Accordingly, that evening at Uncle Paul’s this was the first thing he asked about. At Louis’s description of the tortured owl Uncle Paul at once recognized its species.
“The bird that John thought he must nail alive to his door,” said he, “is the belfry-owl, also called the barn-owl. The unfortunate creature in no way deserved the frightful treatment it received. I pity it for having fallen into hands made cruel by ignorance. Stupidity and malice go together, they say; and it is very true. He who is ignorant is deliberately cruel. Wild and foolish things are said [[87]]against the barn-owl, and John repeated them. Having heard them from some one else, he now, in his turn, passes them on to the street urchins who were so eager to put out the bird’s eyes. It is not true that the barn-owl flies into churches and drinks the oil from the lamp that is kept lighted night and day in the sanctuary; it is not true that it laughs when it hears the passing-bell; it is not true that its hooting on the roof of a house means that some one in the house will soon die. False are all the sayings about its evil influence and its predictions of misfortune, and any one who believes these absurd stories simply shows that he has no common sense. We are in God’s hands, my children, and God alone knows when our last hour is to come. Let us pity those feeble-minded persons who believe the owl knows this tremendous secret; let us pity them, but never let us abuse our reasoning powers by believing that an owl, in expressing after its own fashion, on some house-roof, its satisfaction at having caught a mouse, is solemnly foretelling what is going to happen. Uncle Paul’s nephews must henceforth pay not the slightest attention to any such superstitious notions. Let us go on.
“What would you say of John if he had taken it into his head to kill his cat by nailing the animal to the door by its fore paws?”
“I should say,” answered Louis, “that if rats ever ate him up it would serve him right.”
“What you saw him doing amounts to about the same thing: he was torturing one of the very best [[88]]destroyers of mice, a bird in form, a cat in habits. The barn-owl went into the corn-crib to guard the poor man’s wheat from rats, and John, a prey to superstitious hatred and never thinking of the service the owl was doing him, made haste to nail the useful bird to his door.
“What strange wrong-headedness is it that makes us all, as a rule, destroy the animals that help us most? Almost all our helpers are persecuted. Their good will must be very strong, else our ill treatment would long ago have driven them forever from our dwellings and fields. Bats rid us of a host of enemies, but none the less we look upon them with dislike. The mole and the shrew-mouse purge the soil of vermin, and we dislike them, too. The hedgehog makes war on vipers and white worms, and we make war on him. The owl and various other night-birds are fine rat-hunters, but that does not save them from mistreatment. Still other animals that I will tell you about later do the most useful work for us, and we persecute them all. They are ugly, people say, and for no other reason they are killed. But, blind slayers, shall you not at last have your eyes opened to the fact that because of an unreasonable dislike you have sacrificed your own defenders? You complain of rats—and you nail the owl to your door, where you let its carcass dry up, a hideous trophy! You complain of the white worms—and you crush the mole every time the spade brings one to light. You rip up the hedgehog and set your dogs on him just for fun. You complain of the ravages of moths [[89]]in your granaries, and if a bat falls into your hands you seldom spare it. You complain, and yet you mistreat all the animals that offer to help you. Blind you are and sadly misguided in your wanton cruelty.
“Regarded merely as it affects his own interests, it is a pitiful piece of work that John has done, but it is far more pitiful in respect to the tortures he has inflicted on the bird. It is not the mark of a man but of a brute to take pleasure in torturing an animal. It is a wicked act and one that good men despise; ignorance is the cause of the act, but ignorance is not an excuse. If an animal is harmful to us, let us get rid of it by killing it, but let us never think of inflicting needless pain, of causing suffering simply for suffering’s sake. That would be to smother in ourselves one of the noblest of sentiments, compassion; it would mean the arousing of savage instincts, which too often lead to crime. He who finds his pleasure in torturing dumb animals cannot take pity on the suffering of his own kind; his heart is hardened and prone to evil. How I pity those poor children who stood by and laughed at the barn-owl’s horrible sufferings, and who, led on by the man’s example, helped to put out the wretched bird’s eyes! How I pity them! Let them beware, let their parents take heed, for there is a bad streak in them.” [[90]]