“Say the words,” said the Ape-man, repeating, and the figures in the
doorway echoed this, with a threat in the tone of their voices.
I realised that I had to repeat this idiotic formula; and then began
the insanest ceremony. The voice in the dark began intoning a mad
litany, line by line, and I and the rest to repeat it. As they did so,
they swayed from side to side in the oddest way, and beat their hands
upon their knees; and I followed their example. I could have imagined I
was already dead and in another world. That dark hut, these grotesque
dim figures, just flecked here and there by a glimmer of light, and all
of them swaying in unison and chanting,
“Not to go on all-fours; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to suck up Drink; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to eat Fish or Flesh; that is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to claw the Bark of Trees; _that_ is the Law. Are we not Men?
“Not to chase other Men; _that_ is the Law. Are we not Men?”
And so from the prohibition of these acts of folly, on to the
prohibition of what I thought then were the maddest, most impossible,
and most indecent things one could well imagine. A kind of rhythmic
fervour fell on all of us; we gabbled and swayed faster and faster,
repeating this amazing Law. Superficially the contagion of these brutes
was upon me, but deep down within me the laughter and disgust struggled
together. We ran through a long list of prohibitions, and then the
chant swung round to a new formula.
“_His_ is the House of Pain.
“_His_ is the Hand that makes.
“_His_ is the Hand that wounds.
“_His_ is the Hand that heals.”
And so on for another long series, mostly quite incomprehensible
gibberish to me about _Him_, whoever he might be. I could have fancied
it was a dream, but never before have I heard chanting in a dream.
“_His_ is the lightning flash,” we sang. “_His_ is the deep, salt sea.”
A horrible fancy came into my head that Moreau, after animalising these
men, had infected their dwarfed brains with a kind of deification of
himself. However, I was too keenly aware of white teeth and strong
claws about me to stop my chanting on that account.
“_His_ are the stars in the sky.”
At last that song ended. I saw the Ape-man’s face shining with
perspiration; and my eyes being now accustomed to the darkness, I saw
more distinctly the figure in the corner from which the voice came. It
was the size of a man, but it seemed covered with a dull grey hair
almost like a Skye-terrier. What was it? What were they all? Imagine
yourself surrounded by all the most horrible cripples and maniacs it is
possible to conceive, and you may understand a little of my feelings
with these grotesque caricatures of humanity about me.
“He is a five-man, a five-man, a five-man—like me,” said the Ape-man.