of our wretched, fallen wild beasts, and a kind of understanding: the ability to act in concert to attain an objective. And their present objective was vengeance. The race did not want one of its individuals to perish in vain. They had decided to wait until the punishment could be carried out.
That certainty caused a long shiver to pass down my spine. What hope could there be of escaping such adversaries? Like the ancient warrior, I saw once again my Argos,12 the pleasant land left for the wake of wanderlust, and a funereal melancholy penetrated my soul. All the same, I could not succeed in regretting the escapade completely; a certain joy remained; the passionate pleasure of exploration.
Huriel interrupted my reflections. “I’m hungry,” he said. “We mustn’t forget, because these infernal beasts are besieging us, to keep up our strength.”
It was one of our rules, even when we were only leaving the rest of the expedition for a few hours, to take nourishment with us. Chabe, Malveraz and Mandar had brought slices of roast meat, cold coffee and biscuits. Huriel had pemmican, and I had a sort of dried mincemeat that was very nutritious. We ate as heartily as if we had been in the shelter of our oaken carts. As usual, Huriel devoured two kilograms of meat and innumerable biscuits. Then he said: “We’ll ration ourselves later. If things don’t take a turn for the better, Castor and Pollux”—they were our two dogs—“will furnish us with food for a few days, and even drink.”
“I’d prefer to ration myself!” I said. “Besides, we still have two days’ food. Only drink…”
“There’s a little trickle of water running over the rock,” said Malveraz. “We won’t die of thirst.”
That reassured me more than anything else. “There’s a strong possibility that the accursed beasts will get discouraged,” I said, “or forget why they’ve assembled here. If we could only warn our companions not to go forward, and to notify the camp well, I’d feel quite tranquil, all things considered.”
“Yes, but how can we warn them?” said Huriel.
Malveraz looked up, his face impassive. “I’ll take care of that,” he said. “The owl will certainly fly back to the expedition. What it has done many times before it can certainly do again—and the darkness won’t inconvenience it!”
“We’re stupid!” Huriel added. “That should have been our first thought.”
“I thought of it,” Chabe interjected, “but it’s a futile idea. We’d need to be able to get the bird out, and if we so much as open the door by a foot, the watchful beasts will be on us.”
There was no need for him to remind us of that. With every passing minute one or other of the lion-tigers hurled itself against the invincible granite. If the ground had not been so hard, we might have been able to dig a hole under the door, but we could not even think of doing so with our knives.
Malveraz, who had listened to us without saying anything, got to his feet. He went to the back of the cave, where we heard him moving around. He came back after a few moments, seemingly tranquil. “It’s possible that there’s a small exit back there,” he said. Above the trickle of water I can make out a glimmer of light in a kind of natural chimney, which might be moonlight. The chimney is slanting. Our owl can easily get through it. If you’d care to write a note, Monsieur Villars…”
As I looked at him, interrogatively, he added: “Oh, I’ll make Nox”—that was the owl’s name—“understand what we expect from him.”
“Let’s try it, then!” I exclaimed.
I wrote a short but explicit letter. Malveraz attached it carefully to Nox’s neck, then walked toward the trickle of water. We followed him. When we got there, we switched off the torches momentarily and looked up. As our eyes adjusted to the gloom, we distinguished quite clearly a sort of pale gleam.
In the meantime, Malveraz addressed himself to the owl in a singsong voice. The raptor’s eyes sparkled in the darkness. We were too well aware of the power our old servant had over animals not to be far closer to faith than doubt.
Finally, there was a slight noise. Nox went into the opening. We heard him rise up gradually. Chabe, whose hearing was extraordinary, cried: “He’s found the exit! He’s gone!”
“As long as he arrives in time,” murmured Huriel.
“He’ll follow exactly the same route that we did,” said Malveraz. “As that’s also the route that anyone coming to our rescue will take, you don’t have to worry about the fate of the message.”
“By the grace of God!”
For about three hours we continued chatting, making escape plans or imagining the actions of our terrible besiegers. Then Huriel said: “Since our friends haven’t arrived, it’s more than probable that they’ve received the message. Let’s get some rest, then. That’s the first requirement of war. Who’ll take the first watch?”
“Me,” I said.
My companions lay down, and I remained in the darkness, pensive, all the more emotional and anxious for being alone with my thoughts. I could hear our adversaries growling and roaring. I studied them occasionally through the fissure; I felt a black sensuality in knowing that I was both so near to and so far away from the most frightful peril. Nothing but that granite door, 50 centimeters thick! But that, however, was sufficient to render us as tranquil as if ten leagues separated us from the wild beasts.
In the morning, it seemed that our enemies had not renounced their vengeance in the slightest. In truth, not all of them were outside the cave, any more than they had been during the night; they were taking turns to go hunting—but there were more than 30 of them asleep next to carcasses that had been devoured to a greater or lesser extent.
We spent a terribly monotonous day. Our anguish increased as it wore on. From time to time, we tried to find some secret exit from the cave, but there was evidently only the one through which we had entered.
Evening came, then night—and still the immense pack of lion-tigers lay in wait.
“This is getting serious,” Huriel murmured, as we ate supper. “It’s necessary not to count overmuch on the discouragement of these abominable beasts. They’re damnably vigilant!”
“The life of our prehistoric ancestors could not have been idyllic in the midst of such ancestors,” Chabe replied.
“If the Earth nurtured many monsters of that sort,” I said in my turn, “I can’t even understand how they were able to survive.”
The supper was dismal. I lay down soon afterwards, my watch being set for midnight this time. I slept badly, agitated by nightmares.
I saw again the vast park where I had spent the greater part of my childhood. I ran through the woods, through the mysterious half-light, attentive to the petty dramas of life insects, fledglings, field-mice, wild rabbits…
All of a sudden, something unnamable, a sort of hairy hand as large as the boughs of an oak swooped down and took hold of me. I was mad with fear for a moment, motionless in that immense warm hand…and then I woke up, covered in sweat.
During one of the awakenings I saw Malveraz up at the slit, his little lantern in his hand, while the tiger-lions were roaring mightily outside.
“What is it?” I said, getting up.
“Something bizarre is happening,” said the old peasant. “The beasts have been gripped by a sort of fear, such as I’ve seen in mountain chamois, ibex and oxen before an avalanche.”
I climbed up to the opening and looked out. The large beasts were, indeed, in a state of extreme agitation. They were bounding back and forth, seemingly abusing one another, when they suddenly became still—all of them at once—with their heads turned in the same direction.
“Yes, that’s very odd,” I murmured. “Evidently, something is approaching, of which they’re afraid. A fire? A flood?”
“Listen!” said Malveraz.
I have keen ears, but nothing like Malveraz’s. I heard nothing.
“It’s a herd of living creatures,” the peasant continued. At that moment, our dogs started barking. Malveraz added: “They’re heavy creatures…a herd of buffalo, perhaps?”
“That wouldn’t explain the anxiety of the lion-tigers.”
“Who can tell?” said Malveraz, thoughtfully. “Perhaps there are buffaloes in this strange land that can face up to the big cats, by virtue of their number and their courage, and chase them away?”
I began to make out a confused rumor; then there was a vast trampling sound, which made the Earth tremble; and finally, a bizarre vibrant clamor that we both recognized.
“Elephants!” I exclaimed.
The dogs, almost indifferent throughout the day and the night, showed great agitation, while the tiger-lions filled the air with their roaring. Chabe, Huriel and Mandar woke up in succession.
“Perhaps this is the fortunate turn of events that will save us!” Chabe exclaimed.
“Or doom us!” Huriel retorted.
Abruptly, with common accord, the tiger-lions hurled themselves in the direction of the forest. They remained motionless on the edge for a little while, surely hesitating between flight and combat, but their indecision did not last long. In response to further trumpeting, this time repeated by 50 trunks, they slowly withdrew into the woodland.
“The way is clear,” said Huriel.
“For five minutes,” Malveraz replied.
He was right. Five minutes had not elapsed when we saw 20 elephants appear. They came on solely, swinging their huge trunks and their gleaming tusks. I recognized neither the Asian elephant nor that of Africa. Larger than either of those varieties, they evidently belonged to an extinct type. They were not mammoths either, but they must have been equally formidable, and we understood why the tiger-lions had fled when others passed by after the first group, and then others—perhaps 300 or 400 altogether; our position was too disadvantageous to allow us to count them.
Suddenly, Chabe exclaimed: “Humans!”
A company of strange men had, indeed, appeared, along with women and children, almost mingling with the last ranks of elephants. The males were tall, their skin-color neither black nor white, but a kind of ashy gray. Their jaws were powerful but not as large as those of Hottentots; their heads were large and their hair quite long and stiff, gathered into drumsticks. They evidently lived on good terms with their colossal companions.
“That’s a fine herd they have there,” Chabe remarked. “There you are—prehistoric man rehabilitated, at a stroke. With such servants, they could stand up to the carnivorous monsters…”
“Servants!” murmured Huriel. “Really?”
Suddenly, the march of the herd and the humans paused. We soon saw that they were making preparations for a halt. Some were gathering wood and dry grass, with the aid of elephants; others were attaching morsels of flesh to the ends of branches; the women were helping, or taking care of children.
We found the spectacle interesting. It gave us a kind of joy to see the huge fire lit on the plain by our inferior brethren. We did not come out, however, and Malveraz had long since instructed the dogs to be quiet. Although it had changed its nature, the peril was no less. These humans would undoubtedly be no more kindly disposed toward us than the lion-tigers. Who could tell whether they might not be cannibals? And we might as well be prey for wild beasts as for our own kind!
“Perhaps it’s no bad thing that they’re camping here,” said Chabe. “There’s a chance that they’ve chased away our other enemies for a long time, and that once they’ve gone, we can get away through the marshes.”
As he was speaking, a man came closer to the cave. He seemed to hesitate at first, then he made a gesture of surprise, and then he came up and pushed our granite door.
As he did that, I shivered from head to toe. If he had not done it by chance, it implied a knowledge of the cave and its means of closure. The same thought had crossed the minds of my companions. We looked at one another fearfully.
Meanwhile, the man had pushed again, more forcefully.
“He knows!” Huriel whispered.
We could no longer have the slightest doubt about it. When the man called out, others came running. They started talking and gesticulating, and, with a communal effort, they tried to shift the door. Naturally, it resisted—but we felt the stone wedging it shut vibrate.
“Should we put out the light?” Chabe asked.
“Be very careful!” whispered Malveraz. “If they’ve seen the light, it’s putting it out that will awaken all their suspicions!”
The assailants stopped pushing. They deliberated momentarily, and then two of them went toward the elephants. There was some mysterious exchange of signals between the men and the colossal beasts. Then half a dozen of the proboscideans advanced in their turn.
“Look out!” said Chabe. “This will be a more terrible assault.”
Without making any response, Malveraz went to place himself against the closing block, in such a way as to seal it more securely—then, so emotional that we could hear our hearts beating, we waited for the attack.
It was not long delayed. It was terrible. The rock trembled. Two of the mighty animals launched themselves forward, standing up on their hind legs and falling back noisily—but the granite resisted heroically. The sealing block jumped in its gap, but it did no give way.
“Bah!” Chabe murmured. “We’re safe. The fortress is impregnable.”
As he spoke, one of our dogs, terrified, could not help barking. The assault stopped instantly; the men and elephants withdrew.
At first, there was a sort of silence. Then, the savages started talking and gesticulating, but without the slightest attempt to renew their effort. It even seemed, after a little while, that they had become reconciled to it. Huriel remarked on it.
“I’m not tranquil,” said Malveraz. “Thirty men have separated, and I fear some kind of trap…”
“Oh, what can we do about it!” I retorted, resignedly. “We’re blocked in. We have no resolution to make, for better or worse. This is a matter that fate alone can decide.”
“Let the Mysterious Will be done!” said Huriel. “And let’s get some rest. It’s your turn on sentry duty, Malveraz.”
“It’s my turn,” the old mountain man agreed, calmly.
Deep down, we were more reassured by his guard than any other. We tried to go to sleep, but none of us could do it. I turned over repeatedly, in an anguish that was no less insupportable for having no immediate target. War-weary, I ended up getting to my feet and joining Malveraz. I darted an outward glance over the plain. The elephants were sleeping, and the humans too. Only four or five individuals of both species were on watch by the fire.
“Everything seems peaceful,” I said to the mountain man.
“I don’t trust it…”
At that moment, one of the elephant sentries raised its head, and then tapped its trunk gently on the head of a man. The other sentries immediately stood up, striking a listening pose that was as obvious in the animals as the men.
“Bizarre!” I murmured. “Those elephants seem to be as intelligent as our relatives…”
“I’m sure that’s so,” said Malveraz. “In any case, it’s not the humans who are guiding or protecting here. Doubtless they render services to this odd community, but they’re more like servant-friends than leader-friends. It’s the elephants who are in command, Monsieur.”
One of our dogs got up, then the other. They sniffed momentarily, attentively, and then both of them launched themselves toward the rear of the cave.
We were preparing to follow them when we saw them standing motionless in the shadows, as if fascinated. At the same moment, Malveraz cried: “To arms!”
Huriel, Chabe and Mandar got to their feet, and all five of us were getting our rifles and revolvers ready when Malveraz said: “They’re coming! Men…the ones who separated from the others…”
“Don’t fire until I give the order!” I said, vehemently. “Malveraz—call off the dogs!”
An increasing noise was heard, then a sort of collapse. Then, suddenly, a block of stone fell, and silhouettes appeared.
“Light all the torches!” I said.
Our five little lamps came on at the same time—and we saw, ten meters away, some 20 men, staring at us with a mixture of menace, dread and curiosity. A violent combat began in my soul. Should we attack, terrifying these beings by the discharge of our rifles? Should we try to negotiate?
I adopted a middle way: “Fire a shot in the air!” I said to Huriel.
He fired. The detonation echoed beneath the vault of the cave. The savages seemed to be gripped by a sort of superstitious terror.
“Malveraz!” I said, then. “You have the ability to make simple creatures understand. Try to convince these that we’re extremely powerful, but that we don’t wish them any harm.”
Malveraz marched gravely toward the invaders. He smiled at them and addressed slow gestures of peace to them. Suspicious at first, they were gradually reassured. Soon, they manifested a sort of cordiality and drew closer to him. We took advantage of this relaxation to move closer ourselves. Malveraz did not pause in his gesturing—and eventually, they seemed entirely reassured. At that moment, Huriel turned to me in order to say something—but he stopped, his eyes staring, fearful. I followed the direction of his gaze, and I saw that one of the men, who had slipped around to the entrance, had withdrawn the wedge and opened our granite door. I released an anguished exclamation.
“Too late!” said Huriel, philosophically. “There’s nothing more to do but accept our fate.”
Indeed, the man had uttered a cry. His companions outside came running, accompanied by their monstrous friends.
“Stay calm!” I said.
This recommendation was unnecessary. My companions were awaiting events with the composure of despair. As for Malveraz, he marched toward the newcomers, followed by almost all of those who had initially invaded our cave. There was a moment of horrid uncertainty. One false movement, of anger or fright, among our assailants, and we would be massacred.
Thanks to Malveraz, and our peaceful attitude, the peril of the initial contact had been averted. Our presence excited curiosity and, it seemed, the kind of superstitious dread that Huriel’s rifle-shot had caused the first arrivals. Soon, the cave was invaded. We had the means to get out, to mingle with the whole multitude. For a quarter of an hour, the men, women and elephants contented themselves with studying us, as rare and wonderful creatures. Then, a sort of silence fell, and glances were exchanged among the savage warriors.
“This is the critical moment!” said Malveraz. “Everything will be decided.”
One of the tallest of the men raised his club; the gesture was echoed by the others. Suddenly, however, an elephant swept the clubs aside with a casual gesture of its trunk, and Malveraz went on: “We’re safe. The elephants don’t want us dead.”
As I looked at him, stupefied, the mountain man added: “The men aren’t the masters here—the animals are. I guessed it some time ago. I’m certain of it now. There’s certainly a sort of alliance, but in this alliance, the animals take the important decisions. It’s the humans, at the end of the day, who have obtained the protection of the elephants against those monstrous beasts to which we nearly fell victim.”
As he spoke, I saw the truth: the humans, cunning, weak and perhaps cruel; the great herbivores, full of strength, courage and gentleness. And it became as clear as daylight that it was the animals who had decided, at that moment, to spare our lives. Half a dozen of the old males had shoved our kin aside and were drawing closer to us. They sniffed us for a long time, and stroked us with their agile and delicate trunks. A subtle instinct told them that we posed no danger, and they were able to make their conviction and their decision clear.
When they moved away, the humans came back to us unsuspiciously, and an understanding gradually emerged; we were able to join the extraordinary caravan safely.
We scarcely slept that night, but it was not because of fear. Sitting next to the fire and our savage friends, we could not tire of contemplating the spectacle, even more extraordinary than that of the lion-tigers, of that herd of elephants sleeping peacefully on the plain.
In the distance, periodically, we heard our former enemies roaring. They must have been camped in the nearby forest, keeping watch on our invincible protectors. Their proximity rendered the adventure even more marvelous.
I sat for long hours thinking about our prehistoric ancestors, and that the story of humankind might have been much less precarious and less miserable than we imagine. Who knows whether the domestication of animals might not have been futile malice, a treason for which the human species will some day pay? Who knows whether it might have been more profitable to reach an understanding with our so-called inferior brethren, and whether living on dairy products, fruits, the superfluity of eggs, plants and delicious secretions might not have been sweeter, more beautiful and more harmonious? There is something ugly and squalid about the present human way of life; it would have been fine and noble for us all to contrive together the Great Being that terrestrial animalkind will one day become.
We left in the morning. Our relationship with our fellows, and especially with our large herbivorous friends, had become more intimate. We intended to march eastwards, to the exact point from which we set out; it would take us about an hour to get there. Malveraz had succeeded, with the aid of some exotic miming, in explaining to our allies that we need to rejoin our companions.
“They might have left, though,” Huriel said to me, as we were approaching the river.
“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Malveraz was quite sure of his owl.”
We were marching ahead of the herd, with a few men. Our dogs were 20 meters ahead of us. Chabe pointed to them. “They’ve scented the camp,” he said. “We’re getting close.”
Scarcely had he spoken than we heard a shot; then men emerged from a thicket on the other bank of the river.
“Our friends!” cried Huriel. “The proof is conclusive.”
The dogs were already racing forward, barking, and we recognized Charnay. He had raised his telescope. He recognized us, and made expansive gestures of joy—and also of amazement, at the sight of our formidable escort.
Half an hour later, having crossed the river and found ourselves in the midst of our own people, we told the story of our marvelous adventure. It was supported by the most irrefutable proofs: the 400 colossal companions who assembled quietly around our caravan.
We have concluded our voyage through unknown lands, and it has cost us very little difficulty. We have enjoyed the constant protection of our friends with trunks. Thanks to them, we were spared any grave peril. We have brought back the most magnificent account of living creatures and the bonds that unite them. Thanks to us—and a greater good fortune than we deserve—subtle problems have been resolved regarding the manner in which the relationship between primitive humans and animals should have developed. We have been able to establish that, in the majority of cases, the legend ought to be inverted: the first well-constructed animal societies were not human societies.
In the beginning, humans were secondary organisms; for a long time, they were not elevated above the role of subordinate auxiliaries. It would, in fact, have taken very little for terrestrial civilization to have been made by elephants—and it almost certainly would have been, if they had been able to duplicate their trunks. The triumph of humankind was only due to our having two hands; they made him a brain that, at the outset, was no more subtle than that of superior animals.
I retain one delightful memory of that voyage. I obtained a better sense of the Life of the Earth—and I understood, with an intensity and melancholy, that humankind had taken a false path; that it was time to revert to a greater fraternity with our inferior brethren; that our existence would be 100 times more beautiful, more noble and more elevated if we could cease our terrible slaughter and make allies of those superior animals that we presently victimize.