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diff --git a/3461-h/3461-h.htm b/3461-h/3461-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5084b21 --- /dev/null +++ b/3461-h/3461-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7072 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Essays on Life, Art and Science</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.headingsummary { margin-left: 5%;} + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Essays on Life, Art and Science, by Samuel Butler</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Essays on Life, Art and Science, by Samuel +Butler, Edited by R. A. Streatfeild + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Essays on Life, Art and Science + + +Author: Samuel Butler + +Editor: R. A. Streatfeild + +Release Date: December 27, 2007 [eBook #3461] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS ON LIFE, ART AND SCIENCE*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1908 A. C. Fifield edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>ESSAYS ON LIFE<br /> +ART AND SCIENCE</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +SAMUEL BUTLER</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">author +of</span> “<span class="smcap">erewhon</span>,” +“<span class="smcap">erewhon re-visited</span>,”<br +/> +“<span class="smcap">the way of all flesh</span>,” +<span class="smcap">etc.</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">edited +by</span><br /> +R. A. STREATFEILD</p> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +A. C. FIFIELD<br /> +1908</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed by <span +class="smcap">Ballantyne</span>, <span class="smcap">Hanson & +Co</span><br /> +At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh.</p> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Introduction<br /> +Quis Desiderio?<br /> +Ramblings in Cheapside<br /> +The Aunt, The Nieces, and the Dog<br /> +How to make the best of life<br /> +The Sanctuary of Montrigone<br /> +A Medieval Girl School<br /> +Art in the Valley of Saas<br /> +Thought and Language<br /> +The Deadlock in Darwinism</p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>It is hardly necessary to apologise for the miscellaneous +character of the following collection of essays. Samuel +Butler was a man of such unusual versatility, and his interests +were so many and so various that his literary remains were bound +to cover a wide field. Nevertheless it will be found that +several of the subjects to which he devoted much time and labour +are not represented in these pages. I have not thought it +necessary to reprint any of the numerous pamphlets and articles +which he wrote upon the Iliad and Odyssey, since these were all +merged in “The Authoress of the Odyssey,” which gives +his matured views upon everything relating to the Homeric +poems. For a similar reason I have not included an essay on +the evidence for the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, which he +printed in 1865 for private circulation, since he subsequently +made extensive use of it in “The Fair Haven.”</p> +<p>Two of the essays in this collection were originally delivered +as lectures; the remainder were published in <i>The Universal +Review</i> during 1888, 1889, and 1890.</p> +<p>I should perhaps explain why two other essays of his, which +also appeared in <i>The Universal Review</i>, have been +omitted.</p> +<p>The first of these, entitled “L’Affaire +Holbein-Rippel,” relates to a drawing of Holbein’s +“Danse des Paysans,” in the Basle Museum, which is +usually described as a copy, but which Butler believed to be the +work of Holbein himself. This essay requires to be +illustrated in so elaborate a manner that it was impossible to +include it in a book of this size.</p> +<p>The second essay, which is a sketch of the career of the +sculptor Tabachetti, was published as the first section of an +article entitled “A Sculptor and a Shrine,” of which +the second section is here given under the title, “The +Sanctuary of Montrigone.” The section devoted to the +sculptor represents all that Butler then knew about Tabachetti, +but since it was written various documents have come to light, +principally owing to the investigations of Cavaliere Francesco +Negri, of Casale Monferrato, which negative some of +Butler’s most cherished conclusions. Had Butler lived +he would either have rewritten his essay in accordance with +Cavaliere Negri’s discoveries, of which he fully recognised +the value, or incorporated them into the revised edition of +“Ex Voto,” which he intended to publish. As it +stands, the essay requires so much revision that I have decided +to omit it altogether, and to postpone giving English readers a +full account of Tabachetti’s career until a second edition +of “Ex Voto” is required. Meanwhile I have +given a brief summary of the main facts of Tabachetti’s +life in a note (page 154) to the essay on “Art in the +Valley of Saas.” Any one who wishes for further +details of the sculptor and his work will find them in Cavaliere +Negri’s pamphlet, “Il Santuario di Crea” +(Alessandria, 1902).</p> +<p>The three essays grouped together under the title of +“The Deadlock in Darwinism” may be regarded as a +postscript to Butler’s four books on evolution, viz., +“Life and Habit,” “Evolution, Old and +New,” “Unconscious Memory” and “Luck or +Cunning.” An occasion for the publication of these +essays seemed to be afforded by the appearance in 1889 of Mr. +Alfred Russel Wallace’s “Darwinism”; and +although nearly fourteen years have elapsed since they were +published in the <i>Universal Review</i>, I have no fear that +they will be found to be out of date. How far, indeed, the +problem embodied in the deadlock of which Butler speaks is from +solution was conclusively shown by the correspondence which +appeared in the <i>Times</i> in May 1903, occasioned by some +remarks made at University College by Lord Kelvin in moving a +vote of thanks to Professor Henslow after his lecture on +“Present Day Rationalism.” Lord Kelvin’s +claim for a recognition of the fact that in organic nature +scientific thought is compelled to accept the idea of some kind +of directive power, and his statement that biologists are coming +once more to a firm acceptance of a vital principle, drew from +several distinguished men of science retorts heated enough to +prove beyond a doubt that the gulf between the two main divisions +of evolutionists is as wide to-day as it was when Butler +wrote. It will be well, perhaps, for the benefit of readers +who have not followed the history of the theory of evolution +during its later developments, to state in a few words what these +two main divisions are. All evolutionists agree that the +differences between species are caused by the accumulation and +transmission of variations, but they do not agree as to the +causes to which the variations are due. The view held by +the older evolutionists, Buffon, Erasmus Darwin and Lamarck, who +have been followed by many modern thinkers, including Herbert +Spencer and Butler, is that the variations occur mainly as the +result of effort and design; the opposite view, which is that +advocated by Mr. Wallace in “Darwinism,” is that the +variations occur merely as the result of chance. The former +is sometimes called the theological view, because it recognises +the presence in organic nature of design, whether it be called +creative power, directive force, directivity, or vital principle; +the latter view, in which the existence of design is absolutely +negatived, is now usually described as Weismannism, from the name +of the writer who has been its principal advocate in recent +years.</p> +<p>In conclusion, I must thank my friend Mr. Henry Festing Jones +most warmly for the invaluable assistance which he has given me +in preparing these essays for publication, in correcting the +proofs, and in compiling the introduction and notes.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">R. A. STREATFEILD.</p> +<h2>QUIS DESIDERIO . . . ? <a name="citation1"></a><a +href="#footnote1" class="citation">[1]</a></h2> +<p>Like Mr. Wilkie Collins, I, too, have been asked to lay some +of my literary experiences before the readers of the <i>Universal +Review</i>. It occurred to me that the <i>Review</i> must +be indeed universal before it could open its pages to one so +obscure as myself; but, nothing daunted by the distinguished +company among which I was for the first time asked to move, I +resolved to do as I was told, and went to the British Museum to +see what books I had written. Having refreshed my memory by +a glance at the catalogue, I was about to try and diminish the +large and ever-increasing circle of my non-readers when I became +aware of a calamity that brought me to a standstill, and indeed +bids fair, so far as I can see at present, to put an end to my +literary existence altogether.</p> +<p>I should explain that I cannot write unless I have a sloping +desk, and the reading-room of the British Museum, where alone I +can compose freely, is unprovided with sloping desks. Like +every other organism, if I cannot get exactly what I want I make +shift with the next thing to it; true, there are no desks in the +reading-room, but, as I once heard a visitor from the country +say, “it contains a large number of very interesting +works.” I know it was not right, and hope the Museum +authorities will not be severe upon me if any of them reads this +confession; but I wanted a desk, and set myself to consider which +of the many very interesting works which a grateful nation places +at the disposal of its would-be authors was best suited for my +purpose.</p> +<p>For mere reading I suppose one book is pretty much as good as +another; but the choice of a desk-book is a more serious +matter. It must be neither too thick nor too thin; it must +be large enough to make a substantial support; it must be +strongly bound so as not to yield or give; it must not be too +troublesome to carry backwards and forwards; and it must live on +shelf C, D, or E, so that there need be no stooping or reaching +too high. These are the conditions which a really good book +must fulfil; simple, however, as they are, it is surprising how +few volumes comply with them satisfactorily; moreover, being +perhaps too sensitively conscientious, I allowed another +consideration to influence me, and was sincerely anxious not to +take a book which would be in constant use for reference by +readers, more especially as, if I did this, I might find myself +disturbed by the officials.</p> +<p>For weeks I made experiments upon sundry poetical and +philosophical works, whose names I have forgotten, but could not +succeed in finding my ideal desk, until at length, more by luck +than cunning, I happened to light upon Frost’s “Lives +of Eminent Christians,” which I had no sooner tried than I +discovered it to be the very perfection and <i>ne plus ultra</i> +of everything that a book should be. It lived in Case No. +2008, and I accordingly took at once to sitting in Row B, where +for the last dozen years or so I have sat ever since.</p> +<p>The first thing I have done whenever I went to the Museum has +been to take down Frost’s “Lives of Eminent +Christians” and carry it to my seat. It is not the +custom of modern writers to refer to the works to which they are +most deeply indebted, and I have never, that I remember, +mentioned it by name before; but it is to this book alone that I +have looked for support during many years of literary labour, and +it is round this to me invaluable volume that all my own have +page by page grown up. There is none in the Museum to which +I have been under anything like such constant obligation, none +which I can so ill spare, and none which I would choose so +readily if I were allowed to select one single volume and keep it +for my own.</p> +<p>On finding myself asked for a contribution to the <i>Universal +Review</i>, I went, as I have explained, to the Museum, and +presently repaired to bookcase No. 2008 to get my favourite +volume. Alas! it was in the room no longer. It was +not in use, for its place was filled up already; besides, no one +ever used it but myself. Whether the ghost of the late Mr. +Frost has been so eminently unchristian as to interfere, or +whether the authorities have removed the book in ignorance of the +steady demand which there has been for it on the part of at least +one reader, are points I cannot determine. All I know is +that the book is gone, and I feel as Wordsworth is generally +supposed to have felt when he became aware that Lucy was in her +grave, and exclaimed so emphatically that this would make a +considerable difference to him, or words to that effect.</p> +<p>Now I think of it, Frost’s “Lives of Eminent +Christians” was very like Lucy. The one resided at +Dovedale in Derbyshire, the other in Great Russell Street, +Bloomsbury. I admit that I do not see the resemblance here +at this moment, but if I try to develop my perception I shall +doubtless ere long find a marvellously striking one. In +other respects, however, than mere local habitat the likeness is +obvious. Lucy was not particularly attractive either inside +or out—no more was Frost’s “Lives of Eminent +Christians”; there were few to praise her, and of those few +still fewer could bring themselves to like her; indeed, +Wordsworth himself seems to have been the only person who thought +much about her one way or the other. In like manner, I +believe I was the only reader who thought much one way or the +other about Frost’s “Lives of Eminent +Christians,” but this in itself was one of the attractions +of the book; and as for the grief we respectively felt and feel, +I believe my own to be as deep as Wordsworth’s, if not more +so.</p> +<p>I said above, “as Wordsworth is generally supposed to +have felt”; for any one imbued with the spirit of modern +science will read Wordsworth’s poem with different eyes +from those of a mere literary critic. He will note that +Wordsworth is most careful not to explain the nature of the +difference which the death of Lucy will occasion to him. He +tells us that there will be a difference; but there the matter +ends. The superficial reader takes it that he was very +sorry she was dead; it is, of course, possible that he may have +actually been so, but he has not said this. On the +contrary, he has hinted plainly that she was ugly, and generally +disliked; she was only like a violet when she was half-hidden +from the view, and only fair as a star when there were so few +stars out that it was practically impossible to make an invidious +comparison. If there were as many as even two stars the +likeness was felt to be at an end. If Wordsworth had +imprudently promised to marry this young person during a time +when he had been unusually long in keeping to good resolutions, +and had afterwards seen some one whom he liked better, then +Lucy’s death would undoubtedly have made a considerable +difference to him, and this is all that he has ever said that it +would do. What right have we to put glosses upon the +masterly reticence of a poet, and credit him with feelings +possibly the very reverse of those he actually entertained?</p> +<p>Sometimes, indeed, I have been inclined to think that a +mystery is being hinted at more dark than any critic has +suspected. I do not happen to possess a copy of the poem, +but the writer, if I am not mistaken, says that “few could +know when Lucy ceased to be.” “Ceased to +be” is a suspiciously euphemistic expression, and the words +“few could know” are not applicable to the ordinary +peaceful death of a domestic servant such as Lucy appears to have +been. No matter how obscure the deceased, any number of +people commonly can know the day and hour of his or her demise, +whereas in this case we are expressly told it would be impossible +for them to do so. Wordsworth was nothing if not accurate, +and would not have said that few could know, but that few +actually did know, unless he was aware of circumstances that +precluded all but those implicated in the crime of her death from +knowing the precise moment of its occurrence. If Lucy was +the kind of person not obscurely pourtrayed in the poem; if +Wordsworth had murdered her, either by cutting her throat or +smothering her, in concert, perhaps, with his friends Southey and +Coleridge; and if he had thus found himself released from an +engagement which had become irksome to him, or possibly from the +threat of an action for breach of promise, then there is not a +syllable in the poem with which he crowns his crime that is not +alive with meaning. On any other supposition to the general +reader it is unintelligible.</p> +<p>We cannot be too guarded in the interpretations we put upon +the words of great poets. Take the young lady who never +loved the dear gazelle—and I don’t believe she did; +we are apt to think that Moore intended us to see in this +creation of his fancy a sweet, amiable, but most unfortunate +young woman, whereas all he has told us about her points to an +exactly opposite conclusion. In reality, he wished us to +see a young lady who had been an habitual complainer from her +earliest childhood; whose plants had always died as soon as she +bought them, while those belonging to her neighbours had +flourished. The inference is obvious, nor can we reasonably +doubt that Moore intended us to draw it; if her plants were the +very first to fade away, she was evidently the very first to +neglect or otherwise maltreat them. She did not give them +enough water, or left the door of her fern-ease open when she was +cooking her dinner at the gas stove, or kept them too near the +paraffin oil, or other like folly; and as for her temper, see +what the gazelles did; as long as they did not know her +“well,” they could just manage to exist, but when +they got to understand her real character, one after another felt +that death was the only course open to it, and accordingly died +rather than live with such a mistress. True, the young lady +herself said the gazelles loved her; but disagreeable people are +apt to think themselves amiable, and in view of the course +invariably taken by the gazelles themselves any one accustomed to +weigh evidence will hold that she was probably mistaken.</p> +<p>I must, however, return to Frost’s “Lives of +Eminent Christians.” I will leave none of the +ambiguity about my words in which Moore and Wordsworth seem to +have delighted. I am very sorry the book is gone, and know +not where to turn for its successor. Till I have found a +substitute I can write no more, and I do not know how to find +even a tolerable one. I should try a volume of +Migne’s “Complete Course of Patrology,” but I +do not like books in more than one volume, for the volumes vary +in thickness, and one never can remember which one took; the four +volumes, however, of Bede in Giles’s “Anglican +Fathers” are not open to this objection, and I have +reserved them for favourable consideration. Mather’s +“Magnalia” might do, but the binding does not please +me; Cureton’s “Corpus Ignatianum” might also do +if it were not too thin. I do not like taking +Norton’s “Genuineness of the Gospels,” as it is +just possible some one may be wanting to know whether the Gospels +are genuine or not, and be unable to find out because I have got +Mr. Norton’s book. Baxter’s “Church +History of England,” Lingard’s “Anglo-Saxon +Church,” and Cardwell’s “Documentary +Annals,” though none of them as good as Frost, are works of +considerable merit; but on the whole I think Arvine’s +“Cyclopedia of Moral and Religious Anecdote” is +perhaps the one book in the room which comes within measurable +distance of Frost. I should probably try this book first, +but it has a fatal objection in its too seductive title. +“I am not curious,” as Miss Lottie Venne says in one +of her parts, “but I like to know,” and I might be +tempted to pervert the book from its natural uses and open it, so +as to find out what kind of a thing a moral and religious +anecdote is. I know, of course, that there are a great many +anecdotes in the Bible, but no one thinks of calling them either +moral or religious, though some of them certainly seem as if they +might fairly find a place in Mr. Arvine’s work. There +are some things, however, which it is better not to know, and +take it all round I do not think I should be wise in putting +myself in the way of temptation, and adopting Arvine as the +successor to my beloved and lamented Frost.</p> +<p>Some successor I must find, or I must give up writing +altogether, and this I should be sorry to do. I have only +as yet written about a third, or from that—counting works +written but not published—to a half, of the books which I +have set myself to write. It would not so much matter if +old age was not staring me in the face. Dr. Parr said it +was “a beastly shame for an old man not to have laid down a +good cellar of port in his youth”; I, like the greater +number, I suppose, of those who write books at all, write in +order that I may have something to read in my old age when I can +write no longer. I know what I shall like better than any +one can tell me, and write accordingly; if my career is nipped in +the bud, as seems only too likely, I really do not know where +else I can turn for present agreeable occupation, nor yet how to +make suitable provision for my later years. Other writers +can, of course, make excellent provision for their own old ages, +but they cannot do so for mine, any more than I should succeed if +I were to try to cater for theirs. It is one of those cases +in which no man can make agreement for his brother.</p> +<p>I have no heart for continuing this article, and if I had, I +have nothing of interest to say. No one’s literary +career can have been smoother or more unchequered than +mine. I have published all my books at my own expense, and +paid for them in due course. What can be conceivably more +unromantic? For some years I had a little literary +grievance against the authorities of the British Museum because +they would insist on saying in their catalogue that I had +published three sermons on Infidelity in the year 1820. I +thought I had not, and got them out to see. They were +rather funny, but they were not mine. Now, however, this +grievance has been removed. I had another little quarrel +with them because they would describe me as “of St. +John’s College, Cambridge,” an establishment for +which I have the most profound veneration, but with which I have +not had the honour to be connected for some quarter of a +century. At last they said they would change this +description if I would only tell them what I was, for, though +they had done their best to find out, they had themselves +failed. I replied with modest pride that I was a Bachelor +of Arts. I keep all my other letters inside my name, not +outside. They mused and said it was unfortunate that I was +not a Master of Arts. Could I not get myself made a +Master? I said I understood that a Mastership was an +article the University could not do under about five pounds, and +that I was not disposed to go sixpence higher than three +ten. They again said it was a pity, for it would be very +inconvenient to them if I did not keep to something between a +bishop and a poet. I might be anything I liked in reason, +provided I showed proper respect for the alphabet; but they had +got me between “Samuel Butler, bishop,” and +“Samuel Butler, poet.” It would be very +troublesome to shift me, and bachelor came before bishop. +This was reasonable, so I replied that, under those +circumstances, if they pleased, I thought I would like to be a +philosophical writer. They embraced the solution, and, no +matter what I write now, I must remain a philosophical writer as +long as I live, for the alphabet will hardly be altered in my +time, and I must be something between “Bis” and +“Poe.” If I could get a volume of my excellent +namesake’s “Hudibras” out of the list of my +works, I should be robbed of my last shred of literary grievance, +so I say nothing about this, but keep it secret, lest some worse +thing should happen to me. Besides, I have a great respect +for my namesake, and always say that if “Erewhon” had +been a racehorse it would have been got by “Hudibras” +out of “Analogy.” Some one said this to me many +years ago, and I felt so much flattered that I have been +repeating the remark as my own ever since.</p> +<p>But how small are these grievances as compared with those +endured without a murmur by hundreds of writers far more +deserving than myself. When I see the scores and hundreds +of workers in the reading-room who have done so much more than I +have, but whose work is absolutely fruitless to themselves, and +when I think of the prompt recognition obtained by my own work, I +ask myself what I have done to be thus rewarded. On the +other hand, the feeling that I have succeeded far beyond my +deserts hitherto, makes it all the harder for me to acquiesce +without complaint in the extinction of a career which I honestly +believe to be a promising one; and once more I repeat that, +unless the Museum authorities give me back my Frost, or put a +locked clasp on Arvine, my career must be extinguished. +Give me back Frost, and, if life and health are spared, I will +write another dozen of volumes yet before I hang up my +fiddle—if so serious a confusion of metaphors may be +pardoned. I know from long experience how kind and +considerate both the late and present superintendents of the +reading-room were and are, but I doubt how far either of them +would be disposed to help me on this occasion; continue, however, +to rob me of my Frost, and, whatever else I may do, I will write +no more books.</p> +<p><i>Note by Dr. Garnett</i>, <i>British Museum</i>.—The +frost has broken up. Mr. Butler is restored to +literature. Mr. Mudie may make himself easy. England +will still boast a humourist; and the late Mr. Darwin (to whose +posthumous machinations the removal of the book was owing) will +continue to be confounded.—<span class="smcap">R. +Gannett</span>.</p> +<h2>RAMBLINGS IN CHEAPSIDE <a name="citation2"></a><a +href="#footnote2" class="citation">[2]</a></h2> +<p>Walking the other day in Cheapside I saw some turtles in Mr. +Sweeting’s window, and was tempted to stay and look at +them. As I did so I was struck not more by the defences +with which they were hedged about, than by the fatuousness of +trying to hedge that in at all which, if hedged thoroughly, must +die of its own defencefulness. The holes for the head and +feet through which the turtle leaks out, as it were, on to the +exterior world, and through which it again absorbs the exterior +world into itself—“catching on” through them to +things that are thus both turtle and not turtle at one and the +same time—these holes stultify the armour, and show it to +have been designed by a creature with more of faithfulness to a +fixed idea, and hence one-sidedness, than of that quick sense of +relative importances and their changes, which is the main factor +of good living.</p> +<p>The turtle obviously had no sense of proportion; it differed +so widely from myself that I could not comprehend it; and as this +word occurred to me, it occurred also that until my body +comprehended its body in a physical material sense, neither would +my mind be able to comprehend its mind with any +thoroughness. For unity of mind can only be consummated by +unity of body; everything, therefore, must be in some respects +both knave and fool to all that which has not eaten it, or by +which it has not been eaten. As long as the turtle was in +the window and I in the street outside, there was no chance of +our comprehending one another.</p> +<p>Nevertheless I knew that I could get it to agree with me if I +could so effectually button-hole and fasten on to it as to eat +it. Most men have an easy method with turtle soup, and I +had no misgiving but that if I could bring my first premise to +bear I should prove the better reasoner. My difficulty lay +in this initial process, for I had not with me the argument that +would alone compel Mr. Sweeting think that I ought to be allowed +to convert the turtles—I mean I had no money in my +pocket. No missionary enterprise can be carried on without +any money at all, but even so small a sum as half-a-crown would, +I suppose, have enabled me to bring the turtle partly round, and +with many half-crowns I could in time no doubt convert the lot, +for the turtle needs must go where the money drives. If, as +is alleged, the world stands on a turtle, the turtle stands on +money. No money no turtle. As for money, that stands +on opinion, credit, trust, faith—things that, though highly +material in connection with money, are still of immaterial +essence.</p> +<p>The steps are perfectly plain. The men who caught the +turtles brought a fairly strong and definite opinion to bear upon +them, that passed into action, and later on into money. +They thought the turtles would come that way, and verified their +opinion; on this, will and action were generated, with the result +that the men turned the turtles on their backs and carried them +off. Mr. Sweeting touched these men with money, which is +the outward and visible sign of verified opinion. The +customer touches Mr. Sweeting with money, Mr. Sweeting touches +the waiter and the cook with money. They touch the turtle +with skill and verified opinion. Finally, the customer +applies the clinching argument that brushes all sophisms aside, +and bids the turtle stand protoplasm to protoplasm with himself, +to know even as it is known.</p> +<p>But it must be all touch, touch, touch; skill, opinion, power, +and money, passing in and out with one another in any order we +like, but still link to link and touch to touch. If there +is failure anywhere in respect of opinion, skill, power, or +money, either as regards quantity or quality, the chain can be no +stronger than its weakest link, and the turtle and the clinching +argument will fly asunder. Of course, if there is an +initial failure in connection, through defect in any member of +the chain, or of connection between the links, it will no more be +attempted to bring the turtle and the clinching argument +together, than it will to chain up a dog with two pieces of +broken chain that are disconnected. The contact throughout +must be conceived as absolute; and yet perfect contact is +inconceivable by us, for on becoming perfect it ceases to be +contact, and becomes essential, once for all inseverable, +identity. The most absolute contact short of this is still +contact by courtesy only. So here, as everywhere else, +Eurydice glides off as we are about to grasp her. We can +see nothing face to face; our utmost seeing is but a fumbling of +blind finger-ends in an overcrowded pocket.</p> +<p>Presently my own blind finger-ends fished up the conclusion, +that as I had neither time nor money to spend on perfecting the +chain that would put me in full spiritual contact with Mr. +Sweeting’s turtles, I had better leave them to complete +their education at some one else’s expense rather than +mine, so I walked on towards the Bank. As I did so it +struck me how continually we are met by this melting of one +existence into another. The limits of the body seem well +defined enough as definitions go, but definitions seldom go +far. What, for example, can seem more distinct from a man +than his banker or his solicitor? Yet these are commonly so +much parts of him that he can no more cut them off and grow new +ones, than he can grow new legs or arms; neither must he wound +his solicitor; a wound in the solicitor is a very serious +thing. As for his bank—failure of his bank’s +action may be as fatal to a man as failure of his heart. I +have said nothing about the medical or spiritual adviser, but +most men grow into the society that surrounds them by the help of +these four main tap-roots, and not only into the world of +humanity, but into the universe at large. We can, indeed, +grow butchers, bakers, and greengrocers, almost <i>ad +libitum</i>, but these are low developments, and correspond to +skin, hair, or finger-nails. Those of us again who are not +highly enough organised to have grown a solicitor or banker can +generally repair the loss of whatever social organisation they +may possess as freely as lizards are said to grow new tails; but +this with the higher social, as well as organic, developments is +only possible to a very limited extent.</p> +<p>The doctrine of metempsychosis, or transmigration of +souls—a doctrine to which the foregoing considerations are +for the most part easy corollaries—crops up no matter in +what direction we allow our thoughts to wander. And we meet +instances of transmigration of body as well as of soul. I +do not mean that both body and soul have transmigrated together, +far from it; but that, as we can often recognise a transmigrated +mind in an alien body, so we not less often see a body that is +clearly only a transmigration, linked on to some one else’s +new and alien soul. We meet people every day whose bodies +are evidently those of men and women long dead, but whose +appearance we know through their portraits. We see them +going about in omnibuses, railway carriages, and in all public +places. The cards have been shuffled, and they have drawn +fresh lots in life and nationalities, but any one fairly well up +in mediæval and last century portraiture knows them at a +glance.</p> +<p>Going down once towards Italy I saw a young man in the train +whom I recognised, only he seemed to have got younger. He +was with a friend, and his face was in continual play, but for +some little time I puzzled in vain to recollect where it was that +I had seen him before. All of a sudden I remembered he was +King Francis I. of France. I had hitherto thought the face +of this king impossible, but when I saw it in play I understood +it. His great contemporary Henry VIII. keeps a restaurant +in Oxford Street. Falstaff drove one of the St. Gothard +diligences for many years, and only retired when the railway was +opened. Titian once made me a pair of boots at Vicenza, and +not very good ones. At Modena I had my hair cut by a young +man whom I perceived to be Raffaelle. The model who sat to +him for his celebrated Madonnas is first lady in a confectionery +establishment at Montreal. She has a little motherly pimple +on the left side of her nose that is misleading at first, but on +examination she is readily recognised; probably Raffaelle’s +model had the pimple too, but Raffaelle left it out—as he +would.</p> +<p>Handel, of course, is Madame Patey. Give Madame Patey +Handel’s wig and clothes, and there would be no telling her +from Handel. It is not only that the features and the shape +of the head are the same, but there is a certain imperiousness of +expression and attitude about Handel which he hardly attempts to +conceal in Madame Patey. It is a curious coincidence that +he should continue to be such an incomparable renderer of his own +music. Pope Julius II. was the late Mr. Darwin. +Rameses II. is a blind woman now, and stands in Holborn, holding +a tin mug. I never could understand why I always found +myself humming “They oppressed them with burthens” +when I passed her, till one day I was looking in Mr. +Spooner’s window in the Strand, and saw a photograph of +Rameses II. Mary Queen of Scots wears surgical boots and is +subject to fits, near the Horse Shoe in Tottenham Court Road.</p> +<p>Michael Angelo is a commissionaire; I saw him on board the +<i>Glen Rosa</i>, which used to run every day from London to +Clacton-on-Sea and back. It gave me quite a turn when I saw +him coming down the stairs from the upper deck, with his bronzed +face, flattened nose, and with the familiar bar upon his +forehead. I never liked Michael Angelo, and never shall, +but I am afraid of him, and was near trying to hide when I saw +him coming towards me. He had not got his +commissionaire’s uniform on, and I did not know he was one +till I met him a month or so later in the Strand. When we +got to Blackwall the music struck up and people began to +dance. I never saw a man dance so much in my life. He +did not miss a dance all the way to Clacton, nor all the way back +again, and when not dancing he was flirting and cracking +jokes. I could hardly believe my eyes when I reflected that +this man had painted the famous “Last Judgment,” and +had made all those statues.</p> +<p>Dante is, or was a year or two ago, a waiter at Brissago on +the Lago Maggiore, only he is better-tempered-looking, and has a +more intellectual expression. He gave me his ideas upon +beauty: “Tutto ch’ è vero è +bello,” he exclaimed, with all his old +self-confidence. I am not afraid of Dante. I know +people by their friends, and he went about with Virgil, so I said +with some severity, “No, Dante, il naso della Signora +Robinson è vero, ma non è bello”; and he +admitted I was right. Beatrice’s name is Towler; she +is waitress at a small inn in German Switzerland. I used to +sit at my window and hear people call “Towler, Towler, +Towler,” fifty times in a forenoon. She was the exact +antithesis to Abra; Abra, if I remember, used to come before they +called her name, but no matter how often they called Towler, +every one came before she did. I suppose they spelt her +name Taula, but to me it sounded Towler; I never, however, met +any one else with this name. She was a sweet, artless +little hussy, who made me play the piano to her, and she said it +was lovely. Of course I only played my own compositions; so +I believed her, and it all went off very nicely. I thought +it might save trouble if I did not tell her who she really was, +so I said nothing about it.</p> +<p>I met Socrates once. He was my muleteer on an excursion +which I will not name, for fear it should identify the man. +The moment I saw my guide I knew he was somebody, but for the +life of me I could not remember who. All of a sudden it +flashed across me that he was Socrates. He talked enough +for six, but it was all in <i>dialetto</i>, so I could not +understand him, nor, when I had discovered who he was, did I much +try to do so. He was a good creature, a trifle given to +stealing fruit and vegetables, but an amiable man enough. +He had had a long day with his mule and me, and he only asked me +five francs. I gave him ten, for I pitied his poor old +patched boots, and there was a meekness about him that touched +me. “And now, Socrates,” said I at parting, +“we go on our several ways, you to steal tomatoes, I to +filch ideas from other people; for the rest—which of these +two roads will be the better going, our father which is in heaven +knows, but we know not.”</p> +<p>I have never seen Mendelssohn, but there is a fresco of him on +the terrace, or open-air dining-room, of an inn at +Chiavenna. He is not called Mendelssohn, but I knew him by +his legs. He is in the costume of a dandy of some +five-and-forty years ago, is smoking a cigar, and appears to be +making an offer of marriage to his cook. Beethoven both my +friend Mr. H. Festing Jones and I have had the good fortune to +meet; he is an engineer now, and does not know one note from +another; he has quite lost his deafness, is married, and is, of +course, a little squat man with the same refractory hair that he +always had. It was very interesting to watch him, and Jones +remarked that before the end of dinner he had become positively +posthumous. One morning I was told the Beethovens were +going away, and before long I met their two heavy boxes being +carried down the stairs. The boxes were so squab and like +their owners, that I half thought for a moment that they were +inside, and should hardly have been surprised to see them spring +up like a couple of Jacks-in-the-box. “Sono +indentro?” said I, with a frown of wonder, pointing to the +boxes. The porters knew what I meant, and laughed. +But there is no end to the list of people whom I have been able +to recognise, and before I had got through it myself, I found I +had walked some distance, and had involuntarily paused in front +of a second-hand bookstall.</p> +<p>I do not like books. I believe I have the smallest +library of any literary man in London, and I have no wish to +increase it. I keep my books at the British Museum and at +Mudie’s, and it makes me very angry if any one gives me one +for my private library. I once heard two ladies disputing +in a railway carriage as to whether one of them had or had not +been wasting money. “I spent it in books,” said +the accused, “and it’s not wasting money to buy +books.” “Indeed, my dear, I think it is,” +was the rejoinder, and in practice I agree with it. +Webster’s Dictionary, Whitaker’s Almanack, and +Bradshaw’s Railway Guide should be sufficient for any +ordinary library; it will be time enough to go beyond these when +the mass of useful and entertaining matter which they provide has +been mastered. Nevertheless, I admit that sometimes, if not +particularly busy, I stop at a second-hand bookstall and turn +over a book or two from mere force of habit.</p> +<p>I know not what made me pick up a copy of +Æschylus—of course in an English version—or +rather I know not what made Æschylus take up with me, for +he took me rather than I him; but no sooner had he got me than he +began puzzling me, as he has done any time this forty years, to +know wherein his transcendent merit can be supposed to lie. +To me he is, like the greater number of classics in all ages and +countries, a literary Struldbrug, rather than a true ambrosia-fed +immortal. There are true immortals, but they are few and +far between; most classics are as great impostors dead as they +were when living, and while posing as gods are, five-sevenths of +them, only Struldbrugs. It comforts me to remember that +Aristophanes liked Æschylus no better than I do. +True, he praises him by comparison with Sophocles and Euripides, +but he only does so that he may run down these last more +effectively. Aristophanes is a safe man to follow, nor do I +see why it should not be as correct to laugh with him as to pull +a long face with the Greek Professors; but this is neither here +nor there, for no one really cares about Æschylus; the more +interesting question is how he contrived to make so many people +for so many years pretend to care about him.</p> +<p>Perhaps he married somebody’s daughter. If a man +would get hold of the public ear, he must pay, marry, or +fight. I have never understood that Æschylus was a +man of means, and the fighters do not write poetry, so I suppose +he must have married a theatrical manager’s daughter, and +got his plays brought out that way. The ear of any age or +country is like its land, air, and water; it seems limitless but +is really limited, and is already in the keeping of those who +naturally enough will have no squatting on such valuable +property. It is written and talked up to as closely as the +means of subsistence are bred up to by a teeming +population. There is not a square inch of it but is in +private hands, and he who would freehold any part of it must do +so by purchase, marriage, or fighting, in the usual way—and +fighting gives the longest, safest tenure. The public +itself has hardly more voice in the question who shall have its +ear, than the land has in choosing its owners. It is farmed +as those who own it think most profitable to themselves, and +small blame to them; nevertheless, it has a residuum of +mulishness which the land has not, and does sometimes dispossess +its tenants. It is in this residuum that those who fight +place their hope and trust.</p> +<p>Or perhaps Æschylus squared the leading critics of his +time. When one comes to think of it, he must have done so, +for how is it conceivable that such plays should have had such +runs if he had not? I met a lady one year in Switzerland +who had some parrots that always travelled with her and were the +idols of her life. These parrots would not let any one read +aloud in their presence, unless they heard their own names +introduced from time to time. If these were freely +interpolated into the text they would remain as still as stones, +for they thought the reading was about themselves. If it +was not about them it could not be allowed. The leaders of +literature are like these parrots; they do not look at what a man +writes, nor if they did would they understand it much better than +the parrots do; but they like the sound of their own names, and +if these are freely interpolated in a tone they take as friendly, +they may even give ear to an outsider. Otherwise they will +scream him off if they can.</p> +<p>I should not advise any one with ordinary independence of mind +to attempt the public ear unless he is confident that he can +out-lung and out-last his own generation; for if he has any +force, people will and ought to be on their guard against him, +inasmuch as there is no knowing where he may not take them. +Besides, they have staked their money on the wrong men so often +without suspecting it, that when there comes one whom they do +suspect it would be madness not to bet against him. True, +he may die before he has out-screamed his opponents, but that has +nothing to do with it. If his scream was well pitched it +will sound clearer when he is dead. We do not know what +death is. If we know so little about life which we have +experienced, how shall we know about death which we have +not—and in the nature of things never can? Every one, +as I said years ago in “Alps and Sanctuaries,” is an +immortal to himself, for he cannot know that he is dead until he +is dead, and when dead how can he know anything about +anything? All we know is, that even the humblest dead may +live long after all trace of the body has disappeared; we see +them doing it in the bodies and memories of those that come after +them; and not a few live so much longer and more effectually than +is desirable, that it has been necessary to get rid of them by +Act of Parliament. It is love that alone gives life, and +the truest life is that which we live not in ourselves but +vicariously in others, and with which we have no concern. +Our concern is so to order ourselves that we may be of the number +of them that enter into life—although we know it not.</p> +<p>Æschylus did so order himself; but his life is not of +that inspiriting kind that can be won through fighting the good +fight only—or being believed to have fought it. His +voice is the echo of a drone, drone-begotten and +drone-sustained. It is not a tone that a man must utter or +die—nay, even though he die; and likely enough half the +allusions and hard passages in Æschylus of which we can +make neither head nor tail are in reality only puffs of some of +the literary leaders of his time.</p> +<p>The lady above referred to told me more about her +parrots. She was like a Nasmyth’s hammer going +slow—very gentle, but irresistible. She always read +the newspaper to them. What was the use of having a +newspaper if one did not read it to one’s parrots?</p> +<p>“And have you divined,” I asked, “to which +side they incline in politics?”</p> +<p>“They do not like Mr. Gladstone,” was the somewhat +freezing answer; “this is the only point on which we +disagree, for I adore him. Don’t ask more about this, +it is a great grief to me. I tell them everything,” +she continued, “and hide no secret from them.”</p> +<p>“But can any parrot be trusted to keep a +secret?”</p> +<p>“Mine can.”</p> +<p>“And on Sundays do you give them the same course of +reading as on a week-day, or do you make a difference?”</p> +<p>“On Sundays I always read them a genealogical chapter +from the Old or New Testament, for I can thus introduce their +names without profanity. I always keep tea by me in case +they should ask for it in the night, and I have an Etna to warm +it for them; they take milk and sugar. The old white-headed +clergyman came to see them last night; it was very painful, for +Jocko reminded him so strongly of his late . . . ”</p> +<p>I thought she was going to say “wife,” but it +proved to have been only of a parrot that he had once known and +loved.</p> +<p>One evening she was in difficulties about the quarantine, +which was enforced that year on the Italian frontier. The +local doctor had gone down that morning to see the Italian doctor +and arrange some details. “Then, perhaps, my +dear,” she said to her husband, “he is the +quarantine.” “No, my love,” replied her +husband. “The quarantine is not a person, it is a +place where they put people”; but she would not be +comforted, and suspected the quarantine as an enemy that might at +any moment pounce out upon her and her parrots. So a lady +told me once that she had been in like trouble about the +anthem. She read in her prayer-book that in choirs and +places where they sing “here followeth the anthem,” +yet the person with this most mysteriously sounding name never +did follow. They had a choir, and no one could say the +church was not a place where they sang, for they did +sing—both chants and hymns. Why, then, this +persistent slackness on the part of the anthem, who at this +juncture should follow her papa, the rector, into the +reading-desk? No doubt he would come some day, and then +what would he be like? Fair or dark? Tall or +short? Would he be bald and wear spectacles like papa, or +would he be young and good-looking? Anyhow, there was +something wrong, for it was announced that he would follow, and +he never did follow; therefore there was no knowing what he might +not do next.</p> +<p>I heard of the parrots a year or two later as giving lessons +in Italian to an English maid. I do not know what their +terms were. Alas! since then both they and their mistress +have joined the majority. When the poor lady felt her end +was near she desired (and the responsibility for this must rest +with her, not me) that the birds might be destroyed, as fearing +that they might come to be neglected, and knowing that they could +never be loved again as she had loved them. On being told +that all was over, she said, “Thank you,” and +immediately expired.</p> +<p>Reflecting in such random fashion, and strolling with no +greater method, I worked my way back through Cheapside and found +myself once more in front of Sweeting’s window. Again +the turtles attracted me. They were alive, and so far at +any rate they agreed with me. Nay, they had eyes, mouths, +legs, if not arms, and feet, so there was much in which we were +both of a mind, but surely they must be mistaken in arming +themselves so very heavily. Any creature on getting what +the turtle aimed at would overreach itself and be landed not in +safety but annihilation. It should have no communion with +the outside world at all, for death could creep in wherever the +creature could creep out; and it must creep out somewhere if it +was to hook on to outside things. What death can be more +absolute than such absolute isolation? Perfect death, +indeed, if it were attainable (which it is not), is as near +perfect security as we can reach, but it is not the kind of +security aimed at by any animal that is at the pains of defending +itself. For such want to have things both ways, desiring +the livingness of life without its perils, and the safety of +death without its deadness, and some of us do actually get this +for a considerable time, but we do not get it by plating +ourselves with armour as the turtle does. We tried this in +the Middle Ages, and no longer mock ourselves with the weight of +armour that our forefathers carried in battle. Indeed the +more deadly the weapons of attack become the more we go into the +fight slug-wise.</p> +<p>Slugs have ridden their contempt for defensive armour as much +to death as the turtles their pursuit of it. They have +hardly more than skin enough to hold themselves together; they +court death every time they cross the road. Yet death comes +not to them more than to the turtle, whose defences are so great +that there is little left inside to be defended. Moreover, +the slugs fare best in the long run, for turtles are dying out, +while slugs are not, and there must be millions of slugs all the +world over for every single turtle. Of the two vanities, +therefore, that of the slug seems most substantial.</p> +<p>In either case the creature thinks itself safe, but is sure to +be found out sooner or later; nor is it easy to explain this +mockery save by reflecting that everything must have its meat in +due season, and that meat can only be found for such a multitude +of mouths by giving everything as meat in due season to something +else. This is like the Kilkenny cats, or robbing Peter to +pay Paul; but it is the way of the world, and as every animal +must contribute in kind to the picnic of the universe, one does +not see what better arrangement could be made than the providing +each race with a hereditary fallacy, which shall in the end get +it into a scrape, but which shall generally stand the wear and +tear of life for some time. “<i>Do ut des</i>” +is the writing on all flesh to him that eats it; and no creature +is dearer to itself than it is to some other that would devour +it.</p> +<p>Nor is there any statement or proposition more invulnerable +than living forms are. Propositions prey upon and are +grounded upon one another just like living forms. They +support one another as plants and animals do; they are based +ultimately on credit, or faith, rather than the cash of +irrefragable conviction. The whole universe is carried on +on the credit system, and if the mutual confidence on which it is +based were to collapse, it must itself collapse +immediately. Just or unjust, it lives by faith; it is based +on vague and impalpable opinion that by some inscrutable process +passes into will and action, and is made manifest in matter and +in flesh: it is meteoric—suspended in midair; it is the +baseless fabric of a vision so vast, so vivid, and so gorgeous +that no base can seem more broad than such stupendous +baselessness, and yet any man can bring it about his ears by +being over-curious; when faith fails a system based on faith +fails also.</p> +<p>Whether the universe is really a paying concern, or whether it +is an inflated bubble that must burst sooner or later, this is +another matter. If people were to demand cash payment in +irrefragable certainty for everything that they have taken +hitherto as paper money on the credit of the bank of public +opinion, is there money enough behind it all to stand so great a +drain even on so great a reserve? Probably there is not, +but happily there can be no such panic, for even though the +cultured classes may do so, the uncultured are too dull to have +brains enough to commit such stupendous folly. It takes a +long course of academic training to educate a man up to the +standard which he must reach before he can entertain such +questions seriously, and by a merciful dispensation of +Providence, university training is almost as costly as it is +unprofitable. The majority will thus be always unable to +afford it, and will base their opinions on mother wit and current +opinion rather than on demonstration.</p> +<p>So I turned my steps homewards; I saw a good many more things +on my way home, but I was told that I was not to see more this +time than I could get into twelve pages of the <i>Universal +Review</i>; I must therefore reserve any remark which I think +might perhaps entertain the reader for another occasion.</p> +<h2>THE AUNT, THE NIECES, AND THE DOG <a name="citation3"></a><a +href="#footnote3" class="citation">[3]</a></h2> +<p>When a thing is old, broken, and useless we throw it on the +dust-heap, but when it is sufficiently old, sufficiently broken, +and sufficiently useless we give money for it, put it into a +museum, and read papers over it which people come long distances +to hear. By-and-by, when the whirligig of time has brought +on another revenge, the museum itself becomes a dust-heap, and +remains so till after long ages it is re-discovered, and valued +as belonging to a neo-rubbish age—containing, perhaps, +traces of a still older paleo-rubbish civilisation. So when +people are old, indigent, and in all respects incapable, we hold +them in greater and greater contempt as their poverty and +impotence increase, till they reach the pitch when they are +actually at the point to die, whereon they become sublime. +Then we place every resource our hospitals can command at their +disposal, and show no stint in our consideration for them.</p> +<p>It is the same with all our interests. We care most +about extremes of importance and of unimportance; but extremes of +importance are tainted with fear, and a very imperfect fear +casteth out love. Extremes of unimportance cannot hurt us, +therefore we are well disposed towards them; the means may come +to do so, therefore we do not love them. Hence we pick a +fly out of a milk-jug and watch with pleasure over its recovery, +for we are confident that under no conceivable circumstances will +it want to borrow money from us; but we feel less sure about a +mouse, so we show it no quarter. The compilers of our +almanacs well know this tendency of our natures, so they tell us, +not when Noah went into the ark, nor when the temple of Jerusalem +was dedicated, but that Lindley Murray, grammarian, died January +16, 1826. This is not because they could not find so many +as three hundred and sixty-five events of considerable interest +since the creation of the world, but because they well know we +would rather hear of something less interesting. We care +most about what concerns us either very closely, or so little +that practically we have nothing whatever to do with it.</p> +<p>I once asked a young Italian, who professed to have a +considerable knowledge of English literature, which of all our +poems pleased him best. He replied without a moment’s +hesitation:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the +fiddle,<br /> + The cow jumped over the moon;<br /> +The little dog laughed to see such sport,<br /> + And the dish ran away with the spoon.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>He said this was better than anything in Italian. They +had Dante and Tasso, and ever so many more great poets, but they +had nothing comparable to “Hey diddle diddle,” nor +had he been able to conceive how any one could have written +it. Did I know the author’s name, and had we given +him a statue? On this I told him of the young lady of +Harrow who would go to church in a barrow, and plied him with +whatever rhyming nonsense I could call to mind, but it was no +use; all of these things had an element of reality that robbed +them of half their charm, whereas “Hey diddle diddle” +had nothing in it that could conceivably concern him.</p> +<p>So again it is with the things that gall us most. What +is it that rises up against us at odd times and smites us in the +face again and again for years after it has happened? That +we spent all the best years of our life in learning what we have +found to be a swindle, and to have been known to be a swindle by +those who took money for misleading us? That those on whom +we most leaned most betrayed us? That we have only come to +feel our strength when there is little strength left of any kind +to feel? These things will hardly much disturb a man of +ordinary good temper. But that he should have said this or +that little unkind and wanton saying; that he should have gone +away from this or that hotel and given a shilling too little to +the waiter; that his clothes were shabby at such or such a +garden-party—these things gall us as a corn will sometimes +do, though the loss of a limb way not be seriously felt.</p> +<p>I have been reminded lately of these considerations with more +than common force by reading the very voluminous correspondence +left by my grandfather, Dr. Butler, of Shrewsbury, whose memoirs +I am engaged in writing. I have found a large number of +interesting letters on subjects of serious import, but must +confess that it is to the hardly less numerous lighter letters +that I have been most attracted, nor do I feel sure that my +eminent namesake did not share my predilection. Among other +letters in my possession I have one bundle that has been kept +apart, and has evidently no connection with Dr. Butler’s +own life. I cannot use these letters, therefore, for my +book, but over and above the charm of their inspired spelling, I +find them of such an extremely trivial nature that I incline to +hope the reader may derive as much amusement from them as I have +done myself, and venture to give them the publicity here which I +must refuse them in my book. The dates and signatures have, +with the exception of Mrs. Newton’s, been carefully erased, +but I have collected that they were written by the two servants +of a single lady who resided at no great distance from London, to +two nieces of the said lady who lived in London itself. The +aunt never writes, but always gets one of the servants to do so +for her. She appears either as “your aunt” or +as “She”; her name is not given, but she is evidently +looked upon with a good deal of awe by all who had to do with +her.</p> +<p>The letters almost all of them relate to visits either of the +aunt to London, or of the nieces to the aunt’s home, which, +from occasional allusions to hopping, I gather to have been in +Kent, Sussex, or Surrey. I have arranged them to the best +of my power, and take the following to be the earliest. It +has no signature, but is not in the handwriting of the servant +who styles herself Elizabeth, or Mrs. Newton. It +runs:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span +class="smcap">Madam</span>,—Your Aunt Wishes me to inform +you she will be glad if you will let hir know if you think of +coming To hir House thiss month or Next as she cannot have you in +September on a kount of the Hoping If you ar coming she thinkes +she had batter Go to London on the Day you com to hir House the +says you shall have everry Thing raddy for you at hir House and +Mrs. Newton to meet you and stay with you till She returnes a +gann.</p> +<p>“if you arnot Coming thiss Summer She will be in London +before thiss Month is out and will Sleep on the Sofy As She +willnot be in London more thann two nits. and She Says she +willnot truble you on anny a kount as She Will returne the Same +Day before She will plage you anny more. but She thanks you for +asking hir to London. but She says She cannot leve the house at +prassant She sayhir Survants ar to do for you as she cannot lodge +yours nor she willnot have thim in at the house anny more to +brake and destroy hir thinks and beslive hir and make up Lies by +hir and Skandel as your too did She says she mens to pay fore 2 +Nits and one day, She says the Pepelwill let hir have it if you +ask thim to let hir: you Will be so good as to let hir know sun: +wish She is to do, as She says She dos not care anny thing a bout +it. which way tiss she is batter than She was and desirs hir Love +to bouth bouth.</p> +<p>“Your aunt wises to know how the silk Clocks ar madup +[how the silk cloaks are made up] with a Cape or a wood as she is +a goin to have one madeup to rideout in in hir littel shas +[chaise].</p> +<p>“Charles is a butty and so good.</p> +<p>“Mr & Mrs Newton ar quite wall & desires to be +remembered to you.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>I can throw no light on the meaning of the verb to +“beslive.” Each letter in the MS. is so +admirably formed that there can be no question about the word +being as I have given it. Nor have I been able to discover +what is referred to by the words “Charles is a butty and so +good.” We shall presently meet with a Charles who +“flies in the Fier,” but that Charles appears to have +been in London, whereas this one is evidently in Kent, or +wherever the aunt lived.</p> +<p>The next letter is from Mrs. Newton</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Der Miss</span> ---, I +Receve your Letter your Aunt is vary Ill and Lowspireted I Donte +think your Aunt wood Git up all Day if My Sister Wasnot to +Persage her We all Think hir lif is two monopolous. you Wish to +know Who Was Liveing With your Aunt. that is My Sister and +Willian—and Cariline—as Cock and Old Poll Pepper is +Come to Stay With her a Littel Wile and I hoped [hopped] for Your +Aunt, and Harry has Worked for your Aunt all the Summer. +Your Aunt and Harry Whent to the Wells Races and Spent a very +Pleasant Day your Aunt has Lost Old Fanney Sow She Died about a +Week a Go Harry he Wanted your Aunt to have her killed and send +her to London and Shee Wold Fech her £11 the Farmers have +Lost a Greet Deal of Cattel such as Hogs and Cows What theay call +the Plage I Whent to your Aunt as you Wish Mee to Do But She Told +Mee She Did not wont aney Boddy She Told Mee She Should Like to +Come up to see you But She Cant Come know for she is Boddyley ill +and Harry Donte Work there know But he Go up there Once in Two or +Three Day Harry Offered is self to Go up to Live With your Aunt +But She Made him know Ancer. I hay Been up to your Aunt at +Work for 5 Weeks Hopping and Ragluting Your Aunt Donte Eat nor +Drink But vary Littel indeed.</p> +<p>“I am Happy to Say We are Both Quite Well and I am Glad +no hear you are Both Quite Well</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">Mrs +Newton</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>This seems to have made the nieces propose to pay a visit to +their aunt, perhaps to try and relieve the monopoly of her +existence and cheer her up a little. In their letter, +doubtless, the dog motive is introduced that is so finely +developed presently by Mrs. Newton. I should like to have +been able to give the theme as enounced by the nieces themselves, +but their letters are not before me. Mrs. Newton +writes:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">My Dear +Girls</span>,—Your Aunt receiv your Letter your Aunt will +Be vary glad to see you as it quite a greeable if it tis to you +and Shee is Quite Willing to Eair the beds and the Rooms if you +Like to Trust to hir and the Servantes; if not I may Go up there +as you Wish. My Sister Sleeps in the Best Room as she +allways Did and the Coock in the garret and you Can have the +Rooms the same as you allways Did as your Aunt Donte set in the +Parlour She Continlery Sets in the Ciching. your Aunt says she +Cannot Part from the dog know hows and She Says he will not hurt +you for he is Like a Child and I can safeley say My Self he wonte +hurt you as She Cannot Sleep in the Room With out him as he +allWay Sleep in the Same Room as She Dose. your Aunt is agreeable +to Git in What Coles and Wood you Wish for I am know happy to say +your Aunt is in as Good health as ever She Was and She is happy +to hear you are Both Well your Aunt Wishes for Ancer By Return of +Post.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The nieces replied that their aunt must choose between the dog +and them, and Mrs. Newton sends a second letter which brings her +development to a climax. It runs:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss</span> ---, I +have Receve your Letter and i Whent up to your Aunt as you Wish +me and i Try to Perveal With her about the Dog But she Wold not +Put the Dog away nor it alow him to Be Tied up But She Still +Wishes you to Come as Shee says the Dog Shall not interrup you +for She Donte alow the Dog nor it the Cats to Go in the Parlour +never sence She has had it Donup ferfere of Spoiling the Paint +your Aunt think it vary Strange you Should Be so vary Much afraid +of a Dog and She says you Cant Go out in London But What you are +up a gance one and She says She Wonte Trust the Dog in know one +hands But her Owne for She is afraid theay Will not fill is +Belley as he Lives upon Rost Beeff and Rost and Boil Moutten Wich +he Eats More then the Servantes in the House there is not aney +One Wold Beable to Give Sattefacktion upon that account Harry +offerd to Take the Dog But She Wood not Trust him in our hands so +I Cold not Do aney thing With her your Aunt youse to Tell Me When +we was at your House in London She Did not know how to make you +amens and i Told her know it was the Time to Do it But i +Considder She sets the Dog Before you your Aunt keep know Beer +know Sprits know Wines in the House of aney Sort Oneley a Little +Barl of Wine I made her in the Summer the Workmen and servantes +are a Blige to Drink wauter Morning Noon and Night your Aunt the +Same She Donte Low her Self aney Tee nor Coffee But is Loocking +Wonderful Well</p> +<p>“I Still Remane your Humble Servant Mrs Newton</p> +<p>“I am vary sorry to think the Dog Perventes your +Comeing</p> +<p>“I am Glad to hear you are Both Well and we are the +same.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The nieces remained firm, and from the following letter it is +plain the aunt gave way. The dog motive is repeated +<i>pianissimo</i>, and is not returned to—not at least by +Mrs. Newton.</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss</span> ---, I +Receve your Letter on Thursday i Whent to your Aunt and i see her +and She is a Greable to everry thing i asked her and seme so vary +Much Please to see you Both Next Tuseday and she has sent for the +Faggots to Day and she Will Send for the Coles to Morrow and i +will Go up there to Morrow Morning and Make the Fiers and Tend to +the Beds and sleep in it Till you Come Down your Aunt sends her +Love to you Both and she is Quite well your Aunt Wishes you wold +Write againe Before you Come as she ma Expeckye and the Dog is +not to Gointo the Parlor a Tall</p> +<p>“your Aunt kind Love to you Both & hopes you Wonte +Fail in Coming according to Prommis</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Mrs +Newton</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>From a later letter it appears that the nieces did not pay +their visit after all, and what is worse a letter had miscarried, +and the aunt sat up expecting them from seven till twelve at +night, and Harry had paid for “Faggots and Coles quarter of +Hund. Faggots Half tun of Coles 1<i>l.</i> 1<i>s.</i> +3<i>d.</i>” Shortly afterwards, however, +“She” again talks of coming up to London herself and +writes through her servant—</p> +<blockquote><p>“My Dear girls i Receve your kind letter +& I am happy to hear you ar both Well and I Was in hopes of +seeing of you Both Down at My House this spring to stay a Wile I +am Quite well my self in Helth But vary Low Spireted I am vary +sorry to hear the Misforting of Poor charles & how he cum to +flie in the Fier I cannot think. I should like to know if +he is dead or a Live, and I shall come to London in August & +stay three or four daies if it is agreable to you. Mrs. +Newton has lost her mother in Law 4 day March & I hope you +send me word Wather charles is Dead or a Live as soon as +possible, and will you send me word what Little Betty is for I +cannot make her out.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The next letter is a new handwriting, and tells the nieces of +their aunt’s death in the the following terms:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss</span> ---, +It is my most painful duty to inform you that your dear aunt +expired this morning comparatively easy as Hannah informs me and +in so doing restored her soul to the custody of him whom she +considered to be alone worthy of its care.</p> +<p>“The doctor had visited her about five minutes +previously and had applied a blister.</p> +<p>“You and your sister will I am sure excuse further +details at present and believe me with kindest remembrances to +remain</p> +<p>“Yours truly, &c.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>After a few days a lawyer’s letter informs the nieces +that their aunt had left them the bulk of her not very +considerable property, but had charged them with an annuity of +£1 a week to be paid to Harry and Mrs. Newton so long as +the dog lived.</p> +<p>The only other letters by Mrs. Newton are written on paper of +a different and more modern size; they leave an impression of +having been written a good many years later. I take them as +they come. The first is very short:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss</span> ---, i +write to say i cannot possiblely come on Wednesday as we have +killed a pig. your’s truely,</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“<span class="smcap">Elizabeth +Newton</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The second runs:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss</span> ---, i +hope you are both quite well in health & your Leg much better +i am happy to say i am getting quite well again i hope Amandy has +reached you safe by this time i sent a small parcle by Amandy, +there was half a dozen Pats of butter & the Cakes was very +homely and not so light as i could wish i hope by this time Sarah +Ann has promised she will stay untill next monday as i think a +few daies longer will not make much diferance and as her young +man has been very considerate to wait so long as he has i think +he would for a few days Longer dear Miss --- I wash for William +and i have not got his clothes yet as it has been delayed by the +carrier & i cannot possiblely get it done before Sunday and i +do not Like traviling on a Sunday but to oblige you i would come +but to come sooner i cannot possiblely but i hope Sarah Ann will +be prevailed on once more as She has so many times i feel sure if +she tells her young man he will have patient for he is a very +kind young man</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“i remain your sincerely<br /> +“<span class="smcap">Elizabeth Newton</span>.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>The last letter in my collection seems written almost within +measurable distance of the Christmas-card era. The sheet is +headed by a beautifully embossed device of some holly in red and +green, wishing the recipient of the letter a merry Xmas and a +happy new year, while the border is crimped and edged with +blue. I know not what it is, but there is something in the +writer’s highly finished style that reminds me of +Mendelssohn. It would almost do for the words of one of his +celebrated “Lieder ohne Worte”:</p> +<blockquote><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss +Maria</span>,—I hasten to acknowledge the receipt of your +kind note with the inclosure for which I return my best +thanks. I need scarcely say how glad I was to know that the +volumes secured your approval, and that the announcement of the +improvement in the condition of your Sister’s legs afforded +me infinite pleasure. The gratifying news encouraged me in +the hope that now the nature of the disorder is comprehended her +legs will—notwithstanding the process may be +gradual—ultimately get quite well. The pretty Robin +Redbreast which lay ensconced in your epistle, conveyed to me, in +terms more eloquent than words, how much you desired me those +Compliments which the little missive he bore in his bill +expressed; the emblem is sweetly pretty, and now that we are +again allowed to felicitate each other on another recurrence of +the season of the Christian’s rejoicing, permit me to +tender to yourself, and by you to your Sister, mine and my +Wife’s heartfelt congratulations and warmest wishes with +respect to the coming year. It is a common belief that if +we take a retrospective view of each departing year, as it +behoves us annually to do, we shall find the blessings which we +have received to immeasurably outnumber our causes of +sorrow. Speaking for myself I can fully subscribe to that +sentiment, and doubtless neither Miss --- nor yourself are +exceptions. Miss ---’s illness and consequent +confinement to the house has been a severe trial, but in that +trouble an opportunity was afforded you to prove a Sister’s +devotion and she has been enabled to realise a larger (if +possible) display of sisterly affection.</p> +<p>“A happy Christmas to you both, and may the new year +prove a Cornucopia from which still greater blessings than even +those we have hitherto received, shall issue, to benefit us all +by contributing to our temporal happiness and, what is of higher +importance, conducing to our felicity hereafter.</p> +<p>“I was sorry to hear that you were so annoyed with mice +and rats, and if I should have an opportunity to obtain a nice +cat I will do so and send my boy to your house with it.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">“I remain,<br /> +“Yours truly.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>How little what is commonly called education can do after all +towards the formation of a good style, and what a delightful +volume might not be entitled “Half Hours with the Worst +Authors.” Why, the finest word I know of in the +English language was coined, not by my poor old grandfather, +whose education had left little to desire, nor by any of the +admirable scholars whom he in his turn educated, but by an old +matron who presided over one of the halls, or houses of his +school.</p> +<p>This good lady, whose name by the way was Bromfield, had a +fine high temper of her own, or thought it politic to affect +one. One night when the boys were particularly noisy she +burst like a hurricane into the hall, collared a youngster, and +told him he was “the +ramp-ingest-scampingest-rackety-tackety-tow-row-roaringest boy in +the whole school.” Would Mrs. Newton have been able +to set the aunt and the dog before us so vividly if she had been +more highly educated? Would Mrs. Bromfield have been able +to forge and hurl her thunderbolt of a word if she had been +taught how to do so, or indeed been at much pains to create it at +all? It came. It was her [Greek text]. She did +not probably know that she had done what the greatest scholar +would have had to rack his brains over for many an hour before he +could even approach. Tradition says that having brought +down her boy she looked round the hall in triumph, and then after +a moment’s lull said, “Young gentlemen, prayers are +excused,” and left them.</p> +<p>I have sometimes thought that, after all, the main use of a +classical education consists in the check it gives to +originality, and the way in which it prevents an inconvenient +number of people from using their own eyes. That we will +not be at the trouble of looking at things for ourselves if we +can get any one to tell us what we ought to see goes without +saying, and it is the business of schools and universities to +assist us in this respect. The theory of evolution teaches +that any power not worked at pretty high pressure will +deteriorate: originality and freedom from affectation are all +very well in their way, but we can easily have too much of them, +and it is better that none should be either original or free from +cant but those who insist on being so, no matter what hindrances +obstruct, nor what incentives are offered them to see things +through the regulation medium.</p> +<p>To insist on seeing things for oneself is to be in [Greek +text], or in plain English, an idiot; nor do I see any safer +check against general vigour and clearness of thought, with +consequent terseness of expression, than that provided by the +curricula of our universities and schools of public +instruction. If a young man, in spite of every effort to +fit him with blinkers, will insist on getting rid of them, he +must do so at his own risk. He will not be long in finding +out his mistake. Our public schools and universities play +the beneficent part in our social scheme that cattle do in +forests: they browse the seedlings down and prevent the growth of +all but the luckiest and sturdiest. Of course, if there are +too many either cattle or schools, they browse so effectually +that they find no more food, and starve till equilibrium is +restored; but it seems to be a provision of nature that there +should always be these alternate periods, during which either the +cattle or the trees are getting the best of it; and, indeed, +without such provision we should have neither the one nor the +other. At this moment the cattle, doubtless, are in the +ascendant, and if university extension proceeds much farther, we +shall assuredly have no more Mrs. Newtons and Mrs. Bromfields; +but whatever is is best, and, on the whole, I should propose to +let things find pretty much their own level.</p> +<p>However this may be, who can question that the treasures +hidden in many a country house contain sleeping beauties even +fairer than those that I have endeavoured to waken from long +sleep in the foregoing article? How many Mrs. Quicklys are +there not living in London at this present moment? For that +Mrs. Quickly was an invention of Shakespeare’s I will not +believe. The old woman from whom he drew said every word +that he put into Mrs. Quickly’s mouth, and a great deal +more which he did not and perhaps could not make use of. +This question, however, would again lead me far from my subject, +which I should mar were I to dwell upon it longer, and therefore +leave with the hope that it may give my readers absolutely no +food whatever for reflection.</p> +<h2>HOW TO MAKE THE BEST OF LIFE <a name="citation4"></a><a +href="#footnote4" class="citation">[4]</a></h2> +<p>I have been asked to speak on the question how to make the +best of life, but may as well confess at once that I know nothing +about it. I cannot think that I have made the best of my +own life, nor is it likely that I shall make much better of what +may or may not remain to me. I do not even know how to make +the best of the twenty minutes that your committee has placed at +my disposal, and as for life as a whole, who ever yet made the +best of such a colossal opportunity by conscious effort and +deliberation? In little things no doubt deliberate and +conscious effort will help us, but we are speaking of large +issues, and such kingdoms of heaven as the making the best of +these come not by observation.</p> +<p>The question, therefore, on which I have undertaken to address +you is, as you must all know, fatuous, if it be faced +seriously. Life is like playing a violin solo in public and +learning the instrument as one goes on. One cannot make the +best of such impossibilities, and the question is doubly fatuous +until we are told which of our two lives—the conscious or +the unconscious—is held by the asker to be the truer +life. Which does the question contemplate—the life we +know, or the life which others may know, but which we know +not?</p> +<p>Death gives a life to some men and women compared with which +their so-called existence here is as nothing. Which is the +truer life of Shakespeare, Handel, that divine woman who wrote +the “Odyssey,” and of Jane Austen—the life +which palpitated with sensible warm motion within their own +bodies, or that in virtue of which they are still palpitating in +ours? In whose consciousness does their truest life +consist—their own, or ours? Can Shakespeare be said +to have begun his true life till a hundred years or so after he +was dead and buried? His physical life was but as an +embryonic stage, a coming up out of darkness, a twilight and dawn +before the sunrise of that life of the world to come which he was +to enjoy hereafter. We all live for a while after we are +gone hence, but we are for the most part stillborn, or at any +rate die in infancy, as regards that life which every age and +country has recognised as higher and truer than the one of which +we are now sentient. As the life of the race is larger, +longer, and in all respects more to be considered than that of +the individual, so is the life we live in others larger and more +important than the one we live in ourselves. This appears +nowhere perhaps more plainly than in the case of great teachers, +who often in the lives of their pupils produce an effect that +reaches far beyond anything produced while their single lives +were yet unsupplemented by those other lives into which they +infused their own.</p> +<p>Death to such people is the ending of a short life, but it +does not touch the life they are already living in those whom +they have taught; and happily, as none can know when he shall +die, so none can make sure that he too shall not live long beyond +the grave; for the life after death is like money before +it—no one can be sure that it may not fall to him or her +even at the eleventh hour. Money and immortality come in +such odd unaccountable ways that no one is cut off from +hope. We may not have made either of them for ourselves, +but yet another may give them to us in virtue of his or her love, +which shall illumine us for ever, and establish us in some +heavenly mansion whereof we neither dreamed nor shall ever +dream. Look at the Doge Loredano Loredani, the old +man’s smile upon whose face has been reproduced so +faithfully in so many lands that it can never henceforth be +forgotten—would he have had one hundredth part of the life +he now lives had he not been linked awhile with one of those +heaven-sent men who know <i>che cosa è amor</i>? +Look at Rembrandt’s old woman in our National Gallery; had +she died before she was eighty-three years old she would not have +been living now. Then, when she was eighty-three, +immortality perched upon her as a bird on a withered bough.</p> +<p>I seem to hear some one say that this is a mockery, a piece of +special pleading, a giving of stones to those that ask for +bread. Life is not life unless we can feel it, and a life +limited to a knowledge of such fraction of our work as may happen +to survive us is no true life in other people; salve it as we +may, death is not life any more than black is white.</p> +<p>The objection is not so true as it sounds. I do not deny +that we had rather not die, nor do I pretend that much even in +the case of the most favoured few can survive them beyond the +grave. It is only because this is so that our own life is +possible; others have made room for us, and we should make room +for others in our turn without undue repining. What I +maintain is that a not inconsiderable number of people do +actually attain to a life beyond the grave which we can all feel +forcibly enough, whether they can do so or not—that this +life tends with increasing civilisation to become more and more +potent, and that it is better worth considering, in spite of its +being unfelt by ourselves, than any which we have felt or can +ever feel in our own persons.</p> +<p>Take an extreme case. A group of people are photographed +by Edison’s new process—say Titiens, Trebelli, and +Jenny Lind, with any two of the finest men singers the age has +known—let them be photographed incessantly for half an hour +while they perform a scene in “Lohengrin”; let all be +done stereoscopically. Let them be phonographed at the same +time so that their minutest shades of intonation are preserved, +let the slides be coloured by a competent artist, and then let +the scene be called suddenly into sight and sound, say a hundred +years hence. Are those people dead or alive? Dead to +themselves they are, but while they live so powerfully and so +livingly in us, which is the greater paradox—to say that +they are alive or that they are dead? To myself it seems +that their life in others would be more truly life than their +death to themselves is death. Granted that they do not +present all the phenomena of life—who ever does so even +when he is held to be alive? We are held to be alive +because we present a sufficient number of living phenomena to let +the others go without saying; those who see us take the part for +the whole here as in everything else, and surely, in the case +supposed above, the phenomena of life predominate so powerfully +over those of death, that the people themselves must be held to +be more alive than dead. Our living personality is, as the +word implies, only our mask, and those who still own such a mask +as I have supposed have a living personality. Granted again +that the case just put is an extreme one; still many a man and +many a woman has so stamped him or herself on his work that, +though we would gladly have the aid of such accessories as we +doubtless presently shall have to the livingness of our great +dead, we can see them very sufficiently through the master pieces +they have left us.</p> +<p>As for their own unconsciousness I do not deny it. The +life of the embryo was unconscious before birth, and so is the +life—I am speaking only of the life revealed to us by +natural religion—after death. But as the embryonic +and infant life of which we were unconscious was the most potent +factor in our after life of consciousness, so the effect which we +may unconsciously produce in others after death, and it may be +even before it on those who have never seen us, is in all sober +seriousness our truer and more abiding life, and the one which +those who would make the best of their sojourn here will take +most into their consideration.</p> +<p>Unconsciousness is no bar to livingness. Our conscious +actions are a drop in the sea as compared with our unconscious +ones. Could we know all the life that is in us by way of +circulation, nutrition, breathing, waste and repair, we should +learn what an infinitesimally small part consciousness plays in +our present existence; yet our unconscious life is as truly life +as our conscious life, and though it is unconscious to itself it +emerges into an indirect and vicarious consciousness in our other +and conscious self, which exists but in virtue of our unconscious +self. So we have also a vicarious consciousness in +others. The unconscious life of those that have gone before +us has in great part moulded us into such men and women as we +are, and our own unconscious lives will in like manner have a +vicarious consciousness in others, though we be dead enough to it +in ourselves.</p> +<p>If it is again urged that it matters not to us how much we may +be alive in others, if we are to know nothing about it, I reply +that the common instinct of all who are worth considering gives +the lie to such cynicism. I see here present some who have +achieved, and others who no doubt will achieve, success in +literature. Will one of them hesitate to admit that it is a +lively pleasure to her to feel that on the other side of the +world some one may be smiling happily over her work, and that she +is thus living in that person though she knows nothing about +it? Here it seems to me that true faith comes in. +Faith does not consist, as the Sunday School pupil said, +“in the power of believing that which we know to be +untrue.” It consists in holding fast that which the +healthiest and most kindly instincts of the best and most +sensible men and women are intuitively possessed of, without +caring to require much evidence further than the fact that such +people are so convinced; and for my own part I find the best men +and women I know unanimous in feeling that life in others, even +though we know nothing about it, is nevertheless a thing to be +desired and gratefully accepted if we can get it either before +death or after. I observe also that a large number of men +and women do actually attain to such life, and in some cases +continue so to live, if not for ever, yet to what is practically +much the same thing. Our life then in this world is, to +natural religion as much as to revealed, a period of +probation. The use we make of it is to settle how far we +are to enter into another, and whether that other is to be a +heaven of just affection or a hell of righteous condemnation.</p> +<p>Who, then, are the most likely so to run that they may obtain +this veritable prize of our high calling? Setting aside +such lucky numbers drawn as it were in the lottery of +immortality, which I have referred to casually above, and setting +aside also the chances and changes from which even immortality is +not exempt, who on the whole are most likely to live anew in the +affectionate thoughts of those who never so much as saw them in +the flesh, and know not even their names? There is a +<i>nisus</i>, a straining in the dull dumb economy of things, in +virtue of which some, whether they will it and know it or no, are +more likely to live after death than others, and who are +these? Those who aimed at it as by some great thing that +they would do to make them famous? Those who have lived +most in themselves and for themselves, or those who have been +most ensouled consciously, but perhaps better unconsciously, +directly but more often indirectly, by the most living souls past +and present that have flitted near them? Can we think of a +man or woman who grips us firmly, at the thought of whom we +kindle when we are alone in our honest daw’s plumes, with +none to admire or shrug his shoulders, can we think of one such, +the secret of whose power does not lie in the charm of his or her +personality—that is to say, in the wideness of his or her +sympathy with, and therefore life in and communion with other +people? In the wreckage that comes ashore from the sea of +time there is much tinsel stuff that we must preserve and study +if we would know our own times and people; granted that many a +dead charlatan lives long and enters largely and necessarily into +our own lives; we use them and throw them away when we have done +with them. I do not speak of these, I do not speak of the +Virgils and Alexander Popes, and who can say how many more whose +names I dare not mention for fear of offending. They are as +stuffed birds or beasts in a Museum, serviceable no doubt from a +scientific standpoint, but with no vivid or vivifying hold upon +us. They seem to be alive, but are not. I am speaking +of those who do actually live in us, and move us to higher +achievements though they be long dead, whose life thrusts out our +own and overrides it. I speak of those who draw us ever +more towards them from youth to age, and to think of whom is to +feel at once that we are in the hands of those we love, and whom +we would most wish to resemble. What is the secret of the +hold that these people have upon us? Is it not that while, +conventionally speaking, alive, they most merged their lives in, +and were in fullest communion with those among whom they +lived? They found their lives in losing them. We +never love the memory of any one unless we feel that he or she +was himself or herself a lover.</p> +<p>I have seen it urged, again, in querulous accents, that the +so-called immortality even of the most immortal is not for +ever. I see a passage to this effect in a book that is +making a stir as I write. I will quote it. The writer +says:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“So, it seems to me, is the immortality we +so glibly predicate of departed artists. If they survive at +all, it is but a shadowy life they live, moving on through the +gradations of slow decay to distant but inevitable death. +They can no longer, as heretofore, speak directly to the hearts +of their fellow-men, evoking their tears or laughter, and all the +pleasures, be they sad or merry, of which imagination holds the +secret. Driven from the marketplace they become first the +companions of the student, then the victims of the +specialist. He who would still hold familiar intercourse +with them must train himself to penetrate the veil which in +ever-thickening folds conceals them from the ordinary gaze; he +must catch the tone of a vanished society, he must move in a +circle of alien associations, he must think in a language not his +own.” <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5" +class="citation">[5]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>This is crying for the moon, or rather pretending to cry for +it, for the writer is obviously insincere. I see the +<i>Saturday Review</i> says the passage I have just quoted +“reaches almost to poetry,” and indeed I find many +blank verses in it, some of them very aggressive. No prose +is free from an occasional blank verse, and a good writer will +not go hunting over his work to rout them out, but nine or ten in +little more than as many lines is indeed reaching too near to +poetry for good prose. This, however, is a trifle, and +might pass if the tone of the writer was not so obviously that of +cheap pessimism. I know not which is cheapest, pessimism or +optimism. One forces lights, the other darks; both are +equally untrue to good art, and equally sure of their effect with +the groundlings. The one extenuates, the other sets down in +malice. The first is the more amiable lie, but both are +lies, and are known to be so by those who utter them. Talk +about catching the tone of a vanished society to understand +Rembrandt or Giovanni Bellini! It’s +nonsense—the folds do not thicken in front of these men; we +understand them as well as those among whom they went about in +the flesh, and perhaps better. Homer and Shakespeare speak +to us probably far more effectually than they did to the men of +their own time, and most likely we have them at their best. +I cannot think that Shakespeare talked better than we hear him +now in “Hamlet” or “Henry the Fourth”; +like enough he would have been found a very disappointing person +in a drawing-room. People stamp themselves on their work; +if they have not done so they are naught; if they have we have +them; and for the most part they stamp themselves deeper in their +work than on their talk. No doubt Shakespeare and Handel +will be one day clean forgotten, as though they had never been +born. The world will in the end die; mortality therefore +itself is not immortal, and when death dies the life of these men +will die with it—but not sooner. It is enough that +they should live within us and move us for many ages as they have +and will. Such immortality, therefore, as some men and +women are born to, achieve, or have thrust upon them, is a +practical if not a technical immortality, and he who would have +more let him have nothing.</p> +<p>I see I have drifted into speaking rather of how to make the +best of death than of life, but who can speak of life without his +thoughts turning instantly to that which is beyond it? He +or she who has made the best of the life after death has made the +best of the life before it; who cares one straw for any such +chances and changes as will commonly befall him here if he is +upheld by the full and certain hope of everlasting life in the +affections of those that shall come after? If the life +after death is happy in the hearts of others, it matters little +how unhappy was the life before it.</p> +<p>And now I leave my subject, not without misgiving that I shall +have disappointed you. But for the great attention which is +being paid to the work from which I have quoted above, I should +not have thought it well to insist on points with which you are, +I doubt not, as fully impressed as I am: but that book weakens +the sanctions of natural religion, and minimises the comfort +which it affords us, while it does more to undermine than to +support the foundations of what is commonly called belief. +Therefore I was glad to embrace this opportunity of +protesting. Otherwise I should not have been so serious on +a matter that transcends all seriousness. Lord Beaconsfield +cut it shorter with more effect. When asked to give a rule +of life for the son of a friend he said, “Do not let him +try and find out who wrote the letters of Junius.” +Pressed for further counsel he added, “Nor yet who was the +man in the iron mask”—and he would say no more. +Don’t bore people. And yet I am by no means sure that +a good many people do not think themselves ill-used unless he who +addresses them has thoroughly well bored them—especially if +they have paid any money for hearing him. My great namesake +said, “Surely the pleasure is as great of being cheated as +to cheat,” and great as the pleasure both of cheating and +boring undoubtedly is, I believe he was right. So I +remember a poem which came out some thirty years ago in +<i>Punch</i>, about a young lady who went forth in quest to +“Some burden make or burden bear, but which she did not +greatly care, oh Miserie.” So, again, all the holy +men and women who in the Middle Ages professed to have discovered +how to make the best of life took care that being bored, if not +cheated, should have a large place in their programme. +Still there are limits, and I close not without fear that I may +have exceeded them.</p> +<h2>THE SANCTUARY OF MONTRIGONE <a name="citation6"></a><a +href="#footnote6" class="citation">[6]</a></h2> +<p>The only place in the Valsesia, except Varallo, where I at +present suspect the presence of Tabachetti <a +name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7" +class="citation">[7]</a> is at Montrigone, a little-known +sanctuary dedicated to St. Anne, about three-quarters of a mile +south of Borgo-Sesia station. The situation is, of course, +lovely, but the sanctuary does not offer any features of +architectural interest. The sacristan told me it was +founded in 1631; and in 1644 Giovanni d’Enrico, while +engaged in superintending and completing the work undertaken here +by himself and Giacomo Ferro, fell ill and died. I do not +know whether or no there was an earlier sanctuary on the same +site, but was told it was built on the demolition of a stronghold +belonging to the Counts of Biandrate.</p> +<p>The incidents which it illustrates are treated with even more +than the homeliness usual in works of this description when not +dealing with such solemn events as the death and passion of +Christ. Except when these subjects were being represented, +something of the latitude, and even humour, allowed in the old +mystery plays was permitted, doubtless from a desire to render +the work more attractive to the peasants, who were the most +numerous and most important pilgrims. It is not until faith +begins to be weak that it fears an occasionally lighter treatment +of semi-sacred subjects, and it is impossible to convey an +accurate idea of the spirit prevailing at this hamlet of +sanctuary without attuning oneself somewhat to the more pagan +character of the place. Of irreverence, in the sense of a +desire to laugh at things that are of high and serious import, +there is not a trace, but at the same time there is a certain +unbending of the bow at Montrigone which is not perceivable at +Varallo.</p> +<p>The first chapel to the left on entering the church is that of +the Birth of the Virgin. St. Anne is sitting up in +bed. She is not at all ill—in fact, considering that +the Virgin has only been born about five minutes, she is +wonderful; still the doctors think it may be perhaps better that +she should keep her room for half an hour longer, so the bed has +been festooned with red and white paper roses, and the +counterpane is covered with bouquets in baskets and in vases of +glass and china. These cannot have been there during the +actual birth of the Virgin, so I suppose they had been in +readiness, and were brought in from an adjoining room as soon as +the baby had been born. A lady on her left is bringing in +some more flowers, which St. Anne is receiving with a smile and +most gracious gesture of the hands. The first thing she +asked for, when the birth was over, was for her three silver +hearts. These were immediately brought to her, and she has +got them all on, tied round her neck with a piece of blue silk +ribbon.</p> +<p>Dear mamma has come. We felt sure she would, and that +any little misunderstandings between her and Joachim would ere +long be forgotten and forgiven. They are both so good and +sensible if they would only understand one another. At any +rate, here she is, in high state at the right hand of the +bed. She is dressed in black, for she has lost her husband +some few years previously, but I do not believe a smarter, sprier +old lady for her years could be found in Palestine, nor yet that +either Giovanni d’Enrico or Giacomo Ferro could have +conceived or executed such a character. The sacristan +wanted to have it that she was not a woman at all, but was a +portrait of St. Joachim, the Virgin’s father. +“Sembra una donna,” he pleaded more than once, +“ma non è donna.” Surely, however, in +works of art even more than in other things, there is no +“is” but seeming, and if a figure seems female it +must be taken as such. Besides, I asked one of the leading +doctors at Varallo whether the figure was man or woman. He +said it was evident I was not married, for that if I had been I +should have seen at once that she was not only a woman but a +mother-in-law of the first magnitude, or, as he called it, +“una suocera tremenda,” and this without knowing that +I wanted her to be a mother-in-law myself. Unfortunately +she had no real drapery, so I could not settle the question as my +friend Mr. H. F. Jones and I had been able to do at Varallo with +the figure of Eve that had been turned into a Roman soldier +assisting at the capture of Christ. I am not, however, +disposed to waste more time upon anything so obvious, and will +content myself with saying that we have here the Virgin’s +grandmother. I had never had the pleasure, so far as I +remembered, of meeting this lady before, and was glad to have an +opportunity of making her acquaintance.</p> +<p>Tradition says that it was she who chose the Virgin’s +name, and if so, what a debt of gratitude do we not owe her for +her judicious selection! It makes one shudder to think what +might have happened if she had named the child Keren-Happuch, as +poor Job’s daughter was called. How could we have +said, “Ave Keren-Happuch!” What would the +musicians have done? I forget whether Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz +was a man or a woman, but there were plenty of names quite as +unmanageable at the Virgin’s grandmother’s option, +and we cannot sufficiently thank her for having chosen one that +is so euphonious in every language which we need take into +account. For this reason alone we should not grudge her her +portrait, but we should try to draw the line here. I do not +think we ought to give the Virgin’s great-grandmother a +statue. Where is it to end? It is like Mr. +Crookes’s ultimissimate atoms; we used to draw the line at +ultimate atoms, and now it seems we are to go a step farther back +and have ultimissimate atoms. How long, I wonder, will it +be before we feel that it will be a material help to us to have +ultimissimissimate atoms? Quavers stopped at +demi-semi-demi, but there is no reason to suppose that either +atoms or ancestresses of the Virgin will be so complacent.</p> +<p>I have said that on St. Anne’s left hand there is a lady +who is bringing in some flowers. St. Anne was always +passionately fond of flowers. There is a pretty story told +about her in one of the Fathers, I forget which, to the effect +that when a child she was asked which she liked best—cakes +or flowers? She could not yet speak plainly and lisped out, +“Oh fowses, pretty fowses”; she added, however, with +a sigh and as a kind of wistful corollary, “but cakes are +very nice.” She is not to have any cakes, just now, +but as soon as she has done thanking the lady for her beautiful +nosegay, she is to have a couple of nice new-laid eggs, that are +being brought her by another lady. Valsesian women +immediately after their confinement always have eggs beaten up +with wine and sugar, and one can tell a Valsesian Birth of the +Virgin from a Venetian or a Florentine by the presence of the +eggs. I learned this from an eminent Valsesian professor of +medicine, who told me that, though not according to received +rules, the eggs never seemed to do any harm. Here they are +evidently to be beaten up, for there is neither spoon nor +egg-cup, and we cannot suppose that they were hard-boiled. +On the other hand, in the Middle Ages Italians never used +egg-cups and spoons for boiled eggs. The mediæval +boiled egg was always eaten by dipping bread into the yolk.</p> +<p>Behind the lady who is bringing in the eggs is the +under-under-nurse who is at the fire warming a towel. In +the foreground we have the regulation midwife holding the +regulation baby (who, by the way, was an astonishingly fine child +for only five minutes old). Then comes the +under-nurse—a good buxom creature, who, as usual, is +feeling the water in the bath to see that it is of the right +temperature. Next to her is the head-nurse, who is +arranging the cradle. Behind the head-nurse is the +under-under-nurse’s drudge, who is just going out upon some +errands. Lastly—for by this time we have got all +round the chapel—we arrive at the Virgin’s +grandmother’s-body-guard, a stately, responsible-looking +lady, standing in waiting upon her mistress. I put it to +the reader—is it conceivable that St. Joachim should have +been allowed in such a room at such a time, or that he should +have had the courage to avail himself of the permission, even +though it had been extended to him? At any rate, is it +conceivable that he should have been allowed to sit on St. +Anne’s right hand, laying down the law with a “Marry, +come up here,” and a “Marry, go-down there,” +and a couple of such unabashed collars as the old lady has put on +for the occasion?</p> +<p>Moreover (for I may as well demolish this mischievous +confusion between St. Joachim and his mother-in-law once and for +all), the merest tyro in hagiology knows that St. Joachim was not +at home when the Virgin was born. He had been hustled out +of the temple for having no children, and had fled desolate and +dismayed into the wilderness. It shows how silly people +are, for all the time he was going, if they had only waited a +little, to be the father of the most remarkable person of purely +human origin who had ever been born, and such a parent as this +should surely not be hurried. The story is told in the +frescoes of the chapel of Loreto, only a quarter of an +hour’s walk from Varallo, and no one can have known it +better than D’Enrico. The frescoes are explained by +written passages that tell us how, when Joachim was in the +desert, an angel came to him in the guise of a fair, civil young +gentleman, and told him the Virgin was to be born. Then, +later on, the same young gentleman appeared to him again, and +bade him “in God’s name be comforted, and turn again +to his content,” for the Virgin had been actually +born. On which St. Joachim, who seems to have been of +opinion that marriage after all <i>was</i> rather a failure, said +that, as things were going on so nicely without him, he would +stay in the desert just a little longer, and offered up a lamb as +a pretext to gain time. Perhaps he guessed about his +mother-in-law, or he may have asked the angel. Of course, +even in spite of such evidence as this I may be mistaken about +the Virgin’s grandmother’s sex, and the sacristan may +be right; but I can only say that if the lady sitting by St. +Anne’s bedside at Montrigone is the Virgin’s +father—well, in that case I must reconsider a good deal +that I have been accustomed to believe was beyond question.</p> +<p>Taken singly, I suppose that none of the figures in the +chapel, except the Virgin’s grandmother, should be rated +very highly. The under-nurse is the next best figure, and +might very well be Tabachetti’s, for neither Giovanni +d’Enrico nor Giacomo Ferro was successful with his female +characters. There is not a single really comfortable woman +in any chapel by either of them on the Sacro Monte at +Varallo. Tabachetti, on the other hand, delighted in women; +if they were young he made them comely and engaging, if they were +old he gave them dignity and individual character, and the +under-nurse is much more in accordance with Tabachetti’s +habitual mental attitude than with D’Enrico’s or +Giacomo Ferro’s. Still there are only four figures +out of the eleven that are mere otiose supers, and taking the +work as a whole it leaves a pleasant impression as being +throughout naïve and homely, and sometimes, which is of less +importance, technically excellent.</p> +<p>Allowance must, of course, be made for tawdry accessories and +repeated coats of shiny oleaginous paint—very disagreeable +where it has peeled off and almost more so where it has +not. What work could stand against such treatment as the +Valsesian terra-cotta figures have had to put up with? Take +the Venus of Milo; let her be done in terra-cotta, and have run, +not much, but still something, in the baking; paint her pink, two +oils, all over, and then varnish her—it will help to +preserve the paint; glue a lot of horsehair on to her pate, half +of which shall have come off, leaving the glue still showing; +scrape her, not too thoroughly, get the village drawing-master to +paint her again, and the drawing-master in the next provincial +town to put a forest background behind her with the brightest +emerald-green leaves that he can do for the money; let this +painting and scraping and repainting be repeated several times +over; festoon her with pink and white flowers made of tissue +paper; surround her with the cheapest German imitations of the +cheapest decorations that Birmingham can produce; let the night +air and winter fogs get at her for three hundred years, and how +easy, I wonder, will it be to see the goddess who will be still +in great part there? True, in the case of the Birth of the +Virgin chapel at Montrigone, there is no real hair and no fresco +background, but time has had abundant opportunities without +these. I will conclude my notice of this chapel by saying +that on the left, above the door through which the +under-under-nurse’s drudge is about to pass, there is a +good painted terra-cotta bust, said—but I believe on no +authority—to be a portrait of Giovanni +d’Enrico. Others say that the Virgin’s +grandmother is Giovanni d’Enrico, but this is even more +absurd than supposing her to be St. Joachim.</p> +<p>The next chapel to the Birth of the Virgin is that of the +<i>Sposalizio</i>. There is no figure here which suggests +Tabachetti, but still there are some very good ones. The +best have no taint of <i>barocco</i>; the man who did them, +whoever he may have been, had evidently a good deal of life and +go, was taking reasonable pains, and did not know too much. +Where this is the case no work can fail to please. Some of +the figures have real hair and some terra cotta. There is +no fresco background worth mentioning. A man sitting on the +steps of the altar with a book on his lap, and holding up his +hand to another, who is leaning over him and talking to him, is +among the best figures; some of the disappointed suitors who are +breaking their wands are also very good.</p> +<p>The angel in the Annunciation chapel, which comes next in +order, is a fine, burly, ship’s-figurehead, +commercial-hotel sort of being enough, but the Virgin is very +ordinary. There is no real hair and no fresco background, +only three dingy old blistered pictures of no interest +whatever.</p> +<p>In the visit of Mary to Elizabeth there are three pleasing +subordinate lady attendants, two to the left and one to the right +of the principal figures; but these figures themselves are not +satisfactory. There is no fresco background. Some of +the figures have real hair and some terra cotta.</p> +<p>In the Circumcision and Purification chapel—for both +these events seem contemplated in the one that +follows—there are doves, but there is neither dog nor +knife. Still Simeon, who has the infant Saviour in his +arms, is looking at him in a way which can only mean that, knife +or no knife, the matter is not going to end here. At +Varallo they have now got a dreadful knife for the Circumcision +chapel. They had none last winter. What they have now +got would do very well to kill a bullock with, but could not be +used professionally with safety for any animal smaller than a +rhinoceros. I imagine that some one was sent to Novara to +buy a knife, and that, thinking it was for the Massacre of the +Innocents chapel, he got the biggest he could see. Then +when he brought it back people said “chow” several +times, and put it upon the table and went away.</p> +<p>Returning to Montrigone, the Simeon is an excellent figure, +and the Virgin is fairly good, but the prophetess Anna, who +stands just behind her, is by far the most interesting in the +group, and is alone enough to make me feel sure that Tabachetti +gave more or less help here, as he had done years before at +Orta. She, too, like the Virgin’s grandmother, is a +widow lady, and wears collars of a cut that seems to have +prevailed ever since the Virgin was born some twenty years +previously. There is a largeness and simplicity of +treatment about the figure to which none but an artist of the +highest rank can reach, and D’Enrico was not more than a +second or third-rate man. The hood is like Handel’s +Truth sailing upon the broad wings of Time, a prophetic strain +that nothing but the old experience of a great poet can +reach. The lips of the prophetess are for the moment +closed, but she has been prophesying all the morning, and the +people round the wall in the background are in ecstasies at the +lucidity with which she has explained all sorts of difficulties +that they had never been able to understand till now. They +are putting their forefingers on their thumbs and their thumbs on +their forefingers, and saying how clearly they see it all and +what a wonderful woman Anna is. A prophet indeed is not +generally without honour save in his own country, but then a +country is generally not without honour save with its own +prophet, and Anna has been glorifying her country rather than +reviling it. Besides, the rule may not have applied to +prophetesses.</p> +<p>The Death of the Virgin is the last of the six chapels inside +the church itself. The Apostles, who of course are present, +have all of them real hair, but, if I may say so, they want a +wash and a brush-up so very badly that I cannot feel any +confidence in writing about them. I should say that, take +them all round, they are a good average sample of apostle as +apostles generally go. Two or three of them are nervously +anxious to find appropriate quotations in books that lie open +before them, which they are searching with eager haste; but I do +not see one figure about which I should like to say positively +that it is either good or bad. There is a good bust of a +man, matching the one in the Birth of the Virgin chapel, which is +said to be a portrait of Giovanni d’Enrico, but it is not +known whom it represents.</p> +<p>Outside the church, in three contiguous cells that form part +of the foundations, are:—</p> +<p>1. A dead Christ, the head of which is very impressive +while the rest of the figure is poor. I examined the +treatment of the hair, which is terra-cotta, and compared it with +all other like hair in the chapels above described; I could find +nothing like it, and think it most likely that Giacomo Ferro did +the figure, and got Tabachetti to do the head, or that they +brought the head from some unused figure by Tabachetti at +Varallo, for I know no other artist of the time and neighbourhood +who could have done it.</p> +<p>2. A Magdalene in the desert. The desert is a +little coal-cellar of an arch, containing a skull and a profusion +of pink and white paper bouquets, the two largest of which the +Magdalene is hugging while she is saying her prayers. She +is a very self-sufficient lady, who we may be sure will not stay +in the desert a day longer than she can help, and while there +will flirt even with the skull if she can find nothing better to +flirt with. I cannot think that her repentance is as yet +genuine, and as for her praying there is no object in her doing +so, for she does not want anything.</p> +<p>3. In the next desert there is a very beautiful figure +of St. John the Baptist kneeling and looking upwards. This +figure puzzles me more than any other at Montrigone; it appears +to be of the fifteenth rather than the sixteenth century; it +hardly reminds me of Gaudenzio, and still less of any other +Valsesian artist. It is a work of unusual beauty, but I can +form no idea as to its authorship.</p> +<p>I wrote the foregoing pages in the church at Montrigone +itself, having brought my camp-stool with me. It was +Sunday; the church was open all day, but there was no mass said, +and hardly any one came. The sacristan was a kind, gentle, +little old man, who let me do whatever I wanted. He sat on +the doorstep of the main door, mending vestments, and to this end +was cutting up a fine piece of figured silk from one to two +hundred years old, which, if I could have got it, for half its +value, I should much like to have bought. I sat in the cool +of the church while he sat in the doorway, which was still in +shadow, snipping and snipping, and then sewing, I am sure with +admirable neatness. He made a charming picture, with the +arched portico over his head, the green grass and low church wall +behind him, and then a lovely landscape of wood and pasture and +valleys and hillside. Every now and then he would come and +chirrup about Joachim, for he was pained and shocked at my having +said that his Joachim was some one else and not Joachim at +all. I said I was very sorry, but I was afraid the figure +was a woman. He asked me what he was to do. He had +known it, man and boy, this sixty years, and had always shown it +as St. Joachim; he had never heard any one but myself question +his ascription, and could not suddenly change his mind about it +at the bidding of a stranger. At the same time he felt it +was a very serious thing to continue showing it as the +Virgin’s father if it was really her grandmother. I +told him I thought this was a case for his spiritual director, +and that if he felt uncomfortable about it he should consult his +parish priest and do as he was told.</p> +<p>On leaving Montrigone, with a pleasant sense of having made +acquaintance with a new and, in many respects, interesting work, +I could not get the sacristan and our difference of opinion out +of my head. What, I asked myself, are the differences that +unhappily divide Christendom, and what are those that divide +Christendom from modern schools of thought, but a seeing of +Joachims as the Virgin’s grandmothers on a larger +scale? True, we cannot call figures Joachim when we know +perfectly well that they are nothing of the kind; but I +registered a vow that henceforward when I called Joachims the +Virgin’s grandmothers I would bear more in mind than I have +perhaps always hitherto done, how hard it is for those who have +been taught to see them as Joachims to think of them as something +different. I trust that I have not been unfaithful to this +vow in the preceding article. If the reader differs from +me, let me ask him to remember how hard it is for one who has got +a figure well into his head as the Virgin’s grandmother to +see it as Joachim.</p> +<h2>A MEDIEVAL GIRL SCHOOL <a name="citation8"></a><a +href="#footnote8" class="citation">[8]</a></h2> +<p>This last summer I revisited Oropa, near Biella, to see what +connection I could find between the Oropa chapels and those at +Varallo. I will take this opportunity of describing the +chapels at Oropa, and more especially the remarkable fossil, or +petrified girl school, commonly known as the <i>Dimora</i>, or +Sojourn of the Virgin Mary in the Temple.</p> +<p>If I do not take these works so seriously as the reader may +expect, let me beg him, before he blames me, to go to Oropa and +see the originals for himself. Have the good people of +Oropa themselves taken them very seriously? Are we in an +atmosphere where we need be at much pains to speak with bated +breath? We, as is well known, love to take even our +pleasures sadly; the Italians take even their sadness +<i>allegramente</i>, and combine devotion with amusement in a +manner that we shall do well to study if not imitate. For +this best agrees with what we gather to have been the custom of +Christ himself, who, indeed, never speaks of austerity but to +condemn it. If Christianity is to be a living faith, it +must penetrate a man’s whole life, so that he can no more +rid himself of it than he can of his flesh and bones or of his +breathing. The Christianity that can be taken up and laid +down as if it were a watch or a book is Christianity in name +only. The true Christian can no more part from Christ in +mirth than in sorrow. And, after all, what is the essence +of Christianity? What is the kernel of the nut? +Surely common sense and cheerfulness, with unflinching opposition +to the charlatanisms and Pharisaisms of a man’s own +times. The essence of Christianity lies neither in dogma, +nor yet in abnormally holy life, but in faith in an unseen world, +in doing one’s duty, in speaking the truth, in finding the +true life rather in others than in oneself, and in the certain +hope that he who loses his life on these behalfs finds more than +he has lost. What can Agnosticism do against such +Christianity as this? I should be shocked if anything I had +ever written or shall ever write should seem to make light of +these things. I should be shocked also if I did not know +how to be amused with things that amiable people obviously +intended to be amusing.</p> +<p>The reader may need to be reminded that Oropa is among the +somewhat infrequent sanctuaries at which the Madonna and infant +Christ are not white, but black. I shall return to this +peculiarity of Oropa later on, but will leave it for the +present. For the general characteristics of the place I +must refer the reader to my book, “Alps and +Sanctuaries.” <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9" +class="citation">[9]</a> I propose to confine myself here +to the ten or a dozen chapels containing life-sized terra-cotta +figures, painted up to nature, that form one of the main features +of the place. At a first glance, perhaps, all these chapels +will seem uninteresting; I venture to think, however, that some, +if not most of them, though falling a good deal short of the best +work at Varallo and Crea, are still in their own way of +considerable importance. The first chapel with which we +need concern ourselves is numbered 4, and shows the Conception of +the Virgin Mary. It represents St. Anne as kneeling before +a terrific dragon or, as the Italians call it, +“insect,” about the size of a Crystal Palace +pleiosaur. This “insect” is supposed to have +just had its head badly crushed by St. Anne, who seems to be +begging its pardon. The text “Ipsa conteret caput +tuum” is written outside the chapel. The figures have +no artistic interest. As regards dragons being called +insects, the reader may perhaps remember that the island of S. +Giulio, in the Lago d’Orta, was infested with +<i>insetti</i>, which S. Giulio destroyed, and which appear, in a +fresco underneath the church on the island, to have been +monstrous and ferocious dragons; but I cannot remember whether +their bodies are divided into three sections, and whether or no +they have exactly six legs—without which, I am told, they +cannot be true insects.</p> +<p>The fifth chapel represents the birth of the Virgin. +Having obtained permission to go inside it, I found the date 1715 +cut large and deep on the back of one figure before baking, and I +imagine that this date covers the whole. There is a Queen +Anne feeling throughout the composition, and if we were told that +the sculptor and Francis Bird, sculptor of the statue in front of +St. Paul’s Cathedral, had studied under the same master, we +could very well believe it. The apartment in which the +Virgin was born is spacious, and in striking contrast to the one +in which she herself gave birth to the Redeemer. St. Anne +occupies the centre of the composition, in an enormous bed; on +her right there is a lady of the George Cruikshank style of +beauty, and on the left an older person. Both are +gesticulating and impressing upon St. Anne the enormous +obligation she has just conferred upon mankind; they seem also to +be imploring her not to overtax her strength, but, strange to +say, they are giving her neither flowers nor anything to eat and +drink. I know no other birth of the Virgin in which St. +Anne wants so little keeping up.</p> +<p>I have explained in my book “Ex Voto,” <a +name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10" +class="citation">[10]</a> but should perhaps repeat here, that +the distinguishing characteristic of the Birth of the Virgin, as +rendered by Valsesian artists, is that St. Anne always has eggs +immediately after the infant is born, and usually a good deal +more, whereas the Madonna never has anything to eat or +drink. The eggs are in accordance with a custom that still +prevails among the peasant classes in the Valsesia, where women +on giving birth to a child generally are given a +<i>sabaglione</i>—an egg beaten up with a little wine, or +rum, and sugar. East of Milan the Virgin’s mother +does not have eggs, and I suppose, from the absence of the eggs +at Oropa, that the custom above referred to does not prevail in +the Biellese district. The Virgin also is invariably +washed. St. John the Baptist, when he is born at all, which +is not very often, is also washed; but I have not observed that +St. Elizabeth has anything like the attention paid her that is +given to St. Anne. What, however, is wanting here at Oropa +in meat and drink is made up in Cupids; they swarm like flies on +the walls, clouds, cornices, and capitals of columns.</p> +<p>Against the right-hand wall are two lady-helps, each warming a +towel at a glowing fire, to be ready against the baby should come +out of its bath; while in the right-hand foreground we have the +<i>levatrice</i>, who having discharged her task, and being now +so disposed, has removed the bottle from the chimney-piece, and +put it near some bread, fruit and a chicken, over which she is +about to discuss the confinement with two other gossips. +The <i>levatrice</i> is a very characteristic figure, but the +best in the chapel is the one of the head nurse, near the middle +of the composition; she has now the infant in full charge, and is +showing it to St. Joachim, with an expression as though she were +telling him that her husband was a merry man. I am afraid +Shakespeare was dead before the sculptor was born, otherwise I +should have felt certain that he had drawn Juliet’s nurse +from this figure. As for the little Virgin herself, I +believe her to be a fine boy of about ten months old. +Viewing the work as a whole, if I only felt more sure what +artistic merit really is, I should say that, though the chapel +cannot be rated very highly from some standpoints, there are +others from which it may be praised warmly enough. It is +innocent of anatomy-worship, free from affectation or swagger, +and not devoid of a good deal of homely +<i>naïveté</i>. It can no more be compared with +Tabachetti or Donatello than Hogarth can with Rembrandt or +Giovanni Bellini; but as it does not transcend the limitations of +its age, so neither is it wanting in whatever merits that age +possessed; and there is no age without merits of some kind. +There is no inscription saying who made the figures, but +tradition gives them to Pietro Aureggio Termine, of Biella, +commonly called Aureggio. This is confirmed by their strong +resemblance to those in the <i>Dimora</i> Chapel, in which there +is an inscription that names Aureggio as the sculptor.</p> +<p>The sixth chapel deals with the Presentation of the Virgin in +the Temple. The Virgin is very small, but it must be +remembered that she is only seven years old, and she is not +nearly so small as she is at Crea, where, though a life-sized +figure is intended, the head is hardly bigger than an +apple. She is rushing up the steps with open arms towards +the High Priest, who is standing at the top. For her it is +nothing alarming; it is the High Priest who appears frightened; +but it will all come right in time. The Virgin seems to be +saying, “Why, don’t you know me? I’m the +Virgin Mary.” But the High Priest does not feel so +sure about that, and will make further inquiries. The +scene, which comprises some twenty figures, is animated enough, +and though it hardly kindles enthusiasm, still does not fail to +please. It looks as though of somewhat older date than the +Birth of the Virgin chapel, and I should say shows more signs of +direct Valsesian influence. In Marocco’s book about +Oropa it is ascribed to Aureggio, but I find it difficult to +accept this.</p> +<p>The seventh, and in many respects most interesting chapel at +Oropa, shows what is in reality a medieval Italian girl school, +as nearly like the thing itself as the artist could make it; we +are expected, however, to see in this the high-class kind of +Girton College for young gentlewomen that was attached to the +Temple at Jerusalem, under the direction of the Chief +Priest’s wife, or some one of his near female +relatives. Here all well-to-do Jewish young women completed +their education, and here accordingly we find the Virgin, whose +parents desired she should shine in every accomplishment, and +enjoy all the advantages their ample means commanded.</p> +<p>I have met with no traces of the Virgin during the years +between her Presentation in the Temple and her becoming head girl +at Temple College. These years, we may be assured, can +hardly have been other than eventful; but incidents, or bits of +life, are like living forms—it is only here and here, as by +rare chance, that one of them gets arrested and fossilised; the +greater number disappear like the greater number of antediluvian +molluscs, and no one can say why one of these flies, as it were, +of life should get preserved in amber more than another. +Talk, indeed, about luck and cunning; what a grain of sand as +against a hundredweight is cunning’s share here as against +luck’s. What moment could be more humdrum and +unworthy of special record than the one chosen by the artist for +the chapel we are considering? Why should this one get +arrested in its flight and made immortal when so many worthier +ones have perished? Yet preserved it assuredly is; it is as +though some fairy’s wand had struck the medieval Miss +Pinkerton, Amelia Sedley, and others who do duty instead of the +Hebrew originals. It has locked them up as sleeping +beauties, whose charms all may look upon. Surely the hours +are like the women grinding at the mill—the one is taken +and the other left, and none can give the reason more than he can +say why Gallio should have won immortality by caring for none of +“these things.”</p> +<p>It seems to me, moreover, that fairies have changed their +practice now in the matter of sleeping beauties, much as +shopkeepers have done in Regent Street. Formerly the +shopkeeper used to shut up his goods behind strong shutters, so +that no one might see them after closing hours. Now he +leaves everything open to the eye and turns the gas on. So +the fairies, who used to lock up their sleeping beauties in +impenetrable thickets, now leave them in the most public places +they can find, as knowing that they will there most certainly +escape notice. Look at De Hooghe; look at “The +Pilgrim’s Progress,” or even Shakespeare +himself—how long they slept unawakened, though they were in +broad daylight and on the public thoroughfares all the +time. Look at Tabachetti, and the masterpieces he left at +Varallo. His figures there are exposed to the gaze of every +passer-by; yet who heeds them? Who, save a very few, even +know of their existence? Look again at Gaudenzio Ferrari, +or the “Danse des Paysans,” by Holbein, to which I +ventured to call attention in the <i>Universal Review</i>. +No, no; if a thing be in Central Africa, it is the glory of this +age to find it out; so the fairies think it safer to conceal +their <i>protégés</i> under a show of openness; for +the schoolmaster is much abroad, and there is no hedge so thick +or so thorny as the dulness of culture.</p> +<p>It may be, again, that ever so many years hence, when Mr. +Darwin’s earth-worms shall have buried Oropa hundreds of +feet deep, some one sinking a well or making a railway-cutting +will unearth these chapels, and will believe them to have been +houses, and to contain the <i>exuviæ</i> of the living +forms that tenanted them. In the meantime, however, let us +return to a consideration of the chapel as it may now be seen by +any one who cares to pass that way.</p> +<p>The work consists of about forty figures in all, not counting +Cupids, and is divided into four main divisions. First, +there is the large public sitting-room or drawing-room of the +College, where the elder young ladies are engaged in various +elegant employments. Three, at a table to the left, are +making a mitre for the Bishop, as may be seen from the model on +the table. Some are merely spinning or about to spin. +One young lady, sitting rather apart from the others, is doing an +elaborate piece of needlework at a tambour-frame near the window; +others are making lace or slippers, probably for the new curate; +another is struggling with a letter, or perhaps a theme, which +seems to be giving her a good deal of trouble, but which, when +done, will, I am sure, be beautiful. One dear little girl +is simply reading “Paul and Virginia” underneath the +window, and is so concealed that I hardly think she can be seen +from the outside at all, though from inside she is delightful; it +was with great regret that I could not get her into any +photograph. One most amiable young woman has got a +child’s head on her lap, the child having played itself to +sleep. All are industriously and agreeably employed in some +way or other; all are plump; all are nice looking; there is not +one Becky Sharp in the whole school; on the contrary, as in +“Pious Orgies,” all is pious—or +sub-pious—and all, if not great, is at least eminently +respectable. One feels that St. Joachim and St. Anne could +not have chosen a school more judiciously, and that if one had +daughter oneself this is exactly where one would wish to place +her. If there is a fault of any kind in the arrangements, +it is that they do not keep cats enough. The place is +overrun with mice, though what these can find to eat I know +not. It occurs to me also that the young ladies might be +kept a little more free of spiders’ webs; but in all these +chapels, bats, mice and spiders are troublesome.</p> +<p>Off the main drawing-room on the side facing the window there +is a dais, which is approached by a large raised semicircular +step, higher than the rest of the floor, but lower than the dais +itself. The dais is, of course, reserved for the venerable +Lady Principal and the under-mistresses, one of whom, by the way, +is a little more <i>mondaine</i> than might have been expected, +and is admiring herself in a looking-glass—unless, indeed, +she is only looking to see if there is a spot of ink on her +face. The Lady Principal is seated near a table, on which +lie some books in expensive bindings, which I imagine to have +been presented to her by the parents of pupils who were leaving +school. One has given her a photographic album; another a +large scrap-book, for illustrations of all kinds; a third volume +has red edges, and is presumably of a devotional character. +If I dared venture another criticism, I should say it would be +better not to keep the ink-pot on the top of these books. +The Lady Principal is being read to by the monitress for the +week, whose duty it was to recite selected passages from the most +approved Hebrew writers; she appears to be a good deal outraged, +possibly at the faulty intonation of the reader, which she has +long tried vainly to correct; or perhaps she has been hearing of +the atrocious way in which her forefathers had treated the +prophets, and is explaining to the young ladies how impossible it +would be, in their own more enlightened age, for a prophet to +fail of recognition.</p> +<p>On the half-dais, as I suppose the large semicircular step +between the main room and the dais should be called, we find, +first, the monitress for the week, who stands up while she +recites; and secondly, the Virgin herself, who is the only pupil +allowed a seat so near to the august presence of the Lady +Principal. She is ostensibly doing a piece of embroidery +which is stretched on a cushion on her lap, but I should say that +she was chiefly interested in the nearest of four pretty little +Cupids, who are all trying to attract her attention, though they +pay no court to any other young lady. I have sometimes +wondered whether the obviously scandalised gesture of the Lady +Principal might not be directed at these Cupids, rather than at +anything the monitress may have been reading, for she would +surely find them disquieting. Or she may be saying, +“Why, bless me! I do declare the Virgin has got +another hamper, and St. Anne’s cakes are always so terribly +rich!” Certainly the hamper is there, close to the +Virgin, and the Lady Principal’s action may be well +directed at it, but it may have been sent to some other young +lady, and be put on the sub-dais for public exhibition. It +looks as if it might have come from Fortnum and Mason’s, +and I half expected to find a label, addressing it to “The +Virgin Mary, Temple College, Jerusalem,” but if ever there +was one the mice have long since eaten it. The Virgin +herself does not seem to care much about it, but if she has a +fault it is that she is generally a little apathetic.</p> +<p>Whose the hamper was, however, is a point we shall never now +certainly determine, for the best fossil is worse than the worst +living form. Why, alas! was not Mr. Edison alive when this +chapel was made? We might then have had a daily +phonographic recital of the conversation, and an announcement +might be put outside the chapels, telling us at what hours the +figures would speak.</p> +<p>On either of side the main room there are two annexes opening +out from it; these are reserved chiefly for the younger children, +some of whom, I think, are little boys. In the left-hand +annex, behind the ladies who are making a mitre, there is a child +who has got a cake, and another has some fruit—possibly +given them by the Virgin—and a third child is begging for +some of it. The light failed so completely here that I was +not able to photograph any of these figures. It was a dull +September afternoon, and the clouds had settled thick round the +chapel, which is never very light, and is nearly 4000 feet above +the sea. I waited till such twilight as made it hopeless +that more detail could be got—and a queer ghostly place +enough it was to wait in—but after giving the plate an +exposure of fifty minutes, I saw I could get no more, and +desisted.</p> +<p>These long photographic exposures have the advantage that one +is compelled to study a work in detail through mere lack of other +employment, and that one can take one’s notes in peace +without being tempted to hurry over them; but even so I +continually find I have omitted to note, and have clean +forgotten, much that I want later on.</p> +<p>In the other annex there are also one or two younger children, +but it seems to have been set apart for conversation and +relaxation more than any other part of the establishment.</p> +<p>I have already said that the work is signed by an inscription +inside the chapel, to the effect that the sculptures are by +Pietro Aureggio Termine di Biella. It will be seen that the +young ladies are exceedingly like one another, and that the +artist aimed at nothing more than a faithful rendering of the +life of his own times. Let us be thankful that he aimed at +nothing less. Perhaps his wife kept a girls’ school; +or he may have had a large family of fat, good-natured daughters, +whose little ways he had studied attentively; at all events the +work is full of spontaneous incident, and cannot fail to become +more and more interesting as the age it renders falls farther +back into the past. It is to be regretted that many +artists, better known men, have not been satisfied with the +humbler ambitions of this most amiable and interesting +sculptor. If he has left us no laboured life-studies, he +has at least done something for us which we can find nowhere +else, which we should be very sorry not to have, and the fidelity +of which to Italian life at the beginning of the last century +will not be disputed.</p> +<p>The eighth chapel is that of the <i>Sposalizio</i>, is +certainly not by Aureggio, and I should say was mainly by the +same sculptor who did the Presentation in the Temple. On +going inside I found the figures had come from more than one +source; some of them are constructed so absolutely on Valsesian +principles, as regards technique, that it may be assumed they +came from Varallo. Each of these last figures is in three +pieces, that are baked separately and cemented together +afterwards, hence they are more easily transported; no more clay +is used than is absolutely necessary; and the off-side of the +figure is neglected; they will be found chiefly, if not entirely, +at the top of the steps. The other figures are more solidly +built, and do not remind me in their business features of +anything in the Valsesia. There was a sculptor, Francesco +Sala, of Locarno (doubtless the village a short distance below +Varallo, and not the Locarno on the Lago Maggiore), who made +designs for some of the Oropa chapels, and some of whose letters +are still preserved, but whether the Valsesian figures in this +present work are by him or not I cannot say.</p> +<p>The statues are twenty-five in number; I could find no date or +signature; the work reminds me of Montrigone; several of the +figures are not at all bad, and several have horsehair for hair, +as at Varallo. The effect of the whole composition is +better than we have a right to expect from any sculpture dating +from the beginning of the last century.</p> +<p>The ninth chapel, the Annunciation, presents no feature of +interest; nor yet does the tenth, the Visit of Mary to +Elizabeth. The eleventh, the Nativity, though rather +better, is still not remarkable.</p> +<p>The twelfth, the Purification, is absurdly bad, but I do not +know whether the expression of strong personal dislike to the +Virgin which the High Priest wears is intended as prophetic, or +whether it is the result of incompetence, or whether it is merely +a smile gone wrong in the baking. It is amusing to find +Marocco, who has not been strict about archæological +accuracy hitherto, complain here that there is an anachronism, +inasmuch as some young ecclesiastics are dressed as they would be +at present, and one of them actually carries a wax candle. +This is not as it should be; in works like those at Oropa, where +implicit reliance is justly placed on the earnest endeavours that +have been so successfully made to thoroughly and carefully and +patiently ensure the accuracy of the minutest details, it is a +pity that even a single error should have escaped detection; +this, however, has most unfortunately happened here, and Marocco +feels it his duty to put us on our guard. He explains that +the mistake arose from the sculptor’s having taken both his +general arrangement and his details from some picture of the +fourteenth or fifteenth century, when the value of the strictest +historical accuracy was not yet so fully understood.</p> +<p>It seems to me that in the matter of accuracy, priests and men +of science whether lay or regular on the one hand, and plain +people whether lay or regular on the other, are trying to play a +different game, and fail to understand one another because they +do not see that their objects are not the same. The cleric +and the man of science (who is only the cleric in his latest +development) are trying to develop a throat with two distinct +passages—one that shall refuse to pass even the smallest +gnat, and another that shall gracefully gulp even the largest +camel; whereas we men of the street desire but one throat, and +are content that this shall swallow nothing bigger than a +pony. Every one knows that there is no such effectual means +of developing the power to swallow camels as incessant +watchfulness for opportunities of straining at gnats, and this +should explain many passages that puzzle us in the work both of +our clerics and our scientists. I, not being a man of +science, still continue to do what I said I did in “Alps +and Sanctuaries,” and make it a rule to earnestly and +patiently and carefully swallow a few of the smallest gnats I can +find several times a day, as the best astringent for the throat I +know of.</p> +<p>The thirteenth chapel is the Marriage Feast at Cana of +Galilee. This is the best chapel as a work of art; indeed, +it is the only one which can claim to be taken quite +seriously. Not that all the figures are very good; those to +the left of the composition are commonplace enough; nor are the +Christ and the giver of the feast at all remarkable; but the ten +or dozen figures of guests and attendants at the right-hand end +of the work are as good as anything of their kind can be, and +remind me so strongly of Tabachetti that I cannot doubt they were +done by some one who was indirectly influenced by that great +sculptor’s work. It is not likely that Tabachetti was +alive long after 1640, by which time he would have been about +eighty years old; and the foundations of this chapel were not +laid till about 1690; the statues are probably a few years later; +they can hardly, therefore, be by one who had even studied under +Tabachetti; but until I found out the dates, and went inside the +chapel to see the way in which the figures had been constructed, +I was inclined to think they might be by Tabachetti himself, of +whom, indeed, they are not unworthy. On examining the +figures I found them more heavily constructed than +Tabachetti’s are, with smaller holes for taking out +superfluous clay, and more finished on the off-sides. +Marocco says the sculptor is not known. I looked in vain +for any date or signature. Possibly the right-hand figures +(for the left-hand ones can hardly be by the same hand) may be by +some sculptor from Crea, which is at no very great distance from +Oropa, who was penetrated by Tabachetti’s influence; but +whether as regards action and concert with one another, or as +regards excellence in detail, I do not see how anything can be +more realistic, and yet more harmoniously composed. The +placing of the musicians in a minstrels’ gallery helps the +effect; these musicians are six in number, and the other figures +are twenty-three. Under the table, between Christ and the +giver of the feast, there is a cat.</p> +<p>The fourteenth chapel, the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, is +without interest.</p> +<p>The fifteenth, the Coronation of the Virgin, contains +forty-six angels, twenty-six cherubs, fifty-six saints, the Holy +Trinity, the Madonna herself, and twenty-four innocents, making +156 statues in all. Of these I am afraid there is not one +of more than ordinary merit; the most interesting is a +half-length nude life-study of Disma—the good thief. +After what had been promised him it was impossible to exclude +him, but it was felt that a half-length nude figure would be as +much as he could reasonably expect.</p> +<p>Behind the sanctuary there is a semi-ruinous and wholly +valueless work, which shows the finding of the black image, which +is now in the church, but is only shown on great festivals.</p> +<p>This leads us to a consideration that I have delayed till +now. The black image is the central feature of Oropa; it is +the <i>raison d’être</i> of the whole place, and all +else is a mere incrustation, so to speak, around it. +According to this image, then, which was carved by St. Luke +himself, and than which nothing can be better authenticated, both +the Madonna and the infant Christ were as black as anything can +be conceived. It is not likely that they were as black as +they have been painted; no one yet ever was so black as that; +yet, even allowing for some exaggeration on St. Luke’s +part, they must have been exceedingly black if the portrait is to +be accepted; and uncompromisingly black they accordingly are on +most of the wayside chapels for many a mile around Oropa. +Yet in the chapels we have been hitherto considering—works +in which, as we know, the most punctilious regard has been shown +to accuracy—both the Virgin and Christ are uncompromisingly +white. As in the shops under the Colonnade where devotional +knick-knacks are sold, you can buy a black china image or a white +one, whichever you like; so with the pictures—the black and +white are placed side by side—<i>pagando il danaro si +può scegliere</i>. It rests not with history or with +the Church to say whether the Madonna and Child were black or +white, but you may settle it for yourself, whichever way you +please, or rather you are required, with the acquiescence of the +Church, to hold that they were both black and white at one and +the same time.</p> +<p>It cannot be maintained that the Church leaves the matter +undecided, and by tolerating both types proclaims the question an +open one, for she acquiesces in the portrait by St. Luke as +genuine. How, then, justify the whiteness of the Holy +Family in the chapels? If the portrait is not known as +genuine, why set such a stumbling-block in our paths as to show +us a black Madonna and a white one, both as historically +accurate, within a few yards of one another?</p> +<p>I ask this not in mockery, but as knowing that the Church must +have an explanation to give, if she would only give it, and as +myself unable to find any, even the most farfetched, that can +bring what we see at Oropa, Loreto and elsewhere into harmony +with modern conscience, either intellectual or ethical.</p> +<p>I see, indeed, from an interesting article in the <i>Atlantic +Monthly</i> for September 1889, entitled “The Black Madonna +of Loreto,” that black Madonnas were so frequent in ancient +Christian art that “some of the early writers of the Church +felt obliged to account for it by explaining that the Virgin was +of a very dark complexion, as might be proved by the verse of +Canticles which says, ‘I am black, but comely, O ye +daughters of Jerusalem.’ Others maintained that she +became black during her sojourn in Egypt. . . . Priests, of +to-day, say that extreme age and exposure to the smoke of +countless altar-candles have caused that change in complexion +which the more naïve fathers of the Church attributed to the +power of an Egyptian sun”; but the writer ruthlessly +disposes of this supposition by pointing out that in nearly all +the instances of black Madonnas it is the flesh alone that is +entirely black, the crimson of the lips, the white of the eyes, +and the draperies having preserved their original colour. +The authoress of the article (Mrs. Hilliard) goes on to tell us +that Pausanias mentions two statues of the black Venus, and says +that the oldest statue of Ceres among the Phigalenses was +black. She adds that Minerva Aglaurus, the daughter of +Cecrops, at Athens, was black; that Corinth had a black Venus, as +also the Thespians; that the oracles of Dodona and Delphi were +founded by black doves, the emissaries of Venus, and that the +Isis Multimammia in the Capitol at Rome is black.</p> +<p>Sometimes I have asked myself whether the Church does not +intend to suggest that the whole story falls outside the domain +of history, and is to be held as the one great epos, or myth, +common to all mankind; adaptable by each nation according to its +own several needs; translatable, so to speak, into the facts of +each individual nation, as the written word is translatable into +its language, but appertaining to the realm of the imagination +rather than to that of the understanding, and precious for +spiritual rather than literal truths. More briefly, I have +wondered whether she may not intend that such details as whether +the Virgin was white or black are of very little importance in +comparison with the basing of ethics on a story that shall appeal +to black races as well as to white ones.</p> +<p>If so, it is time we were made to understand this more +clearly. If the Church, whether of Rome or England, would +lean to some such view as this—tainted though it be with +mysticism—if we could see either great branch of the Church +make a frank, authoritative attempt to bring its teaching into +greater harmony with the educated understanding and conscience of +the time, instead of trying to fetter that understanding with +bonds that gall it daily more and more profoundly; then I, for +one, in view of the difficulty and graciousness of the task, and +in view of the great importance of historical continuity, would +gladly sink much of my own private opinion as to the value of the +Christian ideal, and would gratefully help either Church or both, +according to the best of my very feeble ability. On these +terms, indeed, I could swallow not a few camels myself cheerfully +enough.</p> +<p>Can we, however, see any signs as though either Rome or +England will stir hand or foot to meet us? Can any step be +pointed to as though either Church wished to make things easier +for men holding the opinions held by the late Mr. Darwin, or by +Mr. Herbert Spencer and Professor Huxley? How can those who +accept evolution with any thoroughness accept such doctrines as +the Incarnation or the Redemption with any but a +quasi-allegorical and poetical interpretation? Can we +conceivably accept these doctrines in the literal sense in which +the Church advances them? And can the leaders of the Church +be blind to the resistlessness of the current that has set +against those literal interpretations which she seems to hug more +and more closely the more religious life is awakened at +all? The clergyman is wanted as supplementing the doctor +and the lawyer in all civilised communities; these three keep +watch on one another, and prevent one another from becoming too +powerful. I, who distrust the <i>doctrinaire</i> in science +even more than the <i>doctrinaire</i> in religion, should view +with dismay the abolition of the Church of England, as knowing +that a blatant bastard science would instantly step into her +shoes; but if some such deplorable consummation is to be avoided +in England, it can only be through more evident leaning on the +part of our clergy to such an interpretation of the Sacred +History as the presence of a black and white Madonna almost side +by side at Oropa appears to suggest.</p> +<p>I fear that in these last paragraphs I may have trenched on +dangerous ground, but it is not possible to go to such places as +Oropa without asking oneself what they mean and involve. As +for the average Italian pilgrims, they do not appear to give the +matter so much as a thought. They love Oropa, and flock to +it in thousands during the summer; the President of the +Administration assured me that they lodged, after a fashion, as +many as ten thousand pilgrims on the 15th of last August. +It is astonishing how living the statues are to these people, and +how the wicked are upbraided and the good applauded. At +Varallo, since I took the photographs I published in my book +“Ex Voto,” an angry pilgrim has smashed the nose of +the dwarf in Tabachetti’s Journey to Calvary, for no other +reason than inability to restrain his indignation against one who +was helping to inflict pain on Christ. It is the real hair +and the painting up to nature that does this. Here at Oropa +I found a paper on the floor of the <i>Sposalizio</i> Chapel, +which ran as follows:—</p> +<p>“By the grace of God and the will of the administrative +chapter of this sanctuary, there have come here to work --- ---, +mason --- ---, carpenter, and --- --- plumber, all of Chiavazza, +on the twenty-first day of January 1886, full of cold (<i>pieni +di freddo</i>).</p> +<p>“They write these two lines to record their visit. +They pray the Blessed Virgin that she will maintain them safe and +sound from everything equivocal that may befall them (<i>sempre +sani e salvi da ogni equivoco li possa accadere</i>). Oh, +farewell! We reverently salute all the present statues, and +especially the Blessed Virgin, and the reader.”</p> +<p>Through the <i>Universal Review</i>, I suppose, all its +readers are to consider themselves saluted; at any rate, these +good fellows, in the effusiveness of their hearts, actually wrote +the above in pencil. I was sorely tempted to steal it, but, +after copying it, left it in the Chief Priest’s hands +instead.</p> +<h2>ART IN THE VALLEY OF SAAS <a name="citation11"></a><a +href="#footnote11" class="citation">[11]</a></h2> +<p>Having been told by Mr. Fortescue, of the British Museum, that +there were some chapels at Saas-Fée which bore analogy to +those at Varallo, described in my book “Ex Voto,” <a +name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12" +class="citation">[12]</a> I went to Saas during this last summer, +and venture now to lay my conclusions before the reader.</p> +<p>The chapels are fifteen in number, and lead up to a larger and +singularly graceful one, rather more than half-way between Saas +and Saas-Fée. This is commonly but wrongly called +the chapel of St. Joseph, for it is dedicated to the Virgin, and +its situation is of such extreme beauty—the great +Fée glaciers showing through the open portico—that +it is in itself worth a pilgrimage. It is surrounded by +noble larches and overhung by rock; in front of the portico there +is a small open space covered with grass, and a huge larch, the +stem of which is girt by a rude stone seat. The portico +itself contains seats for worshippers, and a pulpit from which +the preacher’s voice can reach the many who must stand +outside. The walls of the inner chapel are hung with votive +pictures, some of them very quaint and pleasing, and not +overweighted by those qualities that are usually dubbed by the +name of artistic merit. Innumerable wooden and waxen +representations of arms, legs, eyes, ears and babies tell of the +cures that have been effected during two centuries of devotion, +and can hardly fail to awaken a kindly sympathy with the long +dead and forgotten folks who placed them where they are.</p> +<p>The main interest, however, despite the extreme loveliness of +the St. Mary’s Chapel, centres rather in the small and +outwardly unimportant oratories (if they should be so called) +that lead up to it. These begin immediately with the ascent +from the level ground on which the village of Saas-im-Grund is +placed, and contain scenes in the history of the Redemption, +represented by rude but spirited wooden figures, each about two +feet high, painted, gilt, and rendered as life-like in all +respects as circumstances would permit. The figures have +suffered a good deal from neglect, and are still not a little +misplaced. With the assistance, however, of the Rev. E. J. +Selwyn, English Chaplain at Saas-im-Grund, I have been able to +replace many of them in their original positions, as indicated by +the parts of the figures that are left rough-hewn and +unpainted. They vary a good deal in interest, and can be +easily sneered at by those who make a trade of sneering. +Those, on the other hand, who remain unsophisticated by overmuch +art-culture will find them full of character in spite of not a +little rudeness of execution, and will be surprised at coming +across such works in a place so remote from any art-centre as +Saas must have been at the time these chapels were made. It +will be my business therefore to throw what light I can upon the +questions how they came to be made at all, and who was the artist +who designed them.</p> +<p>The only documentary evidence consists in a chronicle of the +valley of Saas written in the early years of this century by the +Rev. Peter Jos. Ruppen, and published at Sion in 1851. This +work makes frequent reference to a manuscript by the Rev. Peter +Joseph Clemens Lommatter, <i>curé</i> of Saas-Fée +from 1738 to 1751, which has unfortunately been lost, so that we +have no means of knowing how closely it was adhered to. The +Rev. Jos. Ant. Ruppen, the present excellent <i>curé</i> +of Saas-im-Grund, assures me that there is no reference to the +Saas-Fée oratories in the “Actes de +l’Eglise” at Saas, which I understand go a long way +back; but I have not seen these myself. Practically, then, +we have no more documentary evidence than is to be found in the +published chronicle above referred to.</p> +<p>We there find it stated that the large chapel, commonly, but +as above explained, wrongly called St. Joseph’s, was built +in 1687, and enlarged by subscription in 1747. These dates +appear on the building itself, and are no doubt accurate. +The writer adds that there was no actual edifice on this site +before the one now existing was built, but there was a miraculous +picture of the Virgin placed in a mural niche, before which the +pious herdsmen and devout inhabitants of the valley worshipped +under the vault of heaven. <a name="citation13"></a><a +href="#footnote13" class="citation">[13]</a> A miraculous +(or miracle-working) picture was always more or less rare and +important; the present site, therefore, seems to have been long +one of peculiar sanctity. Possibly the name Fée may +point to still earlier Pagan mysteries on the same site.</p> +<p>As regards the fifteen small chapels, the writer says they +illustrate the fifteen mysteries of the Psalter, and were built +in 1709, each householder of the Saas-Fée contributing one +chapel. He adds that Heinrich Andenmatten, afterwards a +brother of the Society of Jesus, was an especial benefactor or +promoter of the undertaking. One of the chapels, the +Ascension (No. 12 of the series), has the date 1709 painted on +it; but there is no date on any other chapel, and there seems no +reason why this should be taken as governing the whole +series.</p> +<p>Over and above this, there exists in Saas a tradition, as I +was told immediately on my arrival, by an English visitor, that +the chapels were built in consequence of a flood, but I have +vainly endeavoured to trace this story to an indigenous +source.</p> +<p>The internal evidence of the wooden figures +themselves—nothing analogous to which, it should be +remembered, can be found in the chapel of 1687—points to a +much earlier date. I have met with no school of sculpture +belonging to the early part of the eighteenth century to which +they can be plausibly assigned; and the supposition that they are +the work of some unknown local genius who was not led up to and +left no successors may be dismissed, for the work is too +scholarly to have come from any one but a trained sculptor. +I refer of course to those figures which the artist must be +supposed to have executed with his own hand, as, for example, the +central figure of the Crucifixion group and those of the +Magdalene and St. John. The greater number of the figures +were probably, as was suggested to me by Mr. Ranshaw, of Lowth, +executed by a local woodcarver from models in clay and wax +furnished by the artist himself. Those who examine the play +of line in the hair, mantle, and sleeve of the Magdalene in the +Crucifixion group, and contrast it with the greater part of the +remaining draperies, will find little hesitation in concluding +that this was the case, and will ere long readily distinguish the +two hands from which the figures have mainly come. I say +“mainly,” because there is at least one other +sculptor who may well have belonged to the year 1709, but who +fortunately has left us little. Examples of his work may +perhaps be seen in the nearest villain with a big hat in the +Flagellation chapel, and in two cherubs in the Assumption of the +Virgin.</p> +<p>We may say, then, with some certainty, that the designer was a +cultivated and practised artist. We may also not less +certainly conclude that he was of Flemish origin, for the horses +in the Journey to Calvary and Crucifixion chapels, where alone +there are any horses at all, are of Flemish breed, with no trace +of the Arab blood adopted by Gaudenzio at Varallo. The +character, moreover, of the villains is Northern—of the +Quentin Matsys, Martin Schongauer type, rather than Italian; the +same sub-Rubensesque feeling which is apparent in more than one +chapel at Varallo is not less evident here—especially in +the Journey to Calvary and Crucifixion chapels. There can +hardly, therefore, be a doubt that the artist was a Fleming who +had worked for several years in Italy.</p> +<p>It is also evident that he had Tabachetti’s work at +Varallo well in his mind. For not only does he adopt +certain details of costume (I refer particularly to the treatment +of soldiers’ tunics) which are peculiar to Tabachetti at +Varallo, but whenever he treats a subject which Tabachetti had +treated at Varallo, as in the Flagellation, Crowning with Thorns, +and Journey to Calvary chapels, the work at Saas is evidently +nothing but a somewhat modified abridgement of that at +Varallo. When, however, as in the Annunciation, the +Nativity, the Crucifixion, and other chapels, the work at Varallo +is by another than Tabachetti, no allusion is made to it. +The Saas artist has Tabachetti’s Varallo work at his +finger-ends, but betrays no acquaintance whatever with Gaudenzio +Ferrari, Gio. Ant. Paracca, or Giovanni D’Enrico.</p> +<p>Even, moreover, when Tabachetti’s work at Varallo is +being most obviously drawn from, as in the Journey to Calvary +chapel, the Saas version differs materially from that at Varallo, +and is in some respects an improvement on it. The idea of +showing other horsemen and followers coming up from behind, whose +heads can be seen over the crown of the interposing hill, is +singularly effective as suggesting a number of others that are +unseen, nor can I conceive that any one but the original designer +would follow Tabachetti’s Varallo design with as much +closeness as it has been followed here, and yet make such a +brilliantly successful modification. The stumbling, again, +of one horse (a detail almost hidden, according to +Tabachetti’s wont) is a touch which Tabachetti himself +might add, but which no Saas woodcarver who was merely adapting +from a reminiscence of Tabachetti’s Varallo chapel would be +likely to introduce. These considerations have convinced me +that the designer of the chapels at Saas is none other than +Tabachetti himself, who, as has been now conclusively shown, was +a native of Dinant, in Belgium.</p> +<p>The Saas chronicler, indeed, avers that the chapels were not +built till 1709—a statement apparently corroborated by a +date now visible on one chapel; but we must remember that the +chronicler did not write until a century or so later than 1709, +and though, indeed, his statement may have been taken from the +lost earlier manuscript of 1738, we know nothing about this +either one way or the other. The writer may have gone by +the still existing 1709 on the Ascension chapel, whereas this +date may in fact have referred to a restoration, and not to an +original construction. There is nothing, as I have said, in +the choice of the chapel on which the date appears, to suggest +that it was intended to govern the others. I have explained +that the work is isolated and exotic. It is by one in whom +Flemish and Italian influences are alike equally predominant; by +one who was saturated with Tabachetti’s Varallo work, and +who can improve upon it, but over whom the other Varallo +sculptors have no power. The style of the work is of the +sixteenth and not of the eighteenth century—with a few +obvious exceptions that suit the year 1709 exceedingly +well. Against such considerations as these, a statement +made at the beginning of this century referring to a century +earlier, and a promiscuous date upon one chapel, can carry but +little weight. I shall assume, therefore, henceforward, +that we have here groups designed in a plastic material by +Tabachetti, and reproduced in wood by the best local +wood-sculptor available, with the exception of a few figures cut +by the artist himself.</p> +<p>We ask, then, at what period in his life did Tabachetti design +these chapels, and what led to his coming to such an +out-of-the-way place as Saas at all? We should remember +that, according both to Fassola and Torrotti (writing in 1671 and +1686 respectively), Tabachetti <a name="citation14"></a><a +href="#footnote14" class="citation">[14]</a> became insane about +the year 1586 or early in 1587, after having just begun the +Salutation chapel. I have explained in “Ex +Voto” that I do not believe this story. I have no +doubt that Tabachetti was declared to be mad, but I believe this +to have been due to an intrigue, set on foot in order to get a +foreign artist out of the way, and to secure the Massacre of the +Innocents chapel, at that precise time undertaken, for Gio. Ant. +Paracca, who was an Italian.</p> +<p>Or he may have been sacrificed in order to facilitate the +return of the workers in stucco whom he had superseded on the +Sacro Monte. He may have been goaded into some imprudence +which was seized upon as a pretext for shutting him up; at any +rate, the fact that when in 1587 he inherited his father’s +property at Dinant, his trustee (he being expressly stated to be +“<i>expatrié</i>”) was +“<i>datif</i>,” “<i>dativus</i>,” +appointed not by himself but by the court, lends colour to the +statement that he was not his own master at the time; for in +later kindred deeds, now at Namur, he appoints his own +trustee. I suppose, then, that Tabachetti was shut up in a +madhouse at Varallo for a considerable time, during which I can +find no trace of him, but that eventually he escaped or was +released.</p> +<p>Whether he was a fugitive, or whether he was let out from +prison, he would in either case, in all reasonable probability, +turn his face homeward. If he was escaping, he would make +immediately for the Savoy frontier, within which Saas then +lay. He would cross the Baranca above Fobello, coming down +on to Ponte Grande in the Val Anzasca. He would go up the +Val Anzasca to Macugnaga, and over the Monte Moro, which would +bring him immediately to Saas. Saas, therefore, is the +nearest and most natural place for him to make for, if he were +flying from Varallo, and here I suppose him to have halted.</p> +<p>It so happened that on the 9th of September, 1589, there was +one of the three great outbreaks of the Mattmark See that have +from time to time devastated the valley of Saas. <a +name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15" +class="citation">[15]</a> It is probable that the chapels +were decided upon in consequence of some grace shown by the +miraculous picture of the Virgin, which had mitigated a disaster +occurring so soon after the anniversary of her own +Nativity. Tabachetti, arriving at this juncture, may have +offered to undertake them if the Saas people would give him an +asylum. Here, at any rate, I suppose him to have stayed +till some time in 1590, probably the second half of it, his +design of eventually returning home, if he ever entertained it, +being then interrupted by a summons to Crea near Casale, where I +believe him to have worked with a few brief interruptions +thenceforward for little if at all short of half a century, or +until about the year 1640. I admit, however, that the +evidence for assigning him so long a life rests solely on the +supposed identity of the figure known as “Il +Vecchietto,” in the Varallo Descent from the Cross chapel, +with the portrait of Tabachetti himself in the Ecce Homo chapel, +also at Varallo.</p> +<p>I find additional reason for thinking the chapels owe their +origin to the inundation of September 9, 1589, in the fact that +the 8th of September is made a day of pilgrimage to the +Saas-Fée chapels throughout the whole valley of +Saas. It is true the 8th of September is the festival of +the Nativity of the Virgin Mary, so that under any circumstances +this would be a great day, but the fact that not only the people +of Saas, but the whole valley down to Visp, flock to this chapel +on the 8th of September, points to the belief that some special +act of grace on the part of the Virgin was vouchsafed on this day +in connection with this chapel. A belief that it was owing +to the intervention of St. Mary of Fée that the inundation +was not attended with loss of life would be very likely to lead +to the foundation of a series of chapels leading up to the place +where her miraculous picture was placed, and to the more special +celebration of her Nativity in connection with this spot +throughout the valley of Saas. I have discussed the subject +with the Rev. Jos. Ant. Ruppen, and he told me he thought the +fact that the great <i>fête</i> of the year in connection +with the Saas-Fée chapels was on the 8th of September +pointed rather strongly to the supposition that there was a +connection between these and the recorded flood of September 9, +1589.</p> +<p>Turning to the individual chapels they are as +follows:—</p> +<p>1. The Annunciation. The treatment here presents +no more analogy to that of the same subject at Varallo than is +inevitable in the nature of the subject. The Annunciation +figures at Varallo have proved to be mere draped dummies with +wooden heads; Tabachetti, even though he did the heads, which he +very likely did, would take no interest in the Varallo work with +the same subject. The Annunciation, from its very +simplicity as well as from the transcendental nature of the +subject, is singularly hard to treat, and the work here, whatever +it may once have been, is now no longer remarkable.</p> +<p>2. The Salutation of Mary by Elizabeth. This +group, again, bears no analogy to the Salutation chapel at +Varallo, in which Tabachetti’s share was so small that it +cannot be considered as in any way his. It is not to be +expected, therefore, that the Saas chapel should follow the +Varallo one. The figures, four in number, are pleasing and +well arranged. St. Joseph, St. Elizabeth, and St. Zacharias +are all talking at once. The Virgin is alone silent.</p> +<p>3. The Nativity is much damaged and hard to see. +The treatment bears no analogy to that adopted by Gaudenzio +Ferrari at Varallo. There is one pleasing young shepherd +standing against the wall, but some figures have no doubt (as in +others of the chapels) disappeared, and those that remain have +been so shifted from their original positions that very little +idea can be formed of what the group was like when Tabachetti +left it.</p> +<p>4. The Purification. I can hardly say why this +chapel should remind me, as it does, of the Circumcision chapel +at Varallo, for there are more figures here than space at Varallo +will allow. It cannot be pretended that any single figure +is of extraordinary merit, but amongst them they tell their story +with excellent effect. Two, those of St. Joseph and St. +Anna (?), that doubtless were once more important factors in the +drama, are now so much in corners near the window that they can +hardly be seen.</p> +<p>5. The Dispute in the Temple. This subject is not +treated at Varallo. Here at Saas there are only six doctors +now; whether or no there were originally more cannot be +determined.</p> +<p>6. The Agony in the Garden. Tabachetti had no +chapel with this subject at Varallo, and there is no resemblance +between the Saas chapel and that by D’Enrico. The +figures are no doubt approximately in their original positions, +but I have no confidence that I have rearranged them +correctly. They were in such confusion when I first saw +them that the Rev. E. J. Selwyn and myself determined to +rearrange them. They have doubtless been shifted more than +once since Tabachetti left them. The sleeping figures are +all good. St. James is perhaps a little prosaic. One +Roman soldier who is coming into the garden with a lantern, and +motioning silence with his hand, does duty for the others that +are to follow him. I should think more than one of these +figures is actually carved in wood by Tabachetti, allowance being +made for the fact that he was working in a material with which he +was not familiar, and which no sculptor of the highest rank has +ever found congenial.</p> +<p>7. The Flagellation. Tabachetti has a chapel with +this subject at Varallo, and the Saas group is obviously a +descent with modification from his work there. The figure +of Christ is so like the one at Varallo that I think it must have +been carved by Tabachetti himself. The man with the hooked +nose, who at Varallo is stooping to bind his rods, is here +upright: it was probably the intention to emphasise him in the +succeeding scenes as well as this, in the same way as he has been +emphasised at Varallo, but his nose got pared down in the cutting +of later scenes, and could not easily be added to. The man +binding Christ to the column at Varallo is repeated (<i>longo +intervallo</i>) here, and the whole work is one inspired by that +at Varallo, though no single figure except that of the Christ is +adhered to with any very great closeness. I think the +nearer malefactor, with a goitre, and wearing a large black hat, +is either an addition of the year 1709, or was done by the +journeyman of the local sculptor who carved the greater number of +the figures. The man stooping down to bind his rods can +hardly be by the same hand as either of the two black-hatted +malefactors, but it is impossible to speak with certainty. +The general effect of the chapel is excellent, if we consider the +material in which it is executed, and the rudeness of the +audience to whom it addresses itself.</p> +<p>8. The Crowning with Thorns. Here again the +inspiration is derived from Tabachetti’s Crowning with +Thorns at Varallo. The Christs in the two chapels are +strikingly alike, and the general effect is that of a residuary +impression left in the mind of one who had known the Varallo +Flagellation exceedingly well.</p> +<p>9. Sta. Veronica. This and the next succeeding +chapels are the most important of the series. +Tabachetti’s Journey to Calvary at Varallo is again the +source from which the present work was taken, but, as I have +already said, it has been modified in reproduction. Mount +Calvary is still shown, as at Varallo, towards the left-hand +corner of the work, but at Saas it is more towards the middle +than at Varallo, so that horsemen and soldiers may be seen coming +up behind it—a stroke that deserves the name of genius none +the less for the manifest imperfection with which it has been +carried into execution. There are only three horses fully +shown, and one partly shown. They are all of the heavy +Flemish type adopted by Tabachetti at Varallo. The man +kicking the fallen Christ and the goitred man (with the same +teeth missing), who are so conspicuous in the Varallo Journey to +Calvary, reappear here, only the kicking man has much less nose +than at Varallo, probably because (as explained) the nose got +whittled away and could not be whittled back again. I +observe that the kind of lapelled tunic which Tabachetti, and +only Tabachetti, adopts at Varallo, is adopted for the centurion +in this chapel, and indeed throughout the Saas chapels this +particular form of tunic is the most usual for a Roman +soldier. The work is still a very striking one, +notwithstanding its translation into wood and the decay into +which it has been allowed to fall; nor can it fail to impress the +visitor who is familiar with this class of art as coming from a +man of extraordinary dramatic power and command over the almost +impossible art of composing many figures together effectively in +all-round sculpture. Whether all the figures are even now +as Tabachetti left them I cannot determine, but Mr. Selwyn has +restored Simon the Cyrenian to the position in which he obviously +ought to stand, and between us we have got the chapel into +something more like order.</p> +<p>10. The Crucifixion. This subject was treated at +Varallo not by Tabachetti but by Gaudenzio Ferrari. It +confirms therefore my opinion as to the designer of the Saas +chapels to find in them no trace of the Varallo Crucifixion, +while the kind of tunic which at Varallo is only found in chapels +wherein Tabachetti worked again appears here. The work is +in a deplorable state of decay. Mr. Selwyn has greatly +improved the arrangement of the figures, but even now they are +not, I imagine, quite as Tabachetti left them. The figure +of Christ is greatly better in technical execution than that of +either of the two thieves; the folds of the drapery alone will +show this even to an unpractised eye. I do not think there +can be a doubt but that Tabachetti cut this figure himself, as +also those of the Magdalene and St. John, who stand at the foot +of the cross. The thieves are coarsely executed, with no +very obvious distinction between the penitent and the impenitent +one, except that there is a fiend painted on the ceiling over the +impenitent thief. The one horse introduced into the +composition is again of the heavy Flemish type adopted by +Tabachetti at Varallo. There is great difference in the +care with which the folds on the several draperies have been cut, +some being stiff and poor enough, while others are done very +sufficiently. In spite of smallness of scale, ignoble +material, disarrangement and decay, the work is still +striking.</p> +<p>11. The Resurrection. There being no chapel at +Varallo with any of the remaining subjects treated at Saas, the +sculptor has struck out a line for himself. The Christ in +the Resurrection Chapel is a carefully modelled figure, and if +better painted might not be ineffective. Three soldiers, +one sleeping, alone remain. There were probably other +figures that have been lost. The sleeping soldier is very +pleasing.</p> +<p>12. The Ascension is not remarkably interesting; the +Christ appears to be, but perhaps is not, a much more modern +figure than the rest.</p> +<p>18. The Descent of the Holy Ghost. Some of the +figures along the end wall are very good, and were, I should +imagine, cut by Tabachetti himself. Those against the two +side walls are not so well cut.</p> +<p>14. The Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The two +large cherubs here are obviously by a later hand, and the small +ones are not good. The figure of the Virgin herself is +unexceptionable. There were doubtless once other figures of +the Apostles which have disappeared; of these a single St. Peter +(?), so hidden away in a corner near the window that it can only +be seen with difficulty, is the sole survivor.</p> +<p>15. The Coronation of the Virgin is of later date, and +has probably superseded an earlier work. It can hardly be +by the designer of the other chapels of the series. Perhaps +Tabachetti had to leave for Crea before all the chapels at Saas +were finished.</p> +<p>Lastly, we have the larger chapel dedicated to St. Mary, which +crowns the series. Here there is nothing of more than +common artistic interest, unless we except the stone altar +mentioned in Ruppen’s chronicle. This is of course +classical in style, and is, I should think, very good.</p> +<p>Once more I must caution the reader against expecting to find +highly-finished gems of art in the chapels I have been +describing. A wooden figure not more than two feet high +clogged with many coats of paint can hardly claim to be taken +very seriously, and even those few that were cut by Tabachetti +himself were not meant to have attention concentrated on +themselves alone. As mere wood-carving the Saas-Fée +chapels will not stand comparison, for example, with the triptych +of unknown authorship in the Church of St. Anne at Gliss, close +to Brieg. But, in the first place, the work at Gliss is +worthy of Holbein himself: I know no wood-carving that can so +rivet the attention; moreover it is coloured with water-colour +and not oil, so that it is tinted, not painted; and, in the +second place, the Gliss triptych belongs to a date (1519) when +artists held neither time nor impressionism as objects, and +hence, though greatly better than the Saas-Fée chapels as +regards a certain Japanese curiousness of finish and +<i>naïveté</i> of literal transcription, it cannot +even enter the lists with the Saas work as regards +<i>élan</i> and dramatic effectiveness. The +difference between the two classes of work is much that between, +say, John Van Eyck or Memling and Rubens or Rembrandt, or, again, +between Giovanni Bellini and Tintoretto; the aims of the one +class of work are incompatible with those of the other. +Moreover, in the Gliss triptych the intention of the designer is +carried out (whether by himself or no) with admirable skill; +whereas at Saas the wisdom of the workman is rather of +Ober-Ammergau than of the Egyptians, and the voice of the poet is +not a little drowned in that of his mouthpiece. If, +however, the reader will bear in mind these somewhat obvious +considerations, and will also remember the pathetic circumstances +under which the chapels were designed—for Tabachetti when +he reached Saas was no doubt shattered in body and mind by his +four years’ imprisonment—he will probably be not less +attracted to them than I observed were many of the visitors both +at Saas-Grund and Saas-Fée with whom I had the pleasure of +examining them.</p> +<p>I will now run briefly through the other principal works in +the neighbourhood to which I think the reader would be glad to +have his attention directed.</p> +<p>At Saas-Fée itself the main altar-piece is without +interest, as also one with a figure of St. Sebastian. The +Virgin and Child above the remaining altar are, so far as I +remember them, very good, and greatly superior to the smaller +figures of the same altar-piece.</p> +<p>At Almagel, an hour’s walk or so above +Saas-Grund—a village, the name of which, like those of the +Alphubel, the Monte Moro, and more than one other neighbouring +site, is supposed to be of Saracenic origin—the main +altar-piece represents a female saint with folded arms being +beheaded by a vigorous man to the left. These two figures +are very good. There are two somewhat inferior elders to +the right, and the composition is crowned by the Assumption of +the Virgin. I like the work, but have no idea who did +it. Two bishops flanking the composition are not so +good. There are two other altars in the church: the +right-hand one has some pleasing figures, not so the +left-hand.</p> +<p>In St. Joseph’s Chapel, on the mule-road between +Saas-Grund and Saas-Fée, the St. Joseph and the two +children are rather nice. In the churches and chapels which +I looked into between Saas and Stalden, I saw many florid +extravagant altar-pieces, but nothing that impressed me +favourably.</p> +<p>In the parish church at Saas-Grund there are two altar-pieces +which deserve attention. In the one over the main altar the +arrangement of the Last Supper in a deep recess half-way up the +composition is very pleasing and effective; in that above the +right-hand altar of the two that stand in the body of the church +there are a number of round lunettes, about eight inches in +diameter, each containing a small but spirited group of wooden +figures. I have lost my notes on these altar-pieces and can +only remember that the main one has been restored, and now +belongs to two different dates, the earlier date being, I should +imagine, about 1670. A similar treatment of the Last Supper +may be found near Brieg in the church of Naters, and no doubt the +two altar-pieces are by the same man. There are, by the +way, two very ambitious altars on either side the main arch +leading to the chance in the church at Naters, of which the one +on the south side contains obvious reminiscences of Gaudenzio +Ferrari’s Sta. Maria frescoes at Varallo; but none of +the four altar-pieces in the two transepts tempted me to give +them much attention. As regards the smaller altar-piece at +Saas-Grund, analogous work may be found at Cravagliana, half-way +between Varallo and Fobello, but this last has suffered through +the inveterate habit which Italians have of showing their hatred +towards the enemies of Christ by mutilating the figures that +represent them. Whether the Saas work is by a Valsesian +artist who came over to Switzerland, or whether the Cravagliana +work is by a Swiss who had come to Italy, I cannot say without +further consideration and closer examination than I have been +able to give. The altar-pieces of Mairengo, Chiggiogna, +and, I am told, Lavertezzo, all in the Canton Ticino, are by a +Swiss or German artist who has migrated southward; but the +reverse migration was equally common.</p> +<p>Being in the neighbourhood, and wishing to assure myself +whether the sculptor of the Saas-Fée chapels had or had +not come lower down the valley, I examined every church and +village which I could hear of as containing anything that might +throw light on this point. I was thus led to Vispertimenen, +a village some three hours above either Visp or Stalden. It +stands very high, and is an almost untouched example of a +medieval village. The altar-piece of the main church is +even more floridly ambitious in its abundance of carving and +gilding than the many other ambitious altar-pieces with which the +Canton Valais abounds. The Apostles are receiving the Holy +Ghost on the first storey of the composition, and they certainly +are receiving it with an overjoyed alacrity and hilarious ecstasy +of <i>allegria spirituale</i> which it would not be easy to +surpass. Above the village, reaching almost to the limits +beyond which there is no cultivation, there stands a series of +chapels like those I have been describing at Saas-Fée, +only much larger and more ambitious. They are twelve in +number, including the church that crowns the series. The +figures they contain are of wood (so I was assured, but I did not +go inside the chapels): they are life-size, and in some chapels +there are as many as a dozen figures. I should think they +belonged to the later half of the last century, and here, one +would say, sculpture touches the ground; at least, it is not easy +to see how cheap exaggeration can sink an art more deeply. +The only things that at all pleased me were a smiling donkey and +an ecstatic cow in the Nativity chapel. Those who are not +allured by the prospect of seeing perhaps the very worst that can +be done in its own line, need not be at the pains of climbing up +to Vispertimenen. Those, on the other hand, who may find +this sufficient inducement will not be disappointed, and they +will enjoy magnificent views of the Weisshorn and the mountains +near the Dom.</p> +<p>I have already referred to the triptych at Gliss. This +is figured in Wolf’s work on Chamonix and the Canton +Valais, but a larger and clearer reproduction of such an +extraordinary work is greatly to be desired. The small +wooden statues above the triptych, as also those above its modern +companion in the south transept, are not less admirable than the +triptych itself. I know of no other like work in wood, and +have no clue whatever as to who the author can have been beyond +the fact that the work is purely German and eminently +Holbeinesque in character.</p> +<p>I was told of some chapels at Rarogne, five or six miles lower +down the valley than Visp. I examined them, and found they +had been stripped of their figures. The few that remained +satisfied me that we have had no loss. Above Brieg there +are two other like series of chapels. I examined the higher +and more promising of the two, but found not one single figure +left. I was told by my driver that the other series, close +to the Pont Napoléon on the Simplon road, had been also +stripped of its figures, and, there being a heavy storm at the +time, have taken his word for it that this was so.</p> +<h2>THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE <a name="citation16"></a><a +href="#footnote16" class="citation">[16]</a></h2> +<p>Three well-known writers, Professor Max Müller, Professor +Mivart, and Mr. Alfred Russel Wallace have lately maintained that +though the theory of descent with modification accounts for the +development of all vegetable life, and of all animals lower than +man, yet that man cannot—not at least in respect of the +whole of his nature—be held to have descended from any +animal lower than himself, inasmuch as none lower than man +possesses even the germs of language. Reason, it is +contended—more especially by Professor Max Müller in +his “Science of Thought,” to which I propose +confining our attention this evening—is so inseparably +connected with language, that the two are in point of fact +identical; hence it is argued that, as the lower animals have no +germs of language, they can have no germs of reason, and the +inference is drawn that man cannot be conceived as having derived +his own reasoning powers and command of language through descent +from beings in which no germ of either can be found. The +relations therefore between thought and language, interesting in +themselves, acquire additional importance from the fact of their +having become the battle-ground between those who say that the +theory of descent breaks down with man, and those who maintain +that we are descended from some ape-like ancestor long since +extinct.</p> +<p>The contention of those who refuse to admit man unreservedly +into the scheme of evolution is comparatively recent. The +great propounders of evolution, Buffon, Erasmus Darwin and +Lamarck—not to mention a score of others who wrote at the +close of the last and early part of this present +century—had no qualms about admitting man into their +system. They have been followed in this respect by the late +Mr. Charles Darwin, and by the greatly more influential part of +our modern biologists, who hold that whatever loss of dignity we +may incur through being proved to be of humble origin, is +compensated by the credit we may claim for having advanced +ourselves to such a high pitch of civilisation; this bids us +expect still further progress, and glorifies our descendants more +than it abases our ancestors. But to whichever view we may +incline on sentimental grounds the fact remains that, while +Charles Darwin declared language to form no impassable barrier +between man and the lower animals, Professor Max Müller +calls it the Rubicon which no brute dare cross, and deduces hence +the conclusion that man cannot have descended from an unknown but +certainly speechless ape.</p> +<p>It may perhaps be expected that I should begin a lecture on +the relations between thought and language with some definition +of both these things; but thought, as Sir William Grove said of +motion, is a phenomenon “so obvious to simple apprehension, +that to define it would make it more obscure.” <a +name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17" +class="citation">[17]</a> Definitions are useful where +things are new to us, but they are superfluous about those that +are already familiar, and mischievous, so far as they are +possible at all, in respect of all those things that enter so +profoundly and intimately into our being that in them we must +either live or bear no life. To vivisect the more vital +processes of thought is to suspend, if not to destroy them; for +thought can think about everything more healthily and easily than +about itself. It is like its instrument the brain, which +knows nothing of any injuries inflicted upon itself. As +regards what is new to us, a definition will sometimes dilute a +difficulty, and help us to swallow that which might choke us +undiluted; but to define when we have once well swallowed is to +unsettle, rather than settle, our digestion. Definitions, +again, are like steps cut in a steep slope of ice, or shells +thrown on to a greasy pavement; they give us foothold, and enable +us to advance, but when we are at our journey’s end we want +them no longer. Again, they are useful as mental fluxes, +and as helping us to fuse new ideas with our older ones. +They present us with some tags and ends of ideas that we have +already mastered, on to which we can hitch our new ones; but to +multiply them in respect of such a matter as thought, is like +scratching the bite of a gnat; the more we scratch the more we +want to scratch; the more we define the more we shall have to go +on defining the words we have used in our definitions, and shall +end by setting up a serious mental raw in the place of a small +uneasiness that was after all quite endurable. We know too +well what thought is, to be able to know that we know it, and I +am persuaded there is no one in this room but understands what is +meant by thought and thinking well enough for all the purposes of +this discussion. Whoever does not know this without words +will not learn it for all the words and definitions that are laid +before him. The more, indeed, he hears, the more confused +he will become. I shall, therefore, merely premise that I +use the word “thought” in the same sense as that in +which it is generally used by people who say that they think this +or that. At any rate, it will be enough if I take Professor +Max Müller’s own definition, and say that its essence +consists in a bringing together of mental images and ideas with +deductions therefrom, and with a corresponding power of detaching +them from one another. Hobbes, the Professor tells us, +maintained this long ago, when he said that all our thinking +consists of addition and subtraction—that is to say, in +bringing ideas together, and in detaching them from one +another.</p> +<p>Turning from thought to language, we observe that the word is +derived from the French <i>langue</i>, or <i>tongue</i>. +Strictly, therefore, it means <i>tonguage</i>. This, +however, takes account of but a very small part of the ideas that +underlie the word. It does, indeed, seize a familiar and +important detail of everyday speech, though it may be doubted +whether the tongue has more to do with speaking than lips, teeth +and throat have, but it makes no attempt at grasping and +expressing the essential characteristic of speech. Anything +done with the tongue, even though it involve no speaking at all, +is <i>tonguage</i>; eating oranges is as much tonguage as speech +is. The word, therefore, though it tells us in part how +speech is effected, reveals nothing of that ulterior meaning +which is nevertheless inseparable from any right use of the words +either “speech” or “language.” It +presents us with what is indeed a very frequent adjunct of +conversation, but the use of written characters, or the +finger-speech of deaf mutes, is enough to show that the word +“language” omits all reference to the most essential +characteristics of the idea, which in practice it nevertheless +very sufficiently presents to us. I hope presently to make +it clear to you how and why it should do so. The word is +incomplete in the first place, because it omits all reference to +the ideas which words, speech or language are intended to convey, +and there can be no true word without its actually or potentially +conveying an idea. Secondly, it makes no allusion to the +person or persons to whom the ideas are to be conveyed. +Language is not language unless it not only expresses fairly +definite and coherent ideas, but unless it also conveys these +ideas to some other living intelligent being, either man or +brute, that can understand them. We may speak to a dog or +horse, but not to a stone. If we make pretence of doing so +we are in reality only talking to ourselves. The person or +animal spoken to is half the battle—a half, moreover, which +is essential to there being any battle at all. It takes two +people to say a thing—a sayee as well as a sayer. The +one is as essential to any true saying as the other. A. may +have spoken, but if B. has not heard, there has been nothing +said, and he must speak again. True, the belief on +A.’s part that he had a <i>bonâ fide</i> sayee in B., +saves his speech quâ him, but it has been barren and left +no fertile issue. It has failed to fulfil the conditions of +true speech, which involve not only that A. should speak, but +also that B. should hear. True, again, we often speak of +loose, incoherent, indefinite language; but by doing so we imply, +and rightly, that we are calling that language which is not true +language at all. People, again, sometimes talk to +themselves without intending that any other person should hear +them, but this is not well done, and does harm to those who +practise it. It is abnormal, whereas our concern is with +normal and essential characteristics; we may, therefore, neglect +both delirious babblings, and the cases in which a person is +regarding him or herself, as it were, from outside, and treating +himself as though he were some one else.</p> +<p>Inquiring, then, what are the essentials, the presence of +which constitutes language, while their absence negatives it +altogether, we find that Professor Max Müller restricts them +to the use of grammatical articulate words that we can write or +speak, and denies that anything can be called language unless it +can be written or spoken in articulate words and sentences. +He also denies that we can think at all unless we do so in words; +that is to say, in sentences with verbs and nouns. Indeed +he goes so far as to say upon his title-page that there can be no +reason—which I imagine comes to much the same thing as +thought—without language, and no language without +reason.</p> +<p>Against the assertion that there can be no true language +without reason I have nothing to say. But when the +Professor says that there can be no reason, or thought, without +language, his opponents contend, as it seems to me, with greater +force, that thought, though infinitely aided, extended and +rendered definite through the invention of words, nevertheless +existed so fully as to deserve no other name thousands, if not +millions of years before words had entered into it at all. +Words, they say, are a comparatively recent invention, for the +fuller expression of something that was already in existence.</p> +<p>Children, they urge, are often evidently thinking and +reasoning, though they can neither think nor speak in +words. If you ask me to define reason, I answer as before +that this can no more be done than thought, truth or motion can +be defined. Who has answered the question, “What is +truth?” Man cannot see God and live. We cannot +go so far back upon ourselves as to undermine our own +foundations; if we try to do we topple over, and lose that very +reason about which we vainly try to reason. If we let the +foundations be, we know well enough that they are there, and we +can build upon them in all security. We cannot, then, +define reason nor crib, cabin and confine it within a +thus-far-shalt-thou-go-and-no-further. Who can define heat +or cold, or night or day? Yet, so long as we hold fast by +current consent, our chances of error for want of better +definition are so small that no sensible person will consider +them. In like manner, if we hold by current consent or +common sense, which is the same thing, about reason, we shall not +find the want of an academic definition hinder us from a +reasonable conclusion. What nurse or mother will doubt that +her infant child can reason within the limits of its own +experience, long before it can formulate its reason in +articulately worded thought? If the development of any +given animal is, as our opponents themselves admit, an epitome of +the history of its whole anterior development, surely the fact +that speech is an accomplishment acquired after birth so +artificially that children who have gone wild in the woods lose +it if they have ever learned it, points to the conclusion that +man’s ancestors only learned to express themselves in +articulate language at a comparatively recent period. +Granted that they learn to think and reason continually the more +and more fully for having done so, will common sense permit us to +suppose that they could neither think nor reason at all till they +could convey their ideas in words?</p> +<p>I will return later to the reason of the lower animals, but +will now deal with the question what it is that constitutes +language in the most comprehensive sense that can be properly +attached to it. I have said already that language to be +language at all must not only convey fairly definite coherent +ideas, but must also convey them to another living being. +Whenever two living beings have conveyed and received ideas, +there has been language, whether looks or gestures or words +spoken or written have been the vehicle by means of which the +ideas have travelled. Some ideas crawl, some run, some fly; +and in this case words are the wings they fly with, but they are +only the wings of thought or of ideas, they are not the thought +or ideas themselves, nor yet, as Professor Max Müller would +have it, inseparably connected with them. Last summer I was +at an inn in Sicily, where there was a deaf and dumb waiter; he +had been born so, and could neither write nor read. What +had he to do with words or words with him? Are we to say, +then, that this most active, amiable and intelligent fellow could +neither think nor reason? One day I had had my dinner and +had left the hotel. A friend came in, and the waiter saw +him look for me in the place I generally occupied. He +instantly came up to my friend, and moved his two forefingers in +a way that suggested two people going about together, this meant +“your friend”; he then moved his forefingers +horizontally across his eyes, this meant, “who wears +divided spectacles”; he made two fierce marks over the +sockets of his eyes, this meant, “with the heavy +eyebrows”; he pulled his chin, and then touched his white +shirt, to say that my beard was white. Having thus +identified me as a friend of the person he was speaking to, and +as having a white beard, heavy eyebrows, and wearing divided +spectacles, he made a munching movement with his jaws to say that +I had had my dinner; and finally, by making two fingers imitate +walking on the table, he explained that I had gone away. My +friend, however, wanted to know how long I had been gone, so he +pulled out his watch and looked inquiringly. The man at +once slapped himself on the back, and held up the five fingers of +one hand, to say it was five minutes ago. All this was done +as rapidly as though it had been said in words; and my friend, +who knew the man well, understood without a moment’s +hesitation. Are we to say that this man had no thought, nor +reason, nor language, merely because he had not a single word of +any kind in his head, which I am assured he had not; for, as I +have said, he could not speak with his fingers? Is it +possible to deny that a dialogue—an intelligent +conversation—had passed between the two men? And if +conversation, then surely it is technical and pedantic to deny +that all the essential elements of language were present. +The signs and tokens used by this poor fellow were as rude an +instrument of expression, in comparison with ordinary language, +as going on one’s hands and knees is in comparison with +walking, or as walking compared with going by train; but it is as +great an abuse of words to limit the word “language” +to mere words written or spoken, as it would be to limit the idea +of a locomotive to a railway engine. This may indeed pass +in ordinary conversation, where so much must be suppressed if +talk is to be got through at all, but it is intolerable when we +are inquiring about the relations between thought and +words. To do so is to let words become as it were the +masters of thought, on the ground that the fact of their being +only its servants and appendages is so obvious that it is +generally allowed to go without saying.</p> +<p>If all that Professor Max Müller means to say is, that no +animal but man commands an articulate language, with verbs and +nouns, or is ever likely to command one (and I question whether +in reality he means much more than this), no one will differ from +him. No dog or elephant has one word for bread, another for +meat, and another for water. Yet, when we watch a cat or +dog dreaming, as they often evidently do, can we doubt that the +dream is accompanied by a mental image of the thing that is +dreamed of, much like what we experience in dreams ourselves, and +much doubtless like the mental images which must have passed +through the mind of my deaf and dumb waiter? If they have +mental images in sleep, can we doubt that waking, also, they +picture things before their mind’s eyes, and see them much +as we do—too vaguely indeed to admit of our thinking that +we actually see the objects themselves, but definitely enough for +us to be able to recognise the idea or object of which we are +thinking, and to connect it with any other idea, object, or sign +that we may think appropriate?</p> +<p>Here we have touched on the second essential element of +language. We laid it down, that its essence lay in the +communication of an idea from one intelligent being to another; +but no ideas can be communicated at all except by the aid of +conventions to which both parties have agreed to attach an +identical meaning. The agreement may be very informal, and +may pass so unconsciously from one generation to another that its +existence can only be recognised by the aid of much +introspection, but it will be always there. A sayer, a +sayee, and a convention, no matter what, agreed upon between them +as inseparably attached to the idea which it is intended to +convey—these comprise all the essentials of language. +Where these are present there is language; where any of them are +wanting there is no language. It is not necessary for the +sayee to be able to speak and become a sayer. If he +comprehends the sayer—that is to say, if he attaches the +same meaning to a certain symbol as the sayer does—if he is +a party to the bargain whereby it is agreed upon by both that any +given symbol shall be attached invariably to a certain idea, so +that in virtue of the principle of associated ideas the symbol +shall never be present without immediately carrying the idea +along with it, then all the essentials of language are complied +with, and there has been true speech though never a word was +spoken.</p> +<p>The lower animals, therefore, many of them, possess a part of +our own language, though they cannot speak it, and hence do not +possess it so fully as we do. They cannot say +“bread,” “meat,” or “water,” +but there are many that readily learn what ideas they ought to +attach to these symbols when they are presented to them. It +is idle to say that a cat does not know what the cat’s-meat +man means when he says “meat.” The cat knows +just as well, neither better nor worse than the cat’s-meat +man does, and a great deal better than I myself understand much +that is said by some very clever people at Oxford or +Cambridge. There is more true employment of language, more +<i>bonâ fide</i> currency of speech, between a sayer and a +sayee who understand each other, though neither of them can speak +a word, than between a sayer who can speak with the tongues of +men and of angels without being clear about his own meaning, and +a sayee who can himself utter the same words, but who is only in +imperfect agreement with the sayer as to the ideas which the +words or symbols that he utters are intended to convey. The +nature of the symbols counts for nothing; the gist of the matter +is in the perfect harmony between sayer and sayee as to the +significance that is to be associated with them.</p> +<p>Professor Max Müller admits that we share with the lower +animals what he calls an emotional language, and continues that +we may call their interjections and imitations language if we +like, as we speak of the language of the eyes or the eloquence of +mute nature, but he warns us against mistaking metaphor for +fact. It is indeed mere metaphor to talk of the eloquence +of mute nature, or the language of winds and waves. There +is no intercommunion of mind with mind by means of a covenanted +symbol; but it is only an apparent, not a real, metaphor to say +that two pairs of eyes have spoken when they have signalled to +one another something which they both understand. A +schoolboy at home for the holidays wants another plate of +pudding, and does not like to apply officially for more. He +catches the servant’s eye and looks at the pudding; the +servant understands, takes his plate without a word, and gets him +some. Is it metaphor to say that the boy asked the servant +to do this, or is it not rather pedantry to insist on the letter +of a bond and deny its spirit, by denying that language passed, +on the ground that the symbols covenanted upon and assented to by +both were uttered and received by eyes and not by mouth and +ears? When the lady drank to the gentleman only with her +eyes, and he pledged with his, was there no conversation because +there was neither noun nor verb? Eyes are verbs, and +glasses of wine are good nouns enough as between those who +understand one another. Whether the ideas underlying them +are expressed and conveyed by eyeage or by tonguage is a detail +that matters nothing.</p> +<p>But everything we say is metaphorical if we choose to be +captious. Scratch the simplest expressions, and you will +find the metaphor. Written words are handage, inkage and +paperage; it is only by metaphor, or substitution and +transposition of ideas, that we can call them language. +They are indeed potential language, and the symbols employed +presuppose nouns, verbs, and the other parts of speech; but for +the most part it is in what we read between the lines that the +profounder meaning of any letter is conveyed. There are +words unwritten and untranslatable into any nouns that are +nevertheless felt as above, about and underneath the gross +material symbols that lie scrawled upon the paper; and the deeper +the feeling with which anything is written the more pregnant will +it be of meaning which can be conveyed securely enough, but which +loses rather than gains if it is squeezed into a sentence, and +limited by the parts of speech. The language is not in the +words but in the heart-to-heartness of the thing, which is helped +by words, but is nearer and farther than they. A +correspondent wrote to me once, many years ago, “If I could +think to you without words you would understand me +better.” But surely in this he was thinking to me, +and without words, and I did understand him better . . . So +it is not by the words that I am too presumptuously venturing to +speak to-night that your opinions will be formed or +modified. They will be formed or modified, if either, by +something that you will feel, but which I have not spoken, to the +full as much as by anything that I have actually uttered. +You may say that this borders on mysticism. Perhaps it +does, but their really is some mysticism in nature.</p> +<p>To return, however, to <i>terra firma</i>. I believe I +am right in saying that the essence of language lies in the +intentional conveyance of ideas from one living being to another +through the instrumentality of arbitrary tokens or symbols agreed +upon, and understood by both as being associated with the +particular ideas in question. The nature of the symbol +chosen is a matter of indifference; it may be anything that +appeals to human senses, and is not too hot or too heavy; the +essence of the matter lies in a mutual covenant that whatever it +is it shall stand invariably for the same thing, or nearly +so.</p> +<p>We shall see this more easily if we observe the differences +between written and spoken language. The written word +“stone,” and the spoken word, are each of them +symbols arrived at in the first instance arbitrarily. They +are neither of them more like the other than they are to the idea +of a stone which rises before our minds, when we either see or +hear the word, or than this idea again is like the actual stone +itself, but nevertheless the spoken symbol and the written one +each alike convey with certainty the combination of ideas to +which we have agreed to attach them.</p> +<p>The written symbol is formed with the hand, appeals to the +eye, leaves a material trace as long as paper and ink last, can +travel as far as paper and ink can travel, and can be imprinted +on eye after eye practically <i>ad infinitum</i> both as regards +time and space.</p> +<p>The spoken symbol is formed by means of various organs in or +about the mouth, appeals to the ear, not the eye, perishes +instantly without material trace, and if it lives at all does so +only in the minds of those who heard it. The range of its +action is no wider than that within which a voice can be heard; +and every time a fresh impression is wanted the type must be set +up anew.</p> +<p>The written symbol extends infinitely, as regards time and +space, the range within which one mind can communicate with +another; it gives the writer’s mind a life limited by the +duration of ink, paper, and readers, as against that of his flesh +and blood body. On the other hand, it takes longer to learn +the rules so as to be able to apply them with ease and security, +and even then they cannot be applied so quickly and easily as +those attaching to spoken symbols. Moreover, the spoken +symbol admits of a hundred quick and subtle adjuncts by way of +action, tone and expression, so that no one will use written +symbols unless either for the special advantages of permanence +and travelling power, or because he is incapacitated from using +spoken ones. This, however, is hardly to the point; the +point is that these two conventional combinations of symbols, +that are as unlike one another as the Hallelujah Chorus is to St. +Paul’s Cathedral, are the one as much language as the +other; and we therefore inquire what this very patent fact +reveals to us about the more essential characteristics of +language itself. What is the common bond that unites these +two classes of symbols that seem at first sight to have nothing +in common, and makes the one raise the idea of language in our +minds as readily as the other? The bond lies in the fact +that both are a set of conventional tokens or symbols, agreed +upon between the parties to whom they appeal as being attached +invariably to the same ideas, and because they are being made as +a means of communion between one mind and another,—for a +memorandum made for a person’s own later use is nothing but +a communication from an earlier mind to a later and modified one; +it is therefore in reality a communication from one mind to +another as much as though it had been addressed to another +person.</p> +<p>We see, therefore, that the nature of the outward and visible +sign to which the inward and spiritual idea of language is +attached does not matter. It may be the firing of a gun; it +may be an old semaphore telegraph; it may be the movements of a +needle; a look, a gesture, the breaking of a twig by an Indian to +tell some one that he has passed that way: a twig broken +designedly with this end in view is a letter addressed to +whomsoever it may concern, as much as though it had been written +out in full on bark or paper. It does not matter one straw +what it is, provided it is agreed upon in concert, and stuck +to. Just as the lowest forms of life nevertheless present +us with all the essential characteristics of livingness, and are +as much alive in their own humble way as the most highly +developed organisms, so the rudest intentional and effectual +communication between two minds through the instrumentality of a +concerted symbol is as much language as the most finished oratory +of Mr. Gladstone. I demur therefore to the assertion that +the lower animals have no language, inasmuch as they cannot +themselves articulate a grammatical sentence. I do not +indeed pretend that when the cat calls upon the tiles it uses +what it consciously and introspectively recognises as language; +it says what it has to say without introspection, and in the +ordinary course of business, as one of the common forms of +courtship. It no more knows that it has been using language +than M. Jourdain knew he had been speaking prose, but M. +Jourdain’s knowing or not knowing was neither here nor +there.</p> +<p>Anything which can be made to hitch on invariably to a +definite idea that can carry some distance—say an inch at +the least, and which can be repeated at pleasure, can be pressed +into the service of language. Mrs. Bentley, wife of the +famous Dr. Bentley of Trinity College, Cambridge, used to send +her snuff-box to the college buttery when she wanted beer, +instead of a written order. If the snuff-box came the beer +was sent, but if there was no snuff-box there was no beer. +Wherein did the snuff-box differ more from a written order, than +a written order differs from a spoken one? The snuff-box +was for the time being language. It sounds strange to say +that one might take a pinch of snuff out of a sentence, but if +the servant had helped him or herself to a pinch while carrying +it to the buttery this is what would have been done; for if a +snuff-box can say “Send me a quart of beer,” so +efficiently that the beer is sent, it is impossible to say that +it is not a <i>bonâ fide</i> sentence. As for the +recipient of the message, the butler did not probably translate +the snuff-box into articulate nouns and verbs; as soon as he saw +it he just went down into the cellar and drew the beer, and if he +thought at all, it was probably about something else. Yet +he must have been thinking without words, or he would have drawn +too much beer or too little, or have spilt it in the bringing it +up, and we may be sure that he did none of these things.</p> +<p>You will, of course, observe that if Mrs. Bentley had sent the +snuff-box to the buttery of St. John’s College instead of +Trinity, it would not have been language, for there would have +been no covenant between sayer and sayee as to what the symbol +should represent, there would have been no previously established +association of ideas in the mind of the butler of St. +John’s between beer and snuff-box; the connection was +artificial, arbitrary, and by no means one of those in respect of +which an impromptu bargain might be proposed by the very symbol +itself, and assented to without previous formality by the person +to whom it was presented. More briefly, the butler of St. +John’s would not have been able to understand and read it +aright. It would have been a dead letter to him—a +snuff-box and not a letter; whereas to the butler of Trinity it +was a letter and not a snuff-box.</p> +<p>You will also note that it was only at the moment when he was +looking at it and accepting it as a message that it flashed forth +from snuff-box-hood into the light and life of living +utterance. As soon as it had kindled the butler into +sending a single quart of beer, its force was spent until Mrs. +Bentley threw her soul into it again and charged it anew by +wanting more beer, and sending it down accordingly.</p> +<p>Again, take the ring which the Earl of Essex sent to Queen +Elizabeth, but which the queen did not receive. This was +intended as a sentence, but failed to become effectual language +because the sensible material symbol never reached those sentient +organs which it was intended to affect. A book, again, +however full of excellent words it may be, is not language when +it is merely standing on a bookshelf. It speaks to no one, +unless when being actually read, or quoted from by an act of +memory. It is potential language as a lucifer-match is +potential fire, but it is no more language till it is in contact +with a recipient mind, than a match is fire till it is struck, +and is being consumed.</p> +<p>A piece of music, again, without any words at all, or a song +with words that have nothing in the world to do with the ideas +which it is nevertheless made to convey, is often very effectual +language. Much lying, and all irony depends on tampering +with covenanted symbols, and making those that are usually +associated with one set of ideas convey by a sleight of mind +others of a different nature. That is why irony is +intolerably fatiguing unless very sparingly used. Take the +song which Blondel sang under the window of King Richard’s +prison. There was not one syllable in it to say that +Blondel was there, and was going to help the king to get out of +prison. It was about some silly love affair, but it was a +letter all the same, and the king made language of what would +otherwise have been no language, by guessing the meaning, that is +to say by perceiving that he was expected to enter then and there +into a new covenant as to the meaning of the symbols that were +presented to him, understanding what this covenant was to be, and +acquiescing in it.</p> +<p>On the other hand, no ingenuity can torture language into +being a fit word to use in connection with either sounds or any +other symbols that have not been intended to convey a meaning, or +again in connection with either sounds or symbols in respect of +which there has been no covenant between sayer and sayee. +When we hear people speaking a foreign language—we will say +Welsh—we feel that though they are no doubt using what is +very good language as between themselves, there is no language +whatever as far as we are concerned. We call it lingo, not +language. The Chinese letters on a tea-chest might as well +not be there, for all that they say to us, though the Chinese +find them very much to the purpose. They are a covenant to +which we have been no parties—to which our intelligence has +affixed no signature.</p> +<p>We have already seen that it is in virtue of such an +understood covenant that symbols so unlike one another as the +written word “stone” and the spoken word alike at +once raise the idea of a stone in our minds. See how the +same holds good as regards the different languages that pass +current in different nations. The letters p, i, e, r, r, e +convey the idea of a stone to a Frenchman as readily as s, t, o, +n, e do to ourselves. And why? because that is the covenant +that has been struck between those who speak and those who are +spoken to. Our “stone” conveys no idea to a +Frenchman, nor his “pierre” to us, unless we have +done what is commonly called acquiring one another’s +language. To acquire a foreign language is only to learn +and adhere to the covenants in respect of symbols which the +nation in question has adopted and adheres to.</p> +<p>Till we have done this we neither of us know the rules, so to +speak, of the game that the other is playing, and cannot, +therefore, play together; but the convention being once known and +assented to, it does not matter whether we raise the idea of a +stone by the word “lapis,” or by +“lithos,” “pietra,” “pierre,” +“stein,” “stane” or “stone”; +we may choose what symbols written or spoken we choose, and one +set, unless they are of unwieldy length will do as well as +another, if we can get other people to choose the same and stick +to them; it is the accepting and sticking to them that matters, +not the symbols. The whole power of spoken language is +vested in the invariableness with which certain symbols are +associated with certain ideas. If we are strict in always +connecting the same symbols with the same ideas, we speak well, +keep our meaning clear to ourselves, and convey it readily and +accurately to any one who is also fairly strict. If, on the +other hand, we use the same combination of symbols for one thing +one day and for another the next, we abuse our symbols instead of +using them, and those who indulge in slovenly habits in this +respect ere long lose the power alike of thinking and of +expressing themselves correctly. The symbols, however, in +the first instance, may be anything in the wide world that we +have a fancy for. They have no more to do with the ideas +they serve to convey than money has with the things that it +serves to buy.</p> +<p>The principle of association, as every one knows, involves +that whenever two things have been associated sufficiently +together, the suggestion of one of them to the mind shall +immediately raise a suggestion of the other. It is in +virtue of this principle that language, as we so call it, exists +at all, for the essence of language consists, as I have said +perhaps already too often, in the fixity with which certain ideas +are invariably connected with certain symbols. But this +being so, it is hard to see how we can deny that the lower +animals possess the germs of a highly rude and unspecialised, but +still true language, unless we also deny that they have any ideas +at all; and this I gather is what Professor Max Müller in a +quiet way rather wishes to do. Thus he says, “It is +easy enough to show that animals communicate, but this is a fact +which has never been doubted. Dogs who growl and bark leave +no doubt in the minds of other dogs or cats, or even of man, of +what they mean, but growling and barking are not language, nor do +they even contain the elements of language.” <a +name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18" +class="citation">[18]</a></p> +<p>I observe the Professor says that animals communicate without +saying what it is that they communicate. I believe this to +have been because if he said that the lower animals communicate +their ideas, this would be to admit that they have ideas; if so, +and if, as they present every appearance of doing, they can +remember, reflect upon, modify these ideas according to modified +surroundings, and interchange them with one another, how is it +possible to deny them the germs of thought, language, and +reason—not to say a good deal more than the germs? It +seems to me that not knowing what else to say that animals +communicated if it was not ideas, and not knowing what mess he +might not get into if he admitted that they had ideas at all, he +thought it safer to omit his accusative case altogether.</p> +<p>That growling and barking cannot be called a very highly +specialised language goes without saying; they are, however, so +much diversified in character, according to circumstances, that +they place a considerable number of symbols at an animal’s +command, and he invariably attaches the same symbol to the same +idea. A cat never purrs when she is angry, nor spits when +she is pleased. When she rubs her head against any one +affectionately it is her symbol for saying that she is very fond +of him, and she expects, and usually finds that it will be +understood. If she sees her mistress raise her hand as +though to pretend to strike her, she knows that it is the symbol +her mistress invariably attaches to the idea of sending her away, +and as such she accepts it. Granted that the symbols in use +among the lower animals are fewer and less highly differentiated +than in the case of any known human language, and therefore that +animal language is incomparably less subtle and less capable of +expressing delicate shades of meaning than our own, these +differences are nevertheless only those that exist between highly +developed and inchoate language; they do not involve those that +distinguish language from no language. They are the +differences between the undifferentiated protoplasm of the amoeba +and our own complex organisation; they are not the differences +between life and no life. In animal language as much as in +human there is a mind intentionally making use of a symbol +accepted by another mind as invariably attached to a certain +idea, in order to produce that idea in the mind which it is +desired to affect—more briefly, there is a sayer, a sayee, +and a covenanted symbol designedly applied. Our own speech +is vertebrated and articulated by means of nouns, verbs, and the +rules of grammar. A dog’s speech is invertebrate, but +I do not see how it is possible to deny that it possesses all the +essential elements of language.</p> +<p>I have said nothing about Professor R. L. Garner’s +researches into the language of apes, because they have not yet +been so far verified and accepted as to make it safe to rely upon +them; but when he lays it down that all voluntary sounds are the +products of thought, and that, if they convey a meaning to +another, they perform the functions of human speech, he says what +I believe will commend itself to any unsophisticated mind. +I could have wished, however, that he had not limited himself to +sounds, and should have preferred his saying what I doubt not he +would readily accept—I mean, that all symbols or tokens of +whatever kind, if voluntarily adopted as such, are the products +of thought, and perform the functions of human speech; but I +cannot too often remind you that nothing can be considered as +fulfilling the conditions of language, except a voluntary +application of a recognised token in order to convey a more or +less definite meaning, with the intention doubtless of thus +purchasing as it were some other desired meaning and consequent +sensation. It is astonishing how closely in this respect +money and words resemble one another. Money indeed may be +considered as the most universal and expressive of all +languages. For gold and silver coins are no more money when +not in the actual process of being voluntarily used in purchase, +than words not so in use are language. Pounds, shillings +and pence are recognised covenanted tokens, the outward and +visible signs of an inward and spiritual purchasing power, but +till in actual use they are only potential money, as the symbols +of language, whatever they may be, are only potential language +till they are passing between two minds. It is the power +and will to apply the symbols that alone gives life to money, and +as long as these are in abeyance the money is in abeyance also; +the coins may be safe in one’s pocket, but they are as dead +as a log till they begin to burn in it, and so are our words till +they begin to burn within us.</p> +<p>The real question, however, as to the substantial underlying +identity between the language of the lower animals and our own, +turns upon that other question whether or no, in spite of an +immeasurable difference of degree, the thought and reason of man +and of the lower animals is essentially the same. No one +will expect a dog to master and express the varied ideas that are +incessantly arising in connection with human affairs. He is +a pauper as against a millionaire. To ask him to do so +would be like giving a street-boy sixpence and telling him to go +and buy himself a founder’s share in the New River +Company. He would not even know what was meant, and even if +he did it would take several millions of sixpences to buy +one. It is astonishing what a clever workman will do with +very modest tools, or again how far a thrifty housewife will make +a very small sum of money go, or again in like manner how many +ideas an intelligent brute can receive and convey with its very +limited vocabulary; but no one will pretend that a dog’s +intelligence can ever reach the level of a man’s. +What we do maintain is that, within its own limited range, it is +of the same essential character as our own, and that though a +dog’s ideas in respect of human affairs are both vague and +narrow, yet in respect of canine affairs they are precise enough +and extensive enough to deserve no other name than thought or +reason. We hold moreover that they communicate their ideas +in essentially the same manner as we do—that is to say, by +the instrumentality of a code of symbols attached to certain +states of mind and material objects, in the first instance +arbitrarily, but so persistently, that the presentation of the +symbol immediately carries with it the idea which it is intended +to convey. Animals can thus receive and impart ideas on all +that most concerns them. As my great namesake said some two +hundred years ago, they know “what’s what, and +that’s as high as metaphysic wit can fly.” And +they not only know what’s what themselves, but can impart +to one another any new what’s-whatness that they may have +acquired, for they are notoriously able to instruct and correct +one another.</p> +<p>Against this Professor Max Müller contends that we can +know nothing of what goes on in the mind of any lower animal, +inasmuch as we are not lower animals ourselves. “We +can imagine anything we like about what passes in the mind of an +animal,” he writes, “we can know absolutely +nothing.” <a name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19" +class="citation">[19]</a> It is something to have it in +evidence that he conceives animals as having a mind at all, but +it is not easy to see how they can be supposed to have a mind, +without being able to acquire ideas, and having acquired, to +read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them. Surely the +mistake of requiring too much evidence is hardly less great than +that of being contented with too little. We, too, are +animals, and can no more refuse to infer reason from certain +visible actions in their case than we can in our own. If +Professor Max Müller’s plea were allowed, we should +have to deny our right to infer confidently what passes in the +mind of any one not ourselves, inasmuch as we are not that +person. We never, indeed, can obtain irrefragable certainty +about this or any other matter, but we can be sure enough in many +cases to warrant our staking all that is most precious to us on +the soundness of our opinion. Moreover, if the Professor +denies our right to infer that animals reason, on the ground that +we are not animals enough ourselves to be able to form an +opinion, with what right does he infer so confidently himself +that they do not reason? And how, if they present every one +of those appearances which we are accustomed to connect with the +communication of an idea from one mind to another, can we deny +that they have a language of their own, though it is one which in +most cases we can neither speak nor understand? How can we +say that a sentinel rook, when it sees a man with a gun and warns +the other rooks by a concerted note which they all show that they +understand by immediately taking flight, should not be credited +both with reason and the germs of language?</p> +<p>After all, a professor, whether of philology, psychology, +biology, or any other ology, is hardly the kind of person to whom +we should appeal on such an elementary question as that of animal +intelligence and language. We might as well ask a botanist +to tell us whether grass grows, or a meteorologist to tell us if +it has left off raining. If it is necessary to appeal to +any one, I should prefer the opinion of an intelligent gamekeeper +to that of any professor, however learned. The keepers, +again, at the Zoological Gardens, have exceptional opportunities +for studying the minds of animals—modified, indeed, by +captivity, but still minds of animals. Grooms, again, and +dog-fanciers, are to the full as able to form an intelligent +opinion on the reason and language of animals as any University +Professor, and so are cats’-meat men. I have +repeatedly asked gamekeepers and keepers at the Zoological +Gardens whether animals could reason and converse with one +another, and have always found myself regarded somewhat +contemptuously for having even asked the question. I once +said to a friend, in the hearing of a keeper at the Zoological +Gardens, that the penguin was very stupid. The man was +furious, and jumped upon me at once. “He’s not +stupid at all,” said he; “he’s very +intelligent.”</p> +<p>Who has not seen a cat, when it wishes to go out, raise its +fore paws on to the handle of the door, or as near as it can get, +and look round, evidently asking some one to turn it for +her? Is it reasonable to deny that a reasoning process is +going on in the cat’s mind, whereby she connects her wish +with the steps necessary for its fulfilment, and also with +certain invariable symbols which she knows her master or mistress +will interpret? Once, in company with a friend, I watched a +cat playing with a house-fly in the window of a ground-floor +room. We were in the street, while the cat was +inside. When we came up to the window she gave us one +searching look, and, having satisfied herself that we had nothing +for her, went on with her game. She knew all about the +glass in the window, and was sure we could do nothing to molest +her, so she treated us with absolute contempt, never even looking +at us again.</p> +<p>The game was this. She was to catch the fly and roll it +round and round under her paw along the window-sill, but so +gently as not to injure it nor prevent it from being able to fly +again when she had done rolling it. It was very early +spring, and flies were scarce, in fact there was not another in +the whole window. She knew that if she crippled this one, +it would not be able to amuse her further, and that she would not +readily get another instead, and she liked the feel of it under +her paw. It was soft and living, and the quivering of its +wings tickled the ball of her foot in a manner that she found +particularly grateful; so she rolled it gently along the whole +length of the window-sill. It then became the fly’s +turn. He was to get up and fly about in the window, so as +to recover himself a little; then she was to catch him again, and +roll him softly all along the window-sill, as she had done +before.</p> +<p>It was plain that the cat knew the rules of her game perfectly +well, and enjoyed it keenly. It was equally plain that the +fly could not make head or tail of what it was all about. +If it had been able to do so it would have gone to play in the +upper part of the window, where the cat could not reach it. +Perhaps it was always hoping to get through the glass, and escape +that way; anyhow, it kept pretty much to the same pane, no matter +how often it was rolled. At last, however, the fly, for +some reason or another, did not reappear on the pane, and the cat +began looking everywhere to find it. Her annoyance when she +failed to do so was extreme. It was not only that she had +lost her fly, but that she could not conceive how she should have +ever come to do so. Presently she noted a small knot in the +woodwork of the sill, and it flashed upon her that she had +accidentally killed the fly, and that this was its dead +body. She tried to move it gently with her paw, but it was +no use, and for the time she satisfied herself that the knot and +the fly had nothing to do with one another. Every now and +then, however, she returned to it as though it were the only +thing she could think of, and she would try it again. She +seemed to say she was certain there had been no knot there +before—she must have seen it if there had been; and yet, +the fly could hardly have got jammed so firmly into the +wood. She was puzzled and irritated beyond measure, and +kept looking in the same place again and again, just as we do +when we have mislaid something. She was rapidly losing +temper and dignity when suddenly we saw the fly reappear from +under the cat’s stomach and make for the window-pane, at +the very moment when the cat herself was exclaiming for the +fiftieth time that she wondered where that stupid fly ever could +have got to. No man who has been hunting twenty minutes for +his spectacles could be more delighted when he suddenly finds +them on his own forehead. “So that’s where you +were,” we seemed to hear her say, as she proceeded to catch +it, and again began rolling it very softly without hurting it, +under her paw. My friend and I both noticed that the cat, +in spite of her perplexity, never so much as hinted that we were +the culprits. The question whether anything outside the +window could do her good or harm had long since been settled by +her in the negative, and she was not going to reopen it; she +simply cut us dead, and though her annoyance was so great that +she was manifestly ready to lay the blame on anybody or anything +with or without reason, and though she must have perfectly well +known that we were watching the whole affair with amusement, she +never either asked us if we had happened to see such a thing as a +fly go down our way lately, or accused us of having taken it from +her—both of which ideas she would, I am confident, have +been very well able to convey to us if she had been so +minded.</p> +<p>Now what are thought and reason if the processes that were +going through this cat’s mind were not both one and the +other? It would be childish to suppose that the cat thought +in words of its own, or in anything like words. Its +thinking was probably conducted through the instrumentality of a +series of mental images. We so habitually think in words +ourselves that we find it difficult to realise thought without +words at all; our difficulty, however, in imagining the +particular manner in which the cat thinks has nothing to do with +the matter. We must answer the question whether she thinks +or no, not according to our own ease or difficulty in +understanding the particular manner of her thinking, but +according as her action does or does not appear to be of the same +character as other action that we commonly call thoughtful. +To say that the cat is not intelligent, merely on the ground that +we cannot ourselves fathom her intelligence—this, as I have +elsewhere said, is to make intelligence mean the power of being +understood, rather than the power of understanding. This +nevertheless is what, for all our boasted intelligence, we +generally do. The more we can understand an animal’s +ways, the more intelligent we call it, and the less we can +understand these, the more stupid do we declare it to be. +As for plants—whose punctuality and attention to all the +details and routine of their somewhat restricted lines of +business is as obvious as it is beyond all praise—we +understand the working of their minds so little that by common +consent we declare them to have no intelligence at all.</p> +<p>Before concluding I should wish to deal a little more fully +with Professor Max Müller’s contention that there can +be no reason without language, and no language without +reason. Surely when two practised pugilists are fighting, +parrying each other’s blows, and watching keenly for an +unguarded point, they are thinking and reasoning very subtly the +whole time, without doing so in words. The machination of +their thoughts, as well as its expression, is actual—I +mean, effectuated and expressed by action and deed, not +words. They are unaware of any logical sequence of thought +that they could follow in words as passing through their minds at +all. They may perhaps think consciously in words now and +again, but such thought will be intermittent, and the main part +of the fighting will be done without any internal concomitance of +articulated phrases. Yet we cannot doubt that their action, +however much we may disapprove of it, is guided by intelligence +and reason; nor should we doubt that a reasoning process of the +same character goes on in the minds of two dogs or fighting-cocks +when they are striving to master their opponents.</p> +<p>Do we think in words, again, when we wind up our watches, put +on our clothes, or eat our breakfasts? If we do, it is +generally about something else. We do these things almost +as much without the help of words as we wink or yawn, or perform +any of those other actions that we call reflex, as it would +almost seem because they are done without reflection. They +are not, however, the less reasonable because wordless.</p> +<p>Even when we think we are thinking in words, we do so only in +half measure. A running accompaniment of words no doubt +frequently attends our thoughts; but, unless we are writing or +speaking, this accompaniment is of the vaguest and most fitful +kind, as we often find out when we try to write down or say what +we are thinking about, though we have a fairly definite notion of +it, or fancy that we have one, all the time. The thought is +not steadily and coherently governed by and moulded in words, nor +does it steadily govern them. Words and thought interact +upon and help one another, as any other mechanical appliances +interact on and help the invention that first hit upon them; but +reason or thought, for the most part, flies along over the heads +of words, working its own mysterious way in paths that are beyond +our ken, though whether some of our departmental personalities +are as unconscious of what is passing, as that central government +is which we alone dub with the name of “we” or +“us,” is a point on which I will not now touch.</p> +<p>I cannot think, then, that Professor Max Müller’s +contention that thought and language are identical—and he +has repeatedly affirmed this—will ever be generally +accepted. Thought is no more identical with language than +feeling is identical with the nervous system. True, we can +no more feel without a nervous system than we can discern certain +minute organisms without a microscope. Destroy the nervous +system, and we destroy feeling. Destroy the microscope, and +we can no longer see the animalcules; but our sight of the +animalcules is not the microscope, though it is effectuated by +means of the microscope, and our feeling is not the nervous +system, though the nervous system is the instrument that enables +us to feel.</p> +<p>The nervous system is a device which living beings have +gradually perfected—I believe I may say quite +truly—through the will and power which they have derived +from a fountain-head, the existence of which we can infer, but +which we can never apprehend. By the help of this device, +and in proportion as they have perfected it, living beings feel +ever with greater definiteness, and hence formulate their +feelings in thought with more and more precision. The +higher evolution of thought has reacted on the nervous system, +and the consequent higher evolution of the nervous system has +again reacted upon thought. These things are as power and +desire, or supply and demand, each one of which is continually +outstripping, and being in turn outstripped by the other; but, in +spite of their close connection and interaction, power is not +desire, nor demand supply. Language is a device evolved +sometimes by leaps and bounds, and sometimes exceedingly slowly, +whereby we help ourselves alike to greater ease, precision, and +complexity of thought, and also to more convenient interchange of +thought among ourselves. Thought found rude expression, +which gradually among other forms assumed that of words. +These reacted upon thought, and thought again on them, but +thought is no more identical with words than words are with the +separate letters of which they are composed.</p> +<p>To sum up, then, and to conclude. I would ask you to see +the connection between words and ideas, as in the first instance +arbitrary. No doubt in some cases an imitation of the cry +of some bird or wild beast would suggest the name that should be +attached to it; occasionally the sound of an operation such as +grinding may have influenced the choice of the letters g, r, as +the root of many words that denote a grinding, grating, grasping, +crushing, action; but I understand that the number of words due +to direct imitation is comparatively few in number, and that they +have been mainly coined as the result of connections so +far-fetched and fanciful as to amount practically to no +connection at all. Once chosen, however, they were adhered +to for a considerable time among the dwellers in any given place, +so as to become acknowledged as the vulgar tongue, and raise +readily in the mind of the inhabitants of that place the ideas +with which they had been artificially associated.</p> +<p>As regards our being able to think and reason without words, +the Duke of Argyll has put the matter as soundly as I have yet +seen it stated. “It seems to me,” he wrote, +“quite certain that we can and do constantly think of +things without thinking of any sound or word as designating +them. Language seems to me to be necessary for the progress +of thought, but not at all for the mere act of thinking. It +is a product of thought, an expression of it, a vehicle for the +communication of it, and an embodiment which is essential to its +growth and continuity; but it seems to me altogether erroneous to +regard it as an inseparable part of cogitation.”</p> +<p>The following passages, again, are quoted from Sir William +Hamilton in Professor Max Müller’s own book, with so +much approval as to lead one to suppose that the differences +between himself and his opponents are in reality less than he +believes them to be:—</p> +<p>“Language,” says Sir W. Hamilton, “is the +attribution of signs to our cognitions of things. But as a +cognition must have already been there before it could receive a +sign, consequently that knowledge which is denoted by the +formation and application of a word must have preceded the symbol +that denotes it. A sign, however, is necessary to give +stability to our intellectual progress—to establish each +step in our advance as a new starting-point for our advance to +another beyond. A country may be overrun by an armed host, +but it is only conquered by the establishment of +fortresses. Words are the fortresses of thought. They +enable us to realise our dominion over what we have already +overrun in thought; to make every intellectual conquest the base +of operations for others still beyond.”</p> +<p>“This,” says Professor Max Müller, “is +a most happy illustration,” and he proceeds to quote the +following, also from Sir William Hamilton, which he declares to +be even happier still.</p> +<p>“You have all heard,” says Sir William Hamilton, +“of the process of tunnelling through a sandbank. In +this operation it is impossible to succeed unless every foot, +nay, almost every inch of our progress be secured by an arch of +masonry before we attempt the excavation of another. Now +language is to the mind precisely what the arch is to the +tunnel. The power of thinking and the power of excavation +are not dependent on the words in the one case or on the +mason-work in the other; but without these subsidiaries neither +could be carried on beyond its rudimentary commencement. +Though, therefore, we allow that every movement forward in +language must be determined by an antecedent movement forward in +thought, still, unless thought be accompanied at each point of +its evolutions by a corresponding evolution of language, its +further development is arrested.”</p> +<p>Man has evolved an articulate language, whereas the lower +animals seem to be without one. Man, therefore, has far +outstripped them in reasoning faculty as well as in power of +expression. This, however, does not bar the communications +which the lower animals make to one another from possessing all +the essential characteristics of language, and as a matter of +fact, wherever we can follow them we find such communications +effectuated by the aid of arbitrary symbols covenanted upon by +the living beings that wish to communicate, and persistently +associated with certain corresponding feelings, states of mind, +or material objects. Human language is nothing more than +this in principle, however much further the principle has been +carried in our own case than in that of the lower animals.</p> +<p>This being admitted, we should infer that the thought or +reason on which the language of men and animals is alike founded +differs as between men and brutes in degree but not in +kind. More than this cannot be claimed on behalf of the +lower animals, even by their most enthusiastic admirer.</p> +<h2>THE DEADLOCK IN DARWINISM <a name="citation20"></a><a +href="#footnote20" class="citation">[20]</a>—PART I</h2> +<p>It will be readily admitted that of all living writers Mr. +Alfred Russel Wallace is the one the peculiar turn of whose mind +best fits him to write on the subject of natural selection, or +the accumulation of fortunate but accidental variations through +descent and the struggle for existence. His mind in all its +more essential characteristics closely resembles that of the late +Mr. Charles Darwin himself, and it is no doubt due to this fact +that he and Mr. Darwin elaborated their famous theory at the same +time, and independently of one another. I shall have +occasion in the course of the following article to show how +misled and misleading both these distinguished men have been, in +spite of their unquestionable familiarity with the whole range of +animal and vegetable phenomena. I believe it will be more +respectful to both of them to do this in the most out-spoken +way. I believe their work to have been as mischievous as it +has been valuable, and as valuable as it has been mischievous; +and higher, whether praise or blame, I know not how to +give. Nevertheless I would in the outset, and with the +utmost sincerity, admit concerning Messrs. Wallace and Darwin +that neither can be held as the more profound and conscientious +thinker; neither can be put forward as the more ready to +acknowledge obligation to the great writers on evolution who had +preceded him, or to place his own developments in closer and more +conspicuous historical connection with earlier thought upon the +subject; neither is the more ready to welcome criticism and to +state his opponent’s case in the most pointed and telling +way in which it can be put; neither is the more quick to +encourage new truth; neither is the more genial, generous +adversary, or has the profounder horror of anything even +approaching literary or scientific want of candour; both display +the same inimitable power of putting their opinions forward in +the way that shall best ensure their acceptance; both are equally +unrivalled in the tact that tells them when silence will be +golden, and when on the other hand a whole volume of facts may be +advantageously brought forward. Less than the foregoing +tribute both to Messrs. Darwin and Wallace I will not, and more I +cannot pay.</p> +<p>Let us now turn to the most authoritative exponent of +latter-day evolution—I mean to Mr. Wallace, whose work, +entitled “Darwinism,” though it should have been +entitled “Wallaceism,” is still so far Darwinistic +that it develops the teaching of Mr. Darwin in the direction +given to it by Mr. Darwin himself—so far, indeed, as this +can be ascertained at all—and not in that of Lamarck. +Mr. Wallace tells us, on the first page of his preface, that he +has no intention of dealing even in outline with the vast subject +of evolution in general, and has only tried to give such an +account of the theory of natural selection as may facilitate a +clear conception of Darwin’s work. How far he has +succeeded is a point on which opinion will probably be +divided. Those who find Mr. Darwin’s works clear will +also find no difficulty in understanding Mr. Wallace; those, on +the other hand, who find Mr. Darwin puzzling are little likely to +be less puzzled by Mr. Wallace. He continues:—</p> +<p>“The objections now made to Darwin’s theory apply +solely to the particular means by which the change of species has +been brought about, not to the fact of that change.”</p> +<p>But “Darwin’s theory”—as Mr. Wallace +has elsewhere proved that he understands—has no reference +“to the fact of that change”—that is to say, to +the fact that species have been modified in course of descent +from other species. This is no more Mr. Darwin’s +theory than it is the reader’s or my own. +Darwin’s theory is concerned only with “the +particular means by which the change of species has been brought +about”; his contention being that this is mainly due to the +natural survival of those individuals that have happened by some +accident to be born most favourably adapted to their +surroundings, or, in other words, through accumulation in the +common course of nature of the more lucky variations that chance +occasionally purveys. Mr. Wallace’s words, then, in +reality amount to this, that the objections now made to +Darwin’s theory apply solely to Darwin’s theory, +which is all very well as far as it goes, but might have been +more easily apprehended if he had simply said, “There are +several objections now made to Mr. Darwin’s +theory.”</p> +<p>It must be remembered that the passage quoted above occurs on +the first page of a preface dated March 1889, when the writer had +completed his task, and was most fully conversant with his +subject. Nevertheless, it seems indisputable either that he +is still confusing evolution with Mr. Darwin’s theory, or +that he does not know when his sentences have point and when they +have none.</p> +<p>I should perhaps explain to some readers that Mr. Darwin did +not modify the main theory put forward, first by Buffon, to whom +it indisputably belongs, and adopted from him by Erasmus Darwin, +Lamarck, and many other writers in the latter half of the last +century and the earlier years of the present. The early +evolutionists maintained that all existing forms of animal and +vegetable life, including man, were derived in course of descent +with modification from forms resembling the lowest now known.</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin went as far as this, and farther no one can +go. The point at issue between him and his predecessors +involves neither the main fact of evolution, nor yet the +geometrical ratio of increase, and the struggle for existence +consequent thereon. Messrs. Darwin and Wallace have each +thrown invaluable light upon these last two points, but Buffon, +as early as 1756, had made them the keystone of his system. +“The movement of nature,” he then wrote, “turns +on two immovable pivots: one, the illimitable fecundity which she +has given to all species: the other, the innumerable difficulties +which reduce the results of that fecundity.” Erasmus +Darwin and Lamarck followed in the same sense. They thus +admit the survival of the fittest as fully as Mr. Darwin himself, +though they do not make use of this particular expression. +The dispute turns not upon natural selection, which is common to +all writers on evolution, but upon the nature and causes of the +variations that are supposed to be selected from and thus +accumulated. Are these mainly attributable to the inherited +effects of use and disuse, supplemented by occasional sports and +happy accidents? Or are they mainly due to sports and happy +accidents, supplemented by occasional inherited effects of use +and disuse?</p> +<p>The Lamarckian system has all along been maintained by Mr. +Herbert Spencer, who, in his “Principles of Biology,” +published in 1865, showed how impossible it was that accidental +variations should accumulate at all. I am not sure how far +Mr. Spencer would consent to being called a Lamarckian pure and +simple, nor yet how far it is strictly accurate to call him one; +nevertheless, I can see no important difference in the main +positions taken by him and by Lamarck.</p> +<p>The question at issue between the Lamarckians, supported by +Mr. Spencer and a growing band of those who have risen in +rebellion against the Charles-Darwinian system on the one hand, +and Messrs. Darwin and Wallace with the greater number of our +more prominent biologists on the other, involves the very +existence of evolution as a workable theory. For it is +plain that what Nature can be supposed able to do by way of +choice must depend on the supply of the variations from which she +is supposed to choose. She cannot take what is not offered +to her; and so again she cannot be supposed able to accumulate +unless what is gained in one direction in one generation, or +series of generations, is little likely to be lost in those that +presently succeed. Now variations ascribed mainly to use +and disuse can be supposed capable of being accumulated, for use +and disuse are fairly constant for long periods among the +individuals of the same species, and often over large areas; +moreover, conditions of existence involving changes of habit, and +thus of organisation, come for the most part gradually; so that +time is given during which the organism can endeavour to adapt +itself in the requisite respects, instead of being shocked out of +existence by too sudden change. Variations, on the other +hand, that are ascribed to mere chance cannot be supposed as +likely to be accumulated, for chance is notoriously inconstant, +and would not purvey the variations in sufficiently unbroken +succession, or in a sufficient number of individuals, modified +similarly in all the necessary correlations at the same time and +place to admit of their being accumulated. It is vital +therefore to the theory of evolution, as was early pointed out by +the late Professor Fleeming Jenkin and by Mr. Herbert Spencer, +that variations should be supposed to have a definite and +persistent principle underlying them, which shall tend to +engender similar and simultaneous modification, however small, in +the vast majority of individuals composing any species. The +existence of such a principle and its permanence is the only +thing that can be supposed capable of acting as rudder and +compass to the accumulation of variations, and of making it hold +steadily on one course for each species, till eventually many +havens, far remote from one another, are safely reached.</p> +<p>It is obvious that the having fatally impaired the theory of +his predecessors could not warrant Mr. Darwin in claiming, as he +most fatuously did, the theory of evolution. That he is +still generally believed to have been the originator of this +theory is due to the fact that he claimed it, and that a powerful +literary backing at once came forward to support him. It +seems at first sight improbable that those who too zealously +urged his claims were unaware that so much had been written on +the subject, but when we find even Mr. Wallace himself as +profoundly ignorant on this subject as he still either is, or +affects to be, there is no limit assignable to the ignorance or +affected ignorance of the kind of biologists who would write +reviews in leading journals thirty years ago. Mr. Wallace +writes:—</p> +<p>“A few great naturalists, struck by the very slight +difference between many of these species, and the numerous links +that exist between the most different forms of animals and +plants, and also observing that a great many species do vary +considerably in their forms, colours and habits, conceived the +idea that they might be all produced one from the other. +The most eminent of these writers was a great French naturalist, +Lamarck, who published an elaborate work, the <i>Philosophie +Zoologique</i>, in which he endeavoured to prove that all animals +whatever are descended from other species of animals. He +attributed the change of species chiefly to the effect of changes +in the conditions of life—such as climate, food, &c.; +and especially to the desires and efforts of the animals +themselves to improve their condition, leading to a modification +of form or size in certain parts, owing to the well-known +physiological law that all organs are strengthened by constant +use, while they are weakened or even completely lost by disuse . +. .</p> +<p>“The only other important work dealing with the question +was the celebrated ‘Vestiges of Creation,’ published +anonymously, but now acknowledged to have been written by the +late Robert Chambers.”</p> +<p>None are so blind as those who will not see, and it would be +waste of time to argue with the invincible ignorance of one who +thinks Lamarck and Buffon conceived that all species were +produced from one another, more especially as I have already +dealt at some length with the early evolutionists in my work, +“Evolution, Old and New,” first published ten years +ago, and not, so far as I am aware, detected in serious error or +omission. If, however, Mr. Wallace still thinks it safe to +presume so far on the ignorance of his readers as to say that the +only two important works on evolution before Mr. Darwin’s +were Lamarck’s <i>Philosophie Zoologique</i> and the +“Vestiges of Creation,” how fathomable is the +ignorance of the average reviewer likely to have been thirty +years ago, when the “Origin of Species” was first +published? Mr. Darwin claimed evolution as his own +theory. Of course, he would not claim it if he had no right +to it. Then by all means give him the credit of it. +This was the most natural view to take, and it was generally +taken. It was not, moreover, surprising that people failed +to appreciate all the niceties of Mr. Darwin’s +“distinctive feature” which, whether distinctive or +no, was assuredly not distinct, and was never frankly contrasted +with the older view, as it would have been by one who wished it +to be understood and judge upon its merits. It was in +consequence of this omission that people failed to note how fast +and loose Mr. Darwin played with his distinctive feature, and how +readily he dropped it on occasion.</p> +<p>It may be said that the question of what was thought by the +predecessors of Mr. Darwin is, after all, personal, and of no +interest to the general public, comparable to that of the main +issue—whether we are to accept evolution or not. +Granted that Buffon, Erasmus Darwin, and Lamarck bore the burden +and heat of the day before Mr. Charles Darwin was born, they did +not bring people round to their opinion, whereas Mr. Darwin and +Mr. Wallace did, and the public cannot be expected to look beyond +this broad and indisputable fact.</p> +<p>The answer to this is, that the theory which Messrs. Darwin +and Wallace have persuaded the public to accept is demonstrably +false, and that the opponents of evolution are certain in the end +to triumph over it. Paley, in his “Natural +Theology,” long since brought forward far too much evidence +of design in animal organisation to allow of our setting down its +marvels to the accumulations of fortunate accident, undirected by +will, effort and intelligence. Those who examine the main +facts of animal and vegetable organisation without bias will, no +doubt, ere long conclude that all animals and vegetables are +derived ultimately from unicellular organisms, but they will not +less readily perceive that the evolution of species without the +concomitance and direction of mind and effort is as inconceivable +as is the independent creation of every individual species. +The two facts, evolution and design, are equally patent to plain +people. There is no escaping from either. According +to Messrs. Darwin and Wallace, we may have evolution, but are on +no account to have it as mainly due to intelligent effort, guided +by ever higher and higher range of sensations, perceptions, and +ideas. We are to set it down to the shuffling of cards, or +the throwing of dice without the play, and this will never +stand.</p> +<p>According to the older men, cards did indeed count for much, +but play counted for more. They denied the teleology of the +time—that is to say, the teleology that saw all adaptation +to surroundings as part of a plan devised long ages since by a +quasi-anthropomorphic being who schemed everything out much as a +man would do, but on an infinitely vaster scale. This +conception they found repugnant alike to intelligence and +conscience, but, though they do not seem to have perceived it, +they left the door open for a design more true and more +demonstrable than that which they excluded. By making their +variations mainly due to effort and intelligence, they made +organic development run on all-fours with human progress, and +with inventions which we have watched growing up from small +beginnings. They made the development of man from the +amoeba part and parcel of the story that may be read, though on +an infinitely smaller scale, in the development of our most +powerful marine engines from the common kettle, or of our finest +microscopes from the dew-drop.</p> +<p>The development of the steam-engine and the microscope is due +to intelligence and design, which did indeed utilise chance +suggestions, but which improved on these, and directed each step +of their accumulation, though never foreseeing more than a step +or two ahead, and often not so much as this. The fact, as I +have elsewhere urged, that the man who made the first kettle did +not foresee the engines of the <i>Great Eastern</i>, or that he +who first noted the magnifying power of the dew-drop had no +conception of our present microscopes—the very limited +amount, in fact, of design and intelligence that was called into +play at any one point—this does not make us deny that the +steam-engine and microscope owe their development to +design. If each step of the road was designed, the whole +journey was designed, though the particular end was not designed +when the journey was begun. And so is it, according to the +older view of evolution, with the development of those living +organs, or machines, that are born with us, as part of the +perambulating carpenter’s chest we call our bodies. +The older view gives us our design, and gives us our evolution +too. If it refuses to see a quasi-anthropomorphic God +modelling each species from without as a potter models clay, it +gives us God as vivifying and indwelling in all His +creatures—He in them, and they in Him. If it refuses +to see God outside the universe, it equally refuses to see any +part of the universe as outside God. If it makes the +universe the body of God, it also makes God the soul of the +universe. The question at issue, then, between the +Darwinism of Erasmus Darwin and the neo-Darwinism of his +grandson, is not a personal one, nor anything like a personal +one. It not only involves the existence of evolution, but +it affects the view we take of life and things in an endless +variety of most interesting and important ways. It is +imperative, therefore, on those who take any interest in these +matters, to place side by side in the clearest contrast the views +of those who refer the evolution of species mainly to +accumulation of variations that have no other inception than +chance, and of that older school which makes design perceive and +develop still further the goods that chance provides.</p> +<p>But over and above this, which would be in itself sufficient, +the historical mode of studying any question is the only one +which will enable us to comprehend it effectually. The +personal element cannot be eliminated from the consideration of +works written by living persons for living persons. We want +to know who is who—whom we can depend upon to have no other +end than the making things clear to himself and his readers, and +whom we should mistrust as having an ulterior aim on which he is +more intent than on the furthering of our better +understanding. We want to know who is doing his best to +help us, and who is only trying to make us help him, or to +bolster up the system in which his interests are vested. +There is nothing that will throw more light upon these points +than the way in which a man behaves towards those who have worked +in the same field with himself, and, again, than his style. +A man’s style, as Buffon long since said, is the man +himself. By style, I do not, of course, mean grammar or +rhetoric, but that style of which Buffon again said that it is +like happiness, and <i>vient de la douceur de +l’âme</i>. When we find a man concealing worse +than nullity of meaning under sentences that sound plausibly +enough, we should distrust him much as we should a +fellow-traveller whom we caught trying to steal our watch. +We often cannot judge of the truth or falsehood of facts for +ourselves, but we most of us know enough of human nature to be +able to tell a good witness from a bad one.</p> +<p>However this may be, and whatever we may think of judging +systems by the directness or indirectness of those who advance +them, biologists, having committed themselves too rashly, would +have been more than human if they had not shown some pique +towards those who dared to say, first, that the theory of Messrs. +Darwin and Wallace was unworkable; and secondly, that even though +it were workable it would not justify either of them in claiming +evolution. When biologists show pique at all they generally +show a good deal of pique, but pique or no pique, they shunned +Mr. Spencer’s objection above referred to with a +persistency more unanimous and obstinate than I ever remember to +have seen displayed even by professional truth-seekers. I +find no rejoinder to it from Mr. Darwin himself, between 1865 +when it was first put forward, and 1882 when Mr. Darwin +died. It has been similarly “ostrichised” by +all the leading apologists of Darwinism, so far at least as I +have been able to observe, and I have followed the matter closely +for many years. Mr. Spencer has repeated and amplified it +in his recent work, “The Factors of Organic +Evolution,” but it still remains without so much as an +attempt at serious answer, for the perfunctory and illusory +remarks of Mr. Wallace at the end of his “Darwinism” +cannot be counted as such. The best proof of its +irresistible weight is that Mr. Darwin, though maintaining +silence in respect to it, retreated from his original position in +the direction that would most obviate Mr. Spencer’s +objection.</p> +<p>Yet this objection has been repeatedly urged by the more +prominent anti-Charles-Darwinian authorities, and there is no +sign that the British public is becoming less rigorous in +requiring people either to reply to objections repeatedly urged +by men of even moderate weight, or to let judgment go by +default. As regards Mr. Darwin’s claim to the theory +of evolution generally, Darwinians are beginning now to perceive +that this cannot be admitted, and either say with some hardihood +that Mr. Darwin never claimed it, or after a few saving clauses +to the effect that this theory refers only to the particular +means by which evolution has been brought about, imply forthwith +thereafter none the less that evolution is Mr. Darwin’s +theory. Mr. Wallace has done this repeatedly in his recent +“Darwinism.” Indeed, I should be by no means +sure that on the first page of his preface, in the passage about +“Darwin’s theory,” which I have already +somewhat severely criticised, he was not intending evolution by +“Darwin’s theory,” if in his preceding +paragraph he had not so clearly shown that he knew evolution to +be a theory of greatly older date than Mr. Darwin’s.</p> +<p>The history of science—well exemplified by that of the +development theory—is the history of eminent men who have +fought against light and have been worsted. The tenacity +with which Darwinians stick to their accumulation of fortuitous +variations is on a par with the like tenacity shown by the +illustrious Cuvier, who did his best to crush evolution +altogether. It always has been thus, and always will be; +nor is it desirable in the interests of Truth herself that it +should be otherwise. Truth is like money—lightly +come, lightly go; and if she cannot hold her own against even +gross misrepresentation, she is herself not worth holding. +Misrepresentation in the long run makes Truth as much as it mars +her; hence our law courts do not think it desirable that pleaders +should speak their <i>bonâ fide</i> opinions, much less +that they should profess to do so. Rather let each side +hoodwink judge and jury as best it can, and let truth flash out +from collision of defence and accusation. When either side +will not collide, it is an axiom of controversy that it desires +to prevent the truth from being elicited.</p> +<p>Let us now note the courses forced upon biologists by the +difficulties of Mr. Darwin’s distinctive feature. Mr. +Darwin and Mr. Wallace, as is well known, brought the feature +forward simultaneously and independently of one another, but Mr. +Wallace always believed in it more firmly than Mr. Darwin +did. Mr. Darwin as a young man did not believe in it. +He wrote before 1889, “Nature, by making habit omnipotent +and its effects hereditary, has fitted the Fuegian for the +climate and productions of his country,” <a +name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21" +class="citation">[21]</a> a sentence than which nothing can +coincide more fully with the older view that use and disuse were +the main purveyors of variations, or conflict more fatally with +his own subsequent distinctive feature. Moreover, as I +showed in my last work on evolution, <a name="citation22"></a><a +href="#footnote22" class="citation">[22]</a> in the peroration to +his “Origin of Species,” he discarded his accidental +variations altogether, and fell back on the older theory, so that +the body of the “Origin of Species” supports one +theory, and the peroration another that differs from it <i>toto +cœlo</i>. Finally, in his later editions, he +retreated indefinitely from his original position, edging always +more and more continually towards the theory of his grandfather +and Lamarck. These facts convince me that he was at no time +a thorough-going Darwinian, but was throughout an unconscious +Lamarckian, though ever anxious to conceal the fact alike from +himself and from his readers.</p> +<p>Not so with Mr. Wallace, who was both more outspoken in the +first instance, and who has persevered along the path of +Wallaceism just as Mr. Darwin with greater sagacity was ever on +the retreat from Darwinism. Mr. Wallace’s profounder +faith led him in the outset to place his theory in fuller +daylight than Mr. Darwin was inclined to do. Mr. Darwin +just waved Lamarck aside, and said as little about him as he +could, while in his earlier editions Erasmus Darwin and Buffon +were not so much as named. Mr. Wallace, on the contrary, at +once raised the Lamarckian spectre, and declared it +exorcised. He said the Lamarckian hypothesis was +“quite unnecessary.” The giraffe did not +“acquire its long neck by desiring to reach the foliage of +the more lofty shrubs, and constantly stretching its neck for +this purpose, but because any varieties which occurred among its +antitypes with a longer neck than usual at once secured a fresh +range of pasture over the same ground as their shorter-necked +companions, and on the first scarcity of food were thus enabled +to outlive them.” <a name="citation23"></a><a +href="#footnote23" class="citation">[23]</a></p> +<p>“Which occurred” is evidently “which +happened to occur” by some chance or accident unconnected +with use and disuse. The word “accident” is +never used, but Mr. Wallace must be credited with this instance +of a desire to give his readers a chance of perceiving that +according to his distinctive feature evolution is an affair of +luck, rather than of cunning. Whether his readers actually +did understand this as clearly as Mr. Wallace doubtless desired +that they should, and whether greater development at this point +would not have helped them to fuller apprehension, we need not +now inquire. What was gained in distinctness might have +been lost in distinctiveness, and after all he did technically +put us upon our guard.</p> +<p>Nevertheless he too at a pinch takes refuge in +Lamarckism. In relation to the manner in which the eyes of +soles, turbots, and other flat-fish travel round the head so as +to become in the end unsymmetrically placed, he says:—</p> +<p>“The eyes of these fish are curiously distorted in order +that both eyes may be upon the upper side, where alone they would +be of any use. . . . Now if we suppose this process, which in the +young is completed in a few days or weeks, to have been spread +over thousands of generations during the development of these +fish, those usually surviving <i>whose eyes retained more and +more of the position into which the young fish tried to twist +them</i> [italics mine], the change becomes intelligible.” +<a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24" +class="citation">[24]</a> When it was said by Professor Ray +Lankester—who knows as well as most people what Lamarck +taught—that this was “flat Lamarckism,” Mr. +Wallace rejoined that it was the survival of the modified +individuals that did it all, not the efforts of the young fish to +twist their eyes, and the transmission to descendants of the +effects of those efforts. But this, as I said in my book, +“Evolution, Old and New,” <a name="citation25"></a><a +href="#footnote25" class="citation">[25]</a> is like saying that +horses are swift runners, not by reason of the causes, whatever +they were, that occasioned the direct line of their progenitors +to vary towards ever greater and greater swiftness, but because +their more slow-going uncles and aunts go away. Plain +people will prefer to say that the main cause of any accumulation +of favourable modifications consists rather in that which brings +about the initial variations, and in the fact that these can be +inherited at all, than in the fact that the unmodified +individuals were not successful. People do not become rich +because the poor in large numbers go away, but because they have +been lucky, or provident, or more commonly both. If they +would keep their wealth when they have made it they must exclude +luck thenceforth to the utmost of their power, and their children +must follow their example, or they will soon lose their +money. The fact that the weaker go to the wall does not +bring about the greater strength of the stronger; it is the +consequence of this last and not the cause—unless, indeed, +it be contended that a knowledge that the weak go to the wall +stimulates the strong to exertions which they would not otherwise +so make, and that these exertions produce inheritable +modifications. Even in this case, however, it would be the +exertions, or use and disuse, that would be the main agents in +the modification. But it is not often that Mr. Wallace thus +backslides. His present position is that acquired (as +distinguished from congenital) modifications are not inherited at +all. He does not indeed put his faith prominently forward +and pin himself to it as plainly as could be wished, but under +the heading, “The Non-Heredity of Acquired +Characters,” he writes as follows on p. 440 of his recent +work in reference to Professor Weismann’s Theory of +Heredity:—</p> +<p>“Certain observations on the embryology of the lower +animals are held to afford direct proof of this theory of +heredity, but they are too technical to be made clear to ordinary +readers. A logical result of the theory is the +impossibility of the transmission of acquired characters, since +the molecular structure of the germ-plasm is already determined +within the embryo; and Weismann holds that there are no facts +which really prove that acquired characters can be inherited, +although their inheritance has, by most writers, been considered +so probable as hardly to stand in need of direct proof.</p> +<p>“We have already seen in the earlier part of this +chapter that many instances of change, imputed to the inheritance +of acquired variations, are really cases of selection.”</p> +<p>And the rest of the remarks tend to convey the impression that +Mr. Wallace adopts Professor Weismann’s view, but, +curiously enough, though I have gone through Mr. Wallace’s +book with a special view to this particular point, I have not +been able to find him definitely committing himself either to the +assertion that acquired modifications never are inherited, or +that they sometimes are so. It is abundantly laid down that +Mr. Darwin laid too much stress on use and disuse, and a +residuary impression is left that Mr. Wallace is endorsing +Professor Weismann’s view, but I have found it impossible +to collect anything that enables me to define his position +confidently in this respect.</p> +<p>This is natural enough, for Mr. Wallace has entitled his book +“Darwinism,” and a work denying that use and disuse +produced any effect could not conceivably be called +Darwinism. Mr. Herbert Spencer has recently collected many +passages from “The Origin of Species” and from +“Animals and Plants under Domestication,” <a +name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26" +class="citation">[26]</a> which show how largely, after all, use +and disuse entered into Mr. Darwin’s system, and we know +that in his later years he attached still more importance to +them. It was out of the question, therefore, that Mr. +Wallace should categorically deny that their effects were +inheritable. On the other hand, the temptation to adopt +Professor Weismann’s view must have been overwhelming to +one who had been already inclined to minimise the effects of use +and disuse. On the whole, one does not see what Mr. Wallace +could do, other than what he has done—unless, of course, he +changed his title, or had been no longer Mr. Wallace.</p> +<p>Besides, thanks to the works of Mr. Spencer, Professor Mivart, +Professor Semper, and very many others, there has for some time +been a growing perception that the Darwinism of Charles Darwin +was doomed. Use and disuse must either do even more than is +officially recognised in Mr. Darwin’s later concessions, or +they must do a great deal less. If they can do as much as +Mr. Darwin himself said they did, why should they not do +more? Why stop where Mr. Darwin did? And again, where +in the name of all that is reasonable did he really stop? +He drew no line, and on what principle can we say that so much is +possible as effect of use and disuse, but so much more +impossible? If, as Mr. Darwin contended, disuse can so far +reduce an organ as to render it rudimentary, and in many cases +get rid of it altogether, why cannot use create as much as disuse +can destroy, provided it has anything, no matter how low in +structure, to begin with? Let us know where we stand. +If it is admitted that use and disuse can do a good deal, what +does a good deal mean? And what is the proportion between +the shares attributable to use and disuse and to natural +selection respectively? If we cannot be told with absolute +precision, let us at any rate have something more definite than +the statement that natural selection is “the most important +means of modification.”</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin gave us no help in this respect; and worse than +this, he contradicted himself so flatly as to show that he had +very little definite idea upon the subject at all. Thus in +respect to the winglessness of the Madeira beetles he +wrote:—</p> +<p>“In some cases we might easily put down to disuse +modifications of structure, which are wholly or mainly due to +natural selection. Mr. Wollaston has discovered the +remarkable fact that 200 beetles, out of the 550 species (but +more are now known) inhabiting Madeira, are so far deficient in +wings that they cannot fly; and that of the 29 endemic genera no +less than 23 have all their species in this condition! +Several facts,—namely, that beetles in many parts of the +world are frequently blown out to sea and perish; that the +beetles in Madeira, as observed by Mr. Wollaston, lie much +concealed until the wind lulls and the sun shines; that the +proportion of wingless beetles is larger on the exposed Desertas +than in Madeira itself; and especially the extraordinary fact, so +strongly insisted on by Mr. Wollaston, that certain large groups +of beetles, elsewhere excessively numerous, which absolutely +require the use of their wings are here almost entirely +absent;—these several considerations make me believe that +the wingless condition of so many Madeira beetles is mainly due +to the action of natural selection, <i>combined probably with +disuse</i> [italics mine]. For during many successive +generations each individual beetle which flew least, either from +its wings having been ever so little less perfectly developed or +from indolent habit, will have had the best chance of surviving, +from not being blown out to sea; and, on the other hand, those +beetles which most readily took to flight would oftenest have +been blown to sea, and thus destroyed.” <a +name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27" +class="citation">[27]</a></p> +<p>We should like to know, first, somewhere about how much disuse +was able to do after all, and moreover why, if it can do anything +at all, it should not be able to do all. Mr. Darwin says: +“Any change in structure and function which can be effected +by small stages is within the power of natural +selection.” “And why not,” we ask, +“within the power of use and disuse?” Moreover, +on a later page we find Mr. Darwin saying:—</p> +<p>“<i>It appears probable that disuse has been the main +agent in rendering organs rudimentary</i> [italics mine]. +It would at first lead by slow steps to the more and more +complete reduction of a part, until at last it has become +rudimentary—as in the case of the eyes of animals +inhabiting dark caverns, and of the wings of birds inhabiting +oceanic islands, which have seldom been forced by beasts of prey +to take flight, and have ultimately lost the power of +flying. Again, an organ, useful under certain conditions, +might become injurious under others, <i>as with the wings of +beetles living on small and exposed islands</i>; and in this case +natural selection will have aided in reducing the organ, until it +was rendered harmless and rudimentary [italics mine].” <a +name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28" +class="citation">[28]</a></p> +<p>So that just as an undefined amount of use and disuse was +introduced on the earlier page to supplement the effects of +natural selection in respect of the wings of beetles on small and +exposed islands, we have here an undefined amount of natural +selection introduced to supplement the effects of use and disuse +in respect of the identical phenomena. In the one passage +we find that natural selection has been the main agent in +reducing the wings, though use and disuse have had an appreciable +share in the result; in the other, it is use and disuse that have +been the main agents, though an appreciable share in the result +must be ascribed to natural selection.</p> +<p>Besides, who has seen the uncles and aunts going away with the +uniformity that is necessary for Mr. Darwin’s +contention? We know that birds and insects do often get +blown out to sea and perish, but in order to establish Mr. +Darwin’s position we want the evidence of those who watched +the reduction of the wings during the many generations in the +course of which it was being effected, and who can testify that +all, or the overwhelming majority, of the beetles born with +fairly well-developed wings got blown out to sea, while those +alone survived whose wings were congenitally degenerate. +Who saw them go, or can point to analogous cases so conclusive as +to compel assent from any equitable thinker?</p> +<p>Darwinians of the stamp of Mr. Thiselton Dyer, Professor Ray +Lankester, or Mr. Romanes, insist on their pound of flesh in the +matter of irrefragable demonstration. They complain of us +for not bringing forward some one who has been able to detect the +movement of the hour-hand of a watch during a second of time, and +when we fail to do so, declare triumphantly that we have no +evidence that there is any connection between the beating of a +second and the movement of the hour-hand. When we say that +rain comes from the condensation of moisture in the atmosphere, +they demand of us a rain-drop from moisture not yet +condensed. If they stickle for proof and cavil on the ninth +part of a hair, as they do when we bring forward what we deem +excellent instances of the transmission of an acquired +characteristic, why may not we, too, demand at any rate some +evidence that the unmodified beetles actually did always, or +nearly always, get blown out to sea, during the reduction above +referred to, and that it is to this fact, and not to the masterly +inactivity of their fathers and mothers, that the Madeira beetles +owe their winglessness? If we began stickling for proof in +this way, our opponents would not be long in letting us know that +absolute proof is unattainable on any subject, that reasonable +presumption is our highest certainty, and that crying out for too +much evidence is as bad as accepting too little. Truth is +like a photographic sensitised plate, which is equally ruined by +over and by under exposure, and the just exposure for which can +never be absolutely determined.</p> +<p>Surely if disuse can be credited with the vast powers involved +in Mr. Darwin’s statement that it has probably “been +the main agent in rendering organs rudimentary,” no limits +are assignable to the accumulated effects of habit, provided the +effects of habit, or use and disuse, are supposed, as Mr. Darwin +supposed them, to be inheritable at all. Darwinians have at +length woke up to the dilemma in which they are placed by the +manner in which Mr. Darwin tried to sit on the two stools of use +and disuse, and natural selection of accidental variations, at +the same time. The knell of Charles-Darwinism is rung in +Mr. Wallace’s present book, and in the general perception +on the part of biologists that we must either assign to use and +disuse such a predominant share in modification as to make it the +feature most proper to be insisted on, or deny that the +modifications, whether of mind or body, acquired during a single +lifetime, are ever transmitted at all. If they can be +inherited at all, they can be accumulated. If they can be +accumulated at all, they can be so, for anything that appears to +the contrary, to the extent of the specific and generic +differences with which we are surrounded. The only thing to +do is to pluck them out root and branch: they are as a cancer +which, if the smallest fibre be left unexcised, will grow again, +and kill any system on to which it is allowed to fasten. +Mr. Wallace, therefore, may well be excused if he casts longing +eyes towards Weismannism.</p> +<p>And what was Mr. Darwin’s system? Who can make +head or tail of the inextricable muddle in which he left +it? The “Origin of Species” in its latest shape +is the reduction of hedging to an absurdity. How did Mr. +Darwin himself leave it in the last chapter of the last edition +of the “Origin of Species”? He +wrote:—</p> +<p>“I have now recapitulated the facts and considerations +which have thoroughly convinced me that species have been +modified during a long course of descent. This has been +effected chiefly through the natural selection of numerous, +successive, slight, favourable variations; aided in an important +manner by the inherited effects of the use and disuse of parts, +and in an unimportant manner—that is, in relation to +adaptive structures whether past or present—by the direct +action of external conditions, and by variations which seem to us +in our ignorance to arise spontaneously. It appears that I +formerly underrated the frequency and value of these latter forms +of variation, as leading to permanent modifications of structure +independently of natural selection.”</p> +<p>The “numerous, successive, slight, favourable +variations” above referred to are intended to be +fortuitous, accidental, spontaneous. It is the essence of +Mr. Darwin’s theory that this should be so. Mr. +Darwin’s solemn statement, therefore, of his theory, after +he had done his best or his worst with it, is, when stripped of +surplusage, as follows:—</p> +<p>“The modification of species has been mainly effected by +accumulation of spontaneous variations; it has been aided in an +important manner by accumulation of variations due to use and +disuse, and in an unimportant manner by spontaneous variations; I +do not even now think that spontaneous variations have been very +important, but I used once to think them less important than I do +now.”</p> +<p>It is a discouraging symptom of the age that such a system +should have been so long belauded, and it is a sign of returning +intelligence that even he who has been more especially the +<i>alter ego</i> of Mr. Darwin should have felt constrained to +close the chapter of Charles-Darwinism as a living theory, and +relegate it to the important but not very creditable place in +history which it must henceforth occupy. It is astonishing, +however, that Mr. Wallace should have quoted the extract from the +“Origin of Species” just given, as he has done on p. +412 of his “Darwinism,” without betraying any sign +that he has caught its driftlessness—for drift, other than +a desire to hedge, it assuredly has not got. The battle now +turns on the question whether modifications of either structure +or instinct due to use or disuse are ever inherited, or whether +they are not. Can the effects of habit be transmitted to +progeny at all? We know that more usually they are not +transmitted to any perceptible extent, but we believe also that +occasionally, and indeed not infrequently, they are inherited and +even intensified. What are our grounds for this +opinion? It will be my object to put these forward in the +following number of the <i>Universal Review</i>.</p> +<h3>THE DEADLOCK IN DARWINISM—PART II <a +name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29" +class="citation">[29]</a></h3> +<p>At the close of my article in last month’s number of the +<i>Universal Review</i>, I said I would in this month’s +issue show why the opponents of Charles-Darwinism believe the +effects of habits acquired during the lifetime of a parent to +produce an effect on their subsequent offspring, in spite of the +fact that we can rarely find the effect in any one generation, or +even in several, sufficiently marked to arrest our attention.</p> +<p>I will now show that offspring can be, and not very +infrequently is, affected by occurrences that have produced a +deep impression on the parent organism—the effect produced +on the offspring being such as leaves no doubt that it is to be +connected with the impression produced on the parent. +Having thus established the general proposition, I will proceed +to the more particular one—that habits, involving use and +disuse of special organs, with the modifications of structure +thereby engendered, produce also an effect upon offspring, which, +though seldom perceptible as regards structure in a single, or +even in several generations, is nevertheless capable of being +accumulated in successive generations till it amounts to specific +and generic difference. I have found the first point as +much as I can treat within the limits of this present article, +and will avail myself of the hospitality of the <i>Universal +Review</i> next month to deal with the second.</p> +<p>The proposition which I have to defend is one which no one +till recently would have questioned, and even now, those who look +most askance at it do not venture to dispute it unreservedly; +they every now and then admit it as conceivable, and even in some +cases probable; nevertheless they seek to minimise it, and to +make out that there is little or no connection between the great +mass of the cells of which the body is composed, and those cells +that are alone capable of reproducing the entire organism. +The tendency is to assign to these last a life of their own, +apart from, and unconnected with that of the other cells of the +body, and to cheapen all evidence that tends to prove any +response on their part to the past history of the individual, and +hence ultimately of the race.</p> +<p>Professor Weismann is the foremost exponent of those who take +this line. He has naturally been welcomed by English +Charles-Darwinians; for if his view can be sustained, then it can +be contended that use and disuse produce no transmissible effect, +and the ground is cut from under Lamarck’s feet; if, on the +other hand, his view is unfounded, the Lamarckian reaction, +already strong, will gain still further strength. The +issue, therefore, is important, and is being fiercely contested +by those who have invested their all of reputation for +discernment in Charles-Darwinian securities.</p> +<p>Professor Weismann’s theory is, that at every new birth +a part of the substance which proceeds from parents and which +goes to form the new embryo is not used up in forming the new +animal, but remains apart to generate the germ-cells—or +perhaps I should say “germ-plasm”—which the new +animal itself will in due course issue.</p> +<p>Contrasting the generally received view with his own, +Professor Weismann says that according to the first of these +“the organism produces germ-cells afresh again and again, +and that it produces them entirely from its own +substance.” While by the second “the germ-cells +are no longer looked upon as the product of the parent’s +body, at least as far as their essential part—the specific +germ-plasm—is concerned; they are rather considered as +something which is to be placed in contrast with the <i>tout +ensemble</i> of the cells which make up the parent’s body, +and the germ-cells of succeeding generations stand in a similar +relation to one another as a series of generations of unicellular +organisms arising by a continued process of cell-division.” +<a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30" +class="citation">[30]</a></p> +<p>On another page he writes:—</p> +<p>“I believe that heredity depends upon the fact that a +small portion of the effective substance of the germ, the +germ-plasm, remains unchanged during the development of the ovum +into an organism, and that this part of the germ-plasm serves as +a foundation from which the germ-cells of the new organism are +produced. There is, therefore, continuity of the germ-plasm +from one generation to another. One might represent the +germ-plasm by the metaphor of a long creeping root-stock from +which plants arise at intervals, these latter representing the +individuals of successive generations.” <a +name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31" +class="citation">[31]</a></p> +<p>Mr. Wallace, who does not appear to have read Professor +Weismann’s essays themselves, but whose remarks are, no +doubt, ultimately derived from the sequel to the passage just +quoted from page 266 of Professor Weismann’s book, contends +that the impossibility of the transmission of acquired characters +follows as a logical result from Professor Weismann’s +theory, inasmuch as the molecular structure of the germ-plasm +that will go to form any succeeding generation is already +predetermined within the still unformed embryo of its +predecessor; “and Weismann,” continues Mr. Wallace, +“holds that there are no facts which really prove that +acquired characters can be inherited, although their inheritance +has, by most writers, been considered so probable as hardly to +stand in need of direct proof.” <a name="citation32"></a><a +href="#footnote32" class="citation">[32]</a></p> +<p>Professor Weismann, in passages too numerous to quote, shows +that he recognises this necessity, and acknowledges that the +non-transmission of acquired characters “forms the +foundation of the views” set forth in his book, p. 291.</p> +<p>Professor Ray Lankester does not commit himself absolutely to +this view, but lends it support by saying (<i>Nature</i>, +December 12, 1889): “It is hardly necessary to say that it +has never yet been shown experimentally that <i>anything</i> +acquired by one generation is transmitted to the next (putting +aside diseases).”</p> +<p>Mr. Romanes, writing in <i>Nature</i>, March 18, 1890, and +opposing certain details of Professor Weismann’s theory, so +far supports it as to say that “there is the gravest +possible doubt lying against the supposition that any really +inherited decrease is due to the inherited effects of +disuse.” The “gravest possible doubt” +should mean that Mr. Romanes regards it as a moral certainty that +disuse has no transmitted effect in reducing an organ, and it +should follow that he holds use to have no transmitted effect in +its development. The sequel, however, makes me uncertain +how far Mr. Romanes intends this, and I would refer the reader to +the article which Mr. Romanes has just published on Weismann in +the <i>Contemporary Review</i> for this current month.</p> +<p>The burden of Mr. Thiselton Dyer’s controversy with the +Duke of Argyll (see <i>Nature</i>, January 16, 1890, <i>et +seq.</i>) was that there was no evidence in support of the +transmission of any acquired modification. The orthodoxy of +science, therefore, must be held as giving at any rate a +provisional support to Professor Weismann, but all of them, +including even Professor Weismann himself, shrink from committing +themselves to the opinion that the germ-cells of any organisms +remain in all cases unaffected by the events that occur to the +other cells of the same organism, and until they do this they +have knocked the bottom out of their case.</p> +<p>From among the passages in which Professor Weismann himself +shows a desire to hedge I may take the following from page 170 of +his book:—</p> +<p>“I am also far from asserting that the germ-plasm which, +as I hold, is transmitted as the basis of heredity from one +generation to another, is absolutely unchangeable or totally +uninfluenced by forces residing in the organism within which it +is transformed into germ-cells. I am also compelled to +admit it as conceivable that organisms may exert a modifying +influence upon their germ-cells, and even that such a process is +to a certain extent inevitable. The nutrition and growth of +the individual must exercise some influence upon its germ-cells . +. . ”</p> +<p>Professor Weismann does indeed go on to say that this +influence must be extremely slight, but we do not care how slight +the changes produced may be provided they exist and can be +transmitted. On an earlier page (p. 101) he said in regard +to variations generally that we should not expect to find them +conspicuous; their frequency would be enough, if they could be +accumulated. The same applies here, if stirring events that +occur to the somatic cells can produce any effect at all on +offspring. A very small effect, provided it can be repeated +and accumulated in successive generations, is all that even the +most exacting Lamarckian will ask for.</p> +<p>Having now made the reader acquainted with the position taken +by the leading Charles-Darwinian authorities, I will return to +Professor Weismann himself, who declares that the transmission of +acquired characters “at first sight certainly seems +necessary,” and that “it appears rash to attempt to +dispense with its aid.” He continues:—</p> +<p>“Many phenomena only appear to be intelligible if we +assume the hereditary transmission of such acquired characters as +the changes which we ascribe to the use or disuse of particular +organs, or to the direct influence of climate. Furthermore, +how can we explain instinct as hereditary habit, unless it has +gradually arisen by the accumulation, through heredity, of habits +which were practised in succeeding generations?” <a +name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33" +class="citation">[33]</a></p> +<p>I may say in passing that Professor Weismann appears to +suppose that the view of instinct just given is part of the +Charles-Darwinian system, for on page 889 of his book he says +“that many observers had followed Darwin in explaining them +[instincts] as inherited habits.” This was not Mr. +Darwin’s own view of the matter. He wrote:—</p> +<p>“If we suppose any habitual action to become +inherited—and I think it can be shown that this does +sometimes happen—then the resemblance between what +originally was a habit and an instinct becomes so close as not to +be distinguished. . . But it would be the most serious error to +suppose that the greater number of instincts have been acquired +by habit in one generation, and then transmitted by inheritance +to succeeding generations. It can be clearly shown that the +most wonderful instincts with which we are acquainted, namely, +those of the hive-bee and of many ants, could not possibly have +been thus acquired.”—[“Origin of +Species,” ed., 1859, p. 209.]</p> +<p>Again we read: “Domestic instincts are sometimes spoken +of as actions which have become inherited solely from +long-continued and compulsory habit, but this, I think, is not +true.”—<i>Ibid.</i>, p. 214.</p> +<p>Again: “I am surprised that no one has advanced this +demonstrative case of neuter insects, against the well-known +doctrine of inherited habit, as advanced by +Lamarck.”—[“Origin of Species,” ed. 1872, +p. 283.]</p> +<p>I am not aware that Lamarck advanced the doctrine that +instinct is inherited habit, but he may have done so in some work +that I have not seen.</p> +<p>It is true, as I have more than once pointed out, that in the +later editions of the “Origin of Species” it is no +longer “the <i>most</i> serious” error to refer +instincts generally to inherited habit, but it still remains +“a serious error,” and this slight relaxation of +severity does not warrant Professor Weismann in ascribing to Mr. +Darwin an opinion which he emphatically condemned. His +tone, however, is so offhand, that those who have little +acquaintance with the literature of evolution would hardly guess +that he is not much better informed on this subject than +themselves.</p> +<p>Returning to the inheritance of acquired characters, Professor +Weismann says that this has never been proved either by means of +direct observation or by experiment. “It must be +admitted,” he writes, “that there are in existence +numerous descriptions of cases which tend to prove that such +mutilations as the loss of fingers, the scars of wounds, &c., +are inherited by the offspring, but in these descriptions the +previous history is invariably obscure, and hence the evidence +loses all scientific value.”</p> +<p>The experiments of M. Brown-Séquard throw so much +light upon the question at issue that I will quote at some length +from the summary given by Mr. Darwin in his “Variation of +Animals and Plants under Domestication.” <a +name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34" +class="citation">[34]</a> Mr. Darwin writes:—</p> +<p>“With respect to the inheritance of structures mutilated +by injuries or altered by disease, it was until lately difficult +to come to any definite conclusion.” [Then follow +several cases in which mutilations practised for many generations +are not found to be transmitted.] +“Notwithstanding,” continues Mr. Darwin, “the +above several negative cases, we now possess conclusive evidence +that the effects of operations are sometimes inherited. Dr. +Brown-Séquard gives the following summary of his +observations on guinea-pigs, and this summary is so important +that I will quote the whole:—</p> +<p>“‘1st. Appearance of epilepsy in animals +born of parents having been rendered epileptic by an injury to +the spinal cord.</p> +<p>“‘2nd. Appearance of epilepsy also in +animals born of parents having been rendered epileptic by the +section of the sciatic nerve.</p> +<p>“‘3rd. A change in the shape of the ear in +animals born of parents in which such a change was the effect of +a division of the cervical sympathetic nerve.</p> +<p>“‘4th. Partial closure of the eyelids in +animals born of parents in which that state of the eyelids had +been caused either by the section of the cervical sympathetic +nerve or the removal of the superior cervical ganglion.</p> +<p>“‘5th. Exophthalmia in animals born of +parents in which an injury to the restiform body had produced +that protrusion of the eyeball. This interesting fact I +have witnessed a good many times, and I have seen the +transmission of the morbid state of the eye continue through four +generations. In these animals modified by heredity, the two +eyes generally protruded, although in the parents usually only +one showed exophthalmia, the lesion having been made in most +cases only on one of the corpora restiformia.</p> +<p>“‘6th. Hæmatoma and dry gangrene of +the ears in animals born of parents in which these +ear-alterations had been caused by an injury to the restiform +body near the nib of the calamus.</p> +<p>“‘7th. Absence of two toes out of the three +of the hind leg, and sometimes of the three, in animals whose +parents had eaten up their hind-leg toes which had become +anæsthetic from a section of the sciatic nerve alone, or of +that nerve and also of the crural. Sometimes, instead of +complete absence of the toes, only a part of one or two or three +was missing in the young, although in the parent not only the +toes but the whole foot was absent (partly eaten off, partly +destroyed by inflammation, ulceration, or gangrene).</p> +<p>“‘8th. Appearance of various morbid states +of the skin and hair of the neck and face in animals born of +parents having had similar alterations in the same parts, as +effects of an injury to the sciatic nerve.’</p> +<p>“It should be especially observed that +Brown-Séquard has bred during thirty years many thousand +guinea-pigs from animals which had not been operated upon, and +not one of these manifested the epileptic tendency. Nor has +he ever seen a guinea-pig born without toes, which was not the +offspring of parents which had gnawed off their own toes owing to +the sciatic nerve having been divided. Of this latter fact +thirteen instances were carefully recorded, and a greater number +were seen; yet Brown-Séquard speaks of such cases as one +of the rarer forms of inheritance. It is a still more +interesting fact, ‘that the sciatic nerve in the +congenitally toeless animal has inherited the power of passing +through all the different morbid states which have occurred in +one of its parents from the time of the division till after its +reunion with the peripheric end. It is not, therefore, +simply the power of performing an action which is inherited, but +the power of performing a whole series of actions, in a certain +order.’</p> +<p>“In most of the cases of inheritance recorded by +Brown-Séquard only one of the two parents had been +operated upon and was affected. He concludes by expressing +his belief that ‘what is transmitted is the morbid state of +the nervous system,’ due to the operation performed on the +parents.”</p> +<p>Mr. Darwin proceeds to give other instances of inherited +effects of mutilations:—</p> +<p>“With the horse there seems hardly a doubt that +exostoses on the legs, caused by too much travelling on hard +roads, are inherited. Blumenbach records the case of a man +who had his little finger on the right hand almost cut off, and +which in consequence grew crooked, and his sons had the same +finger on the same hand similarly crooked. A soldier, +fifteen years before his marriage, lost his left eye from +purulent ophthalmia, and his two sons were microphthalmic on the +same side.”</p> +<p>The late Professor Rolleston, whose competence as an observer +no one is likely to dispute, gave Mr. Darwin two cases as having +fallen under his own notice, one of a man whose knee had been +severely wounded, and whose child was born with the same spot +marked or scarred, and the other of one who was severely cut upon +the cheek, and whose child was born scarred in the same +place. Mr. Darwin’s conclusion was that “the +effects of injuries, especially when followed by disease, or +perhaps exclusively when thus followed, are occasionally +inherited.”</p> +<p>Let us now see what Professor Weismann has to say against +this. He writes:—</p> +<p>“The only cases worthy of discussion are the well-known +experiments upon guinea-pigs conducted by the French +physiologist, Brown-Séquard. But the explanation of +his results is, in my opinion, open to discussion. In these +cases we have to do with the apparent transmission of +artificially produced malformations . . . All these effects were +said to be transmitted to descendants as far as the fifth or +sixth generation.</p> +<p>“But we must inquire whether these cases are really due +to heredity, and not to simple infection. In the case of +epilepsy, at any rate, it is easy to imagine that the passage of +some specific organism through the reproductive cells may take +place, as in the case of syphilis. We are, however, +entirely ignorant of the nature of the former disease. This +suggested explanation may not perhaps apply to the other cases; +but we must remember that animals which have been subjected to +such severe operations upon the nervous system have sustained a +great shock, and if they are capable of breeding, it is only +probable that they will produce weak descendants, and such as are +easily affected by disease. Such a result does not, +however, explain why the offspring should suffer from the same +disease as that which was artificially induced in the +parents. But this does not appear to have been by any means +invariably the case. Brown-Séquard himself says: +‘The changes in the eye of the offspring were of a very +variable nature, and were only occasionally exactly similar to +those observed in the parents.’</p> +<p>“There is no doubt, however, that these experiments +demand careful consideration, but before they can claim +scientific recognition, they must be subjected to rigid criticism +as to the precautions taken, the nature and number of the control +experiments, &c.</p> +<p>“Up to the present time such necessary conditions have +not been sufficiently observed. The recent experiments +themselves are only described in short preliminary notices, +which, as regards their accuracy, the possibility of mistake, the +precautions taken, and the exact succession of individuals +affected, afford no data on which a scientific opinion can be +founded” (pp. 81, 82).</p> +<p>The line Professor Weismann takes, therefore, is to discredit +the facts; yet on a later page we find that the experiments have +since been repeated by Obersteiner, “who has described them +in a very exact and unprejudiced manner,” and that +“the fact”—(I imagine that Professor Weismann +intends “the facts”)—“cannot be +doubted.”</p> +<p>On a still later page, however, we read:—</p> +<p>“If, for instance, it could be shown that artificial +mutilation spontaneously reappears in the offspring with +sufficient frequency to exclude all possibilities of chance, then +such proof [<i>i.e.</i>, that acquired characters can be +transmitted] would be forthcoming. The transmission of +mutilations has been frequently asserted, and has been even +recently again brought forward, but all the supposed instances +have broken down when carefully examined” (p. 390).</p> +<p>Here, then, we are told that proof of the occasional +transmission of mutilations would be sufficient to establish the +fact, but on p. 267 we find that no single fact is known which +really proves that acquired characters can be transmitted, +“<i>for the ascertained facts which seem to point to the +transmission of artificially produced diseases cannot be +considered as proof</i>” [Italics mine.] Perhaps; but +it was mutilation in many cases that Professor Weismann +practically admitted to have been transmitted when he declared +that Obersteiner had verified Brown-Séquard’s +experiments.</p> +<p>That Professor Weismann recognises the vital importance to his +own theory of the question whether or no mutilations can be +transmitted under any circumstances, is evident from a passage on +p. 425 of his work, on which he says: “It can hardly be +doubted that mutilations are acquired characters; they do not +arise from any tendency contained in the germ, but are merely the +reaction of the body under certain external influences. +They are, as I have recently expressed it, purely somatogenic +characters—viz., characters which emanate from the body +(<i>soma</i>) only, as opposed to the germ-cells; they are, +therefore, characters that do not arise from the germ itself.</p> +<p>“If mutilations must necessarily be transmitted” +[which no one that I know of has maintained], “or even if +they might occasionally be transmitted” [which cannot, I +imagine, be reasonably questioned], “a powerful support +would be given to the Lamarckian principle, and the transmission +of functional hypertrophy or atrophy would thus become highly +probable.”</p> +<p>I have not found any further attempt in Professor +Weismann’s book to deal with the evidence adduced by Mr. +Darwin to show that mutilations, if followed by diseases, are +sometimes inherited; and I must leave it to the reader to +determine how far Professor Weismann has shown reason for +rejecting Mr. Darwin’s conclusion. I do not, however, +dwell upon these facts now as evidence of a transmitted change of +bodily form, or of instinct due to use and disuse or habit; what +they prove is that the germ-cells within the parent’s body +do not stand apart from the other cells of the body so completely +as Professor Weismann would have us believe, but that, as +Professor Hering, of Prague, has aptly said, they echo with more +or less frequency and force to the profounder impressions made +upon other cells.</p> +<p>I may say that Professor Weismann does not more cavalierly +wave aside the mass of evidence collected by Mr. Darwin and a +host of other writers, to the effect that mutilations are +sometimes inherited, than does Mr. Wallace, who says that, +“as regards mutilations, it is generally admitted that they +are not inherited, and there is ample evidence on this +point.” It is indeed generally admitted that +mutilations, when not followed by disease, are very rarely, if +ever, inherited; and Mr. Wallace’s appeal to the +“ample evidence” which he alleges to exist on this +head, is much as though he should say that there is ample +evidence to show that the days are longer in summer than in +winter. “Nevertheless,” he continues, “a +few cases of apparent inheritance of mutilations have been +recorded, and these, if trustworthy, are difficulties in the way +of the theory.” . . . “The often-quoted case of a +disease induced by mutilation being inherited +(Brown-Séquard’s epileptic guinea-pigs) has been +discussed by Professor Weismann and shown to be not +conclusive. The mutilation itself—a section of +certain nerves—was never inherited, but the resulting +epilepsy, or a general state of weakness, deformity, or sores, +was sometimes inherited. It is, however, possible that the +mere injury introduced and encouraged the growth of certain +microbes, which, spreading through the organism, sometimes +reached the germ-cells, and thus transmitted a diseased condition +to the offspring.” <a name="citation35"></a><a +href="#footnote35" class="citation">[35]</a></p> +<p>I suppose a microbe which made guinea-pigs eat their toes off +was communicated to the germ-cells of an unfortunate guinea-pig +which had been already microbed by it, and made the offspring +bite its toes off too. The microbe has a good deal to +answer for.</p> +<p>On the case of the deterioration of horses in the Falkland +Islands after a few generations, Professor Weismann +says:—</p> +<p>“In such a case we have only to assume that the climate +which is unfavourable, and the nutriment which is insufficient +for horses, affect not only the animal as a whole but also its +germ-cells. This would result in the diminution in size of +the germ-cells, the effects upon the offspring being still +further intensified by the insufficient nourishment supplied +during growth. But such results would not depend upon the +transmission by the germ-cells of certain peculiarities due to +the unfavourable climate, which only appear in the full-grown +horse.”</p> +<p>But Professor Weismann does not like such cases, and admits +that he cannot explain the facts in connection with the climatic +varieties of certain butterflies, except “by supposing the +passive acquisition of characters produced by the direct +influence of climate.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless in his next paragraph but one he calls such cases +“doubtful,” and proposes that for the moment they +should be left aside. He accordingly leaves them, but I +have not yet found what other moment he considered auspicious for +returning to them. He tells us that “new experiments +will be necessary, and that he has himself already begun to +undertake them.” Perhaps he will give us the results +of these experiments in some future book—for that they will +prove satisfactory to him can hardly, I think, be doubted. +He writes:—</p> +<p>“Leaving on one side, for the moment, these doubtful and +insufficiently investigated cases, we may still maintain that the +assumption that changes induced by external conditions in the +organism as a whole are communicated to the germ-cells after the +manner indicated in Darwin’s hypothesis of pangenesis, is +wholly unnecessary for the explanation of these phenomena. +Still we cannot exclude the possibility of such a transmission +occasionally occurring, for even if the greater part of the +effects must be attributable to natural selection, there might be +a smaller part in certain cases which depends on this exceptional +factor.”</p> +<p>I repeatedly tried to understand Mr. Darwin’s theory of +pangenesis, and so often failed that I long since gave the matter +up in despair. I did so with the less unwillingness because +I saw that no one else appeared to understand the theory, and +that even Mr. Darwin’s warmest adherents regarded it with +disfavour. If Mr. Darwin means that every cell of the body +throws off minute particles that find their way to the +germ-cells, and hence into the new embryo, this is indeed +difficult of comprehension and belief. If he means that the +rhythms or vibrations that go on ceaselessly in every cell of the +body communicate themselves with greater or less accuracy or +perturbation, as the case may be, to the cells that go to form +offspring, and that since the characteristics of matter are +determined by vibrations, in communicating vibrations they in +effect communicate matter, according to the view put forward in +the last chapter of my book “Luck or Cunning,” <a +name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36" +class="citation">[36]</a> then we can better understand it. +I have nothing, however, to do with Mr. Darwin’s theory of +pangenesis beyond avoiding the pretence that I understand either +the theory itself or what Professor Weismann says about it; all I +am concerned with is Professor Weismann’s admission, made +immediately afterwards, that the somatic cells may, and perhaps +sometimes do, impart characteristics to the germ-cells.</p> +<p>“A complete and satisfactory refutation of such an +opinion,” he continues, “cannot be brought forward at +present”; so I suppose we must wait a little longer, but in +the meantime we may again remark that, if we admit even +occasional communication of changes in the somatic cells to the +germ-cells, we have let in the thin end of the wedge, as Mr. +Darwin did when he said that use and disuse did a good deal +towards modification. Buffon, in his first volume on the +lower animals, <a name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37" +class="citation">[37]</a> dwells on the impossibility of stopping +the breach once made by admission of variation at all. +“If the point,” he writes, “were once gained, +that among animals and vegetables there had been, I do not say +several species, but even a single one, which had been produced +in the course of direct descent from another species; if, for +example, it could be once shown that the ass was but a +degeneration from the horse—then there is no farther limit +to be set to the power of Nature, and we should not be wrong in +supposing that with sufficient time she could have evolved all +other organised forms from one primordial type.” So +with use and disuse and transmission of acquired characteristics +generally—once show that a single structure or instinct is +due to habit in preceding generations, and we can impose no limit +on the results achievable by accumulation in this respect, nor +shall we be wrong in conceiving it as possible that all +specialisation, whether of structure or instinct, may be due +ultimately to habit.</p> +<p>How far this can be shown to be probable is, of course, +another matter, but I am not immediately concerned with this; all +I am concerned with now is to show that the germ-cells not +unfrequently become permanently affected by events that have made +a profound impression upon the somatic cells, in so far that they +transmit an obvious reminiscence of the impression to the embryos +which they go subsequently towards forming. This is all +that is necessary for my case, and I do not find that Professor +Weismann, after all, disputes it.</p> +<p>But here, again, comes the difficulty of saying what Professor +Weismann does, and what he does not, dispute. One moment he +gives all that is wanted for the Lamarckian contention, the next +he denies common-sense the bare necessaries of life. For a +more exhaustive and detailed criticism of Professor +Weismann’s position, I would refer the reader to an +admirably clear article by Mr. Sidney H. Vines, which appeared in +<i>Nature</i>, October 24, 1889. I can only say that while +reading Professor Weismann’s book, I feel as I do when I +read those of Mr. Darwin, and of a good many other writers on +biology whom I need not name. I become like a fly in a +window-pane. I see the sunshine and freedom beyond, and +buzz up and down their pages, ever hopeful to get through them to +the fresh air without, but ever kept back by a mysterious +something, which I feel but cannot either grasp or see. It +was not thus when I read Buffon, Erasmus Darwin, and Lamarck; it +is not thus when I read such articles as Mr. Vines’s just +referred to. Love of self-display, and the want of +singleness of mind that it inevitably engenders—these, I +suppose, are the sins that glaze the casements of most +men’s minds; and from these, no matter how hard he tries to +free himself, nor how much he despises them, who is altogether +exempt?</p> +<p>Finally, then, when we consider the immense mass of evidence +referred to briefly, but sufficiently, by Mr. Charles Darwin, and +referred to without other, for the most part, than off-hand +dismissal by Professor Weismann in the last of the essays that +have been recently translated, I do not see how any one who +brings an unbiased mind to the question can hesitate as to the +side on which the weight of testimony inclines. Professor +Weismann declares that “the transmission of mutilations may +be dismissed into the domain of fable.” <a +name="citation38"></a><a href="#footnote38" +class="citation">[38]</a> If so, then, whom can we +trust? What is the use of science at all if the conclusions +of a man as competent as I readily admit Mr. Darwin to have been, +on the evidence laid before him from countless sources, is to be +set aside lightly and without giving the clearest and most cogent +explanation of the why and wherefore? When we see a person +“ostrichising” the evidence which he has to meet, as +clearly as I believe Professor Weismann to be doing, we shall in +nine cases out of ten be right in supposing that he knows the +evidence to be too strong for him.</p> +<h3>THE DEADLOCK IN DARWINISM—PART III</h3> +<p>Now let me return to the recent division of biological opinion +into two main streams—Lamarckism and Weismannism Both +Lamarckians and Weismannists, not to mention mankind in general, +admit that the better adapted to its surroundings a living form +may be, the more likely it is to outbreed its compeers. The +world at large, again, needs not to be told that the normal +course is not unfrequently deflected through the fortunes of war; +nevertheless, according to Lamarckians and Erasmus-Darwinians, +habitual effort, guided by ever-growing intelligence—that +is to say, by continued increase of power in the matter of +knowing our likes and dislikes—has been so much the main +factor throughout the course of organic development, that the +rest, though not lost sight of, may be allowed to go without +saying. According, on the other hand, to extreme +Charles-Darwinians and Weismannists, habit, effort and +intelligence acquired during the experience of any one life goes +for nothing. Not even a little fraction of it endures to +the benefit of offspring. It dies with him in whom it is +acquired, and the heirs of a man’s body take no interest +therein. To state this doctrine is to arouse instinctive +loathing; it is my fortunate task to maintain that such a +nightmare of waste and death is as baseless as it is +repulsive.</p> +<p>The split in biological opinion occasioned by the deadlock to +which Charles-Darwinism has been reduced, though comparatively +recent, widens rapidly. Ten years ago Lamarck’s name +was mentioned only as a byword for extravagance; now, we cannot +take up a number of <i>Nature</i> without seeing how hot the +contention is between his followers and those of Weismann. +This must be referred, as I implied earlier, to growing +perception that Mr. Darwin should either have gone farther +towards Lamarckism or not so far. In admitting use and +disuse as freely as he did, he gave Lamarckians leverage for the +overthrow of a system based ostensibly on the accumulation of +fortunate accidents. In assigning the lion’s share of +development to the accumulation of fortunate accidents, he +tempted fortuitists to try to cut the ground from under +Lamarck’s feet by denying that the effects of use and +disuse can be inherited at all. When the public had once +got to understand what Lamarck had intended, and wherein Mr. +Charles Darwin had differed from him, it became impossible for +Charles-Darwinians to remain where they were, nor is it easy to +see what course was open to them except to cast about for a +theory by which they could get rid of use and disuse +altogether. Weismannism, therefore, is the inevitable +outcome of the straits to which Charles-Darwinians were reduced +through the way in which their leader had halted between two +opinions.</p> +<p>This is why Charles-Darwinians, from Professor Huxley +downwards, have kept the difference between Lamarck’s +opinions and those of Mr. Darwin so much in the background. +Unwillingness to make this understood is nowhere manifested more +clearly than in Dr. Francis Darwin’s life of his +father. In this work Lamarck is sneered at once or twice, +and told to go away, but there is no attempt to state the two +cases side by side; from which, as from not a little else, I +conclude that Dr. Francis Darwin has descended from his father +with singularly little modification.</p> +<p>Proceeding to the evidence for the transmissions of acquired +habits, I will quote two recently adduced examples from among the +many that have been credibly attested. The first was +contributed to <i>Nature</i> (March 14, 1889) by Professor Marcus +M. Hartog, who wrote:—</p> +<p>“A. B. is moderately myopic and very astigmatic in the +left eye; extremely myopic in the right. As the left eye +gave such bad images for near objects, he was compelled in +childhood to mask it, and acquired the habit of leaning his head +on his left arm for writing, so as to blind that eye, or of +resting the left temple and eye on the hand, with the elbow on +the table. At the age of fifteen the eyes were equalised by +the use of suitable spectacles, and he soon lost the habit +completely and permanently. He is now the father of two +children, a boy and a girl, whose vision (tested repeatedly and +fully) is emmetropic in both eyes, so that they have not +inherited the congenital optical defect of their father. +All the same, they have both of them inherited his early acquired +habit, and need constant watchfulness to prevent their hiding the +left eye when writing, by resting the head on the left forearm or +hand. Imitation is here quite out of the question.</p> +<p>“Considering that every habit involves changes in the +proportional development of the muscular and osseous systems, and +hence probably of the nervous system also, the importance of +inherited habits, natural or acquired, cannot be overlooked in +the general theory of inheritance. I am fully aware that I +shall be accused of flat Lamarckism, but a nickname is not an +argument.”</p> +<p>To this Professor Ray Lankester rejoined (<i>Nature</i>, March +21, 1889):—</p> +<p>“It is not unusual for children to rest the head on the +left forearm or hand when writing, and I doubt whether much value +can be attached to the case described by Professor Hartog. +The kind of observation which his letter suggests is, however, +likely to lead to results either for or against the transmission +of acquired characters. An old friend of mine lost his +right arm when a schoolboy, and has ever since written with his +left. He has a large family and grandchildren, but I have +not heard of any of them showing a disposition to +left-handedness.”</p> +<p>From <i>Nature</i> (March 21, 1889) I take the second instance +communicated by Mr. J. Jenner-Weir, who wrote as +follows:—</p> +<p>“Mr. Marcus M. Hartog’s letter of March 6th, +inserted in last week’s number (p. 462), is a very valuable +contribution to the growing evidence that acquired characters may +be inherited. I have long held the view that such is often +the case, and I have myself observed several instances of the, at +least I may say, apparent fact.</p> +<p>“Many years ago there was a very fine male of the +<i>Capra megaceros</i> in the gardens of the Zoological +Society. To restrain this animal from jumping over the +fence of the enclosure in which he was confined, a long, and +heavy chain was attached to the collar round his neck. He +was constantly in the habit of taking this chain up by his horns +and moving it from one side to another over his back; in doing +this he threw his head very much back, his horns being placed in +a line with the back. The habit had become quite chronic +with him, and was very tiresome to look at. I was very much +astonished to observe that his offspring inherited the habit, and +although it was not necessary to attach a chain to their necks, I +have often seen a young male throwing his horns over his back and +shifting from side to side an imaginary chain. The action +was exactly the same as that of his ancestor. The case of +the kid of this goat appears to me to be parallel to that of +child and parent given by Mr. Hartog. I think at the time I +made this observation I informed Mr. Darwin of the fact by +letter, and he did not accuse me of ‘flat +Lamarckism.’”</p> +<p>To this letter there was no rejoinder. It may be said, +of course, that the action of the offspring in each of these +cases was due to accidental coincidence only. Anything can +be said, but the question turns not on what an advocate can say, +but on what a reasonably intelligent and disinterested jury will +believe; granted they might be mistaken in accepting the +foregoing stories, but the world of science, like that of +commerce, is based on the faith or confidence, which both creates +and sustains them. Indeed the universe itself is but the +creature of faith, for assuredly we know of no other +foundation. There is nothing so generally and reasonably +accepted—not even our own continued identity—but +questions may be raised about it that will shortly prove +unanswerable. We cannot so test every sixpence given us in +change as to be sure that we never take a bad one, and had better +sometimes be cheated than reduce caution to an absurdity. +Moreover, we have seen from the evidence given in my preceding +article that the germ-cells issuing from a parent’s body +can, and do, respond to profound impressions made on the +somatic-cells. This being so, what impressions are more +profound, what needs engage more assiduous attention than those +connected with self-protection, the procuring of food, and the +continuation of the species? If the mere anxiety connected +with an ill-healing wound inflicted on but one generation is +sometimes found to have so impressed the germ-cells that they +hand down its scars to offspring, how much more shall not +anxieties that have directed action of all kinds from birth till +death, not in one generation only but in a longer series of +generations than the mind can realise to itself, modify, and +indeed control, the organisation of every species?</p> +<p>I see Professor S. H. Vines, in the article on +Weismann’s theory referred to in my preceding article, says +Mr. Darwin “held that it was not the sudden variations due +to altered external conditions which become permanent, but those +slowly produced by what he termed ‘the accumulative action +of changed conditions of life.’” Nothing can be +more soundly Lamarckian, and nothing should more conclusively +show that, whatever else Mr. Darwin was, he was not a +Charles-Darwinian; but what evidence other than inferential can +from the nature of the case be adduced in support of this, as I +believe, perfectly correct judgment? None know better than +they who clamour for direct evidence that their master was right +in taking the position assigned to him by Professor Vines, that +they cannot reasonably look for it. With us, as with +themselves, modification proceeds very gradually, and it violates +our principles as much as their own to expect visible permanent +progress, in any single generation, or indeed in any number of +generations of wild species which we have yet had time to +observe. Occasionally we can find such cases, as in that of +<i>Branchipus stagnalis</i>, quoted by Mr. Wallace, or in that of +the New Zealand Kea whose skin, I was assured by the late Sir +Julius von Haast, has already been modified as a consequence of +its change of food. Here we can show that in even a few +generations structure is modified under changed conditions of +existence, but as we believe these cases to occur comparatively +rarely, so it is still more rarely that they occur when and where +we can watch them. Nature is eminently conservative, and +fixity of type, even under considerable change of conditions, is +surely more important for the well-being of any species than an +over-ready power of adaptation to, it may be, passing +changes. There could be no steady progress if each +generation were not mainly bound by the traditions of those that +have gone before it. It is evolution and not incessant +revolution that both parties are upholding; and this being so, +rapid visible modification must be the exception, not the +rule. I have quoted direct evidence adduced by competent +observers, which is, I believe, sufficient to establish the fact +that offspring can be and is sometimes modified by the acquired +habits of a progenitor. I will now proceed to the still +more, as it appears to me, cogent proof afforded by general +considerations.</p> +<p>What, let me ask, are the principal phenomena of +heredity? There must be physical continuity between parent, +or parents, and offspring, so that the offspring is, as Erasmus +Darwin well said, a kind of elongation of the life of the +parent.</p> +<p>Erasmus Darwin put the matter so well that I may as well give +his words in full; he wrote:—</p> +<p>“Owing to the imperfection of language the offspring is +termed a new animal, but is in truth a branch or elongation of +the parent, since a part of the embryon animal is, or was, a part +of the parent, and therefore, in strict language, cannot be said +to be entirely new at the time of its production; and therefore +it may retain some of the habits of the parent system.</p> +<p>“At the earliest period of its existence the embryon +would seem to consist of a living filament with certain +capabilities of irritation, sensation, volition, and association, +and also with some acquired habits or propensities peculiar to +the parent; the former of these are in common with other animals; +the latter seem to distinguish or produce the kind of animal, +whether man or quadruped, with the similarity of feature or form +to the parent.” <a name="citation39"></a><a +href="#footnote39" class="citation">[39]</a></p> +<p>Those who accept evolution insist on unbroken physical +continuity between the earliest known life and ourselves, so that +we both are and are not personally identical with the unicellular +organism from which we have descended in the course of many +millions of years, exactly in the same way as an octogenarian +both is and is not personally identical with the microscopic +impregnate ovum from which he grew up. Everything both is +and is not. There is no such thing as strict identity +between any two things in any two consecutive seconds. In +strictness they are identical and yet not identical, so that in +strictness they violate a fundamental rule of +strictness—namely, that a thing shall never be itself and +not itself at one and the same time; we must choose between logic +and dealing in a practical spirit with time and space; it is not +surprising, therefore, that logic, in spite of the show of +respect outwardly paid to her, is told to stand aside when people +come to practice. In practice identity is generally held to +exist where continuity is only broken slowly and piecemeal, +nevertheless, that occasional periods of even rapid change are +not held to bar identity, appears from the fact that no one +denies this to hold between the microscopically small impregnate +ovum and the born child that springs from it, nor yet, therefore, +between the impregnate ovum and the octogenarian into which the +child grows; for both ovum and octogenarian are held personally +identical with the newborn baby, and things that are identical +with the same are identical with one another.</p> +<p>The first, then, and most important element of heredity is +that there should be unbroken continuity, and hence sameness of +personality, between parents and offspring, in neither more nor +less than the same sense as that in which any other two +personalities are said to be the same. The repetition, +therefore, of its developmental stages by any offspring must be +regarded as something which the embryo repeating them has already +done once, in the person of one or other parent; and if once, +then, as many times as there have been generations between any +given embryo now repeating it, and the point in life from which +we started—say, for example, the amoeba. In the case +of asexually and sexually produced organisms alike, the offspring +must be held to continue the personality of the parent or +parents, and hence on the occasion of every fresh development, to +be repeating something which in the person of its parent or +parents it has done once, and if once, then any number of times, +already.</p> +<p>It is obvious, therefore, that the germ-plasm (or whatever the +fancy word for it may be) of any one generation is as physically +identical with the germ-plasm of its predecessor as any two +things can be. The difference between Professor Weismann +and, we will say, Heringians consists in the fact that the first +maintains the new germ-plasm when on the point of repeating its +developmental processes to take practically no cognisance of +anything that has happened to it since the last occasion on which +it developed itself; while the latter maintain that offspring +takes much the same kind of account of what has happened to it in +the persons of its parents since the last occasion on which it +developed itself, as people in ordinary life take of things that +happen to them. In daily life people let fairly normal +circumstances come and go without much heed as matters of +course. If they have been lucky they make a note of it and +try to repeat their success. If they have been unfortunate +but have recovered rapidly they soon forget it; if they have +suffered long and deeply they grizzle over it and are scared and +scarred by it for a long time. The question is one of +cognisance or non-cognisance on the part of the new germs, of the +more profound impressions made on them while they were one with +their parents, between the occasion of their last preceding +development, and the new course on which they are about to +enter. Those who accept the theory put forward +independently by Professor Hering of Prague (whose work on this +subject is translated in my book, “Unconscious +Memory”) <a name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40" +class="citation">[40]</a> and by myself in “Life and +Habit,” <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a> believe in cognizance, as do +Lamarckians generally. Weismannites, and with them the +orthodoxy of English science, find non-cognisance more +acceptable.</p> +<p>If the Heringian view is accepted, that heredity is only a +mode of memory, and an extension of memory from one generation to +another, then the repetition of its development by any embryo +thus becomes only the repetition of a lesson learned by rote; +and, as I have elsewhere said, our view of life is simplified by +finding that it is no longer an equation of, say, a hundred +unknown quantities, but of ninety-nine only, inasmuch as two of +the unknown quantities prove to be substantially identical. +In this case the inheritance of acquired characteristics cannot +be disputed, for it is postulated in the theory that each embryo +takes note of, remembers and is guided by the profounder +impressions made upon it while in the persons of its parents, +between its present and last preceding development. To +maintain this is to maintain use and disuse to be the main +factors throughout organic development; to deny it is to deny +that use and disuse can have any conceivable effect. For +the detailed reasons which led me to my own conclusions I must +refer the reader to my books, “Life and Habit” <a +name="citation42"></a><a href="#footnote42" +class="citation">[42]</a> and “Unconscious Memory,” +the conclusions of which have been +often adopted, but never, that I have seen, disputed. A +brief <i>résumé</i> of the leading points in the +argument is all that space will here allow me to give.</p> +<p>We have seen that it is a first requirement of heredity that +there shall be physical continuity between parents and +offspring. This holds good with memory. There must be +continued identity between the person remembering and the person +to whom the thing that is remembered happened. We cannot +remember things that happened to some one else, and in our +absence. We can only remember having heard of them. +We have seen, however, that there is as much +<i>bonâ-fide</i> sameness of personality between parents +and offspring up to the time at which the offspring quits the +parent’s body, as there is between the different states of +the parent himself at any two consecutive moments; the offspring +therefore, being one and the same person with its progenitors +until it quits them, can be held to remember what happened to +them within, of course, the limitations to which all memory is +subject, as much as the progenitors can remember what happened +earlier to themselves. Whether it does so remember can only +be settled by observing whether it acts as living beings commonly +do when they are acting under guidance of memory. I will +endeavour to show that, though heredity and habit based on memory +go about in different dresses, yet if we catch them +separately—for they are never seen together—and strip +them there is not a mole nor strawberry-mark, nor trick nor leer +of the one, but we find it in the other also.</p> +<p>What are the moles and strawberry-marks of habitual action, or +actions remembered and thus repeated? First, the more often +we repeat them the more easily and unconsciously we do +them. Look at reading, writing, walking, talking, playing +the piano, &c.; the longer we have practised any one of these +acquired habits, the more easily, automatically and +unconsciously, we perform it. Look, on the other hand, +broadly, at the three points to which I called attention in +“Life and Habit”:—</p> +<p>I. That we are most conscious of and have most control +over such habits as speech, the upright position, the arts and +sciences—which are acquisitions peculiar to the human race, +always acquired after birth, and not common to ourselves and any +ancestor who had not become entirely human.</p> +<p>II. That we are less conscious of and have less control +over eating and drinking [provided the food be normal], +swallowing, breathing, seeing, and hearing—which were +acquisitions of our prehuman ancestry, and for which we had +provided ourselves with all the necessary apparatus before we saw +light, but which are still, geologically speaking, recent.</p> +<p>III. That we are most unconscious of and have least +control over our digestion and circulation—powers possessed +even by our invertebrate ancestry, and, geologically speaking, of +extreme antiquity.</p> +<p>I have put the foregoing very broadly, but enough is given to +show the reader the gist of the argument. Let it be noted +that disturbance and departure, to any serious extent, from +normal practice tends to induce resumption of consciousness even +in the case of such old habits as breathing, seeing, and hearing, +digestion and the circulation of the blood. So it is with +habitual actions in general. Let a player be never so +proficient on any instrument, he will be put out if the normal +conditions under which he plays are too widely departed from, and +will then do consciously, if indeed he can do it at all, what he +had hitherto been doing unconsciously. It is an axiom as +regards actions acquired after birth, that we never do them +automatically save as the result of long practice; the stages in +the case of any acquired facility, the inception of which we have +been able to watch, have invariably been from a nothingness of +ignorant impotence to a little somethingness of highly +self-conscious, arduous performance, and thence to the +unselfconsciousness of easy mastery. I saw one year a poor +blind lad of about eighteen sitting on a wall by the wayside at +Varese, playing the concertina with his whole body, and snorting +like a child. The next year the boy no longer snorted, and +he played with his fingers only; the year after that he seemed +hardly to know whether he was playing or not, it came so easily +to him. I know no exception to this rule. Where is +the intricate and at one time difficult art in which perfect +automatic ease has been reached except as the result of long +practice? If, then, wherever we can trace the development +of automatism we find it to have taken this course, is it not +most reasonable to infer that it has taken the same even when it +has risen in regions that are beyond our ken? Ought we not, +whenever we see a difficult action performed, automatically to +suspect antecedent practice? Granted that without the +considerations in regard to identity presented above it would not +have been easy to see where a baby of a day old could have had +the practice which enables it to do as much as it does +unconsciously, but even without these considerations it would +have been more easy to suppose that the necessary opportunities +had not been wanting, than that the easy performance could have +been gained without practice and memory.</p> +<p>When I wrote “Life and Habit” (originally +published in 1877) I said in slightly different words:—</p> +<p>“Shall we say that a baby of a day old sucks (which +involves the whole principle of the pump and hence a profound +practical knowledge of the laws of pneumatics and hydrostatics), +digests, oxygenises its blood—millions of years before any +one had discovered oxygen—sees and hears, operations that +involve an unconscious knowledge of the facts concerning optics +and acoustics compared with which the conscious discoveries of +Newton are insignificant—shall we say that a baby can do +all these things at once, doing them so well and so regularly +without being even able to give them attention, and yet without +mistake, and shall we also say at the same time that it has not +learnt to do them, and never did them before?</p> +<p>“Such an assertion would contradict the whole experience +of mankind.”</p> +<p>I have met with nothing during the thirteen years since the +foregoing was published that has given me any qualms about its +soundness. From the point of view of the law courts and +everyday life it is, of course, nonsense; but in the kingdom of +thought, as in that of heaven, there are many mansions, and what +would be extravagance in the cottage or farmhouse, as it were, of +daily practice, is but common decency in the palace of high +philosophy, wherein dwells evolution. If we leave evolution +alone, we may stick to common practice and the law courts; touch +evolution and we are in another world; not higher, not lower, but +different as harmony from counterpoint. As, however, in the +most absolute counterpoint there is still harmony, and in the +most absolute harmony still counterpoint, so high philosophy +should be still in touch with common sense, and common sense with +high philosophy.</p> +<p>The common-sense view of the matter to people who are not +over-curious and to whom time is money, will be that a baby is +not a baby until it is born, and that when born it should be born +in wedlock. Nevertheless, as a sop to high philosophy, +every baby is allowed to be the offspring of its father and +mother.</p> +<p>The high-philosophy view of the matter is that every human +being is still but a fresh edition of the primordial cell with +the latest additions and corrections; there has been no leap nor +break in continuity anywhere; the man of to-day is the primordial +cell of millions of years ago as truly as he is the himself of +yesterday; he can only be denied to be the one on grounds that +will prove him not to be the other. Every one is both +himself and all his direct ancestors and descendants as well; +therefore, if we would be logical, he is one also with all his +cousins, no matter how distant, for he and they are alike +identical with the primordial cell, and we have already noted it +as an axiom that things which are identical with the same are +identical with one another. This is practically making him +one with all living things, whether animal or vegetable, that +ever have existed or ever will—something of all which may +have been in the mind of Sophocles when he wrote:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Nor seest thou yet the gathering hosts of +ill<br /> +That shall en-one thee both with thine own self<br /> +And with thine offspring.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>And all this has come of admitting that a man may be the same +person for two days running! As for sopping common sense it +will be enough to say that these remarks are to be taken in a +strictly scientific sense, and have no appreciable importance as +regards life and conduct. True they deal with the +foundations on which all life and conduct are based, but like +other foundations they are hidden out of sight, and the sounder +they are, the less we trouble ourselves about them.</p> +<p>What other main common features between heredity and memory +may we note besides the fact that neither can exist without that +kind of physical continuity which we call personal +identity? First, the development of the embryo proceeds in +an established order; so must all habitual actions based on +memory. Disturb the normal order and the performance is +arrested. The better we know “God save the +Queen,” the less easily can we play or sing it +backwards. The return of memory again depends on the return +of ideas associated with the particular thing that is +remembered—we remember nothing but for the presence of +these, and when enough of these are presented to us we remember +everything. So, if the development of an embryo is due to +memory, we should suppose the memory of the impregnate ovum to +revert not to yesterday, when it was in the persons of its +parents, but to the last occasion on which it was an impregnate +ovum. The return of the old environment and the presence of +old associations would at once involve recollection of the course +that should be next taken, and the same should happen throughout +the whole course of development. The actual course of +development presents precisely the phenomena agreeable with +this. For fuller treatment of this point I must refer the +reader to the chapter on the abeyance of memory in my book +“Life and Habit,” already referred to.</p> +<p>Secondly, we remember best our last few performances of any +given kind, so our present performance will probably resemble +some one or other of these; we remember our earlier performances +by way of residuum only, but every now and then we revert to an +earlier habit. This feature of memory is manifested in +heredity by the way in which offspring commonly resembles most +its nearer ancestors, but sometimes reverts to earlier +ones. Brothers and sisters, each as it were giving their +own version of the same story, but in different words, should +generally resemble each other more closely than more distant +relations. And this is what actually we find.</p> +<p>Thirdly, the introduction of slightly new elements into a +method already established varies it beneficially; the new is +soon fused with the old, and the monotony ceases to be +oppressive. But if the new be too foreign, we cannot fuse +the old and the new—nature seeming to hate equally too wide +a deviation from ordinary practice and none at all. This +fact reappears in heredity as the beneficial effects of +occasional crossing on the one hand, and on the other, in the +generally observed sterility of hybrids. If heredity be an +affair of memory, how can an embryo, say of a mule, be expected +to build up a mule on the strength of but two +mule-memories? Hybridism causes a fault in the chain of +memory, and it is to this cause that the usual sterility of +hybrids must be referred.</p> +<p>Fourthly, it requires many repeated impressions to fix a +method firmly, but when it has been engrained into us we cease to +have much recollection of the manner in which it came to be so, +or indeed of any individual repetition, but sometimes a single +impression, if prolonged as well as profound, produces a lasting +impression and is liable to return with sudden force, and then to +go on returning to us at intervals. As a general rule, +however, abnormal impressions cannot long hold their own against +the overwhelming preponderance of normal authority. This +appears in heredity as the normal non-inheritance of mutilations +on the one hand, and on the other as their occasional inheritance +in the case of injuries followed by disease.</p> +<p>Fifthly, if heredity and memory are essentially the same, we +should expect that no animal would develop new structures of +importance after the age at which its species begins ordinarily +to continue its race; for we cannot suppose offspring to remember +anything that happens to the parent subsequently to the +parent’s ceasing to contain the offspring within +itself. From the average age, therefore, of reproduction, +offspring should cease to have any farther steady, continuous +memory to fall back upon; what memory there is should be full of +faults, and as such unreliable. An organism ought to +develop as long as it is backed by memory—that is to say, +until the average age at which reproduction begins; it should +then continue to go for a time on the impetus already received, +and should eventually decay through failure of any memory to +support it, and tell it what to do. This corresponds +absolutely with what we observe in organisms generally, and +explains, on the one hand, why the age of puberty marks the +beginning of completed development—a riddle hitherto not +only unexplained but, so far as I have seen, unasked; it +explains, on the other hand, the phenomena of old +age—hitherto without even attempt at explanation.</p> +<p>Sixthly, those organisms that are the longest in reaching +maturity should on the average be the longest-lived, for they +will have received the most momentous impulse from the weight of +memory behind them. This harmonises with the latest opinion +as to the facts. In his article on Weismann in the +<i>Contemporary Review</i> for May 1890, Mr. Romanes writes: +“Professor Weismann has shown that there is throughout the +metazoa a general correlation between the natural lifetime of +individuals composing any given species, and the age at which +they reach maturity or first become capable of +procreation.” This, I believe, has been the +conclusion generally arrived at by biologists for some years +past.</p> +<p>Lateness, then, in the average age of reproduction appears to +be the principle underlying longevity. There does not +appear at first sight to be much connection between such distinct +and apparently disconnected phenomena as 1, the orderly normal +progress of development; 2, atavism and the resumption of feral +characteristics; 3, the more ordinary resemblance <i>inter se</i> +of nearer relatives; 4, the benefit of an occasional cross, and +the usual sterility of hybrids; 5, the unconsciousness with which +alike bodily development and ordinary physiological functions +proceed, so long as they are normal; 6, the ordinary +non-inheritance, but occasional inheritance of mutilations; 7, +the fact that puberty indicates the approach of maturity; 8, the +phenomena of middle life and old age; 9, the principle underlying +longevity. These phenomena have no conceivable bearing on +one another until heredity and memory are regarded as part of the +same story. Identify these two things, and I know no +phenomenon of heredity that does not immediately become +infinitely more intelligible. Is it conceivable that a +theory which harmonises so many facts hitherto regarded as +without either connection or explanation should not deserve at +any rate consideration from those who profess to take an interest +in biology?</p> +<p>It is not as though the theory were unknown, or had been +condemned by our leading men of science. Professor Ray +Lankester introduced it to English readers in an appreciative +notice of Professor Hering’s address, which appeared in +<i>Nature</i>, July 18, 1876. He wrote to the +<i>Athenæum</i>, March 24, 1884, and claimed credit for +having done so, but I do not believe he has ever said more in +public about it than what I have here referred to. Mr. +Romanes did indeed try to crush it in <i>Nature</i>, January 27, +1881, but in 1883, in his “Mental Evolution in +Animals,” he adopted its main conclusion without +acknowledgment. The <i>Athenæum</i>, to my unbounded +surprise, called him to task for this (March 1, 1884), and since +that time he has given the Heringian theory a sufficiently wide +berth. Mr. Wallace showed himself favourably enough +disposed towards the view that heredity and memory are part of +the same story when he reviewed my book “Life and +Habit” in <i>Nature</i>, March 27, 1879, but he has never +since betrayed any sign of being aware that such a theory +existed. Mr. Herbert Spencer wrote to the +<i>Athenæum</i> (April 5, 1884), and claimed the theory for +himself, but, in spite of his doing this, he has never, that I +have seen, referred to the matter again. I have dealt +sufficiently with his claim in my book, “Luck or +Cunning.” <a name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43" +class="citation">[43]</a> Lastly, Professor Hering himself +has never that I know of touched his own theory since the single +short address read in 1870, and translated by me in 1881. +Every one, even its originator, except myself, seems afraid to +open his mouth about it. Of course the inference suggests +itself that other people have more sense than I have. I +readily admit it; but why have so many of our leaders shown such +a strong hankering after the theory, if there is nothing in +it?</p> +<p>The deadlock that I have pointed out as existing in Darwinism +will, I doubt not, lead ere long to a consideration of Professor +Hering’s theory. English biologists are little likely +to find Weismann satisfactory for long, and if he breaks down +there is nothing left for them but Lamarck, supplemented by the +important and elucidatory corollary on his theory proposed by +Professor Hering. When the time arrives for this to obtain +a hearing it will be confirmed, doubtless, by arguments clearer +and more forcible than any I have been able to adduce; I shall +then be delighted to resign the championship which till then I +shall continue, as for some years past, to have much pleasure in +sustaining. Heretofore my satisfaction has mainly lain in +the fact that more of our prominent men of science have seemed +anxious to claim the theory than to refute it; in the confidence +thus engendered I leave it to any fuller consideration which the +outline I have above given may incline the reader to bestow upon +it.</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1" +class="footnote">[1]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, July 1888.</p> +<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2" +class="footnote">[2]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, December 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3" +class="footnote">[3]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, May 1889. As I have several times been asked if +the letters here reprinted were not fabricated by Butler himself, +I take this opportunity of stating that they are authentic in +every particular, and that the originals are now in my +possession.—R. A. S.</p> +<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4" +class="footnote">[4]</a> An address delivered at the +Somerville Club, February 27, 1895.</p> +<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5" +class="footnote">[5]</a> “The Foundations of +Belief,” by the Right Hon. A. J. Balfour. Longmans, +1895, p. 48.</p> +<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6" +class="footnote">[6]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, November 1888.</p> +<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7" +class="footnote">[7]</a> Since this essay was written it +has been ascertained by Cavaliere Francesco Negri, of Casale +Monferrato, that Tabachetti died in 1615. If, therefore, +the Sanctuary of Montrigone was not founded until 1631, it is +plain that Tabachetti cannot have worked there. All the +latest discoveries about Tabachetti’s career will be found +in Cavaliere Negri’s pamphlet “Il Santuario di +Crea” (Alessandria, 1902). See also note on p. +154.—R. A. S.</p> +<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8" +class="footnote">[8]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, December 1889.</p> +<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9" +class="footnote">[9]</a> Longmans & Co., 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10" +class="footnote">[10]</a> Longmans & Co., 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, November 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> Longmans & Co., 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13" +class="footnote">[13]</a> M. Ruppen’s words run: +“1687 wurde die Kapelle zur hohen Stiege gebaut, 1747 durch +Zusatz vergrössert und 1755 mit Orgeln ausgestattet. +Anton Ruppen, ein geschickter Steinhauer mid Maurermeister +leitete den Kapellebau, und machte darin das kleinere +Altärlein. Bei der hohen Stiege war früher kein +Gebetshäuslein; nur ein wunderthätiges Bildlein der +Mutter Gottes stand da in einer Mauer vor dem fromme Hirten und +viel andächtiges Volk unter freiem Himmel beteten.</p> +<p>“1709 wurden die kleinen Kapellelein die 15 Geheimnisse +des Psalters vorstelland auf dem Wege zur hohen Stiege +gebaut. Jeder Haushalter des Viertels Fée +übernahm den Bau eines dieser Geheimnisskapellen, und ein +besonderer Gutthäter dieser frommen Unternehmung war +Heinrich Andenmatten, nachher Bruder der Geselischaft +Jesu.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> The story of Tabachetti’s +incarceration is very doubtful. Cavaliere F. Negri, to +whose book on Tabachetti and his work at Crea I have already +referred the reader, does not mention it. Tabachetti left +his native Dinant in 1585, and from that date until his death in +1615 he appears to have worked chiefly at Varallo and Crea. +There is a document in existence stating that in 1588 he executed +a statue for the hermitage of S. Rocco, at Crea, which, if it is +to be relied on, disposes both of the incarceration and of the +visit to Saas. It is possible, however, that the date is +1598, in which case Butler’s theory of the visit to Saas +may hold good. In 1590 Tabachetti was certainly at Varallo, +and again in 1594, 1599, and 1602. He died in 1615, +possibly during a visit to Varallo, though his home at that time +was Costigliole, near Asti.—R. A. S.</p> +<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15" +class="footnote">[15]</a> This is thus chronicled by M. +Ruppen: “1589 den 9 September war eine Wassergrösse, +die viel Schaden verursachte. Die Thalstrasse, die von den +Steinmatten an bis zur Kirche am Ufer der Visp lag, wurde ganz +zerstört. Man ward gezwungen eine neue Strasse in +einiger Entfernung vom Wasser durch einen alten Fussweg +auszuhauen welche vier und einerhalben Viertel der Klafter, oder +6 Schuh und 9 Zoll breit soilte.” (p. 43).</p> +<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16" +class="footnote">[16]</a> A lecture delivered at the +Working Men’s College in Great Ormond Street, March 15, +1890; rewritten and delivered again at the Somerville Club, +February 13, 1894.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17" +class="footnote">[17]</a> “Correlation of +Forces”: Longmans, 1874, p. 15.</p> +<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18" +class="footnote">[18]</a> “Three Lectures on the +Science of Language,” Longmans, 1889, p. 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19" +class="footnote">[19]</a> “Science of Thought,” +Longmans, 1887, p. 9.</p> +<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20" +class="footnote">[20]</a> Published in the <i>Universal +Review</i>, April, May, and June 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21" +class="footnote">[21]</a> “Voyages of the +<i>Adventure</i> and <i>Beagle</i>,” iii. p. 237.</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> “Luck, or Cunning, as the +main means of Organic Modification?” (Longmans), pp. +179, 180.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> <i>Journals of the Proceedings of +the Linnean Society</i> (Zoology, vol. iii.), 1859, p. 61.</p> +<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24" +class="footnote">[24]</a> “Darwinism” +(Macmillan, 1889), p. 129.</p> +<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25" +class="footnote">[25]</a> Longmans, 1890, p. 376.</p> +<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26" +class="footnote">[26]</a> See <i>Nature</i>, March 6, +1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27" +class="footnote">[27]</a> “Origin of Species,” +sixth edition, 1888, vol. i. p. 168.</p> +<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28" +class="footnote">[28]</a> “Origin of Species,” +sixth edition, 1888, vol. ii. p. 261.</p> +<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29" +class="footnote">[29]</a> Mr. J. T. Cunningham, of the +Marine Biological Laboratory, Plymouth, has called my attention +to the fact that I have ascribed to Professor Ray Lankester a +criticism on Mr. Wallace’s remarks upon the eyes of certain +fiat-fish, which Professor Ray Lankester was, in reality, only +adopting—with full acknowledgment—from Mr. +Cunningham. Mr. Cunningham has left it to me whether to +correct my omission publicly or not, but he would so plainly +prefer my doing so that I consider myself bound to insert this +note. Curiously enough I find that in my book +“Evolution Old and New,” I gave what Lamarck actually +said upon the eyes of flat-fish, and having been led to return to +the subject, I may as well quote his words. He +wrote:—</p> +<p>“Need—always occasioned by the circumstances in +which an animal is placed, and followed by sustained efforts at +gratification—can not only modify an organ—that is to +say, augment or reduce it—but can change its position when +the case requires its removal.</p> +<p>“Ocean fishes have occasion to see what is on either +side of them, and have their eyes accordingly placed on either +side of their head. Some fishes, however, have their abode +near coasts on submarine banks and inclinations, and are thus +forced to flatten themselves as much as possible in order to get +as near as they can to the shore. In this situation they +receive more light from above than from below, and find it +necessary to pay attention to whatever happens to be above them; +this need has involved the displacement of their eyes, which now +take the remarkable position which we observe in the case of +soles, turbots, plaice, &c. The transfer of position is +not even yet complete in the case of these fishes, and the eyes +are not, therefore, symmetrically placed; but they are so with +the skate, whose head and whole body are equally disposed on +either side a longitudinal section. Hence the eyes of this +fish are placed symmetrically upon the uppermost +<i>side</i>.”—<i>Philosophie Zoologique</i>, tom. i., +pp. 250, 251. Edition C. Martins. Paris, 1873.</p> +<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30" +class="footnote">[30]</a> “Essays on Heredity,” +&c., Oxford, 1889, p. 171.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31" +class="footnote">[31]</a> “Essays on Heredity,” +&c., Oxford, 1889, p. 266.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32" +class="footnote">[32]</a> “Darwinism,” 1889, p. +440.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33" +class="footnote">[33]</a> Page 83.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34" +class="footnote">[34]</a> Vol. i. p. 466, &c. Ed. +1885.</p> +<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35" +class="footnote">[35]</a> “Darwinism,” p. +440.</p> +<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36" +class="footnote">[36]</a> Longmans, 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37" +class="footnote">[37]</a> Tom. iv. p. 383. Ed. +1753.</p> +<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38" +class="footnote">[38]</a> Essays, &c., p. 447.</p> +<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39" +class="footnote">[39]</a> “Zoonomia,” 1794, +vol. i. p. 480.</p> +<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40" +class="footnote">[40]</a> Longmans, 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> Longmans, 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42" +class="footnote">[42]</a> Longmans, 1890.</p> +<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43" +class="footnote">[43]</a> Longmans, 1890.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ESSAYS ON LIFE, ART AND SCIENCE***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 3461-h.htm or 3461-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/6/3461 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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