stituted that first sensation to all others. The confusion became still more complete when the persons or objects she afterwards met were unknown to her. Then she did not succeed in rectifying her judgment. She used to get especially angry with her daughter, of whom she was in reality very fond, and whom, although she fully recognised her, she used to see under the aspect of the first person or even beast whom she had met in the morning, and she would sometimes get so infuriated with her that she even tried to murder her. This same woman could not go into a new district, even if she were accompanied, because the horror and the confusion which then took possession of her were so great as to make her attempt to commit suicide. When, therefore, the reasoning faculties are suspended, as in mental disease, misoneism stands revealed in all its force as the fundamental groundwork of the human mind. Hence weak or weakened intellects, or primitive minds, show the greatest repulsion to what is new-except, of course, where merely small innovations are concerned, such as fashion among women, the change of tattooing from elliptic to circular among savages, toys among children. These things not only raise no dislike, but on the contrary a lively desire, because they excite without irritating or paining the nervous centres which, notwithstanding this ingrained tendency, yet have need of a certain amount of change. If the innovation in question is too radical, then the mass of the community assimilates itself to the savage, to women and children, and refuses it with horror. "We may compare the ordinary man," says Lombroso, "thus shut up to innovation to the hypnotised subject

who, when he has once received an inhibitory suggestion, does not see a given image which he has under his eyes; and we can understand how ridiculous and impious must seem to him the man who approves and adopts these innovations." And the word trovare (find) comes from turbare (to trouble); troubadour, trouvère.

The nations certainly furnish us with salient examples of the truth of Lombroso's contention in the persistence with which they preserve the customs and moral tendencies of their ancestors. Syrians, Gipsies, Bedouins, have remained almost unmodified for centuries; even among the Greeks, the French, the Hungarians, Lombroso traces the national characteristics of Pelagic, Gallic, and Hunnish forefathers. See, again, how the bacchanalia have held their ground in spite of all religious modifications. The Carnival of the South is their direct offspring. The processions at Verona to this day even contain men dressed in all points like ancient bacchantes. Indeed, the most superficial observation of the festivals of the Roman Catholic Church proves how it preserves heathen ritual. Close bodies are always strongly misoneistic, especially when they have to deal with sentiment, whose very essence is atavistic. Thus, if we examine well into the grounds of our religion, we even find that fetichism is by no means extinct-nay, not even among societies calling themselves free-thinking. When the French Revolution was at its height of frenzy, on the death of Marat, Brochet caused thousands of copies of a litany to be printed with this refrain, "Heart of Jesus, heart of Marat, protect us!" The worship of rocks and stones had to be forbidden

by the Church five hundred years after Christ; and even now travellers visiting the sanctuaries of Piedmont may catch strange echoes of this ancient adoration among the peasantry, who know not what to venerate most, the image of the Madonna, or the rock under which it was found, so inextricably are the two associated in their minds. Who that is familiar with the ballad poetry of Scotland or Brittany, or is versed in stories of kelpies, who that has seen the numberless pilgrims who wend their way to Lourdes, can say that the worship of wells and springs is extinct? Or who that reflects on the innumerable superstitions concerning the divining rod, the wonder-working rope with which a man has been hanged, lucky and unlucky days, Easter eggs, pilgrimages for the dead, rain, ghosts, witches, love-philters, &c., can fail to be struck with the inherent inertia of human nature? What, for example, can be said in favour of the superstitions concerning Friday, which date back from the earliest times of Christianity? In Paris, where the omnibuses carry on an average 317,000 men a-day, a difference of 217,000 persons is observable on Fridays. The little pigs which it was lately the fashion to wear, half in jest, half in earnest, as portebonheurs, have come down to us from the Romans, to whom this animal was sacred.

It is almost needless to heap up examples. Sentiment, the foundation-stone of human nature, is essentially misoneistic, and religion, the embodiment of sentiment, is also the embodiment of misoneism. Hence morality, which is in fact more closely connected with religion than it is fashionable just now to allow, is also

strongly misoneistic. Lombroso quotes the incident of an Australian, who, having lost his wife through illness, declared that he must follow the usages of his own people and kill a woman of some other tribe. Threatened with imprisonment, he remained silent from that day forth, filled with remorse at the idea of failing in his duty, until at last he made his escape, and returned after some time contented at having paid his sacred debt. "Again, what else is it but this that we call misoneism," continues Lombroso, "that prevents the speedy acceptance of scientific improvements, and causes them to excite the wrath of the populace?" Nor the populace only. Even to educated men old traditions cling strangely. Thus, when in 1760 the Spanish Government proposed to cleanse the streets of Madrid, the very doctors opposed the operation, declaring it to be impossible to calculate the dangers of such an experiment. The evil exhalations themselves, they contended, by rendering the air heavier, took from it every unwholesome property. Nor are examples lacking of interesting misoneism among famous men. Thus Schopenhauer, that greatest of philosophical heretics, could speak of the political revolutionaries only in words of pity and scorn, and left his fortune to those who, in 1848, had helped to repress their noble endeavours. Bacon laughed at Gilbert and Copernicus, and did not believe in the applicability of instruments, and even of mathematics, to the exact sciences. Voltaire denied the existence of fossils, and Darwin of the Stone Age and of hypnotism, just as Robin and Quatrefages deny Darwin's theory. Laplace denied the existence of meteorites, because, said he, amid

the thundering applause of his academical audience, no stones can fall from the sky, seeing that in the sky there are no stones. The extreme slowness with which discoveries make their way is another proof of the misoneism of human nature.

"There is no modern discovery, great or small," says Lombroso, photography, electricity, steam, illuminating gas, &c., &c., which has not been rediscovered, not only once but many times, and in many epochs, and always to the detriment of the discoverer, remaining for the most part in the state of a child's plaything."

"The steam-engine," writes Fournier, was a toy in the times of Hero of Alexandria and Anthemius of Trallis. The human mind and the needs of our race must labour millions of times under the guidance of experience before drawing all the consequences from a fact.'

The same rule applies to theories. Even that of selection does not belong to Darwin: it has profound roots in the past. "Existing species only exist, thanks to their astuteness, force, and velocity. The others have perished," writes Lucretius. And Plutarch, asked why horses, which had been followed by wolves, were swifter than others, adduced as a reason that "they alone had survived, while the others, having been lazy, had been overtaken and devoured." Newton's law was, as we all know, already tried in the sixteenth century, especially by Copernicus and Kepler, and had been almost completed by Hooke. The same things may be asserted of magnetism, chemistry, and even criminal anthropology, so long believed to be a protectress of crime, immorality, and so forth. Therefore, even in the very domain of science, misoneism is a formidable force.

Passing on to art and letters,

Lombroso shows how it is nothing else but the working of this law of misoneism which still makes such a fetich of grammar and the classical languages; or that induced the Greeks to continue to represent in marble the mode of architecture that suited the wooden Professor Häckel found this law temples they had formerly built. of inertia at work even among the apparently capricious vagaries of fashion, proving that the modern black coat, with its cuffs, its buttons behind, is merely a remnant of the military coat of three or four centuries back, while the waistcoat is the ancient cuirass.

In no domain can misoneistic ideas be more clearly traced, in no field are they more in view, than that of politics. On this theme Lombroso breaks out into expressions quite Carlylesque in their grim humour. "A lie is the faith in a parliamentary régime which every day lays bare its sad powerlessness, and the faith in the infallibility of men who are often inferior to us; a lie is the absolute faith in a justice which, at an enormous expense to honest men, touches hardly twenty per cent of the guilty, and these for the most part the fools, while it leaves the others not only free, but often admired and obeyed, among the defenceless and innocent who are their destined victims." Duels, the immense sums spent on ornaments rather than on public instruction or agriculture, are not these things also a misoneistic survival of tribal and savage days? The tendency to swear by great names, be they Mazzini, Garibaldi, or Cavour, in altered circumstances; the desire to re-establish governments which were called negations of God, like that of the Bourbons in Naples, the Carlists in Spain, the Legitimists

in France, &c. The secular survival of the castes in India, our own continued instinctive devotion to the aristocracy, even when we know them degenerate in race and character, what are these but immovable atavism?

In a word, the past is so incarnate in us that the most rebellious feel its irresistible attraction. And if civilisation not seldom makes a way for itself, it is because it finds, in changes of climate, of race, or in the rise of geniuses and madmen, circumstances such as to produce a sum of small movements, which, in a century, make a great one. But even this progress is necessarily extremely slow. Any attempt at precipitation goes against the physiological nature of man; hence a revolution which is not an evolution is pathological and consequently criminal.

And herein may be sought the reason why, in primitive legislation, offence against customary use is held as the greatest of crimes, the height of immorality. The traditions of our forefathers, the laws of the Medes and Persians which alter not, are repeated under different forms among all peoples, and hedged about with all manner of punishment. Among the most misoneistic of nations in this respect stand, as might be expected, the Chinese, whose law, at the time of Confucius, records some curious examples illustrative of the misoneistic theory. It was written, for example:

"For him who altering the words corrupts the law, who confuses titles and rules, who professes false doctrines to disorder the government, penalty of death; for him who composes licentious music, who makes strange clothes, who manufactures crafty mechanisms or extraordinary

implements to move the minds of the princes, penalty of death. Among prohibitions of less importance, entailing pecuniary penalty, utensils in ordinary use not conforming to legal measurements, cloth and silk when the piece does not consist of the legal

number of threads and is not of the

legal dimensions, licentious colours which cloud the primary colours, carpentering work not conforming to the legal mode of cutting, are not to be sold in the market."

"Here there is," adds Lombroso, "a true physiological misoneism which permits not even colours different from those in ordinary use, just as we have seen it among animals and primitive peoples, and considers as a sin or as an immorality the use of one colour rather than another."

Goncourt remarks that if the Revue des Deux Mondes' were to change the colour of its paper cover it would lose at least two thousand subscribers. The standpoint assumed is well expressed in the following extract from the Indian law of Manu: "Immemorable custom is the principal law approved by revelation, consequently he who desires the good of his soul must perseveringly conform to immemorable custom." In Greece too, and even in volatile Athens, there was a strong tincture of misoneism. Sacrilege, and hence the rejection of habits and beliefs, was essentially a political crime. Socrates was condemned as guilty of not believing in the Attic gods and of wishing to introduce new ones. Even popular superstition had to be respected. An Exagora was expelled and fined for having said that the sun was not an incandescent stone. Cliantes of Samos wanted the Athenians to accuse Aristarchus for having affirmed that the earth made an oblique revolution along the zodiac, rotating on its axis. In Sparta, civic degradation was threatened against those who

should dare to propose to the people the abrogation of Lycurgus's penalties for homicide; and we all remember, too, the Greek city, in which any one who was hardy enough to propose a change in the constitution had to appear with a halter round his neck, safe to be strung up if his amendment was rejected.

at

Having thus insisted on the misoneistic groundwork of human nature, Lombroso considers great length the two methods, revolution and rebellion, by which it is offended. True, no hard-and-fast line can be drawn between them. Revolutions are necessarily accompanied by rebellion; but these are hardly noticed, they burn out as soon as they appear: they are the breaking of the shell of the mature chick. Revolutions are always successful sooner or later, according as the embryo is more or less mature, and according as the people and times are more or less adapted to evolution. They move slowly, and thus wound as little as it is possible the misoneism of the masses. They are more or less widely diffused, general, and followed by the whole country; they are the work specially of the middle and lower classes seldom, if ever, of the upper. They appear but rarely, never among backward peoples, and always for very important causes or high ideals. The immediate exciting cause may be slight, but the fundamental raison d'être is grave. The French Revolution began with the outcry against monopoly of grain; but the first violence of which the people was capable was directed, not against the bakers, but against the Bastille. The English insurrection against the Stuarts began with the refusal of Hampden to pay a tax; but the trial of

VOL. CXLIX.-NO. DCCCCIV.

Charles I. was begun and ended on grounds of administrative order, it was a violent reaction against the abuse of popular rights and liberties. Revolutions, moreover, are often fostered by the death of their leaders, who thus become heroic figures, and whose opinions, being in reality progressive, gradually leaven the misoneism of the masses.

Rebellions, on the other hand, are always partial, the work of a limited group of castes or individuals. Any rank of society may be concerned in them, even, nay, especially, the higher classes, -assuming, of course, that there is no question of levelling them down to their poorer brethren. Seditions are occasioned by unimportant causes, often local or personal; they are closely connected with alcoholism, and still more with climate. They aim at no high ideals, and attain no aim; or, if they do, it is an aim contrary to the general wellbeing. They abound among backward peoples and the uneducated, as, for instance, Mexico, San Domingo, the small medieval republics, the South American States. Women and criminals take more part in them than honest men. Rebellions, as opposed to revolutions, cease with the death of their leaders. They are usually the produce either of hot countries or of great heights, where diminished atmospheric pressure impoverishes the blood; while revolutions are more frequent in temperate and lowland regions.

It is difficult obviously to draw a hard-and-fast line between revolution and rebellion. Revolutions may proceed from a just causemay be impersonal, may be general; but they may be precocious, like those of Marcel in France, of Peter the Great in Russia; or