The World of the Variants

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  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 thos
e 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.

  THE GREAT ENIGMA

  Dawn was near when we finally reached the arid and sinister Blue Hills, made of granite as hard as diamond. Even the lichens had renounced their conquest.

  “Here we are at last!” said my companion triumphantly.

  I looked at him, full of suspicion. After three days in the desert, that seemed to me a maddening deception.

  “Life is beyond them,” he affirmed.

  “Beyond them!” I said, bitterly. “And how are we to climb them? They’re veritable walls.”

  He nodded his head with an enigmatic smile. “Man of little faith, haven’t I told you that there’s a path?”

  He started walking to the right. After ten minutes, he showed me an irregular fissure that extended into the shadows.

  “There!”

  He had already gone into the narrow cavern, armed with his electric lantern. Its violet gleam spread out into silent darkness. The path was narrow, we had difficulty walking—and it lasted for a long time! Fatigued by the tedium and the trials of our journey, I had become incredulous.

  Finally, the fissure broadened out; we found ourselves in a spacious cave where a new gleam was gradually mingled with our electric beams. That gleam increased; it became sufficient to guide us.

  “We’re getting close!” Daniel pronounced, almost solemnly.

  The light became bright, then softened again; it was that orange light which precedes the Sun’s departure. I could not see anything, however. Involuntarily, I cursed. Then we went around an outcrop, and I uttered an exclamation. The Promised Land was there!

  How beautiful it was! An immense Sun, a round copper-colored furnace was mirrored in the waters of the lake. Exceedingly tall trees and enormous reeds were swaying gently in the evening breeze—and I knew immediately that I had been initiated into a great mystery. Strange wild pigs with violet tongues and an odd gait were running to
ward the shore; hippopotamuses were displaying their enormous muzzles at the surface of the lake or climbing up the bank. They revealed golden-colored torsos and convex eyes.

  “Choerotheria…and sivalensis!” said my companion.13

  There was a rumbling sound in the distance, however. In the vague horses that were moving alongside a willow-grove, I recognized the characteristics of Hipparion. Other animals came running, all galloping in the same direction; turning round, I saw an immense herd advancing, irresistibly.

  Far away, in the African wilderness, on the banks of the Niger, or near the sacred Ganges, I had seen comparable herds. I was not mistaken in this instance, though. By their double set of tusks, the lower ones almost straight and the upper ones slightly curved back, and an unspecifiable general aspect, and also guided by intuition, the environment and the presence of other animals, I recognized the mighty mastodons.

  They came on like living mountains; their feet were columns, their heads blocks of granite. They came slowly and majestically, in their placid strength.

  “That’s magnificent!” I cried, gripped by a mystical enthusiasm.

  “Yes,” Daniel agreed, relaxing. “We’ve crossed 2000 centuries in the depths of time.”

  I savored the joy of the world’s recommencement. The great love of the past that is within the hearts of men was confused here with an inconceivable resurrection.

  A new episode caused me to shiver. Two creatures had just appeared: two upright creatures, palpitating with youth. They were playing. Long dark hair was scattered over their shoulders; their limbs and torsos were covered with brown silky fur, and if their jaws seemed a trifle thick, their exceedingly large, soft and luminous eyes were as beautiful as the eyes of the most beautiful woman.