Public and Private Life of Animals

Text-Book for the Guidance of Animals Studying for Honours

MR. EDITOR,—DONKEYS have long felt the need of as­sert­ing their rights be­fore the tri­bun­al of an­i­mals, and put­ting down the in­just­ice which has made them the liv­ing types of stu­pid­ity.

If skill is wanting in the writer of this man­u­script, courage is not. More­over, let me con­jure the si­lent sage to examine him­self in order to find out the se­cret of his suc­cess in so­ciety, and ten chances to one he will ad­mit that it all comes of his being an ass. With­out don­keys in po­lit­i­cal cir­cles, major­i­ties would never be ob­tained, so that an ass may pass as a type of those governed.

But my intention is not to talk politics. I only wish to prove that we have many more opportunities, were they rightly used, of securing honours than fall to the lot of highly gifted and cultured creatures.

My master was a simple schoolmaster in the environs of Paris. He was a good teacher, and a thoroughly miserable character. We had this peculiarity in common, if we had our choice, we would have decided to live well and do nothing. This characteristic, common both to asses and men, is vulgarly called ambition, at the same time I think it is only the spontaneous growth of modern society. I myself had opened a class, and taught in a manner which excited my master’s jealousy, although he acknowledged himself struck by the results of my method.

“Why is it,” he one day said to me, “that the children of men take so much longer to learn to read, write, and become useful members of society, than young donkeys do to learn how to earn a living? How is it that asses have so profited by all that their fathers knew before them, that their education is, so to speak, born in them? So it is, indeed, with every species of animal excepting the human. Why is man not born with his mind and faculties fully developed?”

Although my master was quite ignorant of natural history, he imagined that these questions in themselves were so thoroughly scientific and posing as to entitle him to a place under the Minister of Public Instruction, where he might extend his valuable reflections at the expense of the State.

We entered Paris by the Fabourg St. Mareian. When we reached the elevated ground near the Barrier d’Italie, in full view of the metropolis, we each delivered an oration in our own way.

“Tell me, O Sacred Shrine wherein the budget is cooked, when will the signature of some parvenu professor obtain for me food, raiment, and shelter, the cross of the Legion of Honour, and a chair of no matter what, no matter where, &c.?

“Believe me, I should say so much good of every one that no harm could be breathed against me.

“Tell me how shall I reach the Minister and convince him of my fitness to wear my country’s honours.”

I followed my master’s eloquent appeal.

“O charming Jardin des Plantes, where animals are so well fed, will you never open to me your stables of twenty feet square? your Swiss valleys thirty yards wide? Shall I ever be one of those happy animals who roll on the clover of the budget, or stalled beneath graceful trellis-work bearing the superscription, ‘An African donkey, presented by So-and-so, captain of a ship, &c.?’”

After saluting the city of acrobats and fortune-tellers, we entered the noxious defiles of a celebrated fabourg famed for leather and science. At last we found shelter in a wretched inn crowded with Savoyards with their marmots, Italians with their monkeys, Avergnats with their dogs, Parisians with their white mice, harpers with their stringless harps, and husky-voiced songsters. My master had with him six francs, the only barrier between us and suicide. The inn called The Mercy is one of these philanthropic establishments where one may sleep for a penny a night, and enjoy a meal for fourpence halfpenny. It also boasts a stable, where all sorts of animals may be lodged promiscuously. My master naturally placed me there.

Marmus, such was my master’s name, could not avoid contemplating the throng of depraved beasts to which I was added. A monkey in marquis furbelows, plumed head-dress, and gold waistband; quick as gunpowder, was flirting with a military hero of popular burlesque; an old rabbit, well up in his exercises; an intelligent poodle of modern dramatic fame spoke of the capriciousness of the public to an old ape seated on his troubadour’s hat; a group of grey mice were admiring a cat taught to respect canaries, and engaged in conversation with a marmot.

“Confound these creatures!” exclaimed my master; “I thought I had discovered a new science, that of comparing instincts, now I am cruelly undeceived by this stableful of beasts, who are all of them the same as men!”

“Ah, sir,” said a shaggy-looking young man, “you desire to gain a reputation for learning, and yet you pause at trifles. Know, ambitious one, that in order to succeed you must allow your external appearance to indicate the height of your aspirations. The traveller who seeks to make his way into a terra incognita must not encumber himself with baggage. Our great explorers were men who wore an expression of resolute earnestness, and carried an umbrella and a tooth-pick. They penetrated to the heart of savagedom, and brought back to civilisation a wayworn exterior and the power of discoursing on the perils of their journeys.”

“To what great genius have I the honour of speaking?”

“A poor fellow who has tried everything, and lost everything except his enormous appetite, and who, while waiting for something to turn up, lives by selling newspapers, and lodges here. Who are you, pray?”

“A resigned elementary teacher, who naturally does not know much, but who has asked himself this question, ‘Why is it that animals possess à priori the special science of their lives called instinct, while man learns nothing without extraordinary toil?’”

“Because science is in its infancy!” exclaimed the adventurer. “Have you ever studied ‘Puss in Boots’?”

“I used to tell it to my pupils when they had been good.”

“Well, my dear sir, it points the line of conduct for all to follow who wish to succeed. What did the cat do? He told every one that his master possessed lands; he was believed. Do you understand that it is enough to make known that one is, one has, one intends to have? What does it matter, if you have nothing, if others believe that you have all?”

“But ‘væ soli!’ says the Scripture. In fact, in politics, as in love, two are better than one. You have invented Instinctology, and you shall have a chair of Comparative Instinct; you shall be the great modern sage, and I shall announce it to the whole world—to Europe, to Paris, to the Minister, to his secretary, his clerks and supernumeraries. Mahomet became a prophet, not because he was gifted with prophetic inspiration, but because his followers proclaimed him prophet.”

“I am quite willing to become a great savant,” said my master resignedly, “but I shall be asked to explain my theories.”

“What! would it be a science if you could explain it?”

“Yet a point to start from will be necessary.”

“Yes,” replied the young journalist, “we ought to have some animal that would upset all the theories of our learned men. Baron Cerceau, for example, has devoted his life to placing animals in absolute divisions. That is his plan, but now other great naturalists are knocking down all the strongholds of the Baron. Let us take part in the war of words and hypothetical ideas. According to us, instinct will be the leading feature in animals, by which alone, according to the degree of instinct, they must be classified. Now, although instinct will submit to infinite modifications, it is nevertheless still one in its essence, and nothing can prove the unity of all things better than this. We shall thus say there is only one animal, as there is only one instinct, the instinct which characterises all animal organisations. The, so to speak, appropriation of the element of life which circumstances change without affecting the principle. We come in with a new science opposed to the Baron, and in favour of the new school of philosophy which advocates zoological unity. We shall no doubt sell our discoveries in a good market; our opponents must buy us up.”

“Well,” said Marmus, “science has no conscience. But shall I have no need of my donkey?”

“What! have you a donkey?” exclaimed the adventurer; “we are saved!! We shall turn him into an extraordinary zebra, and puzzle the whole learned world by some singularity which shall derange their most cherished conclusions. Savants live by nomenclature, let us reverse it; they will be alarmed, they will capitulate, they will try to gain us over, and, like so many who have gone before, we may be gained over at our own price. There are in this house mountebanks who hold wonderful secrets, men having dwarfs, bearded women, and a host of monstrosities. A few politenesses will win us the means of concocting revolutionary matter such as shall astonish the world of science.”

To what science was I to become a prey? During the night several transversal incisions were made in my skin, after my coat had been clipped. To these a gipsy vagrant applied some strong liquor, and a few days afterwards I became celebrated. In the papers Parisians read as follows:—

“One of our most courageous travellers, Adam Marmus, after passing through the central wilds of Africa, has at last returned, bringing with him from the Mountains of the Moon a Zebra so peculiar as to derange the fundamental principles of naturalists who advocate a system of merciless division, not even admitting that the horse, in its wild state, was ever found with a black coat. The singular yellow bands of the new Zebra are most puzzling, and can only be explained by the learned Marmus in the work he is about to give to the world. This work, the result of many years’ toil and observation, will be devoted to an elucidation of Comparative Instinct, a science discovered by the illustrious author and traveller. The Zebra, the only trophy of a journey unparalleled in the annals of discovery, walks like a giraffe. Thus it is proved beyond doubt that instinct modifies the forms and the attributes of animals, which are also greatly affected by geographical position. From these hitherto unknown facts the zoologists will be enabled to lay a new foundation of truth upon which to raise the fabric of natural history. Adam Marmus has consented to make known his discoveries in a course of public lectures.”

All the papers repeated this audacious fable. While all Paris was occupied with the new science, Marmus and his friend took up their quarters in a respectable hotel in the Rue de Tournon, where I was carefully kept in a stable under lock and key. All the learned societies sent delegates, who could not disguise the anxiety caused by this blow to the doctrine of the great Baron. If the forms and attributes of animals changed with their abodes, science was upset! The genius who dared to maintain that life accommodated itself to all should certainly be upheld. The only distinctions now existing between animals could be understood by all.

Natural science was worse than use­less; the Oyster, the Lion, the Zoo­phyte, and man all be­longed to the same stock, and were only modified by the simp­lic­i­ty or com­plic­ity of their organs. Salt­en­beck the Belg­ian, Vos-man-Bet­ten, Sir Fair­night, Gob­ton­swell, the learned Sot­ten­bach, Crane­berg, the be­loved disciples of the French pro­fessor, were ranged against the Baron and his nomen­cla­ture. Never had a more irri­ta­ting fact been thrown be­tween two bel­lig­erent parties. Behind the Baron were the aca­dem­i­cians, the un­i­ver­sity men, legions of pro­fes­sors, and the govern­ment, lending their sup­port to a theory, the only one in harmony with Scrip­ture.

Marmus and his friend remained firm. To the questions of academicians they replied by bare facts, avoiding the exposition of their doctrine. One professor, when leaving, said to them—

“Gentlemen, the opinion which you hold is without doubt directed against the convictions of our most reliable men of science, and in favour of the new schism of zoological unity. The system, in the interest of science, ought not to be brought to light.”

“Say, rather, in the interest of scientific men,” said Marmus.

“Be it so,” replied the professor; “it must be nipped in the bud, for after all, gentlemen, it is Pantheism.”

“You think so?” said the journalist. “How can one admit the existence of material molecular force which renders matter independent of the Creator.”

“Why should not the Creator have ordered that everything should be subject to, and dependent upon, one universal law?” said Marmus.

“You see,” said his friend in a whisper to the professor, “he is as profound as Newton. Why do you not present him to the Minister of Public Instruction?”

“I shall do so at once,” rejoined the professor, happy to make himself master of the owner of the Zebra. “Perhaps the minister would be pleased to see our curious animal before any one else, and you will of course accompany him.”

“I thank you.”

“He would then be able to appreciate the service which such a journey has rendered to science,” continued our friend. “Mr. Marmus has not visited the Mountains of the Moon for nothing. You shall see this for yourself; the animal walks like a giraffe. As to the yellow bands, they are caused by the temperature, which was found to be several degrees Fahrenheit, and many degrees Reaumur.”

“Perhaps it is your intention to engage in public instruction?”

“Splendid career!” cried the journalist starting.

“I do not allude to the profession of noodles, which consists in taking the students out for an airing, and neglecting them at home; but to teaching at the Athenæum, which leads to nothing, save to securing a professorship and pupils, which pave the way to all sorts of good things. We will talk of that again. All this took place early in the nineteenth century, when ministers felt the need of making themselves popular.”

The partizans of zoological unity learned that a minister was about to inspect the precious Zebra, and fearing intrigue, the worthy disciples of our great opponent flocked to see the illustrious Marmus. My masters obstinately refused to exhibit me, as I had not acquired my giraffe step, and the chemical application to my Zebra bands had not yet completed the illusion. A young disciple discoursed on the new discovery with eloquence and force, and my cunning masters profited by his learning.”

“Our Zebra,” said the journalist, “carries conviction to the most incredulous.”

“Zebra,” said Marmus. “It is no longer a Zebra, but a fact which engenders a new science.”

“Your science,” responded the unitariste, “strengthens the ground taken up by Sir J. Fairnight on the subject of Spanish, Scotch, and Swiss sheep, who eat more or less, according to the sort of herbage in pasture lands.”

“But,” exclaimed our friend, “the products, are they not also different in different latitudes and under different atmospheric conditions. Our Zebra explains why butter is white in the Brie in Normandy, and the butter and cheese yellow in Neufchâtel and Meaux.”

“You have placed your finger on the point of greatest vitality,” cried the enthusiastic disciple; “little facts solve great problems. The question of cheese bears a subtle affinity to the greater questions of zoological form and comparative instinct. Instinct is the entire animal, just as thought is man concentrated. If instinct is modified and changed according to the latitude in which it is developed, it is clear that it must be the same with the Zoon, with the exterior living form. There is but one principle of instinct.”

“One for all beings,” said Marmus.

“Then,” continued the disciple, “nomenclatures are all very well for us to indicate the different degrees of instinct, but they no longer constitute a science.”

“This, sir,” said the journalist, “is death to the Mollusks, the Articulata, the Radiata, Mammifera, Cirropedia, Acephala, and Crustacea. In fact, it breaks down all the strongholds of natural history, and simplifies everything so thoroughly as to destroy accepted science.

“Believe me,” said the disciple, “men of science will defend their position. There will be much ink spilt and pens spoiled in the contest, to say nothing of the reams of paper that will be destroyed in keeping the wounds open. Poor naturalists! No, they will hardly allow a single genius to wrest from their hands the labours of so many lives.”

“We shall be as much calumniated as your great philosopher himself. Ah! Fontenelle was right. When we have secured truth, let us close our fists tightly over it.”

“Shall you be afraid, gentlemen?” said the disciple; “shall you be traitors to the sacred cause of the animals?”

“No, sir,” cried Marmus, “I shall never abandon the science to which I have devoted the best days of my life; and to prove my sincerity we must conjointly edit the history of the Zebra.”

“We are saved,” exclaimed Marmus, when the disciple had gone.

Soon after, the ablest pupil of the great philosopher drew up a notice of the Zebra. Under the name of Marmus he launched out boldly, and formed the new science. This pamphlet enabled us at once to enter into the enjoyable phase of celebrity. My master and his friend were overwhelmed with invitations to dinners, dances, receptions, morning and evening parties. They were proclaimed learned and illustrious everywhere. They indeed had too many supporters, ever for a moment to doubt their being geniuses of the highest order. A copy of the work by Marmus was sent to the Baron. The Academy of Science then found the affair so grave that not a member dared give his opinion.”

“We must see, we must wait,” they said. Sathenbeck, the learned Belgian, is coming by express, Vas-man-Bitten from Holland, and the illustrious Fabricus Gobtouswell are on their way to see the Zebra. The young and ardent disciple of zoological unity was engaged on a memoir which contained terrible conclusions, directed against the Baron’s dogmas. Already a party was forming to promote unity applied to botany. The illustrious professors, Condolle and Mirbel, hesitated out of consideration for the authority of the Baron.

I was now ready for inspection. My mountebank artist, in addition to finishing my bands, had furnished me with a cow’s tail, while my yellow stripes gave me the appearance of an animated Austrian sentry-box.

“It is astonishing,” said the minister, as he gazed upon my coat for the first time.

“Astonishing!” echoed the professor; “but, thank goodness, not inexplicable.”

“I am puzzled,” said the minister, “how best to reconcile this new discovery with all our preconceived notions of zoology.”

“A most difficult problem,” suggested Marmus.

“It seems strange,” said the great man, “that this African Zebra should live in the temperature of the Rue de Tournon.”

This was treading on delicate ground, but my master was equal to the occasion, although on hearing the remark I began to walk like an ass.

“Yes,” replied Marmus, “I hope he may live until my lectures are over.”

“You are a clever fellow, but bear in mind that your new and popular science must be moulded to fit in with the doctrines of the worthy Baron. Perhaps it would lend dignity to your cause were you represented by a pupil.”

Here the Baron entered, and overhearing the remark, said:—

“Ah, sir, I have a pupil of great promise, who repeats admirably what he is taught. We call this sort of man a vulgariser.”

“And we,” said the journalist, “call him a parrot. Those men render real service to science as they talk it down to the level of the popular mind.”

“Well, that is settled,” said Marmus, taking the Baron’s hand; “let us pull together.”

The minister said: “Marmus, you deserve, and shall receive, the substantial reward of genius in such honour and support as your country has to bestow.”

The Geographical Society, jealously wishing to imitate the government, offered to defray the entire cost of the journey to the Mountains of the Moon, which offer was ultimately carried into effect. These timely aids came in opportunely as my master had been burning the financial candle at both ends.

The journalist was placed as librarian in the Jardin des Plantes, and abused the opportunity which leisure afforded him by running down my master and his science. Nevertheless Marmus coined a wide reputation out of the base metal of the parrot’s jargon, and sustained his hard-earned fame by discreet and modest silence. He was elected professor of something somewhere, and would no doubt have filled the post honourably had a time and place ever been named when he would be required to fill a chair.

As for myself, I was bought for the London Zoological Gardens, where change of climate and kind treatment rendered me the wonder of the world, as I gradually changed from a strange Zebra to a domesticated Cockney ass.