Introduction
Men speak to each other of what they have heard, seen, touched, smelled, tasted. They agree that thunder is terrifying, that the sky is blue, that gorse is prickly, that sulphuretted hydrogen is foul, that sloes are acrid. But whether our five senses convey to any two of us exactly the same impression, we know not nor ever shall know. When we travel beyond sensation or perception to the working of the intelligence we know far more of each other. Yet a man’s mind is a mystery to his own brother, and a woman’s to her own sister; and between man and woman, in the matter of identity of understanding, there is a fixed and impassable gulf. In fact, we know nothing about our fellow men and women; and yet for centuries men have written, and still find courage to write, what is called history—the story, that is to say, of the relations of individuals and of groups of men with each other. Moreover these histories, unless shown to be false, tend to be accepted as true; though he would be a bold historian indeed who would claim to have penetrated to the inner truth of any historical transaction. For always there remains the insurmountable fact that we are and must continue profoundly ignorant concerning even those who are nearest to us.
But if the historian of men’s lives be audacious, much more so is he who would write of the lives of other animals. In some cases we may be fairly certain that those animals possess the same five senses as ourselves; but some may possess more, and some fewer; and in any case we cannot be
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