The horses Ginger and Black Beauty are foils for each other, particularly in their contrasting upbringings and the way those upbringings shape their adult behavior. Early in the novel, the narrator tells Merrylegs—another horse—that he can’t understand why Ginger keeps trying to bite humans:
I told him I never bit anything but grass, hay, and corn, and could not think what pleasure Ginger found in it. ‘Well, I don’t think she does find pleasure,’ says Merrylegs; ‘it is just a bad habit; she says no one was ever kind to her, and why should she not bite? Of course it is a very bad habit; but I am sure, if all she says be true, she must have been very ill-used before she came here.'
Merrylegs suggests that Ginger's anger stems from traumatic things she's been through. Ginger’s feistiness and history of abuse are in stark contrast to Black Beauty’s gentleness and sensitivity. This difference demonstrates a common Victorian question: does upbringing have an effect on a person’s character, or are we all born the way we’re going to be forever?
Ginger later explains to Black Beauty that she agrees with Merrylegs—she behaves violently because it’s all she knows:
‘Because it has been all so different with me,’ she replied; ‘I never had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to please; for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts: none of them cared for me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like yours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat. The man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life. [...]'
Further, when Black Beauty himself has also been forced to work grueling hours and been treated badly, he thinks of Ginger and sympathizes with her behavior. Describing a driver that mistreats him sorely, he says:
He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood. [...] Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly [...] as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery [...]
Black Beauty's demoralizing experience with the cruel owner only emphasizes the difference between Black Beauty and Ginger throughout most of their lives. While the narrator’s upbringing has taught him to be kind and to interact well with humans, Ginger’s has only taught her that people are cruel and suffering is inevitable. This all contributes to Sewell’s overarching argument about treating horses with compassion. What they are taught, they reproduce.
The horses Ginger and Black Beauty are foils for each other, particularly in their contrasting upbringings and the way those upbringings shape their adult behavior. Early in the novel, the narrator tells Merrylegs—another horse—that he can’t understand why Ginger keeps trying to bite humans:
I told him I never bit anything but grass, hay, and corn, and could not think what pleasure Ginger found in it. ‘Well, I don’t think she does find pleasure,’ says Merrylegs; ‘it is just a bad habit; she says no one was ever kind to her, and why should she not bite? Of course it is a very bad habit; but I am sure, if all she says be true, she must have been very ill-used before she came here.'
Merrylegs suggests that Ginger's anger stems from traumatic things she's been through. Ginger’s feistiness and history of abuse are in stark contrast to Black Beauty’s gentleness and sensitivity. This difference demonstrates a common Victorian question: does upbringing have an effect on a person’s character, or are we all born the way we’re going to be forever?
Ginger later explains to Black Beauty that she agrees with Merrylegs—she behaves violently because it’s all she knows:
‘Because it has been all so different with me,’ she replied; ‘I never had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to please; for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts: none of them cared for me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like yours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat. The man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life. [...]'
Further, when Black Beauty himself has also been forced to work grueling hours and been treated badly, he thinks of Ginger and sympathizes with her behavior. Describing a driver that mistreats him sorely, he says:
He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood. [...] Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly [...] as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery [...]
Black Beauty's demoralizing experience with the cruel owner only emphasizes the difference between Black Beauty and Ginger throughout most of their lives. While the narrator’s upbringing has taught him to be kind and to interact well with humans, Ginger’s has only taught her that people are cruel and suffering is inevitable. This all contributes to Sewell’s overarching argument about treating horses with compassion. What they are taught, they reproduce.
The horses Ginger and Black Beauty are foils for each other, particularly in their contrasting upbringings and the way those upbringings shape their adult behavior. Early in the novel, the narrator tells Merrylegs—another horse—that he can’t understand why Ginger keeps trying to bite humans:
I told him I never bit anything but grass, hay, and corn, and could not think what pleasure Ginger found in it. ‘Well, I don’t think she does find pleasure,’ says Merrylegs; ‘it is just a bad habit; she says no one was ever kind to her, and why should she not bite? Of course it is a very bad habit; but I am sure, if all she says be true, she must have been very ill-used before she came here.'
Merrylegs suggests that Ginger's anger stems from traumatic things she's been through. Ginger’s feistiness and history of abuse are in stark contrast to Black Beauty’s gentleness and sensitivity. This difference demonstrates a common Victorian question: does upbringing have an effect on a person’s character, or are we all born the way we’re going to be forever?
Ginger later explains to Black Beauty that she agrees with Merrylegs—she behaves violently because it’s all she knows:
‘Because it has been all so different with me,’ she replied; ‘I never had any one, horse or man, that was kind to me, or that I cared to please; for in the first place I was taken from my mother as soon as I was weaned, and put with a lot of other young colts: none of them cared for me, and I cared for none of them. There was no kind master like yours to look after me, and talk to me, and bring me nice things to eat. The man that had the care of us never gave me a kind word in my life. [...]'
Further, when Black Beauty himself has also been forced to work grueling hours and been treated badly, he thinks of Ginger and sympathizes with her behavior. Describing a driver that mistreats him sorely, he says:
He had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood. [...] Indignities like these took the heart out of me terribly [...] as poor Ginger said, it was no use; men are the strongest. My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might, like Ginger, drop down dead at my work, and be out of my misery [...]
Black Beauty's demoralizing experience with the cruel owner only emphasizes the difference between Black Beauty and Ginger throughout most of their lives. While the narrator’s upbringing has taught him to be kind and to interact well with humans, Ginger’s has only taught her that people are cruel and suffering is inevitable. This all contributes to Sewell’s overarching argument about treating horses with compassion. What they are taught, they reproduce.