The Island of Doctor Moreau by H. G. Wells (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud .txt) 📕

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.

I held out my hands. The grey creature in the corner leant forward.

“Not to run on all fours; that is the law. Are we not men?” he said.

He put out a strangely distorted talon and gripped my fingers. The thing was almost like the hoof of a deer produced into claws. I could have yelled with surprise and pain. His face came forward and peered at my nails, came forward into the light of the opening of the hut and I saw with a quivering disgust that it was like the face of neither man nor beast, but a mere shock of grey hair, with three shadowy over-archings to mark the eyes and mouth.

“He has little nails,” said this grisly creature in his hairy beard. “It is well.”

He threw my hand down, and instinctively I gripped my stick.

“Eat roots and herbs; it is his will,” said the ape-man.

“I am the sayer of the law,” said the grey figure. “Here come all that be new to learn the law. I sit in the darkness and say the law.”

“It is even so,” said one of the beasts in the doorway.

“Evil are the punishments of those who break the law. None escape.”

“None escape,” said the beast folk, glancing furtively at one another.

“None, none,” said the ape-man⁠—“none escape. See! I did a little thing, a wrong thing, once. I jabbered, jabbered, stopped talking. None could understand. I am burnt, branded in the hand. He is great. He is good!”

“None escape,” said the grey creature in the corner.

“None escape,” said the beast people, looking askance at one another.

“For everyone the want that is bad,” said the grey sayer of the law. “What you will want we do not know; we shall know. Some want to follow things that move, to watch and slink and wait and spring; to kill and bite, bite deep and rich, sucking the blood. It is bad. ‘Not to chase other men; that is the law. Are we not men? Not to eat flesh or fish; that is the law. Are we not men?’ ”

“None escape,” said a dappled brute standing in the doorway.

“For everyone the want is bad,” said the grey sayer of the law. “Some want to go tearing with teeth and hands into the roots of things, snuffing into the earth. It is bad.”

“None escape,” said the men in the door.

“Some go clawing trees; some go scratching at the graves of the dead; some go fighting with foreheads or feet or claws; some bite suddenly, none giving occasion; some love uncleanness.”

“None escape,” said the ape-man, scratching his calf.

“None escape,” said the little pink sloth-creature.

“Punishment is sharp and sure. Therefore learn the law. Say the words.”

And incontinently he began again the strange litany of the law, and again I and all these creatures began singing and swaying. My head reeled with this jabbering and the close stench of the place; but I kept on, trusting to find presently some chance of a new development.

“Not to go on all fours; that is the law. Are we not men?”

We were making such a noise that I noticed nothing of a tumult outside, until someone, who I think was one of the two swine men I had seen, thrust his head over the