ONE would never have expected to drop from one of the numberless ways in the catacombs into a city of twenty thousand inhabitants. However, upon reflection, one would wonder why men, taken out of their natural environment, would not be susceptible to the same natural changes as the animals.
Arajo relates to us how he saw flocks of blind ducks come out of the caverns of the subterranean lake of Zirhnitz. One is bound to believe that these ducks were the products of ducks which once saw clearly, but which were shut up by some accident in the bowels of the earth, in the midst of obscure waters. And so there is some logic in the theory that if the family of a man in the first years of the fourteenth century was by accident confined in the catacombs, it would live there and produce offspring. At the end of the third generation they would have forgotten the existence of the open world. Of course they would continue to speak the language, and as no strange element would mix with it, it would preserve its purity through centuries.
Then in the darkness they would lose the use of their eyes, but develop their sense of touch as blind men do. Hence the excess of digits on their hands and feet. Then the loss of one sense always develops all the other senses in proportion. After centuries these super-developed senses become abnormal, and the nose and ears develop accordingly in size.
And so it was with these people of the Talfa. Their features had developed to an extraordinary extent, and their idea of beauty in the human form was based on the excessive development of these features. Demoiselle de Coucy was considered the most beautiful of all the Talfa.
They had entered the large meeting room, and M. Mifroid attempted to again light his lamp, but the crowd cried out in such disgust that he was persuaded to keep it out. He endeavored to converse with those near by. Their names were among the most illustrious in France at the time of the Battle of Crecy. But they addressed themselves in a tone so ineffably sweet, and all the uproar they tried to make resulted in an enchanting murmur. It was difficult to imagine that such sweet and honeyed words could emanate from such ugly beings.
M. Mifroid was seated on a chair next to Lady Jane de Montfort, who continually felt his face and touched his ears. While her curiosity was great she approached him with such delicate gracefulness that he hadn’t the heart to restrain her.
Soon there was a great silence, and a concert began. To Mifroid and Théophraste nothing was to be heard. Occasionally the people applauded quietly, but the absolute silence of the performers was a striking feature. Not a word was heard.
Soon there was much talking again around the two men, and they learned that it was intended that they should go down on the stage. This was the reason why they had been dragged to the meeting hall. They were to be exhibited as a phenomenon. Théophraste willingly consented, as his companion had promised him a good duck for dinner. M. Mifroid was not so easily persuaded, but at last acquiesced, and they descended to the stage. They all clamored for a song, and M. Mifroid started one of the old French songs of the fourteenth century, which he had learned as a boy. He had hardly started the first verse, when everybody in the hall called out for him to sing lower.
He started again, this time moderating his voice, but again they called to him to sing lower. The third time he could hardly hear himself, so low was his voice, but this did not satisfy his audience, and he left the platform with his song unfinished. He afterward learned that the sense of hearing of these people was so developed that they could understand silent music.