“You think that because it wasn’t the organs that were subject to division, but the infinitesimal elements of matter. Even so, might not the division have commenced preferentially with certain elements?”
“Perhaps with the inferior elements. It must, in fact, have been the less complex molecular groups that were duplicated first. In consequence, the phenomenon was a kind of death in which the agonies were in an inverse order in comparison to ordinary death. All that gives a scant idea of the event, though. The duplication of organisms is extremely rapid; it begins with a vanishment. There’s reason to believe that at the decisive moment, there’s a veritable atomic explosion of the entire being. To make it a little clearer, I might draw a rough comparison with the explosion of radium atoms dividing themselves into atoms of radon and helium, except that the phenomenon is much more delicate.”
“I’m not competent to judge!” muttered Savarre. “In any case, the reconstitution had nothing explosive about it, even though it has been quite rapid. Pierre and Philippe have taken long months to recover something approximating to normal density. If that’s attributable to nutrition and normal growth, the weight they’ve regained is prodigious. The phenomenon is nevertheless gradual—and there are inferior creatures that double their mass and volume much more rapidly.”
“One can offer two hypotheses. Either each atom is reconstituted gradually, or, each atom being reformed with the rapidity of radioactive phenomena, there’s an indefinite series of reconstitutions. In the second case, everything happens as if there were an evolution of the whole individual.”
“Which hypothesis do you prefer?”
“The second. It conforms more closely to what we know about atomic and pre-atomic activity.”
They walked on for some time without saying anything; then Gourlande asked: “Do the Givreuses know anything of what I’ve revealed to you?”
“Nothing. It’s better if they don’t know. Their lives will become normal. I’ve been able to regularize the situation of the one who calls himself Philippe with the aid of papers left to me by a poor fellow who died suddenly in my clinic. I attributed those papers to the second Givreuse without doing anyone any harm. In addition, I’ll adopt Philippe. I have a strange affection for him, and his future fascinates me.”
The wind increased over the Atlantic; the waves roared, full of the mysterious fury of the elements.
“Life! Life!” sighed Savarre. “What did your master think about Life?”
“It drove him to despair. He investigated it by means of prodigious experiments, but it didn’t yield up its secrets. It remained as enigmatic to him as to the humblest women kneeling in the half-light of churches. Nevertheless, he thought that it had its ultimate origins in nebular space.13 Terrestrial life is but a moment, presiding over mysterious individual or general metamorphoses.”
“Individual or general!” Savarre exclaimed. “But if they’re individual, we don’t conclude them here. Did your master believe in immortality, then?”
“Believe? No, he didn’t believe; he limited himself to hypotheses. To begin with, he proposed that the individual, wherever it might be, is multiple. Unity, as it has always been conceived by spiritualists, is not manifest anywhere. In spite of that, he imagined immortal entities.”
“Souls?”
“Not exactly. In man, for example, there are several kinds of structures. The first kind form a being composed of beings, and thus without essential unity, but individualized and partly indissoluble. The others form a body that’s more-or-less coordinated but subject to an intermittent dissolution during terrestrial life and total dissolution after death. By contrast, the relatively indissoluble being only loses a tiny fraction of its elements, and even grows, with infinite slowness, if I might put it that way.”
“What do you mean by that? Is the extremely slow growth compensated by extremely slow losses?”
“In part. The increase outstrips the decrease.”
“So the development of a being might extend infinitely?”
“No more than certain mathematical series, which increase without limits but never surpass a determined sum. The relative indissolubility conceived by my master was, moreover, of a particular kind. The different beings that compose the indestructible being may be more or less distant from one another, without ceasing to be narrowly unified; in consequence, the total being is sometimes subject to dilatations and sometimes to contractions; it may have a variable extent, according to the environment in which it evolves…”
“I don’t really understand,” said Savarre. “Are the total being and the beings that compose it material?”
“According to my master, matter, energy and spirit are merely human concepts; he was only concerned with actualities. I’ll try to explain it to you later.”14
“Very well. After death, though, what becomes of the relatively indissoluble part of a human being?”
“It returns to the nebular world. I suppose that in the course of its eternal evolution, it might often re-formulate beings analogous to terrestrial beings.”
“How can that be reconciled with the duplication of Pierre de Givreuse? A part of Pierre was indissoluble by definition.”
“If my master’s hypothesis expresses a reality, that part could not be divided either. It was coordinated with one of the new bodies. Another being rejoined the second body.”
“Another being!” Savarre exclaimed. “How did it happen to be at Grantaigle at the very moment of duplication?”
“I don’t see any difficulty in that, if my master’s hypothesis, or even the ancient hypothesis of spirits, is admitted into the equation. In any genesis—and I have no need to remind you of the seemingly-capricious events on which human geneses depend—it’s necessary that a nebular being is present. One supposes that it is alerted in advance, and that seems to me no more mysterious than the propagation of light or gravity…”
“But each of the two men believes himself to be Pierre de Givreuse!”
“On Earth, no matter what the origin of beings might be, we only have terrestrial memories. The one that was not Pierre de Givreuse found his memories already formed.”
A storm was chasing the innumerable flocks of the oceanic sea, and raucously clamoring storm-birds were intoxicating themselves on the unleashed elements.
“Man will never know!” murmured Savarre.
“If he were meant to know,” said Gourlande, softly, “everything would have been revealed to him at his dawn!”
ADVENTURE IN THE WILD
I. The Black Tiger
The huge tiger stood up, ready for action, every inflection of its body expressing pride in its countless victories. Even giant buffaloes, struck down from behind, whose carotid arteries it had severed, succumbed beneath its sovereign claws. Because it had been awakened with a start, fury ignited green and yellow fire in its eyes.
All around, the forest seemed deserted; its formidable odor chased away the creatures with subtle nostrils and sharp eyes with which it nourished its flesh. It was not hungry yet, but it was thirsty, and as the daylight faded it sought the expanse of water where, for some time, it had been accustomed to drink. Its large body was too heavy not to make the ground tremble, but it was a subtle tremor that did not extend far and became lighter still when it was in search of prey. Going to drink did not require as much prudence; who would dare to dispute its passage?
Deer and a wild boar scented its approach, without it catching their scent—its sense of smell not being very powerful—and without it seeing them, for they remained at a respectful distance.
Soon, it reached the sheet of water and, as in the jungle, was alone with small creatures: frogs; mud-rats; parrots bristling in the branches; two monkeys at the top of an ebony tree; insects for which the tiger might be prey itself. The parrots squawked and the monkeys chattered, almost sarcastically, advancing their flat-nosed faces, as it began to drink, insouciantly.
A grating sound caused it to raise its head; through th
e reeds, in the distance, in the valley beyond the forest, it saw a cart, horses and men.
“The horses have scented a tiger!” muttered Hendrik de Ridder, checking his rifle.
A tall Dutchman with nickel-blond hair and green eyes, he had a complexion as dark as the mongrel Chinese-Hindu cart-driver or the Sumatran servant crouched at the rear. He was mumbling, in rather coarse French, while a young man and a young woman sitting on the bench covered with tanned hides and red-brown fleeces listened to him. “It would have been better to harness buffaloes, although they’re slow beasts…they’re not afraid of tigers. The old buffalo Donders has gored two of them! Donders is a champion…”
Hendrik took out a little telescope in order to examine the area.
“Daar!” said the Sumatran servant, unsheathing his dagger. He pointed at the reeds on the shore of the lake.
“A fine tiger!” Hendrik said.
The massive head rose above the reeds.
In his turn, the young man seated on the cushioned bench examined his rifle. As tall as the Dutchman, but of another race, with an agile face and curly hair, he glanced anxiously toward his female companion, who had hair the color of old gold and a mouth as red as a cockerel’s crest. “Would it dare to attack us?” he asked.
Hendrik was one of those Dutchmen for whom dissimulation is painful. “Anything can happen with tigers, especially black tigers…”
“Are there black tigers, then?”
Hendrik continued to watch the reeds. “They’re so-called because the black stripes are broader and darker than those of other tigers. Our ancestors were unfamiliar with them—it’s a new variety, a sort of abrupt mutation, in Hugo de Vries’s terminology…perhaps the most beautiful tigers that exist, and the largest!”15
“But look!” the other replied. “There are four men here. I thought tigers were prudent.”
“Sometimes reckless! A tiger like that believes in itself. Everything is at peril beneath its claws—everything that can fit in its belly!”
“Won’t it attack the horses first?” asked the young woman.
“A tiger has its own ideas, Mademoiselle. This one probably knows that men are more dangerous…so it will begin with them!” He continued in a low voice, as if to himself: “And can we really count as four men? I’m not a good shot. I’ve wasted my time in Europe! The driver won’t even defend himself; the Sumatran only has his kris. What about you. Monsieur—what sort of a shot are you?”
“Quite poor…although I’ve fought in war…”
“So, you see, we’re not worth four men. Here, a man is someone who can aim quickly and shoot straight.”
The tiger suddenly stuck half its body out of the reeds. Its granite head, almost black, its pale breast and its formidable paws symbolized primitive power.
The Sino-Indian’s face became ashen; his ears blanched. Less cowardly, the Sumatran squeezed the hilt of the kris, and the three whites felt the “queen of terrors” looming over them.
The red furnace was beginning to sink into the west, but the enormous Moon, still nebulous in the scarlet radiance, was rising behind the forest.
“It’s hesitating…or waiting for some other prey,” Hendrik remarked. “Nothing’s lost. Within a quarter of an hour, we’ll have reached the Refuge, where even the horses will be sheltered. Without them, the route would be too difficult!”
When the Sun had set, before the end of the rapid dusk, the tiger’s eyes lit up like beacons.
“Isn’t it afraid of firearms?” asked the young woman.
“It’s doubtless unfamiliar with them, Mademoiselle—and it would be dangerous to fire, unless one’s a good shot, like my father…or the Grafina de Gavres.16 Tigers are irritable animals. It would be child’s play for that one to leap into the cart, kill one or two of us and carry off a third…”
“We won’t let it do that!” riposted the young man.
“No!” said Hendrik, with a small, very soft laugh. “I expect we’ll fight like good soldiers. But a tiger is a thunderbolt. We might be able to kill it, but is that worth the life of a man or two? Ah!”
Emerging from the reeds, the wild beast slowly and nonchalantly set about following the cart, at a distance.
“It’s reflecting,” Hendrik went on, “after its fashion. I suppose it would prefer a deer or a wild boar…”
While the night spread forth its fine ash-grayness, the Moon, like a colossal orange, distilled a light that was still weak, filtered by the high branches. The tiger drew closer. Two or three times it uttered a kind of bark. The Sino-Indian was holding the reins with a tremulous hand; the frightened horses snorted.
“Man is a feeble creature!” the Frenchman exclaimed. He had indignation in his voice—the indignation of a young man who has been to war. His memory was full of the unspeakable horror of days of battle, when the human creature unleashed forces similar to those of volcanoes, capable of annihilating all the wild beasts on the planet…
With a burst of machine-gun fire, that huge tiger would have been destroyed more rapidly than a brown rat in the teeth of a ratcatcher’s dog. A simple grenade would have blown it away…
In the solitude of the night, Frédéric felt the sovereign preeminence of the beast all the more profoundly. His heart alternately speeded up and beat more ponderously, and he darted glances full of humiliated affection toward his sister Corisande. He was, however, skilled in physical exercises, apart from shooting. On campaign, an officer from the start, he had scarcely made use of firearms.
The young woman did not have a clear conception of the threat posed by the brute, which was not as tall or as massive as a buffalo or a horse. Perhaps, without meaning to, the Dutchman was exaggerating?
“Yes,” Hendrik replied, after a pause. “Here, man is a feeble creature compared to the tiger. Only a man who is sure of lodging a bullet in one of those eyes, or full in the heart, is the Master. On the other hand, we’ve already won half the game. In seven minutes, if it continues to hesitate, we’ll be safe.”
He had taken out his watch and was speaking in a placid tone, but his voice seemed more guttural than usual.
Suddenly, the tiger became invisible.
Hendrik pointed out a ribbon of tall grass and brushwood on the left. “It’ll be easier for it to watch us and plan its move.” To the Sino-Indian driver he said: “Look out!”
The cart steered slowly toward the right, in order to avoid a bushy outcrop from which the beast might have reached the cart in two bounds. Perhaps it was conscious of the maneuver; a brief hoarse sound was heard.
“As long as it isn’t too annoyed!” said Hendrik. “If it’s angry, nothing will stop it. A few more minutes gained. Not so quickly, Chandra, not so quickly…speed might excite it.”
The man stammered a few words, through chattering teeth.
“He says that it’s the horses,” the Dutchman said. “And it’s true…they’re crazy with fear. Ah! The Refuge…”
Corisande and Frédéric could not see anything. Hendrik gave his telescope to the young woman, who made out a grayish mass at the far end of the valley; soon, a cyclopean building became visible to the naked eye.
“Oh! We’re not safe yet!” said the Dutchman. “We need to get inside and close the gate, before it arrives…God de here! Here it comes!”
The tiger, springing from a clump of almost-arborescent ferns, was running in large bounds; as Hendrik had feared, the gallop of the horses had excited it—and the horses, perceiving the pursuit and seized by panic, took the bit in their teeth. The heavy vehicle pitched so violently that the travelers instinctively held on to their benches.
Hendrik had shouldered his weapon. He fired four times in succession—in vain. Frédéric did not hesitate to imitate him, with no better luck. In such conditions, the shot would have been awkward even for a good marksman; the detonations only served to increase the horses’ stampede, without stopping the tiger.
The Sino-Indian was cowering in the depths of the vehicle; the Sumatran,
although terrorized, was still clutching the hilt of his kris.
“Here’s the caravanserai!” cried Hendrik, seizing the reins. “They’re going to overshoot, and then…”
Scarcely 30 yards separated the beast from the cart. In spite of the crazy speed of the horses, that advance could be covered in a moment, and then…
“Damn!” the Dutchman could not help groaning. With a terrible effort, he tried to stop the horses, to steer them toward the Refuge—but the frantic beasts went past, and the tiger was arriving with lightning speed…
There was nothing more to do but await the attack.
Hendrik, abandoning the harness, took up his rifle again. “Fire at point-blank range, if possible,” he advised.
A few more bounds, and the men would perish, save for some salutary stroke of luck. Then the Sumatran let out a raucous cry: “Look! Look!”
Six thickset beasts had just sprung forth from the Refuge: six dark beasts with sturdy heads and abrupt jaws. One might have taken them for small-scale jaguars, but their howls left no doubt as to their species.
“Gavres’ dogs!” Hendrik exclaimed.
The dogs arrived at great speed, with an indomitable ardor.
Frédéric and Corisande watched them in amazement.
“Will they dare to attack the tiger?” asked the young woman.
“Will they dare!” Hendrik replied, with a kind of ecstasy. “They can kill it! If the tiger consents to fight, it’s dead!”
The Sumatran had started laughing—convulsive but confident laughter—and the Sino-Indian was making a frightful racket.
Surprised, the tiger turned round. It was undoubtedly unfamiliar with those howling beasts, but their stature scarcely exceeded that of wolves, an entire pack of which would not have dared to take it on. Disdainful, it only hesitated for half a second—but the big dogs needed no more.
The Givreuse Enigma Page 13