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The Mahatma and the Hare by H. Rider Haggard

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Etext prepared by John Bickers, jbickers@ihug.co.nz
Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com
and Emma Dudding, emma_302@hotmail.com

The Mahatma and the Hare
A Dream Story

by H. Rider Haggard

"Ultimately a good hare was found which took the field at . . .
There the hounds pressed her, and on the hunt arriving at the edge
of the cliff the hare could be seen crossing the beach and going
right out to sea. A boat was procured, and the master and some
others rowed out to her just as she drowned, and, bringing the
body in, gave it to the hounds. A hare swimming out to sea is a
sight not often witnessed."--/Local paper, January/ 1911.

". . . A long check occurred in the latter part of this hunt, the
hare having laid up in a hedgerow, from which she was at last
evicted by a crack of the whip. Her next place of refuge was a
horse-pond, which she tried to swim, but got stuck in the ice
midway, and was sinking, when the huntsman went in after her. It
was a novel sight to see huntsman and hare being lifted over a
wall out of the pond, the eager pack waiting for their prey behind
the wall."--/Local paper, February/ 1911.


The author supposes that the first of the above extracts must have
impressed him. At any rate, on the night after the reading of it, just
as he went to sleep, or on the following morning just as he awoke, he
cannot tell which, there came to him the title and the outlines of
this fantasy, including the command with which it ends. With a
particular clearness did he seem to see the picture of the Great White
Road, "straight as the way of the Spirit, and broad as the breast of
Death," and of the little Hare travelling towards the awful Gates.

Like the Mahatma of this fable, he expresses no opinion as to the
merits of the controversy between the Red-faced Man and the Hare that,
without search on his own part, presented itself to his mind in so odd
a fashion. It is one on which anybody interested in such matters can
form an individual judgment.


[*] Mahatma, "great-souled." "One of a class of persons with preter-
natural powers, imagined to exist in India and Thibet."--/New
English Dictionary/.

Everyone has seen a hare, either crouched or running in the fields, or
hanging dead in a poulterer's shop, or lastly pathetic, even dreadful-
looking and in this form almost indistinguishable from a skinned cat,
on the domestic table. But not many people have met a Mahatma, at
least to their knowledge. Not many people know even who or what a
Mahatma is. The majority of those who chance to have heard the title
are apt to confuse it with another, that of Mad Hatter.

This is even done of malice prepense (especially, for obvious reasons,
if a hare is in any way concerned) in scorn, not in ignorance, by
persons who are well acquainted with the real meaning of the word and
even with its Sanscrit origin. The truth is that an incredulous
Western world puts no faith in Mahatmas. To it a Mahatma is a kind of
spiritual Mrs. Harris, giving an address in Thibet at which no letters
are delivered. Either, it says, there is no such person, or he is a
fraudulent scamp with no greater occult powers--well, than a hare.

I confess that this view of Mahatmas is one that does not surprise me
in the least. I never met, and I scarcely expect to meet, an
individual entitled to set "Mahatma" after his name. Certainly /I/
have no right to do so, who only took that title on the spur of the
moment when the Hare asked me how I was called, and now make use of it
as a /nom-de-plume/. It is true there is Jorsen, by whose order, for
it amounts to that, I publish this history. For aught I know Jorsen
may be a Mahatma, but he does not in the least look the part.

Imagine a bluff person with a strong, hard face, piercing grey eyes,
and very prominent, bushy eyebrows, of about fifty or sixty years of
age. Add a Scotch accent and a meerschaum pipe, which he smokes even
when he is wearing a frock coat and a tall hat, and you have Jorsen. I
believe that he lives somewhere in the country, is well off, and
practises gardening. If so he has never asked me to his place, and I
only meet him when he comes to Town, as I understand, to visit flower-

Then I always meet him because he orders me to do so, not by letter or
by word of mouth but in quite a different way. Suddenly I receive an
impression in my mind that I am to go to a certain place at a certain
hour, and that there I shall find Jorsen. I do go, sometimes to an
hotel, sometimes to a lodging, sometimes to a railway station or to
the corner of a particular street and there I do find Jorsen smoking
his big meerschaum pipe. We shake hands and he explains why he has
sent for me, after which we talk of various things. Never mind what
they are, for that would be telling Jorsen's secrets as well as my
own, which I must not do.

It may be asked how I came to know Jorsen. Well, in a strange way.
Nearly thirty years ago a dreadful thing happened to me. I was married
and, although still young, a person of some mark in literature. Indeed
even now one or two of the books which I wrote are read and
remembered, although it is supposed that their author has long left
the world.

The thing which happened was that my wife and our daughter were coming
over from the Channel Islands, where they had been on a visit (she was
a Jersey woman), and, and--well, the ship was lost, that's all. The
shock broke my heart, in such a way that it has never been mended
again, but unfortunately did not kill me.

Afterwards I took to drink and sank, as drunkards do. Then the river
began to draw me. I had a lodging in a poor street at Chelsea, and I
could hear the river calling me at night, and--I wished to die as the
others had died. At last I yielded, for the drink had rotted out all
my moral sense. About one o'clock of a wild, winter morning I went to
a bridge I knew where in those days policemen rarely came, and
listened to that call of the water.

"Come!" it seemed to say. "This world is the real hell, ending in the
eternal naught. The dreams of a life beyond and of re-union there are
but a demon's mocking breathed into the mortal heart, lest by its
universal suicide mankind should rob him of his torture-pit. There is
no truth in all your father taught you" (he was a clergyman and rather
eminent in his profession), "there is no hope for man, there is
nothing he can win except the deep happiness of sleep. Come and

Such were the arguments of that Voice of the river, the old, familiar
arguments of desolation and despair. I leant over the parapet; in
another moment I should have been gone, when I became aware that some
one was standing near to me. I did not see the person because it was
too dark. I did not hear him because of the raving of the wind. But I
knew that he was there. So I waited until the moon shone out for a
while between the edges of two ragged clouds, the shapes of which I
can see to this hour. It showed me Jorsen, looking just as he does
to-day, for he never seems to change--Jorsen, on whom, to my
knowledge, I had not set eyes before.

"Even a year ago," he said, in his strong, rough voice, "you would not
have allowed your mind to be convinced by such arguments as those
which you have just heard in the Voice of the river. That is one of
the worst sides of drink; it decays the reason as it does the body.
You must have noticed it yourself."

I replied that I had, for I was surprised into acquiescence. Then I
grew defiant and asked him what he knew of the arguments which were or
were not influencing me. To my surprise--no, that is not the word--to
my bewilderment, he repeated them to me one by one just as they had
arisen a few minutes before in my heart. Moreover, he told me what I
had been about to do, and why I was about to do it.

"You know me and my story," I muttered at last.

"No," he answered, "at least not more than I know that of many men
with whom I chance to be in touch. That is, I have not met you for
nearly eleven hundred years. A thousand and eighty-six, to be correct.
I was a blind priest then and you were the captain of Irene's guard."

At this news I burst out laughing and the laugh did me good.

"I did not know I was so old," I said.

"Do you call that old?" answered Jorsen. "Why, the first time that we
had anything to do with each other, so far as I can learn, that is,
was over eight thousand years ago, in Egypt before the beginning of
recorded history."

"I thought that I was mad, but you are madder," I said.

"Doubtless. Well, I am so mad that I managed to be here in time to
save you from suicide, as once in the past you saved me, for thus
things come round. But your rooms are near, are they not? Let us go
there and talk. This place is cold and the river is always calling."

That was how I came to know Jorsen, whom I believe to be one of the
greatest men alive. On this particular night that I have described he
told me many things, and since then he has taught me much, me and a
few others. But whether he is what is called a Mahatma I am sure I do
not know. He has never claimed such a rank in my hearing, or indeed to
be anything more than a man who has succeeded in winning a knowledge
of his own powers out of the depths of the dark that lies behind us.
Of course I mean out of his past in other incarnations long before he
was Jorsen. Moreover, by degrees, as I grew fit to bear the light, he
showed me something of my own, and of how the two were intertwined.

But all these things are secrets of which I have perhaps no right to
speak at present. It is enough to say that Jorsen changed the current
of my life on that night when he saved me from death.

For instance, from that day onwards to the present time I have never
touched the drink which so nearly ruined me. Also the darkness has
rolled away, and with it every doubt and fear; I know the truth, and
for that truth I live. Considered from certain aspects such knowledge,
I admit, is not altogether desirable. Thus it has deprived me of my
interest in earthly things. Ambition has left me altogether; for years
I have had no wish to succeed in the profession which I adopted in my
youth, or in any other. Indeed I doubt whether the elements of worldly
success still remain in me; whether they are not entirely burnt away
by that fire of wisdom in which I have bathed. How can we strive to
win a crown we have no longer any desire to wear? Now I desire other
crowns and at times I wear them, if only for a little while. My spirit
grows and grows. It is dragging at its strings.

What am I to look at? A small, white-haired man with a thin and rather
plaintive face in which are set two large, dark eyes that continually
seem to soften and develop. That is my picture. And what am I in the
world? I will tell you. On certain days of the week I employ myself in
editing a trade journal that has to do with haberdashery. On another
day I act as auctioneer to a firm which imports and sells cheap
Italian statuary; modern, very modern copies of the antique, florid
marble vases, and so forth. Some of you who read may have passed such
marts in different parts of the city, or even have dropped in and
purchased a bust or a tazza for a surprisingly small sum. Perhaps I
knocked it down to you, only too pleased to find a /bonā fide/ bidder
amongst my company.

As for the rest of my time--well, I employ it in doing what good I can
among the poor and those who need comfort or who are bereaved,
especially among those who are bereaved, for to such I am sometimes
able to bring the breath of hope that blows from another shore.

Occasionally also I amuse myself in my own fashion. Thus sure
knowledge has come to me about certain epochs in the past in which I
lived in other shapes, and I study those epochs, hoping that one day I
may find time to write of them and of the parts I played in them. Some
of these parts are extremely interesting, especially as I am of course
able to contrast them with our modern modes of thought and action.

They do not all come back to me with equal clearness, the earlier
lives being, as one might expect, the more difficult to recover and
the comparatively recent ones the easiest. Also they seem to range
over a vast stretch of time, back indeed to the days of primeval,
prehistoric man. In short, I think the subconscious in some ways
resembles the conscious and natural memory; that which is very far off
to it grows dim and blurred, that which is comparatively close remains
clear and sharp, although of course this rule is not invariable.
Moreover there is foresight as well as memory. At least from time to
time I seem to come in touch with future events and states of society
in which I shall have my share.

I believe some thinkers hold a theory that such conditions as those of
past, present, and future do not in fact exist; that everything
already is, standing like a completed column between earth and heaven;
that the sum is added up, the equation worked out. At times I am
tempted to believe in the truth of this proposition. But if it be
true, of course it remains difficult to obtain a clear view of other
parts of the column than that in which we happen to find ourselves
objectively conscious at any given period, and needless to say
impossible to see it from base to capital.

However this may be, no individual entity pervades all the column.
There are great sections of it with which that entity has nothing to
do, although it always seems to appear again above. I suppose that
those sections which are empty of an individual and his atmosphere
represent the intervals between his lives which he spends in sleep, or
in states of existence with which this world is not concerned, but of
such gulfs of oblivion and states of being I know nothing.

To take a single instance of what I do know: once this spirit of mine,
that now by the workings of destiny for a little while occupies the
body of a fourth-rate auctioneer, and of the editor of a trade
journal, dwelt in that of a Pharaoh of Egypt--never mind which
Pharoah. Yes, although you may laugh and think me mad to say it, for
me the legions fought and thundered; to me the peoples bowed and the
secret sanctuaries were opened that I and I alone might commune with
the gods; I who in the flesh and after it myself was worshipped as a

Well, of this forgotten Royalty of whom little is known save what a
few inscriptions have to tell, there remains a portrait statue in the
British Museum. Sometimes I go to look at that statue and try to
recall exactly under what circumstances I caused it to be shaped,
puzzling out the story bit by bit.

Not long ago I stood thus absorbed and did not notice that the hour of
the closing of the great gallery had come. Still I stood and gazed and
dreamt till the policeman on duty, seeing and suspecting me, came up
and roughly ordered me to begone.

The man's tone angered me. I laid my hand on the foot of the statue,
for it had just come back to me that it was a "Ka" image, a sacred
thing, any Egyptologist will know what I mean, which for ages had sat
in a chamber of my tomb. Then the Ka that clings to it eternally awoke
at my touch and knew me, or so I suppose. At least I felt myself
change. A new strength came into me; my shape, battered in this
world's storms, put on something of its ancient dignity; my eyes grew
royal. I looked at that man as Pharaoh may have looked at one who had
done him insult. He saw the change and trembled--yes, trembled. I
believe he thought I was some imperial ghost that the shadows of
evening had caused him to mistake for man; at any rate he gasped out--

"I beg your pardon, I was obeying orders. I hope your Majesty won't
hurt me. Now I think of it I have been told that things come out of
these old statues in the night."

Then turning he ran, literally ran, where to I am sure I do not know,
probably to seek the fellowship of some other policeman. In due course
I followed, and, lifting the bar at the end of the hall, departed
without further question asked. Afterwards I was very glad to think
that I had done the man no injury. At the moment I knew that I could
hurt him if I would, and what is more I had the desire to do so. It
came to me, I suppose, with that breath of the past when I was so
great and absolute. Perhaps I, or that part of me then incarnate, was
a tyrant in those days, and this is why now I must be so humble. Fate
is turning my pride to its hammer and beating it out of me.

For thus in the long history of the soul it serves all our vices.


Now, as I have hinted, under the teaching of Jorsen, who saved me from
degradation and self-murder, yes, and helped me with money until once
again I could earn a livelihood, I have acquired certain knowledge and
wisdom of a sort that are not common. That is, Jorsen taught me the
elements of these things; he set my feet upon the path which
thenceforward, having the sight, I have been able to follow for
myself. How I followed it does not matter, nor could I teach others if
I would.

I am no member of any mystic brotherhood, and, as I have explained, no
Mahatma, although I have called myself thus for present purposes
because the name is a convenient cloak. I repeat that I am ignorant if
there are such people as Mahatmas, though if so I think Jorsen must be
one of them. Still he never told me this. What he has told is that
every individual spirit must work out its own destiny quite
independently of others. Indeed, being rather fond of fine phrases, he
has sometimes spoken to me of, or rather, insisted upon what he called
"the lonesome splendour of the human soul," which it is our business
to perfect through various lives till I can scarcely appreciate and am
certainly unable to describe.

To tell the truth, the thought of this "lonesome splendour" to which
it seems some of us may attain, alarms me. I have had enough of being
lonesome, and I do not ask for any particular splendour. My only
ambitions are to find those whom I have lost, and in whatever life I
live to be of use to others. However, as I gather that the exalted
condition to which Jorsen alludes is thousands of ages off for any of
us, and may after all mean something quite different to what it seems
to mean, the thought of it does not trouble me over much. Meanwhile
what I seek is the vision of those I love.

Now I have this power. Occasionally when I am in deep sleep some part
of me seems to leave my body and to be transported quite outside the
world. It travels, as though I were already dead, to the Gates that
all who live must pass, and there takes its stand, on the Great White
Road, watching those who have been called speed by continually. Those
upon the earth know nothing of that Road. Blinded by their pomps and
vanities, they cannot see, they will not see it always growing towards
the feet of every one of them. But I see and know. Of course you who
read will say that this is but a dream of mine, and it may be. Still,
if so, it is a very wonderful dream, and except for the change of the
passing people, or rather of those who have been people, always very
much the same.

There, straight as the way of the Spirit and broad as the breast of
Death, is the Great White Road running I know not whence, up to those
Gates that gleam like moonlight and are higher than the Alps. There
beyond the Gates the radiant Presences move mysteriously. Thence at
the appointed time the Voice cries and they are opened with a sound
like to that of deepest thunder, or sometimes are burned away, while
from the Glory that lies beyond flow the sweet-faced welcomers to
greet those for whom they wait, bearing the cups from which they give
to drink. I do not know what is in the cups, whether it be a draught
of Lethe or some baptismal water of new birth, or both; but always the
thirsting, world-worn soul appears to change, and then as it were to
be lost in the Presence that gave the cup. At least they are lost to
my sight. I see them no more.

Why do I watch those Gates, in truth or in dream, before my time? Oh!
You can guess. That perchance I may behold those for whom my heart
burns with a quenchless, eating fire. And once I beheld--not the
mother but the child, my child, changed indeed, mysterious, wonderful,
gleaming like a star, with eyes so deep that in their depths my
humanity seemed to swoon.

She came forward; she knew me; she smiled and laid her finger on her
lips. She shook her hair about her and in it vanished as in a cloud.
Yet as she vanished a voice spoke in my heart, her voice, and the
words it said were--

"Wait, our Beloved! Wait!"

Mark well. "Our Beloved," not "My Beloved." So there are others by
whom I am beloved, or at least one other, and I know well who that one
must be.


After this dream, perhaps I had better call it a dream, I was ill for
a long while, for the joy and the glory of it overpowered me and
brought me near to the death I had always sought. But I recovered, for
my hour is not yet. Moreover, for a long while as we reckon time, some
years indeed, I obeyed the injunction and sought the Great White Road
no more. At length the longing grew too strong for me and I returned
thither, but never again did the vision come. Its word was spoken, its
mission was fulfilled. Yet from time to time I, a mortal, seem to
stand upon the borders of that immortal Road and watch the newly dead
who travel it towards the glorious Gates.

Once or twice there have been among them people whom I have known. As
these pass me I appear to have the power of looking into their hearts,
and there I read strange things. Sometimes they are beautiful things
and sometimes ugly things. Thus I have learned that those I thought
bad were really good in the main, for who can claim to be quite good?
And on the other hand that those I believed to be as honest as the day
--well, had their faults.

To take an example which I quote because it is so absurd. The rooms I
live in were owned by a prim old woman who for more than twenty years
was my landlady. She and I were great friends, indeed she tended me
like a mother, and when I was so ill nursed me as perhaps few mothers
would have done. Yet while I was watching on the Road suddenly she
came by, and with horror I saw that during all those years she had
been robbing me, taking, I am sorry to say, many things, in money,
trinkets, and food. Often I had discussed with her where these
articles could possibly have gone, till finally suspicion settled upon
the man who cleaned the windows. Yes, and worst of all, he was
prosecuted, and I gave evidence against him, or rather strengthened
her evidence, on faith of which the magistrate sent him to prison for
a month.

"Oh! Mrs Smithers," I said to her, "how /could/ you do it, Mrs.

She stopped and looked about her terrified, so that my heart smote me
and I added in haste, "Don't be frightened, Mrs. Smithers; I forgive

"I can't see you, sir," she exclaimed, or so I dreamed, "but there! I
always knew you would."

"Yes, Mrs. Smithers," I replied; "but how about the window-cleaner who
went to jail and lost his situation?"

Then she passed on or was drawn away without making any answer.

Now comes the odd part of the story. When I woke up on the following
morning in my rooms, it was to be informed by the frightened maid-of-
all-work that Mrs. Smithers had been found dead in her bed. Moreover,
a few days later I learned from a lawyer that she had made a will
leaving me everything she possessed, including the lease of her house
and nearly £1000, for she had been a saving old person during all her
long life.

Well, I sought out that window-cleaner and compensated him handsomely,
saying that I had found I was mistaken in the evidence I gave against
him. The rest of the property I kept, and I hope that it was not wrong
of me to do so. It will be remembered that some of it was already my
own, temporarily diverted into another channel, and for the rest I
have so many to help. To be frank I do not spend much upon myself.


Now I have done with myself, or rather with my own insignificant
present history, and come to that of the Hare. It impressed me a good
deal at the time, which is not long ago, so much indeed that I
communicated the facts to Jorsen. He ordered me to publish them, and
what Jorsen orders must be done. I don't know why this should be, but
it is so. He has authority of a sort that I am unable to define.

One night after the usual aspirations and concentration of mind, which
by the way are not always successful, I passed into what occultists
call spirit, and others a state of dream. At any rate I found myself
upon the borders of the Great White Road, as near to the mighty Gates
as I am ever allowed to come. How far that may be away I cannot tell.
Perhaps it is but a few yards and perhaps it is the width of this
great world, for in that place which my spirit visits time and
distance do not exist. There all things are new and strange, not to be
reckoned by our measures. There the sight is not our sight nor the
hearing our hearing. I repeat that all things are different, but that
difference I cannot describe, and if I could it would prove past

There I sat by the borders of the Great White Road, my eyes fixed upon
the Gates above which the towers mount for miles on miles, outlined
against an encircling gloom with the radiance of the world beyond the
worlds. Four-square they stand, those towers, and fourfold the gates
that open to the denizens of other earths. But of these I have no
knowledge beyond the fact that it is so in my visions.

I sat upon the borders of the Road, my eyes fixed in hope upon the
Gates, though well I knew that the hope would never be fulfilled, and
watched the dead go by.

They were many that night. Some plague was working in the East and
unchaining thousands. The folk that it loosed were strange to me who
in this particular life have seldom left England, and I studied them
with curiosity; high-featured, dark-hued people with a patient air.
The knowledge which I have told me that one and all they were very
ancient souls who often and often had walked this Road before, and
therefore, although as yet they did not know it, were well accustomed
to the journey. No, I am wrong, for here and there an individual did
know. Indeed one deep-eyed, wistful little woman, who carried a baby
in her arms, stopped for a moment and spoke to me.

"The others cannot see you as I do," she said. "Priest of the Queen of
queens, I know you well; hand in hand we climbed by the seven
stairways to the altars of the moon."

"Who is the Queen of queens?" I asked.

"Have you forgotten her of the hundred names whose veils we lifted one
by one; her whose breast was beauty and whose eyes were truth? In a
day to come you will remember. Farewell till we walk this Road no

"Stay--when did we meet?"

"When our souls were young," she answered, and faded from my ken like
a shadow from the sea.

After the Easterns came many others from all parts of the earth. Then
suddenly appeared a company of about six hundred folk of every age and
English in their looks. They were not so calm as are the majority of
those who make this journey. When I read the papers a few days later I
understood why. A great passenger ship had sunk suddenly in mid ocean
and they were all cut off unprepared.

When, followed by a few stragglers, these had passed and gathered
themselves in the red shadow beneath the gateway towers waiting for
the summons, an unusual thing occurred. For a few moments the Road was
left quite empty. After that last great stroke Death seemed to be
resting on his laurels. When thus unpeopled it looked a very vast
place like to a huge arched causeway, bordered on either side by
blackness, but itself gleaming with a curious phosphorescence such as
once or twice I have seen in the waters of a summer sea at night.

Presently in the very centre of this illuminated desolation, whilst it
was as yet far away, something caught my eye, something so strange to
the place, so utterly unfamiliar that I watched it earnestly,
wondering what it might be. Nearer and nearer it came, with curious,
uncertain hops; yes, a little brown object that hopped.

"Well," I said to myself, "if I were not where I am I should say that
yonder thing was a hare. Only what would a hare be doing on the Great
White Road? How could a hare tread the pathway of eternal souls? I
must be mistaken."

So I reflected whilst still the thing hopped on, until I became
certain that either I suffered from delusions, or that it was a hare;
indeed a particularly fine hare, much such a one as a friend of my old
landlady, Mrs. Smithers, had once sent her as a Christmas present from
Norfolk, which hare I ate.

A few more hops brought it opposite to my post of observation. Here it
halted as though it seemed to see me. At any rate it sat up in the
alert fashion that hares have, its forepaws hanging absurdly in front
of it, with one ear, on which there was a grey blotch, cocked and one
dragging, and sniffed with its funny little nostrils. Then it began to
talk to me. I do not mean that it really talked, but the thoughts
which were in its mind were flashed on to my mind so that I understood
perfectly, yes, and could answer them in the same fashion. It said, or
thought, thus:--

"You are real. You are a man who yet lives beneath the sun, though how
you came here I do not know. I hate men, all hares do, for men are
cruel to them. Still it is a comfort in this strange place to see
something one has seen before and to be able to talk even to a man,
which I could never do until the change came, the dreadful change--I
mean because of the way of it," and it seemed to shiver. "May I ask
you some questions?"

"Certainly," I said or rather thought back.

"You are sure that they won't make you angry so that you hurt me?"

"I can't hurt you, even if I wished to do so. You are not a hare any
longer, if you ever were one, but only the shadow of a hare."

"Ah! I thought as much, and that's a good thing anyhow. Tell me, Man,
have you ever been torn to pieces by dogs?"

"Good gracious! no."

"Or coursed, or hunted, or caught in a trap, or shot all over your
back, or twisted up in nets and choked in snares? Or have you swum out
to sea to die more easily, or seen your mate and mother and father

"No, no. Please stop, Hare; your questions are very unpleasant."

"Not half so unpleasant as the things are themselves, I can assure
you, Man. I will tell you my story if you like; then you can judge for
yourself. But first, if you will, do you tell me why I am here. Have
you seen more hares about this place?"

"Never, nor any other animals. No, I am wrong, once I saw a dog."

The Hare looked about it anxiously.

"A dog. How horrible! What was it doing? Hunting? If there are no
hares here what could it be hunting? A rabbit, or a pheasant with a
broken wing, or perhaps a fox? I should not mind so much if it were a
fox. I hate foxes; they catch young hares when they are asleep and eat

"None of these things. I was told that it belonged to a little girl
who died. That broke its heart, so that it died also when they shut
her up in a box. Therefore it was allowed to accompany her here
because it had loved so much. Indeed I saw them together, both very
happy, and together they went through those gates."

"If dogs love little girls why don't they love hares, at least as
anything likes to be loved, for the dog didn't want to eat the little
girl, did it? I see you can't answer me. Now would you like me to tell
you my story? Something inside of me is saying that I am to do so if
you will listen; also that there is plenty of time, for I am not
wanted at present, and when I am I can run to those gates much quicker
than you could."

"I should like it very much, Hare. Once a prophet heard an ass speak
in order to warn him. But since then, except very, very rarely in
dreams, no creature has talked to a man, so far as I know. Perhaps you
wish to warn me about something, or others through me, as the ass
warned Balaam."

"Who is Balaam? I never heard of Balaam. He wasn't the man who fetches
dead pheasants in the donkey-cart, was he? If so, I've seen him make
the ass talk--with a thick stick. No? Well, never mind, I daresay I
should not understand about him if you told me. Now for my story."

Then the Hare sat itself down, planting its forepaws firmly in front
of it, as these animals do when they are on the watch, looked up at me
and began to pour the contents of its mind into mine.


I was born, it said, or rather told me by thought transference, in a
field of growing corn near to a big wood. At least I suppose I was
born there, though the first thing I remember is playing about in the
wheat with two other little ones of my own size, a brother and a
sister that were born with me. It was at night, for a great, round,
shining thing which I now know was the moon, hung in the sky above us.
We gambolled together and were very happy, till presently my mother
came--I remember how big she looked--and cuffed me with her paw
because I had led the others away from the place where she had told us
to stop, and given her a great hunt to find us. That is the first
thing I remember about my mother. Afterwards she seemed sorry because
she had hurt me, and nursed us all three, letting me have the most
milk. My mother always loved me the best of us, because I was such a
fine leveret, with a pretty grey patch on my left ear. Just as I had
finished drinking another hare came who was my father. He was very
large, with a glossy coat and big shining eyes that always seemed to
see everything, even when it was behind him.

He was frightened about something, and hustled my mother and us little
ones out of the wheat-field into the big wood by which it is bordered.
As we left the field I saw two tall creatures that afterwards I came
to know were men. They were placing wire-netting round the field--you
see I understand now what all these things were, although of course I
did not at the time. The two ends of the wire netting had nearly come
together. There was only a little gap left through which we could run.
Another young hare, or it may have been a rabbit, had got entangled in
it, and one of the men was beating it to death with a stick. I
remember that the sound of its screams made me feel cold down the
back, for I had never heard anything like that before, and this was
the first that I had seen of pain and death.

The other man saw us slipping through and ran at us with his stick. My
mother went first and escaped him. Then came my sister, then I, then
my brother. My father was last of all. The man hit with his stick and
it came down thud along side of me, just touching my fur. He hit again
and broke the foreleg of my brother. Still we all managed to get
through into the wood, except my father who was behind.

"There's the old buck!" cried one of the men (I understand what he
said now, though at the time it meant nothing to me). "Knock him on
the head!"

So leaving us alone they ran at him. But my father was much too quick
for them. He rushed back into the corn and afterwards joined us in the
wood, for he had seen wire before and knew how to escape it. Still he
was terribly frightened and made us keep in the wood till the
following evening, not even allowing my mother to go to her form in
the rough pasture on its other side and lie up there.

Also we were in trouble because my brother's forepaw was broken. It
gave him a great deal of pain, so that he could not rest or sleep.
After a while, however, it mended up in a fashion, but he was never
able to run as fast as we could, nor did he grow so big. In the end
the mother fox killed him, as I shall tell.

My mother asked my father what the men with the sticks were doing--
for, you know, many animals can talk to each other in their own way,
even if they are of different kinds. He told her that they were
protecting the wheat to prevent us from eating it, to which she
answered angrily that hares must live somehow, especially when they
had young ones to nurse. My father replied that men did not seem to
think so, and perhaps they had young ones also. I see now that my
father was a philosophic hare. But are you tired of my story?

"Not at all," I answered; "go on, please. It is very interesting to
hear things described from the animal's point of view, especially when
that animal has grown wise and learned to understand."

"Ah," answered the Hare. "I see what you mean. And it is odd, but I do
understand. All has become clear to me. I don't know what happened
when I died, but there came a change, and I knew that I who was but a
beast always have been and still am a necessary part of everything as
much as you are, though more helpless and humble. Yes, I am as ancient
and as far-reaching as yourself, but how I began and how I shall end
is dark to me. Well, I will go on with my story.

It must have been a moon or so later, after my mother had given up
nursing me, that I went to lie out by myself. There was a big house on
the hillside overlooking the sea, and near to it were gardens
surrounded by a wall. Also outside of this wall was another patch of
garden where cabbages grew. I found a way to those cabbages and kept
it secret, for I was greedy and wanted them all for myself. I used to
creep in at night and eat them, also some flowers with spiky leaves
that grew round them which had a very fine flavour. Then after the
dawn came I went to a form which I had made under a furze bush on the
slope that ran down to the sea, and slept there.

One day I was awakened by something white, hard, and round which
rolled gently and stopped still quite close to me. It was not alive,
although it had a queer smell, and I wondered why it moved at all.
Presently I heard voices and there appeared a little man, and with him
somebody who was not a man because it was differently dressed and
spoke in a higher voice. I saw that they had sticks in their hands and
thought of running away, then that it would be safer to lie quite
close. They came up to me and the little man said--

"There's the ball; pick it up, Ella, the lie is too bad."

She, for now I know it was what is called a girl, stooped to obey and
saw my back.

"Tom," she said in a whisper, "here's a young hare on its form."

"Get out of the light," he answered, "and I'll kill it," and he lifted
the stick he held, which had a twisted iron end.

"No," she said, "catch it alive; I want a hare to be a friend to my
rabbit, which has lost all its little ones."

"Lost them? Eaten them, you mean, because you would always go and
stare at it," said Tom. "Where's the leveret? Oh! I see. Now, look

A moment later and I was in darkness. Tom had thrown himself upon the
top of me and was grabbing at me with his hands. I nearly got away,
but as my head poked up under his arm the girl caught hold of it.

"Oh! it's scratching," she cried, as indeed I was with all my might.
"Hold it, Tom, hold it!"

"Hold it yourself," said Tom, "my face is full of furze prickles." So
she held and presently he helped her, till in the end I was tied up in
a pocket-handkerchief and carried I knew not whither. Indeed I was
almost mad with fear.

When I came to myself I found that I was within a kind of wire run
which smelt foully, as though hundreds of things had lived in it for
years. There was a hutch at the end of the run in which sat an
enormous she-rabbit, quite as big as my mother, a fierce-looking brute
with long yellow teeth. I was afraid of that rabbit and got as far
from it as I could. Presently it hopped out and looked at me.

"What are you doing here?" it asked. "Can't you talk? Well, it doesn't
matter. If I get hungry I'll eat you! Do you hear that? I'll eat you,
as I did all the others," and it showed its big yellow teeth and
hopped back into the hutch.

After that Tom and the girl came and gave us plenty of food which the
big rabbit ate, for I could touch nothing. For two days they came, and
then I think they forgot all about us. I grew very hungry, and at
night filled myself with some of the remaining food, such as stale
cabbage leaves. By next morning all was gone, and the big rabbit grew
hungry also. All that day it hopped about sniffing at me and showing
its yellow teeth.

"I shall eat you to-night," it said.

I ran round and round the pen in terror, till at last I found a place
where rats had been working under the wire, almost big enough for me
to squeeze through, but not quite.

The sun went down and the big she-rabbit came out.

"Now I am going to eat you," it said, "as I ate all the others. I am
hungry, very hungry," and it prodded me about with its nose and rolled
me over.

At last with a little squeal it drove its big yellow teeth into me
behind. Oh! how they hurt! I was near the rat-hole. I rushed at it,
scrabbling and wriggling. The big rabbit pounced on me with its fore-
feet, trying to hold me, but too late, for I was through, leaving some
of my fur behind me. I ran, how I ran! without stopping, till at
length I found my mother in the rough pasture by the wood and told her

"Ah!" she said, "that's what comes of greediness and of trying to be
too clever. Now, perhaps, you will learn to stop at home."

So I did for a long while.


The summer went by without anything particular happening, except that
my brother with the lame foot was eaten by the mother fox. That great
red beast was always prowling about, and at night surprised us in a
field near the wood where we were feeding on some beautiful turnips.
The rest of us got away, but my brother being lame, was not quick
enough. The fox caught him, and I heard her sharp white teeth crunch
into his bones. The sound made me quite sick, and my mother was very
sad afterwards. She complained to my father of the cruelty of foxes,
but he, who, as I have said, was a philosopher, answered her almost in
her own words.

"Foxes must live, and this one has young to feed, and therefore is
always hungry. There are three of them in a hole at the top of the
wood," he remarked. "Also our son was lame and would certainly have
been caught when the hunting begins."

"What's the hunting?" I asked.

"Never mind," said my father sharply. "No doubt you'll find out in
time, that is if you live through the shooting."

"What's the shooting?" I began, but my father cuffed me over the head
and I was silent.

I may tell you that my mother soon got over the loss of my brother,
for just about that time she had four new little ones, after which
neither she nor my father seemed to think any more about us. My sister
and I hated those little ones. We two alone remembered my brother, and
sometimes wondered whether he was quite gone or would one day come
back. The fox, I am glad to say, got caught in a trap. At least I am
not glad now--I was glad because, you see, I was so much afraid of


I was quite close by one morning when the fox, who was smelling about
after me, I suppose because it had liked my brother so much, got
caught in the big trap which was covered over artfully with earth and
baited with some stuff which stank horribly. I remember it looked very
like my own hind-legs. The fox, not being able to find me, went to
this filth and tried to eat it.

Then suddenly there was a dreadful fuss. The fox yelped and flew into
the air. I saw that a great black thing was fast on its forepaw. How
that fox did jump and roll! It was quite wonderful to see her. She
looked like a great yellow ball, except for a lot of white marks about
the head, which were her teeth. But the trap would not come away,
because it was tied to a root with a chain.

At last the fox grew tired and, lying down, began to think, licking
its paw as it thought and making a kind of moaning noise. Next it
commenced gnawing at the root after trying the chain and finding that
its teeth would not go into it. While it was doing this I heard the
sound of a man somewhere in the wood. So did the fox, and oh! it
looked so frightened. It lay down panting, its tongue hanging out and
its ears pressed back against its head, and whisked its big tail from
side to side. Then it began to gnaw again, but this time at its own
leg. It wanted to bite it off and so get away. I thought this very
brave of the fox, and though I hated it because it had eaten my
brother and tried to eat me, I felt quite sorry.

It was about half through its leg when the man came. I remember that
he had a cat with a little red collar on its neck, and an owl in his
hand, both of them dead, for he was Giles, the head-keeper, going
round his traps. He was a tall man with sandy whiskers and a rough
voice, and he carried a single-barrelled gun under his arm.

You see, now that I am dead I know the use of these things, just as I
understand all that was said, though of course at the time it had no
meaning for me. Still I find that I have forgotten nothing, not one
word from the beginning of my life to the end.

The keeper, who was on his way to the place where he nailed the
creatures he did not like by dozens upon poles, looked down and saw
the fox. "Oh! my beauty," he said, "so I have got you at last. Don't
you think yourself clever trying to bite off that leg. You'd have done
it too, only I came along just in time. Well, good night, old girl,
you won't have no more of my pheasants."

Then he lifted the gun. There was a most dreadful noise and the fox
rolled over and lay still.

"There you are, all neat and tidy, my dear," said the keeper. "Now I
must just tuck you away in the hollow tree before old Grampus sneaks
round and sees you, for if he should it will be almost as much as my
place is worth."

Next he set his foot on the trap and, opening it, took hold of the fox
by the fore-legs to carry it off. The cat and the owl he stuffed away
into a great pocket in his coat.

"Jemima! don't you wholly stink," he said, then gave a most awful

The fox wasn't quite dead after all, it was only shamming dead. At any
rate it got Giles' hand in its mouth and made its teeth meet through
the flesh.

Now the keeper began to jump about just as the fox had done when it
set its paw in the trap, shouting and saying all sorts of things that
somehow I don't think I ought to repeat here. Round and round he went
with the fox hanging to his hand, like hares do when they dance
together, for he couldn't get it off anyhow. At last he tumbled down
into a pool of mud and water, and when he got up again all wet through
I saw that the fox was really dead. But it had died biting, and now I
know that this pleased it very much.

It was just then that the man whom the keeper had called Grampus came
up. He was a big, fat man with a very red face, who made a kind of
blowing noise when he walked fast. I know now that he was the lord of
all the other men about that place, that he lived in the house which
looked over the sea, and that the boy and girl who put me in with the
yellow-toothed rabbit were his children. He was what the farmers
called "a first-rate all-round sportsman," which means, my friend--but
what is your name?

"Oh! Mahatma," I answered at hazard.

"Which means, my friend Mahatma, that he spent most of the year in
killing the lower animals such as me. Yes, he spent quite eight months
out of the twelve in killing us one way and another, for when there
was no more killing to be done in his own country, he would travel to
others and kill there. He would even kill pigeons from a trap, or
young rooks just out of their nests, or rats in a stack, or sparrows
among ivy, rather than not kill anything. I've heard Giles say so to
the under-keeper and call him "a regular slaughterer" and "a true-
blood Englishman."

Yet, my friend Mahatma, I say in the light of the truth which has come
to me, that according to his knowledge Grampus was a good man. Thus,
what little time he had to spare from sport he passed in helping his
brother men by sending them to prison. Although of course he never
worked or earned anything, he was very rich, because money flowed to
him from other people who had been very rich, but who at last were
forced to travel this Road and could not bring it with them. If they
could have brought it, I am sure that Grampus would never have got
any. However, he did get it, and he aided a great many people with
that part of it which he found he could not spend upon himself. He was
a very good man, only he liked killing us lower creatures, whom he
bred up with his money to be killed.

"Go on with your story, Hare," I said; "when I see this Red-faced Man
I will judge of him for myself. Probably you are prejudiced about

"I daresay I am," answered the Hare, rubbing its nose; "but please
observe that I am not speaking unkindly of Grampus, although before I
have done you may think that I might have reason to do so. However,
you will be able to form your own opinion when he comes here, which I
am sure he does not mean to do for many, many years. The world is much
too comfortable for him. He does not wish to leave it."

"Still he may be obliged to do so, Hare."

"Oh! no, people like that are never obliged to do anything they do not
like. It is only poor things such as you and I, Mahatma, which must
suffer. I can see that you have had a great deal to bear, and so have
I, for we were born to suffering as the Red-faced Man was born to

"Go on with your story, Hare," I repeated. "You are becoming
metaphysical and therefore dull. The time is short and I want to hear
what happened."

"Quite so, Mahatma. Well, Grampus came up breathing very heavily and
looking very red in the face. He held his hat in one hand and a large
crooked stick in the other, and even the top of his head, on which no
hair grew, was red, for he had been running.

"What the deuce is the matter?" he puffed. "Oh! it is you, Giles, is
it? What are you doing, sir, looking like that, all covered with blood
and mud? Has a poacher shot you, or what?"

"No, Squire," answered Giles humbly, touching his hat. "I have shot a
poacher, that's all, and it has given me what for," and he lifted the
body of the fox from the water.

"A fox," said Grampus, "a fox! Do you mean to say, Giles, that you
have dared to shoot a fox, and a vixen with a litter too? How often
have I told you that, although I keep harriers and not fox-hounds, you
are never to touch a fox. You will get me into trouble with all my
neighbours. I give you a month's notice. You will leave on this day

"Very well, Squire," said Giles, "I'll leave, and I hope you'll find
some one to serve you better. Meanwhile I didn't shoot the dratted
fox. At least I only shot her after she'd gone and got herself into a
trap which I had set for that there Rectory dog what you told me to
make off with on the quiet, so that the young lady might never know
what become of it and cry and make a fuss as she did about the last.
Then seeing that she was finished, with her leg half chewed off, I
shot her, or rather I didn't shoot her as well as I should, for the
beggar gave a twist as I fired, and now she's bit me right through the
hand. I only hopes you won't have to pay my widow for it, Squire,
under the Act, as foxes' bites is uncommon poisonous, especially when
they've been a-eating of rotten rabbit."

"Dear me!" said the Red-faced Man softening, "dear me, the beast does
seem to have bitten you very badly. You must go and be cauterised with
a red-hot iron. It is painful but the best thing to do. Meanwhile,
suck it, Giles, suck it! I daresay that will draw out the poison, and
if it doesn't, thank my stars! I am insured. Look here, a minute or
two can make no difference, for if you are poisoned, you are poisoned.
Where can we put this brute? I wouldn't have it seen for ten pounds."

"There's an old pollard, Squire, about five yards away down near the
fence, which is hollow and handy," said Giles.

"Quite so," he answered, "I know it well. Do you bring the--dog,
Giles. Remember, it was a dog, not a fox."

Then they went to the pollard, and as Giles's hand was hurt the Red-
faced Man climbed up it, though Giles tried to prevent him.

"Now then, Giles," he said, "give me the fox--I mean the dog, and I
will drop it down. Great Heavens! how this tree stinks. Has there been
an earth here?"

"Not as I knows of, Squire," said Giles sullenly.

Grampus stretched his hand down into the hollow of the pollard and
dragged up a rotting fox by its tail.

"Giles," he said, "you have been killing more foxes and hiding them in
this tree. Giles, I dismiss you at once and without a month's wages."

"All right, sir," said Giles, "I'll go, and I prays you'll find some
one what will keep your hares which you must have, and your pheasants
which you must have, and your partridges which you must have, without
killing these varmints of foxes what eats the lot."

The Red-faced Man descended from the tree holding his nose and looked
at Giles. Giles sucked his bleeding hand and looked at him.

"Foxes are very destructive animals," said the Red-faced Man to Giles,
"especially when one shoots and keeps harriers."

"They are that, sir," said Giles to the Red-faced Man, "as only those
know what has to do with them."

"Put the other in, Giles," said the Red-faced man, "and when you have
time, throw some soil on to the top of the lot. This place smells
horrible. And look you here, Giles," he added in a voice of thunder,
"if ever I find you killing a fox upon this property, you will be
dismissed at once, as I have often told you before. Do you

"Yes, Squire, I understand," answered Giles, "and I'll see to the
burying of them this same afternoon, if the pain in my hand will
suffer it."

"Very well," said the Red-faced Man, "that's done with--except the
cubs. As you have killed the vixen you had better stink the cubs out
of the earth. I daresay they are old enough to look after themselves--
at any rate I hope so. And now, Giles, we must shoot some of these
hares when we begin on the partridges next week. There are too many of
them, the tenants are complaining, ungrateful beggars as they are,
seeing that I keep them for their sport."

At this point I thought that I had heard enough, and slipped away when
their backs were turned. For, friend Mahatma, I had just seen a fox
shot, and now I knew what shooting meant.


About a week later I knew better still. It came about thus. By that
time the turnips I have mentioned, those that grew in the big field,
had swelled into fine, large bulbs with leafy tops. We used to eat
them at nights, and in the daytime to lie up among them in our snug
forms. You know, Mahatma, don't you, that a form is a little hollow
which a hare makes in the ground just to fit itself? No hare likes to
sleep in another hare's form. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I answered, "I understand. It would be like a man wearing
another man's boots."

"I don't know anything about boots Mahatma, except that they are hard
things with iron on them which kick one out of one's form if one sits
too close. Once that happened to me. Well, my form was under a
particularly fine turnip that had some dead leaves beneath the green
ones. I chose it because, like the brown earth, they just matched the
colour of my back. I was sleeping there quite soundly when my sister
came and woke me.

"There are men in the field," she said, her eyes nearly starting out
of her head with fear, for she was always very timid.

"I'm off."

"Are you?" I answered. "Well, I think I shall stop here where I shan't
be noticed. If we begin jumping over those turnips they will see us."

"We might run down the rows, keeping our ears close to our backs," she

"No," I said, "there are too many bare patches."

At this moment a gun went 'bang' some way off; and my sister, like a
wise hare, scuttled away at full speed for the wood. But I only made
myself smaller than usual and lay watching and listening.

There was a good deal to see and hear; for instance, a covey of
partridges, troublesome birds that come scratching and fidgeting about
when one wants to sleep, were running to and fro in a great state of

"They are after us," said the old cock.

"I remember the same thing last year. Come on, do."

"How can I with all these young ones to look after?" answered the hen.
"Why, if once they are scattered I shall never find them again."

"Just as you like, you know best," said the cock. "Goodbye," and away
he flew, while his wife and the rest ran to a little distance,
scattered and squatted.

Presently, looking back over my shoulders without turning my head, as
a hare can, I saw a line of men walking towards me. There was the Red-
faced Man whom Giles called Grampus behind his back and Squire to his
face. There was Giles himself, with his hurt hand tied up, holding a
kind of stick with a slit in it from which hung a lot of dead
partridges whose necks were in the slit. One of them was not dead or
had come to life again, for it flapped in the stick trying to fly
away. He held these in the hand that was tied up, and in the other,
oh, horror! was a dead hare bleeding from its nose. It looked
uncommonly like my mother, but whether it were or no I couldn't be
quite sure. At least from that day neither my sister nor I ever saw
her again. I suppose you haven't met her coming up this big white
Road, have you, Mahatma?

"No, no," I answered impatiently, "I have already told you that you
are the first hare I have ever seen upon the Road. Please get on with
your story, or the Lights will change and the Gates be opened before I
hear its end."

Just when I saw her I was thinking of running away, but the sight
terrified me so much that I could not stir. You see, Mahatma, I really
loved my mother as much as a hare can love anything, which is a good

Well, beyond Giles was, who do you think? That dreadful boy, Tom, with
a gun in his hand too. Did I say that they all had guns, except Giles
and some beater men, only that Tom's was single-barrelled? Then there
were others whom I need not describe, stretching to left and right,
and worst of all, perhaps, there was Giles's great black dog, a silly-
looking beast which always seemed to have its mouth open and its
tongue hanging out, and to be wagging a big tail like the fox's, only
black and more ragged.

As I watched, up got the old hen partridge and one of her young ones
and flew towards me. The Red-faced Man lifted his gun and fired, once,
twice, and down came first the mother partridge and then the young
one. I forgot to say that Tom fired too at the old partridge, which
fell dead quite close to me, leaving a lot of feathers floating in the
air. As it fell Tom screeched out--

"I killed that, father."

This made the Red-faced Man very angry.

"You young scoundrel," he said, "how often have I told you not to
shoot at my birds under my nose? No sportsman shoots at another man's
birds, and as for killing it, you were yards under the thing. If you
do it again I will send you home."

"Sorry, father," said Tom, adding in a low voice with a snigger, "I
did kill it after all. Dad thinks no one can hit a partridge except

Just then up jumped my father near to Giles, and came leaping in front
of the Red-faced Man about twenty yards away from him.

"Mark hare!" shouted Giles, and Grampus, who was still glowering at
Tom and had not quite finished pushing the cartridges into his gun,
shut it up in a hurry and fired first one barrel and then the other.
But my father, who was very cunning, jumped into the air at the first
shot and ducked at the second, so that he was missed; at least I
suppose that is why he was missed.

Giles grinned and the Red-faced Man said, "Damn!" What does 'damn'
mean, Mahatma? It was a very favourite word with the Red-faced Man,
but even now I can't quite understand it."

"Nor can I," I answered. "Go on."

"Well, my poor father next ran in front of Tom, who shot too and hit
him in the hind legs so that he rolled over and over in the turnips,
kicking and screaming. Have you ever heard a hare scream, Mahatma?"

"Yes, yes, it makes a horrid noise like a baby."

"Wiped your eye that time, Dad," cried Tom in an exultant voice.

"I don't know about wiping my eye," answered his father, turning quite
purple with rage, "but I wish you would be good enough, Thomas, not to
shoot my hares behind, so that they make that beastly row which upsets
me" (I think that the Red-faced Man was really kind at the bottom)
"and spoils them for the market. If you can't hit a hare in front,
miss it like a gentleman."

"As you do, Dad," said Tom, sniggering again. "All right, I'll try."

"Giles," roared Grampus, pretending not to hear, "send your dog and
fetch that hare. I can't bear its screeching."

So that great black dog rushed forward and caught my poor father in
its big mouth, although he tried to drag himself away on his front
paws, and after that I shut my eyes.

Then a lot of partridges got up and there was any amount of banging,
though most of them were missed. This made the Red-faced Man angrier
than ever. He took off his hat and waved it, bellowing--

"Call back that brute of a dog of yours, Giles. Call it back at once
or I'll shoot it."

So Giles called, "Nigger. Come you 'ere, Nigger! Nigg, Nigg, Nigg!"

But Nigger rushed about putting up partridges all over the place while
Grampus stamped and shouted and every one missed everything, till at
last Tom sat down on the turnips and roared with laughter.

At length, after Giles had beaten Nigger till he broke a stick over
him, making him howl terribly, order was restored, and the line having
reformed, began to march down on me. For, Mahatma, I was so frightened
by what had happened to my father, and I think my mother, that I
didn't remember what he, I mean my dead father, had told me, always to
run away when there is a chance, as poor hares can only protect
themselves by flight.

So as I had lost the chance I thought that I would just sit tight,
hoping that they would not see me. Nor indeed would they if it hadn't
been for that horrible Tom.

During the confusion the mother partridge which the Red-faced Man had
shot had been forgotten by everybody except Tom. Tom, you see, was
certain that he had shot it himself, being a very obstinate boy, and
was determined to retrieve it as his own.

Now that partridge had fallen within a yard of me, with its beak and
claws pointing to the sky, and when the line had passed where we lay
Tom lagged behind to look for it. He did not find it then, whether he
ever found it afterwards I am sure I don't know. But he found me.

"By Jove! here's a hare," he said, and made a grab at me just as he
had done in the furze bush.

Well, I went. Tom shot when I wasn't more than four yards from him,
and the whole charge passed like a bullet between my hind legs and
struck the ground under my stomach, sending up such a shower of earth
and stones that I was knocked right over.

"I've hit it!" yelled Tom, as he crammed another cartridge into his
single-barrelled gun.

By the time that it was loaded I was quite thirty yards away and going
like the wind. Tom lifted the gun.

"Don't shoot!" roared the Red-faced Man.

"Mind that there boy!" bellowed Giles.

I was running down between two rows of turnips and presently butted
into a lad who was bending over, I suppose to pick up a partridge. At
any rate his tail--do you call it his tail, Mahatma?"

"That will do," I answered.

"Well, his tail was towards me; it looked very round and shiny. The
shot from Tom's gun hit it everywhere. I wish they had all gone into
it, but as he was so far away the charge scattered and six of the
bullets struck me. Oh! they did hurt. Put your hand on my back,
Mahatma, and you will feel the six lumps they made beneath the grey
tufts of hair that grew over them, for they are still there."

Forgetting that we were on the Road, I stretched out my hand; but, of
course, it went quite through the hare, although I could see the six
little grey tufts clearly enough.

"You are foolish, Hare; you don't remember that your body is not here
but somewhere else."

"Quite true, Mahatma. If it were here I could not be talking to you,
could I? As a matter of fact, I have no body now. It is--oh, never
mind where. Still, you can see the grey tufts, can't you? Well, I only
hope that those shot hurt that fat boy half as much as they did me.
No, I don't mean that I hope it now, I used to hope it.

My goodness! didn't he screech, much worse than my father when his
legs were broken. And didn't everybody else roar and shout, and didn't
I dance? Off I went right over the fat boy, who had tumbled down, up
to the end of the field, then so bewildered was I with shock and the
burning pain, back again quite close to them.

But now nobody shot at me because they all thought the boy was killed
and were gathered round him looking very solemn. Only I saw that the
Red-faced Man had Tom by the neck and was kicking him hard.

After that I saw no more, for I ran five miles before I stopped, and
at last lay down in a little swamp near the seashore to which my
mother had once taken me. My back was burning like fire, and I tried
to cool it in the soft slush.


Quite a moon went by before I recovered from Tom's shot. At first I
thought that I was going to die, for, although luckily none of my
bones were broken, the pain in my back was dreadful. When I tried to
ease the agony by rubbing against roots it only became worse, for the
fur fell off, leaving sores upon which flies settled. I could scarcely
eat or sleep, and grew so thin that the bones nearly poked through my
pelt. Indeed I wanted very much to die, but could not. On the
contrary, by degrees I recovered, till at last I was quite strong
again and like other hares, except for the six little grey tufts upon
my back and one hole through my right ear.

Now all this while I had lived in the swamp near the sea, but when my
strength returned I thought of my old home, to which something seemed
to draw me. Also there were no turnips near the swamp, and as the
winter came on I found very little to eat there. So one day, or rather
one night, I travelled back home.

As it happened the first hare that I met near the big wood was my
sister. She was very glad to see me, although she had forgotten how we
came to part, and when I spoke of our father and mother these did not
seem to interest her. Still from that time forward we lived together
more or less till her end came.

One day--this was after we had made our home in the big wood, as hares
often do in winter--there was a great disturbance. When we tried to go
out to feed at daylight we found little fires burning everywhere, and
near to them boys who beat themselves and shouted. So we went back
into the wood, where the pheasants were running to and fro in a great
state of mind.

Some hours later, when the sun was quite high, men began to march
about and scores of shots were fired a long way off, also a wounded
cock-pheasant fell near to us and fluttered away, making a queer noise
in its throat. It looked very funny stumbling along on one leg with
its beak gaping and two of the long feathers in its tail broken.

"I know what this is," I said to my sister. "Let's be gone before they
shoot us. I've had enough of being shot."

So off we went, rushing past a boy by his fire, who yelled and threw a
stick at us. But as it happened, on the borders of the property of the
Red-faced Man there were poachers who knew that hares would come out
of the wood on this day of the shooting and had made ready for us by
setting wire nooses in the gaps of the hedges through which we ran. I
got my foot into one of these but managed to shake it off. My sister
was not so lucky, for her head went into another of them. She kicked
and tore, but the more she struggled the tighter drew the noose.

I watched her for a little while until one of the poachers ran up with
a stick.

Then I went away, as I could not bear to see her beaten to death, and
that was the end of my sister. So now I was the only one left alive of
our family, except perhaps some younger brothers whom I did not know,
though I think it was one of these that afterwards I saw shot quite
dead by Giles. He went over and over and lay as still as though he had
never moved in all his life. Death seems a very wonderful thing,
Mahatma, but I won't ask you what it is because I perceive that you
can't answer.

After this nothing happened to me for a long while. Indeed I had the
best time of my life and grew very strong and big, yes, the strongest
and biggest hare of any that I ever saw, also the swiftest of foot.
Twice I was chased by dogs; once by Giles's black beast, Nigger, and
once by that of a shepherd. Finding that I could run right away from
them without exerting myself at all, I grew to despise dogs. Ah!
little did I know then that there are many different breeds of these

One day in mid-winter, as the weather was very mild and open, I was
lying on the rough grass field that I have spoken of which borders a
flat stretch of moorland. On this moorland in summer grew tall ferns,
but now these had died and been broken down by the wind. Suddenly I
woke up from my sleep to see a number of men walking and riding
towards me.

They were tenants and others who, although the real coursing season
had not yet begun in our neighbourhood, had been asked by Grampus to
come to try their greyhounds upon his land. Those of them who walked
for the most part held two long, lean dogs on a string, while one or
two carried dead hares. They were dreadful-looking hares that seemed
to have been bitten all over; at least their coats were wet and
broken. I shivered at the sight of them, feeling sure that I was going
to be put to some new kind of torture.

Besides the men on foot were those on horseback, among whom I
recognised the Red-faced Man and my enemy, the dreadful Tom. Most of
the others were people called farmers, who seemed very happy and
excited and from time to time drank something out of little bottles
which they passed to each other. Giles was not there. Now I know that
this was because he hated coursing, which killed down hares. Hares, he
thought, out to be shot, not coursed.

Whilst I watched, wondering what to do, there was a shout of "There
she goes!" and all the long dogs began to pull at their strings. Off
the necks of two of them the collars seemed to fall, and away they
leapt pursuing a hare. The men on the horses galloped after them, but
the men on foot remained where they were.

Now I was afraid to get up and run lest they should loose the other
dogs on me, so I lay still, till presently I saw the hare coming back
towards me, followed by the two dogs whose noses almost touched its
tail. It was exhausted and tried to twist and spring away to the
right. But as it did so one of the dogs caught it in its mouth and bit
it till it died.

"That was a rotten hare," said Tom, who cantered up just then, "it
gave no course at all."

"Yes," puffed Grampus. "Hope the next one will show better sport."

"Hope so too," answered Tom, "especially as it is Jack and Jill's turn
to be slipped, and they are the best greyhounds for twenty miles

Then the Red-faced Man gave some orders and Jack and Jill were brought
forward by the man whose business it was to slip the dogs. One of them
was black and one yellow; I think Jack was the black one--a dreadful,
sneaking-looking beast with a white tip to its tail, which ended in a
sort of curl.

"Forward now," said Grampus, "and go slow. There's sure to be another
puss or two in this rough grass."

Next second I was up and away, and before you could count twelve Jack
and Jill were after me. I saw them standing on their hind legs
straining at the cord. Then the collars fell from them and they leapt
forward like the light. My thought was to get back to the wood, which
was about a minute's run behind me, but I did not dare to turn and
head for it because of the long line of people through which I must
pass if I tried to do so. So I ran straight for the moorland, hoping
to turn there and reach the wood on its other side, although this
meant a long journey.

For a while all went well with me, and having a good start I began to
hope that I should outrun these beasts, as I had the shepherd's dog
and the retriever. But I did not know Jack and Jill. Just as I reached
the borders of the moor I heard the patter of their feet behind me,
and looking back saw them coming up, about as far away as I was from
Tom when he shot me.

They were running quite close together and behind them galloped the
judge and other men. There was a fence here and I bolted through a
hole in it. The greyhounds jumped over and for a moment lost sight of
me, for I had turned and run down near the side of the fence. But Tom,
who had come through a gap, saw me and waved his arm shouting, and
next instant Jack and Jill saw me too.

Then as the going was rough by the fence I took to the open moor,
always trying, however, to work round to the left in the hope that I
might win the shelter of the wood.

On we went like the wind, and now Jack and Jill were quite close
behind me, though before they got there I had managed to circle so
that at last my head pointed to the wood, which was more than half a
mile away. Their speed was greater than mine, and I knew that I must
soon be caught.

At last they were not more than two yards behind, and for the first
time I twisted so that they overshot me, which gave me another start.
Three times they came up and three times I wrenched or twisted. The
wood was not so far away now, but I was almost spent.

What was I to do! What was I to do! I saw a clump of furze to the
left, a big clump and thick, and remembered that there was a hare's
run through it. I reached it just as Jill was on the top of me, and
once more they lost sight of me for a while as they ran round the
clump staring and jumping. When they saw me again on the further side
I was thirty yards ahead of them and the wood was perhaps two hundred
and fifty yards away. But now I could only run more slowly, for my
heart seemed to be bursting, though luckily Jack and Jill were getting
tired also. Still they soon came up, and now I must twist every few
yards, or be caught in their jaws.

I can't tell you what I felt, Mahatma, and until you have been hunted
by greyhounds you will never know. It was horrible. Yet I managed to
twist and jump so that always Jack and Jill just missed me. The
farmers on the horses laughed to see my desperate leaps and wrenches.

But Tom did worse than laugh. Noting that I was getting quite near the
wood, he rode between me and it, trying to turn me into the open, for
he wished to see me killed.

"Don't do that! It isn't sportsmanlike," shouted the Red-faced Man.
"Give the poor beast a chance."

I don't know whether he obeyed or not, as just then I made my last
double, and felt Jill's teeth cut through the fur of my scut and heard
them snap. I had dodged Jill, but Jack was right on to me and the wood
still twenty yards away.

I could not twist any more, it was just which of us could get there
first. I gathered all my remaining strength, for I was mad, mad with
terror, and bounded forward.

After me came Jack, I felt his hot breath on my flank. I jumped the
ditch, yes, I found power to jump that ditch where there was a rabbit
run just by the trunk of a young oak. Jack jumped after me; we must
both have been in the air at the same time. But I got through the
rabbit run, whereas Jack hit his sharp nose against the trunk of the
tree and broke his neck. Yes, he fell dead into the ditch.

I crawled on a few yards to a thick clump and squatted down, for I
could not stir another inch. So it came about that I heard them all
talking on the other side.

One of them said I was the finest hare he had ever coursed. Others,
who had dragged Jack out of the ditch, lamented his death, especially
the owner, who vowed that he was worth £50 and abused Tom. Tom, he
said, had caused him to be killed--I don't know how, but I suppose
because he had ridden forward and tried to turn me. The Red-faced Man
also scolded Tom. Then he added--

"Well, I am glad she got off, for she'll give us a good run with the
harriers one day. I shall always know that hare again by the white
marks on its back; also it is the biggest I have seen for a long
while. Come on, my friends, the dog is dead and there's an end of it.
At least we have had a good morning's sport, so let's go to the Hall
and get some lunch."


The Hare paused for a little, then looked up at me in its comical
fashion and asked--

"Did you ever course hares, Mahatma?"

"Not I, thank goodness," I answered.

"Well, what do you think of coursing?"

"I would rather not say," I replied.

"Then I will," said the Hare, with conviction. "I think it horrible."

"Yes, but, Hare, you do not remember the pleasure this sport gives to
the men and the dogs; you look at it from an entirely selfish point of

"And so would you, Mahatma, if you had felt Jack's hot breath on your
back and Jill's teeth in your tail."


The Hare sat silent for a time, while I employed myself in watching
certain shadows stream past us on the Great White Road. Among them was
that of a politician whom I had much admired upon the earth. In this
land of Truth I was grieved to observe certain characteristics about
him which I had never before suspected. It seemed to me, alas! that in
his mundane career he had not been so entirely influenced by a single-
hearted desire for the welfare of our country as he had proclaimed and
I had believed. I gathered even that his own interests had sometimes
inspired his policy.

He went by, leaving, so far as I was concerned, a somewhat painful
impression from which I sought relief in the company of the open-
souled Hare.

"Well," I said, "I suppose that you died of exhaustion after your
coursing experience, and came on here."

"Died of exhaustion, Mahatma, not a bit of it! In three days I was as
well as ever, only much more cunning than I had been before. In the
night I fed in the fields upon whatever I could get, but in the
daytime I always lay up in woods. This I did because I found out the
shooting was over, and I knew that greyhounds, which run by sight,
would never come into woods.

The weeks went by and the days began to lengthen. Pretty yellow
flowers that I had not seen before appeared in the woods, and I ate
plenty of them; they have a nice flavour. Then I met another hare and
loved her, because she reminded me of my sister. We used to play about
together and were very happy. I wonder what she will do now that I am

"Console herself with somebody else," I suggested sarcastically.

"No, she won't do that, Mahatma, because the hounds 'chopped' her just
outside the Round Plantation. I mean they caught and ate her. You
think that I am contradicting myself, but I am not. I mean I wonder
what she will do without me in whatever world she has reached, for I
don't see her here. Well, I went to the little Round Plantation
because I found that Giles seldom came there and I thought it would be
safer, but as it proved I made a great mistake. One day there appeared
the Red-faced Man and Tom and the girl, Ella, and a lot of other
people mounted on horses, some of them dressed in green coats with
ridiculous-looking caps on their heads.

Also with them were I don't know how many spotted dogs whose tails
curled over their backs, not like greyhounds whose tails curl between
their legs. Outside of the Plantation those dogs caught and ate my
future wife, as I have said. It was her own fault, for I had warned
her not to go there, but she was a very self-willed character. As it
was she never even gave them a run, for they were all round her in a
minute. Then they made a kind of cartwheel; their heads were in the
centre of this cartwheel and their tails pointed out. In its exact
middle was my future wife.

When the wheel broke up there was nothing of her left except her scut,
which lay upon the ground.

I had seen so many of such things that I was not so much shocked as
you might suppose. After all a fine hare like myself could always get
another wife, and as I have told you she was very self-willed.

So I lay still, thinking that those men and dogs would go away.

But what do you think Mahatma? Just as they were going the boy Tom
called out--

"I say, Dad, I think we might as well knock through the Round
Plantation. Giles tells me that the old speckle-backed buck lies up

"Does he?" said Grampus. "Well, if so, that's the hare I want to see,
for I know he'd give us a good run. Here, Jerry" (Jerry was the
huntsman), "just put the hounds into that place."

So Jerry put the hounds in, making dreadful noises to encourage them,
and of course I came out, as I did not wish to share the fate of my
future wife.

"That's him!" screeched Tom. "Look at the grey marks on his back."

"Yes, that's he right enough," shouted the Red-faced Man. "Lay them
on, Jerry, lay them on; we're in for a rattling run now, I'll

So they were laid on and I went away as hard as my legs would carry
me. Very soon I found that I had left all those curly-tailed dogs a
long way behind.

"Ah!" I said to myself proudly, "these beasts are not greyhounds; they
are like Giles's retriever and the sheep dog. They'll never see me
again. So I looped along saving my breath and heading for a wood which
was quite five miles off that I had once visited from the Marsh on the
sea-shore where I lay sick, for I was sure they would never follow me

You can imagine, then, Mahatma, how surprised I was when I drew near
that wood to hear a hideous noise of dogs all barking together behind
me, and on looking back, to see those spotted brutes, with their
tongues hanging out, coming along quite close to each other and not
more than a quarter of a mile away.

Moreover they were coming after me. I was sure of that, for the first
of them kept setting its nose to the ground just where I had run, and
then lifting up its head to bay. Yes, they were coming on my scent.
They could smell me as Giles's curly dog smells the wounded
partridges. My heart sank at the thought, but presently I remembered
that the wood was quite close, and that there I should certainly give
them the slip.

So I went on quite cheerfully, not even running as fast as I could.
But fortune was against me, as everything has always been, for I never
found a friend. I ran along the side of a hedgerow which went quite up
to the wood, not knowing that at the end of it three men were engaged
in cutting down an oak tree. You see, Mahatma, they had caught sight
of the hunt and stopped from their work, so that I did not hear the
sound of their axes upon the tree. Nor, as my head was so near the
ground, did I see them until I was right on to them, at which moment
also they saw me.

"Here she is!" yelled one of them. "Keep her out of covert or they'll
lose her," and he threw out his arms and began to jump about, as did
the other two.

I pulled up short within three or four yards of them. Behind were the
dogs and the people galloping upon horses and in front were the three
men. What was I to do? Now I had stopped exactly in a gateway, for a
lane ran alongside the wood. After a moment's pause I bolted through
the gateway, thinking that I would get into the wood beyond. But one
of the men, who of course wanted to see me killed, was too quick for
me and there headed me again.

Then I lost my senses. Instead of running on past him and leaping into
the wood, I swung right round and rushed back, still clinging to the
hedgerow. Indeed as I went down one side of it the hounds and the
hunters came up on the other, so that there were only a few sticks
between us, though fortunately the wind was blowing from them to me.
Fearing lest they should see me I jumped into the ditch and ran for
quite two hundred yards through the mud and water that was gathered
there. Then I had to come out of it again as it ended but here was a
fall in the ground, so still I was not seen.

Meanwhile the hunt had reached the three men and I heard them all
talking together. The end of it was that the men explained which way I
had gone, and once more the hounds were laid on to me. In a minute
they got to where I had entered the ditch, and there grew confused
because my footmarks did not smell in the water. For quite a long time
they looked about till at length, taking a wide cast, the hounds found
my smell again at the end of the ditch.

During this check I was making the best of my way back towards my own
home; indeed had it not been for it I should have been caught and torn
to pieces much sooner than I was. Thus it happened that I had covered
quite three miles before once more I heard those hounds baying behind
me. This was just as I got on to the moorland, at that edge of it
which is about another three miles from the great house called the
Hall, which stands on the top of a cliff that slopes down to the beach
and the sea.

I had thought of making for the other wood, that in which I had saved
myself from the greyhounds when the beast Jack broke its neck against
the tree, but it was too far off, and the ground was so open that I
did not dare to try.

So I went straight on, heading towards the cliff. Another mile and
they viewed me, for I heard Tom yell with delight as he stood up in
his stirrups on the black cob he was riding and waved his cap. Jerry
the huntsman also stood up in his stirrups and waved his cap, and the
last awful hunt began.

I ran--oh! how I ran. Once when they were nearly on me I managed to
check them for a minute in a hollow by getting among some sheep. But
they soon found me again, and came after me at full tear not more than
a hundred yards behind. In front of me I saw something that looked
like walls and bounded towards them with my last strength. My heart
was bursting, my eyes and mouth seemed to be full of blood, but the
terror of being torn to pieces still gave me power to rush on almost
as quickly as though I had just been put off my form. For as I have
told you, Mahatma, I am, or rather was, a very strong and swift hare.

I reached the walls; there was an open doorway in them through which I
fled, to find myself in a big garden. Two gardeners saw me and shouted
loudly. I flew on through some other doors, through a yard, and into a
passage where I met a woman carrying a pail, who shrieked and fell on
to her back. I jumped over her and got into a big room, where was a
long table covered with white on which were all sorts of things that I
suppose men eat. Out of that room I went into yet another, where a fat
woman with a hooked nose was seated holding something white in front
of her. I bolted under the thing on which she was seated and lay
there. She saw me come and began to shriek also, and presently a most
terrible noise arose outside.

All the spotted dogs were in the house, baying and barking, and
everybody was yelling. Then for a minute the dogs stopped their
clamour, and I heard a great clatter of things breaking and of teeth
crunching and of the Red-faced Man shouting--

"Those cursed brutes are eating the hunt lunch. Get them out, Jerry,
you idiot! Get them out! Great heavens! what's the matter with her
Ladyship? Is any one murdering her?"

I suppose that they couldn't get them out, or at least when they did
they all came into the other room where I was under the seat on which
the fat woman was now standing.

"What is it, mother?" I heard Tom say.

"An animal!" she screamed. "An animal under the sofa!"

"All right," he said, "that's only the hare. Here, hounds, out with
her, hounds!"

The dogs rushed about, some of them with great lumps of food still in
their mouths. But they were confused, and all went into the wrong
places. Everything began to fall with dreadful crashes, the fat woman
shrieked piercingly, and her shriek was--

"China! Oh! my china-a. John, you wretch! Help! Help! Help!"

To which the Red-faced Man roared in answer--

"Don't be an infernal fool, Eliza-a. I say, don't be such an infernal

Also there were lots of other noises that I cannot remember, except
one which a dog made.

This silly dog had thrust its head up the hole over a fire such as the
stops make outside the coverts when men are going to shoot, either to
hide something or to look for me there. When it came down again
because the Red-faced Man kicked it, the dog put its paws into the
fire and pulled it all out over the floor. Also it howled very
beautifully. Just then another hound, that one which generally led the
pack, began to sniff about near me and finally poked its nose under
the stuff which hid me.

It jumped back and bayed, whereon I jumped out the other side. Tom
made a rush at me and knocked the fat woman off the thing she was
standing on, so that she fell among the dogs, which covered her up and
began to sniff her all over. Flying from Tom I found myself in front
of something filmy, beyond which I saw grass. It looked suspicious,
but as nothing in the world could be so bad as Tom, no, not even his
dogs, I jumped at it.

There was a crash and a sharp point cut my nose, but I was out upon
the grass. Then there were twenty other crashes, and all the hounds
were out too, for Tom had cheered them on. I ran to the edge of the
lawn and saw a steep slope leading to the sands and the sea. Now I
knew what the sea was, for after Tom had shot me in the back I lived
by it for a long while, and once swam across a little creek to get to
my form, from which it cut me off.

While I ran down that slope fast as my aching legs would carry me, I
made up my mind that I would swim out into the sea and drown there,
since it is better to drown than to be torn to pieces. But why are you
laughing, friend Mahatma."

"I am not laughing," I said. "In this state, without a body, I have
nothing to laugh with. Still you are right, for you see that I should
be laughing if I could. Your story of the stout lady and the dogs and
the china is very amusing."

"Perhaps, friend, but it did not amuse me. Nothing is amusing when one
is going to be eaten alive."

"Of course it isn't," I answered. "Please forgive me and go on."

"Well, I tumbled down that cliff, followed by some of the dogs and Tom
and the girl Ella and the huntsman Jerry on foot, and dragged myself
across the sands till I came to the lip of the sea.

Just here there was a boat and by it stood Giles the keeper. He had
come there to get out of the way of the hunting, which he hated as
much as he did the coursing. The sight of him settled me--into the sea
I went. The dogs wanted to follow me, but Jerry called and whipped
them off.

"I won't have them caught in the current and drowned," he said. "Let
the flea-bitten old devil go, she's brought trouble enough already."

"Help me shove off the boat, Giles," shouted Tom. "She shan't beat us;
we must have her for the hounds. Come on, Ella."

"Best leave her alone, Master Tom," said Giles. "I think she's an
unlucky one, that I do."

Still the end of it was that he helped to float the little boat and
got into it with Tom and Ella.

Just after they had pushed off I saw a man running down the steps on
the cliff waving his arms while he called out something. But of him
they took no heed. I do not think they noticed him. As for me, I swam

I could not go very fast because I was so dreadfully tired; also I did
not like swimming, and the cold waves broke over my head, making the
cut in my nose smart and filling my eyes with something that stung
them. I could not see far either, nor did I know where I was going. I
knew nothing except I was about to die, and that soon everything would
be at an end; men, dogs--everything, yes, even Tom. I wanted things to
come to an end. I had suffered so dreadfully, life was so horrible, I
was so very tired. I felt that it was better to die and have done.

So I swam on a long way and began to forget things; indeed I thought
that I was playing in the big turnip field with my mother and sister.
But just as I was sinking exhausted a hand shot down into the water
and caught me by the ears, although from below the fingers looked as
though they were bending away from me. I saw it coming and tried to
sink more quickly, but could not.

"I've got her," said the voice of Tom gleefully. "My! isn't she a
beauty? Over nine pounds if she is an ounce. Only just in time,
though," he went on, "for, look! she's drowning; her head wobbles as
though she were sea-sick. Buck up, pussie, buck up! You mustn't cheat
the hounds at last, you know. It wouldn't be sportsmanlike, and they
hate dead hares."

Then he held me by my hind legs to drain the water out of me, and
afterwards began to blow down my nose, I did not know why.

"Don't do that, Tom," said Ella sharply. "It's nasty."

"Must keep the life in her somehow," answered Tom, and went on

"Master Tom," interrupted Giles, who was rowing the boat. "I ain't
particular, but I wish you'd leave that there hare alone. Somehow I
thinks there's bad news in its eye. Who knows? P'raps the little devil
feels. Any way, it's a rum one, its swimming out to sea. I never see'd
a hunted hare do that afore."

"Bosh!" said Tom, and continued his blowing.

We reached the shore and Tom jumped out of the boat, holding me by the
ears. The hounds were all on the beach, most of them lying down, for
they were very tired, but the men were standing in a knot at a
distance talking earnestly, Tom ran to the hounds, crying out--

"Here she is, my beauties, here she is!" whereon they got up and began
to bay. Then he held me above them.

"Master Tom," I heard Jerry's voice say, "for God's sake let that hare
go and listen, Master Tom," and the girl Ella, who of a sudden had
begun to sob, tried to pull him back.

But he was mad to see me bitten to death and eaten, and until he had
done so would attend to no one. He only shouted, "One--two--three!
Now, hounds! /Worry, worry, worry!/"

Then he threw me into the air above the red throats and gnashing teeth
which leapt up towards me.


The Hare paused, but added, "Did you tell me, friend Mahatma, that you
had never been torn to pieces by hounds, 'broken up,' I believe they
call it?"

"Yes, I did," I answered, "and what is more I shall be obliged if you
will not dwell upon the subject."


"As you like," said the Hare. "Certainly it was very dreadful. It
seemed to last a long time. But I don't mind it so much now, for I
feel that it can never happen to me again. At least I hope it can't,
for I don't know what I have done to deserve such a fate, any more
than I know why it should have happened to me once."

"Something you did in a previous existence, perhaps," I answered. "You
see then you may have hunted other creatures so cruelly that at last
your turn came to suffer what you had made them suffer. I often think
that because of what we have done before we men are also really being
hunted by something we cannot see."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Hare, "I never thought of that. I hope it is true,
for it makes things seem juster and less wicked. But I say, friend
Mahatma, what am I doing here now, where you tell me poor creatures
with four feet never, or hardly ever come?"

"I don't know, Hare. I am not wise, to whom it is only granted to
visit the Road occasionally to search for some one."

"I understand, Mahatma, but still you must know a great deal or you
would not be allowed in such a place before your time, or at any rate
you must be able to guess a great deal. So tell me, why do you think
that I am here?"

"I can't say, Hare, I can't indeed. Perhaps after the Gates are open
and your Guardian has given you to drink of the Cup, you will go to
sleep and wake up again as something else."

"To drink of the cup, Mahatma? I don't drink; at least I didn't,
though I can't tell what may happen here. But what do you mean about
waking up as something else? Please be more plain. As what else?"

"Oh! who can know? Possibly as you are on the human Road you might
even become a man some day, though I should not advise you to build on
such a hope as that."

"What do you say, Mahatma? A man! One of those two-legged beasts that
hunt hares; a thing like Giles and Tom--yes, Tom? Oh! not that--not
that! I'd almost rather go through everything again than become a
cruel, torturing man."

As it spoke thus the Hare grew so disturbed that it nearly vanished;
literally it seemed to melt away till I could only perceive its
outline. With a kind of shock I comprehended all the horror that it
must feel at such a prospect as I had suggested to it, and really this
grasping of the truth hurt my human pride. It had never come home to
me before that the circumstances of their lives--and deaths--must
cause some creatures to see us in strange lights.

"Oh! I have no doubt I was mistaken," I said hurriedly, "and that your
wishes on the point will be respected. I told you that I know

At these words the Hare became quite visible again.

It sat up and very reflectively began to rub its still shadowy nose
with a shadowy paw. I think that it remembered the sting of the salt
water in the cut made by the glass of the window through which it had

Believing that its remarkable story was done, and that presently it
would altogether melt away and vanish out of my knowledge, I looked
about me. First I looked above the towering Gates to see whether the
Lights had yet begun to change. Then as they had not I looked down the
Great White Road, following it for miles and miles, until even to my
spirit sight it lost itself in the Nowhere.

Presently coming up this Road towards us I saw a man dressed in a
green coat, riding-breeches and boots and a peaked cap, who held in
his hand a hunting-whip. He was a fine-looking person of middle age,
with a pleasant, open countenance, bright blue eyes, and very red
cheeks, on which he wore light-coloured whiskers. In short a jovial-
looking individual, with whom things had evidently always gone well,
one to whom sorrow and disappointment and mental struggle were utter
strangers. He, at least, had never known what it is to "endure
hardness" in all his life.

Studying his nature as one can do on the Road, I perceived also that
in him there was no guile. He was a good-minded, God-fearing man
according to his simple lights, who had done many kindnesses and
contributed liberally towards the wants of the poor, though as he had
been very rich, it had cost him little thus to gratify the natural
promptings of his heart.

Moreover he was what Jorsen calls a "young soul," quite young indeed,
by which I mean that he had not often walked the Road in previous
states of life, as for instance that Eastern woman had done who
accosted me before the arrival of the Hare. So to speak his crude
nature had scarcely outgrown the primitive human condition in which
necessity as well as taste make it customary and pleasant to men to
kill; that condition through which almost every boy passes on his way
to manhood, I suppose by the working of some secret law of

It was this thought that first led me to connect the new-comer with
the Red-faced Man of the Hare's story. It may seem strange that I
should have been so dense, but the truth is that it never occurred to
me, any more than it had done to the Hare, that such a person would be
at all likely to tread the Road for many years to come. I had gathered
that he was comparatively young, and although I had argued otherwise
with the Hare, had concluded therefore that he would continue to live
his happy earth life until old age brought him to a natural end. Hence
my obtuseness.

The man was drifting towards me thoughtfully, evidently much
bewildered by his new surroundings but not in the least afraid. Indeed
there none are afraid; when they glide from their death-beds to the
Road they leave fear behind them with the other terrors of our mortal

Presently he became conscious of the presence of the Hare, and
thoughts passed through his mind which of course I could read.

"My word!" he said to himself, "things are better than I hoped.
There's a hare, and where there are hares there must be hunting and
shooting. Oh! if only I had a gun, or the ghost of a gun!"

Then an idea struck him. He lifted his hunting-crop and hurled it at
the Hare.

As it was only the shadow of a crop of course it could hurt nothing.
Still it went through the shadow of the Hare and caused it to twist
round like lightning.

"That was a good shot anyway," he reflected, with a satisfied smile.

By now the Hare had seen him.

"/The Red-faced Man!/" it exclaimed, "Grampus himself!" and it turned
to flee away.

"Don't be frightened," I cried, "he can't hurt you; nothing can hurt
you here."

The Hare halted and sat up. "No," it said, "I forgot. But you saw, he
tried to. Now, Mahatma, you will understand what a bloodthirsty brute
he is. Even after I am dead he has tried to kill me again."

"Well, and why not?" interrupted the Man. "What are hares for except
to be killed?"

"There, Mahatma, you hear him. Look at me, Man, who am I?"

So he looked at the Hare and the Hare looked at him. Presently his
face grew puzzled.

"By Jingo!" he said slowly, "you are uncommonly like--you /are/ that
accursed witch of a hare which cost me my life. There are the white
marks on your back, and there is the grey splotch on your ear. Oh! if
only I had a gun--a real gun!"

"You would shoot me, wouldn't you, or try to?" said the Hare. "Well,
you haven't and you can't. You say I cost you your life. What do you
mean? It was my life that was sacrificed, not yours."

"Indeed," answered the Man, "I thought you got away. Never saw any
more of you after you jumped through the French window. Never had
time. The last thing I remember is her Ladyship screaming like a mad
cockatoo, yes, and abusing me as though I were a pickpocket, with the
drawing-room all on fire. Then something happened, and down I went
among the broken china and hit my head against the leg of a table.
Next came a kind of whirling blackness and I woke up here."

"A fit or a stroke," I suggested.

"Both, I think, sir. The fit first--I have had 'em before, and the
stroke afterwards--against the leg of the table. Anyway they finished
me between them, thanks to that little beast."

Then it was that I saw a very strange thing, a hare in a rage. It
seemed to go mad, of course I mean spiritually mad. Its eyes flashed
fire; it opened its mouth and shut it after the fashion of a
suffocating fish. At last it spoke in its own way--I cannot stop to
explain in further detail the exact manner of speech or rather of its
equivalent upon the Road.

"Man, Man," it exclaimed, "you say that I finished you. But what did
you do to me? You shot me. Look at the marks upon my back. You coursed
me with your running dogs. You hunted me with your hounds. You dragged
me out of the sea into which I swam to escape you by death, and threw
me living to the pack," and the Hare stopped exhausted by its own

"Well," replied the Man coolly, "and suppose I, or my people, did,
what of it? Why shouldn't I? You were a beast, I was a man with
dominion over you. You can read all about that in the Book of

"I never heard of the Book of Genesis," said the Hare, "but what does
dominion mean? Does this Book of Genesis say that it means the right
to torment that which is weaker than the tormentor?"

"All you animals were made for us to eat," commented the Man, avoiding
an answer to the direct question.

"Very good," answered the Hare, "let us suppose that we /were/ given
you to eat. Was it in order to eat me that you came out against me
with guns, then with dogs that run by sight, and then with dogs that
run by smell?"

"If you were to be killed and eaten, why should you not be killed in
one of these ways, Hare?"

"Why should I be killed in those ways, Man, when others more merciful
were to your hand? Indeed, why should I be killed at all? Moreover, if
you wished to satisfy your hunger with my body, why at the last was I
thrown to the dogs to devour?"

"I don't quite know, Hare. Never looked at the matter in that light
before. But--ah! I've got you now," he added triumphantly. "If it
hadn't been for me you never would have lived. You see /I/ gave you
the gift of life. Therefore, instead of grumbling, you should be very
much obliged to me. Don't you understand? I preserved hares, so that
without me you would never have been a hare. Isn't that right, Mr.--
Mr.--I am sorry I have forgotten your name," he added, turning towards

"Mahatma," I said.

"Oh! yes, I remember it now--Mr.--ah--Mr. Hatter."

"There is something in the argument," I replied cautiously, "but let
us hear our friend's answer."

"Answer--my answer! Well, here it is. What are you, Man, who dare to
say that you give life or withhold it? You a Lord of life, /you!/ I
tell you that I know little, yet I am sure that you or those like you
have no more power to create life than the world we have left has to
bid the stars to shine. If the life must come, it will come, and if it
cannot fulfil itself as a hare, then it will appear as something else.
If you say that you create life, I, the poor beast which you tortured,
tell you that you are a presumptuous liar."

"You dare to lecture me," said the Man, "me, the heir of all the ages,
as the poet called me. Why, you nasty little animal, do you know that
I have killed hundreds like you, and," he added, with a sudden
afflatus of pride, "thousands of other creatures, such as pheasants,
to say nothing of deer and larger game? That has been my principal
occupation since I was a boy. I may say that I have lived for sport;
got very little else to show for my life, so to speak."

"Oh!" said the Hare, "have you? Well, if I were you, I shouldn't boast
about it just now. You see, we are still outside of those Gates. Who
knows but that you will find every one of the living things you have
amused yourself by slaughtering waiting for you within them, each
praying for justice to its Maker and your own?"

"My word!" said the Man, "what a horrible notion; it's like a bad

He reflected a little, then added, "Well, if they do, I've got my
answer. I killed them for food; man must live. Millions of pheasants
are sold to be eaten every year at a much smaller price than they cost
to breed. What do you say to that, Mr. Hatter? Finishes him, I think."

"I'm not arguing," I replied. "Ask the Hare."

"Yes, ask me, Man, and although you are repeating yourself, I'll
answer with another question, knowing that here you must tell the
truth. Did you really rear us all for food? Was it for this that you
kept your keepers, your running dogs and your hunting dogs, that you
might kill poor defenceless beasts and birds to fill men's stomachs?
If this was so, I have nothing more to say. Indeed, if our deaths or
sufferings at their hands really help men in any way, I have nothing
more to say. I admit that you are higher and stronger than we are, and
have a right to use us for your own advantage, or even to destroy us
altogether if we harm you."

The Man pondered, then replied sullenly--

"You know very well that it was not so. I did not rear up pheasants
and hares merely to eat them or that others might eat them. Something
forces me to tell you that it was in order that I might enjoy myself
by showing my skill in shooting them, or to have the pleasure and
exercise of hunting them to death. Still," he added defiantly, "I who
am a Christian man maintain that my religion perfectly justified me in
doing all these things, and that no blame attaches to me on this

"Very good," said the Hare, "now we have a clear issue. Friend
Mahatma, when those Gates open presently what happens beyond them?"

"I don't know," I answered, "I have never been there; at least not
that I can remember."

"Still, friend Mahatma, is it not said that yonder lives some Power
which judges righteously and declares what is true and what is false?"

"I have heard so, Hare."

"Very well, Man, I lay my cause before that Power--do you the same. If
I am wrong I will go back to earth to be tortured by you and yours
again. If, however, I am right, you shall abide the judgment of the
Power, and I ask that It will make of you--a hunted hare!"

Now when he heard these awful words--for they were awful--no less, the
Red-faced Man grew much disturbed. He hummed and he hawed, and shifted
his feet about. At last he said--

"You must admit that while you lived you had a first-class time under
my protection. Lots of turnips to eat and so forth."

"A first-class time!" the Hare answered with withering scorn. "What
sort of a time would you have had if some one had shot you all over
the back and you must creep away to die of pain and starvation? How
would you have enjoyed it if, from day to day, you had been forced to
live in terror of cunning monsters, who at any hour might appear to
hurt you in some new fashion? Do you suppose that animals cannot feel
fear, and is continual fear the kind of friend that gives them a
'first-class time'?"

To this last argument the Man seemed able to find no answer.

"Mr. Hare," he said humbly, "we are all fallible. Although I never
thought to find myself in the position of having to do so, I will
admit that I may possibly have been mistaken in my views and treatment
of you and your kind, and indeed of other creatures. If so, I
apologise for any, ah--temporary inconvenience I may have caused you.
I can do no more."

"Come, Hare," I interposed, "that's handsome; perhaps you might let
bygones be bygones."

"Apologise!" exclaimed the Hare. "After all I have suffered I do not
think it is enough. At the very least, Mahatma, he should say that he
is heartily ashamed and sorry."

"Well, well," said the Man, "it's no use making two bites of a cherry.
I am sorry, truly sorry for all the pain and terror I have brought on
you. If that won't do let's go up and settle the matter, and if I've
been wrong I'll try to bear the consequences like a gentleman. Only,
Mr. Hare, I hope that you will not wish to put your case more strongly
against me than you need."

"Not I, Man. I know now that you only erred because the truth had not
been revealed to you--because you did not understand. All that I will
ask, if I can, is that you may be allowed to tell this truth to other

"Well, I am glad to say I can't do that, Hare."

"Don't be so sure," I broke in; "it's just the kind of thing which
might be decreed--a generation or two hence when the world is fit to
listen to you."

But he took no heed, or did not comprehend me, and went on--

"It is an impossibility, and if I did they would think me a lunatic or
a snivelling, sentimental humbug. I believe that lots of my old
friends would scarcely speak to me again. Why, putting aside the
pleasures of sport, if the views you preach were to be accepted, what
would become of keepers and beaters and huntsmen and dog-breeders, and
of thousands of others who directly or indirectly get their living out
of hunting and shooting? Where would game rents be also?"

"I don't know, I am sure," replied the Hare wearily. "I suppose that
they would earn their living in some other way, as they must in
countries where there is no sport, and that you would have to make up
for shooting rents by growing more upon the land. You know that after
all we hares and the other game eat a great deal which might be saved
if there were not so many of us. But I am not wise, and I have never
looked at the question from that point of view. It may seem selfish,
but I have to consider myself and the creatures whose cause I plead,
for something inside me is telling me now--yes, now--that all of them
are speaking through my mouth. It says that is why I am allowed to be
here and to talk with you both; for their sakes rather than for my

"If you have more to say you had better say it quickly," I
interrupted, addressing the Red-faced Man. "I see that the Lights are
beginning to change, which means that soon the Road will be closed and
the Gates opened."

"I can't remember anything," he answered. "Yes, there is one matter,"
he added nervously. "I see, Mr. Hare, that you are thinking of my boy
Tom, not very kindly I am afraid. As you have been so good as to
forgive me I hope that you won't be hard on Tom. He is not at all a
bad sort of a lad if a little thoughtless, like many other young

"I don't like Tom," said the Hare, with decision. "Tom shot me when
you told him not to shoot. Tom shut me up in a filthy place with a
yellow rabbit which he forgot to feed, so that it wanted to eat me.
Tom tried to cut me off from the wood so that the running dogs might
catch me, although you shouted to him that it was not sportsmanlike.
Tom dragged me out of the sea and blew down my nostrils to keep me
alive. Tom threw me to the hounds, although Giles remonstrated with
him and even the huntsman begged him to let me go. I tell you that I
don't like Tom."

"Still, Mr. Hare," pleaded the Red-faced Man, "I hope that if it
should be in your power when we get through those Gates, that you will
be merciful to Tom. I can't think of much to say for him in this
hurry, but there, he is my only son and the truth is that I love him.
You know he may live--to be different--if you don't bring some
misfortune on him."

"Who am I to bring misfortune or to withhold it?" asked the Hare,
softening visibly. "Well, I know what love means, for my mother loved
me and I loved her in my way. I tell you that when I saw her dead,
turned from a beautiful living thing into a stained lump of flesh and
fur, I felt dreadful. I understand now that you love Tom as my mother
loved me, and, Man, for the sake of your love--not for his sake, mind
--I promise you that I won't say anything against Tom if I can help
it, or do anything either."

"You're a real good fellow!" exclaimed the Red-faced Man, with evident
relief. "Give me your hand. Oh! I forgot, you can't. Hullo! what's up
now? Everything seems to be altering."


As he spoke, to my eyes the Lights began to change in earnest. All the
sky (I call it sky for clearness) above the mighty Gates became as it
were alive with burning tongues of every colour that an artist can
conceive. By degrees these fiery tongues or swords shaped themselves
into a vast circle which drove back the walls of darkness, and through
this circle, guided, guarded by the spirits of dead suns, with odours
and with chantings, descended that crowned City of the Mansions before
whose glory imagination breaks and even Vision veils her eyes.

It descended, its banners wavering in the winds of prayer; it hung
above the Gates, the flowers of all splendours, Heaven's very rose,
hung like an opal on the boundless breast of night, and there it

The Voice in the North called to the Voice in the South; the Voice in
the East called to the Voice in the West, and up the Great White Road
sped the Angel of the Road, making report as he came that all his
multitude were gathered in and for that while the Road was barred.

He passed and in a flash the Gates were burned away. The ashes of them
fell upon the heads of those waiting at the Gates, whitening their
faces and drying their tears before the Change. They fell upon the Man
and the Hare beside me, veiling them as it were and making them
silent, but on me they did not fall. Then, from between the Wardens of
the Gates, flowed forth the Helpers and the Guardians (save those who
already were without comforting the children) seeking their beloved
and bearing the Cups of slumber and new birth; then pealed the

"Who hath suffered most? Let that one first taste of peace."

Now all the dim hosts surged forward since each outworn soul believed
that it had suffered most and was in the bitterest need of peace. But
the Helpers and the Guardians gently pressed them back, and again
there pealed, no question but a command.

This was the command:--

"Draw near, thou Hare."


Jorsen asked me what happened after this justification of the Hare,
which, if I heard aright, appeared to suggest that by the decree of
some judge unknown, the woes of such creatures are not unnoted and
despised, or left unsolaced. Of course I had to answer him that I
could not tell.

Perhaps nothing happened at all. Perhaps all the wonders I seemed to
see, even the Road by which souls travel from There to Here and from
Here to There, and the Gates that were burned away, and the City of
the Mansions that descended, were but signs and symbols of mysteries
which as yet we cannot grasp or understand.

Whatever may be the truth as to this matter of my visions, I need
hardly add, however, that no one can be more anxious than I am myself
to learn in what way the Red-faced Man, speaking on behalf of our
dominant race, and the Hare, speaking as an appointed advocate of the
subject animal creation, finished their argument in the light of
fuller knowledge. Much also do I wonder which of them was proved to be
right, a difficult matter whereon I feel quite incompetent to express
any views.

But you see at that moment I woke up. The edge of the Road on which I
was standing seemed to give way beneath me, and I fell into space as
one does in a nightmare. It is a very unpleasant sensation.


I remember noticing afterwards that I could not have been long asleep.
When I began to dream I had only just blown out the candle, and when I
awoke again there was still a smouldering spark upon its wick.

But, as I have said, in that spirit-land wither I had journeyed is to
be found neither time nor space nor any other familiar thing.

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