THE NEW ADAM (4)
By:
August 8, 2025
The New Adam is a 1926 proto-sf novel by the Swiss author Hélène Dufour Pittard (writing as “Noëlle Roger”). The book concerns, one reads in the Science Fiction Encyclopedia, “a wholly logical and unpleasant Superman created by gland transplants.” HILOBROW is pleased to serialize Book IV from The New Adam in Josh Glenn’s translation, from the original serialized in the 23 February 1924 issue of the journal La Petite Illustration.
FRENCH PROTO-SF TRANSLATIONS BY JOSH GLENN: Raymond Roussel’s LOCUS SOLUS [excerpt] | Noëlle Roger’s THE NEW ADAM [excerpt] | Alfred Jarry’s THE SUPERMALE [excerpt] | Jean de La Hire’s THE MYSTERY OF THE XV [excerpt].
THE NEW ADAM: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10.
He looked at Fléchère’s fingers, gripping his sleeve, and those fingers moved continuously as if they could no longer remain still.
— What to do? I don’t know… Fléchère was saying. At all costs, arrest him. But how? Bring him to justice? The investigation will establish that he killed twenty-eight people in my department… I am responsible… Forgive this selfish concern [préoccupation égoïste]. Do you see me next to him on the bench of infamy? The scandal tarnishing my career… Think of my wife, the name of my dead son…
Emotion cracked his voice.
— Imbecile judges who would perhaps sentence him to hard labor for reckless homicide… who would destroy this prodigious brain through despair and stupefaction, de Javerne murmured.
They fell silent and walked for a while in silence.
— But allowing him to continue his crimes, of which I am an accomplice… moaned Fléchère.
— Listen, my friend, said Doctor de Javerne suddenly, stopping and taking Fléchère’s arm. I see a solution… the lunatic asylum!
Fléchère jerked:
— What? You’re suggesting… Silenrieux with the insane!
— I’m saying… continued de Javerne, that such a solution could be justified… even legally. Silenrieux isn’t a normal being, is he?
— Locking up as a madman the most intelligent man who’s ever lived! protested Fléchère again, although he felt a large part of himself agree with his friend’s words.
— It’s in the natural order, said de Javerne with a smile.
— But he’ll prove to all the doctors that he’s healthier than they are!
The alienist looked at his colleague and replied:
— You know very well that all madmen attest to their lucidity of mind! We’re used to ignoring them. That’s why so many healthy people are hospitalized… Besides, my dear friend, I’ll be his doctor. I offer you my clinic in Douceville, in the Marne, which, as you know, takes in high-profile madmen, intellectuals, diplomats, statesmen, and millionaire maniacs. They are completely isolated. The solitude, the peace and quiet, the diet will no doubt calm Silenrieux’s elation. He will understand that he must accept concessions, considerations — adapt to the “scruples,” as he puts it, of our era.
— Perhaps, indeed… murmured Fléchère, his face lighting up. It would only be a temporary test… one that would stop him, without sacrificing too much…
— The hardest part, de Javerne continued as they again began their stroll along the bank of the river, the hardest part will be to find a pretext to lure him away, without him suspecting thing… a pretext that will lull his suspicions until the moment we place him in the gentle, iron-gloved hands of our orderlies [infirmiers].
— A pretext… Fléchère repeated mechanically, yes, a pretext…
— I have bad news… Fléchère announced the next day in an uncertain voice, as he entered the dining room where de Javerne and Silenrieux, standing, awaited him. A telegram [dépêche]… just now.
His features were so altered that Michel de Javerne, for a moment, didn’t know what to think.
Silenrieux was already crying out:
— Mrs. Fléchère is ill! Nothing serious, I hope?
— No… replied the doctor. It’s Jacqueline.
Silenrieux’s face fell. He walked to the window, tapped impatiently on the glass, and turned back to Fléchère:
— Tell me… he demanded in a low voice that seemed to issue only with difficulty from his constricted throat.
— High fever… the doctor said unevenly [hacha]. Symptoms worrying enough to warrant them calling me back… Can you put a car at my disposal this afternoon, Hervé? I’ll take the train from Clermont-Ferrand.
— Go to Paris instead, Master. You’ll save two hours. I have an excellent driver.
— Thank you. You’ll come with me, de Javerne, won’t you?
Fléchère turned to Silenrieux and saw a silent plea on that pale face that suddenly reminded him of the poor, unlucky student he had once seen brought into his ward.
— You’d like to come too, Hervé? he articulated painfully. OK, come! Would you abandon your seismologists?
— They’re writing a voluminous report… the young man murmured. OK, Master, it’s decided. Departure at noon. We’ll be in Paris well before dawn.
Doctor Fléchère was so pale that Michel de Javerne thought for a moment he was going to give himself away.
Sunk into the cushions of the limousine, next to Michel de Javerne, Fléchère followed with his eyes the interminable thread of the road, dizzyingly unwinding. He saw the sun sink, languish, lose its rays as it touched the trees, which suddenly grabbed him, as the car plunged down a slope. Then came the endless green and gray twilight.
Fléchère was living a nightmare. He no longer dared look at Silenrieux’s silhouette, motionless beside the driver. Every moment, he was on the verge of whispering to Michel: “Let’s give up… I can’t…”
But then anguish would resurface. The map of the doomed city unfolded between the trees, and the crosses in red ink became stains of blood. The car was going too fast… He wished for a breakdown… He longed to meet one more time the affectionate gaze of green eyes, that trusting gaze he would never see again… And yet, during the hasty meal they ate in a wagoner’s inn, he didn’t dare turn to Silenrieux.
As he was about to leave, he saw Michel de Javerne take the wheel.
— The driver is tired, he declared. Monsieur Silenrieux, get in next to the doctor.
Night had fallen. The brightness of the headlights skidded, bringing the road to life in vivid white, between the patches of black countryside that spread out confusedly. They were silent. Hervé thought of Jacqueline. Fléchère thought of Silenrieux.Twice, de Javerne, addressed by the young man, refused to leave the wheel. Fléchère began to tremble: they were no longer on the Parisian road. Wouldn’t Hervé notice? But no, absorbed in his worry, his eyes closed, he seemed to doze.
A bright light pierces the darkness. A sudden stop. The sound of voices. Silenrieux straightens and asks:
— Where are we?
The door opens. The dazzling beam of a lantern hurts him. He makes out Michel de Javerne leaning toward him, pointing at him. And then white shapes, men in white, hurling themselves onto the running board. Violent hands seize him, a gag compresses his mouth, open to scream. Without understanding, he looks for his Master, who turns away.
Silenrieux makes a desperate effort to free himself. In vain. He is nothing more than a bound body being carried away.
RADIUM AGE PROTO-SF: “Radium Age” is Josh Glenn’s name for the nascent sf genre’s c. 1900–1935 era, a period which saw the discovery of radioactivity, i.e., the revelation that matter itself is constantly in movement — a fitting metaphor for the first decades of the 20th century, during which old scientific, religious, political, and social certainties were shattered. More info here.
SERIALIZED BY HILOBOOKS: James Parker’s Cocky the Fox | Annalee Newitz’s “The Great Oxygen Race” | Matthew Battles’s “Imago” | & many more original and reissued novels and stories.