On the other hand, the old bond of affection which so often linked man to his horse or ox—his faithful working companion—exists less and less. The French peasant, whose attachment to his oxen was sung by Pierre Dupont not so long ago,[1] now uses a tractor. The European farmer has either preceded or followed him in this ‘progress’. The farmer in the ‘underdeveloped’ countries will sooner or later follow him, thanks to technical assistance from the USA or the Soviet Union, and intensive propaganda. Beef will be used less and less, except as a beast of slaughter. The horse too, alas!
Of course, the ‘good old days’ allowed for many cruelties. I clearly remember the indignation (and hatred of man) that I felt as a child at the sight of the brutality of certain carters, both in the city and in the country.
And venerable antiquity—including ancient Egypt, the gentlest, along with that of India—has left us some examples of scenes which have nothing to envy to those which, between 1910 and 1920, provoked, at the same time as my impotent anger, my mother’s verbal and often also legal intervention. Among the images of daily life that are spread out on the walls of an Egyptian tomb from the 28th century BC, there is one that represents a man beating a poor donkey that, with its long ears flattened back, its large eyes full of terror, seems to be begging him. The 28th century was already the Dark Ages, despite all the science implied at the time, among the elite, for the construction, relatively recent, of the Pyramids of Giza.
I alluded above to the hunts of antiquity and the bloody games in the Roman circuses, as well as to the vivisection practised, as far as I know, as early as the 6th century BC at the instigation of the ‘scientific curiosity’ of certain Greeks. And the world has, on the whole, throughout this cycle gone from bad to worse.
Apart from the great misery of donkeys and dogs in Eastern countries, and in particular in Muslim countries—a misery which continues—we could mention the horrible treatment inflicted on cats, and especially black cats, in Western Europe in the Middle Ages and up to the 18th or even 19th century—a long practice of nameless abominations,[2] whose effect in the invisible has been, perhaps, to render the continent, collectively, responsible and unworthy of any recovery during this cycle—in particular, unworthy of Hitlerism, which could have delayed, by a few decades, the degeneration.
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Editor’s note: ‘Whose effect in the invisible…’ Really, after the 1945 catastrophe, Savitri has been the most insightful person.
Today, for example, I spent much of the morning looking at the countless comments on The Unz Review about Anglin’s article that I linked to on this site yesterday. Although I liked some of them, for example the criticism of Steve Sailer, the thought came to me that–unlike Savitri’s prose—all this verbal diarrhoea only confuses the honest normie who wants to cross to the other side of the psychological Rubicon. We need to become more like the laconic Spartans and less like the Judaised whites (remember: it is the Jew who uses insipid farrago to say things that can be said with few words).
Savitri was even above Pierce in that Pierce abandoned honouring Hitler and his Reich after Rockwell was murdered; and even above Rockwell himself in that he wanted to mix the unmixable: American patriotism and fair tolerance of Judeo-Christianity with National Socialism.
I still haven’t received Savitri’s magnum opus, which cost me 70€, left me broke and I can only hope it won’t get lost in the corrupt Mexican postal system. But I’ll certainly be reading, when I finish her Reflections, other of her texts until I understand her better. It doesn’t matter that we don’t agree on everything.
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[1] One remembers the well-known song: ‘I have two big oxen in my stable, two big white oxen, marked with red…’
[2] See Dr Fernand Méry’s books, His Majesty the Cat and The Cat, in which it is recalled that the unfortunate so-called ‘diabolic’ animals were ‘crucified, flayed alive, thrown screaming into the braziers’.
3 replies on “Reflections of an Aryan woman, 94”
When I was about 13 My father had set a rabbit trap and it caught a small rabbit, its front feet had been caught and it had struggled and it just had its bones connecting its front feet, my father said I would have to kill it by twisting its neck or smashing its head. I hit its head on a rock and I cried alot, my cousins made fun of me for crying for little bunny.
My father actually no longer hunted but wanted to show me so I understand the difference between animals and suffering.
I hate my late father, but he never, ever tortured an animal.
I was surprised and at the time a bit ashamed I cried, but now I think it was the right normal response. I was more surprised my teen cousins had little sympathy for the situation.
It maybe has an analogy to modern people been asked to eg. kill and skin a chicken to eat, it is hard for city people used to supermarkets to do.
But even with a lack of animals city people can still be cruel bastards to other humans. Perhaps its worse to be mean to animals as they don’t have the reasoning of humans.