had so shockingly addressed him. After a moment of redoubled amazement, he realized the true nature of the visitor.
Not an ape, but a Negro!
And not a Westernized slave, but a wild African!
The Negro, slight of stature, was attired thusly: a mantle of sheepskin over its shoulders—fastened in front with bone buttons through leather loops—and a multilayered raffia skirt threaded with colorful glass beads. Its arms and legs were festooned with rings of iron and copper, as well as shell-strung leather thongs. The flesh left bare was covered with what appeared to be an admixture of rancid animal fat and soot.
As Agassiz, frozen on all fours, stared in horror at the leering monkey-face of the African intruder, a bulky, pantaloon-clad, booted leg thrust itself through the window after the lamp-bearing arm. A second hand clamped itself onto the window-frame. Then there ensued a period of intense grunting, followed by an exclamation:
“Gott be damned, mine fat zelf ist ztuck! Dottie, come und help!”
The wild blackamoor turned then and moved toward the window. Agassiz was astounded to see that the creature’s skirt in back was rucked up over enormous fatty buttocks so huge and disproportionate as to render the very term “obscene” an instance of litotes.
“One moment, Jacob,” said the Negro, and the timbre of its speech, in conjunction with the name by which it had been addressed, roused in Agassiz the realization that the savage Ethiop was female!
At the window, the Negro grabbed the wrists of her companion and tugged. The booted foot already inside found purchase on the floorboards, and soon the rest of the man followed.
Big as some bear (perhaps Ursus horribilis )from the notebooks of Lewis and Clark, plainly of European extraction, the man wore a dirty white blousy shirt and a conical cap made out of what Agassiz recognized as an animal’s stomach. His jocund, sun-cured face was decorated with mustache and chin-whiskers rather in the manner of the British story-teller, Dickens.
Setting down his lamp, the man hastened over to Agassiz and, gripping him under the armpits, hoisted him weightlessly to his feet, all the while issuing a stream of atrociously fractured English.
“Doctor Agassiz, mine greatest apologies for making der disturbance of your dreams in zuch a vild fashion, like rascals in der night, ja, to be zhure, but vee have only chust arrived—mine boat, der Zie Koe ,she is anchored right outside your vindow—und dere ist not a moment’s time to vaste if vee are to find der ztolen fetiche!”
Agassiz stared at the madman in stupefaction. He swivelled his gaze briefly, just long enough to ascertain that the Negro woman—that abominable anthropological specimen whose touch had profaned his face—was hanging back near the window at a suitable, if not entirely comfortable distance. Then, finding his tongue, he spoke.
“Who—who are you? And what do you want?”
The uninvited visitor slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “Vot a dumb zhit! Mine apologies, in zpades! To be zhure, I forget minezelf totally. Your name ist zo famous, und I know of your zircumstances so vell, dot I imagine you zhould know me alzo. Vell, permit me. Mine name ist Jacob Cezar. And dis vun vit me ist Dottie Baartman.”
The man leaned confidently toward Agassiz and said, “Of course, her real name ist Ngldatu, but I get to call her Dottie.”
The Negro, responding to her click-punctuated name, smiled once more toward Agassiz, her gruesome flat nose wrinkling horribly.
Agassiz shivered uncontrollably, and not from any effects of the warm June air. He snatched some bedclothes up and wrapped them around his waist. Then he faced Jacob Cezar once more.
He was feeling somewhat more charitable toward the intruder, who had exhibited at least enough breeding both to apologize and to praise Agassiz’s fame. “Your name, sir, fails to prompt my recognition. And I am still in the dark as to how I may help
Not an ape, but a Negro!
And not a Westernized slave, but a wild African!
The Negro, slight of stature, was attired thusly: a mantle of sheepskin over its shoulders—fastened in front with bone buttons through leather loops—and a multilayered raffia skirt threaded with colorful glass beads. Its arms and legs were festooned with rings of iron and copper, as well as shell-strung leather thongs. The flesh left bare was covered with what appeared to be an admixture of rancid animal fat and soot.
As Agassiz, frozen on all fours, stared in horror at the leering monkey-face of the African intruder, a bulky, pantaloon-clad, booted leg thrust itself through the window after the lamp-bearing arm. A second hand clamped itself onto the window-frame. Then there ensued a period of intense grunting, followed by an exclamation:
“Gott be damned, mine fat zelf ist ztuck! Dottie, come und help!”
The wild blackamoor turned then and moved toward the window. Agassiz was astounded to see that the creature’s skirt in back was rucked up over enormous fatty buttocks so huge and disproportionate as to render the very term “obscene” an instance of litotes.
“One moment, Jacob,” said the Negro, and the timbre of its speech, in conjunction with the name by which it had been addressed, roused in Agassiz the realization that the savage Ethiop was female!
At the window, the Negro grabbed the wrists of her companion and tugged. The booted foot already inside found purchase on the floorboards, and soon the rest of the man followed.
Big as some bear (perhaps Ursus horribilis )from the notebooks of Lewis and Clark, plainly of European extraction, the man wore a dirty white blousy shirt and a conical cap made out of what Agassiz recognized as an animal’s stomach. His jocund, sun-cured face was decorated with mustache and chin-whiskers rather in the manner of the British story-teller, Dickens.
Setting down his lamp, the man hastened over to Agassiz and, gripping him under the armpits, hoisted him weightlessly to his feet, all the while issuing a stream of atrociously fractured English.
“Doctor Agassiz, mine greatest apologies for making der disturbance of your dreams in zuch a vild fashion, like rascals in der night, ja, to be zhure, but vee have only chust arrived—mine boat, der Zie Koe ,she is anchored right outside your vindow—und dere ist not a moment’s time to vaste if vee are to find der ztolen fetiche!”
Agassiz stared at the madman in stupefaction. He swivelled his gaze briefly, just long enough to ascertain that the Negro woman—that abominable anthropological specimen whose touch had profaned his face—was hanging back near the window at a suitable, if not entirely comfortable distance. Then, finding his tongue, he spoke.
“Who—who are you? And what do you want?”
The uninvited visitor slapped his forehead and exclaimed, “Vot a dumb zhit! Mine apologies, in zpades! To be zhure, I forget minezelf totally. Your name ist zo famous, und I know of your zircumstances so vell, dot I imagine you zhould know me alzo. Vell, permit me. Mine name ist Jacob Cezar. And dis vun vit me ist Dottie Baartman.”
The man leaned confidently toward Agassiz and said, “Of course, her real name ist Ngldatu, but I get to call her Dottie.”
The Negro, responding to her click-punctuated name, smiled once more toward Agassiz, her gruesome flat nose wrinkling horribly.
Agassiz shivered uncontrollably, and not from any effects of the warm June air. He snatched some bedclothes up and wrapped them around his waist. Then he faced Jacob Cezar once more.
He was feeling somewhat more charitable toward the intruder, who had exhibited at least enough breeding both to apologize and to praise Agassiz’s fame. “Your name, sir, fails to prompt my recognition. And I am still in the dark as to how I may help
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