Nora, The Ape-Woman

by Félicien Champsaur

  “Indeed,” stammered the blue dancer. “I no longer know whether I’m dreaming or awake.”

  “If all of this phantasmagoria is rather unreal, believe that I, at least, am not one of theirs, but simply a humble mortal dazzled by your grace and beauty.”

  Nora looked at the novelist in astonishment. “You deploy mockery very well, Master, so far as I can see.”

  “Sometimes, but not at the moment. I swear to you that I’m saying what I think; no woman has ever impressed me as you do. I dare not say that it’s amour—I can no longer play the Don Juan, alas—but it’s a violent desire, and what is desire if not the veritable, the only justiciable amour?”

  “You have an admirable way with words. You must demonstrate that to me at my home in Paris.”

  “You’d deign to receive me?”

  “Yes, certainly—with pleasure.”

  Ernest Paris clapped his secretary on the back, very cheerfully: “Ha ha, Jacquot!”

  The latter shrugged his shoulders. “See Voronoff.”

  “In God’s name Monsieur, you’re becoming very disagreeable!”

  Nora had moved closer to her friend Maud, who was dragging her to one side. “Did you notice, my dear, that the doctor called the ape Narcisse Goldry?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Might he be your brother?”

  “Stupid girl! But that doctor might be my father; personally, I daren’t interrogate him. But you could ask him whether he has a daughter—without naming me, of course.”

  “Mesdames,” said Marc Vanel, at that moment, “It’s decidedly our friend Narcisse who should do you the honors of the establishment, and it will be interesting to compare the civilized ape with his brethren, who have remained as nature created them.”

  “When I find myself among them again,” Narcisse replied, “I don’t experience any shame, but, on the contrary, a sentiment of pride—and what my friends have done for me, I might perhaps be able to do for them one day.”

  “That’s a noble altruistic thought,” Jacquot muttered in Cécile Borel’s ear, “but tell me, does that avalanche of superhumans not seem a little too simian?”

  “That depends,” smiled the Célimène, “on whether they’re superhuman in all respects...”

  Jacquot drew away from her, muttering curtly: “She-ape!”

  Meanwhile, the little troop had moved into the forest, Narcisse in the lead with Maud; Ernest Paris came next with Nora, and the others followed behind.

  Maud thought the moment propitious for undertaking the enquiry that might satisfy Nora’s curiosity. Overcoming the fear caused by her strange companion, she said to him: “Do you know my friend Nora’s family name?”

  “I only know your friend via the articles in the newspapers, Madame, where she is only designated by her forename.”

  “My friend’s name is Goldry, like you, and, I believe, one of the doctors.”

  “I don’t think that Dr. Abraham Goldry, my adoptive father, has ever had a daughter, or even a child. As for me, in giving me his name, it was merely an amicable recognition, for he could not recognize an orangutan legally as his son. I remain grateful for that confidence in my morality, but it’s necessary not to draw any conjecture offensive to him. As for your friend it might be that she’s related to the doctor’s family; there’s no shortage of Goldrys in America, or even elsewhere. Is Mademoiselle Goldry American?”

  “No, French—at least according to the extract of her birth certificate necessary for her entry to the convent.”

  “Well, doesn’t that birth-certificate inform you of the name and origin of her father?”

  “That’s exactly what she lacks, for my friend has never been able to recall the name or the address of the convent.”

  “I’ll be very happy to be useful to her, and I’ll talk to my father about that similarity of names.”

  “It would be very kind of you to do that. I’ll tell Nora to leave you her address in Paris. I don’t know whether you’re aware of it or not, but we’re leaving the Riviera in two hours.”

  “Oh! I regret that; we rarely have such charming ladies visit us.”

  “You’ll doubtless find my question very indiscreet and very bold, but you seem to me so devoid of vanity that I’ll dare to risk it. Have you been frequenting society for very long?”

  The orangutan smiled—which caused the American to shiver.

  “Today is the first time that I’ve had the pleasure to talking to a woman,” he replied, simply. “Until today I’ve only known my four doctors and the establishment’s Malay servants. Don’t be astonished. My reading has taught me a great deal, and I believe that I could present myself appropriately in any civilized society.”

  “Much better than many others—and I can predict a social success for you.”

  “Oh, a success of curiosity, which I wouldn’t abuse. We’ve arrived...excuse me, but the instruments of torture that I have on my feet make it difficult for me to climb this ladder.”

  Astounded, the American woman saw him remove his shoes and deposit the immense objects at the foot of the ladder.

  “Permit me to precede you...”

  And Narcisse, taking hold of the ladder, was on the landing of the cage within a matter of seconds. Nora, on seeing the ape’s action, felt a rush of blood rising to her face. She too could have taken off her shoes and climbed up four-handed. What relationship was there, then, between her and those monstrous animals?

  “Would you like to take the trouble of going up, Mesdames,” said Vanel.

  “Oh, I’ll never manage it,” simpered Cécile Borel. “It must be very difficult...”

  But Nora had already rejoined Narcisse.

  While pulling faces like a fearful child, the Célimène imitated her with sufficient skill.

  “Aging doll!” muttered Jean Fortin.

  X. Nora Among Her Relatives

  The orangutans were not accustomed to seeing so many people at the same time; they made their anxiety manifest, but Narcisse calmed them down by explaining, in the orangutan language, that the phenomena he was bringing them were the females of the human race. In spite of the fashionable garments, the orangutans had immediately recognized their brother Narcisse, whom they saw frequently. As for the visitors, they provoked a curiosity in the orangutans that soon became embarrassing for them.

  Having retired to a corner of the cage, the doctors, Ernest Paris and Jacquot, his secretary, watched to see whether the great apes were behaving appropriately, ready to intervene. The novelist and Jacquot could not help feeling the sensation of sadness that humans experience in the presence of an anthropoid—a sensation similar to that provoked by a degenerate, an idiot or a cretin.

  “It’s singular, said Ernest Paris to Dr. Voronoff. “I’ve already been subject to that impression when you put me in the presence of Philemon and Baucis, and it is, I believe, the best proof of our simian origin. It’s like the specter of the past looming up before us.”

  “And the past is not so far away, not so extinct that we can’t still feel it’s influence,” Voronoff replied. “The spirit of imitation subsists in us even more so than in the apes. We substitute mimicry by speech, but how many grimaces, how many repetitions! The need to escape heredity has created the schools of artistic decay that have led to the retrograde movement of cubism, Dadaism, impressionism and all the other isms produced, in countless clans, by individuals drunk on novelty. They don’t perceive that, instead of going forward, they’re going backwards, and are inferior to the artists of the Magdalenian era. Humans have remained more apelike than they should, you see. Their ‘new’ is diluvian art, and their ideal is inferior to that of the Stone Age.”

  “Perfectly true,” Marc Vanel put in. “We’re still apes, and it will require a veritable scientific effort for us to become something else. The further we go, the more humans lost their sense of collective life, in order to concern themselves with the self alone: everything for me, nothing but that which is advantageou
s to me! They’re detaching themselves from everything that might elevate human mentality: devotion, love, friendship, emulation. What is today called socialism or communism was, in the minds of our forefathers, synonymous with human progress. Today, there’s nothing but little chapels ending in the satisfaction of the individual self, infinitely, bringing us inevitably back to animality, to life for life’s sake: to eat well and fornicate, but with the difference that humans aren’t aiming for the continuation of the species and, on the contrary, are doing everything they can to destroy it. Are humans apes? No, less than apes, and much more maleficent.”

  “Discouraging!” said Ernest Paris nonchalantly. “But what can one do?”

  “Renew humankind by growth, by grafting, by a rejuvenation of the organs, by the development of the brain, by means of an education that doesn’t clutter up the memory with obsolete and useless documents—in sum, by gaining time on the future. What wouldn’t you have been able to produce if, instead of repeating the Greek and Roman authors, you had simply been yourself—rather than an ape remaking the grimaces of yore?”

  This time, Ernest Paris was vexed. Not daring to take on the doctor, however, it was his secretary at whom he directed an irritated glance.

  “Do you hear, Jacquot? You’re the secretary of an ape, and you’re stupid enough not to notice!”

  “Oh, I’ve known it for a long time,” replied the other, waspishly, “but I didn’t have any way to tell you.”

  The great writer stamped his foot angrily. “There’s no means of having the last word, even with that accursed fellow!”

  “Messieurs,” intervened Dr. Goldry, you’re missing a curious sight. “Look at our boarders...”

  In fact, as the American said, the mute scene of the orangutans merited attention.

  After the initial effusions, when the two orangutans had greeted Narcisse, who returned their caresses without any arrogance, the she-ape had begun to palpate the talking ape, seeking to rediscover, beneath his garments, their friend’s hidden form—and her gestures sometimes assumed a liberty that scandalized the three female visitors. Narcisse undoubtedly understood that, for he gently pushed the unthinking female to one side and resumed his role as a cicerone.

  “Don’t be offended,” he said, “by the slightly free manners of my brethren the apes; they’re still unaware of the hypocrisy of civilized mores. Natural laws are the basis of their intellect. What you call modesty, decency and morality can have no existence for them, who only know needs, and don’t know how to constrain themselves from their satisfaction.”

  Cécile Borel did not miss a single detail of the scene, and her expert eye followed a certain rigidity that was designed beneath the orangutan’s garment. The other two, doubtless inspired by the presence of three females, had drawn closer together with an unequivocal intention. Narcisse, who understood decorum, seized them by the skin on the back of the neck and pushed them behind a “buen retiro” forming a kind of tent.

  Very excited, the three women almost made a gesture of protest. As for Narcisse, taking hold of a branch above his head, he disappeared into the foliage.

  “Hmm!” said Maud. “I believe we’re missing the most interesting part. What do you think, dear?”

  “I think that I regret having come,” said Nora. “Everything that happens in this place takes on a fantastic character, and strangely, enough, it seems to me…that…I’ve lived similar events in another life.”

  “In dreams, that’s not uncommon,” said Cécile Borel. “For instance, I once dreamed that I was Pasiphaë.27 Unfortunately, it was only a dream—but just now, looking at Narcisse...”

  “Well?”

  “Well…I remembered my dream. But where has Narcisse gone? Ah! Here are our lovers coming out of their bedroom. They don’t scare me as much now; I understand them better.”

  The two orangutans approached hesitantly; the female was carrying her nursling, whom she showed off proudly. She came toward the three women, and suddenly placed her baby in Nora’s arms—who instinctively hugged her to her bosom, to Maud’s great alarm.

  “Give that horror back!” she exclaimed. “How can you touch it?”

  “But it’s a baby! I find it much less ugly than its parents.”

  The she-ape had drawn closer; leaning on one of her long arms, she stood upright in front of Nora, and seemed to be saying to her: “Isn’t my son beautiful?” She did say so, grunting softly.

  Nora, with the little ape in the crook of her arm, stroked his head. The infant rolled his eyes, and gave voice to the singular vibration that is the purring of orangutans. The male had drawn closer too, and was gazing slyly at the Célimène and the American woman, seemingly making comparisons between them.

  Gently, and hesitantly, the she-ape stretched out her free hand and touched Nora’s dress. She must have thought that the fabric was the white beast’s skin, because, when she felt the soft silk give way beneath her fingers, she snatched the hand away immediately and seemed puzzled. The baby became bolder, however; he put his arm around the young woman’s neck, and suddenly, with a long thrust of the neck, he licked her,

  That was a true coup de théâtre! The orangutan’s tongue had, with a single stroke, removed the rice-powder and make-up covering Nora’s face. Her pale, slightly blue-tinted face appeared, making a contrast with her other cheek, where the make-up remained.

  “Oh, the dirty beast!” cried the dancer. “Take her back,” she said to the mother, who was looking at her in bewilderment—but the little ape was comfortable, and did not let go, in spite of the efforts of the young woman, who rolled her eyes with sudden ferocity. Her lips drew back in a savage rictus, showing her teeth, and her jaw made a terrible grating noise. The little one, frightened, leapt away, reaching his mother’s neck with a single bound. The latter, irritated, growled dully.

  It was at that moment that Dr. Goldry, who had been following all the actions of the ape and the visitor, drew the attention of his companions to them.

  Nora had turned toward the she-ape; their eyes met. The same growl escaped the dancer’s throat, and Maud and Cécile Borel watched the scene uncomprehendingly. The male, however, profiting from the general inattention, lifted up the hem of the dress that the actress from the Comédie-Française was wearing and rummaged underneath. Frightened, the Célimène would have fallen backwards if Maud had not caught her in her arms.

  “Damn!” said Fortin, running forward. “That’s torn it.”

  He did not have time to intervene though. By the same route along which he had disappeared, Narcisse let himself fall. Grabbing the male by the hips, he sent him sprawling; then, seizing the female by the hair, he dragged her backwards.

  “Quickly!” shouted Vanel. “Get back. Narcisse—protect us!”

  They were just in time. Furious, the two orangutans bounded toward them. Narcisse absorbed the impact, while the doctors rapidly drew the three women away. Only Nora had a vague desire to stand her ground, but she renounced it and followed the others, growling.

  On seeing their visitors outside the cage and out of reach, the great apes gradually calmed down, the conciliating Narcisse probably having convinced them that they were in the wrong. They parted as good friends, but the future superhuman’s clothes were in a pitiful state; his trousers only had one leg and his jacket one sleeve. Seeing that his attire was no longer impeccable, he judged it unnecessary to put his shoes on again, and without further ado he launched himself into the trees, preceding the group by leaping from branch to branch.

  “Well,” conserved Ernest Paris, “your superhuman seems to me to enjoying himself.”

  “What do you expect?” replied Jean Fortin. “He needs to relax a little. Even God rested on the seventh day.”

  “He might as well have done the same on the other six, the poser of enigmas!”

  “Are we going to see Romeo?” asked Voronoff.

  “Oh no!” replied the Célimène, swiftly. “I’m too frightened.”

  “I’m going
back to Paris tomorrow,” said the celebrated practitioner. “Will you do me the honor of coming to see me at my clinic? I’m having a few operations filmed—it’s very interesting, as you’ll see.”

  “Gladly,” replied Cécile Borel. “The Master will come and pick me up in his auto.”

  “And Mademoiselle too, if the spectacle interests her,” added the doctor.

  “A great deal,” Maud replied.

  “She would much rather have seen what was happening behind the orangutans’ tent,” Jacquot whispered in the ears of the proprietors.

  “Me too!” replied the academician, naively.

  “I thought there was a mirror at the back of your alcove?”

  Ernest Paris only replied to that gibe with a punch in his facetious secretary’s back.

  “Still apes, you see!” said Dr. Goldry to Marc Vanel, who was following the two companions.

  After a few circuits of the garden, where flowers were picked for the ladies, they went back into the drawing room. A lunch had been prepared, and Narcisse, who had put on a smoking jacket, served it gracefully. He had resumed all his gravity, and the poise of a man of the world.

  Nora was thoughtful. In her mind, she reviewed the morning’s tumultuous events, and the strange sensation that the sight of the great apes had caused her. As they returned, when she had seen Narcisse bounding through the trees, she had felt a crazy desire to imitate him, and if he had not been aware of being watched by the four physicians, perhaps she would have committed that folly. As soon as she had come into the house she had noticed that she was the focus of the attention of the marvelous scientists. Why? That was what she would have liked to know.

  “They’re not always easy-going, your boarders,” said Ernest Paris, sprawled in his armchair drinking a glass of champagne. “Do you know that I was seriously scared. Brrr! They’re nasty when they’re angry.”