Puslapio vaizdai

live without faith, or without love; they are acts, not states; we can deliberately despoil our souls of them and still possess happiness enough to render life worth the living-a blind, starved, ghostly sort of happiness it is at best, the mere vague reflection of the sunray from base metal, dull and without beauty or warmth, but sufficient to save the body from destruction-not the soul. For the saving of the city of Mansoul there must be the faith which "subdued kingdoms, stopped the mouths of lions," and the love which "suffereth long, and is kind"; for the saving of the soul, that is, in hourly freedom from evil thoughts, conceptions, and desires, the preserving it from taint of contact with things inimical to its purity, things perilous to its sacred, inborn passion for God. So sure is the apostle of this that time after time his magnificent declamations sound in our ears; he can hardly forsake this great subject of man's correspondence with the divine through faith and love. "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal," he says; and with this verse he leads up to the more comprehensive exposition, where he designates for all time the place of love in this trilogy of indispensable things: "And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing; and though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and The Academy.

[ocr errors]

though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing." The thought is bound to occur that few present-day experiences can in any manner approach this fervent outpouring of belief. A long way in front of St. Paul are we in art, iu science, in education, in all that goes to make our secular sphere habitable and pleasant; a long way behind him in our hold on these "things unseen" which were to him so intensely real, so supremely dear, so tightly bound like three golden threads into the very texture of his life. We are proud of our accomplishments, our tenacity, our money: "charity envieth not, vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up"; we drive hard bargains at every opportunity, and spread sails to every little breeze of scandal: charity "doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil"; we are irritable and nervous: charity "beareth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things." But St. Paul, gentle even in his exhortation, true for all the imperfect centuries that were to come as he was for his own "beloved," the Corinthian citizens of that day, wrote unerringly and keenly his final summing-up of the whole matter:

The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, who has worked so hard to get better treatment for animals in Italy, has written a fascinating book about "The Place of Animals in Human Thought"

For now we see through a glass darkly; but then face to face; now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.


(T. Fisher Unwin, 12s. 6d. net). It is a book full of miscellaneous information and entertainment, the sort of book which makes the reader idly long for Macaulay's memory in which to

store all the delightful things which the author has told and shown him. Stories, quotations, comments, and pictures are all alike good.

"The Stoics," says Plutarch, "made sensibility towards animals a preparation to humanity and compassion because the gradually formed habit of the lesser affections is capable of leading men very far." Marcus Aurelius in the same spirit coldly exhorts to kindness. "As to animals which have no reason ... do thou, since thou hast reason, and they have none, make use of them with No a generous and liberal spirit." doubt the aim of the Stoics in cultivating compassion was the right aim. But the Stoics were terrible prigs. Perhaps that is why they never succeeded in persuading their adherents to abolish the arena. Mercy, to have any dynamic force, must be of the nature of a passion. St. Bernard said that if mercy were a sin, he would still commit it. His words and those quoted above them throw a bright side-light on the essential difference and superficial likeness of the Christianity of Christ and the Stoicism of Marcus Aurelius. Christianity is a venture and Stoicism a scheme. They illustrate the everlasting difference between a faith and a theory.

On the other hand, we must admit that, despite Marcus Aurelius, St. Francis, and St. Bernard, if compassion were a sin, Imperial Rome and the Church of the Middle Ages might both boast their innocence. Our authoress in a most interesting passage shows the sordid side of that arena over which poets have cast a strange heroic light. At Nennig, not far from the Imperial city of Trèves, there exists a superb mosaic pavement. It was only discovered of recent years, and still attracts but few visitors. "The observer of this mosaic perceives at once that the games were of the nature of a 'variety' entertainment." In the central

division, because the most important, is shown the gladiatorial fight; above this is a hardly less deadly struggle between a man and a bear. "The bear has got the man under him, but is being whipped off so that the 'turn' may not end too quickly." To the left there is a fight between a leopard and a wild ass; to the right a gladiator who has run his spear through the neck of a panther. The last picture shows a replete lion, apparently at peace with the world, being led off the stage by a slave. "Everything is quiet, orderly, and a model of good management. The custodian of the little museum told me that the (surprisingly few) visitors to Nennig were in the habit of remarking of this representation of the Roman Games that it made them understand for the first time how the cultivated Romans could endure such sights."

A very odd testimony to man's fellow-feeling for animals, quite apart from pity, is illustrated by the animal trials of the Middle Ages. As early as the ninth century we hear of regular trials of inconvenient or offending animals, in which great care is taken to keep up an appearance of fair play for the defendants. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco gives an account of such a trial which took place before a certain Prior in 1370. "The young son of a Burgundian swineherd had been killed by three sows." All the members of the herd "were arrested as accomplices." It was pointed out that the mass of the pigs were innocent. Justice did not move quickly, and it was not for years that a settlement was reached. The Duke of Burgundy delivered judgment. "Only the three guilty sows and one young pig (what had it done?) were to be executed; the others were set at liberty, 'notwithstanding that they had seen the death of the boy without defending him." The trial took so long that had they all been executed in the end they would have

owed years of life to their accusers! Sympathy for animals is, however, as the book before us amply proves, no product of modern civilization. Men have often forgotten their relations to the beasts of the field, but it was suspected and acknowledged very early. Scandinavian and Persian and Indian literature furnish illustrations of curiously modern feeling in this respect. The Rig-Veda preserves this address to a home-coming bride:-"Make thyself loved for the sake of the children that will come to thee; guard this house, be as one with thy husband; may you grow old here together. Cast no evil looks, hate not thy spouse; be gentle in thought and deed even to the animals of this home." Zoroaster taught that men had duties towards the brute creation to be performed as to "God the giver, Forgiver, rich in Love." Their souls, he thought, would live again at "the renewal of the world." Zoroaster could hardly limit mercy: he believed that "the voice of him weeping, however low, mounts up to the star-lights." Moses legislated for animals, though to the Jew the gulf between the human and the brute creation was always wide and evident. The Koran yields some sentences suggestive of sympathy, for instance the following: -"Fear God in these dumb animals, and ride them when they are fit to be rode, and get off them when they are tired." Again:-"There is no beast on earth nor bird which flieth with its wings but the same is a people like unto you, we have not omitted anything in the Book of our decrees; then unto their Lord shall they return."

Our author reminds us of the charming argument for animals having souls which Lamartine has put into the mouth of an old and uneducated maidservant who is grieving over the death of a pet bullfinch. "On dit que les bêtes n'ont pas l'âme," she says. "Je ne veux pas offenser le bon Dieu, mais

si mon pauvre oiseau n'avait pas d'âme, avec quoi donc m'aurait-il tant aimée? Avec les plumes ou avec les pattes, peut-être?" Madame de Staël may have had the same thought in her mind when she said: "The more I know of men the more I like dogs."

The writer of this book has with extraordinary self-control avoided every temptation to put in foolish or sentimental or improbable stories. While emphasizing the human side of animal nature, and emphasizing the fact of its immemorial recognition, she never strains the credulity of the average man. The following story perhaps touches high-water mark in this direction, but it is difficult to disbelieve it on the evidence given:-"That noble hunter, Major Leveson, told a pathetic story of how he witnessed in South Africa a fight between two lions, while the lioness, palm and prize, stood looking on. A bullet laid her low, but the combatants were so hotly engaged that neither of them perceived what had happened. Then another bullet killed one of them: the survivor, after the first moment of surprise as to why his foe surrendered turned round and for the first time saw the hunters who were quite near. He seemed about to spring on them, when he caught sight of the dead lioness: 'With a peculiar whine of recognition utterly regardless of our presence, he strode towards her. licked her face and neck with his great rough tongue, and patted her gently with his huge paw, as if to awaken her. Finding that she did not respond to his caresses, he sat upon his haunches like a dog and howled most piteously.' .. He had understood the great, intolerable fact of death."

To come back to the subject of the book. What is the place of animals in human thought, what was it, and what will it be? Who can say? They have been regarded as stocks and stones and as objects of worship, as

slaves, as "little brothers," and as ancestors. Men progress while they remain stationary, yet their place is not yet settled. The problem of their pain, the pain of those who know neither sin nor salvation, did not present itself until lately to the world. Now it stands

The Spectator.


Seven years ago when the sumptuous illustrated "travel" book was in its experimental stage in the United States a young Boston firm published the two volumes of Miss Clara Crawford Perkins's "French Cathedrals and Chateaux," which set so lofty a standard for the text that many authors of similar works apparently abandoned the task of attaining it, and contented themselves with pure commonplace. This work, originally published by Messrs. Knight & Millet, has now passed to Messrs. Henry Holt & Co., and is published by them in a binding equal in elegance but unlike in color to that which they have given to the author's "Builders of Spain," and the four volumes are sold either separately or together. About fifty excellent pictures illustrate the book and it is well indexed. A more pleasant guide through Christian France cannot be imagined.

In Miss Lottie Blair Parker's "Homespun" we have a story of two brothers whose astute father divides two hundred and forty acres of land between them, specifying in his will that each should have one hundred and twenty acres, and not taking into account a lane running through the centre of the property. Having all the stubbornness of the rustic Yankee, the two brothers take their case from court to court, until the Supreme Bench tells them, as any well-taught schoolboy

before mankind, an unplumbed source of scepticism and distress. The strange thing is that as our sympathies widen, the gulf between us and the animals widens also. In proportion as we feel for them we cease to feel with them or to be of them.

might have, that the lane must be equally divided between them, and as by that time neither has much property left, they submit with meekness. The second generation, including an ambitious, clever boy, his cousin, a mother's spoiled darling and a dutiful, pretty girl, meantime lives its life with more definite results evolving a pretty romance and an ugly tragedy, so entangled that their final scenes take place almost simultaneously. Henry Holt & Co.

Mr. Arthur Symons's "Plays, Acting, and Music" is a part of a series to the publication of which he has for some years been working his way, and much of its contents was included in a former volume similarly entitled, but many papers are new and all are worth reading as the record of fastidious, cultivated judgment conscientiously and tastefully expressed. The papers on Coquelin and Sir Henry Irving have greater value than when first written, because it is now only by arts other than their own, by literature, painting, or sculpture that these great men may be judged, and Mr. Symons's work in regard to them can now be weighed only against that of other critics. In regard to them as in regard to the other actors mentioned he is very deliberate, and sometimes it seems as if this same deliberation were his distinguishing trait. Whether this be so or not, it is fascinating and creates a pleasant

confidence when he discourses on unfamiliar personages. His musical criticism is especially cautious, although vivid and keen. In writing of the Meiningen orchestra, he makes it all but audible. If in one instance, in the last sentence in "Notes on Wagner," he seems absurd and at the same time irreverent, one believes him the victim of an over-pious proof-reader. This, however, is but a small fault in a volume to be carefully preserved and many times read. E. P. Dutton & Co.

None of those great dead whose centenaries are celebrated this year is likely to be commemorated in a manner more in accordance with his own desires than was Charles Darwin, when on the first day of this year a choice company of learned men gathered in Baltimore to exchange thoughts which had come to them because Darwin had lived his life. Professor Poulton of Oxford reviewed the fifty years since what is called Darwinism came into being, speaking frankly and tenderly of the difficult parts of the way, of the pain which had attended some of the changes of belief, of the struggle that had rent friend from friend, father from son and son from father and the others successively took up their parable. Professor Coulter of Chicago spoke of "The Theory of Natural Selection from the Standpoint of Botany"; President Jordan of Stanford, of "Isolation as a Factor in Organic Evolution"; Professor Wilson of Columbia, of "The Cell in Relation to Heredity and Evolution"; Prof. D. T. MacDougal of Carnegie Institution of "The Direct Influence of Environment"; Prof. W. E. Castle of Harvard, of "The Behavior of Unit Characters in Heredity"; Director Charles B. Davenport of Carnegie Institution, of "Mutation"; Prof. Carl H. Eigenmann of Indiana University, of "Adaptation"; Prof. Henry Fairfield Owen of Columbia, of "Darwin and Palæontology"

and President G. Stanley Hall of Clark University of "Evolution and Psychology." As the latest utterance of eleven such men the book is valuable to persons interested in almost any phase of science. Henry Holt & Co.

In "The Runaway Place," by Mr. Walter Prichard Eaton and Miss Elsie Morris Underhill, the hero and heroine make acquaintance without an introduction; make appointments for meetings in Central Park without an introduction, and at last promise, still without an introduction, to marry one another; and all this is very wrong, Miss Charity Pecksniff, very wrong indeed, Mr. Podsnap and Miss Jemima Pinkerton! Nevertheless so delicately and lightly are the two characters traced, and so discreet is their airy playfulness that its record may be recommended with the certainty that it will be enjoyed with a clear conscience. The hero is a gentleman; the heroine betrayed into an awkward position by an involuntary whistle, is a lady, and so, like Sir Sagramore and his bride, they are happy. The little tales with which they divert one another, the chapters on "The Gluebird and the Dutch Baby" and "The Bugler before the Wall" are the prettiest mosaics of humor and fancy, cemented by charming and justly appreciative description. Henceforth even as Lord Tennyson made pilgrimage to see the place where Louisa stumbled and fell, so will lovers of graceful literature wander through Central Park, with "The Runaway Place" in hand, to find the Magic Casement, and the Pessimistic Pelican and to look with freshly opened eyes at the Victory and good Sir Walter, and the porcelains in the Museum. Greater New York is indebted to these two young novelists who in describing the beauty of the wonderful Park have added one which heightens the others as the veiling moss adds loveliness to the rose. Henry Holt & Co.

« AnkstesnisTęsti »