Pithecanthropus erectus of her able discoverer, Eugène Dubois, is in fact a relic of the extinct group—intermediate between man and ape, to which as long ago as 1886 I gave the name Pithecanthropus. This is the long-lost ‘missing link’ in the chain of the highest primates, an intermediate form connecting the lower races of mankind to anthropoid apes!”
Now the murmuring in the room was more polite, for no one dared to disrespect Ernst Haeckel.
“The Neanderthal skulls of Spy and Moulin Quignon were declared by the sagacious Rudolph Virchow to be nothing more than ‘pathological specimens,’ produced only through disease and not, in fact, an early race of mankind. Virchow denies even Neanderthal man!”
Father reached over and gave my hand a happy squeeze. Things were going much better than he’d ever expected.
“It must be remembered, gentlemen and ladies,” Haeckel went on, “that for more than thirty years, Virchow regarded it as his special duty as a scientist to oppose the Darwinian theory and the doctrine of evolution. The ‘descent of man from the ape,’” he continued with real disgust creeping into his voice, “Virchow attacked with unmitigated zeal and unnatural energy. According to him, the ape-man is a mere ‘figment of a dream.’ I say here today that the petrified remains of Pithecanthropus erectus are the palpable contradiction of such an unfounded theoretical assumption!”
Unable to control myself, I began to applaud loudly. Father joined me, and though there was heard only a smattering of it in the gallery, from one corner it rang out unabashedly. Ral Conrath was on his feet, clapping enthusiastically. Finally the grudging scientists relented and gave Ernst Haeckel the ovation he deserved. Certainly it must have rankled many that by their applause they were, by association, applauding Eugène Dubois as well.
My eyes strayed to the strange Mr. Conrath, and I found to my embarrassment that he had been regarding me quite openly. Just then feeling happy and rather bold, I smiled back at him. He touched his fingers to his hatless head in a return salutation.
Something quivered inside me, somewhere below my belly, and I quickly turned away, glad for an excuse to avert my eyes.
Ernst Haeckel had begun speaking again.
* * *
It occurred to me that the food on my plate and that of my dinner companions lay almost altogether untouched. No one was the slightest bit interested in eating.
Talk was the thing.
Father and I, Dubois, and Ernst Haeckel, the latter a guest at the De Vere University Arms Hotel, were dining in its elegant restaurant. The Zoological Congress behind us, the ideas and debate it had engendered had set the air all around afire with controversy, raised voices, and laughter.
“How frustrating it has been,” Dubois opined, “to have my femur to prove the upright stance but no cervical vertebrae to relate the hyoid bone with the mandible.”
“So you’ve got no proof of speech,” I sympathetically concluded.
“And what do you suppose your Java man would say if he could speak?” Father asked with a wry grin.
“I will tell you what he would say,” Ernst Haeckel replied. “He would call Rudy Virchow a nincompoop!”
We all roared with laughter and raised our glasses in a toast.
“All that’s water under the bridge,” Archie insisted. “Let’s get to the real point here.”
Dubois groaned theatrically. Everyone knew that the two paleoanthropologists’ favorite argument of all—where in the world other missing links might be found—had hardly been touched upon this evening.
“Well, you know what I think,” Ernst Haeckel said, eyeing his untouched dinner, “so I will spare you, Archie.”
“Thank you for that, Ernst. You should eat. They know how to cook a mean pork chop here.”
Truly, Father did not need reminding that though a staunch evolutionist, Haeckel was not a dyed-in-the-wool Darwinian. And with Eugène having found such stunning
Now the murmuring in the room was more polite, for no one dared to disrespect Ernst Haeckel.
“The Neanderthal skulls of Spy and Moulin Quignon were declared by the sagacious Rudolph Virchow to be nothing more than ‘pathological specimens,’ produced only through disease and not, in fact, an early race of mankind. Virchow denies even Neanderthal man!”
Father reached over and gave my hand a happy squeeze. Things were going much better than he’d ever expected.
“It must be remembered, gentlemen and ladies,” Haeckel went on, “that for more than thirty years, Virchow regarded it as his special duty as a scientist to oppose the Darwinian theory and the doctrine of evolution. The ‘descent of man from the ape,’” he continued with real disgust creeping into his voice, “Virchow attacked with unmitigated zeal and unnatural energy. According to him, the ape-man is a mere ‘figment of a dream.’ I say here today that the petrified remains of Pithecanthropus erectus are the palpable contradiction of such an unfounded theoretical assumption!”
Unable to control myself, I began to applaud loudly. Father joined me, and though there was heard only a smattering of it in the gallery, from one corner it rang out unabashedly. Ral Conrath was on his feet, clapping enthusiastically. Finally the grudging scientists relented and gave Ernst Haeckel the ovation he deserved. Certainly it must have rankled many that by their applause they were, by association, applauding Eugène Dubois as well.
My eyes strayed to the strange Mr. Conrath, and I found to my embarrassment that he had been regarding me quite openly. Just then feeling happy and rather bold, I smiled back at him. He touched his fingers to his hatless head in a return salutation.
Something quivered inside me, somewhere below my belly, and I quickly turned away, glad for an excuse to avert my eyes.
Ernst Haeckel had begun speaking again.
* * *
It occurred to me that the food on my plate and that of my dinner companions lay almost altogether untouched. No one was the slightest bit interested in eating.
Talk was the thing.
Father and I, Dubois, and Ernst Haeckel, the latter a guest at the De Vere University Arms Hotel, were dining in its elegant restaurant. The Zoological Congress behind us, the ideas and debate it had engendered had set the air all around afire with controversy, raised voices, and laughter.
“How frustrating it has been,” Dubois opined, “to have my femur to prove the upright stance but no cervical vertebrae to relate the hyoid bone with the mandible.”
“So you’ve got no proof of speech,” I sympathetically concluded.
“And what do you suppose your Java man would say if he could speak?” Father asked with a wry grin.
“I will tell you what he would say,” Ernst Haeckel replied. “He would call Rudy Virchow a nincompoop!”
We all roared with laughter and raised our glasses in a toast.
“All that’s water under the bridge,” Archie insisted. “Let’s get to the real point here.”
Dubois groaned theatrically. Everyone knew that the two paleoanthropologists’ favorite argument of all—where in the world other missing links might be found—had hardly been touched upon this evening.
“Well, you know what I think,” Ernst Haeckel said, eyeing his untouched dinner, “so I will spare you, Archie.”
“Thank you for that, Ernst. You should eat. They know how to cook a mean pork chop here.”
Truly, Father did not need reminding that though a staunch evolutionist, Haeckel was not a dyed-in-the-wool Darwinian. And with Eugène having found such stunning
Similar Books
