The Modern Theory of Instinct 361 



I was a boy, the sight of an open wound 

 affected me so much that I would fall into a 

 swoon, which on more than one occasion nearly 

 cost me my life. How did I screw up courage 

 to set foot in those shambles ? No doubt, 

 the dread problem of death urged me on. 

 At any rate, I entered, close on the heels of 

 the Ox. 



With a stout rope round its horns, wet- 

 muzzled, meek-eyed, the animal moves along 

 as though making for the crib in its stable. The 

 man walks ahead, holding the rope. We enter 

 the hall of death, amid the sickening stench 

 thrown up by the entrails scattered over the 

 ground and the pools of blood. The Ox becomes 

 aware that this is not his stable ; his eyes turn 

 red with terror ; he struggles ; he tries to 

 escape. But an iron ring is there, in the floor, 

 firmly fixed to a stone flag. The man passes 

 the rope through it and hauls. The Ox lowers 

 his head; his muzzle touches the ground. While 

 an assistant keeps him in this position with the 

 rope, the butcher takes a knife with a pointed 

 blade, not at all a formidable knife, hardly 

 larger than the one which I myself carry in my 

 breeches-pocket. For a moment he feels with 

 his fingers at the back of the animal's neck and 

 then drives in the blade at the chosen spot. 

 The great beast gives a shiver and drops, as 



