of that country. I was told he had made his fame and his money as a
promoter of a new method of catching whales. Nature to protect the
whales has given them their slippery coat and their thick lining of
blubber, but that man has overreached Nature. He kills them with
dynamite. You ask, as I did, when I heard the horrible story, if that
man has not been hanged. Alas, my poor friend! we do not understand the
world at all; the man has by no means been hanged. True that a cord has
been put round his neck, but it was the cord of Commander of St.
Olaf--_sapristi!_ they are not very particular in that country! I am
very sorry for him, but were I to meet that man I would decline to shake
hands with him. What have the whales done to man to be treated in this
way? Have they not always been inoffensive and harmless ever since that
kind old whale who happened to swallow the prophet Jonah, and then spat
him carefully back on the shore? Only think what a horrible idea to
blast in pieces a sensitive body as one blasts in pieces a rock! Think
what a barbarous conception of man's position towards animals is here
allowed to be put in practice, think of that--before the man is promoted
to a Grand Cross of his St. Olaf!
Before giving the last touches to my new game-laws--the fundamental
principles of which I have hinted to you--I am perfectly willing to
listen to any legitimate claims of the sportsman, and I shall be glad to
try to satisfy them if they do not harm the animals. But on one point I
am firm. Under no pretext shall children be allowed to shoot, on account
of the great development this occupation gives to the instinctive
cruelty of the child, and the rude colour it lends to the formation of
the whole character. Kindness to our inferiors we ought to be taught as
children; life will surely teach us to grow hard enough. Nor are
children to be allowed to watch shooting; for men's faces turn so ugly
when they are pursuing a flying animal, and the child should be
protected as much as possible from the sight of anything unbeautiful.
Ah! I remember so well a little lad up in Sweden who had escaped from
school one clear spring morning. He saw how the trees were budding and
the meadows in flower, and high up in the air he heard the song of the
first skylark. The boy lay down silently in the grass and listened with
thankfulness and joy. He knew well what the skylark sang: it sang that
the long winter was over, and that it was springtime in the North. And
he stared at the little bird high up in the bright air; he stared at it
till the tears came into his eyes. He would have liked to kiss the wings
which had borne it far over the wide sea home again; he would have liked
to warm it at his heart in the frosty spring nights; he would have liked
to guard its summer nest from all evil. Yes, surely the skylark could
have remained longer in the land of eternal summer! But it knew that up
in the cold North there wandered about men longing for spring breezes
and summer sun, for flowers and song of birds. So it flew home, the
courageous little bird, home to the frozen field from where the pale
morning sun melted the white frost-flowers of the night, where primroses
and anemones were waking up from their winter sleep. With the head
hidden under the down of its wings it kept out the cold of the night,
and when the horizon brightened, it flew up and sang its joyful morning
hymn--sang Nature's promise of life-bringing sun. But the next day the
boy read in the newspaper under the title: _Forerunner of
Spring_--"Yesterday the first skylark of the year was shot, and brought
to the Kings palace." Man had killed the innocent little bird on whose
wings Spring had flown to the North, and whose little songster's heart
was beating with Nature's jubilant joy! And in the palace they had eaten
the gray-coated little messenger of summer! That day the boy swore his
Hannibal oath against shooting. And when he fell asleep that night he
dreamt about a republican rebellion.
* * * * *
Do not believe that this is nothing but theoretical nonsense--that I am
discussing matters of which I know nothing. For there was a time when I
felt the fascination of the gun myself; there was a time when I too was
a great shot. The man who is now sitting here and scribbling about his
love for animals, shoots no more; but it is with an indulgent smile on
his lips that he looks back upon the whimsical sportsman of bygone days.
Yes, I have been a sportsman--a great sportsman. I have often made long
journeys to join shooting parties, and more than once there was no one
in the whole company who fired off as many cartridges as I did. All my
best friends were amongst sportsmen, and it was seldom indeed I failed
to be present on the opening day of the season. We had lots of good
sport about my place, but the best was blackcock-shooting. Do you know
anything about blackcock-shooting? A very fine sport. How many pleasant
recollections have I not from those happy sporting days! how many joyful
rambles through the silent forests! how many peaceful hours passed away
in half-waking dreams, with the head leaning against a mossy hillock
and soft murmuring pines all around! And how happy, too, was my poor old
Tom during these never-to-be-forgotten days of sport! How glad was he to
scamper about on the soft moss instead of the stones of the streets! how
contentedly he lay down to harmonious contemplations by my side--so near
that I could now and then caress his beautiful head and catch a friendly
glance from his half-open eyes. He knew I was always in splendid temper
on those shooting days, and that was all he required to be perfectly
happy himself. But if I begin to speak about my dear old dog we shall
never arrive at the blackcock, and it is about them I want to speak
to-day.
The gamekeeper had long known the whereabouts of the birds, and
carefully exploring the woods he had often enough heard the call of the
hen; the blackcock chicks had, so to speak, grown up under his eyes, and
he had tried in all sorts of ways to take care of them, the good
gamekeeper! And now since they had grown up, the important thing had
been to keep them undisturbed lest they should be dispersed. We
sportsmen came down the day before the opening day, and well do I
remember those pleasant evenings, with a stroll in the forest to clear
the lungs from the dust of the town, and then supper in the gamekeeper's
cottage in excellent company, flavoured with stories of first-rate shots
and marvellous adventures. At first I used to be rather shy, and would
silently sit and listen to the others' wonderful tales, but I soon got
to learn the trick, and having once mastered the technical terms, I had
shot every kind of game at every conceivable range. After dinner, when
we got hold of our pipes, I had killed swallows with bullets at
tremendous distances, and my friends began to consult me about guns and
cartridges and all the other paraphernalia, and were most anxious to
have my advice about the arrangements for the next day. Tom lay beside
us in the grass and stared with solemn dignity at the company, winking
knowingly at me with one eye when no one else was looking, whilst I was
telling them about his pedigree and some of his most astounding
achievements. When we had delivered ourselves of all our stories, and
every one's power of invention had come to an end, we began to yawn, and
soon dispersed to our sleeping-quarters to gain strength for next day's
hard work.
I remember so well my first blackcock. I had happened to come upon the
birds during a short walk with the gamekeeper in the afternoon, and I
had heard the mother's anxious call, and had seen some clumsy blackcock
children following after her into the forest. I was so excited that I
could not close my eyes all night, and could think of nothing but
blackcock. Outside, the enchanting summer night allured me to its
darkening fells and mysterious woods, and it was as though I could see
before my eyes the condemned blackcock where they sat and slept their
last sleep. Everything was still in the cottage, and, silent as ghosts,
Tom and I glided out armed to the teeth. Yes, I could see the blackcock
so distinctly before me, that I had scarcely reached the glen where we
had come upon them in the afternoon than I fired off my gun. No
blackcock fell. But hardly had the dreadful thunder of the gun died away
than the whole forest woke up. Startled small birds fluttered backward
and forward deeper into the brushwood. A little squirrel peeped
cautiously between two branches, dropped in his fright the fir-cone he
was crunching, and then jumped hastily away. The nasty smoke spread with
the wind farther in the wood, and pinched the nose of a hare who sat
half-asleep under a bush. "I smell human blood," said the hare to
himself, like the giant to Tom Thumb, and off he went in a tremendous
hurry to find a safer refuge for the day's rest. Tom and I watched him
with interest as he stopped short in catching sight of us, stamped with
his paws, and then scampered off. The hare has the reputation of being
rather ugly; we noticed, on the contrary, that he was quite graceful in
his elegant leap over a fallen fir-tree, and I was sorry he did not give
us a little longer time in which to look at him. It is not every day one
gets a hare; and very satisfied with the beginning of our day, we went
on farther into the forest, keeping a sharp look-out for the blackcock.
We soon left the forest track and wandered along over the moss, soft as
velvet, without the slightest idea where we were going. So we came upon
a little brook which cheerfully murmured in our ears as he hurried
along, would we not like to accompany him down to the lake? and that we
did, to make sure that he did not go astray in the gloom between
hillocks and stones. We could not see him, but we heard him singing to
himself the whole time. Now and then he stopped short at a jutting rock
or fallen tree and waited for us, and then he rushed down the vale
quicker than ever to make up for lost time. Yes, it was easy enough for
him, who had nothing to carry but some flowers and dry leaves, to rush
off with such a speed; he should have had that confounded gun to drag
with him, he would then have seen how easy a matter it was! And thus it
happened that he ran away from us. We did not know what to do next, so
we fired off a shot again. No blackcock fell. But we had scarcely time
to load the gun again before we came upon the whole covey. Fancy if I
had not had time to load! But they got it all right. There was a
tremendous whirring up in the tree-tops, and on heavy wings they
dispersed in different directions. We thought the blackcock was a very
fine bird, who looks exceedingly well in a forest.
Hallo! There he came again, our friend the brook, dancing toward us
happier than ever, and I bent down to kiss his night-cool face just as
he glided past me. Ah! now there was no longer any danger that he should
lose his way, for already the night had fled away on swift dwarf-feet to
hide itself deeper in the forest under the thick firs. Around us birches
and aspens put on their green coats, and amongst the moss and fern at
our feet small flowers stretched their pretty heads out of the gloom and
looked at us as we passed. And deep below in the misty valley a lake
opened its eyelid.
So we got sick of blackcock-shooting and we sat down on a mossy stone to
read a chapter of Nature's bible whilst the sun rose above the fir-tops
and the sky brightened over our heads.
The disturber of the peace sat there quite quiet, silently wondering to
himself how it could be possible that men exist who have the heart to
bring sorrow and death into a friendly forest. And the small birds also
began to wonder, wonder whether that dreadful thunder which awoke them
was only a bad dream; the whole forest was so silent again, and
perchance it might not be so dangerous to try a little song! And so they
took courage one after another and began each to sing their tune. Some
were perfect artists and sang long arias with trills and variations;
some sang folk-songs; some knew nothing but a little refrain, and that
they did not in the least mind repeating over and over again; and some
only knew how to hum a single little note, but they were just as merry
for all that. And now and again one could hear among all the soprani a
rich melodious alto who sang an old ballad--listen! that is the
greatest artist in the whole forest; that is the blackbird!
So I thanked my little wild friends for their song; they knew well how
happy I felt with them. But I was obliged to turn home again. I told
them that I was a sportsman and that I had to be at the rendezvous with
my party at seven sharp. I told them to be prudent, to listen carefully
for the sound of our voices and to fly on quick wings as soon as we
approached--they must be aware that men are so unmusical that they do
not know how to appreciate a soulful artist; that they are so unkind,
one can never know what may happen. And the merry squirrels, the
red-skinned little acrobats of the woods, I told them also to be on the
look-out, to take care not to crunch their fir-cones too loudly and not
to peep too much from behind their tree--they must know that men are so
cold in their hearts that to keep warm they wrap themselves in furs
made from their small red coats. I had also prepared a speech for the
blackcock, but, as I never caught sight of them again, I could not
deliver it. But I had the impression that they had grasped the situation
thoroughly, and that was all I wanted of them.
I was punctual at the rendezvous, and the party set off in excellent
spirits. We roamed about the whole day, strode miles and miles with our
huge game-bags dangling behind our backs, sank knee-deep into morasses
and bogs, climbed over hundreds of hedges and tore our faces with the
branches of the tangled brushwood. We were all to meet in the evening at
the shooting-box, where supper (with roast blackcock) was to be served,
and where also, idyllic enough, ladies were to come to give the
sportsmen welcome, and to share the spoil.
As one sportsman after the other, hungry and disappointed, reached the
meeting-place, dragging his gun after him, those who were already there
looked eagerly at his bag. I was one of the last, and I saw at once that
the situation was gloomy. I was also in a bad temper, having just
discovered that I had unfortunately left my gun behind somewhere, and I
could not remember in the least where it might be. I was very
disagreeably surprised to see one of the party with a cry of triumph
seize hold of my bag. The bag looked really as if it were filled, but
the fact was I was absolutely unprepared for such importunate
examination. I protested and said it contained nothing but small birds
and squirrels, but he took the bag from me and the whole party watched
with avaricious eyes when he thrust in his hand and fumbled in the bag.
After he had pulled out my whole little shooting-library, Heine and
Alfred de Musset and my old friend Leopardi, all the sportsmen looked at
each other with amazement. And I quite lost my head. They became
absolutely furious when, with my unfortunate absent-mindedness, I
happened to let out that I had made a little private excursion before
sunrise and by chance had come across some blackcock. "_But had you not
time to fire at them?_" they cried, shaking me by the arms and pulling
at my coat. "_Yes, of course, I had time to fire, but the blackcock had
also time to get away._" "_Did you not aim at the thick of the covey?_"
they yelled with bloodshot eyes and contorted faces. "_No, I think that
I aimed at a little cloud, and, for the matter of that, I think I hit
it, for a moment later I saw that the sky was beautifully blue._" My
remark about the cloud must have been to the point, for it made them
absolutely dumbfounded; they only shook their heads in silence and
stared at me while I put my books in the bag again. I had not time to
stay longer, having to go and look at the effects of the sunset deeper
in the wood, and I politely begged them to excuse me for breaking up
the party.
I had not gone many steps before there broke out a frightful dispute
amongst them as to who was guilty of having brought me amongst them,
and, as far as I could make out, they called me "that idiot."
I was never invited to that place any more. For the matter of that, it
was an observation I often made--I was never invited more than once to
any place. To my astonishment I saw myself cut out from one house-party
after another, and there sprang up a rumour that I brought bad luck with
me. Isn't it odd, this often-observed tendency to superstition amongst
sportsmen?
* * * * *
I have really no time to linger any longer over my new game-laws, for I
have so many other reforms concerning the animals at hand. Only think
how much there is to be done for domestic animals also! The division of
labour forms here a most important chapter. The domestic animals will
only have to work a certain number of hours a day, in proportion to
their strength, and not, as now, work themselves to death. And so when
age comes upon them men will have to try to give back to the tired
animals a small part of all that these humble fellow-workmen have given
to them as long as they were able. Surely the domestic animals belong to
the family; and just as the old labourer is allowed to end his days in
peace in his little cottage, so shall the old horse, when his eyes begin
to grow dim and his legs to get stiff, be allowed to rest in his stall;
and now and then one should go and pet the old servant with grateful
hands, and give him his bit of bread as before. The old worn-out ox,
surely he too might be allowed at last to glean a little dry hay from
the fields which he in his strong days has so many times ploughed for
the seed, which year after year filled the farmer's barn with golden
sheaves and sweet clover. And the kind, sympathetic little donkeys,
whose whole life is a series of self-renunciation, and whose melancholy
is an unheard protest against the degradation into which they have
fallen--surely I shall not forget you in my reforms, my poor Italian
friends! And keep up your courage, resigned little donkeys! your cause
is a good one, the tyranny of barbarians shall come to an end one day,
and the oppressed animals shall be given back their right to enjoy life,
even they! And the day will come when you are to be reinstated in the
high social position which your misunderstood intelligence and your
subtle humour entitle you to hold, and when you shall throw back in the
faces of your oppressors the epithet which short-sighted men now apply
to you!
The sanitary condition of animals is to be improved a great deal.
Hospitals and asylums for sick and aged animals are to be founded. Up
till now I know personally of only two almshouses, that in London for
"lost and starving dogs"--where they are not so badly cared for--and
that in Florence for aged and infirm cats--it includes a _creche_ for
lost and orphan kittens (it has been founded by an English lady, I
believe).
The jurisdiction is to be entirely changed. Flogging is only to be
allowed in certain exceptional cases, and only after serious
remonstrances and repeated warnings. There is nothing in the whole of
creation so stubborn as a school-boy when he tries his best; well, now,
when one is no longer allowed to flog him, why may one then be allowed
to beat the animal whose duller perception ought so much the more to
protect him from the birch-rod?
Capital execution--I recognise its necessity--is to be changed from
arbitrary barbarity to an institution watched over by mildness and
tenderness for the condemned animal. The animal-executioners should form
a corporation apart, kept under the severest supervision. The profession
is a repulsive but a necessary one, and the individuals who enlist
themselves on its roll deserve high wages.
* * * * *
It was never meant that man should be an autocratic tyrant in the great
society which peoples the world, but a constitutional monarch. I had
dreamt of a republic, but I admit that our earth is not yet ripe for
this form of government. Yes, man is the ruler of the earth; always
victorious, he carries his blood-stained banner round the world, and his
kingdom has no longer any limit. But man is an upstart--I, at any rate,
cannot believe all his talk about his high birth. He will try to take us
in by saying that he is a foundling who was mysteriously put into the
nursery of creation, and that he is of far nobler origin than anybody
else on the whole earth. It is true there is something peculiar about
him, and that he is domineering and arrogant: that he showed early
enough. Even when a baby, and lying at Nature's mother-breast, he pushed
away the other children of the earth, and drank the strength of life in
deep draughts. Hardly could he crawl before he scratched his kind nurse
in the face and beat his weaker foster-brothers. So he grew up to be a
true bully, a brutish Protanthropos, breaking down each obstacle,
subduing with the right of the stronger all opposition. And the law of
selection enlarged his facial angle, and culture put arms in his hands.
How could the sickle-like claws of _Ursus spelaeus_ (cave-bear) prevail
against his trident studded with thorns or twig-spikes or set with
razor-edged shells? What could the six-inch long canines of Machaerodus
do against his sharpened flint? And so they disappeared, one after the
other, these vanquished giants, into the gloom of past ages. But the
power of man expanded more and more, and higher and higher flew his
thoughts. Now the earth lies at his feet, and he prepares to assault
heaven! And he has been so spoiled by all his success, so refined by all
civilisation, that he turns up his aristocratic nose whenever one
reminds him of his childhood. And his humble old ancestors, among whom
his cradle stood, and all his poor relations who, homeless, rove about
the earth, these he will not own at all, and he is so hard to them. But
man is no longer young--no one knows exactly how many hundred thousand
years he carries on his back; but I think it is time for him to reflect
a little upon all the evil he has done in his days, and try to grow a
little kinder in his old age. The day will come when the last man will
lie down to die, and when a new-crowned king of creation will mount the
throne--_le roi est mort, vive le roi!_ So falls the twilight of ages
round the sarcophagus where the dead monarch sleeps in the Pantheon of
Palaeontology. The dust covers the inscription which records all the
honorary titles of the dead, and the standards which witnessed his
victories moulder away. Up there in the new planet sits a professor, and
lectures about the remains from prehistoric times, and he hands round to
his audience a fragile cranium, which is carefully examined by wondering
students. It is our cranium, with that upright facial angle and that
large brain-pan which was our pride! And the professor makes a casual
remark about _Homo Sapiens_, and he points out the fang which is still
to be seen in the jaw.
We learn from the long story of the development of our race that the
hunter-stage was the lowest of all human conditions, the most purely
animal. The pursuing and killing of animals for mere pleasure is a
humiliating reminiscence from this time of savagery. Man's right over
the animal is limited to his right of defence, and his right of
existence. The former can only very seldom be evoked in our country; the
latter cannot be evoked by our class.
A man of culture recognises his obligations towards animals as a
compensation for the servitude he imposes on them. The pursuing and
killing of animals for mere pleasure is incompatible with the fulfilment
of these obligations. Sympathy extending beyond the limit of humanity,
_i.e._ kindness to animals, is one of the latest moral qualities
acquired by mankind. This sympathy is absolutely lacking in the lowest
human races, and the degree of this sympathy possessed by an individual
marks the distance which separates him from his primitive state of
savagery.
An individual who enjoys the pursuing and killing of animals is thus to
be considered as a transitional type between a savage and a man of
culture. He forms the missing link in the evolution of the mind from
brutishness to humanity.
TO ----
"The firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend."
Byron.
We have camped together for the whole of ten years. We have stuck to
each other in both joy and sorrow; honestly we have shared good and
evil.