Ouha, King of the Apes

by Félicien Champsaur

  From the first year of his life onwards, the puerile ape, a caricature of a giant monster, had subjugated the tribe of orangutans to his already-sovereign will by means of the choice he made of escapades, from which a benefit, an authority for those of his tribe, always emerged. At that time, Ouha’s innumerable family had been under the domination of a tribe whose faces were framed by black beards. Crafty and highly ambitious, Ouha had insinuated himself into the good graces of the old chiefs, especially one named Kom’itsch, who was venerated by tradition as the descendant of a very ancient race.

  An expedition in which he and young adults recruited by him had raided a Dutch farm, from which he brought back objects fabricated by humans, had given him an influence in the ancient tribe that had enslaved his own. He had flattered the powerful, which he needed to do to become one of them and obtain a command. Then, on returning from a fruitful war, certain of the love of his subordinates, he had been able to foment discontents that had been long dormant—in the fashion of humankind—against the real dynasty of old chiefs, tyrants, predators and stealers of females from subject families. After a simulacrum of repression, he had assumed the leadership of the mutiny, until the triumph of his own relatives, those with red neck-beards.

  As he had seen humans do while he had spied on them during his voyages to the valleys and plains, Ouha had selected as his palace one of the natural caverns he had discovered in the mountain-side, masked by brushwood and verdure. There he had stored the stolen pottery and clothes of his human victims, necklaces taken from Malays, vases and glassware, even weapons, the fruits of raids mounted on humans, which he did not know how to use. In addition, provisions—tributes levied on his subjects—were carefully accumulated there.

  He knew how to use these tithes and trophies to ensure his power, by means of the self-interest and cupidity of the orangs he governed, ingeniously and shrewdly managing his resources and the wiles of his instinct. By virtue of an innate science, a reliable instinct, he attached the entire might of his tribe, rather than any faction or party, to himself; thanks to him, they became the lords of the forest, rich and feared.

  An ambition grew in his soul as his ascendancy progressed, by virtue of having seen humans and having observed that, although they were inferior in brute strength, they were masters of animals, even of the apes made in their image. Ouha, as sovereign, wanted to steal the prestige of humankind, and, having been vanquished—since he was always considered by the humans as an animal—to appropriate from the victors the means of domination.

  Above all, he was strongly ambitious for his own precedence. Proud in his willful egotism, he dreamed of being, in the eyes of his own kind, a being different from them—as he thought himself to be, and truly was.

  He succeeded in overcoming the instinctive terrors of his race, and tamed within himself the simian far of storms. Sometimes, when the sky lit up with lightning flashes, zigzagging between the high branches of giant trees, and the thunder rolled its clamors, like the noise of great rotten trees falling to the ground and causing it to shake, the terrified orangs saw, standing up on top of a rock or at the very top of a tree in the middle of a clearing, the silhouette of Ouha, defying the heavens.

  Certain of the effect that a charlatanism of courage can produce, Ouha even made sweeping gestures, uttering cries as if he really had the power to command the elements, perhaps to direct the lightning, to be the conductor of the orchestra of the tempest.

  Never having been punished for that audacity, Ouha’s valor increased against other unknown phenomena, the terror of animal minds. His boldness was limitless and, doubtless by virtue of that very temerity, always fortunate. Thus drunks often come through danger successfully.

  Uncontested chief and king, the supreme arbiter of his tribe’s destiny, when he screeched his name, Ouha manifested the terrible menace or hope of the apes with the black beards and red side-whiskers, for the vanquished had swelled the ranks of the victorious tribe and their blood, over the years had mingled, without henceforth producing any antagonism between the two unified races.

  Rival tribes and families no longer dared, unless they were very numerous, to attempt to steal the fruits or steal the females of Ouha’s subjects. Powerful, he incessantly increased the domination of the simian city he governed.

  As among humans, legends forged by terror and admiration are created in the obscure intellect of beasts. When a shepherd’s dog in a region has proved his strength, beating the mastiffs of other flocks, or when a cockerel in a poultry-yard has grouped a larger number of hens has reduced his rivals to respect for his property, others avoid him out of fear, and the weak court him, seeing his amity and protection. Thus the orangs propagated the name of the all-powerful Ouha, the strongest, biggest and most audacious of his race, through the forest for several leagues around, just as human do.

  During some of the long wanderings he undertook, Ouha ventured as far as the huts of Malays and even the white men’s dwellings. It was during one of those excursions that, hearing the sound of axes clearing his domain, he took the risk of approaching, albeit prudently, and encountered Dilou asleep in the shade of a large tree.

  To begin with, he was amused to see such a pretty little creature, more beautiful than and yet so similar to female orangutans. Then, from his troubled flesh the irresistible desire arose for an exceptional embrace, for the possession of that young flesh, less hairy than his own; and, coveting Dilou for his pleasure, he picked her up without difficulty with a single bound, as if he were picking a fruit, and carried her off.

  After having enjoyed the astonishment of the apes in the presence of his conquest, he was able to profit from the alliance, sensing that the amorous conquest would make him even stronger. Would not the orangutans, devoid of rationality, respect him by reason of that superb alliance, which brought him closer to the tyrant of the beasts, the omnipotent murderer, the vanquisher of nature: humankind?

  Then, very quickly, Dilou, having become his wife, became attached to the monster, her lover, with every fiber of her being; she testified her affection for him, compounded out of sensuality, fear and native submission, before everyone. Meanwhile, childishly malevolent, and sensing that she was protected, the girl loved to torment the great apes—hitting them, even wounding them, and making them serve for her amusement. Cruel and pretty, she was almost more bestial than them, even though she was a human.

  Thus, Ouha alone enjoyed her favors. Ouha dominated his fellows in that too—a love without parallel in their short memories.

  And then came the abduction of Rava.

  More delicate, and of a finer beauty, the Malay woman similarly kept at a distance all those from whom—thanks to the protection of the abhorrent monster, the master who had subjugated her by force—she had nothing to fear. Besides which, Ouha, jealous of his wives and no less so of the privileges he had arrogated to himself, kept his subjects, including his courtiers, at a sufficient distance not to allow them to penetrate the childishness of the prestige he exercised from afar with a wise prudence.

  Fire, of which he had been afraid at first, but had accustomed himself to approach, was already, in the uncomprehending eyes of his subject orangs, a fearful symbol of Ouha’s omnipotence. He had taken objects and women from humans; he had, in addition, robbed them of that fearful unknown, flame, the devourer of giant trees, the light that put wild beasts and nocturnal creatures to flight—all those who were not humans but gods!

  And the incursions and raids that Ouha organized were, in truth, increasingly productive.

  By means of gestures and monosyllables, the hairy sovereign was able to disperse the apes he led on methodical conquests; he reinforced those who faltered with new strength, maintained reserves, and as able to guide is animal army through the darkness of the forest, because he had been able to render them docile, bending to his will the boldest of those who had dared to aspire to rivalry.

  One that he had made a chief, to whom he confided real missions, had dared to car
ry on his shoulder a branch being a strong resemblance to a rifle, which he had picked up during one of his expeditions, but which he utilized as a scepter, not knowing how to use it in any other way. Ouha, making use of the carbine like a club, killed the impertinent with a single blow, and thus proved the lie of the usurper of his authority. Other salutary examples had followed, at intervals in which habituation was able to generate doubt with regard to a king against whom nothing could prevail.

  Eventually, when Ouha discovered the march through the forest of a caravan of white men, among whom was a woman, the audacious orangutan immediately conceived in the depths of his soul, by virtue of so many efforts and contacts with glorified humans, like a king coveting a new crown, the supreme ambition of carrying off the white virgin. He would then possess, for his satisfaction, the three types of feminine humanity known to him and his kind.

  As a petty king or a prince wants to marry the heiress of a powerful empire; as a Bonaparte, a soldier of fortune magnified amid the agitation of ideas and crowds, after amours in which his senses and ambitions have already found happiness and support in a creole, strives to hoist himself further by a noble marriage; so the dictator, king and Napoléon of the apes, the victorious hero Ouha, premeditated the abduction of Mabel, in order to make her his queen, attaining his own apogee by virtue of her possession.

  XIV. Me, Ouha! Me!

  Six days had gone by since the abduction of Rava. Three months before, Ouha had returned to his kingdom with his usual escort: twenty elite orangs, who made up his personal guard. Ouha’s primitive tribe had once comprised about forty couples, but the simian emperor’s conquests had added the vanquished tribes to the population. Presently, Ouha’s numbered eight hundred, as many males as females. It was the largest agglomeration of anthropoids that had ever been formed.

  Thus far, the conqueror had only dreamed of the domination of his own race, but his brief sojourn in Harry Smith’s home had given him new ideas; strange concepts were battling in this dense brain. More than any of his other subjects, he had the particular gift of memory—not as highly-developed as it is in humans, but in contrast to other apes, in which the quality is completely lacking. Ouha could remember events dating back several months. Life at Riddle-Temple had left an ineradicable imprint in his brain, and since he had left, he had relived its slightest episodes without becoming bored.

  One image, above all, pursued him: that of Mabel Smith. There was such a difference between the beautiful American and the women he had possessed, like Dilou, Rava and a few others that had died among the apes. He remembered a bright and fresh complexion, eyes of a color strange to him, hair that was reminiscent of living light. Dazzled, the ape desired that flesh, destined for pale men oddly enveloped in fabrics, who seemed to him to be feeble creatures, and yet superior to him.

  Moreover, those gods incessantly opened their mouths to articulate a thousand different sounds, and seemed, between themselves, to be interested in unknown things.

  The language of apes is, in fact, extremely simple: thirty words, which are guttural grunts rather than articulate language. Nevertheless, with those few words and very active mime, orangs succeeded in communicating everything that is capable of interesting their species. A few of them even had a name, which they proclaimed while beating their breasts, which was a way of saying: “Me, Ouha!” or “Me, Uau!” or “Me, Brray!”

  Those were the name of the notables of the tribe.

  XV. The Chimpanzee Ko-Zu

  About a year before, an ape that was not of the orang race had arrived in Ouha—which as not only the name of their king but the one by which the anthropoids designated the region. He was an emaciated and anemic chimpanzee, exhausted by fatigue. He had appeared one morning requesting shelter. The majority of the orang chiefs had been in favor of killing the stranger or chasing him away, but Ouha had come to the defense of the intruder and ordered his admission into the tribe. The latter, who called himself Ko-Zu, soon became the emperor’s confidant and favorite.

  Ko-Zu was no ordinary ape; he had been part of one of the troupes of an American showman. Admirably dressed, he had been the sensational star attraction of his circus; introduced to the public as a very civilized ape, he was the perfect imitation of a haughty gentleman in a suit, white cravat and top hat; he ate, drank, smoked, shook hands profusely and signed cards distributed to visitors with his own name. The steamship carrying the circus and his fortune had been wrecked one day on the reefs that surround a part of the coast of Borneo. What would become of the passengers? The chimpanzee, jumping overboard and clinging to a piece of wreckage, ran aground on the shore.

  At the sight of the forests, forgetting his acquired civilization, he had plunged into them as if into a refuge. It was certainly an atavism, for until then, Ko-Zu had only known forests painted on canvas. He had been captured when newly-born, then raised and nourished by a native woman who did not differentiated between him and her own baby son. In the virgin forest, Ko-Zu was obliged to serve a harsh apprenticeship, his ape education paralyzed in worldly habits. Fortunately for him, his capers and bounds led him to Ouha’s kingdom.

  For a year, Ko-Zu had resumed simian habits, and, without having the strength and agility of an orangutan, he was capable of holding a distinguished rank among them. A confidant of the monarch, he and Ouha had exchanged their impressions so effectively, combining Ouha’s recent adventures with those that the ape artiste had recounted to him, that they strove together to elucidate the mysteries of European life.

  The meditative Ouha thought about that frequently when he went back to his palace—for, unlike the other orangs, whose shelters were constructed in the trees, he lived with his wives in a cavern comprised of several compartments. The monarch generally resided in the largest, the one that communicated with the exterior. Lying on a bed of leaves, or squatting with his legs crossed in the Oriental style in front of a large stone that served as a table, on which his wives deposited his meals.

  The females lived in the second grotto, the harem being composed of three young orangs, Dilou and Rava. The king frequently went into his gyneceum, for, in contrast to the other orangs, he never coupled in public. That departure from simian protocol gave him a prestige and respect that no one dared contravene. The act of copulation was forbidden in the presence or vicinity of the monarch, who punished offenders severely.

  Having returned three days before, Ouha strove to make his confidant understand what had happened at Riddle-Temple. He did his best to depict Mabel’s person, and demanded of the traveler whether he had seen similar beings. Ko-Zu had certainly seen them; he had even had intimate elations with a few rich and blasé women who had sought new sensations in the chimpanzee’s caresses.

  Astonished, Ouha demanded details. So that species of divinity was a female? It had a sex, just like orangutans? Like Dilou? Like Rava? Ko-Zu opined with his head that it was the same thing, except for being less hairy, and perfumed by something unknown, which smelled vile.

  Strange gleams appeared in Ouha’s eyes. If he had known, he would have carried off the blonde female from Riddle-Temple instead of Dilou—but he still had time.

  His emissaries had told him that the Europeans were continuing their pursuit, and that the invasion of the territory of Ouha as imminent. Ouha was indecisive. Should he wait for the attack or should he strike first? He had made a mistake. The time he had lost in bringing Rava back home and vanquishing the pretty Malay’s resistance—he had only been able to possess her the first time by using force—had permitted the hunters to emerge from the forest and find themselves now in a more favorable situation.

  In his favor he had the number of combatants, since he could put more than three hundred strong adults into the field, but he knew that his adversaries were carrying weapons that sowed death at a distance. During Rava’s abduction one of the apes had been killed and another wounded.

  XVI. The Autocrat

  Then, having gathered is principal chiefs, Ouha sketched out the s
ituation for them. Harr, the hothead, who had distinguished himself in the revolt of the red-haired orangutans wanted to march immediately to attack the enemy and annihilate them. By contrast, the sage Brray issued the advice to wait and only to attack by night, in the forest if possible. That was also the opinion of Rhou-Ou. The adversary did not know the region of Ouha, and had only advanced following the trail of Rava’s abductors. It would not be difficult to draw them into one of the region’s forests and there, with the trees and the lianas against them, to engage in battle with all the advantages.

  “That procedure is excessively prudent,” mimed Harr. “We fight in broad daylight, face to face! Let’s make the invaders see that we’re hairy, and better than them.”

  Kri-Kri and Flu-Hu, both young orangs of proven bravery, applauded frantically. Brray shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “That’s imprudent youth!” he seemed to be saying “What’s the point of shedding precious blood unnecessarily. We can win easily, without risk. Why create widows and orphans?” And his gesture designated the females and their offspring arranged in a circle outside the cavern.

  Out there, the she-apes seemed to be inferring what was happening in the council, for they could be seen agitating and chatting animatedly.

  “Bah!” Harr retorted. “What do a few dead and crippled matter, when one can acquire immortal glory?”

  “Glory!” said a white-haired oldster then, who answered to the name of Frréé. “A word devoid of meaning! You dream of glory because you hope to emerge from the battle unscathed, but if your body is rotting in the sun, sooner rather than later, what good is glory to you? Believe me, children, no good can come of war, and, may the great Ouha forgive me, it would have been wiser to leave those dolls with their families than attract the thunder-bearing humans to our land.”