was in full activity I wrote at the request of the Committee of the
Women’s Suffrage Association a circular-letter to the “Dames” (of whom I
am one) begging them to endeavour to make the granting of votes to women
a “plank” in their platform. I received many friendly letters in
reply—but the men who influenced the League, apparently finding that
they could make the Dames do their political work for them _without
votes_, discouraged all movement in the desired direction, and I do not
suppose that anything was gained by my attempt.
My last effort on behalf of women was to read a paper on _Women’s Duty
to Women_ at the Conference of Women workers held at Birmingham in Nov.,
1890. This address was received with such exceeding kindness and
sympathy by my audience that the little event has left very tender
recollections which I am glad to carry with me.
I will record here two paragraphs which I should like to leave as my
last appeal on behalf of my sex.
“It may be an open question whether any individual woman suffers more
severely in body or mind than any individual man. There are some who
say that all our passions matched with theirs
‘Are as moonlight is to sunlight, and as water is to wine.’
A sentiment, which I am happy to tell you, Lord Tennyson has angrily
disclaimed as his own, declaring that he only ‘put it into the mouth
of an impatient fool.’ But that our _whole sex together_ suffers more
physical pain, more want, more grief, than the other, is not, I think,
open to doubt. Even if we put aside the poor Chinese women maimed from
infancy, the Hindoo women against whose cruel wrongs their noble
countryman, Malabari, has just been pleading so eloquently in
London,—if we put these and all the other prisoners of Eastern Harems,
and miserable wives of African and Australian savages out of question,
and think only of the comparatively free and happy women of
Christendom, how much more _liable to suffering_, if not always
actually condemned to suffer, is the life of women! ‘To be weak is to
be miserable,’ and we _are_ weak; always comparatively to our
companions, and weak often, absolutely, and in reference to the wants
we must supply, the duties we must perform. Now, it seems to me that
just in proportion as any one is possessed of strength of mind or of
body, or of wealth or influence, so far it behoves him, or her, to
turn with sympathy and tender helpfulness to the weakest and most
forlorn of God’s creatures, whether it be man or woman or child, or
even brute. The weight of the claim is in exact ratio of the
feebleness and helplessness and misery of the claimant.
* * * * *
“Thus, then, I would sum up the counsels which I am presuming to offer
to you. You will all remember the famous line of Terence, at which the
old Roman audience rose in a tumult of applause: ‘I am a _Man_—nothing
human is alien to me.’ I would have each of you add to this in an
emphatic way. ‘_Mulier sum. Nihil muliebre a me alienum puto._’ ‘I am
a _woman_. Nothing concerning the interests of women is alien to me.’
Take the sorrows, the wants, the dangers (above all the dangers) of
our sisters closely to heart, and, without ceasing to interest
yourself in charities having men and boys for their objects, recognise
that your earlier care should be for the weakest, the poorest, those
whose dangers are worst of all—for, (after all) ruin can only drive a
_Man_ to the workhouse; it may drive a woman to perdition! Think of
all the weak, the helpless, the wronged women and little children, and
the harmless brutes; and save and shield them as best you can; even as
the mother-bird will shelter and fight for her little helpless
fledgelings. This is the natural field of feminine courage. Then, when
you have found your work, whatever it be, give yourself to it with all
your heart, and make the resolution in God’s sight never to go to your
rest leaving a stone unturned which may help your aims. Half-and-half
charity does very little good to the objects; and is a miserable,
slovenly affair for the workers. And when the end comes and the night
closes in, the long, last night of earth, when no man can work any
more in this world, your milk-and-water, half-hearted charities will
bring no memories of comfort to you. They are not so many ‘good works’
which you can place on the credit side of your account, in the mean,
commercial spirit taught by some of the churches. Nay, rather they are
only solemn evidences that you _knew your duty_, knew you _might_ do
good, and did it not, or did it half-heartedly! What a thought for
those last days when we know ourselves to be going home to God,
God—whom at bottom after all, we have loved and shall love for
ever;—that we _might_ have served Him here, _might_ have blessed his
creatures, _might_ have done His will on earth as it is done in
Heaven, but we have let the glorious chance slip by us for ever.”
CHAPTER
XX.
_CLAIMS OF BRUTES._
Readers who have reached this twentieth Chapter of my Life will smile
(as I have often done of late years) at the ascription to me in sundry
not very friendly publications, of exclusive sympathy for animals and
total indifference to human interests. I have seen myself frequently
described as a woman “who would sacrifice any number of men, women and
children, sooner than that a few rabbits should be inconvenienced.” Many
good people apparently suppose me to represent a personal survival of
Totemism in England; and to worship Dogs and Cats, while ready to
consign the human race generally to destruction.
The foregoing pages, describing my life in old days in Ireland and the
years which I spent afterwards working in the slums in Bristol, ought, I
think, to suffice to dissipate this fancy picture. As a matter of fact,
it has only been of late years and since their wrongs have appealed
alike to my feelings of pity and to my moral sense, that I have come to
bestow any peculiar attention on animals; or have been concerned with
them more than is common with the daughters of country squires to whom
dogs, horses and cattle are familiar subjects of interest from
childhood. I have indeed always felt much affection for dogs: that is to
say, for those who exhibit the true Dog-character,—which is far from
being the case of every canine creature! Their eagerness, their
joyousness, their transparent little wiles, their caressing and devoted
affection, are to me more winning, even I may say, more really and
intensely _human_ (in the sense in which a child is human), than the
artificial, cold and selfish characters one meets too often in the guise
of ladies and gentlemen. It is not the four legs, nor the silky or
shaggy coat of the dog which should prevent us from discerning his inner
nature of Thought and Love; limited Thought, it is true; but quite
unlimited Love. That he is dumb, is, to me, only another claim (as it
would be in a human child) on my consideration. But because I love good
dogs, and, in their measure also, good horses and cats and birds, (I had
once a dear and lovely white pea-hen), I am not therefore a morbid
_Zoophilist_. I should be very sorry indeed to say or think like Byron
when my dog dies, that I “had but one true friend, and here he lies!” I
have,—thank God!—known many men and women, who have all a dog’s merits
of honesty and single-hearted devotion _plus_ the virtues which can only
flourish on the high level of humanity; and to them I give a friendship
which the best of dogs cannot share.
That there are some Timons in the world whose hearts, embittered by
human ingratitude, have turned with relief to the faithful love of a
dog, I am very well aware. Surely the fact makes one appeal the more on
behalf of the creatures who thus by their humble devotion heal the
wounds of disappointed or betrayed affection; and who come to cheer the
lonely, the unloved, the dull-witted, the blind, the poverty-stricken
whom the world forsakes? I think Lamartine was right to treat this love
of the Dog for Man as a special provision of Divine mercy, and to
marvel,—
“Par quelle pitié pour nos cœurs Il vous donne
Pour aimer celui que n’aime plus personne!”
Not a few deep thanksgivings, I believe, have gone up to the Maker of
man and brute for the silent sympathy,—expressed perhaps in no nobler
way than by the gentle licking of a passive hand,—which has yet saved a
human heart from the sense of utter abandonment.
But _I_ have no such sorrowful or embittering experience of human
affection. I do not say, “The more I know of men the more I love dogs”;
but, “The more I know of dogs the more I love _them_,” without any
invidious comparisons with men, women, or children. As regards the
children, indeed, I have been always fond of those which came in my way;
and if the Tenth Commandment had gone on to forbid coveting one’s
neighbour’s “_child_,” I am not sure that I should not have had to plead
guilty to breaking it many times.
In my old home I possessed a dear Pomeranian dog of whom I was very
fond, who, being lame, used constantly to ensconce herself (though
forbidden by my father) in my mother’s carriage under the seat, and
never showed her little pointed nose till the britzska had got so far
from home that she knew no one would put her down on the road. Then she
would peer out and lie against my mother’s dress and be fondled. Later
on I had the companionship of another beautiful, mouse-coloured
Pomeranian, brought as a puppy from Switzerland. In my hardworking life
in Bristol in the schools and workhouse she followed me and ingratiated
herself everywhere, and my solitary evenings were much the happier for
dear Hajjin’s company. Many years afterwards she was laid under the sod
of our garden in Hereford Square. Another dog of the same breed whom I
sent away at one year old to live in the country, was returned to me
_eight years_ afterwards, old and diseased. The poor beast recognized me
after a few moments’ eager examination, and uttered an actual scream of
joy when I called her by name; exhibiting every token of tender
affection for me ever afterwards. When one reflects what eight years
signify in the life of a dog,—almost equivalent to the distance between
sixteen and sixty in a human being,—some measure is afforded by this
incident of the durability of a dog’s attachment. Happily, kind Dr.
Hoggan cured poor Dee of her malady, and she and I enjoyed five happy
years of companionship ere she died here in Hengwrt. I have dedicated my
_Friend of Man_ to her memory.
Among my smaller literary tasks in London I wrote an article for which
Mr. Leslie Stephen (then editing the _Cornhill Magazine_ in which it
appeared) was kind enough to express particular liking. It was called
“_Dogs whom I have met_;” and gave an account of many canine
individualities of my acquaintance. I also wrote an article in the
_Quarterly Review_ on the _Consciousness of Dogs_ of which I have given
above (p. 127) Mr. Darwin’s favourable opinion. Both of these papers are
reprinted in my _False Beasts and True_. Such has been the sum total, I
may say, of my personal concern with animals before and apart from my
endeavours to deliver them from their scientific tormentors.
It was, as I have stated, the abominable wrongs endured by animals which
first aroused, and has permanently maintained, my special interest in
them. My great-grandfather had an office in the yard at Newbridge for
his magisterial work, and over his own seat he caused to be inscribed
the text: “_Deliver him that is oppressed from the hand of the
adversary_.” I know not whether it were a juvenile impression, but I
have felt all my life an irresistible impulse to rush in wherever anyone
is “oppressed” and try to “deliver” him, her, or _it_, as the case may
be, from the “adversary!” In the case of beasts, their helplessness and
speechlessness appeal, I think, to every spark of generosity in one’s
heart; and the command, “Open thy mouth for the dumb,” seems the very
echo of our consciences. Everything in us, manly or womanly, (and the
best in us all is _both_) answers it back.
When I was a little child, living in a house where hunting, coursing,
shooting, and fishing, were carried on by all the men and boys, I took
such field sports as part of the order of things, and learned with
delight from my father to fish in our ponds on my own account. Somehow
it came to pass that when, at sixteen, my mind went through that strange
process which Evangelicals call “Conversion,” among the first things
which my freshly-awakened moral sense pointed out was,—that I must give
up fishing! I reflected that the poor fishes were happy in their way in
their proper element; that we did not in the least need, or indeed often
use them for food; and that I must no longer take pleasure in giving
pain to any creature of God. It was a little effort to me to relinquish
this amusement in my very quiet, uneventful life; but, as the good
Quaker’s say, it was “borne in on me,” that I had to do it, and from
that time I have never held a rod or line (though I have been out in
boats where large quantities of fish were caught on the Atlantic coast),
and I freely admit that angling scarcely comes under the head of cruelty
at all, and is perfectly right and justifiable when the fish are wanted
for food and are killed quickly. I used to stand sometimes after I had
ceased to fish, over one of the ponds in our park and watch the bright
creatures dart hither and thither, and say in my heart a little
thanksgiving on their behalf instead of trying to catch them.
Fifty years after this incident, I read in John Woolman’s, (the Quaker
Saint’s,) _Journal_, Chap. XI., this remark:—
“I believe, where the love of God is verily perfected and the true
spirit of government watchfully attended, a tenderness towards all
creatures made subject to us will be experienced, and a care felt in
us that we do not lessen that sweetness of life in the animal creation
which the great Creator intends for them under our government.”
To me as I have said it was almost the _first_, and not an _advanced_,
much less “perfected,” religious impulse, which led me to begin to
recognise the claims of the lower animals on our compassion. Of course,
I disliked then, and always, hunting, coursing and shooting; but as a
woman I was not expected to join in such pursuits, and I did not take on
myself to blame those who followed them. I do not now allow of any
comparison between the cruelty of such _Field Sports_ and the deliberate
_Chamber-Sport_ of Vivisection.
I shall now relate as succinctly as possible the history of the
Anti-vivisection Movement, so far as I have had to do with it. Of course
an immense amount of work for the same end has been carried on all these
twenty years by other Zoophilists with whom I have had no immediate
connection, or perhaps cognizance of their labours, but without whose
assistance the Society which I helped to found certainly could not have
made as much way as it has done. I only presume here to tell the story
of the Victoria Street Society, and the occurrences which led to its
formation.
In the year 1863, there appeared in several English newspapers
complaints of the cruelties practised in the Veterinary Schools at
Alfort near Paris. The students were taught there, as in most other
continental veterinary schools, to perform operations on _living_
animals, and so to acquire, (at the cost, of course, of untold suffering
to the victims,) the same manipulative skill which English students gain
equally well by practising on dead carcases. Living horses were supplied
to the Alfort students on which, at the time I speak of, they performed
sixty operations apiece, including every one in common use, and many
which were purely academic, being never employed in actual practice
because the horse, after enduring them, becomes necessarily useless.
These operations lasted eight hours, and the aspect of the mangled
creatures, hoofless, eyeless, burned, gashed, eviscerated, skinned,
mutilated in every conceivable way, appalled the visitors, who reported
the facts, while it afforded, they said, a subject of merriment to the
horde of students. The English _Society for Prevention of Cruelty to
Animals_ laudably exerted itself to stop these atrocities, and appealed
to the Emperor to interfere; not, perhaps, very hopefully, since, as I
have heard, Napoleon III. was in the habit of attending these hideous
spectacles in his own imperial person on the Thursdays on which they
took place. This circumstance, taken in connection with the Empress’
patronage of Bull-Fights, has made Sedan seem to me an event on which
the animal world, at all events, has to be congratulated.
Some years later Mr. James Cowie took over to France an Appeal, signed
by 500 English Veterinarians entreating their French colleagues to adopt
the English practice of using only dead carcases for the exercises of
students. Through this and other good offices it is understood that the
number and severity of the operations performed at Alfort, and elsewhere
in France, were then greatly reduced. Unhappily the humane regulations
made in 1878 are now evaded, and the dreadful cruelties above described
have been actually witnessed by Mr. Peabody and Dr. Baudry, in 1895.
On reading of these cruelties I wrote an article, _The Rights of Man and
the Claims of Brutes_, which I hoped might help to direct public
attention to them. In this paper I endeavoured to work out as best I
could the ethical problem (which I at once perceived to be beset with
difficulties) of a definition of the limits of human rights over
animals. My article was published by Mr. Froude in _Fraser’s Magazine_
for Nov., 1863, and was subsequently reprinted in my _Studies Ethical
and Social_. It was, so far as I know the first effort made to deal with
the moral questions involved in the torture of animals either for sake
of scientific and therapeutic research, or for the acquirement of
manipulative skill. In the 30 years which have elapsed since I wrote it
I have seen reason to raise considerably the “claims” which I then urged
on behalf of the brutes, but I observe that new recruits to our
Anti-vivisection party usually begin exactly where I stood at that time,
and announce their ideas to me as their mature conclusions.
The same month of November, 1863, in which my article, (written some
weeks before, while I was ill and lame at Aix-les-Bains), appeared in
_Fraser_, I was living near Florence, and was startled by hearing of
similar cruelties practised at the _Specola_, where Prof. Schiff had his
laboratory. My friend Miss Blagden and I were holding our usual weekly
reception in Villa Brichieri on Bellosguardo, and we learned that many
of our guests had been shocked by the rumours which had reached them. In
particular the American physician who had accompanied Theodore Parker to
Florence and attended him in his last days,—Dr. Appleton, of Harvard
University,—told us that he himself had gone over Prof. Schiff’s
laboratory, and had seen dogs, pigeons and other animals in a
frightfully mangled and suffering state. A Tuscan officer had seen a cat
so tortured that he forced Schiff to kill it. Some 50 or 60 letters had
been (or were afterwards) lodged at the Mairie from neighbours
complaining of the disturbance caused by the cries and moans of the
victims in the _Specola_. After much conversation I asked, What could be
done to check these systematic cruelties, which no Tuscan law could then
touch in any way? It was suggested that a Memorial should be addressed
to Prof. Schiff himself, urging him to spare his victims as much as
possible. This Memorial I drafted at once, and it was translated into
Italian and sent round Florence for signatures. Mrs. Somerville placed
her name at the head of it; and through her earnest exertions and those
of her daughters and of several other friends, the list of supporters
soon became very weighty. Among the English signatures was those of
Walter Savage Landor (who added some words so violent that I was obliged
to suppress them!); and among the Italians almost the whole historic
aristocracy of old Florence,—Corsi’s and Corsini’s, and Aldobrandini’s
and Strozzi’s, and a hundred more, the reading of whose names recalled
Medicean times. In all, there were 783 signatories. Very few of them
were of the _mezzo-ceto_ class, and _none_ belonged to the (Red)
Republican party. Schiff was himself a “Red,” and, as such, he might,
apparently, commit any cruelty he thought fit, inasmuch as he and the
other vivisectors (we were told by a lady prominent in that party) were
seeking “the religion of the future”—in the brains and entrails of the
tortured beasts! The same lady expressed to me her wish that “every
animal in creation should be immolated, if only to discover a single
fact of science.” Another Englishwoman (also married to a foreigner)
wrote to the _Daily News_ to praise Schiff for “actively pursuing
Vivisection.”
The Memorial, as often happens, did no _direct_ good; Professor Schiff
tossing it aside, and politely qualifying the signatories, (in the
_Nazione_ newspaper,) as “_un tas de Marquis_.” But it certainly caused
the subject to be much discussed, and doubtless prepared the way for the
complaints and lawsuits concerning the “nuisances” of the moaning dogs,
which eventually made Florence an unpleasant abode for Professor Schiff.
He retreated thence to Geneva in 1877. The Florentine _Società
Protettrice degli Animali_ was founded by Countess Baldelli in 1873, and
has led the agitation there against Vivisection ever since.
Meanwhile on the presentation of the Memorial, Professor Schiff wrote a
letter in the _Nazione_ (the chief newspaper of Florence) denying the
facts mentioned in the letter of the official Correspondent of the
_Daily News_, and challenging the said correspondent to come forward and
make good the statement. I instantly wrote a letter saying that I was
the _Daily News’_ Correspondent in Florence; that the letter complained
of was mine; and that for verification of my assertions therein I
appended a full and signed statement by Dr. Appleton of what he had
himself witnessed in the _Specola_.
It was rather difficult for me then to believe that this letter of mine
(in Italian of course) duly signed and authenticated with name, date and
place, was refused publication in the paper wherein I had been
challenged to come forward! On learning this amazing fact, I requested
Dr. Appleton to go down again to Florence and ask the editor of the
_Nazione_ to publish my letter if in no other way, at least _as a paid
advertisement_. The answer made by the editor to Dr. Appleton was, that
it might be inserted, but only among the advertisements in certain
columns of the paper where no decent reader would look for it. N.B.—the
_Nazione_ replenished its exchequer by the help of that class of notices
which are declined by every reputable English newspaper. After this Dr.
Appleton went in despair to Professor Schiff himself, and told him he
was bound in honour, (seeing he had made the challenge to us,) to compel
the editor to print our answer. The learned and scientific gentleman
shrugged his shoulders and laughed in the face of the American who could
imagine him to be so simple!
I left Florence soon after this first brush with the demon of
Vivisection, but retained (as will easily be understood) very strong
feelings on the subject.
At a meeting of the British Association in Liverpool in 1870 a Committee
was appointed to consider the subject of “Physiological
Experimentation,” and their Report was published in the _Medical Times
and Gazette_, Feb. 25th, 1871; and in _British Assoc. Reports_, 1871, p.
144. It consists of the following four Rules or Recommendations on the
subject of Vivisection:—