The Island of Doctor Moreau by H.G. Wells-Chapter VII
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Chapitre 7 : La porte verrouillée.
Le lecteur comprendra peut-être qu'au début tout était tellement curieux pour moi, et ma position résultait d'aventures si inattendues, que j'étais incapable de discerner l'étrangeté relative de telle ou telle chose. Je suivis le lama jusqu'au sommet la plage et fut rattrapé par Montgomery qui me demanda de ne pas entrer dans l'enceinte de pierre. Je remarquai alors que le puma dans sa cage et la pile de paquets avaient été déposés à l'extérieur de l'entrée de ce quadrilatère.
Je tournai et vis que la chaloupe avait été déchargée, qu'elle était retournée et échouée, et l'homme aux cheveux blancs marchait dans notre direction. Il s'adressa à Montgomery
— Et maintenant se pose le problème de cet invité indésirable. Qu'allons-nous faire de lui ?
— Il s'y connait en sciences, déclara Montgomery
— Je suis impatient de me remettre au travail ... avec ce nouveau matériel, dit l'homme aux cheveux blancs, en faisant un signe de tête vers l'enceinte. Son regard s'éclaira.
— Je l'imagine, dit Montgomery d'un ton tout sauf cordial.
— Nous ne pouvons pas l'envoyer là-bas, nous n'avons pas le temps de lui construire une nouvelle cabane ; et on ne peut pas le mettre dans la confidence pour l'instant.
— Je m'en remets à vous, dis-je. Je n'avais aucune idée de ce qu'il voulait dire par « là-bas ».
— Je me suis fait les mêmes réflexions, rétorqua Montgomery. Il y a ma chambre avec la porte donnant sur l'extérieur ... — C'est ça, dit promptement l'aîné en regardant Montgomery, et tous trois, nous nous dirigeâmes vers l'enceinte. Je suis désolé de faire tant de mystère, M. Prendick, mais je vous rappelle que nous ne vous avons pas invité. Notre petit établissement ici renferme un secret, c'est une sorte de chambre de barbe bleue. Rien de véritablement très effrayant pour un homme sain d'esprit ; mais pour le moment, comme nous ne vous connaissons pas ... — Franchement, dis-je, je serais un imbécile de m'offusquer de tout manque de confiance.
Il tordit sa bouche épaisse en un demi-sourire — c'était une de ces personnes mélancoliques qui souriaient avec les coins de la bouche vers le bas puis il s'inclina en signe de remerciement pour mon indulgence. Nous passâmes l'entrée principale de l'enceinte ; c'était un lourd portail de bois, encadré de fer et fermé à clé, avec la cargaison de la chaloupe entassée à l'extérieur, et à l'angle nous arrivâmes à une petite porte que je n'avais pas remarquée auparavant. L'homme aux cheveux blancs sortit un trousseau de clés de la poche de sa veste bleue graisseuse, ouvrit cette porte et entra. Ses clés, et la façon consciencieuse de verrouiller l'endroit alors même qu'il était encore sous sa surveillance, me frappèrent particulièrement. Je le suivis, et je me retrouvai dans un petit logement, sobrement meublé mais non sans confort, et avec sa propre porte intérieure, légèrement entrouverte, qui donnait sur une cour pavée. Montgomery la ferma aussitôt. Un hamac était suspendu dans le coin le plus sombre de la pièce, et une petite fenêtre sans vitre, protégée par une barre de fer, laissait entrevoir la mer.
Ceci, m'expliqua l'homme aux cheveux blancs, allait être mon logement ; et la porte, que « par peur des accidents », me dit-il, il verrouillerait de l'autre côté, constituait ma limite intérieure. Il attira mon attention sur une confortable chaise longue devant la fenêtre et sur une série de livres anciens, principalement des ouvrages chirurgicaux et d'éditions de classiques en latin et en grec (langues que je lisais avec difficulté), sur une étagère près du hamac. Il quitta la pièce par la porte donnant sur l'extérieur, comme pour éviter d'ouvrir celle de l'entrée à nouveau.
— Nous prenons habituellement nos repas ici, déclara Montgomery, puis, comme dans le doute, il sortit après l'autre. — Moreau ! L'entendis-je appeler, et à cet instant, je ne pense pas que j’y fis attention. Puis, en manipulant les livres sur l'étagère, ça me revint à l'esprit : où avais-je déjà entendu le nom de Moreau ? Je m'assis devant la fenêtre, sortis les biscuits qui me restaient et les mangeai d'un excellent appétit. Moreau !
Je voyais par la fenêtre un de ces étranges hommes en blanc, charriant une caisse le long de la plage. Pour le moment l'encadrement de la fenêtre le cachait. Puis j'entendis une clef s'insérer et tourner dans la serrure derrière moi. Peu après j'entendis le bruit des staghounds à travers la porte close, qui avaient maintenant été remontés de la plage. Ils n'aboyaient pas mais reniflaient et grognaient bizarrement. Je pouvais entendre le cliquètement rapide de leurs pattes et la voix de Montgomery les calmant.
Je fus très impressionné par l'extrême réserve de ces deux hommes concernant la nature de cet endroit, et pendant quelque temps j'y pensais ainsi qu'à l'inexplicable familiarité du nom de Moreau ; mais la mémoire humaine est si étrange que je ne parvins pas alors à me souvenir de ce nom célèbre dans le contexte approprié. De là, mes pensées dérivèrent vers l'indéfinissable étrangeté de l'homme difforme sur la plage. Je n'avais jamais vu une telle démarche, de mouvements aussi étranges tandis qu'il tirait sur la caisse. Je me souvins qu'aucun de ces hommes ne m'avait parlé, bien que j'eusse surpris la plupart d'entre eux à m'observer de manière subreptice, tout à fait différente du regard direct de votre sauvage primitif. Effectivement, tous avaient semblé remarquablement taciturnes et dotés de voix très étranges, lorsqu'ils avaient parlé. Qu'est-ce qui n'allait pas avec eux ? Puis je me souvins des yeux de l'étrange domestique de Montgomery.
Alors que je pensai à lui, il entra. Il était maintenant vêtu de blanc et portait un petit plateau chargé de café et de légumes bouillis. Je pus difficilement réprimer un frisson de répulsion alors qu'il s'approchait et, s'inclinant poliment, déposait le plateau sur la table devant moi. Puis la surprise me paralysa. Sous ses mèches noires filasses je vis son oreille ; cela me sauta subitement aux yeux. L'homme avait des oreilles pointues recouvertes d'un duvet brun !
— Votre petit-déjeuner, M'sieur, dit-il.
je fixai son visage sans essayer de lui répondre. Il se retourna et se dirigea vers la porte en me regardant bizarrement par-dessus son épaule. Je le suivis du regard ; et, alors que je le faisais, par quelque mystérieuse ruse de la pensée inconsciente, il me vint à l'esprit la phrase : « Les Dissimulations de Moreau », était-ce cela ? Le Moreau ... Ah ! Ma mémoire me renvoya dix ans en arrière. « Les Horreurs de Moreau ! » La phrase tournoya librement dans mon esprit pendant un instant, puis je la vis en lettres rouges sur une petite brochure couleur chamois, dont la lecture faisait frissonner et trembler. Puis je me souvins distinctement de tous les détails. Cette brochure tombée dans l'oubli me revint en tête avec une surprenante clarté. J'étais alors un simple garçon, et Moreau avait, je crois, la cinquantaine;— un physiologiste éminent et magistral, bien connu des milieux scientifiques pour son imagination extraordinaire et sa franchise brutale dans la discussion.
Était-ce le même Moreau ? Il avait publié des études très surprenantes en corrélation avec la transfusion sanguine, et en outre il était connu pour avoir fait un important travail sur les tumeurs morbides. Puis soudain il mit fin à sa carrière. Il dut quitter l'Angleterre. Un journaliste réussit à accéder à son laboratoire en tant que laborantin, avec la ferme intention de faire des révélations sensationnelles ; et à l'aide d'un accident d'étouffement (si c'était un accident), sa brochure macabre devint célèbre. Le jour de sa parution un malheureux chien, écorché et diversement mutilé, s'enfuit de la maison de Moreau. C'était à la période creuse, et un célèbre éditeur, cousin de l'assistant de laboratoire, en appela à la conscience de la nation. Ce n'était pas la première fois que ladite conscience s'offusquait de ces méthodes de recherche Le docteur fut tout bonnement chassé hors du pays. Il se peut qu'il ait mérité de l'être ; mais je continue de penser que le soutien peu enthousiaste de ses confrères chercheurs et son abandon par la grande communauté scientifique furent honteux. Et pourtant, certaines de ses expériences, selon le compte-rendu du journaliste, relevaient d'une cruauté gratuite. Il aurait peut-être pu acheté sa paix sociale en abandonnant ses études ; mais il a apparemment préféré les poursuivre, comme la plupart des hommes qui ont succombés un jour sous le charme de la recherche. Il était célibataire et n'avait en effet que son propre intérêt à prendre en compte.
J'étais convaincu qu'il devait s'agir du même homme. Tout semblait l'indiquer. Il me vint à l'esprit à quelle fin le puma et les autres animaux — qui avaient été amenés avec d'autres bagages dans l'enceinte à l'arrière de la maison — étaient destinés. et une légère odeur bizarre, l'effluve de quelque chose de familier, un relent qui jusque-là avait logé au fond de ma conscience, surgit tout à coup sur le devant de ma pensée. C'était l'odeur de l'antiseptique de la salle de dissection. J'entendis le puma grogner à travers le mur, et l'un des chiens glapir comme s'il avait été frappé.
Pourtant, et en particulier à l'égard d'un collègue scientifique, il n'y avait rien d'aussi affreux dans la vivisection pour expliquer cette confidentialité. et par un étrange bond dans mes pensées, les oreilles pointues et les yeux lumineux du domestique de Montgomery me revinrent en pleine face avec la plus grande netteté. Je regardai fixement devant moi la mer verte, qui moussait sous une brise rafraîchissante et laissai ces souvenirs et d'autres étranges de ces quelques derniers jours se pourchasser les uns les autres à travers de mon esprit.
Qu'est-ce que tout cela pouvait bien signifier ? Une enceinte verrouillée sur une île isolée, un célèbre vivisecteur, et ces hommes estropiés et difformes ?
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Chapter 7: The Locked Door.
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He addressed Montgomery.
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"And now comes the problem of this uninvited guest.
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What are we to do with him?"
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"He knows something of science," said Montgomery.
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His eyes grew brighter.
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"I daresay you are," said Montgomery, in anything but a cordial tone.
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"I'm in your hands," said I. I had no idea of what he meant by "over there."
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"I've been thinking of the same things," Montgomery answered.
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"I'm sorry to make a mystery, Mr. Prendick; but you'll remember you're uninvited.
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Our little establishment here contains a secret or so, is a kind of Blue-Beard's chamber, in fact.
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This inner door Montgomery at once closed.
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He left the room by the outer door, as if to avoid opening the inner one again.
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"Moreau!"
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I heard him call, and for the moment I do not think I noticed.
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Moreau!
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Presently the window-frame hid him.
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Then I heard a key inserted and turned in the lock behind me.
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They were not barking, but sniffing and growling in a curious fashion.
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I could hear the rapid patter of their feet, and Montgomery's voice soothing them.
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From that my thoughts went to the indefinable queerness of the deformed man on the beach.
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I never saw such a gait, such odd motions as he pulled at the box.
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What was wrong with them?
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Then I recalled the eyes of Montgomery's ungainly attendant.
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Just as I was thinking of him he came in.
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Then astonishment paralysed me.
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Under his stringy black locks I saw his ear; it jumped upon me suddenly close to my face.
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The man had pointed ears, covered with a fine brown fur!
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"Your breakfast, sair," he said.
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I stared at his face without attempting to answer him.
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He turned and went towards the door, regarding me oddly over his shoulder.
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"The Moreau—" Ah!
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It sent my memory back ten years.
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"The Moreau Horrors!"
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Then I remembered distinctly all about it.
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That long-forgotten pamphlet came back with startling vividness to my mind.
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Was this the same Moreau?
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Then suddenly his career was closed.
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He had to leave England.
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It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research.
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The doctor was simply howled out of the country.
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Yet some of his experiments, by the journalist's account, were wantonly cruel.
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He was unmarried, and had indeed nothing but his own interest to consider.
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I felt convinced that this must be the same man.
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Everything pointed to it.
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It was the antiseptic odour of the dissecting-room.
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I heard the puma growling through the wall, and one of the dogs yelped as though it had been struck.
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What could it all mean?
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A locked enclosure on a lonely island, a notorious vivisector, and these crippled and distorted men?
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Chapter 7: The Locked Door.
THE reader will perhaps understand that at first everything was so strange about me, and my position was the outcome of such unexpected adventures, that I had no discernment of the relative strangeness of this or that thing. I followed the llama up the beach, and was overtaken by Montgomery, who asked me not to enter the stone enclosure. I noticed then that the puma in its cage and the pile of packages had been placed outside the entrance to this quadrangle.
I turned and saw that the launch had now been unloaded, run out again, and was being beached, and the white-haired man was walking towards us. He addressed Montgomery.
"And now comes the problem of this uninvited guest. What are we to do with him?"
"He knows something of science," said Montgomery.
"I'm itching to get to work again—with this new stuff," said the white-haired man, nodding towards the enclosure. His eyes grew brighter.
"I daresay you are," said Montgomery, in anything but a cordial tone.
"We can't send him over there, and we can't spare the time to build him a new shanty; and we certainly can't take him into our confidence just yet."
"I'm in your hands," said I. I had no idea of what he meant by "over there."
"I've been thinking of the same things," Montgomery answered. "There's my room with the outer door—"
"That's it," said the elder man, promptly, looking at Montgomery; and all three of us went towards the enclosure. "I'm sorry to make a mystery, Mr. Prendick; but you'll remember you're uninvited. Our little establishment here contains a secret or so, is a kind of Blue-Beard's chamber, in fact. Nothing very dreadful, really, to a sane man; but just now, as we don't know you—"
"Decidedly," said I, "I should be a fool to take offence at any want of confidence."
He twisted his heavy mouth into a faint smile—he was one of those saturnine people who smile with the corners of the mouth down,—and bowed his acknowledgment of my complaisance. The main entrance to the enclosure was passed; it was a heavy wooden gate, framed in iron and locked, with the cargo of the launch piled outside it, and at the corner we came to a small doorway I had not previously observed. The white-haired man produced a bundle of keys from the pocket of his greasy blue jacket, opened this door, and entered. His keys, and the elaborate locking-up of the place even while it was still under his eye, struck me as peculiar. I followed him, and found myself in a small apartment, plainly but not uncomfortably furnished and with its inner door, which was slightly ajar, opening into a paved courtyard. This inner door Montgomery at once closed. A hammock was slung across the darker corner of the room, and a small unglazed window defended by an iron bar looked out towards the sea.
This the white-haired man told me was to be my apartment; and the inner door, which "for fear of accidents," he said, he would lock on the other side, was my limit inward. He called my attention to a convenient deck-chair before the window, and to an array of old books, chiefly, I found, surgical works and editions of the Latin and Greek classics (languages I cannot read with any comfort), on a shelf near the hammock. He left the room by the outer door, as if to avoid opening the inner one again.
"We usually have our meals in here," said Montgomery, and then, as if in doubt, went out after the other. "Moreau!" I heard him call, and for the moment I do not think I noticed. Then as I handled the books on the shelf it came up in consciousness: Where had I heard the name of Moreau before? I sat down before the window, took out the biscuits that still remained to me, and ate them with an excellent appetite. Moreau!
Through the window I saw one of those unaccountable men in white, lugging a packing-case along the beach. Presently the window-frame hid him. Then I heard a key inserted and turned in the lock behind me. After a little while I heard through the locked door the noise of the staghounds, that had now been brought up from the beach. They were not barking, but sniffing and growling in a curious fashion. I could hear the rapid patter of their feet, and Montgomery's voice soothing them.
I was very much impressed by the elaborate secrecy of these two men regarding the contents of the place, and for some time I was thinking of that and of the unaccountable familiarity of the name of Moreau;. but so odd is the human memory that I could not then recall that well-known name in its proper connection. From that my thoughts went to the indefinable queerness of the deformed man on the beach. I never saw such a gait, such odd motions as he pulled at the box. I recalled that none of these men had spoken to me, though most of them I had found looking at me at one time or another in a peculiarly furtive manner, quite unlike the frank stare of your unsophisticated savage. Indeed, they had all seemed remarkably taciturn, and when they did speak, endowed with very uncanny voices. What was wrong with them? Then I recalled the eyes of Montgomery's ungainly attendant.
Just as I was thinking of him he came in. He was now dressed in white, and carried a little tray with some coffee and boiled vegetables thereon. I could hardly repress a shuddering recoil as he came, bending amiably, and placed the tray before me on the table. Then astonishment paralysed me. Under his stringy black locks I saw his ear; it jumped upon me suddenly close to my face. The man had pointed ears, covered with a fine brown fur!
"Your breakfast, sair," he said.
I stared at his face without attempting to answer him. He turned and went towards the door, regarding me oddly over his shoulder. I followed him out with my eyes; and as I did so, by some odd trick of unconscious cerebration, there came surging into my head the phrase, "The Moreau Hollows"—was it? "The Moreau—" Ah! It sent my memory back ten years. "The Moreau Horrors!" The phrase drifted loose in my mind for a moment, and then I saw it in red lettering on a little buff-coloured pamphlet, to read which made one shiver and creep. Then I remembered distinctly all about it. That long-forgotten pamphlet came back with startling vividness to my mind. I had been a mere lad then, and Moreau was, I suppose, about fifty,—a prominent and masterful physiologist, well-known in scientific circles for his extraordinary imagination and his brutal directness in discussion.
Was this the same Moreau? He had published some very astonishing facts in connection with the transfusion of blood, and in addition was known to be doing valuable work on morbid growths. Then suddenly his career was closed. He had to leave England. A journalist obtained access to his laboratory in the capacity of laboratory-assistant, with the deliberate intention of making sensational exposures;. and by the help of a shocking accident (if it was an accident), his gruesome pamphlet became notorious. On the day of its publication a wretched dog, flayed and otherwise mutilated, escaped from Moreau's house. It was in the silly season, and a prominent editor, a cousin of the temporary laboratory-assistant, appealed to the conscience of the nation. It was not the first time that conscience has turned against the methods of research. The doctor was simply howled out of the country. It may be that he deserved to be; but I still think that the tepid support of his fellow-investigators and his desertion by the great body of scientific workers was a shameful thing. Yet some of his experiments, by the journalist's account, were wantonly cruel. He might perhaps have purchased his social peace by abandoning his investigations; but he apparently preferred the latter, as most men would who have once fallen under the overmastering spell of research. He was unmarried, and had indeed nothing but his own interest to consider.
I felt convinced that this must be the same man. Everything pointed to it. It dawned upon me to what end the puma and the other animals—which had now been brought with other luggage into the enclosure behind the house—were destined;. and a curious faint odour, the halitus of something familiar, an odour that had been in the background of my consciousness hitherto, suddenly came forward into the forefront of my thoughts. It was the antiseptic odour of the dissecting-room. I heard the puma growling through the wall, and one of the dogs yelped as though it had been struck.
Yet surely, and especially to another scientific man, there was nothing so horrible in vivisection as to account for this secrecy;. and by some odd leap in my thoughts the pointed ears and luminous eyes of Montgomery's attendant came back again before me with the sharpest definition. I stared before me out at the green sea, frothing under a freshening breeze, and let these and other strange memories of the last few days chase one another through my mind.
What could it all mean? A locked enclosure on a lonely island, a notorious vivisector, and these crippled and distorted men?